Night had fallen when Terry decided to make her move.

Though Countess Limnaia acted just a little colder than before, she'd provided Terry with a room and mattress of her own. I'll stay close to Lord Audren tonight, she'd said. He's an old acquaintance and his state should continue to be monitored. That sounded fair and likely couldn't hurt for now. Besides, if the the countess fussed over Audren, she wouldn't interfere with Terry's business. The mage had simply nodded upon hearing those words, accepted a tankard of mead the countess she'd been offered out of politeness and had retreated to the room she'd been assigned.

She intended to neither drink nor sleep.

Seated on her mattress in the dark, rain pattering on the roof of the building, Terry took out Credi's note, which the countess thankfully hadn't reclaimed. In spite of her apparent loss of faith in the necromancer, she must've seen some benefit in letting her hold on to it. And there were such benefits, though Terry understood which ones, while the countess was evidently clueless about magic beyond what Credi had told her about his own work. What mattered about the note, Terry knew, wasn't what was written on it. It was the fact that it was connected to Credi.

That meant she could use it to contact him in the spirit world. Something the countess hadn't been aware of, or she'd probably have demanded Terry do so right away. Fortunately, most people heard necromancy and only associated it with raising the dead or manipulating spirits in the realm of the living. Talking to ghosts in their own world was, however, an option. But she didn't need anyone but herself to be involved.

The first thing she did was whisper a spell, one to summon an object from the Cloud. It landed in the palm of her hand, tiny and made of mountain gold; her late mother's wedding ring, one that had cost her father a small fortune decades ago. While Credi's note served as her connection to his corner of the spirit world, the ring would be her connection to home. Without it, her soul would wander the shadowy spirit realm forever, lost and unable to return to her body. She slipped the ring around her finger, readied herself mentally.

Then, she closed her eyes, concentrated, and whispered another spell.

Risks aside, it was surprisingly easy to enter the spirit world, she thought as the light feeling of her consciousness detaching itself from her body coursed through her. It all came down to magic and the proper connections. The real difficulty and danger didn't lie in the transportation of her soul to one realm or the other. It laid in the encounters with the spirits themselves.

After a few moments of total darkness, Terry's soul woke up in the spirit world.

She glanced at the ring around her translucent finger, just to make sure it was there, and took a moment to get her senses adjusted to the place she found herself in. There were no sounds and no smells at all; from experience, she knew she wouldn't feel anything she touched, and as for taste... Well, food didn't exist in this realm, but she was willing to bet it wouldn't taste like anything if it did. It was as if someone had wrapped her into a tight blanket, dulling and numbing all she perceived.

Her vision was the same: she couldn't focus on anything in particular and everything she saw looked vaguely blurry. The perpetual shadows everywhere didn't help either. But not too far away from her, she could make out the shape of a tower. Credi's tower.

She started on her way towards it, cutting right through the foggy shadows the spirit world seemed to be made of. The tower was a mirror image of the one Credi had lived in. Terry had seen it before, while doing an apprenticeship in magical maintenance in Santon; she'd figured a second qualification on her non-existent diploma would be useful. She'd never felt compelled to visit the man, for she'd only seen him at the Institute occasionally and had no reason at all to want to get to know him better. But his tower stood out and she'd gotten familiar with the sight of it during those few months spent in the city.

When she reached the entrance, she found a heavy wooden door.

Open.

Without hesitating, she stepped inside and began trekking up the spiralling stairs.

One benefit of the spirit world was that she couldn't feel the ache in her legs as she climbed, couldn't feel shortness of breath. Reaching the tower's top floor would take no effort whatsoever. But it was a tedious experience, smothered in silence, and lonely, so lonely; a sense of isolation oozed from the elusive dimension of spirits at all times.

The vast realm had no boundaries, stretching on and on and on, and when a soul entered it after death, the shadows around them would reshape themselves to correspond with the person's life, experiences, feelings. It would turn into the shadow of a place as it existed, or had once existed, in the realm of the living, just like the spirit within, who'd spend an indefinite amount of time in this cell of memories, nothing but an echo of the person they used to be.

Life, Terry knew, with all its troubles and hardships, would always be better than this hollow copy.

The closer she got to the top floor, the more she became aware of sound, muffled and distant as was common in this world, a rapid mumbling of some kind. Credi, undoubtedly. Once she'd conquered the last part of the staircase, she found him in a large room, filled with the shades of his bookshelves and knick-knacks he could no longer interact with in any meaningful way. Terry observed the older mage as he paced around the room, frantically mumbling to himself, running his hands through wispy hair.

She couldn't get a clear look at his face, but that wasn't important. All she needed was information. She lingered by the doorstep, watching the spectre like a hawk; he didn't seem to be aware of her presence and she liked it that way. Ideally, she'd only make him half-aware of her presence, which required a subtle approach.

"Master Credi," she spoke softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, but still clear in the silence, "you've cursed humanity. That curse must be broken. How?"

No introductions, no mentions of his death, no beating around the bush and no information given other than the bare minimum. The safest way to deal with the dead. She'd do her best to blend in like a shapeshifter, become nothing but a voice in Credi's head. Spirits weren't the most observant and, if she was lucky, she could converse with this one without him finding out she'd ever been there. If he did see her, it only put her at risk.

"Musn't tell," she heard Credi mumble, still pacing fast and not paying attention at all. "Musn't tell. That's the point. They have to find out for themselves. That's the point."

Always prone to repetition, spirits. Terry frowned. If Credi was adamant on not telling, she could ask again, goading and pressing until he satisfied her with an answer. But that plan had its downsides: he could fully notice her and grow aggressive, which only placed the answer she sought further out of reach.

Terry switched to a different strategy. He wouldn't tell her how to break the curse, but perhaps he would divulge his motives.

"But why did you do it?" she tried. "Why cast the curse?"

A low, frustrated growl escaped from the spectre's throat. Terry couldn't avoid startling, hoping it didn't draw too much unwanted attention to herself.

"Corruption," Credi spat, "corruption and ruthlessness, hostility and deceit. All I've known and seen. Tried to change it for the better. Naive. Beyond saving, every last one. Even she. But I believed in her, I did. Mistake."

Spirits were a pain to listen to, with their short, jerky sentences. Credi's words, though, made Terry feel deeply unsettled. "Countess Limnaia?" she asked, discomfort rising. As the Countess had stated, Credi had been hopeful about her as a proper ruler, one capable of restoring order and rest to a rotting society. If he had changed his mind...

None of this was good news.

"The most wicked of all." Credi sped up his pace, his spectral hands and body starting to tremble with rage. "Led us to believe she was doing good, yes, yes. Fooled us all. Claimed to speak to her people incognito. Dressed like a commoner. To discover what was on their minds. Find out what she could do to help them. Admirable, so admirable."

He paused, breaking out into what Terry could only describe as a ghastly laugh, entirely humourless. It grated against her ears.

"Lies, lies," Credi continued, voice only growing louder as anger consumed him. He had died that way, angry at the world he'd lived in, and carried the sentiment with him to his afterlife. "Together with a servant, she would leave at night. But no rumours. No mentions at all of a countess mingling with commoners. Suspicious. One night, I followed. Saw the truth."

"Which is?"

"They'd pose as beggars. Visit people living in the outskirts of the city, peasants in the countryside. Try to be welcomed in for a meal and a place to sleep. Lies, all lies. They'd mislead and kill and torture. Cruel, sick, twisted, yes, senseless violence against the innocent..."

Terry's blood ran cold. If Credi spoke the truth, Countess Limnaia of Santonshire wasn't as good and helpful as she claimed to be at all, but a serial killer. How much of what she'd said and done could be a facade, hiding her true nature? Anyone could be cruel and bloodthirsty, the nobility posing no exception. But how well had the woman's upbringing rendered her capable of masking who she really was? Could she have spent years of her life cultivating the persona of a beloved and benevolent ruler, all to cover up horrible crimes?

And Credi... had discovering the truth about the one person he'd put his faith in to change things for the better been the last push he needed? Had it been what finally shoved him over the edge, led him to madness and the plan to curse humanity before he ended his life?

Terry's mind worked restlessly as she reconsidered every interaction she'd had with the countess. The wraiths, the medication, the harsh expression after she'd asked about Credi's motives, her subtle change in demeanor after Terry had misled her and claimed to be less useful than she actually was. Puzzle pieces started to fall into place. The more she thought about it, the more sense Credi's words made.

She began to suspect the end of the world hadn't put an end to Limnaia's cruelty and realised she'd left Lord Audren in the care of a madwoman.

Credi wasn't finished yet. "In what world," he boomed, voice echoing, "should kindness and hospitality be punished so harshly?"

He swiveled around and looked directly at the necromancer intruding in his home.

Terry took an instinctive step back. She had to end this now, go back and deal with the situation at hand in her own world. This world was turning too dangerous for her liking. Aware of her presence, Credi's eyes drifted to the ring around her finger, her connection to the realm of the living. Like any other spirit, he'd be drawn to it, would try to take it, and the last thing Terry wanted was to release him in the already-haunted Malodell.

The ghost snarled at her and lunged, but she was faster. Simply concentrating and touching the ring was enough to send her soul on its way back home.

Back to a place where a murderess awaited.