After a full month of sorting things out, Altair had a fresh reckoning of just how much wealth 'she' possessed.
She knew she was rich—she just hadn't realized she was this rich!
If she used gold pounds to hire Mr. World to deal with Beyonders, she could honestly say, 'I'll foot the bill—go kill a god.'
With this much money, she might have been better off never becoming a Beyonder. She was already regretting her deal with George III… The very next day after returning to Backlund, her occultism teacher arrived right on schedule.
When warm sunlight slid across her face, the heat nudged her half-awake. Instinctively she tried to pull the quilt over her head, but her fingers met something soft—flesh!
The sensation jolted her awake; her neck creaked like a rusted gear.
A woman was watching her.
Altair's first impulse was to drag in a huge breath and scream: Help! Murder! Assassin!
Unfortunately, when she tried to shout, no sound came.
The stranger leaned over, pinning her down. "Hello, Little Heart. I'm your occultism teacher. When you've calmed down, nod and I'll lift the silence."
Relief washed through Altair; she gave a slight nod.
The girl snapped her fingers, and Altair began sucking in huge, ragged breaths.
The sight made the teacher's cheeks flush; she smiled.
"Call me Vivian Laurent. I'll guide you into becoming a Beyonder. Let's get along from now on."
Once her breathing steadied, Altair realized the woman was still sitting on her—and offering a handshake.
"Could you… get up first? This is awkward," Altair said, embarrassed.
The girl didn't budge. "Nope."
Altair reluctantly stretched out her left hand, completing the handshake in an absurd position.
She expected Vivian to rise; instead the woman lay back down. "Stay a little longer."
"I need the washroom," Altair protested.
"…Fine."
"But come right back."
Altair's heart pounded as the 'girl' cuddled her.
Released at last, she scrambled out of the warm bed.
Inside the washroom she cursed under her breath. She'd imagined meeting a Demoness in countless ways, but never like this—plus, who puts a lavatory inside the bedroom?
She vented every complaint she could think of.
Then she faced reality: flushed, washed, and stepped out.
Closing the door, she saw Vivian smiling, lifting a corner of the quilt in invitation.
I'm the one getting the short end here, she thought.
Altair shook her head. "I'm wide awake. Do we have to lie down?"
Reading her expression, Vivian knew the cuddle plan was doomed.
She stood, walked over, and sighed. "Boring, Little Heart. I'll have to teach you other things—like how to please a woman and why you never refuse a bedroom invitation."
The girl stood in translucent gauze, and Altair's blood roared in her ears.
"Follow me," Vivian said, turning toward the study.
From behind, Altair got an eyeful of her stunning figure.
Inside the study Vivian opened a parcel packed with bottles and jars.
Seeing the ingredients, Altair realized a potion was about to be mixed and stepped closer.
Sensing her, Vivian teased, "You wouldn't nap with me, yet you sneak peeks now. How quaint. Haven't had your first kiss yet?"
Altair was speechless; in her past life she'd been a newly graduated college kid without a girlfriend, and now she was stuck in the body of a fifteen-year-old—what experience could she have?
She changed the subject. "You're brewing a potion?"
Vivian smiled. "Exactly—sequence 9 of the Assassin Pathway: Assassin."
"Drinking a potion is the only way humans gain Beyonder powers."
"It needs a main ingredient plus auxiliary materials and pure water. The extras can vary a little, but the main component must be exact."
"For sequence 9 Assassin: Shadow Poison root fibers and a Blackfeather Harpy plume."
"Auxiliaries: 100 ml strong vinegar, three Shadow Poison petals, ten drops of buttercup oil, one live spider."
"Done—mixed."
"I gathered these materials just for you."
Altair eyed the drab, unremarkable liquid that somehow made her throat itch.
She remembered a key occult rule: "Another person's Beyonder characteristic can substitute for the main ingredient."
"Listen before you drink," Vivian warned.
"Swallow it, then meditate immediately to control the spiritual power. Picture something that doesn't exist and sketch it in your mind—you know the drill."
Altair took the glass. Might as well; sooner or later the shot was inevitable.
She tipped the potion back. It wasn't foul—almost tasteless, just thicker than water, like a lump of undissolved honey.
As it slid down her throat her body tingled as if flooded with a potent tonic.
Colored motes and vapors blossomed before her eyes.
"Start meditating—control the power. Imagine something impossible and draw it."
At the reminder Altair sank into Meditation, slipping into utter stillness as her mind calmed.