Switchblade Goddess

by Lucy A. Snyder

  He was looking me straight in the eye, and I realized that what he was telling me was the absolute truth. His memory wasn’t foggy, and it hadn’t been tampered with. I was the one that Miko had tricked. Again.

  But Cooper hadn’t been tortured, and hadn’t been forced to watch me with our captor. He hadn’t seen what I’d done; he didn’t know what a miserable whore I’d become.

  My rage at Miko collided with my shame and my profound sense of relief. The crash of emotions sent me to my knees in the street. Suddenly I was sobbing like a little kid who’d just been pulled from a car wreck.

  “Hey, hey, it’ll be okay.” Cooper knelt beside me, gently lifted my arm, and tugged my opera glove on over my fiery hand. “Come on, you’re shivering, let’s get you up off these cold stones, all right?”

  Head down, weeping, I let Cooper pick me up and carry me down the street, and before I knew it we’d entered a shop filled with the warm smells of coffee and fresh-baked pastries.

  “Wait here.” Cooper lowered me down into a rattan café chair at a small square table. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

  I was only dimly aware of him going up to the front counter and saying, “Eine Schokolade, bitte,” to the plump fifty-something woman working behind the glass cases of sweets on display.

  “Was ist denn los mit der armen Kleinen?” the woman asked, looking toward me with an expression of concern.

  “Um … sie hat einen schlechten Tag,” he replied.

  I hadn’t realized until then that Cooper knew any conversational German. The man was still full of surprises. He soon came back to our table with a mug filled with steaming hot chocolate topped with a rich dollop of fresh whipped cream.

  “Here.” He carefully set the mug in front of me. “I don’t know that chocolate can solve anything, but it can’t make anything worse, can it?”

  I tried to say “I guess not” but all that came out was a raspy squeak. So I picked up the mug and began to sip it, not really caring that it was burning my lips and tongue. It was probably the best hot cocoa I’ve ever had. And soon enough, it did seem to help. Maybe just the tiniest bit. But I was feeling better.

  “Where’s Pal?” I asked him once I finally found my voice again.

  “He’s with the castle veterinary healer,” Cooper replied. “You … sort of fastballed him into a wall. Broke his spine and a couple of legs.”

  “Shit. Goddamn it.” I felt a fresh wave of tears rise in my swollen eyes. “I was trying to save him. I can’t even do that right.”

  “Hey, don’t cry, he’ll be fine. Your father has a good veterinary healer. There’s no permanent harm done.”

  “I’m so fucked, honey,” I whispered to him. “Miko’s got her hooks in me bad.”

  “Yeah, you’ve definitely got a bad case of jam-eye, for sure,” he replied solemnly, gazing at my face. “You only got that a couple of times when the Goad was actively possessing your body. So Miko’s bringing it pretty heavy. Well, I’m glad the banishment spell finally took that third time I tried it on you, but it’s probably not going to last the night.”

  “She’s gonna drive me crazy if I don’t surrender to her. I can’t deal with her taking over my senses like that again.” I shook my head. “I just can’t.”

  “Hang in there, okay?” He took my hand. “Your father has a plan, if you’re up for it. Right now, he’s gathering his people together to perform a special purification ceremony. It should cure you of any and all physical and spiritual diseases—everything from a cold virus to a diabolic possession.”

  “For real?” I asked, finally feeling a bit of hope.

  “For real.” Cooper smiled. “He says they’ll be ready to go at midnight, if you’re ready.”

  “I am so ready.”

  chapter

  thirty-five

  Purification

  Cooper mirrored my brother and they talked briefly; a little bit after that a couple of castle guards in smart-looking gold and blue uniforms pulled up in front of the pastry shop in what looked like a golf cart.

  “That’s our ride?” I asked.

  “Yeah, your dad bought like ten of those for running around the village,” my boyfriend replied. “I guess the carriage horses were pooping too much. Or there was a poop-related charm accident. Or something. Poop was involved.”

  The guards zipped us up the gaslit street, beeping the cart’s little horn to get stray pedestrians to move out of the way, and soon we’d crossed the bridge over the dark moat—it was a full-blown lake, really—and under the arched stone barbican where a cow-size bronze dragon in a flying harness perched riderless between two large torches, peering down at us curiously.

  Our driver seemed convinced he was Mario Andretti, and he whipped the wheel around, sending the cart power-sliding up to the marble steps. The huge oak doors swung open, and I gave a start as a huge grizzly bear began loping down toward us.

  And then I realized it was my familiar.

  “Pal!” I leaped out of the cart and met him at the bottom of the stairs, throwing myself around his massive, shaggy neck. “I’m so, so sorry, I had no idea I’d hurt you.”

  “I’m quite all right now,” he replied. “There was some business of my heart stopping briefly, but their healer performed a defibrillation charm, and consequently we all discovered the secret to my new change ability: electric shock. Evidently it requires a rather strong zap; shuffling across the carpet and touching the lamp won’t do it, unfortunately.

  “And I can’t say that switching form is especially pleasant,” he continued. “My bones were apparently little more than a stiff gel immediately after my cure, and it gave me a false sense of ease. But. Clearly it can still be done. I rather think I’ll stay this way for a bit until there seems to be a compelling need for me to perform magic. I find this form rather suits the climate here. Especially since the healer performed a spell to restore my fur.”

  “You can stay in whatever form you like. I’m so glad you’re okay.” I gave him another squeeze and ruffled my fingers through his coat. He awkwardly patted my back with his enormous clawed paw.

  “Jessie!” I heard my father call.

  I looked up and saw him coming down the stairs, leaning on a silver walking staff. He smiled broadly and waved at me with his free hand. Out here in the torchlight, he looked younger and taller than he had seemed through the mirror.

  “Hi … Dad!” Saying the D-word still felt pretty weird, but I was getting used to it.

  We gave each other a brief, awkward hug.

  “Well.” He peered frowning at my flesh eye. “So, it is true—Miko is trying to possess you. How?”

  “Through my hellement, I think.” I touched my opera glove. “I brought her there when we fought before, and somehow she found a way back in. I don’t know how she did it.”

  My father tut-tutted at me, shaking his head. “You need to seal the holes in your domain, my child. You’re lucky that only Miko has found her way in. And also, you should not bring entities there unless you can immediately kill them. Death godlings tend not to succumb easily.”

  “Holes?” I frowned up at him. “What holes?”

  “Goads are lazy creatures; they prefer to crawl into existing hells and claim them as their own. And when they are forced to create a hell from scratch, the domains they spin are loose, porous, like cobwebs. There are all kinds of gaps that lead to the vast nothing between dimensions, and an experienced traveler like Miko can always find a way back into a dimension if she finds an opening.”

  “But … I haven’t seen any holes. How do I find them to close them?” I asked.

  He pointed at my stone eye. “Try the tenth view the next time you’re in there. And it may take some concentration, but I think you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Cooper and Pal walked beside me as my father led me to the castle chapel.

  “I’m afraid the two of you cannot accompany her inside,” my father told them as we turned a corner. “Only t
he initiates, nuns, and priests may see her from this point on until the ritual has been completed.”

  As if on cue, a young man in a long, light-blue cassock opened one of the massive wooden doors leading into the chapel. He smiled at me, bowed to my father, and then, with an almost-dramatic sweep of his arm, gestured for me to enter.

  I don’t know what I was expecting to find in there, big churchgoer that I am. “Chapel” always made me imagine one of those chintzy strip-mall joints in Vegas. The kind of place where you pay an Elvis impersonator to marry you in a three-minute ceremony for twenty-five dollars, plus tips for the witnesses, wedding photos extra.

  But this chapel was nothing like that. It was one of the most impressive places I had ever seen. I was so stunned by what greeted me on the other side of the door that it wasn’t until much later that I realized that it—like Dr. Who’s TARDIS—was much bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.

  High, pointed Gothic arches on both sides seemed to flow forward and outward to infinity, forming what must have been a pointed-arch shape themselves; flying buttresses and rib vaults made the walls seem to almost dematerialize. Large stained-glass windows in the upper stories of the choir loft let in soft light and gave this huge edifice the appearance of delicacy. I could take a deep breath and smell the age of the wooden pews and columns, all of them burnished to a deep shine. An elaborate astronomical clock and tapestries from the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries decorated the area just above the nave; and everywhere were stained-glass windows from even earlier centuries. Cooper had shown me photos of that kind of glasswork early on in my apprenticeship, explaining what magical powers each of the strange figures represented, but in my exhaustion and fever I was having a hard time remembering.

  I was still so lost in awe of the interior that I didn’t hear the nun come up behind me, and when she spoke my name I actually jumped and spun around, my flame hand gloved but raised.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Shimmer.” She was pretty, with soft amber eyes, and was maybe five years older than me. Her voice carried a faint accent I couldn’t place. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s okay.” Embarrassed, I lowered my arm.

  If the interior of the “chapel” had been a huge surprise to me, so was her outfit. I had been prepared for nuns dressed all in black and wearing stern expressions on their faces as they stomped around in clunky black boots. Her habit—light blue, like the initiate’s cassock—was tied around her waist with a silky cord. A short cape made of a darker blue cotton covered her shoulders and closed snugly around her neck. On her head, she wore a Medieval wimple with an attached veil; she’d flipped up the veil and it hung down the back of the wimple. And the reason I hadn’t heard her approaching me was because instead of boots or boxy shoes, she wore satin slippers, also blue.

  She seemed to read my surprise on my face. “Not what you were expecting?”

  I shook my head. “Not even a little bit.”

  “I bet you’ve seen The Sound of Music too many times. I hate that movie.” She smiled at me. “My name is Sister Teresa. Please follow me into the sacristy, Miss Shimmer.”

  I didn’t really remember what a sacristy was, but Teresa led me down the aisle toward the altar. Both it and the floor were made from glossy gray marble. Three rows of wooden chairs that looked more like thrones sat a yard or so behind the altar, each row higher than the one in front. Each throne was decorated with incredibly detailed carvings, most of them faces or various religious images, some of them Pagan, some of them Christian, some of them Buddhist … it looked as if symbols and pictographs from every religion I had ever encountered had been detailed. And there were a few glyphs that I had never seen before.

  Teresa genuflected before she went up the three steps that led to the altar. It was a sizeable area, and I saw that an inlaid cross of white marble was right in the middle of the blue marble floor. It wasn’t until I followed her up the steps and we headed for a set of wooden doors in the wall behind the altar that I noticed the holes at the sides and bottom of the cross. Were they supposed to represent nail holes? I didn’t think anything more of it.

  The young nun opened the doors, revealing a room that had to be the sacristy. Its walls were lined with glass-fronted cabinets filled with holy items such as ornate golden chalices, cruets, incense burners, and wardrobes full of silken vestments. I could feel the buzz of magic coming from some of the cabinets.

  Six other sisters waited for us in a semicircle in the middle of the room, each of them as young as Teresa and just as radiant. There’s a strong spiritual element to what I do as a Talent, but practitioners of traditional religions usually make me uneasy. I never felt comfortable around the few Baptist preachers I encountered in Texas, nor the Mormon and Jehovah’s Witness missionaries who sometimes came to our apartment in Columbus. But in the presence of the seven sisters, I felt strangely calm. I felt safe; I felt protected.

  Teresa gestured toward the other nuns. “If you would, Miss Shimmer, please step into the center of the circle and disrobe.”

  I blinked at her, thinking I’d misunderstood. “You want me to … take off my clothes?”

  “Yes, please. Take off everything except your glove. If you will hand your clothes to me, I’ll put them over there.” She pointed at a nearby wooden credenza. “You’ll be able to put them back on in here after the ritual is completed.”

  Well, this was awkward. It’s one thing to lose your dress in midflight over a cornfield and end up naked in front of your friends, but entirely another to have to strip in front of a bunch of strange nuns. Even if they seem supernice.

  “I have to?” I asked, fighting the urge to crack a nervous joke.

  She nodded. “It is necessary.”

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. This wasn’t really any different than having to change in a locker room with twenty other girls after lacrosse practice, was it? Well, my teammates hadn’t all been staring at me … but I didn’t have anything these women hadn’t seen before, yeah? Well, aside from an enchanted stone eye and a diabolic flame hand. Both of which they could see whether I was clothed or not, so it wasn’t a big deal, right?

  Right. I fixed my gaze on a floor tile in the middle of their circle, stepped forward onto it, and started to pull off my boots and socks. Teresa retrieved each as I set them on the floor. Next I slipped off my dragonskin jacket, then my pants. I tucked my panties into the pocket so she wouldn’t have to handle them directly. Then I stripped off my shirt and sports bra.

  As soon as I was in full Monty, two sisters stepped up with a long, pleated white gown that they helped me slip over my head and tie at the waist with a silk cord. Another sister knelt before me with a pair of white satin slippers. When they were done, I was certainly glad I wasn’t going to have to undergo the ritual naked, but I also felt awkward in the clothes, like I was in drag.

  The seven sisters all smiled at me.

  “One thing you have to understand, Jessie,” said Teresa, “is that this ritual you are about to undergo may be, well … a bit frightening at first.”

  She took my flesh hand; hers was very warm, while mine had gone icy. “But you will come to no harm. On that you have my word.”

  And with that, she kissed me on the cheek, as did each of the other sisters. Their kisses had the feel of being part of a ritual rather than a friendly greeting.

  Without another word, they led me back out into the chapel. The wooden thrones now surrounded the altar area, and they were filled with priests of various ages whose collective stares made me nervous. I felt like someone’s science fair experiment being evaluated by a bunch of judges.

  Teresa turned and gave me a soft smile that said, Don’t worry. I nodded and smiled back. We approached the marble cross in the floor, and my heart beat faster in anxiety: the three holes that I’d noticed earlier had been filled with heavy-looking iron shackles that had been screwed deeply into place while I’d been changing.

  At the head of the
inlaid cross stood the young man who’d opened the door for me. He wore a friendly, sympathetic smile, but what he carried didn’t make me feel any better: he was holding a cast-iron gauntlet that looked like some leftover torture device from the Spanish Inquisition. All things considered, it probably was. I could feel it had been enchanted, and since it was clearly for me, I guessed it was fireproofed. Clearly my father had warned them about my tendency to start spewing incendiary ectoplasm during times of stress.

  “Please turn around and raise your arms,” whispered Teresa. “We must put you on the floor now.”

  Swallowing nervously, I did as she asked. All of the sisters gently took hold of me and laid me down upon the marble cross. They quickly shackled my flesh hand and my ankles. The young initiate priest cracked open the cast-iron gauntlet as Teresa and another sister pushed my sleeve up to my shoulder and then pulled off my opera glove. In one smooth motion the initiate slipped the gauntlet onto my flame hand and closed it with a loud clank. He secured the gauntlet with an ancient-looking padlock and then shackled my hand to the floor, iron squeaking against iron.

  Despite the chill of the marble floor, I was sweating and my pulse was racing. I wished Pal and Cooper could be there, but I guessed that wasn’t how things had to be done. I heard the clack of an old-fashioned switch being thrown somewhere in the back of the chapel, and the lights dimmed except for a spot shining down on me.

  The seven sisters took their positions and knelt, each placing the fingertips of both hands onto the floor, just outside the borders of the cross. They spread out their fingers until they’d created an unbroken circle of hands around me.

  I heard something clanking in a steady, tinny rhythm. The sound was coming from a side door that looked like it led to another part of the sacristy. I turned my head as best I could and saw several initiates entering the area, each of them holding a scroll of some sort. Behind them entered a very old-looking but still formidable priest, his light-blue cassock and white surplice adorned with a scarflike stole on which a series of figures and tableaux had been hand-stitched. I couldn’t make out any details because my neck was starting to hurt from the strain.