The next morning, I woke up and had work to do. Melissa's house was nice, but it didn't solve my immediate problems. I brewed myself a cup of tea, and looked at my new abilities.
Mirchie Jr. twitched her nose while I stared at that tooltip. That was... a lot of information from a few lines. I looked at Mirchie’s eyes and she blinked at me.
Okay... that was infuriatingly vague. How would I even begin with that? I imagined [Animate Dead] was the first step in all of this. I hugged Mirchie Jr. even closer as I looked at the remaining three.
[Soul Magic]. So... using a soul to empower something. I had to ignore the fact that I could create an altar to the Enemy. Even after dinner at Adrian’s house.
I stood from my wooden chair and looked outside to my fields. There were just too many things from those three abilities, and I knew the Mortis Agrariae needed my attention just for the dead.
The green-and-gold grimoire just stared at me, begging me to open its pages and begin writing. But the rest of what I had done wasn’t exactly necromancy—it was manipulation of bones and the dead.
[Animate Dead]. There was no way that wasn’t necromancy.
Mirchie Jr. got up behind me and squeaked, following me around as I paced my cottage. No one said I had to do it; I only needed 1,000 gold. I didn’t even have a complete skeleton.
Madeleine does. She’d give it to you.
Not helping, inner me. I didn’t want to do that. Besides, I couldn’t even get souls. I bet just using [Anima] makes the skeleton as dumb as the tools, so what’s the point?
So get a soul.
How?!
I picked Mirchie up and squeezed her close. The black-and-white rabbit tried to kick away, then thumped my arm hard enough to make it bleed. I dropped her to the ground and didn’t register the pain.
No, none of these abilities were “good.” I could raise the dead, make an altar to a dead god, or just rip the soul out of a recently dead or dying creature. Besides the fact that was also vague on how it functioned.
In my vision, a different notification popped up. This was... new.
I felt my body go cold, and my fingers clawed into my palm. Was... Amaril asking me to murder? No.
I laughed at that thought.
Amaril had left me a while ago. This was the Enemy—Rhyvesta—offering me a chance to be like her kin.
Mirchie Jr. jumped on my lap, and I felt my bleeding hands idly rub against her soft pelt. I scratched her head and ears as her legs began to thump. My hand moved under the rabbit’s chin to scratch, but I stared blankly forward.
I could just stop here, work up to 1,000 gold, and then leave. Maybe make a bit more to pay for the Academy?
Or you could ask Adrian at that point. Always needing help.
Needing help wasn’t bad. This absolutely was.
You don’t have to kill anyone. The Vampyre log tells you you can take souls from Night-Things and beasts. They’re not “anyone.”
Okay... and the skeleton?
What about it? Just buy them from Maddy. Or dig up a grave. You don’t have to do it yourself or make your own “product.”
Am I actually justifying this?
Of course I am. You want to do it. It’s the only way you’re not going to be weak. Even if you went back—you were a [Student], you never passed your exams. Had to drop out before that, you failure. You can blame Ma and Pa all you want, but you just had a few weeks left till exams before whatever this was.
Stop.
You dropped out because you thought you were going to fail, and this gave you the excuse. You pushed away your friends and family since they’d see how worthless you became. The Hart daughter, not even top of her class with her spunk? And now you’re getting a chance. And you’re going to throw that away?
It’s asking me to commit murder!
No. You’re jumping that far ahead. You have a line in the sand. You aren’t like Night-Things. You’re just doing this for your farm and your own livelihood. As long as you don’t ever cross that line yourself...
I didn’t think that made me not morally culpable.
Maybe. But would you rather be morally culpable and well-off, or poor and dead? Besides, you’re not even arguing about morality; you’re arguing about logistics. You want to do this.
I spat on the ground, trying to get out of my own head. I picked up Mirchie Jr., whose pelt was now stained with my blood, and looked her over.
“Baby! You need a bath,” I cooed, happy to have anything else to think about.
I walked out to the front yard and to the well Jasmine made for me. I pulled up a bucket of water and looked at Mirchie Jr. Her eyes stared up at me—wide, sad, and begging me not to.
I dunked water on her head, and the blood washed from her pelt. She chirped as I rubbed her clean.
“Excuse me, is this the Hart Farm?” a feminine voice behind me called.
I jolted upright and turned toward a woman. She had white hair and gray eyes and wore a black dress that would be either fashionable or just too formal. She had thin glasses, but they didn’t do much to hide the disinterest and apathy on her face.
“Yes. Who’s asking?”
“Queen’s Arm—Collection. This farm and property are due to be repossessed by the state unless a minimum payment and promises of further remuneration toward the guild debt are paid,” she rattled off.
“Who are you?”
“...Queen’s Arm—Collection. Collector Eveline Marigold. Agent Marigold to you. It is my duty to inform you that if you don’t pay the opening fee, the farm will default and be given back to the [Farmer’s Guild].” Her face showed no emotion; her eyes stayed on her clipboard.
“And what’s the opening fee, then?”
“100 gold pieces. Paid by this Friday.”
“EXCUSE ME?”
“Ma’am, do not raise your voice to an officer of the Queen. There will be monthly collections of 100 gold pieces, alongside interest. From my calculations...” Her hand moved to her hip as the pencil on her clipboard began to write. “Your current debt, with interest, is 1,100 gold—your family failed to pay for the last few years, so you are on the ‘untrusted’ debtors’ plan. Ten percent a month.”
“...So, if I pay the minimum...”
“While I will not give you advice or ideas on taxation, it is a correct notion that you will never pay it off by paying only the minimums. Now, do you have 100 gold, ma’am, or may I repossess this lot for the [Farmer’s Guild]?”
“...You said till Friday?”
“That I did. I apologize—you’ll have...” She checked her pocket watch. “Two days and 17 hours till we repossess. Please give payment at our office before the end of business to prevent further delinquency of your debt. The Queen wishes you the best day.”
She turned, ponytail bobbing. I growled, but kept washing Mirchie Jr.’s pelt. I bet she counted as a [Commoner] to drain the life out of.
And don’t you start, inner me. Everyone wishes death upon tax collectors.
One hundred gold. I didn’t have that much. I’d figured I had longer till the first payment—not the first week.
Unless I used the charity Adrian gave me. My stomach growled as I thought this through. Come to think of it, I’d never actually taken the payment for the common blood carrots from Madeleine—she’d said she needed time to move it. I was meant to get 5 gold per carrot, and with 18 carrots sold to her, that’d be 90 gold.
I had 18 growing that’d be ready tomorrow. Another 90.
And then I groaned. I couldn’t use any of it. All of it was dirty money that wasn’t laundered, and if anyone looked at the history, they’d immediately find out where it came from. And I was sure if I just showed up with 100 gold coins, it’d get audited.
Rhyvesta damn it.
I pulled out Adrian’s pouch and counted the coins. “Fine.”
I sat against the well, and Mirchie Jr. jumped onto my lap. She nuzzled into my chest again. I finally looked at my last ability.
I grinned and lifted Mirchie Jr. “If I get you a hat, do you want to be my foreman? You’d be smarter than that bitch...”
Mirchie Jr. squeaked and pressed her pink nose against my cheek.
“What do you think, girl? Should I just ask for help, or...?”
What path should Ashley take?
