Chapter 1

Heather

You're going to fuck this up.

I gave myself a mental shake and took a deep breath. It was fine. It would be fine. Fine. The word repeated in my head until it didn't even feel like a word anymore. My heart thudded hard in my chest.

Please, not now.

I didn't need an anxiety attack today. I'd expected another client out of the new batch of prisoners. But this?

Fuck.

Everyone around me was chatting about their new clients. Serena was her usual bouncy, exuberant self, explaining hybrids to the self-possessed Cerys. Lyla was nearly hanging out of the window trying to get a look at the new prisoners. A shot of anxiety ran up my spine. What if she fell? And plummeted to her death? I looked around. No one else seemed concerned. I wanted to tell her to get back. To be more careful. Was I just being anxious again? I didn't know what was reasonable anymore. So instead, I stared at her, flinching with every move, ready to rush forward and grab her, until she closed the window and was safe.

I didn't want to look at my file again, but ignoring it wouldn't make it go away.

"Who did you get, Heather? Another orc?"

Lyla was next to me now and climbing cross-legged on to a chair. She had the attention span of a gnat and the energy of a hundred leaping frobite toads. She ran exercise classes for the monsters in her own time. For fun. On top of all her therapist responsibilities.

"A lich."

My voice was shaking slightly. I hoped she wouldn't notice. A flash of an expression crossed her face and then disappeared again before I could fully recognize what it was. Did she know I couldn't handle this?

"Oh! Well, I'm sure that will be interesting. Has he actually, y'know, done any crimes? Apart from the obvious?"

Becoming a lich was illegal in a lot of realms, not just the human one. It required a dark ritual and the blood sacrifice of a self aware, intelligent creature. Sometimes more than one. Every lich you encountered had killed to become what they were. To sidestep the laws of nature and let death pass them by. The evidence of their crime was their existence.

"His file doesn't mention any additional crimes. But the courts estimate him to be over a hundred years old. He must have fed on at least some people to be that old."

As I spoke, I felt hot and sweaty. He would be experienced at draining people quickly with a mere touch. And I was going to be alone in a room with him.

"Yeah, an animal-only diet would make for a pretty weak lich if they even survived. And why do a ritual to avoid death if you are only going to let yourself die, y'know? It's going to be rough for him in this place. Only food animals from here on out. How long is his sentence?"

"Two hundred years. The standard for a lich. So, a death sentence, essentially."

"Rough," Lyla said, one leg already bouncing from sitting too long.

"No more rough that what he did to his victims."

The words came out of me vehemently. Killing was an unacceptable crime. I had to make sure he understood that and felt the true severity of what he'd done. It was right that he should be accountable for his actions. I believed in redemption. But I also believed in justice. I'd wanted to work in a prison for that reason. To help others find the balance of those two things. To maybe even find the balance for myself. Guilt washed over me. The guilt that would never leave.

Lyla patted me on the shoulder, breaking me out of my reverie.

"You okay?"

No.

"Yeah, of course."

I flashed her a smile and hoped it was convincing. But my heart kept hammering, and breathing felt hard. I was going to be stuck alone in a room with a hungry lich who was facing dying in prison. How was I going to deal with that?

You're going to fuck this up.

The voice in my head always sounded like my mother. But I couldn't afford to make any mistakes with this client. At best, it would mean that I'd failed at my job. My one purpose here. At worst, it might cost me my life. My mind buzzed with a riot of thoughts, all fighting with each other.

Can you make yourself seem less tasty to a lich?

What if I just went to Cospire and asked to be reassigned? Told her I can't handle it.

Fuck, I'm going to die.

Everyone is going to know that I'm a failure, and I failed so badly I got myself killed. They'll say it's my fault and I deserved it.

Lyla's hand on my shoulder again.

"Where did you go there, Heather?"

"Oh, just your standard mental spiral."

I tried to sound lighthearted. If anyone would understand coping via humor, it would be another therapist.

"Let's go for a walk."

I nodded, even though what I wanted was to curl up into a pile of soft blankets forever.

"Sure. And you can tell me all about this new yoga class you are running."

"Heather, have you ever seen a group of monsters doing downward dog? It's a sight to behold."

Despite the chaos in my brain, a genuine laugh bubbled out of me. It was quite the mental image.

"Honestly, Heather, we could all learn to leave behind a bit of our human self-consciousness and be a bit more monster doing yoga."

"Sounds like I need to come to yoga class."

"Oh, you must!"

She pulled me out of my chair and dragged me for a walk, linking her arm with mine. I perked up once I realized she was taking me to our favorite place. The kitchen. By the time she had bribed the yeti chef into making us some chocolate cookies, I felt almost okay.