This Magical Girl is Mine

Maenad’s bacchanal is taking place in the orb above the Spire, where Visage hides their portal to the World of Glass. By the observations of Agatha and the deductions of Striga, we’re certain that Maenad is one of the priestesses of Venus, specially chosen to conduct her will.

The party started hours ago, but we won’t be blamed for our sense of timing. Not everyone has the constitution to keep going for nine hours straight like Maenad can, and it’s better to arrive late than leave early.

Inside, pop music by Visage’s own singers blares from the speakers. The lighting has been set to a moody contrast of blues, reds, pinks, and purples. At the bar, a cute redhead serves cocktails to Kira Kira and—is that Riddlemaster? Oh my god, it is. What the hell is she doing here??? Whatever, nobody cares.

Technically, I should be focused on identifying where all the marked of Venus are lurking, but my sight is ensnared by the grail of the gala: tables piled high with the most delectable hors d’oeuvres—or, if you hate the French and all their over-voweled works, appetizers. The deviled eggs have me salivating, and there’s a whole table just for sushi, and I could have some crackers with cheese and meats and fruit and—

Oh, yes, I need it. Mama needs her treats.

“The snack spread calls to me,” I tell my companions solemnly, and then I power walk my way over to the buffet.

“Archon, hey!” greets Sweet Tooth, who understands the value and importance of stuffing her face with tiny cakes and candies. She shows me a friendly grin and offers me a plate. “You’ve gotta try the tiramisu, it’s super incredible.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, taking a slice and then filling up the rest of my plate with all manner of treasures. “I’m starving—I didn’t let myself eat lunch so I’d have more room for this.”

Sweet laughs. “Hey, that’s one way to do it. Well, don’t let me keep you! I’ve gotta drag Kira away from the bar so we can do this party properly.”

“Ha, good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” the witch bemoans.

Sweet Tooth is one of the marked—not a priestess, but still carrying some measure of Venus’ power and indebted to her patronage. She’s cute, she’s friendly, she’s nice, and in a few short hours she’ll be my enemy and I might have to kill her. It’s a shame; I really did like her streams with Kira.

The other girl sampling the spread is an even bigger surprise than Riddlemaster: it’s Green Thumb, the magical girl who uses her power to grow weed. Venus wants her present for the ascension? Well, maybe she and Maenad could make some interesting intoxicants together.

I’ve seen her image before—advertised all around her shop—but it’s funny up close how little she looks like I’d expect from a woman in her position. A ratty, scrungly thing, stuffed into an ill-fitting dress. She’s the paranoid stoner, not the relaxed kind, and her eyes dart about from place to place as she fills her plate. She settles her gaze somewhere and pales, fists clenched. She’s glaring at… Bombshell?

Oh, right. Green Thumb was the one who tried to cheat Ferromancer and got a beating from Bombshell for her trouble. Is that why she’s here?

I haven’t spared much thought for Bombshell’s loyalties before now. She does jobs for Ferromancer, but she’s not trusted by the conspiracy. As far as I know, she’s motivated entirely by money for indulgences and the prospect of a good fight. Would a goddess be a shade too far for someone like that, or just the right kind of challenge? I know she’s participated in battle every time a Catastrophe has come to the region.

Something to watch out for, I guess, but I don’t think Green Thumb is my problem. So, who else is here?

Bombshell’s found Mako among the booths and the two of them are laughing together. Memento and Sonata—both of them marked, I’ve been told—are nearby, entertaining a handful of mortals invited to the party. Narcissa is staying close to the mirrors, admiring her reflection while more ordinary humans crowd around. Agatha’s joined Kira and Sweet at the bar, but she mostly seems focused on Riddlemaster. Seriously, why is Riddlemaster here? Is Venus that desperate for recruitment?

Beneath the stairs leading up to the balcony, Dusk looks bored. Behind her, I can almost catch a glimpse of Dawn; an illicit encounter? To be expected, I suppose. On the balcony itself, where only a select few are allowed, Maenad is chatting with Radiance. The priestess catches my eye as I look up, giving me a wink before turning her attention back to Radiance.

Pearl Princess and Glamour are nowhere to be seen, which is worrying; that’s two out of three priestesses absent, and this the night of the grand ritual. Where are they? What are they planning? Can I do anything to interfere, or is my role just to wait until the appointed hour?

I have my orders from Striga, and I’ll follow them. But if I happen to be granted an opportunity to seize the initiative, that’s been allowed to me. I’ll play my part, whatever it may be. Plans that are too rigid are destined to fall apart, so adaptability has been baked in.

Now, who to poke at first? Who would it matter to talk to? I doubt any of the lesser marked would have been told about the true plan, but they might have been tasked with recruitment all the same. Sweet Tooth certainly hinted as much when we spoke weeks ago.

After a few months of this gig, I’ve met almost everyone in the local branch of Visage. Narcissa is exactly as self-absorbed as she always seemed online, and even the sake of the mission couldn’t get me to play League of Legends with her. Striga doesn’t rate her as a serious threat, so leaving her alone tonight is easy to justify. Memento is the one keeping this orb floating, but killing her once won’t be enough to bring it down. It might be worth positioning myself near Sonata to cut her throat before she can start singing.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

If Kira Kira still hasn’t been marked, we might be able to convince Sweet Tooth to betray Venus for her partner. Agatha seems to have that corner of the room handled, though, so I shouldn’t get in the way. Bombshell is an unknown, but I can’t imagine she comes down on the side of Venus, so I’m content to leave her be. Maybe it’d be worth poking at Green Thumb to figure out why the hell she’s here, but I just can’t imagine her as a priority target.

Really, the one I should be talking to is—

“Fancy a drinking game, little claimant?” asks Maenad from directly behind me.

I tense, but keep from jumping. You’re not allowed to move that fast! Or to move while I’m distracted! Boo! Foul play! “Maenad!” I greet cheerfully as I turn around. “My, how forward. Is this how you greet everyone for the first time?”

I didn’t miss the language she used: “little claimant.” At least one priestess has been briefed on the game I’m really playing. Interesting. Let’s see how this goes.

I’ve always found Maenad to be one of the most interesting women on Visage’s roster. She’s tied with Glamour for teasing her audience about the lurid details of a magical girl’s personal life, but where Glamour uses her shapeshifting to play to the flavor of the month—the e-girl, the cosplay girl, the big titty goth girlfriend—Maenad is…

She’s a party girl, perpetually sloshed as she stumbles around in a fox fur coat and stiletto heels, but her drinking vessel of choice is a gem-studded chalice. She’s a celebrant from ancient Greece in a flowing white toga, a wreath of grapevines, and golden serpent armbands, but the toga’s been cut with slits to show off leopard print underclothes. She has the face of a ghost, dark-haired and red-eyed, with fingertips stained by blood or wine, but a jovial smile never leaves her lips.

Of all the women working for Visage, it was never in question that Maenad had to be one of the chosen; the maenads of Greek myth were the drunken priestesses of Dionysus. With Hastur declining to produce a Bacchus, it only makes sense that Maenad would be a follower of the rising Venus.

Maenad laughs at me. “Aww, c’mon, do we reallllyyyyy need to play that game?” She grins as she leans against a table for support, wine sloshing in her chalice. Her voice flips wildly between low vocal fry and high-pitched malice. “Let’s play myyyyy game instead. No silly business here, no lies between sacred foes. In hospitality and such I greet thee, yon bitch who creeps through my banquet. Let’s drink and be merry! We can kill each other later, yeah?”

There’s a distinct predatory hunger in how she looks at me, though her smile is still friendly and her posture relaxed. No one seems to have overheard us. I tilt my head curiously. “Well, this is a new approach. Tell me, then, in the spirit of gritted hospitality: what kind of fool would I be to play drinks with Dionysus?”

“The kind of fool that sooooo can’t afford to reject a challenge,” Maenad purrs, somehow lounging even further against the furniture. “A fool’s game, sure, for a girl that’s just a human. But then, that’s not what you’re trying to be, right? Aiming a little low, yeah? ‘Cause see, if you’re trying to be the measure of mortal that can manage a miracle—a girl on her grindset that’s gunning for a goddess—thennnnn, well, don’t you think you have to accept a bit of risk in your roulette?” She ends her speech with a fit of giggling and I tense up as the implications sink in.

She’s attacking my claim. Gods don’t run from contests, they impose them.

Maenad catches my moment of hesitation and jumps on it. “Thrice now and most clearly I’ll say it, whore: I challenge thee, O aspirant to the throne. If you are offended by my impudence, then like, smite me as you wish.” Her grin sharpens. “Ah, but if such smiting is so totally beyond you, and if you fear a human’s challenge…”

“I don’t fear you for a second,” I say coldly, wearing a vicious smile of my own. “I could never fear a thing so lacking in ambition. Go on then, lackey of mine rival. Tell me of this game. You’ve offered threats, but what of wagers? Risk without reward is a pointless gamble.”

And no one lays a trap without suitable bait. So where is it, Venus?

Maenad giggles and lurches forward, the hand holding the chalice tucked behind her back while her other hand raises something small and shoves it right up in my face: a golden wafer, thin and bright and pure.

“Ambrosia,” Maenad breathes, eyes wide and bloodshot. “Food of the gods. Worship in a cracker, baby. This is what the tower makes. Our goddess sups on the hopes and dreams of the blind masses and turns it all into a fucking cookie. Aaaahahahaha! Do you want it? Do you want a taste of divinity, little claimant? I’m not allowed. Oh, I can touch and I can smell but I can’t taste, but you… you could—if you win.”

I breathe in the aroma of ambrosia and—

Have you ever been manic? It’s the best and worst kind of high. It’s a pressure that builds and builds and builds and demands to be released, so you laugh and you pace and you stretch your face and you want to sing and scream and love and hate. It’s knowing that you were right and everyone else was wrong and they’re lying to you and plotting against you because you’re better than them and you always were and they’ll see, they’ll all see, because all they are is human and you are a god encased in skin you need to claw at and scrape and peel until everyone can see what you’ve really always been.

You can do anything. You can do everything. Burn them all and rise from the ashes. Seek your truth and sweep away their lies. Do it. Do it now. DO IT NOW!

In the instant that the scent of ambrosia engages my olfactory system—when the chemical compounds flaking off the wafer interact with my neurons—when the magic of the offering washes against my soul—I am filled with the absolute certainty that I was always meant to be a god. The raw worship in the wafer calls to me like pure water in an endless desert that I’ve been stumbling through all my life. This is mine. It belongs to me. This will complete me.

Maenad snatches it away and I know that she needs to die. She glares at me now with rank envy. She can’t experience it like I can. The worship doesn’t sing to her. She isn’t worthy.

I laugh. “You’ll give me my prize. And perhaps, when I claim my rightful throne, I’ll let you stick around as a jester. Set the table, priestess. Let’s drink.”