For The Woman Who Will Take Everything

A deafening silence filled the room, a split second passing while her phone cycled from the end of one song into the beginning of the next. Before she could toss her application brush back on the counter, a familiar pulsating bass erupted from the speaker, accompanied by the heavily-effected, seductive voice singing the opening lines. Madison nearly forgot that she had the song in her collection, but that didn't stop her from mouthing along to the lyrics.

I think it's time that I mention,
I think I got myself an obsession, for the smell, for the touch--

Even after nearly ten years, she couldn't help but to mumble through the rest of that line. The necromancer leaned in closer to the mirror to slap on her eyeshadow while she picked back up with the sing-talking of the song.

I know I've got myself a habit but I gotta' have it now!
Don't care where, work it out--let me break it down!

The search for the first (of probably many) unlucky sumbitches to offer up to that freaky-ass grimoire that she bought a couple weeks ago hadn't been going well. As it turns out, you can't just walk into an orphanage, a rehabilitation center, a jail, an asylum, an old geezer home, a crack den, a campus library filled with college students studying for finals, or anywhere else that might possibly have anyone down and desperate enough to sell their soul for a spark of hope and a fancy new power. Something about a book with a billion eyeballs that look all sorts of infected tends to make people want to call security on you.

I try it on,
I take it off
So whatchu' got? Something 'bout boots and boys--

Trapping customers in-store and only opening the door if they agree to the book's deal was, as she recently Googled, quite illegal. And then there was that new hire--Michael? Melvin?--whatever his name was, the poor wretch would probably get spooked and no-call-no-show the rest of his life if she even so much as let it fall out of her backpack in front of him.

I gotta' say I wear 'em both so pretty as I walk in the city--

Madison cast a dark glance at the tome as it rest on the coffee table in her living room.

Watch out--

So what else was a morally-gray woman with a morbid curiosity and a voracious hunger for knowledge to do? The book demanded souls and promised her power in turn. And while she'd never give up her own soul, anyone else's? Fair game.

Madison finished applying a layer of purple to her eyes dark enough to give off the illusion that she'd been awake for three weeks before tossing her makeup kit aside. Even though she was never really one for putting on a face, desperate times called for desperate measures. Tonight's work called for the six-point-five-out-of-ten to be a solid-eight-after-a-couple-bottles.

The necromancer emerged from the cramped confines of her bathroom in a pair of jeans that hugged her lean curves tight enough that they might rip if she moved the wrong way and a billowing black and purple tunic top that honestly felt more like a poncho than anything, but what are you gonna' do when your entire wardrobe screams "supervillain card dealer" in the first place?

Maddy held her breath as she approached the eldritch tome, her spidery fingers caressing its spine with care as she lifted it from its place. "We're going to have a little fun tonight," she cooed, her gaze searching the cover for a hazy eyeball that might have been looking at her. "Hungry for your first soul?"

@Emy

A short while later, Madison made her way into the bar simply known as Luxe, a walking Edward Gorey drawing clad in random trash from a JCPenney catalog.

One quick glance around the joint confirmed that it certainly didn't live up to its name. All of the classy bars were on The Strip; this was closer to the dives she'd haunt during her early twenties back in the States. Cramped enough to be standing shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of other louts, but big enough to disappear in. Bright blaring neon lights along the brick walls advertising the cheapest pints of watered-down piss. Worn wooden bar littered with popcorn kernels and bits of pretzels, its surface sticky with spilled booze and sweat. A couple dozen taps on display with hipster-ass names like "Gray Zomp", "Flashing Dragon Hoard", and "Streaking Flamingos".

The necromancer glanced around the bar, uncertain where to begin. In her mind, the plan was simple--sucker some unfortunate drunk into following her somewhere private, throw them into some bushes or a dumpster or something, abscond with their soul, and then...

It was that last thing of uncertainty that tugged at the hem of her shirt like a small child. What was going to happen after she peeled someone's spiritual essence away from their fleshy meatcage? The grimoire had shown her dozens of possible futures, all of which she wielded power beyond her imagination. But, it never specified exactly what was going to happen, or when, or how illegal is this going to be?

Madison's bony hand reached down and gave the grimoire a pat as it hung at her side, nestled comfortably in an oversized purse slung over her shoulder. A little something to reassure it that, yes, it would have its soul tonight, and that yes, Maddy, everything was going to be okay.

A sea of college kids and shady young professionals of various humanoid origins parted as she made a beeline towards the bar. Amazingly enough, there was an open stool. Madison parked her butt in it and brought the purse up to rest on her lap.

The bartender, a man in his early 40's who looked like he had heard some shit in his years of serving the lonely and desperate, pulled up across from her. "What can I get you, ma'am?"

Madison glanced up, her eyes scanning the bar for anything that looked decent. "I'll have a Merlin's Cauldron."

With a curt but polite nod, the man slid back down the bar, grabbing a clean glass on his way to the taps. She followed him with a blank look, her thoughts elsewhere.

"Let me know if you see any particular souls you like," Madison whispered to the book. "It might take a few drinks to get them to follow me out of here, but.... uh..."

All of a sudden, this seemed like an incredibly stupid idea. Maybe she should have called Marcus in for a late shift and offered him up to the book.

She clicked her tongue, the confidence rapidly draining from her face. "...Yeah. Just let me know, okay?"

Madison could feel the book hum and vibrate in her lap, eager to consume the souls of everyone present. If it had mouths to go along with its eyes, it probably would've drooled too, and that just would've made things even more awkward for the necromancer.

One at a time, please, Madison thought as she adjusted the purse so it wouldn't fall off the seat. You'll get your fill soon enough, I promise. But let's be careful this first time out, okay?

The book could project its thoughts into her mind, but Madison had to wonder if it worked the other way around, too.

A glass filled with swirling brown liquid was placed in front of her, a half-inch of foam threatening to spill over the side as it splashed about. "First one's on them," the barkeep said.

That certainly caught the raven-haired woman off-guard. "On who," she asked with an arched eyebrow.

The barkeep nodded to his left. Madison followed his gaze, catching the looks of several other patrons, men and women, human and otherwise. All of them on the younger side (as things confusingly tended to be on Manta Carlos Island, she noted), all of them barely able to hide their varying degrees of thirst, all of them eager to buy her next round if she simply uttered the words.

Luckily for them, she probably would. It was going to take every ounce of liquid courage for Madison to survive the night.

Look, she silently pleaded with the Grimoire nestled away safely in her bag. You're so fucking lucky I can fake swinging both ways. But I'd rather get through this night as painlessly as possible; so if you can just fucking pick one—

Madison tried to smile back in their general direction, but her face muscle misinterpreted the command and twisted into a kind of grimace as well, but tried to fix their mistake halfway through, and the whole thing ended up looking like some sort of creepypasta in the end. Well and fully embarrassed by now, she quickly turned her attention to her drink and guzzled half of it down in one go.

Indecisive piece of lumpy, squishy, other-dimensional crap that it was, the Grimoire didn't have to make its choice. One of the braver souls got up from their seat and began to saunter over to the necromancer. Madison could sense the guy drawing closer. One of the other enthralled patrons casually scraped their chair back, hoping to catch the would-be Casanova's foot and trip him.

Mission failed, as the man quickly regained his balance and kept going as if nothing had happened.

Madison's face simply turned redder as she tried to drown both the lump of nervousness lodged in her throat and herself in the process.

Well, this is it, she thought. Book, if you like this one, let me know. Otherwise I'm dumping you in the ocean.

The young lady seated next to Maddy, a scrawny little thing whose face and arms were covered in reptilian scales, refused to make room for the man who would soon find himself short five bucks and a soul. As he pushed into the scant space between the necromancer and the snake lady, he flashed a pristine smile. She didn't care to look at the rest of his face--she wouldn't need to remember it after dumping him in an alleyway in an hour or so.

"Hi there," the man said, his voice thick like molasses. "I'm Elosil. Do you have a name? Or can I call you mine?"

Whatever color remained in Madison's face immediately drained. The sudden taste of bile crept into her mouth, mixing with the bitter of her drink. Is... is that what really passes for a pick-up line nowadays? Good grief, had it really been that long since her last date? Did shit like that actually work for people?

Madison stared at him for several moments before she realized she probably should laugh. And so she did. A shrill, ugly laugh; one that would frighten young children and startle small animals. But Eolsil didn't seem to mind.

"Madison," she replied, the sourness in her smile clear to everyone else in the room.

The night only went downhill from there.

Where did the two of them end up?

Madison didn't know. Nor did she care. Her mind was elsewhere while Elosil blathered on about his high-paying middle management job with a magitech development firm, his three cars named after mythical creatures, his philanthropic work, the last marathon he ran, an app he was doing some programming work for on the side, his progress on his doctorate, and being principal cello in some orchestra on the Island.

Just her luck that she'd bag a musician tonight, the egotistical pricks.

The necromancer simply ignored everything and... well, let's just say she tried very, very hard to try and at least enjoy the night. Sky was clear, moon hung bright overhead, and her jacket was just enough to keep the wind from biting at her pale skin. The park was empty at this time of night, for which she was thankful for. Maddy was still a bit unsure about exactly how she was going to go about this whole "I'm taking your soul now, kthnxbai~" thing. Like, was the Grimoire going to do all the work? Were there any ritual circles she needed to draw on the sidewalk, or runes to carve into his skin?

She'd ask the book, but it was too busy projecting images of cats purring into her mind, except they looked less like cats and more like Original Characters Do Not Steal on questionable art sites.

Madison was always self-conscious about how absolutely little she actually knew about her magic, especially after she moved to Manta Carlos City. Here she was, surrounded by mafia brides who could turn into werewolves, middle schoolers who had full control of the elements, dragons who ran banks, and actually good public transportation. And then there's that morbid, scrawny bookstore owner, barely able to pull a spirit out of a book long enough to point out a couple typos and grammatical errors.

Maybe it was good that she came into possession of the book. Maddy couldn't help but to feel jealous at the sheer amount of crap everyone on the Island took for granted. Supernatural speed and strength, prolonged lives, power over every conceivable kind of -mancy... One day, she'd be strong enough to actually feel like she fit in on the Island. Never once did she promise not to take shortcuts.

She just had to... get this possibly elven asshole's soul free from its meat prison.

...This was illegal, wasn't it? It had to be, right? Fuck, she knew she should've looked into Island laws regarding tampering with and/or theft of one's spiritual essence. Madison hadn't even bothered to check if the whole process was going to kill someone! She'd heard that some beings actually rely on their soul for their continued existence. How rude of them. But was soul-removal painful? Was this Elosil jerk going to cry and scream and beg her to stop, not that she would? Was it going to raise a racket and alert anyone close by that something bad was happening? And what if he did die? Well, Madison is a necromancer, of course--but the reagents she required to stuff someone back on the mortal coil were lying on a desk in her apartment, and--

That's when she felt Elosil's gentle touch on her hip, and all hesitation immediately flew out the window. The possibly elven man's grin bordered on lecherous as he leaned in closer, eyes firmly focused on the bookseller's thin, glossy lips, moving in to collect his prize.

It made it impossible for him to notice the hex that Madison was weaving with her free hand.

Glowing violet lines floated in the air as Maddy completed the rune, a quick and dirty curse aimed at her would-be lover. With a flick of her wrist the spell was cast, and its effects immediate. She was able to step away just in time for the first wave of vomit to hit the concrete.

"By the golden hair of Yllabella, I'm so sorry," he sputtered weakly. Eolsil laid a hand on Madison's shoulder to regain some balance as his cheeks puffed out from a second stew of beer, bile, and his dinner.

If Madison breathed through her nose, she'd want to throw up too. If she tried through her mouth, she could practically taste it, with how powerful the odor was. Instead, she opted to simply not breathe. "It's okay, don't worry about it. You did drink a lot, after all."

Eolsil wanted to make another dismissive joke, but he was too busy making another mess.

Madison looked around for someplace off the path, someplace dark and secluded to take him. Without an alleyway or abandoned storefront in sight, the bushes surrounding a nearby tree would have to do. Glancing up and down the walkway to make sure they were alone, Madison draped his arm around her shoulders and propped him up with an arm around his waist. "Let's get you sitting so you don't fall over and crack your skull, yeah?"

Her admirer was in no shape to disagree, so the two slowly shuffled off deeper into the shadows.

The necromancer knelt down, helping Elosil to prop himself up against the rough bark of the tree. His head weakly rolled around on his shoulders, uncertain if he was going to hurl again. "Thanks," he managed to sputter between coughing fits.

"Don't mention it," Madison replied as she glanced down at her purse. A speck of orange gunk managed to dribble down the dark leather. Reaching in, she felt around for the Grimoire.

"Here, I have something that might help you out."

It was now or never.

There were no flashing lights.

No arcane runes floating in the nighttime air.

No screaming until his throat was raw.

No clawing at his face while he babbled in ancient tongues.

No erratic twitching as his soul was torn from his physical form by a cadre of abyssal horrors.

No chorus of chanting in Bad Latin rising from the shadows out of time.

Not even Madison's The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets ringtone bothered to go off.

There was simply a moment that Elosil gazed into the book, then slumped over and sighed one of those "I feel like I might have left the lights on in my car, or forgot to the lock the front door" sighs.

Madison blinked.

Was... was that it?

...Bullshit. Complete and total bullshit.

The book collected its soul, but... Where was the surge of arcane knowledge? The power crackling at her fingertips? Where was it? Where the fuck was it?!

The necromancer continued to kneel there on the ground, a twig annoyingly digging into her kneecap. Visions of happy cats continued to fill her mind, the book's appetite sated for the time being.

"Don't tell me that's what my gift is," Maddy grumbled. If she was going to get Animorphing, then she wanted something cooler and more practical, like... like a raven! She could save so much time and money if she could just sprout a bunch of black feathers and take to the skies, rather than get stuck in traffic (which admittedly wasn't that bad, even downtown). And without having to worry about parking, or insurance fees, or mechanical upkeep--

A bout of tired muttering brought Madison's attention back to her "date". It was dawning on her that she had no idea what she was going to do next. Clearly, the Grimoire only wanted his soul, and not his life or body. But had he died during the whole soul-removal bit, what would she have done? Whatever it was, it would've been a hell of a lot easier than figuring out what to do with a still-living, breathing, thinking, and coherent victim.

If she stuffed him in the bushes, he'd just roll out. If she dumped him off the pier, he'd swim back to shore. If she pushed him into oncoming traffic, then there'd be dozens of witnesses on the bus.

And then Madison remembered something mildly important. Back at the bar? She gave the possibly-an-elf her real name. So consumed she was with her grand (but scatterbrained) plans to trade the souls of others to become The All-Powerful Mighty Maddy that she completely spaced on making an alter-ego.

Well, at least she was prepared to deal with that.

Fingers dancing through the air as she clutched the book close with one arm, Madison whipped up a little curse that would turn Elosil's memory of the night into Swiss cheese. She flung the glowing crimson rune at him, caught the sight of the tall blonde clutching at his head as wave after wave of fresh migraine pain washed over him, and then ran the ten blocks back to the safety of her bookstore.