2.1 For Yuri, I Build a Better Monster

“Are you cooking breakfast?”

The disbelief in Sophia’s voice is a little rude, but I’ll grant her that it’s probably been over a year since I cooked anything in our household, let alone breakfast. Hell, I’m barely ever awake this early in the morning. But today is special.

I scrape the eggs and peppers around the pan and add some cheese. “You had some ingredients lying around, and I was hungry, so I felt like making something for the both of us. I’ve got bread in the toaster and some avocado mixed up with lemon juice and salt.”

My roommate rubs the sleep out of her eyes and squints at me. She’s already dressed for work, though her hair is still hanging loose. “You never cook breakfast. Have you been replaced by a bodysnatcher? Did you get your hands on shrooms?”

“Wow, Sophie,” I say sarcastically, “is it really that hard to believe that I’d pull my own weight around here for once? I didn’t know you thought that little of me.”

She winces and I immediately regret the joke. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I wave her off before things can get any more uncomfortable. “You’re just waking up, and I wasn’t offended. To answer the implicit question, I’m just feeling good today, that’s all.”

Sophia sighs, relieved, and starts the coffee maker running. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

A cat turned me into a witch and now I have magic powers, and I’m about to meet another witch and learn more about magic with her help. Not that I can say any of that to Sophia, of all people. I don’t really know how she’d react—patronizing concern, maybe, or open disgust—but it would ruin our peaceful days together, and I can’t risk that. I can’t lose the precious moments I have with her.

I don’t want to just stonewall her here, either, so creative reinterpretation of events it is!

“I’m meeting someone new!” Truth. “We met online.” Lie. “No idea what we’re going to do, but it’ll probably take all day.” Half-truth.

“That’s great!” Sophia brightens up immediately. “Oh, I’m so happy for you, Rachel. What time are you meeting up? And where? I could drive you there before I head to work.”

I roll my eyes and start scooping eggs onto plates. “Sunshine creature,” I accuse. “Don’t get so happy about this, you. You’re acting like I never hang out with other people, and if you stand there and try to find a polite way to say that I don’t then I will put your breakfast back in the pan and overcook it. I have plenty of friends.”

“Online is different,” Sophie insists. “Humans need face-to-face socialization, and video calls don’t count. I’m serious, Rachel, this is a good thing for you.”

I grumble about it a bit more while I slather avocado on toast and Sophia pours her coffee. I change the subject to the show we watched last night and we bicker over breakfast. I talk her out of driving me, and soon enough she’s out the door.

“Now,” I hum to myself, “do I have any decent clothing?”

I don’t know if I’m going to interact with this witch outside of my transformation, but I want to be prepared. You only get one chance to make a good first impression, right?

My wardrobe is a miserable affair. All the clothing I own is stacked up in a pile next to the couch I sleep on. I toss aside jeans and sweatpants in search of the single pair of nice slacks I bought for a job interview that fell through. The vast majority of my shirts are graphic tees advertising nerd media, but I did get a normal button-up at the same time as the slacks, so I add that to the outfit. My beloved hoodies aren’t exactly business casual, so I pick out the black cardigan that I like to wear when it gets too hot out for heavy layers. It’s cheap, and it’ll be a bit chilly, but I haven’t really felt cold since getting my powers.

I give myself a twirl in the bathroom mirror. There’s more I could do to fix up my face and hair, I’m sure, but I’m so out of practice that anything I tried would just make me look worse. At least I remember to brush my hair, for once, and my teeth while I’m at it.

Pandora’s chosen meeting place is close enough to the apartment that I decide to walk rather than fly. Probably better for identity security, even with the veiling effect.

Jade Garden Park is a lovely sculpted affair, a bit of green and blue forcibly injected back into the urban sprawl of developed Forks. Gorgeous evergreens, sloping terrain, and it even has a duck pond! I wander around enjoying the scenery until I find Pandora waiting for me in a particularly shady corner of the area.

“‘Sup, kitty cat? Caught any new fish?”

“Ms. Emily,” it greets me with a purr. “It’s good to see you again, and in good spirits. I hope you’ve been adjusting well to your new status as a witch.”

I shrug, then roll that motion into stretching my arms. “Well enough. I’m inconsolable that my conjured items disappear when I fall asleep. I love flying. I punched a bear. But more than anything, I want to meet the other witch you mentioned!” I rub my hands together and grin.

Pandora flicks its tail. “You sound excited,” it says, seeming amused.

“You wouldn’t even give me her name,” I complain, “so I haven’t been able to do my research. You have to give me some intel so I don’t look like a total noob.”

“My apologies, but this witch values her privacy—at least until she’s had a chance to take your measure in person. You’ll see what I mean. Follow me; the event is starting soon, and that’s where you’ll meet your teacher.”

“What event? What’s starting soon?” The cat walks off and I sigh dramatically. “Fine, fine, I’ll go along with the cloak and dagger.”

Our real destination isn’t far; Pandora takes me to an alleyway between a sandwich shop and a bakery. I’ve been to both of those places, so I know for a fact that there isn’t usually a hole in the wall between them. Is this another veiling trick, or did a witch or Jovian bend space to make this hidden alley?

Pandora stops outside a garage door and turns to me, tail flicking. “You should transform before we enter. And, if you haven’t yet, pick a name; the witches inside are going to want something to call you by.”

Witches, plural? My curiosity rises. I transform back into my witch self in a burst of supernatural flame. I spread my wings and enjoy the cool air on my hot skin. “I gave it some thought, yeah. I think I’m going to go with ‘Archon’ for my villain name.”

The cat tilts its head. “Interesting,” it says after a moment of thought, amusement rich in its voice.

I smile back.

After getting a bit of information from my internet friends, I went and did my own research on Greek myths. I started with Prometheus and Pandora, but four hours and three microwave burritos later I had a dozen Wikipedia tabs open on my phone. I learned a lot, though I don’t know how much of it I’ll retain. Turns out, mythology and religion are pretty fascinating when you’re learning about them on your own initiative.

Archon should be harder to connect to me than Alexandria, but not impossible for someone with Sophia’s detail-oriented brain. And there’s a part of me that does want her to find out what I’ve become. I just can’t tell her that with my words.

Pandora pads over to one side of the garage door and flicks its tail upward. There’s a red button on the wall, so of course I press it, and I hear a distinct buzz. A few seconds later, the garage door slowly rolls up.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The inside is—well, it’s some kind of warehouse-workshop combination, and big enough to have overhead walkways despite the exterior seeming single story, but I don’t really get a good look at the building itself before my attention is captured by four witches, three I recognize, two of those arguing.

“—wretched money-grubbing parasite and one day I hope to rip out that lying tongue and mail it in a box to your monster of a father!” hisses Lilith, a founding member of the Coterie.

Radiance, the de facto leader of the witches aligned with Visage, laughs her off. “You radicals are always so quick to violence. Don’t you feel an ounce of shame for the mockery you make of your own cause? Think of the children, darling.”

The venom in both their voices isn’t enough to tarnish how starstruck I feel to be in the presence of two of the most important witches in Forks. They can’t possibly be who I’m here to meet, can they?

Radiance is even more stunning in person than on video and in photographs. She looks like only airbrushed models on magazine covers look, perfect and gorgeous and frustratingly beautiful, like just being in a room with her highlights every flaw in your own appearance. Her warm skin is completely free of blemishes, her glowing golden eyes crinkle in mirth, and she’s got a smile that could take your breath away framed by flowing hair in a dozen shades of auburn and chestnut and caramel. For this gathering—whatever it is—she’s dressed down in a well-tailored suit, flats that must belong to some insanely expensive brand I’m too poor to have heard of, and a silk scarf. Everything is made of some pure white fabric that shimmers with every color of the rainbow, and that blinding opulence is paired with diamond earrings and an elegantly slim watch adorned with more diamonds.

Lilith, on the other hand, is the archetypal image of a witch—though maybe a shade more pinup than Oz. Even flushed with rage, her pasty white skin and stringy black hair create an almost corpse-like air that’s belied by the plunging neckline of her shoulderless black dress and the very short cut of her skirt. Her look is completed with striped stockings and bright red heels, a pointy hat and wooden staff, and innumerable esoteric symbols etched into her dress and dangling from her oversized sleeves as iron pseudo-jewelry.

Lilith shouts back at Radiance, “Don’t try and pretend your hands aren’t stained with the blood of thousands—millions, even!—ground to dust beneath the ceaseless machinery of your oh-so-precious profit incentives! If you could feel shame, you’d be drowning in it!”

Radiance chuckles, waving her hand as if the accusation leveled at her is patently absurd. “Oh please, darling. So typical of you and your fellowship to ignore all the good my company does for the world. When was the last time you lent aid to the starving children of Mozambique?”

“And I’m sure the tax breaks had nothing to do with that,” the other witch sneers. “Have you ever even been to Mozambique?”

Radiance’s real name is Kamilah Dajani, and she’s the heiress to one of the media companies that invested so many millions in Forks’ nascent entertainment industry. She’s one of the few cases among witches and magicals to associate her civilian identity with her witch persona, having leveraged it for lucrative business deals and social media reach. I’ve never seen a man or woman alive who could radiate smugness better than she can.

Lilith’s civilian identity isn’t known, but she’s always insisted that her witch name is her real name. She’s a leading figure in the Coterie and one of their most outspoken members on the subject of what exactly witches should be doing with their powers. Radiance, historically, has disagreed. Given that Radiance and Lilith are two of the strongest non-Catastrophes witches on record, property damage usually ensues.

Magically, Lilith is the ultimate all-rounder; with sufficient prep time, the only effects she can’t produce are the kinds of effects that no witch or magical girl can achieve, like resurrection or time travel. Everything else is fair game. Radiance, on the other hand, has a very focused toolkit. Bearing the epithet “Witch of Many Colors,” Radiance wields light magic that is just as potent as it is beautiful.

They’re both incredibly dangerous, and I really don’t want to be in the room if their argument escalates into another brawl. Let’s try defusing some tension.

“So, uh, should I come back another time?” I joke as I step into the room. The garage door closes behind me.

I smile and wave as the two powerhouse witches briefly flick their gazes my way before going right back to their staring match—one glaring, the other smiling like a serpent. The third witch I recognized pushes past them and waves back at me with extreme cheer.

“New girl!” she shouts. “Hey hey, both of you cool it, we’ve gotta meet the new girl. Hi hi! I’m Bombshell, if you haven’t heard. It’s great to meet you. Heart!” She makes a little heart with her hands as she skips over to me.

Bombshell hasn’t really been on my radar like Radiance and Lilith, but I have heard of her. She debuted with Radiance’s group, playing nice with Visage for fame and profit, before leaving them to fly solo. Now she’s something of an independent, running around picking fights with anyone worth her time but never really taking sides in the factional disputes of Forks’ various witches.

Her powerset is your classic flying brick loadout; she takes hits and then hits back harder, always coming out on top in a raw slugging match. There doesn’t seem to be an upper bound to her strength, or if there is it keeps increasing as she keeps fighting. Not much of a familiar user.

Visually, well, Radiance might be the picture-perfect model but Bombshell is so true to her name that I feel a little flushed just having her this close to me. She’s an explosion of sparkly glitter and searing pink—pink lipstick and glittery pink eyeshadow over dark skin, pink highlights streaking through golden hair—like one of those cuttlefish that hypnotize their prey with flashing colors before chomping down.

Her costume is just a pair of short shorts, a top that’s barely more than a bra, and knee-high boots, all of it pink and gold and shiny. Someone once told me it’s based on a kind of outfit you see a lot in women’s wrestling, which is the one and only time I’ve been tempted to watch any variety of sports show.

Have I been staring at her? Am I embarrassing myself? I feel faint. “Heart!” I say back, defaulting to my more playful persona and throwing up my own hands to match her gesture. I wink. Was the wink too much?

Bombshell giggles at my reciprocation, which eases a bit of the anxiety I’m feeling. “Oh, I like this one!” she calls over to the other witches, which makes me feel warm and breathless.

This is pathetic. Why am I panicking like a closet case? Sparing a second to think on it, I guess I haven’t really interacted with many cute girls that aren’t named Sophia since… well, college. I certainly haven’t had sex since college, or gone on any dates. Ugh, that’s morbid.

I need a new approach: unearned confidence to the max. “My name’s Archon,” I tell the assembled witches with a smile. “You’ll be hearing a lot about me.”

Lilith gives me a subtle nod. “The Coterie greets you, neonate.”

Radiance looks at me with clear appraisal. “I look forward to learning your capabilities. Visage is always interested in recruiting more worthy talent.”

Bombshell claps her hands and cheers. “Woo! I hope you’re strong, new girl. It’s been getting so boring around here lately. Hey, Lilah, say hi!” The witch waves at her counterpart up above—the fourth of the lot, and the only one I don’t recognize.

The building we’re in is a massive space full of strange machinery, stacked crates, and crisscrossing overhead walkways. The woman that Bombshell pointed out, Lilah, has been watching everything from one of those walkways, leaning over the railing.

“It’s Delilah,” she corrects, her voice distorted behind a white mask with eight red eyes and stylized mandibles. “Not that I expect you to remember that, to be clear. I’m sure the thought’s already left your vacuous head.” She’s wearing a full black bodysuit, complete with boots and gloves, and over top of that is a hooded cloak in a gray-and-white pattern that if I had to guess I’d call urban camouflage. It’s not an outfit that screams “magic,” but that’s probably the point. I haven’t heard of a witch named “Delilah” before. Is this the witch I’m here to meet? Bombshell sticks her tongue out at the witch insulting her.

“Good,” interrupts a cool, husky voice that echoes through the room, “now we’re all here and everyone knows everyone. The lot of you have been invited—on Pandora’s recommendation, and for various reasons—to see what I have to offer. Let’s begin.”

“Finally,” Radiance mutters. Bombshell bounces away from me to stand by the others.

A panel slides open on the far wall, maneuvered by a mechanical arm. Four orb-like drones fly out of the dark space behind the panel, made of dark blue metal and covered in neon green circuitry lines, propelled by some invisible mechanism (magic, probably). Each orb drone has a triangular faceplate outlined by individual green lights. They drift into a square formation around a clear space in the center of the workshop.

I'm expecting the figure who follows them to be wearing sci-fi power armor or to have a bunch of mechanical manipulators sprouting from her spine. Instead they're joined by a bespectacled redhead in business wear, a freshly-lit cigarette held between gloved fingers as she takes the measure of everyone in the room and blows out smoke.

Is this really a witch? Who would be crazy enough to meet Radiance and Lilith completely untransformed?

Except, when I look at those two to gauge their reactions, they're the ones who look wary.

“You can call me Ferromancer,” the witch introduces herself, tone lazy and confident. “Some of you know me by reputation. If you don't recognize me, good. I happen to like my privacy, so I won't comment much on my past, but I can tell you one thing: if you’re looking for a familiar with some kick, I make the best in the whole damn world.”