Sabrina Black was so consumed in her work, she failed to detect the intruder that entered her laboratory. The cold, dank, cobblestone room surrounding her was shiny under the tall obsidian candles. The walls were slick with moisture and around her, she heard the eternal drip of running water, a sound Sabrina learned to associate with the solitude of the sewers, along with her own self-reflection. It was, after all the sound that held her hand during the early days of transformation.

Sabrina had brewed and cultivated quite an impressive collection of brightly coloured potions, which she displayed on several old bookcases she stole from the surface. Potions of all colours surrounded her from cherry-red that glistened yellow when you disturbed it, autumn greys as cold as ice to the touch, and even some that seemed to absorb the light, only to crackle blue when you shook it like liquid Sphene Dust.

“Forgive me, Princess.” The intruder said, causing Sabrina to break her concentration. The tall veil of yellow goop she held, began to hiss a noxious gas, so she quickly placed it in a wooden rack away from her. She turned hesitantly, worrying at first it was her father. She was supposed to be down here searching for Thana, instead, she had been spending the day doing what she loved: experimenting with potions.

“Oh—Skinner,” She said with feigned delight. “I was just grabbing a potion on my way through and—” her words were cut shut when Skinner held up his right hand, his only hand.

“It’s okay Princess, you do not need to explain to the likes of me,” he said quickly, “I was just—” he trailed off.

The veil containing the yellow liquid cracked, then exploded behind her, sending shards of broken glass to sprinkle across the floor. Sabrina recoiled, then went to clean up the mess, but Skinner had already moved in to aid her. He knelt beside a broken piece of the tube, wrinkling his nose at the smell it produced.

“Be careful,” Sabrina warned, gently pushing him back with an arm. If he inhaled too much, it could prove fatal to him. She had recovered a cloth and was now brushing the bits of glass together.

“Goldrush?” He said alarmed. Sabrina looked up mildly impressed, either it was a lucky guess, or he knew his poisons.

“You know your alchemy.” Said Skinner, shielding himself from the fumes momentarily behind an elbow

“As do you apparently.” Replied Sabrina.

Skinner moved around her, admiring her display of potions with reverent eyes. Sabrina wasn’t sure how she felt allowing Skinner to observe her work so freely. She felt the heavy hand of judgment pat her shoulder.

“I’m a criminal,” he said, pausing at a water-breathing draught “it’s my job to know the possible weapons of my enemy.”

Sabrina considered that, continuing to scoop up the broken glass. Skinner turned to stroke the base of the table with an index finger.

“Do you know why they call it Goldrush Poison?” he asked her slyly, tapping the table once.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Because it’s made from the venom of the Goldrush viper?” Sabrina answered, tossing the cloth into an empty basket; the tallow candle beside it wavered slightly, then recovered.

“A common misconception,” Skinner said matter of factually. “Poisons are made from such reptilians in Yuanland. But Goldrush actually got its name from a poisonous breed of amphibians that reside in gold mines.”

Sabrina tried to detect falsehood in Skinner’s features, but he showed none. He opened his arms innocently as if smelling the suspicion between them.

“Tiny frogs the colour of gold,” he added. “The common miners got to calling it Goldrush poison because if they weren’t careful, and their noble lords forced them to mine out the gold too hastily…well,” Skinner rubbed two of his fingers and thumb together, “The slightest contact with the skin, and the poison starts to get to work. Not only that, but the poison remains potent on gloves and clothing for hours. Fathers would hug their children after work with contaminated overalls and wake up to find them dead.”

There was an extended silence, then Skinner cleared his throat, turning to observe more of her potions.

“How insightful.” She said, watching him move from potion to potion until he rested on one vial, in particular. Her heart stopped, panic raced from her heart like liquid fire, causing her face to flush.

“Princess?” He said with his back to her.

“Hmm?” She said, rearranging some empty potion bottles to her side. She tried to master her emotions but felt Skinner's eyes beam at her as he swirled around. The potion bottles clanged as she arranged them clumsily together.

“I don’t need to ask where you got it,” he said to her as she continued to avoid his gaze. “But I must ask, what you intend to do with it?”

Sabrina felt her senses heighten, the same way it did when she felt the cause to fight or flight. She caught her reflection in one of the polished potion bottles, her pupils so dilated they looked as colourless as her fathers. She felt the tiny hairs under her skin begin to emerge, and her muscles twitch responsively to the tiniest impulses. She turned to face Skinner, no longer attempting to control her appearance but readying for what needed to be done.

Instead of fear, Skinner looked amused. He held up the veil that caused her so much anxiety, hanging it in front of her like a mouse hanging by its tail. She barely saw the content of the veil between her eyes—not removing them from Skinner.

“Vampire blood.” He stated. “Or more precisely, Thana’s blood.”

He held the veil up in triumphant glee, disregarding Sabrina’s death stare. The light surrounding the veil seemed to dim as if the blood itself consumed it.

“As black as Thana herself,” he said. “It too drinks the light, as thirsty as the creature it belongs to.”

Skinner’s eyes drifted downwards to meet Sabrina’s, a wide smile stretching across his sallow skin face.

“You’re trying to kill the Spider King!” He blurted celebratorily.

Sabrina’s right arm flashed into movement, snatching Skinners neck with the sound of a thunderclap. Surprisingly, Skinner did not drop the veil but retained his strangled smile as Sabrina carried him across the room, the heel of his leather boots scraping across the stone. She slammed him hard into the wall, hearing a wet splat as the back of his head collided with the wall. She lifted him with the ease of lifting a small child, cutting off his air supply as his legs dangled loosely a foot from the ground.

Her eyes were black pits, and her teeth were clenched tightly together. Skinner’s tongue flopped about in his mouth as he tried desperately to take a breath. He did not try to escape his bond or try to kick her, instead, he held out his arms in surrender and closed his eyes. Sabrina hesitated a moment, feeling the urge to snap his neck, and with it, snap out his existence; she instead allowed him to regain his footing. Skinner’s legs coiled under his weight so Sabrina loosened her grip on his throat, allowing a single dose of air to fill his lungs. Skinner’s eyes twitched open from semi-unconsciousness and Sabrina allowed him a little more.

He did not use the small act of mercy to wriggle free or fight back, only spread his arms in further submission.

“I—want,” he gasped through restricted breaths. “To—help—you”