The lid shot open when they were well away from Spider Heaven, and they spilled out pink in a column of steam into dark, long wet grass fluttering in strong winds gusting along a hillside. The cauldron continued its march up the mountain, oblivious to the departure of its passengers. “You fucker!” Mistrial stomped on Heathcliff’s stomach, “you gave my soul to a demon!” Heathcliff grabbed her leg and twisted, bringing her down. They tumbled down the hill, yanking at each other and scratching and punching. “You’re the fucker!” Heathcliff slipped around in a mud slick, unable to course-correct, “I saved our asses!” She brought her muck-filled arm up and dabbed at the blood that was pouring from her nose, out of breath. They sat dumb in the pattering rain. Then the Canary came down the hill, calm and collected, with the broom and cracked it over Mistrial’s head. “Why are you mad at me!?” Mistrial threw up her arms to try grab it out of her granny hands as the blows came down. Heathcliff nabbed the broom away. Mistrial heaved up a huge chunk of mud and threw it at them, missing both, slipping back down into the muck, “It sure as hell ain’t my fault! It’s your fault, stupid Canary! You had to blab all our secrets!” The Canary’s face twisted up in hurt but Mistrial wasn’t having that, she got up and slipped her ass down, and got up and slipped herself away from them, into the forest, alone, where a bit of traction brought her back to walking. The other two followed from a distance, which wasn’t what she wanted, but also not what she didn’t want - the Soul-stealing S.O.B’s could afford to be alone for a while. After a while of this shadowing Heathcliff came around on the broom, swinging her feet, “you gotta forgive me.” “I do not. You’re a psychopath. I saw your ratty little soul, you look like death warmed over on the inside. I know who you are.” “I don’t deserve that.” “You do.” “I’m not denying anything. Given the circumstances of my upbringing, I am, let’s say, predisposed to certain patterns of behavior that are simply unacceptable. I own up to it.” “When your physical form is stripped away you look like satan’s butthole.” “That hurts. But here I am being the bigger person. I want you to forgive me. I love you.” “You sold my soul.” “It’s sold. It ain’t, like, sundered…” Heath slapped at a mosquito, “...still out there somewhere as far as we know.” “You gonna work to get it back?” Mistrial stared her down. “Come on, it’s Astaroth. Astaroth is a great demon to be linked to. Look at you, you’re lookin’ stronger. You have the Astaroth buff that everyone’s looking for.” Mistrial checked herself out. She did feel a little more dense but figured it was on account of all the wrasslin’ they were doing. She had to agree though, this was a definitive leap in physical fitness with little applied effort necessary. “Do you want to know what your astral form looked like to me?” Heathcliff asked, sweetly. Mistrial slitted her eyes, but she could not deny the stirring interest dwelling within, “Yes.” “Mistrial, you were about the prettiest, most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was like looking upon a fertility goddess and a warrior goddess all wrapped up in one package. It fairly did change my life.” Mistrial did not unslit her eyes. She remained slitted. But inside she had melted to the honest and naive profession of love. “Come on, girls,” Heathcliff lowered down and patted the broom for them to hop on, “where’s the Canary?” Mistrial’s looked about, “Canary?” The kid was gone. “Canary!?” Mistrial sprinted back to the hillside, “Canary if you’re hiding or running away I’m going to kick your ass!” she hollered out. No answer. She ran up the hill and spun in a bewildered search for the little yellow dress but all about was a vegetal eye-maze. Heathcliff brought around the broom and they took to the air to search for her, but found nothing. Mistrial was in hysterics, and had entered into some sort of doomed loop of inquiry how she became such a fuck up, how had she ruined everything she ever touched. No longer searching, but seemed locked in on some certain horizon of doom.