"Well, that was cathartic bit of good-natured fun, wasn't it, kids?" the magician asked.  He'd finished with the towel, while zombies mopped the stage floor, and everything was now surprisingly clean of blood.  The audience cheered in agreement.  "Glad you think so.  But for the finale, we're actually going to set aside the kiddie stuff and get serious."  Scattered laughter...they thought he was joking.  Behind him, a pair of zombie stagehands were wheeling out something large, at least twelve feet high and ten feet across, standing upright from a large circular platform and obscured by a curious set of mottled white and pink sheets stretched on a framework.  The framework was set back so that the sheets pressed against the whatever-it-was to outline an flat surface with irregular square protrusions around the edges.  The magician, focused on the audience, made no mention of it.

"I want to stress serious, here.  The final Challenge involves genuine risk...failure to answer my questions honestly or follow my instructions could have very real consequences.  Are we clear?"  The audience quieted, unsure about the new direction the show was taking.

"Now.  Everyone who truly believes they have had a genuine encounter with the supernatural...saw a ghost, felt a spirit, cast a spell that worked or saw one cast, raise your hand, and keep it up."  A good third of the audience's hands shot up and Alex felt real despair for the human race.  "Good, keep them up...everyone who hasn't experienced it personally, but knows someone who has or believes the supernatural is real anyway, raise your hands..."  Alex looked around and saw about three-quarters of those who hadn't raised their hands initially had now joined in, leaving about only thirty hypothetically rational people, out of at least a couple hundred.  "Excellent.  Everyone who doesn't have your hand raised, hold one arm out forward."

Alex narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but there were few enough people left that she didn't want to be singled out, so she played along.

"Right, now people with your hands up, stretch them out to the left...people with your hands front raise them up...great.  People with your hands not up, drop them, thanks, and don't try raising them again, I'll know."  There were confused mutters as the audience realized it was the thirty hold-outs who were really in the running.

"Ok, those of you with your hands raised...if you've ever been successfully hypnotized, drop your hand."  Seven or so dropped out, and Alex was tempted to join them just to ensure she wouldn't be pressured to participate, but then reconsidered.  Why should she care if he picked her and then embarrassed himself?  His selection process seemed to be trying to make things as hard on himself as possible, but then in the end it was probably just going to settle on someone else he'd hired, like Maris.  Alex shook away the sudden image of her empty, staring eyes.

"If you've ever bought something from an infomercial or tv-shopping network..." Another ten were out, accompanied by some snickers from the audience.  "If you've ever regretted a purchase a sales-person talked you into..." Eight more.  The magician lowered his voice.  "If you've never lost a close family member."  Three more down, and the audience became quiet.  Alex, hand still raised, went from indifference at ruining the magician's act to an active desire to shred it mercilessly.  She looked around, and her eyes met those of a young-looking guy wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope, but jeans.  His hand was the only one still raised aside from hers, and he looked a bit nervous.

"If you've never witnessed the death of a human being in person, lower your hand."  Alex had always thought the expression of blood "boiling" was silly, until she experienced it.  Her head swam and she nearly closed her eyes, but she knew what she'd see if she did and forced them to remain open, staring daggers at the magician.  The performer, squinting out against the stage lights, looked surprised, then shrugged.

"Could both of you make your way onto the stage?"  A seething Alex and the nervous "doctor" used the steps on opposite sides of the stage, meeting in the middle where the magician waited.  Close up, she could see the name on his badge.  Apparently the magician noticed as well.  "Doogie Howser, huh?  A lot of NPH fans in this crowd tonight."  Quiet chuckles from the audience, and some scattered hooting.

"Doctor and nurse, too...I hope this doesn't make everyone think this is all fake."  Laughter from the audience, because, of course, they did...even the ones who also thought they believed.  People were fundamentally broken.  "Well, I hadn't expected two candidates to get this far, but maybe we can narrow it down quickly."  He made a beckoning motion and two zombie stage-hands came out, positioning themselves behind Alex and "Doogie" after quiet whispers from the magician.

"Are we supposed to feel menaced?" asked Alex, unimpressed.

"No," said the magician.  "You're supposed to sleep," he said, snapping the fingers of both hands simultaneously.  Doogie's eyes closed instantly and he began to fall, only stopped by the zombie behind him quickly catching him under the arms.  Alex crossed her own arms over her chest and gave the magician a withering glare.  The magician quickly woke the young doctor and, to the audience's surprise, told him to return to his seat.  Alex couldn't decide whether to be surprised or not.  That had been his last chance to use a plant...but the consistent nature of the questions...he was clearly looking for someone quite specific.  But how could he-

Maris.  Maris, who was obviously hired by him beforehand, who actually managed to fucking wink at me during her "death throes".  Maris set me up.  I swear, I am going to make her wish she'd been torture-murdered...

Alex became much more wary.  Unless Maris had wanted this guy to be torn apart, metaphorically speaking, she had to presume he was prepared for her advanced skepticism.  But her roommate wasn't cruel...if she'd known the questions the magician would ask, what that would dredge up, on tonight of all nights...  Either she'd sorely misjudged Maris, or the magician had no idea how badly he'd miscalculated in his choice of words.

"First off, let me say I'm sorry for your loss, and what you've gone through," said the magician, and Alex had to restrain herself from physically stepping back, she was so taken off guard.  But she refused to accept sympathy that wouldn't have been necessary if not for his words in the first place, and stubbornly maintained her very low opinion of him with the dour expression that accompanied it.

"What's your name?" he asked.  His voice was quiet, but it held a peculiar intensity.  Alex almost answered, "Nora", but she felt angry and bold and wasn't inclined to be someone else at this point.

"Alexandra Haight."

"Now, Alexandra, we know if you responded to my questions honestly that you don't believe in the supernatural.  Would it be fair to say you're a skeptic?"  

"Quite fair."  A couple of boos came from the crowd and she wished she somehow had copies of one of her manuscripts to throw at them.  The magician waved a quieting hand at the audience without turning away from Alex.

"For my finale tonight, I would like to perform something of an experiment.  To see if an avowed skeptic can be brought to experience an undeniably supernatural encounter.  Is that something you would be willing to participate in?"

"If you're prepared to fail hard, by all means."  Laughter from the audience, and a couple of cheers of approval that made Alex's heart briefly soar.  The magician gave a half-smile, and nodded.

"Excellent.  There are some important things to address beforehand, however.  First, while I strongly believe you will emerge from the experience without serious harm, there is danger, and your safety cannot be guaranteed.  This is not a joke, this is not a theatrical pretense.  Will you accept genuine risk of physical injury or death?"  Alex did not respond immediately, and murmurs rose from the audience.

He seems serious.  He looks serious.  But it has to be pretense.  He's not making me sign a waiver, this place wouldn't risk getting sued into oblivion.  It's just drama...  Well, I can be dramatic too.

"To strike a blow against superstition and ignorance?  Hell yes!"  More boos, but also more cheers.  Alex wondered if her apparent supporters knew what they were rooting for.  If she publicly debunked whatever he was trying, unraveled the magic, would they really have enjoyed their evening?  Or was it like explaining certain facts to children on Christmas Day itself?  For that matter, what kind of guy was this magician, who had a gory stage show with satanic undertones and yet visibly winced when she'd used the word "Hell"?

"Very well.  For at least part of the experiment, you will be able to leave at any time, under your own power.  For the remainder, if you use the word 'Sanctuary', I will do everything I can to end the experiment prematurely, as quickly as possible.  But unless you invoke that word, you must follow my instructions to the best of your ability.  Do you understand?"  The audience tittered, and Alex looked disgusted.

"Implying I won't be able to leave under my own power eventually...and you're giving me a safeword?  If this is all a setup for some more sadomasochistic domination bullshit...I don't care about ruining your show, I will use it the second I even suspect you're about to exploit me as sexual entertainment."  This declaration prompted a chorus of loud booing, but also some louder cheers than before.  Alex couldn't tell if they were cheering her self-determination or had ignored the point and were simply cheering the possibility of sexual entertainment.  Maybe a mix of both.

"I solemnly swear, I have no intention of u-...of objectifying you in any sexual or erotic manner."  He looked sincere, and a little embarrassed, actually, but Alex reminded herself he performed for a living.  The boos became quite vehement.

"Fine, 'Sanctuary', got it.  What else?"

"Just one more thing.  Because I am giving you as much option as possible to end the experiment early, I want to motivate you not to do so trivially."  He removed two slips of paper from his pocket and handed them to her.  Alex studied the papers dubiously.  "For the Audience's benefit, please describe what I've handed to you?"  She stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was actually serious, or crazy, or both.

"They're cheques, on the account of 'Miles Marshall'.  One is made out to...to my name," she said, irritated at the realization, and the cheapness of the trick.  There was no way he could've filled it out in the time since she'd told him her name, but of course Maris would've told him long before.  "Which I'm pretty sure you knew before tonight, by the way.  The other is blank.  Each is made out for seventy-five thousand dollars, but neither is signed."  Animated conversation broke out in the audience.  People could be excited by money, who knew?  The magician handed her a pen.

"Write in the name of your favorite charity on the unassigned check, if you would?"  Alex slowly wrote in the name of a well-regarded local food bank, her traitorous heartbeat speeding up involuntarily, and handed the pen and the checks back to him.  He signed "Miles Marshall" at the bottom of each, then folded the checks and put them in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"You will receive these if and only if the experiment runs its full course.  Do you understand?"  The semi-professional skeptic thought furiously while the audience debated the same questions amongst itself.  Despite her stupid emotional reaction, it was quite possible, likely even, that the checks were fake or he didn't have nearly the funds in his account to cover them.  But if they were uncashable, she had plenty of witnesses...she could sue him for fraud afterward.  She might not get the total, but he seemed to have some expensive illusion equipment, so he wasn't destitute...would he risk that?  If they were somehow genuine, the tantalizing possibility of both a massive charitable donation and completely wiping out her student loan debt was clearly meant as a bribe, pure and simple, to keep her under his thumb regardless of what ridiculous or degrading experience he planned on putting her through.  Or would he simply ramp up the pressure until he expected she would be forced to use the safeword, and then he'd have his show and not owe her a thing?

"I understand," she said, coldly.  "And I agree...if there's a time limit."  The magician blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered.  Rather than looking at his watch, however, he glanced at the sky, where the full moon hung.

"If the experiment has not ended, ah, of its own accord within forty-five minutes, I will end it myself and consider it to have run its full course for the purposes of your payment.  Good enough?"  Alex examined the statement for loopholes, then nodded.

"Good enough."

---

Miles had to use all his stage control not to let out a huge sigh of relief.  She was committed now, and as long as she wasn't far more timid than the divinations suggested, she wouldn't bail out early.  He felt another pang of guilt at how he was using her, but squashed it.  There was nothing else he could pull off in the time remaining.  She'd given as informed consent as was possible under the circumstances, and he really did think she'd make it through.  She had to.

"Step this way, please?"  He led his reluctant assistant over to the side of the large circular platform, then turned to address the audience.  "In June 2002, Edward Loggerweld, the elderly proprietor of a bed and breakfast in Maine got up slightly before dawn.  As was his advertised practice, he then served breakfast in bed to the guests in each of his eight rooms.  As was not his usual practice, he allegedly spiked all the beverages with massive doses of several rat poisons.  Somehow, none of the guests noticed anything amiss until all had consumed enough to die from massive hemorrhaging due to anticoagulant overdose.  Mr. Loggerweld himself went missing and has never been seen again.  These," he said, waving a hand at the mottled white and pink fabric stretched across the platform, "are the sheets that were on the beds that morning.  I've had them laundered as best I could, but..."

The audience erupted in cheers and hooting, all their previous seriousness forgotten.  It was too much, they'd decided it was entertainment again.  His assistant gave him a dubious look.

"Yes, really," he said, leaning close to her as he covered the mic clipped to his lapel.  A minuscule drop of worry mixed into her expression, but it remained otherwise unchanged.  He kept his grim smile on the inside.

Miles waved to the stagehands, and they rotated the frames holding the sheets forward to lay on the platform, one pair of sheets each, sewn together lengthwise, spaced vertically so together they covered the entire surface behind them.  Once all the sheets had been lowered, it was clear that the "wall" was actually a wooden floor, the slightly uneven boards running vertically.  The wood was stained in two distinct but even shades, but there were also a great many darker blotches scattered across the surface.

"In August 1892, in Fall River, Massachusetts, Elizabeth Borden is alleged to have brutally murdered her mother and step-father with a hatchet, though she was later acquitted.  This," he continued, gesturing to the wall, "is made from the actual floorboards of the two rooms in which the murders took place."  Another gesture, and the platform rotated in a full circle, showing the audience the more pale, but still blood-stained undersides of the boards.  The "floor" was held together only by virtue of three long two-by-fours which ran the width of it, plus a triangular frame at the bottom to affix it to the platform and suspend it upright.  As the floor rotated back around to face the audience, he finished, "Again, I've had the boards disinfected as best I could."

Alexandra's expression had moved past skepticism to bored contempt, and he leaned in again, covering his mic as before.

"Again, yes...really."  She stared at him for a moment, analyzing, maybe?  Her eyes began to hold a strange mix of concern, disgust and pity.  Miles was confused for a moment until he realized what it meant.  Ah.  She thinks I'm insane.  Well, either way, I'll have company real soon, my dear...  He turned to the audience.

"From this point onward, until I give you the all clear, for the safety of everyone involved, please remain calm and as quiet as possible."  The audience, rapt, fell eerily silent, until the only sound was Miles' amplified voice and the thin sounds of laughter and screaming in the distance from the Haunt attractions away from the stage.  "Alexandra, please remove your shoes, then move to the center of the platform, facing the audience, with your back against the 'wall'."  The woman clearly tensed when he said 'remove', but as he continued she only frowned, then toed off her sneakers and stepped carefully onto the platform, walking in white socks across the bottommost sheet, whose edge butted against the wooden wall.  When she reached the center, she turned her back to the wall, showing no reluctance to touch it.

"For as long as you're able, as loud as you can, describe whatever you see, whatever you feel, whatever you sense...you are welcome to add even your own interpretations if you wish.  Tell me when you are ready to begin."

"I feel irritated, and I see a sad person who makes his living deceiving others, even if he might be crazy enough to actually believe his own bullshit.  Ready when you are, Kreskin."  The look she gave him would've been humbling if he was capable of shame regarding his occupation.  Instead, he took heart at her spirit and grinned.  He waved to the stagehands, and they rotated each of the four frames back up into place from top to bottom, like unusually morbid volleyball nets, the fabric stretching back over the wooden surface behind as each locked in position.  The lower two sheets stretched tightly across Alexandra in turn, pressing her more firmly against the wood and hiding her completely.  The sheets clearly outlined the shape of her upper body and legs respectively, the bottommost edge folded under her feet where she still stood on it.

"My nose feels squished, I smell Febreze, and I'm imagining a grim future for you; overweight, balding and doing dinner theater in Wichita," came her only-slightly muffled voice from through the sheets.  There were chuckles from the audience and Miles turned briefly towards them, holding a finger to his lips irritably.  Skepticism he'd fully expected, but not quite so vicious snark.  Didn't matter.  He put her words out of his mind as he took several deep breaths, though the image of being consigned to some dinner-theater Hell stubbornly refused to be banished.

He began to chant.

"I hear an idiot chanting in ungrammatical Latin about opening seals..."

Miles almost stuttered in mid-word.  The girl hadn't told him her friend spoke Latin!  Fortunately for everyone concerned, he recovered himself and continued.

"...unless he's actually using an early northern dialect, and then...kudos on the research?  Something something vengeance, something something demon...did you get this from a metal album?"  A nervous titter broke out in the audience behind him, but he couldn't spare the attention.

"Now I'm feeling pressed against the boards a bit more...oooh, spooky ghost gravity, or you're just tipping the wall backwards!"  Her words dripped with scorn at his "obvious" chicanery...but the wall had not moved an inch.  Murmurs from the audience.  Miles maintained his chant.

"Something about fate, and my mother..." there was a brief catch in her voice, but she quickly recovered.  "Fuck you for that, by the way...and yep, more spooky ghost grav-" her words cut off briefly as the outline of her body under the sheets began to creep upwards.  "Ok, didn't expect that, I'm sliding 'upwards', so I guess you tipped the wall past horizontal...and I haven't heard or felt any hydraulics, so they're top-shelf...maybe those checks will actually clear after all..."

The magician repeated the final phrase three times, each time louder than the previous, until the last shout emptied his lungs, as loud as he could muster.  Alexandra's body was now centered in the wall, the outline shifting as she moved her arms and legs experimentally.

"Hmm, I've stopped moving, it'd be awkward if I slid onto the floor I suppose...and 'Balance the scales'?  Not the most inspired climax, but good enunciation, seven out of ten, maybe?"

"No, it's real," shouted someone from the audience, sounding half-panicked.  Miles spun round and gestured angrily for silence.  There were gasps, and he looked back.

Small bumps under the fabric, maybe six inches across, had formed under some of the larger pink blotches and were steadily moving towards the outline of his assistant's body.

"Oh, well, since you say so...whoever-you-are...I guess it must be true..." Alexandra called out, apparently as yet unaware of the disturbances under the sheets.  The air over the audience was thick with tension.  Finally, one of the bumps reached the outline of her right leg, and she jerked it, but the bump remained around her ankle.  "Ok, gross, there are stage-hands under the wall, grabbing my ankle through a trap door while wearing weird bumpy rubber gloves...slimy rubber gloves."  The outline of her body twisted, it seemed like she was trying to roll over and stand up on what she thought was now a horizontal surface.  But another bump intersected her left arm and pulled it back down, and soon she was spread-eagled under the sheets, more than one unseen hand gripping each limb, and a longer bulge above her waist.

"Ok, a lot of hands now, and arms even..." her voice sounded a bit strained as she struggled.  "At least five or six guys down there...how many confederates does it take to convince one skeptic..."  The audience was still rapt, but their murmurs were growing louder, Alexandra's non-stop debunking actually taking a toll even under these ideal circumstances.  Miles waved a hand and the platform began to rotate again, turning to show the wall in profile, the outline of Alexandra's body broken by additional bulges.  Viewed from the side, there was clearly nothing behind the wall.  The platform continued to alternate half-turns back and forth.

A bump moved between her legs and inched upwards, brushing against her left leg.

"Sanc-" she began instinctively, but cut herself off.  Her struggles under the sheet increased in intensity.  Miles said a fervent prayer of thanks under his breath for whatever had stopped her, whether it was the money or the simple desire to beat him he'd carefully manipulated into her.  Still, her self-possession was so strong, it hadn't occurred to him that under the...wrong stimulus she might actually follow through and call for Sanctuary.  Even before he'd opened the seals, had it...been listening?  "I'm being vaguely molested now for everyone's entertainment, I hope you're ashamed of yourselves, but I'm not quitting yet.  In fact, let me be quite clear that I am not saying that S-word, but I do not consent to sexual contact, so if any of your creepy gropers does cross the line, I'll see you in court, ass-fmfm!  FFFMMMMM!"

The bump between her legs shot directly upward at the same instant another bump had clearly moved over the outline of her face...the vague outline of a misshapen hand could be made out where her mouth and nose had shown under the fabric previously.  Her outline under the sheet shifted rapidly, though not far, as she began to wildly thrash.  It appeared that the woman actually freed one arm for a moment and was clawing at the hand over her nose and mouth.

Without warning, the outline of her legs vanished, the sheets snapping flat against the wall.  Miles didn't bother with the stage-hands, he sharply waved an arm and the two lowest frames rotated down.  Alexandra's empty socks and pants flopped onto the platform, while the outline of her upper body continued to struggle even more under the remaining sheets.

She gave a loud scream, muffled into wordlessness, which faded out in volume strangely, and the upper sheets snapped flat against the wall.  Another gesture from Miles and the other two sheets dropped.  A beige bra tumbled straight down, while the empty scrubs-top peeled off of the wall top-to bottom and then fluttered slightly as it fell.  The continued oscillation of the platform showed there was nowhere behind the wall for her to have gone.

The audience stared.  Someone began to clap, and Miles cut it off with a tiny motion of his hand and a single raised finger, not turning away from the floorboards.  Please let this work...please be the right one.

A minute passed.  Two.  The audience was allowing itself to breathe, but only barely.

Then a bulge appeared in the wood itself, the surface not bending but bubbling out unnaturally.  It quickly vanished, but was replaced by other distortions appearing and disappearing seemingly at random, outlines with more definition: an arm, a large wing, a head and female torso, a leg.  There was the sound of a strong impact.  The wall of boards, which other than the rotation of the platform had remained still as a stone through all Alexandra's earlier struggles, visibly shuddered, dust sprinkling down the front.  Another impact, louder.

A pair of boards in the lower half burst and splintered, and out of the painfully deep velvet red thus exposed, emerged a demon.  There was no other word to describe it.  Its skin was mottled red and black, limbs unnaturally thin and gnarled, fingers and toes capped with sharp black nails.  As it clawed its way out of the narrow hole, a pair of bat wings were visible on its back.  Its proportions were all wrong for it to be a costumed performer...the limbs too thin to hide anything but a starving child, the stature slightly too tall for that.  The audience began to stir and someone started screaming, but Miles spoke a few words of Greek and they quieted.

The demon was struggling; its body bore numerous wounds, dripping black fluid, and it was clearly being held by something.  As its right foot emerged from the hole, a hand and arm came with it, gripping the ankle tightly.  The arm seemed human, though it was covered with black ichor, and while it was hard to judge the expression of the misshapen features on its oversized, horned head, Miles was certain the demon was terrified.

With a desperate effort, pushing with all its other limbs on the boards around the hole, the demon pulled itself free of the grasping hand and half-glided, half-fell to the sheets on the platform below.  Miles readied himself to dodge if the thing came for him, but any physical struggle between them would end poorly for the magician...this one would only need a touch to end him.  But he quickly spoke a single word of Sumerian, instantly ending all of his active effects.  No longer spellbound, panic rose in several audience members, and there was a simultaneous flash of light and splintering of wood as the spell which held open the seals collapsed and Alexandra was ejected from the hole, rolling over on the platform from her momentum.  The red light was gone; the hole in the boards simply showed through to the back of the stage.  Alexandra quickly rose onto one knee, naked, covered nearly head-to-toe in a mix of black ichor and red blood.

She held a hatchet in her right hand, equally stained.

The demon shook its wings experimentally and tried to take to the air.  Despite the terrible rents already torn in its wings, it might have actually escaped, but Alexandra saw and leaped at it, bringing them both crashing down onto the platform.  Pinning it with her knees and left arm, she brought the hatchet down onto its thin neck methodically, three firm, measured blows, each punctuated by a word.

"No.  Means.  No."

Her final blow buried the hatchet in the wood of the platform, and the demon's struggles ended instantly as its head rolled free of its neck.

The screaming in the audience had died down, and the only sounds in the eerie quiet were Alexandra's labored breathing and the occasional drip of black ichor off of her body.  She broke off staring at the severed head to look around...she saw the audience, saw Miles.

She stood, and glanced ominously at the hatchet that was still sticking up out of the platform.

Miles rushed forward, removing his suit jacket as he did so, and even retained the presence of mind to transfer the checks from the inside pocket to his pants pocket, lest they be ruined by ichor.  He pulled the jacket around Alexandra's shoulders, doing up two of the buttons, then took her hand lightly.

"Alexandra?  It's over now, you're safe.  Can you hear me?"  His words weren't amplified, the lapel mic had pulled off when he'd removed his jacket and dangled from its cord, bouncing around near his knees.

"What," she said, almost experimentally.  "What?"  Miles nodded; he'd expected something along those lines.  He gently guided her off of the platform to the front of the stage.

"Ladies..." he paused and bent down to re-clip the mic to his shirt.  "Ladies and gentlemen, please show the appropriate appreciation for the incredible bravery and tenacity of Alexandra!"  There was a pause, while the people in the audience tried to reconcile what they'd just seen with their individual world-views.  He was talking like it had been real, but acting like it was a show...and his delivery was so normal, and it was Halloween...

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause and cheering, waves of sound washing over the two people on stage.  The woman's expression looked dull, confused.  Miles, realizing she was probably going into shock, tried to speed things along.

"And another round for all of our delightful victims!" he added, waving a hand.  A video-projection appeared on the black drop at the back of the stage, showing portraits of all of the people who'd participated in the earlier effects.  Their names and a pair of years appeared at the bottom of each, as if it were a memorial.  The audience laughed and continued their applause and cheers.  Alexandra turned her head back and saw Maris' grinning picture.  Her face collapsed, as if it couldn't decide between amusement or anger, and tears began to make clean trails down the black ichor on her face.

"I've got to get Alexandra cleaned up and giver her a stiff drink, but thank you all very much, you've been a fabulous audience, and I hope you remember this Halloween for a long, long time!" Miles finished hastily.  But you probably won't, he amended, silently.  The stage lights went out, but the applause and cheers continued for quite a long time after Miles maneuvered Alexandra backstage, half-supporting her.

---

Alex was sitting in a chair, but she didn't remember sitting down.  She kept seeing flashes... Strange red heat; feeling the thing's nails on her skin; a young woman, naked, covered in blood, pressing something into her hand.  She shook her head and tried to focus.

In front of her was Maris.  She was still strapped to the "electric chair", her eyes still cold and empty.  The magician had pulled out the larger drills, was removing the last one from her hand.  Blood didn't flow from the hole anymore.  Alexandra dug her fingernails into her bare thighs, reaching for clarity through pain.

Maris is dead.  Maris is really dead.  What the fuck is happening?

"What the fuck is happening!?" Alex shrieked, as the thought refused to remain safely in her head.  She should be running, but she somehow couldn't make herself stand, transfixed by the sight of her roommate's bloody corpse.

"Magic," said the magician, unhelpfully.  He threw a white sheet over Maris' body, just large enough to cover all her wounds, paused for the briefest instant, then pulled it away.

"Asshole!" yelled Maris, glaring at the magician.  She seemed entirely alive and unwounded, though there were still holes in her costume, and the bloodstains remained.  Alex gaped at her.  "That was not okay, I need some fucking warning before you're going to do something like that without a Pain Block, and-"  The bloody clown's tirade cut off as she became aware of her roommate's presence, and appearance.  "Holy Jesus... Alex," she breathed.  "Miles, get me out of this!  You just said you wanted to test her as an Apprentice, what the fuck did you do?"

The magician was undoing the straps that held Maris to the heavy chair as quickly as he could, though his hands were shaking a little.

"She had a...convenient...Karmic destiny, which I helped her actualize.  And also get some closure on the demon that got her mother killed."  Alex discovered she was shaking too, now.  Her mother?  But her mother had died because of a stupid person who believed in demons.  Demons weren't...  She stared at her ichor-covered hands and legs.

"God.  Alex?  Look at me honey...it's okay now, you're safe.  Miles!  She's going to lose it!"  The magician freed one of her wrists so she could help him undo the other buckles.

"She's not, it's just nerves.  Maris, she did it.  She killed the thing, it was trying to get away from her.  Her willpower is off the charts..."

"Oh, fuck you, Miles, haven't you ever heard of a Counterstroke?"  The magician blanched, and finally free of the last strap, Maris jumped up from the chair and bent down to Alex, hugging her so closely their cheeks pressed together, unheeding of the ichor.  "Alex, you're a beautiful and precious human being and I'm sorry Miles is such a raging asshat.  I love you and I'm so happy you're okay."

But it was just a moment too late, and something inside Alex quietly went out.

"I don't need apologies," she said, evenly, not returning Maris' embrace, "or love.  I need explanations."