The Headmaster led Eloise to his office, limbs feeling metallic and mechanical as he unlocked the door and entered. There was a lead ball in his stomach, slowing but not stopping his movements. Walking behind the desk, he dropped down to lift up the iron goblet full of the black liquid. “It’s like a principal’s office in here. No wonder they call you Headmaster,” Eloise uttered.

The observation brought a small smile to his tight lips. “That could be a reason.” He lowered the goblet onto the oak desk between them, and gestured for her to sit. She did, and he followed suit. “There are some things I need to go over with you before you fully commit.”

“I’m joining a cult, aren’t I?” she asked, expression as flat as her tone.

The Headmaster tilted his head and squinted. “Definitionally, maybe?”

Eloise nodded, hands folded in her lap. “Not the strangest thing I’ve heard today.”

“Gods are involved though, yes.” The Headmaster gestured to the goblet between them, its scent having long tapered off as it cooled overnight. “When someone joins, they drink this tea. It then binds them to one of the deities that live on this plane. There are seven, five of whom you are most likely to fall in devotion to.”

“Devotion,” Eloise repeats. Her eyes narrow. “Do I have to . . . worship? Sacrifice?”

“Not in the classical sense. Your very bond to the god would be, in a sense, a form of worship. The sacrifice is that you would be giving up your place in the world you came from.” The Headmaster steepled his hands. “Think of it in terms of the Fates weaving tapestries. Everyone has their own tapestry depicting their life. It shows all of their choices, the ones they made and the ones they didn’t, and it spells out the many futures they could have. When you drink this,” he directed his fingers to the goblet, “your tapestry is finished. Closed off. You aren’t immediately forgotten. You could even return if you wanted to.” He leaned back in his chair. “But you’ll be immortal. You’ll no longer age. You can still die, but not of natural causes. You’ll never go to sleep and not wake up.”

Eloise’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m giving up my mortality to serve a god just by . . . existing?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t people jumping on this opportunity?” she asked.

“Because these gods aren’t ones you’d have heard of. They’re called the Vagabonds because they have no home plane. They’re extremely dangerous, and tend to resemble the more hostile and violent sides of nature rather than the peaceful. They wander wherever they want to, and take pity or return favor to very specific souls.”

“If they have no home plane, then what is this?”

“The Valley of the Dolls was created by their leader. My god,” The Headmaster gestured to himself. “They made this place so the gods could rest, but this is only a pseudo-plane. It’s small, a pocket between worlds.”

“Right,” Eloise said, nodding again as she drank in the information. “I’m selling my soul.”

It was the Headmaster’s turn to swallow. “In short, yes. You’re giving up your place in the afterlife of your world. Really, you’re giving up your world.” He watched her face, waiting for any mist to form in her eyes, any curve to touch her brow.

She remained calm and unresponsive, merely asking more questions. “Is there anything I need to do to stay here? Specifically, I mean.”

The Headmaster shifted in his seat. “You’re not required to do anything, other than play nice with the other children, technically.” Eloise actually snorted, but the smirk disappeared quickly. One glance at her lap, and he could see she was wringing her hands. “There are jobs each of us like to perform. You’re always welcome to join in. Elliot cooks. The Lutece twins clean and maintain. We have those who shop, those who forage and hunt, we have a number of tasks you could perform.”

Eloise stared at her lap for a long time, twisting her fingers. “Is there anything else I should know before I drink the Kool-aid, per se?”

The Headmaster appreciated her openness and dry humor. However, it did nothing to lighten the lead inside him. “This tea is disgusting. After you drink it, there will be a little discomfort. Like you just drank sriracha, or wasabi straight from the bottle-”

“Gross.”

“-then the sign of your devotion should show.” When she gave him a puzzled, he said, “For some, it’s a black tattoo or glowing veins over the heart. Others, it’s a floating flame or water droplet.”

“Macavity has the flame.”

“Yes, exactly. Some decide to hide their devotion symbol. Others are rather open about it.”

“How do you hide a flame?”

“We developed spells and tinctures for it, in case one of us travels somewhere we need to hide it.” Eloise’s eyebrows scrunched together at long last, but then she closed her eyes and the flaw was smoothed out. “Are you still interested?” Eloise was silent. When she shifted, it was to place her hands on the table. Her fingers rubbed together, her hands moving to frame the goblet. She looked to him for approval. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” she said.

“Then,” he gestured to the iron.

Eloise slowly picked it up in both hands, holding it like the most fragile glass. Bringing it to her lips, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to throw the whole drink back in a single shot. The Headmaster winced sympathetically as she visibly lurched, slamming the goblet down on the desk and contorting her face in a manner that showed she wanted to spit it out. Her eyes opened, red and brimming with tears as a single trail of black fluid leaked from the corner of her mouth. When she finally swallowed it all, she gasped for air and declared, “That was worse than wasabi.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” the Headmaster said, waiting for her sign to appear. “What does the aftertaste resemble?”

She closed her mouth and swished her tongue inside. “Dirt.”

The Headmaster’s eyes narrowed. “Come again.”

“Dirt, like mud. It feels like mud,” she reached up and rubbed at her throat, likely trying to force the taste away by touch. “Just old, graveyard dirt.”

The lead in his belly dropped, weighting him to the chair. He watched as Eloise continued to rub her neck, a swirling pattern of creeping across her already pale skin and lining her throat. Circles of frost decorated her neck like a choker, a collar tethering her to her god. A god who’d never before had a bond with a resident here. The Headmaster’s heart sank with his stomach, and suddenly the dread he’d been unable to shake made sense. “I’m afraid you’re in a rather unique position, Eloise.”