Mildred led me through her house, and I was hit with a sense of awe in every room. It was like walking through a dream where nature and knowledge blended into one. The living room felt alive, with deep armchairs huddled around a crackling fireplace, inviting anyone to sink in and stay awhile. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, painting everything in a golden glow. Potted plants spilled over every surface, their leaves and blooms a living tapestry that wrapped the room in a sweet, heady scent. It was comforting, almost too perfect.

As we moved from one hallway to the next, it became clear that this house didn’t play by normal rules. There were more rooms than should fit inside. It was as if the place was bigger on the inside, a labyrinth of hidden spaces.

The conservatory was the most magical. Glass walls stretched out into the garden, merging the indoors with the lush greenery beyond. Mildred tended to her prized plants here, each one with its own mysterious properties. The air was thick with the scent of blossoms, and the gentle trickle of water from a small fountain added to the serenity. Bees and butterflies fluttered around, adding to the sense of calm that almost made me forget why I was here. Almost.

“You’re smelling a little worse for wear, Jack,” Mildred’s voice sliced through the tranquility, snapping me back to reality. “Is that undead with... let me see, a bit of imp in the mix?”

How did she always know? I wondered, trying not to let it show.

“We’ve had a bit of bad luck,” I admitted, keeping it vague.

“Is that so?” Her foggy white eyes gave me a once-over, like she was sizing up more than just my appearance.

We walked until we reached the kitchen, a place that felt as warm and lived-in as the rest of the house. Wooden beams stretched overhead, copper pots dangled from hooks, and the shelves were lined with jars of dried herbs and spices, all adding bursts of color and fragrance. The centerpiece was a large wooden table cluttered with fresh produce and flowers. An old-fashioned stove radiated heat, the kettle always ready for tea.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, more curious than concerned.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to help distill that Nightstone in your pocket?”

I stiffened. It felt like she was looking right through my clothes.

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“Milly, I know I owe you already, more than I can pay right now. What’s this gonna cost me?”

“Oh, Jack, you know I’d do anything for an old friend. But I can’t give away my services for free, or my other customers would riot. Considering your situation, and including the second favor you’ve yet to ask...” She glanced at the pocket where the silver key sat, hidden but not forgotten. “I’ll be taking a favor in return. I’ll need you to make an introduction for me sometime in the future.”

“To who?”

“That’s my concern, not yours. But you can’t refuse when the time comes, no matter the consequences. Do you understand?”

I mulled it over. Who could she want an introduction to that she couldn’t handle herself? The thought of who it might be crept into my mind, and I quickly pushed it aside.

“That’s the deal, Jack. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” I said, extending my hand. She took it, and before I could react, she slashed a knife across my palm. Dark, grayish blood oozed out, mixing with a cut on her hand. There was a flash of light, and a searing pain as the wound sealed, leaving a scar that I knew wouldn’t fade until the debt was paid.

“Good. Let’s get to work.”

Mildred pulled out a pot and took the Nightstone from my pocket, mixing it with a concoction of strange ingredients. She narrated the process, explaining how it needed to be adjusted for me. “Raw, this could kill you, but I see you’re not your average undead. You’ve metabolized the imp, and your system is using it to sustain you. Interesting. I wonder where your limits lie.”

She finished brewing and handed me ten vials of the potion. “Half a vial a day. No more, no less. These will last you until the end of the month. Come back for more then.”

“I’d rather hold onto all of them,” I countered.

“Not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I know a lot of things you don’t, Jack. Trust me on this.”

I heard Frank’s voice in my head, agreeing with her. Reluctantly, I agreed. “Fine. But no more cost for holding them, right?”

“They’re yours. I won’t charge you. Just bring more Nightstone when you need it.”

“Fine.”

“But, Jack,” she added, “this won’t be enough to keep you going. Think of it like water—essential, but without food, you’ll still starve.”

“And by food, you mean...?”

“Living flesh. But not what you’re thinking.”

She handed me a vial, and I drank half, feeling the bitter warmth spread through my body. Then she pulled out a jar filled with writhing green things that looked like snakes without eyes or mouths, just tendrils that belonged in a horror story.

She concentrated, and the writhing slowed. She pulled one out, sluggish and docile, and handed it to me. As soon as it touched my skin, it sprang to life, biting and digging in with tiny thorns.

“Ouch, Satan’s ass, what are you trying to do to me?”

"Eat up, Jack. I want to see if my suspicions are correct."

I stared, jaw clenched, watching it gnaw its way up my hand, each bite a test of how long I could keep from flinching.

Frank chimed in, You heard the woman, it's kill or be killed. Establish yourself on the food chain, Jack. Eat it.

Frank was getting far too much pleasure out of this.