The Trap Closes

"You," Harper breathed, taking a step back toward the altar.

The Alternate Harper smiled, a cruel, sharp curving of her lips. "Hello, little mouse. I must say, you look terrible in my riding habit. Though, I suppose a peasant from a dirt-realm can only be polished so much."

"You lured me here," Harper said, her voice shaking with rage and terror. "You tricked me."

"It was a mutual transaction," Dorian said smoothly, walking into the room. The shadow-servants bled from the obsidian walls, forming a circle around the chamber, blocking any path of escape. "You desired wealth. We provided it. You have lived like a queen for weeks. Now, it is time to pay the bill."

"I'm not an heir," Harper snarled, drawing the small velvet pouch of stolen gold from her belt, ready to throw it at them. "I'm nothing to you."

"Genetically, you are identical to my lady," Dorian explained, gesturing to the Alternate Harper. "The Siphoning Altar requires the bloodline of the Estate to function. But it is a blunt instrument. It cannot tell the difference between her soul and yours. You are the perfect, disposable decoy."

The Alternate Harper sighed, admiring her manicured nails. "It's really nothing personal, darling. But maintaining this level of luxury is exhausting, and having my soul periodically drained was giving me terrible migraines. You were drowning in debt in your world anyway. Think of this as a mercy."

"I'll kill you both," Harper hissed, reaching into her pocket for the glass shard, keeping it hidden in her fist.

Dorian laughed, a chilling, dismissive sound. He raised his cane and struck the obsidian floor.

The runes in the floor flared with a blinding, agonizing golden light.

Harper screamed as the magic seized her. Invisible, crushing hands grabbed her arms and legs, lifting her off the floor. She fought, kicking and thrashing, but the telekinetic grip was absolute. She was slammed down violently onto the cold, blood-stained stone of the Siphoning Altar.

"Bind her," Dorian commanded.

The liquid gold pooling on the floor suddenly slithered upward like living serpents. It wrapped around Harper’s wrists and ankles, hardening instantly into solid gold shackles, locking her to the stone.

Dorian walked to the head of the altar, looking down at her. He reached out, gently stroking her cheek. "You were a beautiful distraction, Harper. I will almost miss you."

He raised his hands toward the glowing diamond suspended above them. He began to chant in a harsh, guttural language that made Harper’s ears bleed.

The Alternate Harper stood by the door, watching with a bored expression.

The siphoning began.