As if to shame her for the sin of hubris, the door opened and Prioress Lizaveta walked in, accompanied by a dumpy, matronly-looking woman. The mere sight of the Reverend Mother made Drex felt like a marionette whose strings had been seized by a manic puppeteer. To her consternation, her body, seeming to possess a will of its own, flung itself from the divan to prostrate her before Lizaveta.
"My will is yours, Reverend Mother,” the girl's traitorous mouth said. “I wish only to serve."
To her disgust, she found herself kissing the hem of the Prioress’ robe with a fervour approaching rapture, despite struggling to resist the strange impulses that had taken control of her body.
Drex heard the Prioress’ crackling voice intone, “You may rise, Supplicant."
She pushed herself to her feet and stood before the Reverend Mother, not daring to raise her eyes or to speak.
"Sit, girl.” Lizaveta eased herself into the velvet embrace of the divan nearest the door.
Wondering what was happening to her, Drex lowered herself onto the other settee, her gaze fixed on the bottle-green carpet.
"Look at me.” The voice crashed like a thunderclap, and she complied at once with the command.
The old woman's face looked like a map showing the twists and turns of a long life. Wrinkled lips surrounded by deep lines were twisted in a foul imitation of a friendly smile, but… those eyes! They shone out like lambent beacons from the wizened face, intense and intelligent, seeming to drill through Drex's skull and into her mind. It seemed as if her soul had been laid bare, like an anatomist's dissection pinned out in a display for a group of students.
The amber eyes seemed to grow larger and larger, until Drexelica feared she would fall into them. After a while, fear gave way to blissful serenity, and she longed to lose herself in the yellow pools. She felt herself drifting, drifting…
She felt puzzled by the harsh, rhythmic sound she heard, until she realised dimly that the Prioress was laughing. Her senses returned with the impact of a snapped bowstring, and she fell backwards.
For a few moments, Drexelica struggled to master her vocal chords. When she did, all that emerged from her throat was a guttural, stammering, “What?"
"Your soul is your own again, girl,” Lizaveta said. “You may speak freely for the moment, although you should be aware that what you just experienced was the merest fraction of my powers. I can exert total control over you whenever I desire.
"Do speak; you must have many questions to ask me."
Sitting up straight, Drex asked, “Why did you do that, Reverend Mother?"
"You may dispense with the formalities of the Order for now, Supplicant. I want to talk with the Grivense street gamine, Drexelica, on her last night of existence."
Drex felt a flood of relief run through her; death would be a blessing, surcease from her ordeal.
She's given up on me! At least she won't be able to use me against Grimm. I hope he rips her heart out!
"So what will it be, Lizaveta? I don't care what you do to me. Whip me to death if you want, tear my limbs off, burn me; whatever you do, it'll be paradise compared with having to chant those bloody stupid Responses just once more.
Just get on with it."
Drexelica smiled as she saw a frisson of horror run across the dumpy matron's face, but Lizaveta's expression was as calm as ever.
"My dear; how unimaginative you are!” the smiling Prioress said. “There are far worse torments than the ones you mentioned. Sister Melana will discover many of them very soon."
Drexelica stared. “Do you mean she wasn't a part of this stupid little game? I thought…"
Lizaveta's dry, hacking laugh filled the air. “I have had my eye on the dear Sister for some time. She was altogether too opinionated and conceited, so I thought I'd see how far I'd push her before she showed her true colours. I was rather pleased by the results, and especially pleased with your performance."
"Me?” The word exploded from Drex's lips. “What did I have to do with it?"
"Why, your splendid Geomantic spell, dear Drexelica! Neither Melana nor you would have got far-we were waiting for something to happen, sooner or later. However, we were hoping that you would unshackle your power in the process, and you have done so. That you unleashed your energies at Melana herself was particularly pleasant to see. She's quite a strong witch, that one, but you brought her down as if she were a straw effigy in a gale."
Drex felt cold tendrils of horror running down her spine, as she realised she had been as much a puppet during her attempted escape as she had been under Lizaveta's power a few moments before.
Still, she thought, what does it matter, if they're going to kill me?
"I can't really bring myself to care about that, Lizaveta,” she said aloud. “You've got your rebel now, and you'll forgive me if I don't weep over what happens to her. If I'm going to die, at least I can die satisfied."
This time, Lizaveta's laughter was long and loud, and the other nun joined in with an almost musical tinkle of amusement.
"We weren't after Melana, my dear; that was just a bonus. We were after you and your power. I only said that the Grivense street gamine, Drexelica, would die. In her place will be born a powerful and useful witch; a credit to the Order. You didn't really believe Melana's routine was the best we could do to subvert you, did you? I could always tell you were fighting back, even though you said the right things at the right time."
"I almost lost my mind!” Drex cried. “Half the time, I didn't even know who I was! What more could you have done to me?"
"Plenty, my darling girl, but we didn't want to rush you.” Tears ran from the smiling Lizaveta's rheumy eyes and traced a complex path through the wrinkles on her face. “We always ensured you had just enough free will to think you had the better of us. The whole process was designed to make you burst from your shell, my dear, and it did just that. The real trial begins now. Once the genie has escaped from the bottle, it cannot be replaced.
"You were born a witch, but you were constrained by poverty, ignorance and rampant misogyny. We have brought out the full extent of your power."
Now, at last, Drex saw the Prioress’ plan, as horror threatened to overwhelm her. They had only dulled her mind and confused her until she lashed out with the power she had denied and withheld for so long.
Lizaveta leaned back in her divan, still chuckling. “From now on, Drexelica, you will have plenty to eat and all the sleep you need. We must have you in good condition if and when your lover arrives."
Drex felt her heart pounding, and she licked her dry lips with a tongue that felt like a piece of limp, dry leather. “You haven't beaten me yet, bitch. I'll resist you with every fibre of my being, and I'll curse you with every breath. At the first chance I get, I'll kill myself. You won't have me."
"I already have you, sweet child,” the Prioress said, exposing a mouthful of perfect, gleaming teeth. “What do you think I did to you when I first entered this room? I can seize your own power and turn it on you whenever I want-now you've let it out, at last. You are very, very strong, and it would have taken a Great Spell to breach those defences at first. Now, I can use your own power and turn it to my own ends. You are mine, dear girl, and you will be for as long as you live."
Drex felt sick, and her head swam. She had thought herself so cunning, fighting back whenever her mind had cleared, but she had been an unwitting pawn in Lizaveta's game all the time. She had lost the match as soon as she unleashed her spell on Melana, an equally ignorant piece in the well-staged fixture. She had known nothing of the power hidden within her until that time; the Sister had played her unknowing part in honing and exposing that force in a form that Lizaveta could use. Now, the old witch would use her as a weapon against her beloved Grimm. She had lost everything in a moment of misguided, useless anger.