Agreeing immediately would make me come off as desperate, which I am and it probably knows I am, but it’s bad form to admit that.

I do really, really want to become a witch. It’s exciting! It could solve all my problems! Sure, it means becoming a bloody-handed champion of darkness sworn to the service of unknowable alien horrors that like to walk around pretending to be cats, but there are worse bosses. Probably.

Honestly, I’m really flattered to be getting the offer so expressly. I’m sure there are plenty of petty psychopaths and vengeful killers in the area, but instead they picked me. Me! The extradimensional patrons want me in their corner. I mean, when was the last time anyone wanted me for anything?

I clear my throat and try to look cool. I have to suppress the urge to start bouncing with excitement. I’d lean against an alley wall, but those are disintegrating into stardust like the rest of the alley. I wonder if I’ve stepped into some kind of pocket dimension or if my celestial surroundings are just an illusion? I’m not in any hurry to check.

“A witch, huh? Make monsters, fight magical girls, scheme dark deeds from a castle of ice and shade? I could be convinced. Of course, if you’re making the offer at all, I’m going to guess you’ve been watching me long enough to think I’d say yes.”

“We have,” the false feline confirms in its strange, cheerful voice. “To be more precise, I have, though I’ve relayed my findings to my superiors. You can call me Pandora, and I’m something of a talent scout for our organization. Based on the data I’ve collected, the sidereal Jovians would like to offer you a position. We think you would make an excellent witch, Ms. Emily.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” I say dryly. It’s hard to keep my attention on the talking cat when the starscape around us is so breathtaking, but I’ve got to take this seriously and pretend there’s a chance I’d ever reject this offer. It’s basically a job interview, right? I haven’t been to one of those in, uh, ever, but I’ve seen enough on TV. “I’m betting you don’t pay in dollars, so what’s the benefits package like?”

Pandora takes my sass in stride. “We offer a baseline package for all our signers, one you’ll find quite comparable to that offered by our chief competitor. To be a witch is to be an immortal, immune to the ravages of time and capable of surviving complete physical annihilation. Only another magic user can kill a witch, and only as the third killing blow in a pattern of rivalry. The same protections will apply to your magical girl opponents, so be mindful whose throats you cut.”

All of that is basically public knowledge, or at least public guesswork, but it’s nice to have confirmation that the pattern of three is a real thing. Watching a witch laugh off a Tomahawk missile is quite the spectacle.

“A perception filter will prevent your civilian identity from being connected to your witch persona, but it can be overwhelmed by a direct enough link. It should suffice to protect you from government scrutiny in the event you acquire personal funds through extralegal channels while acting as a witch.”

That explains why I couldn’t identify Sophia as Striga until I saw her transform through the window of our apartment. There were so many little clues that I couldn’t focus on until that moment. Just thinking of Sophia has my pulse racing and my blood heating up. Sophia, Sophia, Sophia.

The cat isn’t done talking. “And, of course, you get to use magic. In my experience, that last part gets the most attention from our new hires.”

Behind the cat, the cosmos unfold in colorful nebulas and shards of lunar stone. The Jovian emissary, Pandora, watches me with inscrutable silver eyes. I wasn’t expecting it to play along with my corporate analogy, but I guess the aliens have adapted as well as we have. I brush my hair back and grin. “Pretty little pitch. What are the responsibilities?”

Swish goes the kitty tail. “You’ll find us a very hands-off employer, Ms. Emily. So long as you make a semi-regular effort to cause trouble for magical girls, we won’t scrutinize how you spend your time. I promise, your workload will be significantly lighter than that of your counterparts under the solar faction.”

The kind of employer everyone dreams of. All I have to do is join the dark side. “So, not to be ungrateful or anything, but… why me? I mean, what made you think I’d take a deal like that? You’re right that I’m tempted, but, I want to know how you knew I’d be tempted. What did your little bout of spying tell you about Rachel Emily?” I gesture at my slovenly, unkempt, subordinary appearance.

The cat licks one of its paws, acting the part of the simple animal that it very clearly isn’t. “You pace restlessly alone and jump at the chance to explore places you’ve never been, and you try new food at least once a month, new video games once a week. You’re constantly chasing new experiences. It’s not enough, though, is it? You’re still unsatisfied. You’re still missing something.”

I know exactly what I’m missing, but does the cat? “Go on, then. What am I missing?”

“Well, I can’t read your mind, but I can read your internet history,” the cat says with just the faintest hint of smugness. “You spend hours every day staring at magical girls on livestreams and videos, and you talk about them incessantly on forums and social media.” Pandora stretches luxuriously as it adds, “There are other sites I could mention, but we don’t need to get that specific, do we? I’m sure you’d prefer it if I left those details unsaid.”

The magical cat aliens know what porn I read. This is the worst day of my life in the history of ever. I fight the blush exploding across my face and wave my hands in surrender. “We’re good! That’s good! You made your point, you’ve seen it all. Let’s refocus. Ahem. Uh, so, the appeal is there, for sure, but I still have concerns. You’re asking me to join your war and fight for you, to fight magical girls and plot their demise, but you also know I’m a fan of those very same girls. Do you really think I have it in me to hurt them?”

Pandora flicks its tail again, then lifts its head. “Let’s dismiss a piece of ambiguity about this situation: the real reason you’re tempted by the idea of becoming a witch is because it will let you get closer to Sophia Lane, who you love and desire. Ms. Lane’s first priority is and always will be fighting witches. If you yourself become a witch, you become that first priority. So allow me to turn the question on you, Ms. Emily: are you willing to fight your beloved Sophia?”

It feels like my whole body is humming with desire. Sophia, Sophia, Sophia! I glance back the way I came, imagining those distant rainbow lights where my perfect Sophie is risking her life fighting some other girl. There’s another witch out there, some girl who only sees Strix Striga and not the wonderful Sophie underneath. A witch who thinks she has the right to strike my beloved, to plot against my beloved, to steal away my beloved’s time when it should be going to me.

If I were a witch, I could make sure that never happened. I could have Sophia all to myself, every hour of every day. I’d never have to worry about some other girl taking her sweet, precious attention away from me.

Am I willing to fight my Sophia? Am I willing to hurt her?

I let myself imagine it. Wielding dark magic and clashing against her, weapons crossing, our bodies in harmony as we come to know each other through the siren song of violence. Getting the upper hand and pinning her against a wall, my hands around her wrists, my knee between her legs, my breath against her ear. She’d turn the tables on me, of course she would, my incredible Sophia, and I’d get to feel her strength against my body, her fists against my skin.

I wonder how far I could push her. If I kept needling her, antagonizing her, pushing her off-balance, could I get my perfect angel to spit in my mouth and call me names? How would she react if I moaned when she did it? Could I make her moan, if I found the right trick in the heat of battle?

“It seems you’ve found your answer,” Pandora purrs.

I snap back to myself, suddenly aware of how heavy I’m breathing and the guileless smile on my face. I shiver as the chemical bliss of my deepest fantasies is nudged aside by the practical reality of the situation I’m in. I want everything this creature is offering… which means there must be a trick. Another shoe waiting to drop.

I claw back some of my composure and force a bit of professionalism into my expression and posture. “That answer does prompt another question. You have to be aware that I would never, ever consider killing her. Is that acceptable to your faction?”

The very idea that it might not be acceptable boils my blood with molten rage. If anyone wanted to hurt Sophia, if anyone even thought about trying to kill her, I’d… do nothing, if I didn’t have the power to stop them. So it’s more important than ever that I take this deal, whatever the cat’s answer, whatever the truth of that answer. Sophia is mine. Sophia must be mine.

Pandora bows its head and says, “Worry not, Ms. Emily. We have no designs on the life of Ms. Lane. Your loyalty to our cause is far more important than whatever incidental gains might come of removing that piece from the board. All you need to do is keep her attention on you, just like you want.”

My gaze sharpens. “And what is that cause, cat? What is your ‘sidereal faction’ actually after?”

“I’m afraid that information is classified,” Pandora replies warmly. “Of course, if you earned your place in our organization, I’m sure you could negotiate a higher level of clearance.”

Secretive little shit. But… it’s offering me exactly what I want. And if it’s lying and they do want to hurt Sophia, whether directly or indirectly… saying no to their offer wouldn’t do anything to stop that from happening. The Rachel Emily that isn’t a witch doesn’t matter. Can’t matter.

There was never a world where I turned Pandora down, I know that. Still. There’s one more question I need to ask.

“Cat. Will I lose?”

The sidereal Jovian, black and purple with shining silver eyes, flicks its tail again. “That depends entirely on what you’re asking, Ms. Emily. Are you requesting a promise of invincibility? Or is your meaning more abstract?”

I roll my eyes and fold my arms. “Don’t get cute, kitty cat. I mean, you are pretty cute and I kinda wanna squeeze you, but I’ve got this sense you’re leaving something out. The immortality you’re promising is conditional, and contingent on factors I can’t entirely control. And that raises a question: how do you see my story ending? Everything has to end, eventually, and I know that villains don’t usually get happy endings. What I’m asking you, Pandora, is whether or not you’re promising me something that I’ve never seen happen. Are you going to tell me that I get to sail off into the sunset after all the dust has settled? Or am I signing on for a short walk to a shallow grave?”

I stare at the cat intently, the whole of my being focused on its answer. For all my irreverent humor and casual attitude, beneath the mask I’m taking this deadly seriously.

Pandora’s gaze never leaves mine, but the cat tilts its head to the side. It muses, “Perhaps you could call it a gamble. Of all the witches we’ve empowered, eighty-four percent of them died within the first year of activity. Another fifteen percent perished within the second year. The remaining one percent, however, remain operational to this day.”

Its words are a cold splash of reality. If I take this deal, my chances of surviving past the next two years are one in a hundred. Better than a lottery ticket, sure, but we’re not talking pennies here. This is my life I’d be betting. “Why?” I ask. “Why should I take a risk like that? Becoming a witch gets me closer to Sophia, but dying a witch puts me as far away as I can be.”

Pandora, placidly sitting this whole time, finally stands up. The cat that isn’t a cat begins to circle me, padding across the asphalt and letting out a gorgeous, thrumming pur.

“Because,” Pandora tells me, “you are already dead.”

I stiffen. “Elaborate.”

“Eight months and six days ago, you slept for a combined total of thirteen hours. You woke up several times, but always buried yourself again once your immediate needs were seen to. When you finally stayed awake, you laid there unmoving, attention captured by the game on your smartphone. You didn’t eat that day, but when Sophia came home late and tired you told her that you’d been out of the house most of the day and had eaten your fill. You slept without having eaten a thing. This was remarkable for your routine only in the absence of a late night snack binge to make up the neglected calories.”

I flinch. “So what, it’s not like I have—”

“Money?” the cat interrupts, behind me now but steadily returning to my front. “No, not much, but you have a roommate who would buy or make food for you any time you asked, and you insist on not troubling her. You consistently downplay any need she would be equipped to assist with, even at significant cost to your own health. You display a number of reckless behaviors that put yourself further at risk, such as crossing streets with your eyes closed or walking alone in the dead of night. You seem to have no concern whatsoever for the value of your own life. As if you dispute the very notion that your life could have value.”

I shove my hands in my pockets to stop them from twitching. Everything the cat is saying is something I’ve thought to myself, screamed at myself, on those cold and lonely nights when Sophia wouldn’t come home. Pandora doesn’t wait for me to respond before continuing its merciless assault.

“You are a corpse that eats and breathes and rots and rots and rots. You wait for an end that can’t come soon enough, withering in isolation… but it doesn’t have to be that way. You can choose a better path than that slow and inevitable decomposition. This is what I promise: a second chance to feel alive again.”

I swallow, throat dry and limbs shaking. “But you’re asking me to die for you.” The sound comes out almost pleading.

“No,” Pandora says, harsh and immediate, and it comes to a stop in front of me. When it speaks again, there’s something like frenzy in its light and pleasant voice. “I’m asking you to live for us. Roll the dice on becoming a witch, knowing it might kill you, because in taking that risk you will have finally lived for the first time since that day in the rain on the bridge with Sophia. Beat the odds, Rachel. Show us—show everyone—that you are more than just a statistic. Show them all that they were wrong to dismiss you. Show her that she was wrong to ignore you all those long years.”

Sophia, Sophia, Sophia. I’m shivering and I can’t breathe. Sophia, Sophia, Sophia. I’m terrified and mesmerized in equal measure, like looking at a wildfire that keeps getting closer or staring down a car coming full speed right toward me. This could kill me. This could save me.

Sophia could finally be mine.

All at once the terror leaves me and I can’t help but laugh. I know what I’m going to say. It’s inevitable. I can feel it in my racing pulse and my ragged breath, in the toxic cocktail of anger and desire that’s flooding my veins and boiling my brain. The world can’t keep me down. No one is going to stop me.

I catch my breath and force a wild, wicked grin. “You know, cat, I’ve always thought myself plagued by misfortune. But I was wrong. Right now? I’m feeling pretty damn lucky. Let’s roll those fucking dice. I’ll be your witch.”

Pandora laughs, delighted by my choice. “Excellent, simply excellent! I look forward to working with you, Ms. Emily. Now, this next part might look a bit scary, but it won’t hurt a bit.”

That’s exactly the kind of sentence that makes me think I’m about to feel excruciating agony, but I don’t have time to express my alarm before the world is swallowed by darkness. The city and otherworldly sights are both gone, and I find myself drifting through an endless black void.

Then my entire body catches fire.

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