"I know what you must be thinking. Actually, I know definitively what you're thinking, but I digress...

You must be thinking, "Mystica, are we really going to get another puff of you recruiting some backwater girl to your (righteous) cause?" Well, yes, actually. Something like that. But this one is different, you see. This is not merely and instance of me acquiring an asset. No, no. I would not have interrupted the literary flow, broken the narrative, if I meant to simply say as such. I must emphasize the importance of this event. This is not just another day. It's not even a day. It takes place just past dusk. Have you been paying attention?

If not, you're only digging your own grave. Let it never be said that I am not a benevolent god. What I am offering to you, my dears, may be likened to a knife. Small, but effective, and nevertheless, still a weapon. This is information I share with you. Is the first rule of war not "know thine enemy?"

I am your enemy. Pay attention, and maybe you'll be able to live long enough to see the shadow of my heel as it comes down to crush your skull into a fine-grit sand.

Yes, speak of your clocks, your fifteen minutes of fame. But it seems you've not heeded my warnings. No matter how long you live to see the wonders of your world before your eyes, no matter how many men you have killed, no matter the domination you carry upon your shattering spine, death finds you in the end. Small little things, you all are. Like ants. And I happen to have a magnifying glass. One that could melt the layers from this stubborn rock in space. But I don't. Is that not an act of mercy? But when the ants become defiant, when they begin to bite the casual...malevolent observer, they must be put back in their place. If you stand against me, you will be quieted. Your headstrong defiance means little to me. I can, and will, crush you. I will pour molten lead into your anthill, I will consume your Queen, and I will make sure the last sight in your multiple insectoid eyes is the vision of me as I cause your world as you know it to fade to black.

Whew. Now you've gone and exhausted me, lads. All these bad vibrations. Not a good time at all. Then we should transition, no?

A bit of background, hm? Context is quite vital to understanding. Yes, I was already working my unspeakable magic on this poor, half-blind, crippled little creature, but it was not done in search of a new prodigy. Nor was it done for the sake of a new host. I wanted to conduct an experiment. And every good experiment needs a willing test subject.

You see, I was without my usual accomplices. They had been spread to the winds, taken to all four corners of the earth under my orders. It was necessary for their survival. Oh, yes. As rare as it is, I made an error. I shan't say what this particular mistake was, but know that the consequences thereof led to the necessary dissolution of my company. Gone were the snarky rebuttals of my dearest Zahra, the intellectual faith from my beloved apprentice Annie, the charming eloquence of Miles Baldwin. But I was not alone. No, I had Lecourt.

But soon, I would have him, and so, so much more..."

---

She couldn’t move, and even if she could have, she wouldn’t. Something in her gut, shouting in Serbo-Croat, told her that this was what was meant to be. It was right. Everything in her life, even the bullet shell casings, felt as though it had led her to this moment, right here in time and space. Her grip on the cane loosened.

“Can you make them go away?” she asked, wide-eyed. “The ugly things in my head?”

The man’s smile faded. His eyes, however, maintained their fixed position, locked with the girl’s.

“Nothing can make them just “go away,”” he said before placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You cannot run from your demons. They are faster than you, and in the end, they’ll catch you eventually. Though you only see them in times of distress, they can always see you. So, under such unfavorable odds, why then, would you make an enemy out of ugly things?”

His grasp on her shoulder slackened, and he trailed his hand down her arm, like a butcher sizing up a slab of fresh calf. If he could just fix the leaks in her head’s pipes, she would make a prime candidate. A new house, with new food on the table. And most importantly, an excuse to sound the dinner bell. The smile returned.

“You should channel them,” the man continued, becoming more excited with each word out of his own mouth. “The world is an uncaring place. You, of all people, my dear, need a real weapon to fight your wars. I can’t make your demons go away…”

Now the girl seemed to focus in on his wavelength. Her blank, rapturous face had begun to mirror the man’s: a malevolent, energized smile appeared.

“But I can show you how to make them into your knife…”

A flash. The girl hadn’t realized it, but in that moment of lost self-awareness, the man had suddenly wrapped his cold, dry hand around hers, as though in a handshake. The ice in his palms suddenly turned electric, and the resulting blue voltage shot throughout both her and the man’s body…bodies…where-?

“Where are we?” the girl asked, though the words seemed to be coming out of her mouth of their own accord. The world had shattered around them, leaving only a gray void laden in fog in its place. Though she was fairly sure she was standing still, she felt as though she were traveling at an impossible speed. Everything was moving around her, but she was standing still. No more running. The world was running from her.

“We’re in a mental space,” the man explained, “somewhere between your mind and mine. And likely several others. You’ll know about them soon, too.”

“I know your name,” whispered the girl under her breath, as though she had discovered some horrible secret.

“Then say it.”

“Mystica.”

“Now,” Mystica began, stepping toward her across the great plane of nothing upon which they stood, “tell me your name. Say it aloud.”

“Heather Dahlia,” replied the girl after an audible gulp.

“Your real name,” Mystica implored. “The one they took from you.”

Heather shivered. No, he couldn’t remember that. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, never. Never again. Shoah, shoah, the catastrophe...her Holocaust. The burning of Serbian names in a fire. The bloodline ran cold. That name had no purpose. Not anymore. But there is was. In the back of her brain, right where she left it. Right where she had hidden it away, never to be heard by another living being. Never again. Until now.

She took in a mighty breath, knowing this would knock all the wind from her lungs.

“Ljiljana Dalovic.”

The man closed his eyes – those beautiful icy circles – and tilted his head back, as if a great pressure had been released. But it hadn’t been his. It had been hers. Or was it theirs? All was out in the aether, wandering aimlessly in the spheres. Eldritch knowledge spanned the not-air between them, and gathered before slamming into his fragile-looking form. A great feast had begun.

“What have you done to me?” Heather asked, not in anger or violation, but in sheer eager curiosity. Having been knocked back, Mystica, in the shape of Marcel Lecourt, took a moment to gather himself before answering. When he did finally offer her the truth, it emerged in panting, short breaths.

“I freed you…from your past…from all your sins…cleansed you…so tell me…does your eye still hurt?”

The girl paused, suddenly made aware of the absence of pain. Not only pain – she could…see? The nothingness all around her, drenched in a heavy mist…she could see it in three dimensions. Impossible.

“And what about your leg?”

No, no, no. This couldn’t be. She had been carrying her weight in her good leg for years and years. How could he…?

She shifted her weight onto her bad leg. And nothing. No pain. No agony. No more bad dreams.

“H-how?” she asked, tears now blinding her to the new world that never-was re-forming around her. The Prague back alley’s shards rose from the abyss and aligned themselves once more. Back to reality. Out of the Myst.

“I have unified our minds,” said Mystica.

But the voice wasn’t coming from the physical form of the man who had emerged from the fog earlier that evening whistling a tune. The voice was from everywhere. From nowhere. From inside her.

“I am something older than time itself,” the abomination explained to his weepy-eyed host. “But now that our consciousness has become one, you already know that.”

“Yes,” Heather confirmed, tears ceasing. “I know…everything.”

“Then you know the next step of my experiment.”

“Indeed.”

She stepped forward, grabbed the man by the collar of his tweed jacket, and pulled him in close. He gave her that same smile that the creature now inside her had given her earlier. So kind, so sage.

“Hello,” the man said cordially, “I’m Marcel Lecourt.”

“I know.”

And then he felt her icy cold hand grasp his own. Another flash.

“I declare this a success.”

Lecourt could hardy breathe. Mystica had moved between them so quickly, so suddenly, and so heavily. But the shock meant nothing to him. The experiment had worked. He’d jumped back into a previous body. He could move around…

“And Lecourt?” Mystica asked as the two humans walked off into the evening fog, side-by-side.

“Yes?” he answered.

"Do you know what the best part of this is?"

That was when he felt it: the unmistakable sensation of a cold, slimy tentacle winding its way up the sleeve of his jacket.

Heather’s voice sounded out beside him, the vibrations reverberating into the horrible appendage.

“I’m a quick learner.”

“Sound the call. Bring me my children. Gather the Prodigals.”