As we left them, dear reader, Eldritch and Athow remain in the St. Cecilia High School library. Crouched below an overturned bookshelf, Athow has a wicked smile on his face as he holds in his hands the third of the books required for his ritual to return Belinda to life at his side. Opposite him, enraged by her repeated failures to harm the immortal wizard, stands Eldritch Maiden pulsing with raw magical energy she sends in punctuated blasts at the man.

But with this acquisition, Athow’s attention turns away from the current fight and back to his meeting with Bella just prior to entering the library. Twisting his fingers in a complex pattern and murmuring a black cant under his breath, he quickly spins together a spell. But when he releases it, nothing happens!

Slowly, however, a dark shape begins to form in the palm of his left hand. Bringing the right around, Athow cuts his palm open once more on a stray splinter. Then he allows a few drops of blood to fall upon the indistinct swirl. The red mixes in with the dark, forming a vortex of tainted mud.

“Not enough,” Athow murmurs, “my dearth of magical energy is simply too great for the remaining power of the books to overcome.” Glancing up at the barrage of spells above him an idea forms. Slipping one of the books into his coat, Athow raises the other like a shield and stands swiftly, concealing his left hand behind the text in the right.

“Eldritch,” he shouts, “is this the best you can do? Non-lethal bursts and these unfocused blasts?”

At the other end, Eldritch’s eyes change color as the spirit of the dagger, Belinda, forcibly takes control! “Athow!” she snarls in a voice far too adult for the youthful body she inhabits. “Die!”

With this, Belinda snaps her fingers twice and rips forth a quick incantation that causes her young body to stumble from the weight of the mystic forces it channels for the spell that emerges. Slowly, a wicked flame of green and black emerges like magma spilling forth from a portal above her head. The fire gradually seeps around her, wreathing Eldritch in ghastly flame. Struggling, she staggers forward a few steps before marshalling her energy and raising a trembling hand. Then, lifting her other hand to point at Athow, she snaps twice and completes her incantation!

With a howl, the unearthly fire leaps at Athow who smiles grimly and whips the book behind his back. Then he raises up his left hand with the muddy swirl and casts the tiny tornado into the terrible fire.

“Now that spell,” he says satisfied, “is much more appropriate for a duel of this caliber.”

The fire seems unaffected by the dollop of muddy blood that hits it, racing toward Athow who seems undaunted by the prospect of dying in the flames. Mere inches from Athow’s face, the fire suddenly stops, edges of it forming into hundreds of little hands that reach out for him only to wither and die. Behind them new fingers form and grasp at the defenseless Athow before withering in turn. For a few tense seconds it appears as though the hands of flame are gaining ground, pushing against whatever barrier Athow has. Then they begin to fall back, dying in greater numbers and fewer hands replacing them. Some of the newly formed appendages come out wrong, missing fingers or with too many fingers as they break down and burst from one another, arms growing from palms from elbows as they crumple toward the ground.

Finally, with one last gout of flame, the ghostly fire flickers and collapses inward. Sitting innocuously on the ground is the little bloody vortex, now tainted by the ghastly green of the liquid fire. The swirl moves slightly faster than before and it seems to have grown a hair, but other than this it seems no more menacing than it was sitting in Athow’s palm. Still, opposite him, Eldritch slumps and in Belinda’s voice whispers, “No!”

“Yes,” Athow replies. “It took everything I had left to create the Inscrutable Bridge and I have your Greek Hellfire to thank for providing the power necessary to complete the spell.”

Eldritch straightens with difficulty and, in a more age appropriate voice that signals the return of Hailey to her body, speaks. “W-where does the bridge lead?”

Athow merely waves his hand, dismissing the questions and replies, “Watch.”

Around the swirling bridge, gibbering keening begins to emanate in faint tones. Slowly the floor dips upward as if melting in reverse and flows toward the hole. Color drains from the surroundings and tears from the scattered shelves. The faint sound of pipes begins to play a haunting lullaby that rips at both Athow and Eldritch’s ears causing blood to spurt from non-existent wounds.

Poleaxed by the instrument’s singing the pair falls to the ground clutching their mouths. Gurgling in agony, Athow drags himself forward and reaches out to the Inscrutable Bridge. Helpless, Eldritch can only watch as the exhaustion that permeates her bones begins to fade. Sweat falls into her skin revitalizing her and yet leaving Hailey trapped by invisible bindings. Athow’s fingers begin to bend into dizzying geometric shapes, fractalizing and shattering before melting and flowing back into the original shape and on again the patterns begin and end. Then, Athow’s hand closes around the vortex.

In a flash, the world returns to normal. Colors flowing back into place and the waxy-like melt of space snapping back into position. Eldritch begins to sweat normally again, free of her bindings but retaining her newfound energy. On the other end of the floor, Athow’s body returns to normal. The piping and keening vanishes and the only sign of what just happened is the innocuous vortex that, when looked at for too long, seems to nibble at the edges of reality sitting at the corners of the hole in the center.

Panting, Athow stands as Eldritch struggles to her feet. “The Bridge leads back to my former prison at the Edge of Everything. It goes just a hair beyond.” Then he pauses and reaches into the portal. “At least,” he adds cruelly, “it used to.”

Watching in horror, Eldritch can do nothing before Athow pulls. In his hand is a fistful of familiar mousey hair! Dragging the poor girl, Athow pulls Bella through the portal and spills her onto the ground along with her backpack. Terrified at her sudden change in position, Bella whimpers and tries to move away from the sorcerer.

“Stay,” Athow commands.

Across from him, Hailey bursts into action at the sight of her friend in danger. Transforming her dagger into a long spear, she leaps with unnatural force driving the point toward Athow.

Unconcerned, Athow pulls Bella up and into the path of the weapon. At the sight of her friend, Eldritch diverts her attack at the last second pushing the weapon ponderously to the side and crashing herself into a bookshelf. Stumbling back a few steps, she retracts her weapon into a sharp looking blade and readies herself for another strike.

Athow grabs Bella’s cursed book from her bag in one hand and seizes her wrist with the other. Then he presses his nail into her supple flesh, driving his finger into her arm with enough force that blood begins to flow down her arm.

“NO!” Eldritch cries out.

“Your tainted blood, Bel-la,” Athow says patiently as he drags her arm atop her book.

As her blood flows, Bella stands transfixed by the sanguine sight of those familiar letters forming under her arm. “A Witch’s Guide to Poison: Spells, Brews, and Ingredients.”

“Yes,” hisses Thorm Athow watching the blood fuel the book. He glances up at Eldritch and says, “She can donate from her throat just as easily as her wrist. One wrong move and she will.”

Unresisting, Bella’s eyes grow wider as she watches the book greedily drink up her blood. Placing his hand on the text, Athow breathes in deeply seeing the power accumulate inside the book.

In front of him, the Inscrutable Bridge continues to swirl lazily. Athow opens the book, watching the pages fill with bloody ink and the list of spells form. He closes the book just as the flow from Bella’s wrist begins to abate. Then he cups his hand under her wrist and gathers a small handful of blood. Thorm tosses the blood onto the bridge, watching as the vortex begins to swirl upwards again. Turning to Eldritch he says, “One more book and then the dagger. I will see you again tonight.” Then he steps forth, taking the three books of the witches with him and an anemic looking Bella. As the front of his foot touches the Inscrutable Bridge, Athow falls face-first toward the ground as if stepping off a cliff. Then he falls into the narrow opening of the bridge and vanishes, the vortex twisting into itself and then falling to the ground behind him.

As he goes, Eldritch leaps into action diving toward the Bridge in a desperate attempt to prevent his escape! But she finds herself colliding with the floor, the only thing remaining of the bridge a bit of mud and blood splattered on the carpet.

Rolling to her back, Eldritch whispers, “No… Bella,” as she stares in helpless fear up at the celling of the library.

Around her the damaged shelves and tossed books sit scattered about this far corner of the school’s library. Scorch marks from her hellfire and magical blasts mar the cheap carpet and the old wood of the shelves. Stray bits of scattered blood mark places where spells flew. A small patch of maroon in the midst of the zone denotes the place Bella so quickly appeared and then vanished.

Despairing, Hailey swallows the lump in her throat. “Bel?” she asks quietly, “how long will it take for him to drain her blood? Will she be…,” Hailey takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes to hold back the tears before saying, “Will she be dead by tonight?”

Silently, her spiritual companion communes with Hailey.

A minute later, Hailey says in despair, “So there’s nothing we can do? We can’t trace the bridge or hunt him down? Bella’s just going to die? Just like that?”

The words fall on empty air, the silent arena’s lack of a response indicative of her companion’s own uncertainty. Alone in the heart of St. Cecilia’s Eldritch Maiden has no one to turn to for much needed solace or comfort.

In an abandoned building far at the edge of town, Thorm Athow steps out of his portal. Veins running hot with the stolen power of the books it is child’s play for him to snap his fingers and levitate the inert Bella onto a table where he reopens her cut and continues to allow her blood to flow, feeding his books of witchcraft. Hardly pausing to oversee the operation, he begins writing runes using her blood upon the ground muttering to himself, “One more book. A locating ritual to find it, the rest of the night to finish draining the girl, and then I will retrieve the book and the dagger in one fell swoop.” Pausing, he glances over to the girl slowly dying next to him and whispers with longing, “Soon, my beloved. Soon, my Belinda.”

So caught up in his writing, he hardly notices as Bella’s skin begins to change color. No, dear reader, this is not to pale complexion we might expect from her ongoing loss of blood but rather a more greenish taint. Lying forgotten on her collarbone is her enchanted necklace, the metal slowly beginning to heat as it warns her in vain of the subtle transformation beginning to take place. Slowly, dear reader, Bella is becoming Belladonna once more!

Back at the school, lying stunned, Hailey does not notice as someone walks into the library. A tall, muscled black man wearing a simply cloth over his eyes steps deftly around the rubble. In his left hand, he carries a simple sledgehammer using it to nudge a piece of wood out of his path before swinging up over his shoulder. Wearing nothing but a pair of blue jeans and the cloth over his eyes, his torso is on full display. Walking evenly, the man arrives next to Eldritch. Without looking down at her, he extends his hand.

“So you got beat. That’s rough.” His masculine voice fills the library and shakes the miserable girl from her self-recriminating reflection. “Well that’s just how it goes sometimes. Beacon said you could use a helping hand.” He waves his hand above the girl and adds, “So here I am, a helping hand.”

Who is this mysterious stranger? Will Hailey recover from this defeat or has Athow won both the battle and the war? Find out next week in… “Mobilization!”