Anya opened her eyes. Or at least, it felt like she did. Not like she had them at the moment, anyway. She was standing— No, floating— in some sort of container. She screamed silently, throwing herself at the cylindrical glass walls, but nothing budged.

“Your soul is like a storm, young one. Try to keep it calm before you tear yourself asunder.” A croaky voice caught her attention. Anya swivelled around, coming face to face with an old woman.

If she had nerves, she would’ve flinched out of her skin right there and then. ‘Grotesque’ was a compliment to the person before her. Hell, it was probably even a stretch to call this thing a ‘person’.

For one, the woman’s face was missing an eyeball while the skin around her eye socket sagged so low, it could have been mistaken for a tumour. And for another, the other half of her face was missing its skin, leaving raw, yellowish flesh exposed to the light in all its full glory.

All in all, she was one ugly old hag.

“Calm?” Anya yelled back to steel herself. “How can you expect me to be calm when I’m missing my whole body? Who are you? What is happening?”

The old woman lifted a finger and shook her head slowly.

“Confusion… Hmm, yes. There is plenty of that. But that is not what plagues your soul,” she said cryptically. “You seethe with guilt, regret, and… love. Yes, so much love and… pain. Be careful, girl. You might just become a ghost if you keep carrying this burden.”

Anya swirled around restlessly again. She was in no mood to listen to some disfigured woman play therapist. She needed answers, and she needed them now.

“Baba Jadwiga, right? You’re the true Baba Yaga.” Anya decided to reveal her hand early, hoping to draw out a response from the old witch. “Does it bother you that your disciple is rotting in an asylum in your place?”

The old lady shifted her body. It wasn’t as obvious without a proper facial expression to read from, but Anya could tell that she was surprised.

“Hmm, you wish to gain my secrets by losing your secrecy. Clever girl,” she said. “Not many people are as bold as you are. Very well, your wish shall be granted.”

Anya stopped swirling.

“You are right, dear child. I am indeed, as what many people have learnt to call me, Baba Yaga. It is I who have been tracking your husband’s movements, and it is I who have sundered your soul from your body. That is all you need to know.”

“H-husband?” Anya sputtered. “He’s not-”

“Patience is a virtue you have yet to possess, Daughter of Mikhail.” Baba Yaga raised a wrinkled hand. “I read only what is imprinted on your soul. You may not have considered the Stonekeeper your partner, but your soul has already accepted him as its mate. Unveil the illusion of his imperfections in your mortal eyes, and see him for who he really is.”

Anya would have rolled her eyes, if she had any. For a seven thousand-year-old witch, this lady was certainly a huge busybody.

“What are you after?” She quickly regained her composure. “Are you the Ghost Of Glasgow?”

“There is no need to be hostile; I mean you no harm. I am not who you seek.” Baba Yaga turned around to show her a container with a pulsating green brain in it. “I am on your side, and all I have done is keep all of you safe.”

“You were that dark figure…” Anya whispered in realisation. “It was you who plucked out that Dryad’s bud. It was you who ripped my soul from my body.”

Her attention shifted to the glowing rifle mounted on a nearby shelf as well as some dark mass swirling in a container beside it. “You were also the one who shot Lucy Carpenter and took her memories. Why?”

“You have always sought to see what you have not seen, know what you should not know.” The witch walked wearily back to her circular table. “It has served you well thus far, but knowledge chooses when to extract its toll.”

“I asked a simple question.” Anya was growing tired of her crypticness.

Baba Yaga’s eye flitted around for a moment. “I have sheltered all of you before she could claim your lives. That is all you need to know.”

Stolen novel; please report.

“You know the Ghost Of Glasgow’s intentions? How are you related to her?”

“Ask no more, girl. You cannot bear the weight of such knowledge. This is for your own good.”

“That’s the problem with you self-assuming immortals! You always assume you know what’s best for everyone else. You never ask us what we want!” Anya yelled. “You said you did this to keep me safe, but for how long? How much longer must I remain a disembodied spirit? Return me to my body!”

Baba Yaga remained silent for a moment, musing at the crystal ball on her table.

“You understand not how it feels to watch those closest to you suffer. I cannot bring another innocent soul into this mess again,” she muttered. “I must atone for my mistakes alone. This eternal war of attrition is the only way I can stop her.”

“Natasha The Dark. That is your disciple, am I right? You can act all mysterious if you want, but I know the truth,” Anya argued defiantly. “Baba Yaga, pomogi mne. Natasha cried out to you for help in the asylum. The fables say that she fled your house. But she really didn’t, did she? You took her in and taught her magic. Is that why you chose a life of self-imposed exile? The reason she’s in the asylum is because of you?”

The witch trembled slightly. “I only exchanged our identities to keep her safe. Better to live forever in a prison than die facing the dangers outside. The Ghost Of Glasgow only existed because of my actions, and I have chosen penance forever.”

“Again with pushing others away. You’re just like Jonathan. Are we mortals so beneath you that we can do nothing to help? As much as you think this is your fault for whatever reason, this concerns me too.”

“Wrong, girl!” Baba Yaga raised her voice without warning. “It is not you whom she is after. It is your husband! It was he who reignited her blackened heart!”

Anya fell silent. The witch faltered, stumbling back as though she could take back the words that just escaped her mouth.

“So Jonathan really is the key,” Anya said slowly, her brain working to piece all the information together. “And you must have done something to the Ghost Of Glasgow which set her on this bloodied path, didn’t you?”

Baba Yaga kept her silence. Anya took it as a yes.

“Natasha was deathly afraid of Lucy at the asylum. Is that why you shot her with a memory-erasing bullet?” Anya continued to muse. “Lucy knows something too, doesn’t she? You knew somehow that Jonathan’s investigations would lead Lucy to your disciple.”

Her gaze fell to the crystal ball. “You divined it?”

The world spun around Anya as Baba Yaga seized the jar, staring at her soul intently. Panic gripped Anya. If that witch so much as dropped the jar, her soul would dissipate and she would cease to be. Anya trembled slightly; she had never felt so vulnerable before.

There was a soft clink of glass on wood as the witch placed the jar gently on her table. White light danced around her fingertips, flowing onto the wood. With a swish of her wrist, another crystal ball materialised in place of the previous one.

“Well played, Anya Sechina.” She gazed intently into the crystal ball. “I have gazed countless times into this sphere, and not once has my fate wavered. I wonder… are you the one to break my vow of solitude as it has foretold?”

~ ~ ~

The door flew open, and Jonathan practically flew into the house. It wasn’t turned upside down, which at least meant that no one had broken into the house. Although Lucy was a powerful vampire, there was no guarantee she could protect herself, what with her amnesia and all.

Sparks fizzled in his eyes as he focused his magical lightning, opening up his third eye and attuning it to Lucy’s vampiric essence. Sure enough, a visible dark path trailed out of the open window— which Jonathan had only just noticed— and onto the streets below. He dashed out of the door.

Jonathan slowed down the moment he reached the ground floor and forced himself to walk briskly along the pavement. He kept his third eye open, conspicuously squeezing along with half of London. The peak hour crowd pouring from the very nearby subway was merciless, among other things.

Fortunately, the trail ended quickly as Jonathan turned into yet another dodgy alleyway. It was significantly darker here, especially with the tall concrete buildings obscuring most of the light from the setting sun. But there was no doubt where he was.

Jonathan pushed the doors open and flinched as a wall of sound slammed into him, flanked by a freezing blast of air-conditioning. Unlike the quiet alleyway, the club was alive with music and ladies in heels sharp enough to use as weapons. To make things worse, it was very conveniently situated right under a love hotel.

The man kept to himself, following the flow of the crowd so that he wouldn’t get picked off by some random drunk lady.

“Oi, look at that chick over there; she’s so fit! Let’s go dance with her.” A slurred voice drifted to his ears. Jonathan’s gaze shot to the group of ogling boys immediately.

“Don’t be daft, mate. I’m bloody trolleyed now.” One of the boys stumbled, holding a table to support himself. “I’m not embarrassing myself in front of her.”

“Bloody hell, look at her moves.” Another boy stared lustfully. “Hey… she looks kinda mature. Bet she can teach me a thing or two in bed, eh?”

“Ah sod off, mommy issues.”

“You’re gawking too, ain’t ya? Wanker.”

Jonathan looked around. Those boys weren’t the only ones staring at the dance floor. People, mostly men, had their eyes glued onto the figure dancing sensually in the middle of the club. It wasn’t hard to make out who she was, especially when even the DJ had decided to literally shine the spotlight on her.

He pushed his way through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor, heading straight towards Lucy Carpenter.