The lock pops open, and she twists her head to the side just as the table tilts again, pushing her closer to the pit below. The Elizabeths stand beside her, their smiles never wavering. They make no move to help, simply watching, expectant.
"Time is running out," one Elizabeth sings.
"You must hurry," the other chimes in.
Veronica grits her teeth, stretching out her free arm toward her remaining wrist restraint. The new flexibility from the catsuit kicks in as she elongates her fingers just enough to reach the latch. Another click. Her second wrist comes loose, and she immediately pulls herself upward, shifting her weight against the tilt of the table.
The cage rattles as the incline increases. One slip, and she’ll be tumbling straight into the wax.
"I’ve got this," she breathes.
Now for the ankles.
Veronica swallows hard as she reaches for her ankle restraints. The table tilts just a little more, making her body slide a few inches closer to the gaping hole and the bubbling vat of molten wax below. The heat is suffocating, curling around her skin like an unseen hand, urging her to move faster.
She flicks her gaze up to the Elizabeths. They don’t move. They don’t even blink.
They just watch.
The eerie, plastic-like grins remain frozen on their faces, their bodies unnaturally still, almost mannequin-like. Their smooth, artificial skin catches the stage light, giving them an uncanny sheen.
"She’s nearly free," one Elizabeth murmurs in a sing-song tone.
"But will she make it in time?" the other responds with the same unsettling cheerfulness.
Veronica forces herself to ignore them and focuses on her ankles. The new flexibility in her body helps, allowing her to twist in ways she normally wouldn’t be able to. She manages to hook her fingers around the latch of one restraint, but the tilt of the table works against her. The moment she releases her ankle, she starts to slide.
"Shit."
She quickly bends her leg, planting her freed foot against the table to give herself leverage. The second restraint proves trickier, but with a sharp tug and a satisfying click, she’s free.
She immediately rolls to the side, grabbing the edge of the cage just as the table tips even further, sending it crashing down. The molten wax below lets out a sickening plop as the metal frame vanishes beneath its surface.
Veronica dangles from the cage’s bars for a moment, her breath coming in sharp gasps, before swinging herself up and over the edge, landing in a crouch on the stage.
The Elizabeths don’t react.
They simply clap.
Slow, rhythmic, unnervingly in sync.
"She did it," one says.
"She escaped," the other echoes.
Veronica straightens, chest rising and falling. "You two are really starting to creep me out."
The Elizabeths tilt their heads in unison. "We were only playing our roles."
Daniel, who had been standing just offstage, finally steps forward, looking between Veronica and the vat of wax. "What the hell kind of trick was that supposed to be?"
"The Dollmaker’s Baptism," one Elizabeth says, her smile unwavering.
"It is how new dolls are made," the other finishes.
Veronica stares at them, then at the vat of wax, then back at Daniel. "Yeah, no. I think I’ve had enough tricks for today."
Veronica barely has time to react before the Elizabeths lunge.
Their hands clamp around her arms with unnatural strength, their eerily smooth fingers pressing against her skin like lifeless mannequins come to life. She thrashes, instinct kicking in, but their grip is unyielding—unyielding and inhuman.
"No—hey, what the hell are you—?"
She barely gets the words out before her feet are lifted from the stage, and in an instant, they are dragging her toward the edge of the platform. The heat from the bubbling wax rises in waves, thick and suffocating. Panic surges through her chest.
"DANIEL!" she shouts.
Daniel is already moving, but one of the Elizabeths—still grinning, still eerily serene—points at the book with an air of quiet authority. "Read the book," she instructs, her voice unnervingly sweet.
"This is how the trick goes," the other adds as they tip Veronica over the edge.
She falls.
The molten wax swallows her whole in an instant.
A sickening plop echoes through the lockup, and then all is still. The surface ripples once, twice—then smooths over, as if she had never been there at all. The wax glows faintly from the heat, a deep, glossy amber, before it begins to cool and harden.
The Elizabeths stand there, watching, their grins unwavering. They don’t move. They don’t speak. They simply wait.
Daniel rushes forward, his fingers flipping through the pages of the book with frantic urgency. The words blur together, written in looping, archaic script, but his eyes catch a single phrase:
"The wax must set before the performer is retrieved."
He swears under his breath, looking up just as the Elizabeths take synchronized steps toward the vat.
They grip the edges of the frame and, with an eerie, practiced ease, lean in and pull.
Slowly, deliberately, they lift Veronica’s body from the solidified wax. She emerges in a single, seamless motion, as if she had never struggled, never fought—only submitted.
Her body is now a wax figure.
Her form is pristine, frozen mid-motion as if she had been captured in the perfect moment of an elegant pose. Every detail of her is flawlessly preserved, from the individual strands of hair sculpted into her rigid ponytail to the smooth, glossy sheen of her waxen skin. Her face is serene, her lips parted slightly, her eyes blank and lifeless.
A perfect, flawless doll.
The Elizabeths hold her aloft between them, presenting her like a masterpiece, their identical grins unwavering.
"The trick is complete," one Elizabeth says.
"Veronica is ready to perform," the other adds.
Daniel stares.
"What the hell have you done?"
"You are the magician Daniel, you have to fix this"
Daniel watches as the Elizabeths stand before him, their too-perfect smiles unwavering. Their identical features make it impossible to tell them apart anymore—not just from each other, but from anything human. They had become something else, something unsettling.
They had made their move. Now it was his turn.
He straightens, gripping the book tightly in one hand. "You said I’m the magician," he tells them, his voice steady. "Then let me perform."
The Elizabeths exchange a glance, their doll-like eyes shimmering under the stage lights.
"And what will you perform, magician?" one asks.
Daniel steps toward the wax vat and gestures to the molten surface. "I’m going to perform the Smelting of the Assistants."
The Elizabeths tilt their heads in unison. "Smelting?"
"That’s right. But before I can smelt, I need you both to match the material," he says smoothly. "If I’m going to restore Veronica and Elizabeth, I need all my assistants in the same form. That means you two need to become wax dolls too."
For the first time since their transformation, the Elizabeths hesitate. Their hands twitch slightly, fingers flexing as if trying to recall the sensation of choice.
Then, as one, they shrug.
"As you command, magician," they say together.
Without another word, they step forward.
Their movements are deliberate, unhurried, as they climb the edge of the vat. The heat licks at their smooth skin, but they do not react. They lower themselves into the wax as if slipping into a warm bath.
The molten wax ripples around them, swallowing them up.
Daniel grips the book tighter, watching as the Elizabeths disappear beneath the surface. Their eerily calm faces sink into the liquid until only the top of their heads remain, then—plop—they are gone.
The vat stills.
Daniel exhales. Now came the hard part.
The minutes stretch on as the wax cools. The once-glowing surface solidifies, sealing in the Elizabeths as it had Veronica before them. When the time is right, Daniel nods to himself and gestures for the final reveal.
The lockup’s unseen forces obey.
With a low creak, the Elizabeths rise from the wax.
They emerge like statues being uncovered from centuries of stone—pristine, polished, identical. Their skin has taken on the same flawless sheen as Veronica’s, their features sculpted into eerie perfection. Even their hair, once vibrant and full of movement, now sits as sculpted locks, frozen in a permanent style.
They look exactly the same.
Identical wax dolls, twin assistants, perfect mannequins for the magician’s next trick.
Daniel steps back, breathing heavily. He had done it—brought them all to the same state. Now, he just had to figure out how to bring them back.
Chapter Twenty Nine: The Swinging Spy's final mission
Chapter Twenty Eight: Who was Kashmir again?
Chapter Twenty Seven: This is getting weird, even for us.
Chapter Twenty Six: Elizabeth Needs a Key
Chapter Twenty Five: Assembling Elizabeth the Doll
Chapter Twenty Four: Veronica vs the Guillotine
Chapter Twenty Three: Return to the Lockup
Chapter Twenty Two: Now what did Daniel do?
Chapter Twenty One: What did the ladies do this week?
Chapter Twenty: The Captured Cat gets wet.
Chapter Nineteen: Veronica becomes the Captured Cat.
Chapter Eighteen: The Living Dummy
Chapter Seventeen: Spilt switch and back again.
Chapter Sixteen: The Heist goes wrong, oh my.
Chapter Fifteen: Preparing for the Heist
Chapter Fourteen: Introducing The Transposition Trick
Chapter Thirteen: Stretching, Spikes and Shackles.
Chapter Twelve: Blades and Misalignment
Chapter Eleven: Veronica finds her suit
Chapter Ten: The Lockup. Veronica gets a glow up
Chapter Nine: Compacting Veronica
Chapter Eight: Pancakes and inflating balloons
Chapter Seven: But wait, there's more!
Chapter Four: One becomes two, two become one