“I suppose she wouldn’t be; she doesn’t seem the type.”
He was right, but Damien didn’t want to dwell on the increasingly obvious evidence she might be…good. Instead, he explained how he had crafted Bloodthorne’s Talisman of Enthrallment to remain in its vessel until their death, leaving out the arcane way the curse worked because Anomalous wouldn’t believe in it anyway. The talisman had found its way inside Amma, and Damien told him he would very much prefer it not be there.
By the end of his explanation, he’d gotten all of his armor off in a pile and had finished scrubbing the mud from his limbs and face, feeling outwardly much better if also inwardly much worse at the prospect of things. “So, I am hoping that you, Anomalous Craven, with all of your alchemy and tools and knowledge, can possibly get the talisman out of her.”
“You wantmeto kill the girl?” He had changed into a blindingly white tunic himself and ran up to Damien. “I don’t exactly have much use for most of her parts, but—”
“No, Anomalous, that’s just it. Magic,mymagic anyway, cannot do this, so I’d like to see if your alchemy can remove the thing without killing her.”
“You’re telling me your blood magery-whatsit can’t just shunt it out?”
“The talisman isn’t meant to be…shunted.”
“A challenge then, and alchemy to the rescue!” Anomalous scurried his massive frame back to the door.
“Wait,” Damien called, stopping the man short. “I have one more request, a smaller if odder one. I’d really rather not let on what you’re doing. Not to the girl or Kaz.”
“Who?”
Damien chuckled. “The figment of my imagination?”
“Oh, yes, theimp. I thought you stopped believing in those things when you grew up, but I suppose not.” This he said with a weary sigh. Damien had known him going on fifteen years, over half of his own life, and while he had gone from skinny adolescent lost in the swamp with a questionable understanding of his own arcana to adept blood mage in that time, Anomalous barely had changed at all—still a man rooted firmly in his own beliefs albeit surprisingly capable. “But the girl, she doesn’t know you’ve got to kill her to get it out?”
“No, she knows that.”
“Then unless she wants to be dead, why should it be a secret from her? It’s much easier for your patient to cooperate if they know what’s going on. Well, mostly. Second easiest to already being dead.”
Damien rocked his head from side to side. It wasn’t that simple, and for all the complexity that Anomalous did understand, this would be too much. Damien did not admit, in his internal debate, that it was more likely he himself could not actually explain the distressing feeling he got at the prospect of telling her he actually might not exactly want her quite so dead after all, so instead he offered up something that was only half true. “I don’t want to get her hopes up that she might survive, you know? It’s much better if she’s just resigned to dying.”
“Right!” Anomalous threw his hands up as if it couldn’t be more obvious. “Awful thoughtful of you, really.”
Damien scrunched up his nose. “Don’t say that, it’s just…prudent.”
“Prudent,” he repeated with a laugh and hurried to the door. “Of course, that too, not that any of it matters because alchemy will solve all your problems!”
“Wait!” Damien stood from the chair. “One more thing.”
“Oh, all right, but quickly—I am just itching to start this experiment, and there are so many measurements and calculations and—”
“I’m sure you’re excited,” said Damien, pinching his nose, “but perhaps you ought to put on some pants first.”
CHAPTER 10
ALL THAT IS GOLD DOES NOT GLITTER, BUT IT IS USUALLY MALLEABLE
Amma stared at the woman, all elbows and knees as she hefted the bag up onto a stained table. It landed with a juiciness, burlap at one time but dyed a rusty, red color at its bottom from years of use, a few patches sewn onto its sides and a new tear forming at the thickest part of it where something wet and dark poked out.
“Excuse Louie, he gets so wrapped up in his work he forgets his manners,” she said with a scratchy lilt, shrugging bony shoulders that stuck up through the fabric of her dress. “He’d forget his pants too if someone didn’t remind him, elements bless the giant bastard! But he’s really just a big, ole sweet thing.” She cackled then—actually cackled—head thrown back and hair wild.
“He called you a hag,” said Amma, the words coming out before she could stop them.
“Oh, sure, but that’s what I am!” She turned to her fully and spread her arms out as a black shadow sizzled up from her feet to climb around her body, envelop her wholly, and then disappear to reveal a face of sunken, withered skin, red eyes, and pure horror. Amma’s scream caught in her throat as she covered her mouth, but the visage was gone as soon as it appeared, and the woman was left cackling some more. “Swamp witch, some fellas call me—ladies are always witches when they don’t understand us—but hag is the, uh, what’s Louie call it? Thetechnicalterm. You can call me Mudryth if you’re comfier with that.”
Kaz snorted from the corner, and he skittered up on a shelf beside a bubbling jar.
“And you,” said Mudryth, pointing to the imp. “Unlike Louie, I believe in arcane nasties since I am one, so don’t cause any trouble. Now, what’s your name, sweetie?”
“Amma,” she ventured, throat hoarse.
