Ophelia broke past the treeline we had been waiting in, dusting her black jacket and white dress clean. Her hands opened and closed as she walked toward the four, shifting between her vampiric claws and human fingers. Her boots crunched into the dirt, though I only noticed because I was focusing on her as she moved.

  The loud, boisterous talking of the four… men… overpowered any footfall that Ophelia could even make. My mind went to that singular statement.

  Were bandits men? They were outcasts of society who had already broken the Queen’s laws. In fact, many of them would have bounties, and bringing in their heads or bodies would fetch a pretty coin.

  My teeth bit into my lip. Adrian was a [Paladin], which meant he was a [Squire] too. He probably had to kill bandits to advance as well.

  So why did this bother me? I knew what was coming. The world thought this was fine. The only person who seemed to consider bandits men was me.

  I sucked in air greedily, feeling it push into my lungs. My eyes narrowed.

  Exposure. The only way I’d get over this is exposure. I looked away when Mirchie died, and now I’m scared of wolves.

  I slowly peeked out of the treeline too. I wasn’t a fighter myself, so I had no interest in being spotted. But I had to watch.

  Ophelia entered the clearing without any fanfare. I had half suspected she was going to say something, threaten them, or even talk. Hell, even though I could only see her back, I was sure she wasn’t going to blink.

  It took a moment for the first man to even recognize that she was standing there. He was grungy and filthy, with body hair and strong muscles. He wore an emerald-green bandana against his head, and his shorts were ragged and torn. His whetstone sharpened the blade of his massive axe.

  No shirt, except for a wolf-bone medallion. On his arm, however, was a tattoo. It looked like a red V, which was odd.

  I glanced at the other three. They all had the same green bandanas and red V on their arms. Only one had a crossbow. The other two, lean and athletic, held hiltless swords.

  I was too far to hear their words, but I could hear the axeman raise his voice, beckoning to his companions, who turned their heads to watch. He stood up and must have been part giant. Ophelia wasn’t short by any means, but she looked like Adrian did next to me. He walked closer to the unarmed vampire, seeing nothing wrong with her Symphony.

  Or, more likely, Ashy, he couldn’t access the Symphony. Magic was common, but it wasn’t trained unless it had to be. For most commoners, the only magic spell they’d get was the ability to create lights or fires to help them with work.

  And judging by their clothes, they didn’t train any of the homemaking classes.

  The giant of a man moved his muscular arm forward, and Ophelia didn’t move away. His hand came down to hold onto her white hair and squeezed. The strands of white hair parted with the force, while his companions observed, far too casually.

  Ophelia must have said something, as the giant leaned forward and began to laugh.

  I then blinked.

  In that one moment, the entire scene changed. Blood poured off a stump, and the dismembered hand clenching Ophelia’s head fell lifelessly to the ground. Her boot hovered atop it, but then her entire body paused in the motion. I could see her body twitch before she kicked the hand to the side instead.

  I mean, she already ruined that skeleton; I don’t think breaking the hand on the floor would have changed anything.

  I could hear the giant scream and holler in pain, calling Ophelia “you bitch!” Blood poured from his stump, which made Ophelia walk forward. Her hands grabbed his bicep and wrist. The man tried to move, but was stuck in place. Ophelia leaned in.

  Her wet, pink tongue lapped at the bone. Her mouth opened up and bit down against the nub. My stomach heaved, but I took another breath.

  This was fascinating—seeing how a vampire fed.

  Right, vampire. The three other bandits immediately yelled that word out—“VAMPIRE!”—which broke me out of my reverie. One of the sword-wielding ones ran to their campfire and brought out… a torch? He ignited it and thrust it forward toward Ophelia’s body.

  She immediately pushed back, kicking the giant into him. Her body was shivering, and I could see the red eyes become frantic. She held her hands in front of her face as the bandit dashed toward her and waved the torch. Ophelia should have been stronger and faster, but she kept trying to evade the flames.

  Very interesting.

  Another man pulled out a bag from his side and poured out the coins. Gold and copper dropped to the ground. All that remained was silver. He tossed it to the man with the crossbow, who loaded it into the dirty ammunition chamber. It let the machine shoot out improvised ammunition, and he aimed it directly at Ophelia.

  I imagine a coin shooting at someone from one of those would actually hurt. What I didn’t expect was to see it burn her skin, and imprint against her pale flesh. My heartbeat quickened, but Ophelia just looked down at the wound.

  Her hands shifted into claws fully, and she rushed the torch-wielding bandit. Her hand shot through the flames, and unlike normal skin, the flame seemed to catch onto her and ignite. Her pale skin blackened, but her claws found the man’s throat and ripped it out. The torch fell to the ground, and Ophelia immediately stamped the flame out.

  Her wound did not regenerate.

  She shifted her attention toward the other two. One was still playing with a bag of coins, trying to find more silver. The other was holding the crossbow with shaky arms, focusing it on the center of mass. He fired another shot, and Ophelia instinctively covered her face. The shot went wild and hit the dirt between her boots.

  Big mistake.

  Dirt and dust flew into the sky before my eyes could track. Ophelia was immediately in front of the crossbow-wielding bandit, and her clawed hands grabbed him by the skull. Immediately, she shoved him into the dirt. Her eyes were wild and red.

  Her claws broke into his skull. I could see the life drain from his eyes and a scream from his throat disappear into the Astral Sea. Thanks, Ophelia—that was another skeleton I had to repair.

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  The final bandit with the coin bag dropped it, raising his arms to the sky. Ophelia licked the blood off her fingers and regarded him, walking slowly. He took a step back.

  Ophelia appeared behind him again; she moved far too fast for me to track. Her mouth opened up and her fangs shone in the moonlight. She pressed down into his neck, and her fangs pierced flesh. He stopped struggling as Ophelia’s eyes closed.

  And then the pair was splashed by oil!

  The giant gasped in pain, his remaining hand releasing the flammable liquid and then grabbing the torch. Ophelia’s eyes opened, only then processing what was going on.

  I had to do something.

  A bone dagger from my pouch flew out and embedded itself right into his throat. The scene was noisy, but I could hear the rattle and croak. I saw the blood splutter and pool against his mouth as the giant collapsed to the ground.

  Ophelia’s eyes closed again, returning to her… drink? Meal? Something. A thin smile formed on her lips.

  My legs shakily came back to life as I stepped into the clearing. I had to survey the quick scene around me, as Ophelia pushed the desiccated corpse off her and tossed it to the ground. She pulled out a silk napkin—as if that was a normal part of an adventurer’s kit—and wiped off her lips.

  “I apologize, Mistress, I rui—” she began, but I stepped toward her.

  My other hand opened up, causing Ophelia to stop talking.

  The green essence of the still-dying giant came to my hand. I held it in front of me and examined it. I then pushed it right against Ophelia’s burnt arm. The green shell spread against it, and her decayed flesh began to knit itself together.

  All that remained in my hand was a green orb, which I put into a glass vial.

  “Amazing…” Ophelia cooed. “I had just assumed I would have to sleep this off.”

  “You planned that?” I glared at her.

  “No. Truthfully, I had just assumed you would wait till I was done. But your actions here have made me a bit more hopeful. And this…” she said, showing me her healed arm. “Do you know what this means?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I responded, turning my attention away. She grabbed my head and made me look at her.

  “You can Heal the Dead!” Her voice was genuinely excited. “Even against Amaril’s metal!”

  “Fire isn’t a metal.”

  “Silver, Lady Hart, silver! Fire is a weakness to all undead, which is Amaril’s gaze—the sun. But being able to heal silver? Impressive.”

  “You’d probably heal faster on a blight too,” I added dryly, looking around.

  “You don’t seem remotely impressed about your actions, Lady Hart.”

  “I… don’t know. I kind of knew that was going to happen, but I didn’t. You know what I mean? It’s like when you’re dealing with some new sprouts and seeing insects. You don’t know what the insects do, but you know you’ve to kill them since it’s bad for the crops?”

  “Your metaphors are quaint, Lady Hart.”

  “Uh-huh.” My heart was calm. I murdered someone, but I was more concerned with Ophelia, and now that she was healed, I was back to being… not bored, but disengaged. I had work to do, and this conversation was a waste of time. I did enjoy her praising me, but I knew time was a factor in my work.

  “Ophelia—”

  “Mistress?”

  “Stop that.”

  We both looked at each other for a moment. She said nothing, and it kept getting quieter and quieter. I was losing soul-time.

  “Collect the bodies and put them in the center; I need to actually start writing.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” she said again.

  “Why do you keep calling me that? We’re not vampires.”

  “I am. And, besides, Lady Hart—mistress is just the term for the woman in charge. You are in charge of this operation, you realize.”

  “I… just grow the crops.”

  She shook her head. “You may lack social graces, business acumen, and sometimes the ability to bathe—but you are the one in our group providing the product. Ms. Carnwich, from what I understand, acts as the public face, and Ms. La Croix is the underworld face. And before you ask, the Hawthornes provide coverage.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Coverage. Is that a fancy term for bodies?”

  “No. Did you think a step ahead on how you would justify making crops? You cannot afford labor or servants, but I can.”

  “Okay?”

  “...So, you tell them the reason you’re not paying anything in logistics is because you’re being loaned workers from Hawthorne Estate.”

  I said nothing to that. It really felt like my team knew what was going on more than I did. I shook it off. “Okay, just collect the bodies and anything else you find interesting. I need to write.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  I sighed and sat down on the dirt as Ophelia began to take care of this camp. I extracted the remaining three souls and stored them, and then let her continue.

  I had so much more to write about—about magic, undead, and death.

  Magic was too vague of a descriptor, and most of the time, I could figure out how something worked on its own. What really interested me was the blight and the undead I was dealing with. I didn’t have enough data for the blight, but I did for the undead.

  V. Undead

  A collection of notes on the dead.

  I began with the simplest of information I had:

  Skeletons are creations made from just bones. They are able to follow most instructions. A simple influx of Anima allows them to do 500 actions before collapsing.

  It wasn’t much, but it was more than I began with.

  Vampires are a breed of Night-Things that create aristocratic societies and feed on blood. They are very human-looking.

  That was stupid. But then I remembered something important.

  The undead heal on blight and are weak to both fire and silver.

  I stopped myself from writing that I could heal it. That wasn’t useful in a scientific grimoire.

  I glanced up as Ophelia had finished what I had asked her to do. I repaired the bodies and was about to compost them before I realized what that actually did.

  It would strip away both flesh and bone. I looked at Ophelia. “Do you have a way to get rid of the flesh?”

  “Yes, but do you not like zombies?”

  “I… didn’t consider that, but aren’t they slow?”

  “Some are, yes, but they also look mostly human. If you can keep their skin and flesh healthy, people would just think they're workers.”

  “Thank you, Ophelia.”

  “As you wish, Lady Hart. I’ll prepare a mixture to keep the skin intact and store them in the carriage. The night is still young—shall we keep exploring?”

  “And murdering?”

  “I’m not hungry, but I won’t say no.”

  “I think four new workers are enough.”

  “Suit yourself, Lady Hart. May I tempt you to some tea?”

  “Of course, Ophelia.”