Bellissima sat on the table. “Yank his head upright. This isn’t the way to get a boyfriend, y’know; they need to be conscious.”

  “And sober. Yeah. I know.” Jacinta glared at her. She complied, held his head in-place, waiting, fingers pressed against his scalp, the sides of his head. He had soft, silky hair; her nails curled slightly into his skin, waiting, watching. He was asleep. Deep asleep.

  Shit…this wasn’t the plan.

  Jacinta tried to swallow the sudden malaise in her stomach. God, God, forgive her—

  She was wiping his memory without his approval—not that there ever would be some. She had endless possibilities here; to change the nature of his being, himself—to tug away at threads of his personality, motivations, memories.

  To forget was to lose. She could have him wake and not be Silas anymore…

  But he’d die, like so many—driven to deep, impossible loss. Or regain the memories. Or live on, slightly hollow. Or be happy.

  But he’d never be the same.

  She didn’t mess with mental magic for a reason. This, this—

  “Hold tighter!” Belladonna snapped. Jacinta adjusted, sighed. Her fingers twitched. She didn’t let go.

  One man’s memory of one day, or the fate of an entire community. She had to sacrifice.

  Bellissima reached beneath the table, pulling out a thick grimoire, Stregheria Vecchia engraved in the cover. “Hold tight and don’t let go, unless you want him to forget who he is.”

  Jacinta nodded, pressed her nails deeper. Bellissima flung the book open, traced a long, red nail across a page, and twisted forward, leaning over the table, into him. She exhaled, inhaled—drew closer, closer, skin against skin, nose to forehead, lashes to skull. She whispered something into him and shut her eyes, searching the canvas of his face with her hands, tracing nails across him.

  Her eyes went crystalline. She opened them and held still, unblinking—Jacinta saw inverted memories play back from his point of view. The way he had to look just slightly down to face her. The way he stared at the magic, the architecture, the world—

  She couldn’t let it stay.

  Bellissima gasped, cursed—she wiped his forehead, then returned, dipping down against him once more. Her pupils were gone, just the dark iris instead, reflecting a mesh of memories—different street signs, all wrong, a dyslexic jumble. Manhattan, Soho, Queens—even out to Jersey City. A subway ride going in three—

  The biscotti had turned into a brownie, a cookie, a croissant; the store, a replay of a trip he had to Buckstar—only the biggest coffeeshop chain in the country.

  Italian American iconography, scrubbed. Instead, an eclectic mesh, drawing from other Underlands he’d been in. Floating stairs, moving bricks, living graffiti; magic-made fake designer products, drugs, nightclubs; organized crime, theft, potions, temples, all, all, all there. It slowed, stopped—and she pulled away, shoulders rolling, head raised, eyes forward. A few blinks, and Belladonna was done. Awake. Albeit tired; Jacinta saw the lowered eyelids, the lean forward, the heavier breaths.

  But Silas remained asleep.

  “Do I let go?” Jacinta asked, shuddering.

  “Hold it for a few minutes. I need to get something…and a damn coffee. You want a cup?”

  She shook her head, inhaling. Silas’s cologne was light, not cloying. She glanced up at the glass, so much glass—the Horned God: circle and crescent. So many icons.

  I’m sorry.” she whispered to Silas, shoulders sinking. There was a reason why mental magic was banned, used sparingly, even among those who practiced magic. The potential…

  Belladonna returned, two identical coffee mugs in her hands. She drank one, set the other down. Jacinta saw a swirl of what looked like quicksilver. If she accidentally took the other drink…

  “Be careful.” Jacinta warned, glancing down.

  “I know what I’m doing.” Belladonna snapped. She opened her mouth, about to say something more, but had a full-bodied twitch, staring up at the ceiling.

  Jacinta wondered if she was having a stroke.

  “Weird. Bad feeling. Anyway.” Bellissima jumped and sat on the table, scooted to the edge once more, and poured some of the silver liquid onto her palm, using her other hand to spread it along his lips. Silas mumbled, stirring somewhat awake; he slid his tongue over his lips, groaning back asleep. “This’ll make him all loopy, but awake, in a few minutes. He won’t remember much, so that’ll give you the time you need to get back to…” She sized Silas up, huffing. “Manhattan?”

  “Yeah.” Jacinta nodded, still holding his head. “Did you only have him, uh, mix up today? No more than that, right?”

  “Eh, I might’ve made him a little friendlier to yo—”

  “What?” Her eyes widened. “You wh—”

  “No!” Belladonna waved her hands, gesticulating wildly. “Good god, you’re giving me agita! Just today. Alright? Nothing more, nothing less. Now you can let go of him.” She rolled her eyes and began to take a sip out of a cup—

  Which had the potion in it.

  Jacinta shot forward and slapped the cup out of the psychic’s hands.

  Shatter, sizzle. The drenched rug, the shards of ceramic.

  “Oh, shoot.” Bellissima noted, wiping a finger along her lips. Jacinta cursed under her breath.

  “Alright, uh—before you pass out. Or will you pass out? Or die? That was a big sip…”

  Bellissima blinked, shook her head, and took such a large gulp of coffee that it was spilling from her red-painted lips. “I’ll live. Pay now, then I do the reading of your, uh—”

  “Sister.”

  “Right.” Bellissima snapped and grabbed the bowl of what looked like cottage cheese, the mirror stuck within. “Of course. Of course. Sister. It’ll be $70…discounted.”

  Jacinta hesitated, but nodded—she pulled the bills out of her bag, holding them forward—with an additional tip. Bellissima counted each one, nodding, humming. Good. She set them into the table.

  “Thanks for the…tip.” She slumped in the seat, curled over herself, before shuddering awake. “Right, uh—sister. So, I…reach into…”

  Bellissima leaned forward before snapping upright. She rubbed her eyes.

  “Do me a favor and get me another coffee, will…you?”

  Dammit. She nodded, trying to mask her annoyance, and returned to the shopfront, seeing a coffeepot. Bingo. Smelled over extracted and bitter, but whatever—if Belladonna didn’t wake up, Jacinta would pour the hot coffee over her. Maybe that’d work.

  Someone howled in the street—she jumped, stared aside, looking out the store’s window.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

  A monstrous werewolf—a racist caricature come alive, hulking, snarling. It was a mass of jagged edges and rippling muscle beneath matted, mangy fur: massive claws and teeth, fur oily and slick. Sections were gray, covered in mange. He stood over eight tall, maybe, tail severed halfway. Blood was dripping behind. He lifted his chin and roared, saliva spraying the air, dripping.

  His teeth were too big to fit in his mouth, each as large as her forearm. Saliva dripped down, tongue forked, full of…gunshots? Body modifications? They’d transfer over in wolf form, but this wasn’t any werewolf she knew, not from any culture, not—

  His snout was stunted, broad; his nostrils flared. He twisted his head aside, staring at her. Two legs to four legs. Shimmery, opalescent eyes, narrowing.

  He was getting ready to run, hands spread wide, claws in.

  Oh God.

  Jacinta ran into the space where readings were done—the wrapped curtains, sleeping Belladonna, stirring Silas. She grabbed his shoulders and shook.

  “Silas! Wake up!”

  “I’m up, I’m up! Calm down…” Silas yawned, rubbed his eyes, and stood, staggering aside. “Did I crash from the…coffee?”

  Jacinta moved to Belladonna, trying to hoist her up. No luck. She checked her pulse—still alive, thank God. Alright.

  The werewolf—did it move on? She rushed to the curtains, peeled them apart just slightly—

  He was waiting, panting. Still there.

  Fuck.

  “You had coffee. A lot of coffee. And sugar. And then crashed, yeah.” She closed the curtains and thought back to her spells. She had no clue how to walk through walls, couldn’t teleport again, not yet; even though her mana was full, she wasn’t sure if she could succeed this time. Lucky? Twice?

  Maybe Belladonna lived within the store? She debated on leaving the little area, but the wolf was watching…and the mirror was there. She needed to hear what the woman found, and couldn’t just leave her here or—

  “You’re pacing. What is that, thought? From you?” Silas asked, clearly sarcastic; he snorted, rubbing his eyes. “Didn’t know you were capable…”

  He stepped to the curtains, staggering slightly, and pulled them apart. “That your friend…?” he asked, squinting. “Looks pissed…that’s no werewolf I’ve ever seen before. Some alpha male or something?”

  So he’d never come across something like him. Reassuring. Somewhat.

  “Close the curtains and get back in here.” Jacinta rubbed her temples, trying to think. She was pacing; she hadn’t even noticed. “I need to figure out a plan here. Atlas, uh—enemy scan, g—”

  Glass shatter, impact.

  (Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.)

  She heard her breath rattle through her fingertips. The pound of pain, pinpricks pulsing at all of her. Her hands opened, closed. Eyes followed suit.

  Jacinta was on the ground, blinking through the pain, glass inside her, outside her, everywhere. The sight of a giant beast above, aside, sniffing at her, eyes shuddery and—

  Howling.

  Silas. Belladonna.

  Jacinta clenched her jaw and reached into her shirt, unhooking her wand, squeezing it. She turned her head aside—left, then right. The store was ruined, broken apart. Massive hole from the werewolf. Belladonna was on the ground, flung from her chair. Either asleep or dead—Jacinta couldn’t see, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Olivia’s mirror, still lodged in the cream-liquid, half-spilled out of the bowl. Silas, missing. Blood. Other howls in the distance. A scream, far off.

  The werewolf, above.

  She sucked in a breath, gripping the wand, staring. The werewolf’s eyes were human, always so human—that was the tell. Tears. He was crying.

  But the shimmer. The slight shimmer, he—

  Had he transferred dimensions?

  Did he want to do this? Sometimes she heard about them going into a bloodlust, but it was usually a lie told to scare people, make them into boogeymen. They were usually controlled. They were people.

  This one was warped.

  “Please.” She whispered. The werewolf was eyeing her, reaching down, inhaling. His lip quivered. He was fighting it.

  Jacinta tried to scan him.

Enemy Scan:

Werewolf [type unknown]

Strength:

27

[Note]

-Likely weakness to silver.

-Potential allergy to wolfsbane.

-Potentially unable to go above three steps at a time.

Dexterity:

21

Health Points

160/200

[condition unknown]

Agility:

25

  Shit, he was strong. Jacinta couldn’t just shoot him up with silver. He was closer, closer still, saliva dripping along her chest, soaking through her clothes. Her own lip curled in disgust. She held the wand, squeezed it, knuckles blanching.

  His breath tasted like iron and dust and and bonemeal and something different, something ancient, torn and re-assembled and false. An echo of somewhere else, as slick and smooth as the dark oil on his fur.

  “I can help you. I can. Please, just let—”

  He roared. He was splitting apart, gaze unfocused. Jacinta winced, twisted her head down, pointed her wand up, and spat a blowback spell with all her might, everything she had.

  The werewolf was flung backward with a snarl, a jaw-snap. He was off her, but not far; too heavy, too big.

Direct hit! Werewolf sustained 10 points of damage.

Current Health Points of werewolf: 150/200.

Mana reduced 15%.

  She had seconds until he recovered. Jacinta rolled over and pushed herself upright, grunting, wincing—her head throbbed, lungs quivered. She set a hand against her chest and bolted aside, into a back room of the store. She spun, slammed the door shut, locked it for good measure, faced back, around, around—stones. So many crystals, things Belladonna sold. Incense sticks and candles, crystals, tarot decks, runes, chimes, pendants, bags, clothes—okay. Jewelry.

  Jacinta rushed forward, combing through the materials, frantic. Bronze, gold, fake metals—a separate section, sticky note: warning! Silver!

  Bingo.

  She snatched the necklaces, jewelry—the werewolf was snarling in the other room. Jacinta stared away and cursed under her breath, wiping sweat from her brow. She had silver…what the heck would she do with this? Throw it at him? It was maybe a few ounces’ worth of material—not enough to kill a…weird werewolf.

  The eyes—

  Focus. Jacinta sucked in a sharp breath, wincing, praying. She genuflected, glanced aside—more space. Maybe something else. Crystals boosted magic power, different benefits. Obsidian, for shielding, protection, strength; amethyst, for psychic energy, magic, clarity; clear quartz for ultimate healing; rose quartz for love; ruby, vitality, energy, blood circulation. There were so many—different colors, textures, sizes.

  She grabbed a fistful of obsidian and amethyst, squeezing them, asking them to assist her, help her. Suddenly: flush of magic, of power, of being encased in steel. She staggered a little, staring down at her skin. A slight pattern—a cross between scales and a cut face of a gem—shimmered over her forearms and hands, one colored black; the other, purple.

Status boosts:

20% boosted physical defense and physical strength (obsidian crystals).

20% boosted magic and passive ESP (amethyst crystals).

  Her ESP sure was doing great. “Thanks for warning me about a giant werewolf…” she mumbled to herself between shaky, quick breaths.

  Jacinta stuffed the stones into her bra, wincing. The ground shook—another roar. The werewolf’s footsteps were seismic; she needed to keep going.

  Silas, Belladonna—

  No. She had to press on.

  Could she teleport? With blood, as well as the amethyst boost—

  She didn’t have time to think. The werewolf crashed straight through the wall once more, roaring, rushing straight towards her.