The water in the bath had foamed and turned a nearly opaque eggplant-purple. Petals and leaves covered the surface. I dipped my foot into the liquid. I knew it was just warm enough to let the herbs steep faster, but it felt scalding hot. I grit my teeth and forced myself into it, sinking onto the small shelf. The heat was unbearable. I submerged, again and again, soaking my face in the mix.

Slowly, the pain grew dull, blunted by the analgesic herbs. I wanted my rose, but I had left it at the other side of the tub, far out of reach, and getting there right now was beyond me. I’d dropped the cut T-shirt on it accidentally, and I could just make out the hint of metal petals peeking out from under the lymph-soaked cloth. Good enough.

A rush of agony twisted through me, the magic I stole from Moloch and made my own eager to repair the damage. It hurt now, but I knew it would hurt more before my body was fully healed. I rested my head on the smooth edge, the water just below my lips, inhaled the aromatic mist rising from the medicinal bath, and let saffron, lemon balm, and valerian soothe me into sleep.

I wasn’t alone.

The realization filtered in through my drowsiness, triggering an internal alarm. Someone was with me in the room. I reached for magic and found nothing. The tech was up.

Nobody should have been here. I had locked both doors behind me. I was absolutely sure.

Tepid water brushed against my neck. I was still sitting on the shelf of my tub.

I tried to open my eyes. I managed a tiny sliver of light, blocked by some sort of translucent curtain. What the hell? Had I gone blind?

I sat up. Something ripped with a dry crunch, and the curtain fell away. A thin, almost transparent layer of my skin peeled off my face and fell into the water. Ewww.

Across from me, past the other side of the bath, Derek sat on the floor.

My heart hammered in my chest, as my brain grappled with what I saw, trying to make sense of it in a feverish rush. I was awake and lucid. He wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t a hallucination either. First, everything else looked normal, and second, if my medicine-addled brain were to serve me a version of Derek, it wouldn’t have dressed him in a modern ninja suit stained with blotches and dots of black and grey. I had never seen him wear anything like this in my whole life.

No, it was him. In the flesh. Sitting on the floor of my bedroom and staring at me with fiery eyes, while I shed dead skin like a snake.

I stared back. He looked hard and cold, sharper, more awake somehow than I remembered. The thin network of scars crisscrossed his face. Years ago, some creatures poured molten silver on his face. He should’ve died. He had survived against all odds, and the scars were the price he paid. Before the scars, people used to describe him as handsome. Now they used other words. Dangerous. Scary. Lethal.

He sat relaxed, as if finding a camouflaged fortress filled with strange magical artifacts and weapons in the middle of Atlanta was just one of the things he’d done today. He wasn’t bothered by it. He wasn’t bothered by me sitting naked in the dark water or my healing rituals. He just watched, his headlights stuck on bright. Dad’s gold was like the sun, hot and yellow. Derek’s glow was icy golden moonlight.

I forced myself to not hold my breath and searched his eyes for recognition.

No trace of the Julie he knew remained. The moment I slid the Eye of Moloch into the empty orbit in my head, it began assessing my body and set about fixing its flaws. It tore my muscle and reshaped my bones. It wasn’t gentle. It was relentless. Nothing could make it stop.

Unlike shapeshifters, who benefited from a cocktail of biological endorphins and painkillers when they changed shape, I had to endure my transformation slowly and in a great deal of pain. I had asked my grandmother about it between the bouts of agony, and she’d told me that many features we considered beautiful were simply signs of health and beneficial adaptations. The bloodline of Moloch had focused on survival for generations, and the Eye was trying to improve my chances of not dying.

It started by making my face perfectly symmetrical, enlarging my eyes, streamlining my nose, giving me a longer neck and elegant fingers. It didn’t like the texture of my hair, so it made it thicker, wavier, and gave it a darker golden tint. It turned both of my eyes a matching light green, the same as Moloch’s. I was always frustrated with being short, and it stretched me, gifting me three inches of height, bigger lungs, and larger heart. Growing pains was an understatement.

The strain proved unbearable. My mind unraveled. With each new torturous improvement, I slipped closer to madness.

When the pain had become too much, Erra forged a pocket realm for me, woven of her memories. It was the only way to keep me sane. She and a dozen of her retainers went into the magically induced coma with me, so I wouldn’t be alone. My grandmother loved me so much. She had risked her own safety for my sake. She went into the dream, allowing her body to lay helplessly next to mine, vulnerable and easy to kill.

My aunt and uncle guarded us for nine months. To me, in the dream, four years had passed.

My grandmother dedicated that time to educating me. I lived as a princess of Shinar, the way Shinar used to be. I had lessons in magic, combat, politics, and history. I learned to speak the old language, and by the time I woke up, English was a memory and I’d picked up a slight trace of an accent. I studied, I improved, I learned the ancient magic skills I required to survive. I had dedicated myself to becoming worthy of my grandmother’s sacrifice. She believed in me.

The Eye had picked up on my determination and once again decided to help me against my will. Even as my body assimilated its magic, it changed my appearance one more time. I wanted to be like Erra and like Kate. I wanted to belong to their family. I wanted to be strong like them.

The Eye had found Kate’s blood in me and used it. It made me into the princess of Shinar I had imagined. When I woke up, I looked like Kate’s daughter.

Nobody would confuse us. Our faces were too different. But if you put my grandmother, Kate, and me together, you would see the three generations of Shinar. You would see the same eye shape, the same eyebrows, and the same jawline. I was paler, blonder, with green eyes that matched Moloch’s, and sharper features, but the progression of the bloodline was plain for all to see.

When I saw my face for the first time, I thought I’d gone mad and screamed. When my grandfather saw the new me, he stared at me in silence for several minutes while his magic pierced me until he finally said, “Well, you are truly your mother’s scion.”