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Strings of muscle and ligaments unraveled past my elbow.

My blood, my skin, my flesh was unspooling off my left arm, pulling into the hardened black center in the palm of the crucible cage, wrapping around the iron bead made of my parents’ ashes. My flesh wove between the bony fingers of the hand, around and around, forming a tapestry of gore. Blood hovered like red mist, staining everything.

Take what you must, leave me the power.

The chanted words were desperate now, my plea for this to end. The flesh of my arm fell away, leaving only bone.

I flexed my bony fingers, white stained pink with blood. I could identify the carpus, the ulna, the radius.

I had never thought to see the interior of my own hand, exposed and brittle.

Take what you must.

My fleshless hand started to glow with the same golden sheen my sister’s body did.

Each bone, at the same time, without warning,shattered.

I screamed, blinded by pain. My voice shriveled to nothing. The dust of my bones hung suspended in the air, forming the outline of my elbow and arm and hand, and then slowly, slowly, the bone dust swirled down, down, falling over the crucible like rain.

About four or so inches remained of my left arm, less bone, more flesh hanging limply. The muscle sizzled as if being burnt, the stench so sickening I gagged. The skin knit together, raw and pink and thin.

The words of the runes flashed in my mind.

Leave me the power.

I turned to my sister, prone and motionless beneath the illuminated clock. Her body still glittered with a glowing aura I could never describe with words, as if the particles of air were gilded.

Her right arm, amputated. My left arm, taken. We were still, even in this strange space between life and death, mirror twins.

Take what you must, leave me the power.The words were bitter in my mouth now, but still as true and sincere. I would give anything—my other arm, my legs, my heart, my soul—to just get Nessie back.

The glow lifted over Ernesta’s body. The air no longer smelled of blood and burning; it was sweet, but sharp. The bright mist rose higher and higher.

Take what you must,I said in the ancient tongue,just give me back my sister.

The golden light swirled into a stream, the end pointed like a pen tip. It flowed into the iron, wrapping around, hardening, shining so brightly that I had to look away. It formed the bead into a small, hollow cup, about the size of the tip of my thumb. I bent to pick it up, almost losing my balance as I reached out with my right hand,forgetting I no longer had a left one. As soon as I touched it, the crucible cage crumbled to dust.

The iron crucible was crudely made, but I could feel its power overtaking me, surging inside my body.

I turned immediately to my sister. “Nessie,” I whispered. My voice was raw and cracked, as if I had been breathing smoke.

She did not move.

I ran to the top of the spiral staircase that led into the foyer, hoping the air would clear my head. At its base, the bodies of the other plague victims lay haphazardly. And above and around them all, the same golden glow that had clung to Ernesta before pouring into the crucible.

“No,” I whispered.

I cupped the crucible in my palm. The truth settled on my shoulders like rain.

I had thought my arm was the price I paid for the power, but I was wrong. Ernesta’s soul had been the sacrifice. These other dead bodies—their souls were still there. Still intact. But Ernesta’s had been ripped from her, imbued into the iron, forced into the crucible.

I ran back to her side.

“Nessie,” I said, my voice cracking. “Come back to me.”

I knew what to do instinctively. I cradled the crucible in the palm of my hand. I saw—now that I knew what to look for, Isaw. The golden glow of my sister’s soul bound to the crucible, not her body.

“Come back,” I ordered, and there was power resonating in my voice.