Eliza found that if she leaned forward, pulling the stone shackles out as far as they would go, she could just barely manage to see down to the ground from the window.
Hundreds of people, each holding a tiny flicker of fire, a candle, were crossing the Lions Bridge below, and it occurred to her as the Sun grew faint, that they rather looked the way that spark felt: a flow of individuals, each one alive in and of itself, forming a greater whole that also felt like its own living entity.
And, as those tiny flickers passed under, she heard a hymn rising on the wind, a march, joyous and triumphant, uplifting and threatening all at once: the first hymn, the Voice of the Song Mother. It almost made her… believe in it all.
But the sky was growing dark. Reuben would be back soon.
Metal scraping on metal, the bolt unlocked, and the door opened.
Eliza was righting herself, pulling back from the window when Josephine entered. She was wearing a red and gold robe, much too fancy for torturing in.
Striding over to the skeletal remains on the floor, the last remnants of the wizard Whatshiznam, burned to ash by Eliza’s flame, Josephine smirked. “Did I make you kill your pet?” she asked, the pleasure in her voice palpable.
“Reuben didn’t think so,” Eliza answered. “His last words were, if you kill me, it’ll really be Josephine who did it.”
“But you don’t believe that, do you?” A smug grin worked its way across the inquisitor’s face.
“No.”
“Good. Now you know what it feels like, to be made into something you’re not, against your will. In your case, a killer.”
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“Is that what this is about? Revenge?”
Josephine shot an icy stare. “That and making sure you can’t do it to anyone else ever again. You or your kind.”
“You really are full of yourself,” Eliza shot back.
“Me? Full of myself? That boy, Oliver. You should not be playing God.”
“She was suffering.”
Josephine snorted. “Then ‘he’ was made to suffer. Suffering leads to redemption. What the Songs made, you had no right to change.”
“Are you talking about her—or you?”
Josephine squared herself to Eliza. “Sister! It’s time,” she called out, and in the doorway a red masked nun of the order of silence appeared, carrying bolt cutters.
“You’re going to free me?” Eliza asked.
“In a sense. After I reported you killed your cellmate, the cardinal agreed it was far too dangerous to let you cast spells ever again.”
“But… I didn’t kill him with a spell.”
Josephine shrugged, glancing at the sister. “Start with the right hand, index finger. Quickly, go!”
The sister’s eyes went wide, first staring at Josephine, then at Eliza, then back at Josephine.
Eliza readied her spark, but the nun rushed forward faster than she was expecting.
With a whir, the chains ratcheted back, yanking Eliza tight against the wall. In that moment, she lost hold of her spark, and the nun was on her. The cutters slid against the shackles, and Eliza felt the cold kiss of steel at her finger, then a sharp pinch—cut short by a burst of flame.
With her hands bound, Eliza couldn’t shape it, but she pushed as much spark as she could, flooding the room with heat and light.
The bolt cutters fell to the floor, glowing yellow, and popped in two. A muffled yelp came from the nun as her mask burned away, revealing a pair of scarred lips, stitched shut, with fresh burns on her cheeks.
“What the Hells?” yelled Eliza, glancing at her hand, relieved to see five fingers.
Josephine retreated to the other side of the door. “We need to wear her spark down. Sister, again!”
The nun, obviously in pain, hobbled over to Josephine, who handed her another set of bolt cutters.
“Don’t! She’ll die,” cried Eliza.
“She is faithful, as are others. Go!” And the sister hobbled, very fast, toward Eliza, brandishing the fresh set of bolt cutters. Then she was on her, lifting the cutters into position with blisters on her cheeks and raw determination in her eyes.
Eliza was readying another fire burst when the nun bludgeoned the side of her head with the cutter’s handle.
Everything went fuzzy. Cold steel touched her finger.
A growl from above, and the nun’s lip stitches burst, cutting as she shrieked. Reuben was on her.
Eliza’s vision came back into focus just in time to catch the nun’s feet kicking, disappearing into the duct with a skittering sound.
Josephine rushed inside with fury in her eyes. She kicked the bolt cutters out the open door before retreating through it herself. “Summon Masarie!” she ordered, and slammed the door shut.
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Just for fun, if you were going to cast a "Witch, Boys..." movie, who would you see as Eliza?
