Nicole trembles behind me. Her arms wrap around my waist.
“Or, face me! Defeat me in three trials and earn the accolades you always thought you deserved. Only…” Madeline turns in place, scanning the illusions. “I’m willing to bet my soul you’re still worthless.”
“Youcanbeat her,” Nicole whispers.
I shake my head. I can’t. And Madeline knows it. She’s the creator of this game.
A massive shadow stretches over the graveyard, cast by an enormous cloud that twists and churns like smoke gathering purpose. Within moments, the shape of the cloud shifts until it forms the unmistakable silhouette of a clock face. Its surface vibrates with a spectral glow, and the hands, sharp as razors, snap into place: one pointing straight up, the other horizontal. 11:41 PM.
My chest tightens under the heavy, dry air. Fear crawls over my skin and runs like ice down my spine.
If I don’t take a stand against her, I’ll lose Nicole.
If I face Madeline… I’ll lose Nicole.
“You can beat her,” Nicole whispers again.
Tears, mud, and blood cover her features, yet the fire in her eyes, the fierce defiance of my Little Baroness, still burns. There are a million things I want to say to her, but I don’t have the time.
So I kiss her. “Promise me you’ll stay under cover.”
She doesn’t promise anything, and I’m too desperate to wait for her word.
I reinforce the veil around her with more of my magic, allowing her to see through it, while ensuring she can neither speak nor move past it. She’ll be furious once she realizes what I’ve done. Still, it’s the only way I can stay focused as I face Madeline.
Then I teleport.
50
Gaetano
Istand before the witch, almost like the first time I met her. Back then, I had nothing but the clothes on my back and the raging ambition to bend the world to my will. Now, all I have is my experience, marked by dozens of runes etched into my skin, and my bond with Nicole.
Madeline surveys my dirt-covered body, that cold fire gleaming in her expression—the same spark that always ignites before she inflicts pain on her victims. She savors her triumph, certain she’s pushed me to the edge.
Magic stirs in my chest with new resolve, fueled by Nicole’s presence somewhere in the distance. Scenes flash through my mind—puzzles, trials, illusion traps I could conjure in seconds. The problem is, Madeline would destroy them in half that time. Physical illusions won’t break her. I must win with the mind. And what better weapon than doubt?
“You want trials, Madeline?” I say, before teleporting to the outskirts of the cemetery. “Then reach me.”
I shroud her in a mist of magic that hides her from view. When the fog lifts, we are no longer in the graveyard. We stand inside the ballroom where she once hosted her grand gatherings. The setting is more modern than I remember, with chandeliers replaced by mounted lights, the floor shining like polished silver, and golden plaster rippling across the walls in rhythm with the magic in the air.
In illusions shaped by doubt, most harvests see themselves exposed. Clothing, after all, is our ultimate defense. Yet, Madeline rises in the center of the hall, drapedin sheer crimson lace, radiating dominance, lust, and disdain in a single pose.
I focus, strengthening the illusion. My goal isn’t to defeat her here but to uncover a sliver of doubt—something to exploit in the next trials. The illusion is designed to fracture her from within, to bring a fear, a memory, a mistake into the light.
A woman in a formal gown materializes in the air and rushes to her. “Madeline! You are marvelous tonight!” Her voice trembles with awe and fear.
Madeline extends a hand backward, as if to a pet, and the figure drops into a bow. At that moment, two men appear beside her. I recognize Count Valmoro—who once groveled with his forehead pressed to the floor—and Baron Scala, one of her earliest apprentices. Their faces glow with blind devotion, and their voices rise like a hymn.
“My lady…” the count whispers, kneeling before her. “Your beauty dims every spell I’ve ever tried to master.”
“No magic outshines your presence,” the baron adds, taking her hand as if holding a relic. “Even the stars pale beside your eyes, Madeline.”
With a wave of her wrist, Madeline dismisses them.
That’s ridiculous! I observe from the far end of the illusory hall, hunting for cracks. I need ghosts from her past, accusations, regrets. Yet, the illusion can’t find any.
Could this woman truly hold no doubt?
