“Eh?”

“No, Malice, I won’t take your deal.”

Well, shit. I didn’t really have a Plan B here. “Okay, cool, got it, understood, and I don’t want to challenge your agency here or anything, but, mind telling me why?”

Bashekehi sighs and looks away from me, pulling his hand away. “I won’t lie, you’re sorely tempting; in all my years as an incubus I’ve never met someone so eager to be taken advantage of. I’m grateful, too, for being freed, and I won’t forget that. But I want a chance to enjoy that freedom before I swear myself to a new master. Especially one so… unique.”

Hmm. That wasn’t exactly the kind of relationship I proposed, but this might be some imp thing I don’t have the context for. Regardless, it’s time to change tactics. I adopt an easy smile and wave a hand. “No worries, I totally understand. Would you prefer we go our separate ways, or are you okay with traveling together for a bit? I don’t really know this area well and I could use a guide, even if our partnership is an informal one.”

The incubus turns back to me with a skeptical look. “You’re taking this suspiciously well. I hope you don’t think you can get me to change my mind if you just work at me long enough.”

“Of course not,” I lie. “You’ve set a hard line, and I’ll respect that. I have nothing to gain by burning bridges over a minor disappointment. Besides which, most of what I want from you doesn’t need to come bundled with a formal relationship. In fact, I think I may have overstepped by phrasing my offer the way I did; I have no desire to be your master, I simply want for us to help each other as best we are able in this strange and dangerous world.”

Bashekehi still looks suspicious, but he doesn’t challenge me. “Right. Well, to answer your question: yes, I’m willing to travel with you. I do feel a sense of debt to you for freeing me, and I have an inkling of how I can repay that debt, depending on details. How long have you been in the Labyrinth?”

I tap my chin, consider the question, and respond, “About three hours, I think. Maybe four.”

He winces. “Then you probably don’t even know what the Labyrinth is. Shit, okay, I guess I’ll have to explain that in detail at some point, but the barebones version is this: you’re in a realm of Pandaemonium ruled by an ancient monster called the Nightmare Queen or the Lady of Shards, depending on who you ask. Most of the Labyrinth is a horrible mess of terrifying monsters, but there are a few safe havens and I happen to know a path to one of those havens. We just have to get through the Contrite, assuming any of them are still alive.”

That is all fascinating and I am deeply interested in learning more about what is absolutely the thing residing in the big glass tower, but I tamp down my curiosity for the moment. “Great! Excellent plan. We can start by getting you a bit better-equipped; there’s a storeroom that has a few goodies left in it, and you look like you could use some water. If you drink water, I mean. I don’t really know how incubus biology works.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “I can drink. Lead on, Malice.”

I head back into the central chamber and stop by the spot where the monster–sin eater, Bashekehi called it–died. I should keep going to the storeroom so I can start accruing more goodwill with the incubus, but I can’t resist asking, “So, what’s the deal with the thing I killed? You called it a sin eater, so is it one of those Contrite you mentioned? And why did it turn into a clay heart when it died?”

He frowns. “How do you not… do you not know what a homunculus is? Sin eaters are the homunculi of Contrition; the Contrite are her zealots within the Labyrinth, and they make sin eaters.” He’s looking at me with a worrying gaze, but I can’t exactly back out now.

“Interesting, very interesting. So, this may seem like a stupid question, but, who or what is Contrition?”

The look on his face worsens. Slowly, as if talking to an idiot, he says, “The archdemon presiding over regret, guilt, and punishment.”

I rub my hands together. Data! Juicy, delicious data! “Perfect. Now, next question, and forgive me if this is offensive: are archdemons and imps considered the same kind of entity just operating at different power levels, or is there a deeper categorical distinction between them? And if there is a connection, do you have a term that would refer to both of them collectively?”

Silence. Bashekehi looks pained now, and he’s clenching his fists, but through his teeth he says, “Why don’t we start with what you do know? About…anything.”

I wince and raise my hands apologetically. “Ah, well, this is where we get into rather embarrassing territory for me, as I’m afraid I don’t really know much of anything about this world. I was kind of hoping you could help me out with that. As I mentioned, I arrived here just a few hours ago, and I’ve actually never encountered anything like any of this before. Imps, archdemons, homunculi; I must confess they’re all quite new to me, at least outside of stories.”

Bashekehi drags his hands down his face and groans, “Gods and archdemons, she’s a lethe drinker. Why? Why me? Why this? Why is this how I escape?” He turns around and paces the room, muttering to himself all the while. “Fucking lethe drinker. I should have guessed, I should have guessed! Why else would she be wearing a butterfly? Why else would she be so callous around imps and fae? Why else would she go around using the same name as an archdemon? But she didn’t sound like a lethe drinker, she was too eloquent for a lethe drinker! That’ll teach me. Gah!”

Eh? The fuck? None of this conversation is going like I expected. I clear my throat and wave at the ranting incubus. “Hi! I’m still here. What is a lethe drinker, and why are you calling me one? And what does that have to do with my hairpin? And what was that about my name?”

Bashe groans again, louder, but turns back to me and comes close. “Okay, I hate this so I’m going to make it quick: you know how you have huge gaps in your memories? Big enough gaps that you don’t know what imps or archdemons are, and you probably don’t remember where you got that hairpin? Yeah, you sold your memories to the archdemon Wonder, or to one of her lemosynes, not that you understand the difference between them because all your memories of that difference are gone. We call people like you ‘lethe drinkers.’”

I start laughing. Fuck me, this is hilarious. I clutch at my stomach as the laughter pours out, unable to stop myself long enough to explain what’s so fucking funny. He thinks I have amnesia. This is rich. This is the best.

The incubus starts massaging his temples. “I didn’t ask for this. I really, really didn’t ask for this. Why a lethe drinker? Of all the people it could have been, why a lethe drinker? I really, really do not want to explain basic shit to a lethe drinker. In fact, I’m not going to! I’m not going to teach you grade school facts about the universe.”

I finally get a hold of myself and gasp out, “Not a lethe drinker. Not missing memories.” I steady my breathing and continue, “I’m not missing any memories, and I found this hairpin on a doll in the abandoned school I woke up in. Look, the reason I don’t know shit about this world is that I’m not from this world. I came here from another world entirely, or rather I was brought here against my will.” Let’s just leave out the fact that we would have jumped at the opportunity to come here willingly, even with the horrible monsters.

Bashe is unimpressed with my dramatic revelation. “Yeah, no shit, we were all brought here against our will. Story of this damned Labyrinth.”

Interesting, but beside the point. I roll my eyes. “Good to know, but you’re not getting this. Look, whatever world you came from before here, I’m not from there either. Your world had magic, right? Mine didn’t. I come from a place where beings like you don’t exist. A world where gods and incubi are both just myths.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s your story? Really? You’re not a lethe drinker, you’re just from the Zero Sphere? I don’t know why you'd think that would be more believable, but it’s really not. You may be a good liar, but nobody can sell a lie that ridiculous.”

The what? The fucking what? What? What the fuck is going on? “Hold on, what the fuck did you just say? The Zero Sphere? What the fuck is the Zero Sphere?”

He crosses his arms. “I’m not buying it. I’m not buying your bullshit, Malice.”

“Really, truly, sincerely, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What is the Zero Sphere, and why do you think I’m claiming to be from there?” I try to inject as much truthfulness as I can into my voice, which isn’t hard since I’m actually being truthful for once.

He sighs heavily. “Fine, whatever, if that’s the game you want to play. The Zero Sphere is the ‘world without magic’ that was supposedly used as the prototype for Firmament itself, and even most of the worlds in greater Pandaemonium, but which no one aside from the Demiurge has ever seen or been to, so it might not even exist. There, happy?”

I stare at him, mouth open. They know about Earth!? They think Earth might be a myth!? What the fuck is going on? This isn’t even ‘that strange place that reincarnated and/or summoned heroes come from,’ this is ‘that mythical place we can only speculate on the existence of.’ “Okay. Uh. Okay. Gotta admit, none of this conversation is how I thought things would go. Um. Sorry, still struggling to process that you guys have heard of my world and don't think it exists.”

He narrows his eyes at me, then looks away with a noise of disgust. “I hate how hard it is to read your soul. This would be so much easier if I could just know what you’re really feeling right now.”

Lightbulb. “Okay, but what if you could know that?”

He looks back at me, skeptical but not dismissing the idea out of hand. “How?”

I take a deep breath. “Okay. Fuck, I’m saying that word too much. This is all just very disorienting for me.”

“For you?”

I glare at the incubus. “Yes! For me! Quiet, you. Here’s my idea: deals are a thing here, right? I made a bargain with that fae, and it seems like I could have made one with you, if you had accepted. Azathoth, Dreamweaver, whatever you want to call her, she listens in and she makes things happen, right? So what if we make a deal, and I agree to tell you three true things about me, about my history. I’ll be bound by Azathoth to tell you where I’m really from and what I really remember.”

Bashekhi looks at me with undisguised suspicion. “There’s no channeling without equivalent exchange. What would I be exchanging?”

The choice is obvious. “Knowledge. I want to know everything about this world: its cosmology, its history, its magic. I’ll tell you three true things about me, and you tell me three true things about the world. That teaching you were so unenthused about,” I say with a smirk. “And I want it in detail! No mathematician answers.”

Bashe runs his hands through his hair and looks down with a grimace. “Even if you’re not lying, you’re still wrong about being from the Zero Sphere. But it’ll bug me if I don’t have a clear answer, so fine. Let’s make a deal.”

“Yay!” I cheer as I punch the air. “Can I get Azathoth’s attention for this, or do you have to do it?”

“I have to.” He rolls his shoulders, flicks his tail, and extends his hand toward me. “Azathoth, O Dreamweaver! I invoke the right of channeling that all imps are due. Bear witness to this contract and give it meaning. Hear our words and make them binding.”

Once more, I drown in a god’s embrace. I am nothing. I am everything. I feel her love and cold detachment. The world is the moment, her touch, and shallow breath.

Bashe wobbles, nearly buckles, but stays standing. His face grows taut and the hand not outstretched clenches into a fist. He speaks. “The contract is thus: three truths for three truths. I offer my body of knowledge, to be plumbed at the invoker’s leisure. Three questions I shall answer, truthfully and in detail, as chosen by the woman calling herself Malice.”

The unknowable voice of Azathoth whispers in my ear, and words not my own escape my lips: “I offer my personal history, to be plumbed at the channeler’s leisure. Three questions I shall answer, truthfully and in detail, as chosen by Bashekehi the Ever-Gleaming.”

The sensation of Azathoth’s presence tightens around my neck like a noose choking me, like a scarf keeping me warm. Cotton candy in my mouth, cloyingly sweet.

Bashekehi winces and shakes his head. “The bargain is struck, the contract etched. We are bound to truth, when demanded. It is complete.”

The pressure falls away from my shoulders, from my body, from my mind, but not from my neck. The world snaps back into focus, but I can still feel Azathoth’s hands wrapped around my throat. Not squeezing, not stopping me from breathing, just lingering there. Then, slowly, that fades too, but never quite to the point of true absence.

The incubus looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Tell me what you remember. Tell me where you’re from.”

The hands of a god caress my throat and the words come tumbling out. “I’m from, well, I guess you’d call it the Zero Sphere, but we just call it Earth, which is a dumb name because it’s actually mostly water but I guess we thought the dirt part was more important so whatever, and like I said it doesn’t have any real magic or gods or demons or whatever, well some people think there are gods and stuff but that’s just a mix of ancient superstition and a longing for community and also there’s some existential stuff in there about, like, meaning and shit, but the point is that we don’t have magic and things like faeries and incubi only exist in fiction! Also Azathoth is a fictional character where I’m from! Also also I’m from the specific part of Earth that we call California which is a horrible desert and I didn’t like being there so I moved to Washington which is a nice forest and has rain! Also also also–”

Bashe raises one hand to stop me and rubs his forehead with the other hand. “That’s enough, Malice.” The hands ease off. “Okay, so you have memories of an impossible world. That doesn’t mean you’re really from there, but I guess it means you’re not lying. About that at least.”

“My turn!” I insist. “I want to know everything about everything.”

“Be more specific. Also: walk and talk. I don’t want to be in this shithole any longer than I have to be.” He immediately makes for the open door to the antechamber without waiting for me to follow.

I bound after him and debate what I should ask. Cosmological data could help me analyze the setting as a whole, and starting early on any big cosmological mysteries might help me take major plot shortcuts. On the other hand, understanding the magic system should have immediate benefits and might actually contribute just as much to mystery-solving. And a part of me really wants to pester him about my name being apparently the same as an archdemon’s, but that seems like such a small thing to waste a third of my questions on.

“Magic,” I tell him. “I want to know about magic. There’s so much I’ve seen already but I feel like I’m just scratching the surface! How do spells work? Why does saying a spell’s name make it stronger? Are all spells limited-use or does it vary by spell, or does it vary by caster? Are spells naturally-occurring or were they created by someone? Were they created by Azathoth? What do those weird symbols in the diagram mean? Does every spell come with a text box? Is there a difference between faerie magic and imp magic? The faerie mentioned mana, how does mana work? Do you have a regenerating pool of mana or is there like a field of ambient mana you draw on? Does–”

“Please stop talking,” the incubus groans. He’s doing that expression again, one hand on his face and the other held up in front of me. “Gods and archdemons, please stop talking.”

We’re at the storeroom now, and he’s paused his search of the crates to whine at me. I flip my hair at him and harrumph. “I get a question! That was the deal, Bashe.”

“Three questions! That was way more than three, and–hold on, did you just call me Bashe?” Confusion breaks through his frustration for a brief moment.

“I like nicknames. I have a short attention span and long names are hard. I can come up with a different nickname if shortening your name like that is insulting, I don’t really know imp culture.” It wouldn’t do to be insensitive.

He blinks at me a few times, then shakes his head. “You know what? Whatever. I don’t care. That is the least of my worries, call me Bashe all you like. The point is: if I answer all those questions we will be talking for hours.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“I’m not! Pick one question and I will answer it.”

I stick my tongue out at him but Bashe returns to his looting without acknowledging my petty childishness, which really defeats the point of said petty childishness. I sigh and try to pick whatever question seems most immediately relevant. I want to ask what kinds of magic exist in this setting, because I crave categorization, but I don’t know if that loredump will actually help me in any meaningful way.

I need power. If I want to achieve any of my goals, I need power. And I want to understand that power, but I don’t know that I need to understand that power, at least in the short-term. The girl who got lost in books wants to dissect every facet of this magic system and compose a model for it, but the girl who lost her mother only cares about survival.

I clear my throat and ask my question. “The Huntsman had magic. He could shoot flaming arrows, bring down an inferno on a pack of monsters, and walk on water. The spell I bargained from him only had three uses, and now it only has two. I want better than that. I want spells that aren’t limited by the terms of a contract. How do I get magic of my own?”

Bashe picks up one of the hooded black cloaks and tries it on. “Big question. Are you asking how to get magic that is uniquely your own, or just magic that you can use indefinitely?”

I hesitate. What I want is the former, but all I really need right now is the latter. If my only goal is survival then I should pick the latter, but is that a trap of short-term thinking? Bah. The issue is that I don’t understand this magic system well enough to know if those two things are mutually exclusive. Is all unique magic finite? Is all indefinite magic non-unique?

Is uniqueness necessary to achieve my long-term goals? Is it pride, to want my magic to be special, to want to be special? I don’t even know the questions to ask to decide what questions to ask.

Fine. Shot in the dark. “Both. I want magic that is uniquely mine and indefinite.”

Bashe keeps rifling through crates as he answers, “Then you want to become a sorcerer, or more formally a ‘scion.’ There are five kinds of scion, so that means five ways to get the kind of magic you seem to want.”

Scion? That has fascinating connotations.

Bashe hoists one of the hiker backpacks, takes a long drink of water, and makes for the door. “Put simply, your options are to become an elf, a lich, a wizard, an exalted, or a demon. You should consider none of those to be realistic options, but there they are.”

Hunger burns in me, but I keep my questions focused. “That’s what I can become, but not how I become them.”

The incubus waves a hand as we return to the central chamber. “Getting to that.” He sighs. “You just had to pick the most complicated question possible, didn’t you? Do you have any idea how involved this topic is?”

“Obviously not, I’m a lethe drinker,” I say with a wonderfully smarmy expression on my face. “Now get to answering!” I’m a little annoyed he’s not spilling his guts like I was.

Bashe rolls his eyes before finally giving me an explanation. “Practically speaking, two of these are impossible: the Wolf Queen makes elves and the Lich Queen makes liches, and neither faerie queen is accessible from the Labyrinth.”

The Wolf Queen, that’s the one Eirdryd thought would like me. Given that he was a vicious prick, maybe I should be relieved I’m not likely to encounter her any time soon. Never say never, though.

“There is at least one dragon trapped in the Labyrinth, so you have an incredibly slim chance of becoming a wizard. You just have to find that dragon, impress it, and spend a good decade or two practicing martial arts, studying alchemy, and learning the draconic tongue until the dragon deems you worthy of rising to scion status.”

I blink. “Hold on, did you just say that wizards do martial arts in this world?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused. “Uh, yes? How else would they cast their spells?”

What? What. What? Okay, we are interrogating the fuck out of that at our earliest convenience. “Noted. Carry on.”

The incubus gives me a weird look but continues. “That leaves exalted and demons. Exalted are chosen by eidolons–ah, you don’t have the context for that so just think of them as minor gods, I guess–to serve as their champions. They go out on quests, perform great deeds, protect communities, all that kind of thing. They’re heroes, essentially, and their heroic qualities are why they get chosen. They swear oaths to embody the virtues of the eidolon, and are empowered to act on those virtues.”

So a codification of the conventional heroic role. “And demons?”

Bashe grimaces. “The opposite. Demons are chosen by dark entities called geists to become monstrous paragons of will and want. They make bloody covenant, and only those who are willing to kill to get stronger are chosen to become demons. You can’t seek out a geist like you can an eidolon; it has to find you. Some of the greatest massacres in history were perpetuated by those hoping to draw the attention of a geist.”

I can feel the hunger rising in me, getting stronger, more irresistible. Demon. Is that what I want to become? I can’t deny the allure of the idea; two paths are blocked to me, and wizardry sounds like a lot more exercise than I’m willing to put up with, so that really only leaves becoming an exalted or a demon.

I should want to be chosen by an eidolon. If this is an isekai story, shouldn’t I try to be the Hero? A great journey, quests and deeds, all the hallmarks of a classic fantasy tale. It would be the morally correct path, from what Bashe tells me. It’s the right decision, if I care about right and wrong.

Big if.

The incubus watches me, and I’m sure he can see at least a trace of the desire I feel. I smile at him and show my teeth. I tell him, “Thank you, Bashekehi, that is an excellent start. The next question is yours.”

He gives me another long, searching glance, then points down at the pool of dried blood. “How did you kill the sin eater without taking any injuries, and why were you screaming? In detail.”

The gentle pressure on my throat returns and I wince. “Yeah, no, I definitely did not clear that fight unharmed.” I seem to have more control over the pace this time, but I don’t try to push my luck. “I stabbed the thing, it broke one of my ribs, I stabbed it a bunch more times, it slowed down, I stabbed it in the eye and burned its brain with [Ashthorn]”–the dagger bursts into flames–”and it shattered my leg into a mangled mess of flesh and bone. Then I drank a healing potion and got better.” The pressure retracts.

Bashe stares at me. I dismiss the flaming dagger. He keeps staring.

“Bashe? Did I say another ludicrous thing that shouldn’t be possible but has just been confirmed to definitely be true because of the contract we made?”

Bashe blinks and scrunches up his face, then forces a very strained smile. “No, no, I’m clearly just misunderstanding. It sounded like you said the sin eater shattered your leg and you drank a potion that healed your shattered leg in seconds.”

“That’s correct,” I confirm.

Bashe bundles up part of his cloak, raises it to his face, and screams into it.