In the east end of the manor was a bath. Of course any decent house would have a bath. It went without saying. But this bath was more like a small water park that could house pool parties for two hundred guests, or maybe events less family-friendly. I didn't know if the Ruthford House hosted happenings of that nature, but if they ever did, those were in the past now.

  A large pool shaped irregularly like an amoeba spread in the middle of the wide hall, framed with tiles of rose marble, and featured a large merman statue in the middle. Water flowed out of the mouth of a monstrous, arced salmon in the merman’s squeeze. Up on the ceiling spread a bizarre, nocturnal mural full of occult symbols that had nothing to do with actual magecraft and were only for rich people’s folly.

  Heating such a large bath for only one or two residents was a ridiculous waste of water and energy, so the employees were allowed to use it too, and they gladly did every Friday. Since it was Friday now and the first hour was reserved for the family, I gladly went to take a dip. After the other two were out of the way, that is.

  I made my way to the dressing room, shed my clothes, folded them cleanly in the reserved slot on the shelf, as troops were eternally drilled to do, and went to rinse off the sweat and grime of the day's labors.

  Figuratively speaking. I always felt filthy in a way soap couldn’t remove. Soiled down to my soul. When I’d close my eyes, I’d see myself covered in mud and blood and ash and desert sand and thin, ruby-red scratches, even though it was only my imagination and my hide was spotless. But the image was vivid and consistent and indelible. I’d grown used to it. So much so that I wouldn’t notice if there was real dirt on me. What smears were real and what delusions—I had to apply conscious effort to tell the difference.

  I unraveled the braid and sat at the showers by the north side wall. A long, long mirror ran across the wall under the showers, and I couldn't avoid facing my own glum reflection. People complimented my looks from time to time, but I couldn’t tell what they saw in that gloomy witch. Even I was unsettled by my own image. Keeping my gaze down, I reached for shampoo and washed my hair, and rinsed off the soap, and gathered the black tentacle-like strands and wrapped them in a loose bun to keep them out of the way. And then I heard the dressing room door open and close.

  Damn it. God damn it.

  Though I’d told them—I'd made it very clear that I didn’t want to be bothered while in the bath.

  Before I could spot a crevice to slink into, Emily Troyard's figure strode into view in all its naked, shameless glory—Well, her torso securely wrapped in a pink terrycloth towel. The idea that people go to bathe naked was preposterous, of course. Nobody did that. Needless to even say, my no-no parts were fully covered from view as well.

  “Hey, Boss, are you in?” she called out, her voice echoing in the hollow silence of the steamy hall.

  Then she saw me sitting in front of the showers and froze.

  I met her with my most murderous glower.

  “You. Why. Here.”

  I was so enraged I couldn’t even form sensible sentences.

  “E-eh? Uh, no,” the girl stammered, waving her hands, “Don’t get mad! I don’t have any bad intentions! I just, well—you know! I thought you might be feeling down and not wanna be alone right now, not after everything that went down today, and—I know you said I didn’t need to pay you back for anything, but then I thought, 'Hey, I could at least help wash your back for you!' It's the least I can do! And uhh…what’s up with your body?”

  She trailed off, staring at me, unsettled.

  My hide wasn't horribly scarred or burned. When I was at full power, nothing could get within melee range, and I had little to fear from mines, or bullets, or whatever. What few injuries I'd suffered were mostly because of my own clumsiness, as embarrassing as that was.

  What Emily was looking at were the faint lines tattooed along my limbs, like thin seams on a puppet.

  The true form of the Schemata wasn't visible to the eye, but a physical medium was needed to link the formula to the flesh and prevent the mana flow from erasing it over time. And then there were the black dragon rings coiling around my left wrist, dark and grotesque to look at, and impossible to hide. Mine was clearly not the appearance of an ordinary teenage girl.

  I quietly rose from the bench. The rules were clear. My identity was compromised.

  “Sorry, Emily. I’m going to have to kill you now.”

  “Hie—!?”

  The girl flinched and threw her arms across in front of her face in a ridiculous guard pose.

  I sighed, turned around and went to the pool.

  “...Boss?”

  “This is secret, so don’t tell anyone.”

  The girl hung her head and bit her lip.

  “... I'm sorry. I screwed up again, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It's nothing so serious.”

  Sure, it had to look unpleasant, but as long as she couldn’t read the formulae, it didn't matter. The spell composition was the real secret, not that I had lines doodled on me. She knew nothing. I wouldn’t always be able to hide myself at the academy either. I didn’t want to earn reputation as a girl who never went to shower. The higher ups had to understand that much.

  I lowered myself into the heated water.

  One wide stair bridged the plunge to the bottom of the mosaic floor of the pool. I sat on it and leaned my back against the beveled edge, facing away from the showers and the too honest mirrors. The water wasn't boiling hot, only a bit warmer than body temperature. You didn't want extra heating in the middle of summer. It was just right to not get uncomfortable. The staff were all nice, considerate people, who knew what life needed to be endured.

  It was good. When submerged, the tremors stopped. The nature of my power increased the charge and vibratory frequency of particles, which made me feel like everything was always slightly trembling. Almost imperceptibly but ever so faintly, incessantly quaking. But that feeling stopped in the water, and I could be at ease, just a little.

  “What are you doing?” I asked the girl still standing in the back. “Come here and sit down.”

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  “Eh? Okay...”

  Emily came over, her bare feet going pit-pat on the ceramic flooring. She sat down in the pool next to me, cringing at the heat, holding her breath, then easing into it and balling up to nervously hug her knees.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Huh? Am I all right?”

  “You saw a man die violently today. Charlotte was worried about how you'd take it.”

  She squeezed her knees tighter, a crooked, tired smile stuck on her face.

  “Well. It wasn't the first time. There was my dad, and...there were others. Bad things always seem to happen to those around me. I thought things were looking up lately, but guess I thought wrong…”

  “Hm.”

  “Maybe it’s a weak thing to say, but sometimes I really wonder if it’s such a bright idea for me to learn magic. I really do want to help others, but you don’t suppose I’m just doing more harm than I’m doing good? Maybe this power can’t save anyone, but only makes everything worse. Maybe what they say is true? That I’m a ‘child of misfortune’ and somehow cursed to bring misery wherever I go?”

  “No,” I said. “There aren’t any special effects on you. That’s nonsense.”

  “Maybe not the usual kind. But don’t you think there are forces out there that are just too big for us humans to understand? Like destiny?”

  “No. My eyes can see anything. What they don’t see doesn’t exist.”

  “God, wish I had half your confidence!” Emily laughed, her voice forcedly light. “Guess this kind of stuff never bothers you? You took down a tough guy like that without blinking too. You really are the Boss.”

  “No, it bothers me.”

  “You don’t look like it.”

  “I mean it,” I said. “I always doubt myself too, whatever I do. ‘Was this really fine and necessary?’ ‘Was there no other, better way?’ Come to think of it, there are precious few things in life that don't bother me. I'm bothered around the clock. I just avoid thinking about it. I’ve already accepted that everything I do is fundamentally pretty senseless and goes nowhere, and even when it's smart, it could always be smarter. So why try any harder?”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “I’m serious. My own mentor would always tell me my way of handling things was irresponsible and careless, and not one bit like a proper mage should be. But so what? I think everyone's like that, more or less. Not only when it comes to magic. There's simply no other way to live and stay sane. You do the best you can and ignore the things that go over your measure and which put you off, so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed. But if everyone’s the same way, then nobody can afford to judge your choices either. It’s not like they can do everything perfectly themselves. So they'd be hypocrites to demand that of others. And there’s no need to take seriously whatever hypocrites say. They’ve already defeated themselves.”

  “Not sure I understood half of that,” Emily said, “but it did sound sort of comforting.”

  “Then we’ll leave it at that.”

  “Hey, Boss.”

  “I told you not to call me that.”

  “Could you face that way for a bit?” She pointed timidly at the north side wall.

  “Why?” I asked, but did as she asked and turned that way. Her tone sounded like it was important.

  If she meant to stab me in the back now, it was futile. I still had her fully in view with Third Eye. But Emily leaned her balled-up fists softly on me and rested her forehead against my back. I first thought the bath had made her dizzy, but she wasn't leaning with her full weight, only maintaining a very modest contact.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “Could you let me stay like this, for just a little bit?”

  “...”

  So it did bother her, in spite of everything.

  This girl was a habitual liar, saying one thing and feeling and thinking something else entirely. Not at all like how a proper mage should be. One who could shape reality with her words and gestures ought to have been more mindful of creating contradictions. So Master would always say. But how could I judge Emily, after everything? I was a hypocrite too.

  “If you wanted a hug, you could’ve just asked,” I said.

  She chuckled wryly. “Eh, hugging while almost naked is kinda—I don’t think my heart is ready for that.”

  Weren’t we all the same under our clothes? Not that I could claim I didn’t understand. The weight and warmth of Emily’s head felt foreign and strange on me, as did the softness and scent of her hair, the way her short curls tickled the back of my neck. Imagination couldn’t prepare me for real sensations like that. If Ms Asia hadn’t tempered me to human contact, I probably couldn’t have tolerated it at all and would've run away. It was difficult to hold still even now. Emily was too clean as a person. Instead of her becoming stained by the filth covering me, it was as if her touch and presence were cleansing me too. But if I were to be cleaned, then I’d only be naked and painfully aware of it. I needed to stay dirty to insulate myself from the world. If it were that easy to wash away the blood on my hands, forget about the past, and be happy again—was there even a word for a devil so heartless and mercurial?

  But, for now, let’s not think about it.

  Act 1 END