Author’s Note

The first scene of this episode features exploratory surgery while Katriona is conscious. It's not very detailed, but you may see the scene as light body horror. The second scene includes brief allusions to transphobia and misgendering.

After this episode, I'll post one more Shub installment this year, plus probably a "Children In Need" short. If you subscribe to my Patreon, you'll not only get new episodes early, but you'll also get to participate in a poll for the New Year!

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Welcome to the future. Bloodsucking feudal overlords called the Noblesse rule over all Christendom.

I'm one of them on my mother's side.

Educated. Rich.

Dropout. Broke.

Girl of your dreams. Kill you in your sleep.

Cool, huh?

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E3: " Cherry Bomb"

 

My clothes are off and a girl named Cherry’s running a knife between my tits.

I know what you're thinking, but this is not a date.

I'm gonna back up a little.

The point of all the travel last time was to get to my family's dynastic seat, the city and castle of Grauenwald. Currently in residence: my mother, Count Melisse Ravenlow.

Mom sent me to grab that crucifix. You know, the one that burned its image into my chest. Moms, right?

That’s why I'm visiting Cherry Sawbones and her little bag of knives.

Cherry is a very good doctor. Highly skilled. Eminently respected.

Well, I respect her. Well, I respect how much she can drink. Point is, she doesn't judge, and she does all her work by day.

— "Christ, Kat, you're such a dumb bitch."

She doesn't judge much.

Cherry looks at me with weary doctor eyes.

— "Want me to start with the good news or the bad news?"

— "Bad news first. The good news’ll soften the blow."

Her eyes narrow.

— "Then good news first. The bone damage isn't too bad. I can fix that with calf cells over commoner collagen scaffolds. Long as you eat right and rest in home soil, you'll be fine."

I nod. Listen to doctors when they've got your chest open.

— "Now bad news. The unholy sign you've got 'twixt your tits isn't just a silver burn. It just used the burn to implant itself. Here, look."

She holds up a hand mirror to the incision. I look. Burned flesh, blood vessels, a glint of...

— "...fucking quicksilver?!?"

She nods.

— "Something coated in it. You're not dead yet because it's a network of new blood vessels. So far, it only runs through the sigil."

— "I don't like 'yet' and 'so far.'"

— "Not that dumb a bitch, then. My prescription: go see your ex."

She doesn't mean Jeanne. There are a lot of people she doesn't mean. She means..."

— "...Cindel is not my ex."

— "Okay, your will-they-won't-they-guess-they-didn't. Blood alteration is an alchemist thing, and she's gone all the way."

I glare at Cherry. She smirks back.

— "With her plasma replacement. She's a golden girl now. Meanwhile, something for the pain..."

Time to tell you about Cindel. Obviously, I'm not going to.

Instead, I'm going to tell you about the much more pleasant topic of my overbearing, disappointed Mom.

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I know it sounds like I describe everything as a dirty joke. This next bit is a lot less dirty. Because it's about my Mom.

Despite it being a clear, sunny day, I slept for shit. Boarding house dirt is worse than the stuff in the woods. Since it gets sieved, soaked, and set out to dry between customers, it's sterile and smells funny. The cheap, cramped casket I stayed in this time was even worse. But I was just killing a few hours anyway.

I head up the path to Mom's place. Going the front way, it's about a mile up the mountain. There are lifts to make it faster and smoother, but I need to rehearse this conversation in my head.

Here are the important bits. Hi, Mom. Got your Cross. Need to shave and shower and sleep over. I'll grab dinner myself. Love ya! That's all I need to say, right?

The castle's front gate is surrounded by an archway shaped like a screaming, contorted face. It originally had a commoner look complete with short haircut, but the last time someone tried to kill Mom, she got fangs installed. Unsubtle. But subtlety is for assassins, not the ones who behead them.

The entryway guards are overworked and underpaid, so they're usually not in a hurry to help supplicants get where they're going. Fortunately, I'm not a supplicant. Even if I feel like one sometimes.

I tell them not to bother announcing me. Don't want to let Mom get a chance to think this through the way I just did. Unfortunately, a red moth flutters right in front of my face as I get through the gate, then flies ahead of me as I make my way toward Mom's throne room. She's noticed me already.

The moth perches on my shoulder as I enter the hall. The rest of them are resting on Mom as she sits on her chair of iron and lead. I'm glad to see she's actually using the cushions I gave her a few Christmases back. I may get frustrated with all her political shit, but I don't want her to wreck her back doing it.

— "Katriona!"

She smiles bright and bares fangs. And you know what? I can't help smiling back.

— "Hi, Mom."

The only other person in the hall is Father Conscience, wearing his usual dour white robe and holier-than-thou smile.

— "Hello, Honorable Saxon."

Our family confessor is trying to be insulting. "Honorable" is meant to remind me that I'm not in the line of succession, while "Saxon" is my commoner father's name rather than my Noble mother's.

All these years and he hasn't figured out I'm proud of both.

A few of Mom's moths detach and float toward the case I'm carrying. I shake my head.

— "Don't, Mom. Your 'idol' turns out to be a crucifix. It's in a half inch of lead and it's still messing me up."

That's not at all true. I feel fine. But I should be feeling that way, so I fall back on lying about things that should go without saying.

— "Give it to the good father."

I hand it over, suppressing my smile when he winces at the weight and sudden nausea.

Mom waves at him and he walks toward the rear door.

— "Do come and see me, Honorable. It's been quite a while since your last confession."

He's curious, isn't he? Guess Mom hasn't told him everything. I can't be too smug, though, since she hasn't told me anything.

Mom gets down from her throne to hug me. Feels nice. I always love this part, where we get to be child and parent before she starts talking about everything I don't want to discuss.

The cloud of red-winged moths surrounds us both.

Guess I should explain those. At Confirmation, we're supposed to devote ourselves to a specific patron saint, one of those not in our family line. It's a very involved sacrament, but the short version is that we start to take on our saint's qualities.

Mom's patron is Saint Odile of the Samite Wings. Back before Grandma was interred, she told me that the moths were Moon-white, but were forever stained red in Mom's last battle with the Mistressmind. The Machines had ways to make silver even worse. Same reason the scar down the right side of her face has never closed all the way.

That was the exposition. Now for the awkward.

— "Katja, we need to talk."

I sigh. We always do.

— "You tried this experiment. Working for hire, partying all day....."

— "Wenching. Don't forget wenching."

She hasn't forgotten, she never does. But I like to point out that I'm currently unmarriageable. Her moths flutter faster, nervous.

— "...yes. It hasn't worked, and it's time to do something stable. I can't have you crucified on a hill in some backwater heathen town. I need to know that you're safe."

— "Mom. Exactly what kind of safe am I going to be if I go back to being a diplomat? The moment you send me to do something out of your shadow, Darius or some other shit cousin is going to find an excuse to kill me. Because I'm pretty sure he just tried anyway."

That's what I actually studied at soldier school. To be the polite envoy to a spouse's razor and sword. Marry a nice, murderous paladin like Jeanne.

— "I could legitimize you. Make you my heir."

So estates pass from a parent to the eldest child of the same gender. Mom only has me and my brother. We'll get to him, but here's the obvious problem.

— "Right, so everyone spit red and say you put your son in a dress."

Probably one low cut to see my involuntary cleavage decorations.

— "It's safer than being a party girl."

— "This is not the time, Mom. I'm in the middle of a very complicated —"

— "Affair? Heartbreak? Am I close?"

Blasphemous chest tumor. But I really can't tell her about that. So it's lying time again. But let's put a cherry on top.

— "A girl. I... I might marry her."

I've said that before. Usually before someone calls me a dumb bitch. Mom doesn't, obviously. But she does shake her head. Her moths pull back.

— "Go get some supper. There's fresh tithe in the circulator. I'll see you in the evening." Pause. "I love you."

— "Love you too, mom."

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God, sleeping in my own room, in my own casket feels nice. Home soil, cuddling my childhood doll. Even with Mom mad at me, I wake up in a lovely mood. Fresh and relaxed.

I rise from the soil and brush myself off. I smell fresh bread and open my door just a bit to pick up the breakfast platter. A little loaf at sunset is great for settling my tummy. But as I lean down, I feel a sharp pain all through my spine and shoulders. Did I actually strain myself that badly on the train home?

Whatever. Time for breakfast. I finish about half of it, then go over to the basin to wash my face. Maybe put on some makeup. Elegant pastels? Mottled bruises like I'm going to take a girl out (or in)?

Eh. I can put that off for a bit. I splash my face, rub my eyes, and dab my face dry with a washcloth. The real hair one feels so much better than what I carry on jobs.

Then I look in the mirror. There's — there's someone clinging to my fucking back. Wrapped in shrouds and veils. All her limbs wrapped around me. Bony, clawed hands digging into my tits. A leg around my belly and the other foot almost there. I can feel them now, wrapping me, digging into me. I guess I know where the pain is from.

I exhale sharply. The pain gets worse. I close my eyes for a moment to really feel it. Been so long. And then... it stops. Just stops.

I open my eyes and look back in the mirror. The ghoulish figure is gone.

I'm alone.

You're such a tease.

NEXT

"Breakdown for Christmas"

a ska-liday special