2

“Tally! Dinner is ready!”

“Coming!!”

Tallulah looked up into the sky through the branches of the large oak tree she had spent the better part of the afternoon under, trying to master the stitching she had been shown in school the day before. No matter what she did, her stitches never looked as neat as those of her teacher. Either the spacing was off or the thread didn’t lie down as orderly… Oh well. At least she had some practice work to show for.

She quickly tidied up her materials and put them in the small basket she had brought. The oak tree was close enough to her house, so that she could hear her mother call, right at the edge of their garden and the main street. If she had to finish her homework, she could at least look at the passing carts while doing so.

Tallulah turned towards the house and walked to the front door. The scenery blurred as she reached for the door handle and her hand slipped, unable to grab it. She dropped the basket and reached out again, but no matter what she tried, the door was out of reach.

A sharp jolt made her collapse and the sensation ripped her from the dream. It was dark around her and the air smelled of smoke. The markings on her right hand Her stomach turned as the black tendrils grew and rushed all over her skin, until her whole body was wrapped in shadows. Like always, her vision was the last to go as it cut off the light.

It never got easier. The sickly feeling of falling into nothingness, the sensation of crawling bugs all over. It grew cold in an instant, and then it was warm again, and the darkness receded.

The power had teleported her again. It did so at any time of day, no matter her situation or intentions. She had stopped counting the amount of teleports some time around the third decade of her sojourn. Sometimes she was able to stay in one place for weeks, sometimes only hours. There was no telling. No demands could be made. The magic drew her into darkness in an instant.

Tallulah shook her head. No thinking. Just doing.

Survival step one: Determine the number. Her right hand showed the remaining amount of her bargain. One city, repaid a hundredfold. 650223 souls left to save. So her last effort had saved only 10. No. Don’t complain.

Survival step two: Get her bearings. She was inside what seemed to be a derelict tower, built from large, solid stone blocks. The air was stagnant and dusty. The wooden door hung off its hinges. A partially collapsed staircase led downwards. She stepped out onto the ramparts of the place. It was a ruin in a forest, no roads visible even in the brilliant sunshine. Only a courtyard full of confused undead.

Survival step three: Determine the safest place to crash. Preferably with cookies.

With a hand motion, Tallulah was wrapped in a shimmery veil, which covered her like a film of soap. One of the many tricks she had invented over the years. There was power in her, but what was it worth if that power didn’t serve her? Magic could be used to do many things: Fly, turn invisible, set fire—even turn stones into dust. By now, through decades of experience, she could turn a horde of undead into a mere pile of bones with the flick of a wrist. But magic couldn’t do everything.

It couldn’t make the undead smell like flowers.

And it couldn’t bake cakes.

At least she hasn’t found a way yet.

She looked around until she laid eyes on a part of the ruin, which seemed to at least have a roof. Probably no bed left inside, but who knew? Lightfooted, she leaped over the rampart and down into the courtyard, into the middle of the undead. They were barely holding together, already looking more like skeletons than people. Some were missing legs, some just leaned against the walls. It was sad, really. But also an opportunity. There were no living people here, so no one was in danger of getting killed. Preventing that wasn’t Tallulah’s main goal, but leaving people to die still rubbed her the wrong way. Besides, people were the only ones making sweet desserts.

With the shimmering barrier, the undead didn’t perceive her as she walked among them. The marking on her arm let her open the dilapidated door on the building and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Suppose you can be decent sometimes,” she mumbled.

No reaction. She hadn’t expected one. Over sixty years in this cycle, and she still didn’t know what exactly attached to her that fateful night.

Survival step four: Use every moment you’re granted to sleep.

The crates in the corner didn’t look comfortable, but Tallulah had slept in worse places. Fishing in the bag at her waist for one of the cookies she had swept a week before, Tallulah settled in, sinking into her extra large dress for at least a few more hours of sleep.

——

“Excuse me?”

Tallulah opened her eyes to the faceless, blank stare of a skeleton directly above her. The skeleton cleared its non-existent throat.

“I believe you may…”

Tallulah punched the skeleton’s head clean off.