Night had fallen when Terry decided to make her move.

Though Countess Limnaia acted just a little colder than before, she'd provided Terry with a room and a mattress of her own. I'll stay close to Lord Audren tonight, she'd said. He's an old acquaintance and his state should continue to be monitored.

That had sounded fair and allowing it likely couldn't hurt for now. Besides, if the countess busied herself fussing over Audren, she wouldn't interfere with Terry's business. The mage had simply nodded upon hearing her words, accepting a tankard of mead the countess had offered out of politeness, and she'd retreated to the room she'd been assigned.

She intended to neither drink nor sleep.

Seated on her mattress in the dark, rain pattering on the roof, Terry took out Credi's note. In spite of her apparent loss of faith in the necromancer, the countess must've seen some benefit in letting her hold on to it without further questions. And there were such benefits, though Terry understood which ones, while the countess herself was evidently clueless about magic beyond what Credi had told her about his own work.

What mattered about the note wasn't the writing it contained. What mattered was the connection to Credi.

The connection meant she could use the note to contact its writer in the spirit world. Something the countess hadn't been aware of, or she'd probably have demanded Terry do so in front of her right away. Fortunately, most people Terry encountered heard necromancy and only associated it with raising the dead or manipulating spirits in the realm of the living. They hardly, if ever, realised talking to ghosts in their own world was also an option. Which was fine. Terry didn't want any outsiders snooping around her craft, anyway.

She whispered a spell, summoning another object she'd need from the Cloud. Her late mother's wedding, made out of mountain gold that had cost her father a fortune decades ago, landed in the palm of her hand. While Credi's note would serve as her connection to his dwelling place in the spirit world, the ring would link her to the realm she called home. Without it, her soul would be unable to return to her body, doomed to aimlessly wander the shadowy spirit lands forever.

Terry slipped the ring around her finger, readied herself mentally. Then, she closed her eyes, concentrating, and whispered another spell.

Inherent risks aside, entering the spirit world was always surprisingly easy, she thought as the gentle feeling of her consciousness detaching itself from her body coursed through her. In essence, it all just boiled down to magic and the proper connections.

The real difficulty and danger didn't lie in the transportation of her soul to one realm or the other. It laid in the encounters with the spirits themselves.

After a few moments of total darkness, Terry's soul woke up in the spirit world.

She glanced at the ring around her translucent finger, just to make sure it was still there, and took a moment to adjust to being in a different realm. She detected no sounds or smells at all, and from experience, she knew she wouldn't feel anything she touched. Though food didn't exist in the spirit world, she was willing to bet she wouldn't taste anything if it did. Being in the spirit world felt like being wrapped up in a tight blanket, dulling and numbing all her senses perceived.

Only her vision stayed roughly the same, though she couldn't focus on anything in particular and everything she saw looked a little blurry. The perpetual shadows everywhere didn't help with that, either. But not too far into the distance, Terry could make out the shape of a tower regardless.

Credi's tower.

Terry started on her way towards it, straight through the foggy shadows making up the spirit world. She knew she gazed at a perfect mirror image of the tower the mage had called home in their shared realm of origin. She'd seen the real thing before while spending a semester in Santon, completing an apprenticeship in magical maintenance; she'd figured a second qualification on her still non-existent diploma could come in useful.

She'd never felt compelled to visit Credi and his dwelling, though, for she'd only seen him at the Institute occasionally and had had no reason to consider getting to know him better desirable. But the tower stood out in the Santon skyline and she'd gotten used to the sight of it during those few months spent in the city.

When she reached the entrance, she found a heavy wooden door.

An open door.

Without hesitating, Terry stepped inside and began trekking up the spiralling stairs.

One perk of being in the spirit world was that she couldn't feel the ache in her legs or her shortness of breath as she climbed; reaching the tower's top floor would take no effort whatsoever. But it still was a tedious experience smothered in silence, and lonely, so lonely; a sense of isolation oozed from the elusive spirit realm at all times.

The vast space had no boundaries, stretching on and on and on forever, and when a soul entered it after death, the shadows around them would reshape themselves to correspond with the dead person's life, their experiences, feelings and recollections. It would turn into the shadow of a place as it existed, or had once existed, in the realm of the living, just like the spirit within, who'd spend an indefinite amount of time in this cell of memories, nothing but an echo of the person they used to be.

Life, Terry thought, even with all its troubles and hardships, would always be better than this hollow copy.

The closer she got to the top floor, the more she became aware of sound, a rapid mumbling of some kind, muffled and distant as was common in this world. Credi's spirit, undoubtedly. Once Terry had conquered the last part of the staircase, she found him in a large room, filled with the shades of his bookshelves and other possessions which he could no longer interact with in any meaningful way. She observed the dead mage as he paced around his room, frantically muttering to himself, running his hands through his wispy hair.

She couldn't get a clear look at his face, but what Credi looked like wasn't important to her, anyway. All she needed was information. She lingered by the doorstep, watching the spectre like a hawk; he didn't seem to be aware of her presence and she preferred to keep it that way. Ideally, she'd only make him half-aware of her presence, which required a subtle approach.

"Master Credi," she spoke softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, but still clear in the silence. "You've cursed humanity. That curse must be broken. How?"

No introductions, no mentions of his death, no beating around the bush and no information given other than the bare minimum. The safest way to deal with the dead. Terry would do her best to blend in like a shapeshifter, would become nothing but a voice in Credi's head. Spirits weren't the most observant and, if she was lucky, she could converse with this one without him finding out she'd ever been there with him. Him seeing her would only put her at risk.

"Mustn't tell," Credi mumbled, still pacing fast without paying attention."Mustn't tell. That's the point. They have to find out for themselves. That's the point."

Always prone to repetition, spirits. Terry frowned. If Credi was adamant on not telling, she could ask again, goading and pressing until he satisfied her with an answer. But that plan had its downsides: Credi could fully notice her and grow aggressive, which only placed the answer she sought further out of reach.

Terry switched to a different strategy. Credi wouldn't tell her how to break the curse, but perhaps he'd be willing to divulge his motives.

"But why did you do it?" she tried. "Why cast the curse?"

A low, frustrated growl escaped from the spectre's throat. Terry couldn't avoid startling, hoping it didn't draw too much unwanted attention to herself.

"Corruption," Credi spat, "corruption and ruthlessness, hostility and deceit. All I've known and seen. Tried to change it for the better. Naive. Beyond saving, every last one. Even she. But I'd believed in her. Mistake."

Terry had always found listening to spirits, with their short, jerky sentences, a real pain. The contents of this one's words only unsettled her more deeply. "Is 'she' Countess Limnaia?" she asked, discomfort rising with every second. As the Countess had stated, Credi had had high hopes for her reign, had thought her capable of restoring order and rest to a rotting society. If he'd changed his mind...

None of this was good news.

"The most wicked of all." Credi sped up his pace, his spectral hands and body starting to tremble with rage. "Led us to believe she was doing good, yes, yes. Fooled us all. Claimed to speak to her people incognito. Dressed as a commoner. To discover what was on their minds. Find out what she could do to help them. Admirable. So admirable."

He paused, breaking out into what Terry could only describe as a ghastly laugh, devoid of humour. It grated against her ears.

"Lies, lies," Credi continued, voice growing louder as anger consumed him. He'd died that way, angry at the world he'd lived in, and he'd carried the sentiment with him to his afterlife. "Together with a servant, she'd leave at night. But no rumours. No mentions of a countess mingling with commoners. Suspicious. One night, I followed. Saw the truth."

"Which was?"

"They'd pose as beggars. Visit people living in the city's outskirts, countryside peasants. Try to be welcomed in for a meal and a bed. Lies, all lies. They misled and killed and tortured. Cruel, sick, twisted, yes, senseless violence against the innocent..."

Terry's blood ran cold. If Credi spoke the truth, Countess Limnaia of Santonshire was a serial killer. How much of what she'd said and done could be a facade, hiding her true nature? Anyone could be cruel and bloodthirsty, even among the nobility. But how well had the woman's upbringing rendered her capable of masking who she really was? Could she have spent years of her life cultivating the persona of a beloved and benevolent ruler, all to cover up her horrible crimes?

And Credi... had discovering the truth about the one person he'd hoped would change life in Santon for the better been the last push he'd needed? Had it been what finally shoved him over the edge, led him to madness and a plan to curse humanity before ending his life?

Terry's mind worked restlessly as she reconsidered every interaction she'd had with the countess. The wraiths, the medication, the troubled expression on being questioned about Credi's motives, her subtle change in demeanor after Terry had misled her and claimed to be far less capable than she actually was. Puzzle pieces started to fall into place; the more the mage thought about it, the more sense Credi's words made.

She began to suspect the end of the world hadn't put an end to Limnaia's cruelty.

And that meant she'd left Lord Audren in the care of a madwoman.

Credi wasn't finished yet. "In what world," he boomed, voice echoing, "should kindness and hospitality be punished so harshly?"

He swiveled around and looked directly at the intruding necromancer in his home.

Terry took an instinctive step back. She had to end this now, go back and deal with the situation at hand in her own world. This world was becoming too dangerous for her liking. Now aware of her presence, Credi let his eyes drift to the ring around her finger, her connection to the realm of the living. Like any other spirit, he'd be drawn to it, would try to take it, and the last thing Terry wanted was to release him in the already-haunted Malodell.

The ghost snarled at her and lunged, but Terry was faster. Simply concentrating and touching the ring was enough to send her soul on its way back home.

Back to a place where a murderess awaited.