Janaxia squirmed uncomfortably, trying not to clasp her hands together. Her palms were searing with pain from being punished, red welts just shy of breaking the skin. She kept her eyes downwards, not wishing to attract any more attention, or pain, her view limited to the polished stone floor, edges of a spell circle peeking out from beneath the antique rug. Although it was in dire need of cleaning and repair, the once-vivid reds and blues having faded to tinted grey, the material tattered and threadbare.

Her mother’s shoes stepped into view, her wand still glowing with the baleful energy that had lashed Janaxia’s hands. Janaxia didn’t dare look up or speak, keeping her hands crossed in front of herself, trying not to clasp too tightly, knowing it would simply result in more pain.

‘Janaxia.’

There was a pause, before Janaxia filled the silence, hoping it wouldn’t earn her suffering. ‘Yes, Mother?’

The wand twitched, Janaxia forcing herself to not flinch. That would definitely earn punishment, or the destruction of more of her few hard-won possessions that weren’t tattered mage robes and other dreary items.

‘It seems your magical studies have stalled again. After your progress at Redcastle, I was hopeful that you would continue to advance your studies. But you have, once again, failed to live up to my expectations.’ The wand came up and Janaxia shrank in on herself, not daring to move or defend herself. But there was no agonising, searing flare of pain, instead just the sudden grip of a hand on her chin, forcing her to look up.

She found herself looking into her mother’s eyes, barely suppressing a whimper. The grip on her chin was tight, bony fingers hard against her flesh, and she swallowed nervously, hoping that those fingers wouldn’t shift to her throat and start to squeeze again until the world turned black. ‘Fortunately for you, I have another task, one more suited to your skills, scant though they are.’

Hope mingled with fear – would she be offered a chance to redeem herself, or was this to be a death sentence, sent to deal with some monster that would simply kill her? The eyes continued to stare at her, swallowing all of her vision, as she tried not to show signs of panic. The hand released her chin, coming up to touch her cheek. She flinched, expecting a slap, but instead the hand traced up her face, twisting it to look at her features.

‘Yes, you should present sufficient enticement, I believe.’ The grip was tight enough that Janaxia had no choice but to allow herself to be moved around. ‘I have need of allies of the lower sort, and someone to keep an eye on them. Perhaps those vulgar interests of yours can finally be put to some use.’

A magical force scrubbed at her lips, harshly cleaning off the remnants of lipstick.

‘Such a disappointment. Such things are scarcely becoming of our blood, are they?’

The fingers squeezed, making it clear this was a question Janaxia was expected to answer. ‘No, High Necromancer Poratia Uth Tremari.’ The fingers squeezed harder, making it clear she hadn’t said enough, or hadn’t said the right thing. ‘I apologise, I will be more diligent in future.’ The force scrubbed against her lips again, even more harshly, until she tasted blood.

‘For once, your vulgar tendencies may be of use to me. A previous… acquaintance of yours needs to be persuaded to a certain course of action. One of the Khem siblings, who you seemed overly attached to when last you met.’

Janaxia kept her expression blank, swallowing the blood from her lips. ‘We met in Redcastle.’

‘Indeed. And it seems that fate has favoured the Khem syndicate, they have managed to secure themselves in a number of highly profitable trades. A certain amount of trouble with the authorities, of course, but thus far, they have proven themselves quite adaptable to circumstances.’

The hand released her, eyes looking away, Janaxia glad to let her own eyes drop back to the ground, sweat starting to bead into her rough clothing, eyes watering.

‘I have arranged a meeting to discuss the matter. You will convey the wishes of the family and see the matter through to fruition. If successful, I shall overlook your persistent failures to achieve the potential of your blood, at least this time. If you fail, then, well, I’m sure something more permanent will have to be arranged.’ The wand flicked, a gentle tap, Janaxia flinching despite the lack of impact as it cut only air. ‘Now, you will need to liaise with them in order to facilitate the theft of the Unread Tome. It was stolen from us by Evonaria the Bonesmith and those miserable upstarts of the Boronime family decades ago but shall now be returned to its rightful owners. Further details are in your chambers, I shall leave the more minor details to yourself. Along with another spellbook – to see if you are capable of learning anything but the simplest of powers.’

Janaxia gave a slight bow and declination of her head, showing her submission. ‘Yes, High Necromancer Poratia Uth Tremari. I shall fulfil your wishes.’

‘See that you do, Janaxia. You have rarely been anything other than a disappointment, but I find my patience stretched thin of late due to your litany of inadequacies. Repeated failure will not be tolerated. I’m sure I can find some wealthy merchant willing to accept an alliance to old blood sealed with your body, and your spirit has never been anything so impressive that it requires preservation. Should it be needed, your will can be snuffed out and your body made into nothing more than an ornament for someone to slake himself upon. I do trust that will focus your thoughts appropriately?’

‘Yes, High Necromancer. I will not fail you.’

‘See that you don’t. You are dismissed. And do close the door behind you – I need to have a lengthy discussion with Kivata about her most recent failures. It would be a shame to distract the rest of the household from their work.’

Janaxia heard Kivata whimper, already bracing herself for pain. As quickly as possible, just shy of running away, still not raising her eyes, Janaxia turned and left, making sure to securely shut the heavy door behind herself, barely in time before Kivata’s first cry of pain.

She headed back to her room, as she felt a thud through the floor – probably Kivata’s body falling to the ground, either to protect herself, or held in a paralysis spell and unable to defend herself at all.

Janaxia shivered as she walked through the hallways, wrapping her robes more tightly about herself – Redcastle had been far preferable; hotter and drier, rather than the clinging, marshy dampness of Saltstone, the heavy sea mists seeping into everything, ruining even tough fabrics. Even when inside, everything was slightly moist and slick, the servants fighting an endless battle against mould and rot. A vague shape swirled in the darkness, two red dots amidst the shadows, spiralling around with a torso forming beneath. Janaxia looked behind herself – she was too far from a junction to possibly retreat, as the shape moved close, flowing over her, soft voice hissing into her ear.

‘In trouble again? I can make all that go away. Just a little bit of cutting, and then you won’t have anything to worry about.’

The eye-lights were right next to her face, glaring and distracting, as Janaxia waved her hand through the shadowy body, wishing she had sufficient magical power to destroy the wretched thing, or at least drive it off.

‘My apologies, great-aunt Ranaria, but I have business to be about.’ She quickened her pace, despite knowing that the spirit could flow along far faster than she could run, never mind walk. The eyes easily kept pace with her, burning that same baleful red.

‘And do you think you will succeed? Your mother’s patience grows thin, and soon that pretty head of yours will be emptied out, your body sold off to secure an alliance. Let me in, and some element of you will exist. And it’s been so long since I had flesh – such delights I desire, more than you can imagine! Although I imagine that grandfather Kinnevar’s diary may have jaded your tastes somewhat.’

Ranaria always was bitter that she, who had lived only two generations removed from Kinnevar, had never been more than an annoyance in his eyes. That she, Janaxia, had been blessed with his diary, Ranaria took as a slight, despite perpetually hovering over Janaxia’s shoulder whenever she was reading it. Which made it significantly less pleasurable, all told.

‘We have discussed this, aunt Ranaria. While I am thankful for the advice you have furnished, I have no desire to grant you my body.’

The shadow seethed and hissed before speaking, voice as cold and sweet-soft as ever. ‘Your time grow short, young Janaxia. You lack the skills your mother demands, and she is swift to discard that which has no purpose. If it were not for the teachings gleamed from Kinnevar, you would be a sweet little bride already. But if you were to allow me your body, then you would live… after a fashion.’

Janaxia reached the door to her room and opened it, slamming it into the spirit’s face. Not that it achieved much, the shadow simply fading through the door again, crimson eyes blinking into existence again. As promised, there was a thin sheaf of papers on the desk, along with a travelling spellbook. This was thickly reinforced and bound with sturdy leather, with a harness to attach onto a belt, to ensure it was never far from reach, despite being dreadfully uncomfortable, not to mention unfashionable.

But before getting to that, she checked that her secrets hadn’t been discovered in her absence – in the wardrobe, behind a false panel, was a soft bundle. It hurt, almost physically, to have to roll the fine silks into a bundle, but it they were discovered, then Mother would likely destroy them, or, worse, force Janaxia to slice them apart herself, piece by piece. Creating an acceptable ensemble had been quite a task, having to trade and barter like a common merchant, finding the few traders here that traded in fineries, stealing out with petty trinkets from the basements to offer as trade. But it had been worth it.

Even touching it bought a smile to her face, the fabric a promise of what she would be, as soon as she could be free of this place. And Kinnevar’s diary as well, her other treasure. Ranaria reached out to touch it, shadowy hand passing through with an annoyed hiss. Despite having been dead for centuries, Ranaria did occasionally forget that she didn’t have a body anymore, and so could only interact with the mortal world if granted a host body, something that Janaxia had no intention of doing. It was entirely likely that any ‘temporary’ borrowing of her frame would become permanent, the wraith snuffing Janaxia’s will out like a candle.

Ranaria hovered in the air. ‘Could you read the section where he saves the dragon lady again? I like that part. Especially what they do afterwards!’

It was one of Janaxia’s favourites as well (not only saving, but then wooing a dragon! So dashing and romantic!), but she was in no mode for favours at the moment, as she hid her treasures again, before turning to the papers. Warding spells blinked into life as she moved closer, despite the paper having being conveyed from Mother’s study to here, and there being no outsiders in the house other than the servants, who were unlikely to be spies, after having seen Mother make an earlier, and very pointed, example. Janaxia shuddered – she had been forced to watch. The screams had been quite loud, and she hadn’t been able to wash the blood out of her shoes. The unfortunate victim had served as an object lesson in both the amount of suffering someone could endure, and what could be done with the body afterwards. The body still appeared sometimes, shambling about in a guarding route, still wearing the tattered and bloody clothing they had been killed in.

It would be a delight to see Anef again – along with speaking to Kinnevar, he and his sister had made her stay in Redcastle something close to pleasurable. His style, his grace, the delicate interplay between his rough thuggery and elegant outfits and speech, and, of course, his equally charming sister. And both had seemed equally delighted by her charms, although sadly had been rather reticent about the matter of all entertaining each other. Still, the thoughts of his arms wrapping around her, squeezing her tightly… She coughed, forcing herself to pay attention before getting caught up in memories.

Evonaria the Bonesmith was, or had been, (tenses could sometimes get confused when death was more a change of state than a final farewell) a distant relative, which was likely how she had absconded with certain family items and secrets. One such of these was a spellbook, written in some incomprehensible language, said to contain ancient secrets. It appeared that the Khem siblings were now expanding their operations into robbery-for-hire, and Mother had undertaken initial communications to broach an understanding. Janaxia was to be the liaison and also accompany them on site to aid with her magical knowledge. And hopefully not die!

Ranaria hovered up past her, the sudden sound of metal against wood, before a knife fell from a high shelf, point falling towards Janaxia. She snatched her hand back, the knife embedding itself point-first into the desk. Ranaria tutted. ‘Accept that you’re worthless and let me have your body! You scarcely use it. I was always ill-favoured of face, but you should be out there enjoying all the pleasures of the world.’

Janaxia tried shooing her away, hand passing through the ghostly shape. ‘Yes, I would very much like to. Unfortunately, I have had little occasion to leave this accursed place of late. Although it will be pleasant to see Anef again.’

This Anef, you’ve talked about him before, haven’t you? Wait, was he the one from Redcastle?’ The red glow of her eyes brightened. ‘Please let me come! I want to see him. Someone nice-looking, rather than the servants and your brothers. Ugly, plain and related.’ Nearby dust started to shift, as Ranaria got more excited. ‘Let me have your body, just to see him.’

Janaxia sighed, wishing she could construct a circle of warding or shoot more than the most pitiful blast of magical energy, to get Ranaria to leave. Unfortunately, such things were beyond her, and so she was cursed with the spectre’s presence and occasional murder attempts. Getting the knife up there must have taken days of work, her ethereal form ill-suited to anything physical, and would have been hard-pressed to inflict a fatal wound to boot.

‘If you agree to be well-behaved, then I will take you, it may be useful to have another ally. But please don’t show yourself unless requested – those outside of this place take ill to such things.’

‘Yes, yes, just let me see Anef. I’m sure you’ve exaggerated, but he sounds very attractive! You’ll have to let him take you, if you get the chance.’ If she had been alive, she would have been panting and drooling, red eyes gleaming far too brightly.

Hopefully Anef would be as receptive to her charms as before. She read the rest of the notes – the usual threats if she were to fail in her task, some warnings about the potential of traps and guardians and suchlike. Of more immediate concern was the meeting place; the Broken Crown, a disreputable tavern several towns away, which she had previously been expressly prohibited from approaching, never mind entering. Well, this promised to be entertaining as well as educational!

She looked through the few pieces of jewellery and ornamentation she was allowed, applying her makeup, wincing as she reddened her lips, still sore from being cleaned by Mother. But for a task such as this, she would have to look her best, surely? With a guilty air, she unrolled the dress, putting it on, luxuriating in the feel of it against her skin, so soft and smooth. She shivered with anticipation, tweaking and fussing the material into place, feeling her confidence swell. The only mirror she had, the only one she was allowed, was cracked and mazed, splintering her form into at least a dozen reflections, all from slightly different angles. But she looked at herself there, making sure the silk was tight about her hips and chest, looser about the legs – it did look good on her, didn’t it?

A silver mesh choker, covered in black lace, went around her neck, and she tilted her head. Yes, it suited her, accentuating her slender neck. A greater choice of other jewellery would be nice, but she would have to endure with what she had – this piece had been scavenged from an abandoned room Kivata had locked her into, it taking several days to escape. And her shoes, saggy things of leather and cloth, were decidedly unfashionable, but she had nothing else she could wear. Perhaps Anef would be able to supply alternatives? He certainly seemed likely to know people that could acquire the latest fashions.

As she dressed, Ranaria buzzed and wisped around her, offering encouragement both to her fashion, and encouragements to suicide, or at least to allowing herself to be possessed. When Janaxia was done, she looked at her usual robe – dull black, worn and patched – with disfavour. She shrugged it on over the top of her dress, skin crawling where it touched her, fabric rough and dirty,s stained with blood and alchemical reagents. The book she attached to her belt – it dragged at her, unbalancing her gait, but it might contain something of use, even if every other spellbook she had ever seen had been incomprehensible.

Ranaria continued to fuss and fluster, until Janaxia fetched her soul crystal, a rather ostentatious ruby set into a golden bracelet. ‘You may accompany me, but only if you promise to behave. Otherwise, I shall drop you into the ocean, do you understand? I don’t want to hear any commentary unless specifically requested.’

‘Oh, of course, Janaxia, dear. But please to take care – if you die, do please try and do so in a fashion that leaves your body intact, I would like to have some fun with it before it rots, and that can’t happen if the face and torso are destroyed.’

Janaxia tapped the bracelet, and Ranaria flowed into it, the ruby darkening. Then she made sure her outfit was fully concealed, drew the hood up, and departed, hoping to evade any of her family in the cold halls.