by S D Simper
Flowridia approached the door farthest from the front and swung it open, a bit of light let in from the crystal. She pulled the orb from her bag, confident the wards could mask it, along with Ana. She set the fox down before letting the glowing artifact light the eerie workshop.
Small and compact, the enormous cauldron took up the majority of the room. Flowridia could have easily curled inside of it with room to spare, though as a child she would have been petrified at the thought. She recalled what horrors she had seen go in . . . and what monstrosities she had seen come out. Surrounding the cauldron, shelves and jars lined the walls, squeezed together but organized according to Odessa’s mad mind.
Flowridia placed her bag down and turned her attention to the other door. She opened it, the serene blue light of the orb filling the small bedroom. A cot lay covered in dust, as well as a small wardrobe and a full-length mirror. No windows. Nothing homey, save a small table next to the bed. Flowridia stepped inside, marveling at how not even a spider twitched in the corner. She stared into the dusty mirror, her visage eerie in the blue light.
Something twitched. Flowridia stepped forward, eyes squinting, watching the hazy image move as she moved. But something floated at her neck . . . A carving knife?
Gasping, Flowridia whirled around. At first glance she saw herself, but with a knife sticking from her throat.
The phantasm cackled hysterically.
Flowridia stumbled backward into the mirror, and from the corner of her eye she saw Demitri trying to muscle his way inside. What’s wrong—?
Demitri’s words died in her head as he stared at the laughing figure before them. Flowridia’s heart raced, her ragged breathing betraying her terror.
The figure finally quelled her laughter. “Forgive me,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal. “Oh, Flower Child, you haven’t changed a bit.”
Her gut clenched. Flowridia struggled to stand up straight. “M-Mother?”
“In the flesh,” Odessa said, and she gave an exaggerated bow. “Or something like that.” She appeared as she did in death, a knife embedded in her throat, but her figure was translucent, casting a blue light to rival the orb. She floated slightly, her feet not quite landing on the floor, and Flowridia saw their differences—Mother’s luxurious hair that fell in docile waves, the natural paleness of her skin, her sultry figure bearing the curves of childbirth—but oh, their faces were mirrors, spitting images. Flowridia couldn’t form a response.
Odessa raised an eyebrow. “Well, what did you expect? Apparently you came all this way to visit. Why so disappointed that I’m here?” The eerie doppelganger grinned at Demitri. “Oh, you got a new one. He’s much bigger than your last wolf. What’s this one’s name, Flower Child?”
“Demitri,” Flowridia said, her skin crawling at Odessa’s stare.
Demitri, however, simply glared. I take it you didn’t know about her.
Flowridia shook her head.
“And who is this? A grandchild?” Odessa stooped down and offered a hand to Ana. The tiny fox obliviously continued bouncing around Flowridia’s feet. “How fascinating,” she cooed, looking back at Flowridia with interest. “Does your potential have no bounds?”
“Mother, how are you here?” Flowridia still felt stiff, and she knew her words were the same.
“Oh, come to the kitchen. Put on a kettle, and I’ll pretend I can make you some tea.” Odessa’s form flew right through Demitri, and he shuddered and snarled. “I’ve become very good at miming. Not much else to do around here.”
Flowridia followed tentatively, watching as the ghostly form floated about the kitchen. “Forgive the mess,” Odessa continued. “It’s a disadvantage of being incorporeal. I’m effectively useless. But to answer your question, I’m so tied to this house that after you threw your little tantrum . . .” Odessa shrugged. “Well, where else did I have to go?”
“You’ve been alone all this time?”
“Who would ever visit? My wards will last through eternity, and it looks like I’ll be around to see it, too.” Odessa floated down beside her, almost affectionate as she smiled kindly. “So. What brings you back to visit your dearest mother?”
Flowridia’s eyes narrowed as she went out the front door. She slipped the orb into her bag, the stench of swamp bombarding her senses. “I’m not here to see you. I need to borrow your house.”
“And I grant you permission,” Odessa said, with a flourishing bow. She lingered at the doorframe, perhaps unable to leave. “Use my supplies as you wish. Clearly, I have no use for them.”
At the wagon, Flowridia gently lifted the coffin, careful as she carried it up the stairs. She went to her mother’s workshop, squinting in the dim light when Odessa’s voice cut through. “There are matches. Up there.”
Flowridia glared, but she stood and grabbed the box from the corner and lit the candles lining the room.
“What’s in the box?”
Flowridia ignored her. Instead, once she’d illuminated the room in candlelight, she knelt and dug through her bag, withdrawing her bracelet.
She took the maldectine in her hand and thrust it forward, straight inside Odessa’s body. Icy cold enveloped her arm, piercing like knives. The witch glanced between her penetrated abdomen and Flowridia’s face. “Why?”
“I thought it might get rid of you,” Flowridia said, setting the crystal back beside the orb. “It was worth a try.”
“Darling, I’ll leave you alone if you wish to be left alone.” She gave a dramatic sigh as she floated away and disappeared around the open door. “Even though I’ve been all alone for so long.”
From her bag, Flowridia withdrew precious cargo—Ayla’s dress, a bit muddied but still wearable, still able to be held. She set it aside.
“No? Nothing?” Odessa peeked her head back in. “That would have worked when you were younger.” She floated down and knelt beside Flowridia, staring at Ana. “So, tell me about the fox,” she said, nudging her. Her elbow went right through Flowridia’s side, sending an icy tingle through her. “That’s no party trick.”
“Ana is my fox,” Flowridia said stiffly. “Yes, I raised her. From the dead.”
“Necromancy, how cute,” Odessa cooed, but her smile held sincerity. “Truly, I’m impressed. Have you ever raised anything else?”
Flowridia nodded as she pulled Ana into her lap and sat against the wall, frowning at Odessa. Demitri watched from the doorframe.
“No need for petulance, sweet Flower Child. I only feel that I’ve missed so much of your life.” Her expression fell. “Will you at least tell me why you’re here? Perhaps I can help. I’m useless at most things, but I still have my mind.”
Flowridia’s stare went briefly to the box, and Odessa turned, curiosity in her gaze. She placed her ethereal hand on top of it, which proceeded to fall through. “You’ll have to help me out, sweetheart.”
“You asked me if I had ever raised anything else,” Flowridia said her glare growing strong again. “I’m going to raise that.”
Genuine confusion shone in Odessa’s eyes. “If there’s something dead in there, it’ll take darker magic than even I have on my own to bring it back. How long has it been dead for?”
“Over a millennium, technically.”
A wicked grin twisted Odessa’s lip. “So this is dark magic. How divine.” She chuckled, and Flowridia actively fought a grin—she’d die before she admitted amusement at the jest.
“But I needed somewhere safe to keep it,” Flowridia continued, remiss to admit the mood was lighter at the humor. “I thought I could keep her here and perform the ritual once I have what I need.”
“What are you missing to bring back this body, Flower Child?” The feigned innocence in Odessa’s words drew fresh anger from Flowridia.
“A sacrifice,” she said simply, then left the room, back into the warming crystal’s light.
Odessa suddenly appeared before her, her expression pleading. “Have I offended you, sweetheart?”
“Mot
her, stop,” Flowridia snapped. “Your false sweetness sickens me. Stop the act.” She folded her arms, shifting her weight onto one hip. “What game are you playing?”
Any lingering good humor suddenly melted, and all that remained was cruel insincerity. “Flower Child you may be, but a child you are not.” The room darkened as Odessa glared. “Be aware that while you are in my house, I do retain some power, including the power to cast you and yours out. Let your precious corpse rot in the mud for what I care. But I will let you stay, I will let you perform your ritual, and I will even help. You’re still my daughter, and I do love you dearly despite what lies you’ve used to soothe yourself to sleep.”
Flowridia’s gaze matched that of her mirror, and the very foundation of the house creaked. “What’s your price?”
“I need a host,” Odessa said, and Flowridia’s blood chilled at the word. “Someone near death and up to my standards of beauty. You may perform your sacrifice as you need to, but this is my bargain, and I will not forget. Betray me, and once I find a way to restore my powers on my own, not even death will keep you from me.”
A trade. Two deaths instead of one. Alauriel Solviraes and whatever unfortunate soul Flowridia managed to coerce into coming back with her.
Though her mind reeled, she had already committed to one murder. “I agree,” Flowridia said, and she extended a hand. Odessa mimed to accept it. “I ask for one addendum; let me perform my ritual first. Once I’ve succeeded, finding you a host will be a matter of saying who and where.”
“And why?” Odessa seethed.
“You told me bedtimes stories of The Endless Night. What if I said she was the one in the coffin?” A smile pulled at Flowridia’s lips unbidden at Odessa’s intrigue. “Ayla Darkleaf sleeps, but once she’s restored, she could whisk herself away and return in minutes with your prize.”
“Sweet Flower Child . . .” Conspiracy twisted Odessa’s full lips. “Never again will I underestimate you. I agree to your addendum. Raise Ayla Darkleaf and command her to bring my quarry to me.”
“I would never dream of commanding her. But she’s rather weak to begging.”
“I always wondered what monsters your pretty face would lure—seems you’ve managed to tame one.” Odessa chuckled, the shadow of a cruel smirk twisting her lips; Flowridia’s skin bristled at the sight. “All right—you kiss her pretty lips and whisper in her ear, and both of us live happily ever after. Tell me what you need from me. How may I help you? Do you have a plan to revive her?”
“I spoke to Izthuni,” she said, pride filling her at Odessa’s shocked expression. She returned to the workroom and unlocked the lid of the coffin. “She needs to be bathed in the blood of the moon. Neoma’s power is the key.”
“Interesting,” Odessa replied, and she watched with interest as Flowridia swung open the lid. Ayla’s gruesome countenance, twisted and shriveled, stared up from eyeless sockets. “The Lurker isn’t known for exchanging pleasantries with mortals.”
“He said it was because of my importance to her.” A hint of sadness bled into her tone. “Is the cauldron clean?”
“A year of dust, but not much else.”
Flowridia nodded and stood, taking a spare rag and wiping out the inside of the enormous instrument.
Odessa watched her with interest. “And how did you coerce the Scourge of the Sun Elves to fall in love with you?”
“Obliviousness,” Flowridia said instinctively, and then a forlorn smile came to her lips. “In truth, by her own admittance, it was because I made her feel safe.”
A mischievous grin spread across Odessa’s face, a wicked chuckle at her lips. “Once we’ve brought back your lover, we’ll have a discussion on sexual ritual. You might be surprised to learn what sort of spellcrafting a pair can create.” Her words stopped abruptly, and Flowridia looked up to see Odessa pursing her lips, deep in thought. “I’ve never tried any of it with a woman before. Much less, an undead woman.” That mischief turned wicked, and Odessa watched Flowridia with interest. “Oh, the potential.”
“I really would appreciate stopping this conversation now,” Flowridia mumbled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed,” Odessa said. “I’ve heard women are marvelous lovers—I’m almost jealous of your affection for them. Oh well. Men are so pitifully endearing when you’ve got their cock in your—”
“Please stop.”
“I was going to say mouth.”
Flowridia grimaced as she dropped the rag. “That’s not better.”
“Oh, you Daughters of Neoma have no sense of humor,” Odessa said, swatting her on the back, though of course her hand went straight through. A sting of ice caused Flowridia to stiffen. When she turned to glare, she saw that Odessa’s expression had softened. “But it truly was love?”
“Yes,” she replied. No hesitation.
“You darling thing. I’m happy for you.”
Flowridia’s soul craved the affirmation, she was startled to realize. As she looked to Odessa’s countenance, she saw all the kindness she had yearned for as a child.
She wished to badly to believe it. Her soul longed to be soothed by lies. Instead, bitterness steeled her heart; she returned to cleaning, hand trembling from subdued anger.
She finished wiping the cauldron and set the rag aside. With the tenderness one might lift an injured dove, she took Ayla’s body into her arms and placed her into the center of the cauldron. Then, from her bodice, she withdrew the ear, a rush of cold burning her torso as she tried to place it atop the body. She brought it to her lips and whispered, “All that I do, I do for you, my love.”
The coldness clung to her, and Flowridia lingered, longing to return the desperate embrace. Softer still, she whispered, “I love you, Ayla. I swear to never leave you.” The sensation waned. She placed the ear down. “When I kill Lara, I’m going to hang her over the cauldron and let her blood drain out.” Rusted hooks hung from the ceiling, perhaps there for a similar purpose long ago. Flowridia didn’t wish to ask. “And that’s it.”
“Who’s Lara?”
“Empress Alauriel Solviraes,” Flowridia whispered.
Odessa placed her hand over her ethereal mouth. “And how do you plan to accomplish that exactly?”
Flowridia stared down into the cauldron, at the shriveled corpse screaming in eternal agony. “Lara is a friend.” She shut her eyes and rested her forehead on the rim of the cauldron, fist clenching as she gripped the edge. “If I can bring her here, I can distract her long enough to—” Kill her? The words choked in her throat.
“You clearly underestimate the Solviraes.” Odessa’s voice floated smoothly in the stale air. “Assume you can’t use any magic. Do you have a plan?”
Flowridia felt her limbs numb as she nodded, details of a plan she hadn’t dared to think through filling her with dread. “The beginnings of one.”
Odessa quirked an eyebrow. “You did say she was a friend. Does she trust you?”
A pit formed in her stomach at the thought. When offered the bouquet, Lara’s visage had conveyed joy, and her eyes had lost that lonely haze, replaced by a fondness threatening to shatter the foundation of Flowridia’s fragile resolve.
“I think so,” Flowridia finally said, and as she spoke, Ayla’s terrorized visage gazed up at her. She did not shy from the morbid image but clung to it, desperate for any reminder of Ayla’s living form. Already, the memories were fading, but when she shut her eyes, fangs peeked out from behind a predatory grin. Vulnerable words drifted through her mind: “I love you, Flowridia. Please, never leave me.”
When Flowridia finally tore her gaze away, she realized tears welled in her eyes.
An incorporeal hand touched her face, causing a faint, cold tingle to brush her skin where the forms met. Odessa’s soft expression held wide eyes. “I wish that I could twist the knife for you. I will do all in my power to aid you, sweetheart, but slitting her throat must be your own doing. If your hand falters, think of your beloved. W
ould she hesitate to do the same for you?”
It had been Flowridia’s murderous wish that led to Ayla’s death in the first place. Ayla would have leveled kingdoms for her. Flowridia shook her head, forcibly holding back her threatened tears.
“My sweet Flower Child,” Odessa mused, leaning her face in close, “the years we spent together are memories I cherish. All the world’s potential rested in your shy countenance, and with me at your side, you made such progress.”
The sincerity in Odessa’s words welled dread into Flowridia’s soul. Her fists clenched as her mind fought the truth in her words.
“You’re a gem in my lineage,” Odessa cooed, cruel delight twisting the kindness in her countenance. “Imagine all I can teach you, once we’re truly reunited. I only wish I’d known back then that you’d have a penchant for necromancy.”
“I didn’t know,” Flowridia whispered, fighting the bitterness threatening to stain her words—Odessa didn’t deserve the satisfaction of her anger. “Not until my time with Casvir.”
Odessa finally pulled her hand back, a bit of scrutiny in her gaze. “Imperator Casvir of Nox’Kartha?”
Grateful for the segue, Flowridia nodded. “He’s a friend.”
“A powerful friend,” Odessa replied, smiling with some mischief. “Perhaps introduce him to me once we’re done—I might find a castle for myself after all, or at least a throne to sit on.”
Flowridia hadn’t the heart to tell her Casvir’s true opinion of her; besides, she was much too appalled at her words. “I really would prefer to not discuss your interest in Casvir’s throne.”
“You do know I mean his—”
“Stop.”
She was saved when Ana bounded into the room, her little nails clicking on the ancient wood floor. Flowridia knelt to pet her skull, listening as Odessa said, “Most undead minions aren’t infused with as much personality as your little fox.”
