This Magical Girl is Mine 2.2 For Yuri, I Build a Better Monster

Ferromancer’s boast echoes through her workshop. No one challenges her claim, not even the boisterous Bombshell or the mysterious stranger watching from above. Everyone but seems to know exactly who she is.

I give Ferromancer a second, more appraising look. Button-up and slacks, like my untransford self is wearing right now, but with the buttons mostly undone and a black vest over the white shirt. She’s got so kind of necklace on, a chunk of amber on a cord, though I can’t make out the species of the bug inside the amber. Black gloves, shiny and sleek. Black shoes, the functional kind without a heel or laces—I think they’re called loafers? I’d call her outfit business formal if the shirt didn’t look so rumpled and unbuttoned.

Her face is where all the action is. Her features are sharp and angular, more rakish than beautiful, and there’s a set to her lazy smirk that gives her whole face a mocking air. Her hair is eye-catchingly red, but not so much that it looks dyed or artificial, and it’s done up in an incredibly ssy ponytail. Her eyes—ruddy orange and unnaturally bright—seem perpetually half-lidded, as if she’s bored with everything around her, but there’s a light in her gaze that betrays keen interest. The glasses complete the look.

Nothing about her appearance screams “dangerous witch,” but two of the most dangerous witches in the Pacific Northwest tensed up when she stepped into the room. Who is this woman?

“So I’ve heard,” Radiance says, her whole persona shifting into networking mode as she offers praise to the unknown witch. “If my sources are correct, you were the real designer of the machine that terrorized Hollywood while Geisha and Wildfire went on their cri spree, and you built the power armor that let Penumbra win her grudge match with Slipstream. So what are you doing here, in Forks?”

“And how long are you planning on staying?” Lilith adds, cautious and reserved.

Internally, I whistle. I know about both of the incidents that Radiance referenced, but like everyone else I’d always assud the tech involved was made by one of the well-known local inventors. Witches that ss with tech are very common in California, though mostly concentrated around Silicon Valley.

Ferromancer takes another drag of her cigarette and shrugs. “Tiline is undecided. I’ve got imdiate business in town, and so contacts to et with, but after that depends entirely on how receptive Forks is to my services. So, to get to the heart of the matter… I’m here to sell technology. Bespoke technology, every piece custom-made, that can’t be reproduced or mass produced. Familiars are my specialty—attack drones, point defense drones, shield drones, and pseudo-autonomous robots like what attacked Hollywood—but they’re not the limit of my ability. Like your Lilith here,” she says with a nod to the witch in question, “with enough ti and material I can generate just about any effect not labeled strictly impossible.”

Oh, I have so many questions. And by the looks on their faces, Radiance and Lilith have questions of their own, but before either can ask anything they’re interrupted by Bombshell.

“Enough talk, I want to punch a robot!” The sparkly pink witch punches her hands together and grins. “C’mon, let’s start the demo.”

So that’s why she’s here. Bombshell must have been the first one that Ferromancer contacted. Maybe they already knew each other? Radiance and Lilith both seem to note that interaction and file it away, the questions dying on their lips.

Ferromancer makes an amused noise and says, “Yes, let’s save any more questions for after the presentation. Practicals first.”

The witch pulls out a thin remote from inside her vest and presses a button. The floor between the four floating drones splits apart and slides away, revealing a deep unlit tunnel stretching down beyond visible range. chanical whirring heralds the rise of a platform, and upon that platform stands a robot.

The robot is bipedal, tall, with the sa clean future-tech aesthetic as the floating drones, rounded and sleek with bright green circuit lines running over deep blue tal. Its face is a smooth screen of black glass illuminated from behind the screen by a circle of white light. The robot towers over everyone in the room, maybe nine or ten feet in height.

Bombshell jumps onto the platform while it’s still rising. “Who’s ready for a show? In this corner, you know her, you love her, it’s Bombshell, here to blow this bot away!” The witch is laughing as she bounces on her heels, bringing her fists up in a ready stance.

“Hold on,” Lilith interjects. “The ceiling was one thing, but this is undeniable: you’re working in a pocketspace, aren’t you?” Her tone this ti sounds like genuine curiosity, one master of her craft talking shop with another.

“I am,” Ferromancer admits, unruffled, “though it’s far more modest than your Morrigan’s Ossuary. And to preempt the question, it’s not a technology I’m currently offering for sale.”

Radiance sighs, disappointed. I, on the other hand, am fascinated. Pocketspaces are high-level magic, from everything I understand of the subject. There are so witches and magical girls who can innately create very limited and temporary pocketspaces, but permanent complex pocketspaces are incredibly rare.

The Ossuary is the most famous, and the most absurd: an extradinsional nightclub whose entrances change daily, and which reaches all across the Pacific Northwest. It’s a regular hangout spot for the witches of Forks—and those with an interest in those witches, be they admirers or opportunists. The Ossuary’s creator, the Morrigan, could be considered Strix Striga’s equivalent among witches. I certainly do.

Before I can gather the courage to ask my own questions about the pocketspace, Ferromancer clicks another button on her remote. Walls of transparent green energy crackle to life around the designated arena, rising from floor to ceiling perfectly aligned with the seams of the section that split away. “Care to test the barrier, Bombshell?”

The other witch whirls around with a grin and throws out a rapid-fire combo of punches at the energy wall. The barrier vibrates, shudders, and is just starting to crack when the villainess pulls back. After a few seconds, the cracks dissipate and the barrier looks untouched.

“Good. Enough preamble. Go loud, the both of you.”

Like a gunshot starting a race, Ferromancer’s words send Bombshell and the robot exploding into action. Small panels on the robot’s shoulders pop open to reveal brightly-glowing cylinders that shoot out green beams of light—lasers—at the witch.

Bombshell is fast. Not quite Slipstream fast, but she’s maybe the fastest witch I’ve seen who isn’t classified as a speedster. And she moves—she moves almost like Striga moves: no wasted energy, every motion in perfect sequence. I can’t tell if she’s faster than the lasers she’s dodging or if she just knows exactly where not to be.

The witch gets in close and lays into the robot with her fists. Green light flashes, a personal barrier shimring into view every place that Bombshell punches and lingering as she targets different areas. The laser pods on the robot’s shoulders glow brighter and brighter until they crackle and fry as two massive beams burst out of them. This ti, Bombshell doesn’t dodge—too close to move away in ti, maybe—but instead crosses her arms and takes the blast.

One of my internet friends—Mike, the physics nerd—once gave a whole rant about the relationship that light has with force, and how photons can’t push you but can cause things to move through so complicated process with electrons and energy—and that was about where I tuned out, but allegedly it’s how solar sails would work and how solar panels do work. It’s one of those nitpicks that sci-fi nerds have with any scene where soone gets shot with a laser and goes flying. Of course, these lasers are magic, so physics analysis only gets you so far. I’m sure Mike would love to figure out where exactly the force is coming from, but the result is that Bombshell gets slamd into the energy wall.

Cracks spiderweb across the barrier around the stage while the cracks on the robot’s personal shield start to diminish. Bombshell catches herself and manages to land on her feet, spending barely a second to steady herself before jumping back toward the machine. There’s a glow around her now, a rising aura of crimson light.

The robot shimrs and seems to split apart into a dozen copies of itself as Bombshell approaches, none of them in the sa position as the original. The witch slams an elbow into the nearest copy and goes straight through, the illusion—hologram—not reacting but not disappearing. A panel pops open on the forearm of each robot and two dozen tal tubes rise up, click into place, and start shooting completely ordinary bullets.

A hail of gunfire fills the air. Bullets ping off the energy shields of the robots and the fixed barrier around the arena. Bombshell grits her teeth against the hail, the bullets bouncing off her skin and outfit without causing any damage. She leaps through hologram after hologram, barely bothering with proper form as she searches for the real robot.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The gunfire pauses, sothing clicks internally, and when the guns start firing again they have a new type of ammunition: pellets that expand on impact into so kind of yellow foam that quickly hardens. Bombshell’s head snaps to the side, eyes locked on a new target, and she lunges for her prey as the foam pellets continue to collide with her.

Instead of attacking any of the visible robots, her fist slams into empty air—and then the air isn’t empty anymore, the true machine erging from invisibility as all of its holograms vanish, and the fake foam with them. The real foam continues to expand and harden, the robot firing into lee as its personal shield cracks and cracks… but doesn’t quite break before the foam finishes its work. Bombshell struggles to land another hit, but she can’t move her arms. She’s immobilized.

Radiance raises a single eyebrow. Lilith frowns. Delilah crosses her arms and says, “Stop jobbing. We get the picture, and there’s no crowd here to ogle you.”

Bombshell grins. “You’re welco to go next.”

The witch’s aura shifts from red to purple, and this ti when she flexes her arms and strains against the hardened foam it shatters. She tears chunks of the material off of her body and legs, ripping it apart faster than the robot can shoot more at her, and then in a single fluid motion she pulls her arm back, twists her whole body, and slams her fist into the robot’s head. The energy barrier holds for only an instant before shattering, and in the blink of an eye Bombshell’s punch tears into the machine and takes its head clean off.

The robot head bounces off the arena wall and rolls to a stop. The body slumps, deactivating, and just like that the fight is over.

Bombshell’s aura fades away and she staggers, but quickly recovers, though she’s still breathing a bit heavier. The grin on her face is even wider now. “Now that’s a good way to get the adrenaline pumping!” She turns back to the rest of us and strikes a victory pose, elbows out and fists on her hips.

Seeing Bombshell fight in person was amazing. The videos really can’t compare to being up close to the action, even if there was a protective barrier between and the violence. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and clap. “Woo! Brava! Encore, encore!”

Radiance ignores my cheering and directs rapid-fire questions at Ferromancer: “What are your production limits? What kind of price range are you operating in? Are you willing to consider exclusive contracts?”

Lilith glares at Radiance and steps past her. “More importantly, who are you going to be selling to? The Coterie won’t shelter you if you’re caught supplying groups and individuals that exist outside the pact.”

Radiance scoffs. “Oh, please. As if the Coterie was ever going to shelter a witch who doesn’t officially exist. You’re barely willing to ‘shelter’ the people in this room.” She gestures at herself and then sweeps her hand toward Delilah.

Now that has my attention. Who is Delilah, and why is she here? Maybe she’s like Ferromancer, another witch that exists outside the public eye. How does she fit into the interplay between Coterie witches and Visage witches?

I want answers to all of those questions, but I’m not sure any of that is what I’m most interested in learning. Delilah is a mystery, but one that I know too little about to really get invested in. No, the one who really has my attention is Ferromancer.

The plain-dressed witch has been watching everything with that sa expression that sits sowhere between calm boredom and keen perception. With a final breath of smoke, she stubs out her cigarette on the back of her glove and gives her full attention to the two witches asking her questions.

“I pick my clientele very carefully,” Ferromancer says, her voice frosting, “and I’ve never, ever needed protection from an organization like yours. I’ll follow your rules while I’m here, but I don’t answer to your Coterie, or to your Visage, or even to the Morrigan herself. Think of as an outside consultant. For the right price—and we’ll get to that, Kamilah—I’ll sell to anyone I see fit. You’ll just have to trust my judgnt on that one.”

There’s sothing enthralling about the way Ferromancer shuts down and dismisses two of the most powerful people for hundreds of miles. I could never imagine talking to Radiance or Lilith that way, and she does it effortlessly. The way her lips quirk even as the skin tightens around her eyes, the arch of her brow, her lazy posture as she leans back against a storage crate, the ash falling from the back of her glove as she crosses her arms…

Ferromancer radiates power and control to an almost intoxicating degree, and I’m feeling the contact high. I need to talk to this woman. I need her to talk to . I need her to like . It’s a heat spreading through my body like a fever. Who is this witch?

Bombshell breaks from my reverie by bouncing over to Ferromancer’s side and chirping, “And mine!”

What? It takes a second to connect her statent back to what Ferromancer just said, shaking the fog of obsession from my mind. Judgnt. Ferromancer’s judgnt, and apparently Bombshell’s judgnt?

I can’t get a read on Delilah, but Radiance and Lilith look just as surprised as I am. Ferromancer regards them all coolly and says, “I’ve hired Bombshell to be my enforcer while I’m here in town. Those who want to interfere with my work or default on my contracts will have to deal with her kindly attentions. The other side of that coin is the threat of losing my enforcer if I take any action too objectionable to your community. Whether you trust or not, you should trust one of your own.”

Radiance puts a smile back on her face and says, “That seems a perfectly reasonable arrangent. Now, if you would, I believe I put forward a few questions worth answering.”

Ferromancer rolls her shoulders. “So you did. Price is negotiable, exclusivity is not. As for limitations, well, you’ve seen one: the machines I create aren’t replacents for your abilities as witches, they’re complents. Use them well and you’ll find success. Use them poorly and I don’t want to hear you blaming the hardware. A second limit is quantity: you don’t need to know why or how, but the most I can sell you of any single invention is four copies. That doesn’t an I can’t design sothing similar to get around that, but you shouldn’t expect to be buying in bulk. Everything I make is bespoke.”

I can practically see the gears turning in Radiance’s head, and in Lilith’s, but it’s Delilah who asks the next question: “Why is the new girl here? That Archon kid.”

I freeze. All of a sudden, everyone is looking at . Witches I knew before today and witches I didn’t, but all of them more powerful than , more important than , just more than . Why am I here? Even if Ferromancer is going to teach sothing, why bring here like this? What was Pandora’s ga?

Ferromancer is the one who saves . “We have private business,” she says, her smirk taking on a knowing, secretive cast. “And, speaking of that business, I believe everyone has seen and heard enough of my work for one day. You know what I’m offering, and whether you’re interested. I’ll be in touch.”

It’s a dismissal, and everyone can hear it. Radiance and Lilith make a bit of noise and snipe at each other, but eventually all the other witches file out—even Bombshell. They watch as they leave. What do they think of now?

My gaze falls to the cat beside , sitting unnoticed by everyone for that whole scene. When the last witch has left, I accuse it, “You set this up. You engineered that mont. Why?”

“I told you,” Pandora purrs, “we invest in our talent. You have the motivation, but it’ll take more than the usual routine to shape you into the kind of witch that has the ability to restrict Striga’s actions.”

Right. Of course. It’s all about Striga.

On that, the cat and I agree.

“So,” asks Ferromancer, “what did you think of my little show?”

I look up from the cat and blink twice in surprise. In the ti my attention was away from her, Ferromancer must have slipped away and changed, because her outfit is completely different; the pants and shoes are the sa, and the amber necklace—it’s a scorpion, I can tell up close—but she’s traded shirt and vest for a black tank top and a red flannel left unbuttoned, and she’s ditched the gloves.

Sohow, the change in clothing makes her both more approachable and more intimidating. I can’t stop myself from focusing on the flannel jacket and spinning my thoughts in circles, because it’s not like only lesbians wear flannel but it’s such an iconically lesbian piece of fashion and she seems like the kind of person to think about the impression she makes and why am I even thinking about this??? I have a girlfriend!

Well, okay, no, I don’t. That’s kind of my whole problem. But there’s one girl who my heart belongs to and it is not this admittedly very cool and attractive woman who I’m going to be spending an unknown length of ti in close proximity to and oh god this is a problem.

My gay panic happens in a flash and I pull myself together to try and answer the actual question that I was asked, hoping to death that I’m not blushing. I try to project as much gravitas and confidence as possible as I say, “The performance was very interesting. I’d never heard of you before this, to my regret, but you seem to have a real reputation with the other witches. You’re clearly good at what you do. I look forward to learning from you, Ferromancer, if that is indeed what I’m here for.”

Her eyes twinkle like she’s laughing inside at a joke only she knows the punchline to. “You’re pretty cute when you’re acting the proper witch, but let’s put the stuffy formality aside. I’m Erica, and thanks to our mutual feline friend I know that your civvie na is Rachel. Take off that face and I’ll buy you lunch.”

Is this what it feels like to be stunlocked in a video ga? She called cute. She knows my real na, and she told hers. I feel like the whole world just dropped out from under . “I. Um. Yeah, okay. Yeah, let’s do lunch.”

Hesitantly, almost fearfully, I let the transformation burn away until it’s just again. Rachel Emily in her faux-formal outfit, painfully ordinary, standing before… Erica, I guess.

“So,” Erica asks, eyes bright and smirk turning into a smile, “you like xican?”