For a moment, even she was shocked by the words that came out of her mouth.

The Witch’s smile was filled with amusement.

Gerhmaine scratched the bottom of his chin and shot Jocelyn an apprehensive look. “Are you sure?”

Was she?

“I don’t mind,” the Witch said. “I can spend all day breaking your pretty little toys, Gerhmaine.”

Jocelyn didn’t know what compelled her to take a crack at the Witch. Perhaps she wanted justice for Goran and all the others that were preyed upon. Perhaps she wanted to prove to herself and everyone else that she was worth a damn. Maybe she just wanted to wipe the smugness off the Witch’s face.

“She’ll prey on your fears,” Gerhmaine pointed out.

“I’m afraid of being alone,” Jocelyn announced aloud. “My mother hated me and my father—who supposedly loved me—wound up abandoning me. I have no choice in this world than to be alone.” She turned to the Witch and stared right into her eyes. “I’m afraid of death, which will come soon for me. I have lived the past two years of my life knowing that I’ll be nothing more than dust in the ground. Most of all, I’m afraid that when I die, I’ll end up in the arms of the Devil, should he exist, for the part I played in murdering someone.”

From the looks on their faces, the others were surprised. Jocelyn didn’t feel the need for an explanation and they’d ask for none. She stepped right up to the glass dome and touched it with her fingertips. “I’m not afraid of you preying on my fears,” she stated, “because for the past few years, I’ve been living in my own worst nightmare.”

The force of Jocelyn’s words took the Witch by surprise.

“Now, get in the Lantern,” Jocelyn commanded.

“No,” whispered the Witch. Suddenly a sharp stabbing pain erupted behind Jocelyn’s eyes and she staggered backwards. When she regained control of her mind and body, Jocelyn was no longer standing on the sandy beach but rather tangled within the branches of an old, dying tree.

How did I get up here? Jocelyn thought.

The tree was black and decaying. Any signs of life on the branches were long gone. When Jocelyn looked down she didn’t see the ground. Instead, she saw a sea of human bones.

“How do you like the view?” the Witch asked.

Jocelyn turned her attention to one of the lower branches. She saw the Witch sitting on an old wooden swing, thick-knotted rope securing it to the branch.

“None of this is real. You’re just inside my head,” Jocelyn said.

“Oh, it’s all very real,” the Witch said. “You don’t know where you are, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jocelyn stated. “You’re getting into the lantern.”

The Witch laughed. “You’re stupid, like the rest of them.” She was gently swaying back and forth. Her long white dress flowed endlessly down to the ground like a waterfall.

“I want you to guess where you are.”

Jocelyn shrugged. “Hell?”

The Witch laughed. “Close,” she said. “This is your home. This is all that’s left of Earth—an ocean of the bones.” She waved her hand and slowly, a skull floated upwards. It stopped a few inches short of Jocelyn’s face.

“Guess who this is?”

“I care not to.”

“Guess. If you want me to get in the lantern, you’ll have to play my game.”

Jocelyn anticipated that the Witch would do anything to rile her emotions. This was all in her head, she reminded herself.

“My mother?” Jocelyn asked, her voice void of emotion. She didn’t want the Witch to know she cared.

The Witch frowned at her response. The skull dropped back down into the rest of the pile.

“Well, was I right?” Jocelyn asked.

“No matter,” the Witch replied. Her hands rested on her stomach. Jocelyn noticed the sadness in the Witch’s eyes. Why did the Witch keep touching her stomach? Jocelyn wondered.

“Doesn’t it upset you that everything you knew and loved are dead?” the Witch asked.

“Yes, but what can I do about it?”

“Be angry,” the Witch stated. “Seek those responsible and make them suffer for what they did.”

“The Xaksu you mean?”

“The Xaksu, the Asrai, the Cymerians—it makes no difference. They all had their eyes focused on your simple little planet. It was destined to be destroyed. It was just a matter of who got there first.”

“And you think they should all be exterminated.”

“Of course.”

“What good would it do to have yet another civilization wiped out? The last thing this Universe needs is to get any smaller.”

“The Xaksu are like a cancer, as are the Asrai and the Cymerians.”

“And what are you?”

The Witch pursed her lips as she allowed the swing to come to a stop.

She looked up at Jocelyn, waved her hand and suddenly, Jocelyn found herself no longer a captive of the decaying tree. Instead, she was standing in the heart of a cemetery. The gravestones looked weathered, beaten down by the elements over time.

“Soon, you will be amongst the dead,” the Witch said. “Are you afraid of dying?”

Jocelyn brushed the foliage off one stone and read the name on it. Horia Chezomani. It was the Dromedian who was cut down by Bulba Fyore’s drones.

“Of course I’m afraid of dying. I said so, didn’t I?” Jocelyn walked over to another tombstone and inspected the name on it. “Rose Callet, a.k.a 407.”

The memory of Rose lying dead on the ground while Jaks held the smoking gun intruded her mind.

“Why do you read the tombstones, if it brings back only sad memories?” the Witch asked.

She thought about the question for a moment, before answering truthfully. “Someone needs to remember the dead, don’t they? Otherwise they passed on through this life without a purpose.”

“What are you truly afraid of?” The Witch asked again.

Jocelyn peered at another tombstone. “Here lays Bulba Fyore, murdered by Jocelyn Dark,” she read aloud. The truth of the words rattled in her ears like loose bones in a wooden coffin.

“I’m afraid I’m a killer and I’ll rot in hell,” Jocelyn whispered.

“Close, but it’s not the root of your fears. Tell me, what are you truly afraid of?”

Jocelyn swallowed. “When I die, I’ll be nothing more than dust in the ground, particles with no thoughts, no memories, and no consciousness; that when I breathe my last breath, I will simply cease to exist. I fear that there is nothing for me beyond death, but if there is, I’ll end up like you or worse.”

“You fear your life wouldn’t have mattered,” the Witch stated.

“Because I was never wanted,” Jocelyn whispered.

The Witch laughed. “And there is the truth.”

Jocelyn walked over to another grave. It was a tiny one.

“Here lies little Nathan, taken too young,” she read. Nathan…why was the name so familiar? There was something important about that name. “Nathan,” she said aloud once again, hoping that it would trigger something rooted deep in her sub-consciousness.

It did. Nathan was the name that was to be given to her brother, the one that had died while inside her mother’s womb. Her mom had a miscarriage a couple of years before Jocelyn was born. There was bleeding, and then her mother’s pain, and then the death of poor little Nathan, who had never been given a chance.

Her mom mentioned Nathan the odd time when Jocelyn was misbehaving. “Your brother would never have done this,” she’d say.

That’s because her brother never had the chance to live. Nathan was another one of her memories that was lost over time. It was only now that Jocelyn remembered.

She looked at the Witch and finally realized why she had been touching her stomach. It was what her mother had done every time she spoke of Nathan.

“You were pregnant,” Jocelyn stated.

The Witch said nothing.

“They burned you while you had a baby inside your womb.”

“And now you know a truth about me,” The Witch sighed.

“Why didn’t you say anything when they did it?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference. They would have never listened. They were determined to rid this Universe of our kind.”

“The Gaoler’s Lantern, the soul count is off by one. They required a lamp that was tied to one more death. That’s why Gerhmaine and Octava couldn’t force you inside of it.”

The Witch shrugged. “Yes, but not that it matters. I would never have agreed to be imprisoned by any mortal.”

Jocelyn chose her next words carefully. “You know my fears now. I want to hear yours in return.”

The Witch smirked. “And what purpose would that serve?”

“Sometimes, there’s comfort in two suffering people confiding in each other,” Jocelyn said. “I want to listen if you want to tell me.”

The Witch found an empty stone bench and took a seat on it. Jocelyn sat down beside her.

For a few minutes, the Witch didn’t say anything. She was thinking hard. When she finally did, there was genuine sadness in her voice.

“I have done horrible things in my life,” the Witch began. “I will not deny it. A lot of what Gerhmaine said was true. There’s something about war that brings out the monsters in all of us. You humans have orchestrated genocides, mass culling, and holocausts of epic scales. The Witches have done the same—the only difference being that we have never inflicted harm on our own people.”

“Murder is still murder, regardless of the victim,” Jocelyn pointed out.

“True. I was not defending myself. I know there’s no excuse that can justify my actions. I merely acknowledge the fact that my soul is doomed to imprisonment for all eternity.”

“Can’t you just let go of your emotions and move on?”

The Witch grinned. “And where will I go when I move on? Hell?”

“You’re afraid of the existence of Hell also?” Jocelyn asked.

“I never was before, but the second I had life inside of me, that all changed. The truth is I don’t fear the idea of Hell. No, what I truly fear is being unable to see the face of my unborn child.”

It all made sense to Jocelyn.

“My child never had the chance to sin, like I have. Thus, wherever the soul of my baby went, it went somewhere good, somewhere only blessed hearts can go.”

“Heaven,” Jocelyn stated.

The Witch shrugged. “I don’t know if such a place exists, but if it does, I truly like to believe my baby is there. As a mother, you can only hope the best for your child.” She looked at Jocelyn with sad eyes. “I can never follow her there. I can never see what she looks like. Worse yet, I can never hold her in my arms. All I have are memories of my big belly and how she felt underneath my skin.”

“How far along were you when you were murdered?” Jocelyn asked.

“Far enough.”

“And even though you had a pregnant belly, they still burned you?”

“It’s easy for a Witch to conceal her appearance. No one knew of my pregnancy.”

“Why?”

“There’s power in the blood of an infant,” she replied. “Our queen at the time was determined to keep her youth. A single pint of infant’s blood would keep her beautiful for years.”

Jocelyn scrunched her face. “That’s horrible.”

“Isn’t it?” the Witch rose from her seat. “So there you have it. Now you know my greatest fear: that I may never see my unborn child in this afterlife.”

Jocelyn looked at the Witch’s face. It was a mask of hopelessness.

Perhaps Jocelyn could offer the Witch something that none other could give?

“Do you believe in redemption?” Jocelyn asked. “That one can fix the mistakes of their past?”

The Witch looked at Jocelyn and scoffed. “For someone like you, that’s easy,” she said. “Your sins are meager to begin with. You fear Hell and the afterlife, but you shouldn’t.”

“Murder is still murder, and I have to make amends for it with what little time I have left. Help me,” Jocelyn said.

“Why?”

“So you can seek redemption. Enter into the Gaoler’s Lantern and allow me to wield it. I will make sure that the lantern is only used for good purposes. No life will ever be taken by it. Maybe if the Lantern does enough good in this Universe, you can be redeemed.”

The Witch thought about it for a moment. “Saving lives carries significant weight when it comes to balancing the scales of sin and redemption.”

“Help me save my life, along with others. With your spirit inside the Gaoler’s Lantern, I know I can use it somehow to help me and everyone else I come across.”

The Witch stared at Jocelyn with wonderment in her eyes, like someone given newfound hope.

“You are determined to fight to survive?”

“I have to. I need to redeem myself as well for Bulba’s murder.”

The Witch nodded. Her once cold eyes now flickered with life while the corners of her lips elevated into an ever-so-slight smile. “Then it’s a mutual agreement. I will reside in a Gaoler’s Lantern and you will wield it to help not only yourself, but others as well. In doing so, perhaps I can tip the scales of judgment in my favor and perhaps…” she swallowed hard as her hands trembled, “Perhaps I can see my little one for the first time.”

Jocelyn nodded and extended her hand out.

“What are you doing?” The Witch asked, puzzled.

“Shaking your hand,” Jocelyn said. “Back on Earth, that’s how we confirmed agreements made between two people.”

The Witch looked at Jocelyn’s hand with mild disdain. “Interesting,” she said. “The Witches draw each other’s blood and drink it to solidify a pact, but I suppose that’s not suitable for your tastes. I also don’t bleed anymore.” The Witch took Jocelyn’s hand and shook it delicately, as if she were handling a flower. “We have a deal then, Jocelyn. Now tell that idiot to get you a proper lantern.”

“Do you have a name?”

The Witch nodded. “Yes. I was once called Chthonia.”

Before Jocelyn had time to blink, she found herself back on the beach again and Chthonia was back in the glass dome, staring out into the ocean.

“Well?” Gerhmaine asked. “Have you gone crazy yet?”

Jocelyn shook the fog out of her head and then turned to her teacher. “We need another lantern,” she said. “One that has affected sixty-eight lives.”

Gerhmaine raised a brow. “Perhaps you need a lesson in mathematics, barring you haven’t forgotten this morning’s lesson in binding. The Witch, who counts for one life, has murdered sixty-six people. One plus sixty-six equals sixty-seven. Not sixty-eight.”

Jocelyn ignored him and spoke more confidently this time. “Do you have a Gaoler’s Lantern with the burden of sixty-eight lives on it?”

“Of course,” he said. “We have an extensive inventory of cursed lanterns of all sizes.”

“Then get me one with sixty-eight souls.”

Gerhmaine shrugged. He reached into his long drooping sleeves and pulled out a new Gaoler’s Lantern and handed it to Jocelyn.

She accepted it, and then turned to Chthonia, who was still staring out into the vast ocean.

“Are you ready?” Jocelyn asked.

Chthonia turned her head just enough to glance at Jocelyn out of the corner of her eye.

“Good luck, Jocelyn. My fate rests in your hands,” she said.

And then, as if the lamp were creating some type vortex, the Witch slowly began drifting into it, like a star being sucked into a black hole.

When she had completely been absorbed, the Gaoler’s Lantern flickered on. The light emitting from it was powerful enough to blind the others, even in the broad daylight.

“Where’s the off switch?” Jocelyn muttered as she closed her eyes and held the lantern away from her face. The Gaoler’s Lantern was responsive to her wish and the flame immediately died out.

She felt the energy inside of it, the power of the Witch coursing through the lantern.

“You did it,” Gerhmaine whispered in shock. “Seven bells in thirteen hells, you did it.”

Jocelyn nodded. “Do you mind if I keep the lantern?”

Gerhmaine nodded. “By all means.”

“And I believe you had a reward coming to me as well?”

Gerhmaine nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, of course. But first, you need to tell me how did you know you required the weight of sixty-eight lives for the lantern? When we asked the Witch how many she killed, she told us sixty-six. They can’t lie when they’re in soul form. It violates the fundamental principle of the lost soul.”

“You forgot to ask about life as well.”

“Life?” Gerhmaine asked, puzzled. “The Gaoler’s Lantern has only dealt death, not life. And besides, if that were theoretically true, it would subtract from the total of lives lost by tragedy, bringing the number to sixty-six as opposed to sixty-eight. Something isn’t adding up here.”

He was ranting.

“There’s one thing I learned today about binding,” Jocelyn pointed out. “Call it a new-found principle if you will. Binding is a lot easier when the person doing it has sympathy for the phantom.”

“Sympathy?” Gerhmaine asked.

Jocelyn nodded.

A wide grin crept across his face. “Sympathy,” he stated, allowing the word to roll on his tongue. “Yes, yes, of course. We can call it the Jocelyn Principle then—the power of sympathy when it comes to binding.”

“And life in general,” Jocelyn added.