Tarquin lay groaning on the floor when Athera’s vision cleared. A jagged piece of stone jutted out from the floor and Miriam stood just behind it. Her eyes were wide with excitement and cast into a strange icy hue from the now glowing catalyst she held aloft.

“Try it again,” she hissed through her teeth. “I need practice.”

“Miriam,” Alaric sighed. He gestured for her to follow him. “I’d rather we didn’t test the limits of that on innocents.”

Miriam cast one last steely glare at them and then stepped out. The door was slammed behind her and Athera listened as the lock clicked into place.

Athera just sat there. Her limbs refused to move despite her screaming at them to do so. How had this happened? Where was Nestor?

At last, she managed to get command over her body and sunk down to the floor beside Tarquin. “Are you alright?” Her voice came small and unsure, not the comforting tone she had been going for.

He lifted his head, revealing a bruise just beneath his chin that was starting to color. “I’m alright.” He tentatively touched his bruise and hissed softly. “Oi, that smarts.”

“I should hope so.” Athera gestured at the pillar of stone that now stood in front of the doorway. “You took that to the face.”

He stared at it, and then an inexplicable grin crossed his features. “Not bad,” he said in a tone that was clearly meant for himself.

A flash of annoyance flared in her chest, but it died almost as quickly as it had appeared. Miriam had made the rock pillar blunt. A few modifications to the shape and things could have ended catastrophically.

They had bigger things to worry about, like finding Nestor, and the fact that Alaric had plans to overtake the city and Ignis.

Athera shook her head, focus on Nestor first, no, focus on escaping. She stepped over to the door. It was made of solid metal as far as she could tell. She knocked her fist against it, listening to the hollow clang that rang out. Steel maybe? What was that made of? “Do you know how to break this?”

There was a rustle behind her as Tarquin stood up. “You want to break a solid slab of steel?” he asked incredulously. So it was steel.

“Well, I wasn’t planning on staying here.”

Tarquin sighed. “The only way I know involves a very hot furnace.”

“Nothing viable?”

“Not if you like being alive. What about something alchemical? There’s a kit they left here with us.”

Athera turned eagerly towards where Tarquin was pointing. A couple of chemical vials and a tiny burner had been abandoned in the corner. One contained something bright pink--likely a bismuth solution--while the other was a white powder she didn’t dare uncork. Neither of which were compounds that were terribly useful to them.

“Anything?” Tarquin asked.

“Unless you’ve got a stomach ache, no,” Athera said, holding the pink vial aloft.

The door began to creak open and she froze.

“You two alright?” Geralt stood in the doorway.

“Geralt! How--”

“I’ve been here a lot lately. Come on, I know a way out.”

“Geralt, wait,” Athera said as the pirate started down the darkened hallways. “I need to get Nestor, he’s in here somewhere.”

To her surprise, Geralt started laughing. “No he’s not.”

“How can you know that?” Tarquin demanded. “I appreciate the save, but there’s a lot--”

“Because I sprung him and Sylvie from that exact room not even an hour ago. “They both should be back on the ship by now.”

“You--” Athera broke off, remembering the panicked look Alaric had had when he had first opened the door.

“Yep,” Geralt shot back a very self satisfied smirk. “Your alchemist friends are getting a little predictable.”

“I wouldn’t call them friends,” Tarquin muttered. “They’ve had--”

“The skeleton treasure. I know, Nestor told me. Now hurry up, he’s convinced we’re all going to die or something.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” a cold voice cut through the hall way and soft, red light began to emanate from the far corner. “I thought I smelled a tail.” Miriam stood there, holding the catalyst out like a torch.

“Oh, skies,” Geralt said under his breath. “Look lady, we don’t want trouble. Just get out of our way and--”

“I’m afraid you’re misunderstanding the situation here,” Miriam spat. “Who are you, boy? One of those pirates?”

Geralt reached for something at his belt--a long, curved dagger. “So what if I am?”

Miriam’s grin shone in the garish light. “I think the argument can be made that you’re no innocent. More importantly, you’re quite the thorn in my side.” She launched herself at Geralt who managed to roll out of the way just in time.

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“Lady!” he snapped. “What is wrong with you?”

Miriam giggled, the sound reverberating across the walls. “Tarquin, Athera dear, why don’t you go back to your room? We don’t want to see anyone getting hurt, do we?”

Athera swallowed and reached for the rod at her belt. A quick tap and the tip ignited into bright flames that threatened to drown the garish glow of the catalyst. “Let us go, Miriam,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly steady.

Miriam tilted her head in consideration. “You still don’t get it, do you? The only reason both of you are alive is because Alaric is sentimental. I’m not.”

She flung herself at Athera, her hands extended like claws and the ruby in the catalyst seeming to pulse slightly.

Athera swung her rod down in a wide arc, purposefully missing Miriam’s face, but swinging close to the chest.

Miriam growled, actually growled, and took a half pace back. “Such a pretty toy,” she spat. Her eyes, normally deep brown, seemed to be reflecting the light of the catalyst, throwing them into an odd sheen.

“Miriam,” Athera tried again. The other woman threw her head back with a laugh.

“Come on, Athera, show me what our little alchemist can do. Did you get those scars from your toy?” Pain exploded into Athera’s stomach as Miriam struck her with an underhanded punch. Athera doubled over, coughing with tears welling in her eyes. She had dropped her rod, leaving her unarmed.

“Mmm, not as good at this as I hoped,” Miriam sighed. “What a pity. I had hope--” she was thrown away from Athera with a shriek.

“Are you alright?” Tarquin asked, pulling Athera to her feet. She nodded and he refocused on the woman who was busy climbing to her feet.

“Come on, you two. Fight for real! Make it fun.” She clamored to her feet, swaying slightly and giggling drunkenly. Her eyes still reflected the light of the catalyst, except it wasn’t quite that, no, they were glowing as well. Softer than the catalyst was, but unmistakable red.

She took a half step toward them and then stopped, her eyes blinking out. Bright flecks of red colored her lips as she coughed and slowly looked down. A dark stain was spreading out from her stomach which she regarded with mild interest.

“There,” Geralt panted. He shoved Miriam forward, pulling his dagger free in the process. “Let’s get out of here before anyone notices.”

At his feet, Miriam groaned. A dark puddle was forming around the woman, one that Athera couldn’t tear her gaze from.

Tarquin grabbed her by the shoulders. “We need to go, Athera.”

“Yeah, of course. I…” Athera trailed off as Miriam started to make a strange gurgling sound. She had worked with this woman, now they were supposed to just leave her to die?

She caught Geralt’s gaze who turned away immediately. Instead, he focused on wiping the blood off his knife with a cloth. Just as he tucked it back in its sheethe, a strange look crossed his face as purple light lit up the dark corridor.

Miriam gasped and sat up. She held Geralt’s ankle and her eyes were glowing faintly red this time.

“W-what?” Geralt stuttered before collapsing to his knees. He was paling before their very eyes and a hint of blue was starting to show in his irises.

“There,” Miriam sighed. The held the catalyst in her other hand, both gems glowing in tandem. “You nearly had me.”

Geralt groaned and went limp. Miriam let him hit the ground with a dull thud, but she didn’t let go of him.

“Miriam, stop!” Athera demanded.

Miriam raised an eyebrow. “A ruptured spleen isn’t going to heal itself. He owes me this much.” Beside her, Geralt twitched feebly. Red crystals were starting to appear along his neck and his muscles were spasming at seemingly random. He wouldn’t survive much more of this.

Athera charged, scooping up her rod and setting the whole length on fire as she moved. Miriam’s eyes widened, but she only just managed to raise her hands above her head as Athera brought the flaming rod down on top of her.

In the movement to defend herself, she dropped the catalyst and it was sent rolling away from them.

“No!” she cried out. She scrambled away from Athera. Her hands grasped for the catalyst like claws just as its twin gemstone lights started to blink out. Blood smeared after her, apparently the catalyst hadn’t healed Miriam all the way.

Athera hissed under her breath. She couldn’t let Miriam get it, she couldn’t--”

“You alright, mate?” Tarquin’s voice broke through her thoughts.

He was pulling up a very pale looking Geralt. Geralt squinted up at him and then groaned. Thin, red crystals coated his neck and he remained limp even as Tarquin got under his arm and stood. “Athera, help me with him,” he said when he caught her watching.

Athera cast another glance back at Miriam who had just seized the catalyst. The blue gemstone lit up and Miriam threw her head back with her eyes tightly closed.

“Athera!” Tarquin pleaded.

Athera bolted. She grabbed Geralt’s other arm and threw it over her shoulders. “Which way?”

“Next…right,” Geralt mumbled. He was still conscious?

They started in the direction Geralt directed. After far too many staircases and glances back to see if a red light was following them, Geralt weekly nodded at a nondescript door. “There,” he whispered. A shudder went through his body and he slowly went limp.

“Geralt?” Athera demanded. She pressed her fingers to the side of his neck that wasn’t crystalized and breathed a sigh of relief. It was weak, but the steady pulse beneath her fingers told her his heart was still beating.

Tarquin pushed the door in front of them open, revealing a dark vacant street lit only by a few flickering gas lamps.

Even in the pale light, Tarquin’s bruised face and the crystals coating Geralt were painfully evident. Far more so than they had been in the dark tunnels.

“We don’t have time to stop,” Tarquin warned as Athera reached out to touch the bright red crystals. “Alaric or Miriam could show up any minute.”

She sucked in a deep breath. There was a reddish sheen surrounding the crystalized area--as though there were more just beneath Geralt’s skin. It felt wrong to move him, but what else could they do?

“Right,” she said softly. She started forward just as something hit the ground behind them.

She whirled around, dropping Geralt’s arm and preparing herself to spring at whatever was behind them.

A cloaked figure wearing a copper mask in the shape of a fox raised their palms.

“Easy,” they said as they pulled their mask off in one fluid motion. A strikingly familiar face etched with relief and anticipation greeted her.

“Hi, Athera,” he said. His voice was deeper than she had expected despite hearing it once before.

“Nestor,” she stopped herself as Geralt groaned behind them and her brother’s gaze flicked to him. His eyes widened and he held his hand out as if to help before letting it drop uselessly to his side.

“Did she do this?” he asked.

Athera nodded, trying to ignore the implication that Nestor had seen this happen before.

“She’s still down there. We need to leave,” Tarquin reminded them.

Nestor nodded and slipped his mask back on. “This way. I know a way out of the city where we don’t have to go through the gates.”