"School? What do you need school for? You gonna go get a job? Bring some man in his office coffee?"

  Joe Everson was arguing with his only daughter Lisa. She listened to him once again berate her plans. In truth, she hated the man for his stupidity and his slothfulness and his idiocy. He truly believed that anything anyone else was capable of, he was capable of. Except for, seemingly, cleaning himself, wearing a full set of clothing, and being a decent human being. Tonight was no exception.

  "Well, I'll tell you this: I am not paying for it," the elder Everson told his daughter, barely below a shout.

  "Dad, don't be ridiculous. You don't pay for school. What kind of world would that be? The Empire pays for its students to be educated so we’re superior to other nations."

  She had told her dad this before, but like any factual information that disagreed with his pre-existing worldview, he erased it from his memory. The man had a stunning ability to convince himself the world existed the way he believed it did. He had recovered from his recent possession, once again, thanks to a woman. To hear him tell of it, it was like shaking off a bad cold. Meanwhile, he still had the blisters all over his skin.

  The fool had gotten himself possessed, from Ms. Fontaine's account, by the very same demon that had possessed Lisa. Her father had seen a woman perform an exorcism, fancied himself a sorcerer, and then went about trying to cast some sorcery. He hadn't gotten some aspect of it right. Lisa had no knowledge of magic herself. She’d learn enough in school. Her father’s experiment had cost the family two more silvers.

  Lisa did not recall many details from her possession. It was like taking a warm nap. She felt protected rather than threatened. The demon didn't cause her any harm or pain. She didn't know if other possession victims had such warm feelings about their experience.

  The young woman wanted to go to school to study math, engineering, and science. There were no women in that field she knew, but there was no reason in particular why she couldn’t be the first. She could learn the bindings and invocations like a male scientist. Once again, she cursed her luck. Being born of the fair sex was no blessing. She was vulnerable in the Empire and in the city, and she knew it.

  She felt some small measure of gratitude to whatever demon - Haborym, Ms. Fontaine had said - that had possessed her. It had changed her perspective and her priorities. She now knew life was short for pursuing her dreams. The unexpected could happen at any time, and she wanted to take every opportunity offered to her. The fact that the Imperial schools had recently opened to women did not, however, mean the men in charge of women's lives were open to the idea.

  "Your responsibility to this family is to produce heirs for my line. Find a suitor above your station that we may rise to the level we are owed. Now I have tried every measure, every means, and every scheme I could to raise our family up."

  Everything except for getting a decent job, maintaining it, and making a lot of money, Lisa thought. She did not voice her opinion in this case, opting to take the high road. She knew that in this state, digging at her father would only get her injured. Her father kept a friendly face, but like many men, he was not above putting his hands on his wife and daughter should he feel his pride was demeaned or that he was not respected.

  "Now, as I was cursed," he continued, "to not have a male heir of my own, it is your responsibility to provide me with one, and I absolutely demand that you cease selfishly putting your attention on matters such as your education. You will find a suitor, you will be married, and you will produce children which will continue on my line, if not my name."

  This was the first time the man had so plainly and directly ordered Lisa to obey his will. The hurt must have appeared on her face.

  "Don't you well up tears at me, young lady, or I will give you something to cry about," said her father.

  Lisa hadn't noticed herself beginning to sweat, but she became aware of the room getting warmer. The weather had changed from autumn to the beginnings of winter. The room was cold despite the warm fireplace burning against a far wall. But now it seemed the fire had risen several inches. It cast enough heat that even the elder Everson's sweat glistened on his brow. His bald head reflected the firelight. Grease stains adorned his clothing. The man seemed perpetually filthy and incapable of finding the clean clothes her mother prepared.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "I will do no such thing," Lisa said, raising her head in defiance.

  Before Joe Everson could respond, she gathered up her jacket and turned on her heel and walked out of the house. The fat, bald man followed her out the door, shouting, "You walk away! You are no daughter of mine!"

  Lisa did not respond. She had been staying with friends since her father was possessed. She determined it was time to return there. She began planning to attend school in the spring. She might even make it in time to register for winter session. She was determined not to go back to her father's house.

  She walked a few blocks, still warm from the heat of her house, before she heard the footsteps following her.

  She quickened her pace. Her friends lived a healthy walk away, and it was a walk she had not made in the evening hours unaccompanied. The city was a dangerous place. Her neighborhood, while mostly safe, bordered on neighborhoods that were not. Occasionally, opportunistic criminals would come and ply their cruel trade on victims from more wealthy neighborhoods.

  While she was independent and brave, she was not naive enough to believe she could fight off attackers. She quickened her pace, hoping the footsteps that followed her were simply on their way home or to visit friends like she was.

  She decided to turn up a more well-lit street. If those pursuing her followed, she would bang on doors and try to get help.

  Before she could turn, the footsteps behind her broke into a run. She ran, but not before feeling a strong hand grip her arm above the elbow. Her attacker spun her around to face him. He was a tall man with a scar across his cheek, missing a few teeth, wearing a bowler hat and coat.

  "Well, well, pretty pretty. Where you going so late without your boyfriend?"

  Next to the tall man was a short, fat one. His build reminded her uncomfortably of her own father. The way his suspenders stretched over his big, distended belly. The fat made folds at his chin. His barely-shaven beard was spotty at the cheeks, as if it had given up giving him manliness halfway.

  "Pretty pretty," said the fat one. "What do you think, Brown Tom? Do you think her boyfriend's gonna come and find her?"

  The tall one, Brown Tom, replied, "No, no, I don't think no one's gonna find her. Why don't you come with us, princess? We'll keep you safe and warm."

  "Led us on a merry chase, you did. Out of breath, I am, from following ya," said the fat one.

  "Oh look at that," said Brown Tom. "You've made Jimmy here tired. Why don't we go take a rest, sweetheart?"

  Lisa tried to cry out. She tried to scream. But Brown Tom had a grip on her arm. And when she opened her mouth, Fat Jimmy covered it with his stubby fingers.

  Lisa lost sight of the world after that. Everything swam and turned black. Last thing she knew, everything was quiet except for the muffled sound of screams coming from far away.

  When she awoke, she was slumped against a wall in an alley where Brown Tom and Fat Jimmy had tried to drag her. She scrambled to her feet. Warm still despite the cold. She didn't know how long she'd been unconscious, but on examining herself found no injuries. Her clothes were not damaged, nor, thankfully, had they been removed. As she gathered her bearings, she saw the charred corpses: one tall and skinny, wearing a bowler hat, the other fat, curled up in a ball before her.

  She changed her mind about where she was heading that night and started walking off in a new direction.

  It was late. Sam had tried to have a drink, once again, trying to find the delicious stupor that used to guide her from evening to morning. But the alcohol had no effect.

  She noticed other odd goings-on with her body. The wounds given to her by Reverend Smith and his henchmen were gone the day after, as if sleep itself had cured her. She couldn't get drunk. Every time she tried to smoke a cigarette, coughing fits racked her as if she had never smoked before. The smoke burned her throat. So she had taken to having cigars instead. They lasted longer anyway.

  Construction of Reverend Smith's house had gone well. Well enough that she'd been able to deposit Missy there. She would go check on her every day or so and bring her food and see that she got to school safely. She had told Rex to guard the young girl. She had no interest in parenting. She needed to find someone who would be more responsible than she to take care of the girl. She added that to the list of problems to address later.

  Sam had just about resolved herself to end the day, one way or another, when the banging came on her office window, one story below the apartment where she slept. She made her way down the stairs. The banging was incessant and desperate. She could tell from the sound that it came from a small hand. There weren't soldiers nor an irate neighbor. In fact, her neighbors were downright pleased with her now that half the slums belonged to them on account of her disposing of the local slumlord. She bribed a city worker to claim the deed. Doing so saved her some trouble with the courts. She didn’t need to explain to the soldiers where Reverend Smith had gone and why he wasn't coming back.

  Sam opened the blind in the window of her door, looking past the writing that said Fontaine Detective Agency to see Lisa Everson standing in the frigid cold. The young woman’s face twisted with worry and fear. Sam opened the door.

  "Oh, thank God you're here," Lisa Everson said. "I don't know what I would have done if you weren’t. Ms. Fontaine, something terrible has happened.

  "I think I might still be possessed."