Edith didn't say anything for quite some time, when she did attempt to speak, only letter sounds were heard, before being swallowed by another fit of sobbing, or panicked, raspy breaths. I didn't know what to say. I don't think there were words. I could feel the obvious, rattling discomfort in my brain from her cries, but something else too.
There was a coldness, leaching out of her, into me, as if her misery was contagious. I felt an urge to pull away, but at the same time, I wanted to allow the cold in, in the hopes she'd be relieved of it.
I don't know how long this went on for. I managed, albeit maybe with little effect, to offer her some comforting words, "It's alright, you're safe now, I won't let anything happen to you." I told her, "Just keep breathing."
Eventually, after she managed to compose herself, she began her story, although she avoided looking at me. "I... it was 1904... there was a man I loved, or, at least I thought I did. I thought... he felt the same but... when he found out I was pregnant..."
"He left." I filled in for her, attempting to spare her some stress.
"No note, no goodbye, just disappeared. I was left to fend for myself. When my family found out, I was disowned, and having nowhere to go, I... looked to a convent for help."
I knew this story already. I'd seen it a thousand times in Dublin, and all over Ireland. The Mother and Baby Homes, the Magdelene Laundries. Nobody said it, but they were death camps.
"I had little Rose in one of those Mother and Baby Homes, you know, the ones run by the sisters?"
I noticed Edith was digging her nails into the soft flesh of her hand so much it had begun to bleed. I carefully unfurled her fingers, even though she put up some resistance, ending up gripping my four fingers with equal ferocity.
"I held her once, Aspen. My own little girl... they stole her, said she had died but I know she didn't. They treated me like dirt after that, I was worked to the bone, starved, screamed at, made attend confessions, do penance, over and over... I just ran, one day, I ran and never looked back."
Edith was probably right. For all their morals the Sisters weren't above selling babies to American couples, under the table.
"Someday, Aspen, I'll find her. I promised her I would, no matter what. That was my one regret, when I thought I was dying, that I would never see her again."
I said nothing for a while. Edith didn't either, drawing in shallow, shaky breaths.
"I'll help" I said, eventually. I don't know how we're going to do it, but we will.
"You want to help?" Edith asked, looking confused. "Why?"
"Don't know." I answered honestly. My mother's voice echoed in the back of my brain. It whispered that I would only ever care for myself, that I looked down on others, I would silence it, if it killed me. "It just... feels right."
Edith took a deep, still slightly shaky breath, and relaxed her grip somewhat. "That's ok... it's enough. Thank you." She seemed less wound up now.
I continued to hold her awkwardly, not sure if pulling away would be appropriate. I took too long to decide, it would seem, because Edith fell asleep, leaning on me. Perhaps she did need sleep after all, unlike Silas or I. I closed my eyes, unable to sleep, but nonetheless comforted by Edith's warmth and weight on me.
Eventually, morning came once again, and Silas reappeared, now wearing a ratty short-sleeve shirt that ill-fit his massive frame, seemingly on the brink of tearing.
"You two, up, training starts now, Aspen bring your weapons."
I gently shook Edith awake, and gathered myself. I grabbed the knives, dagger and pistol, shoving as many bullets as was possible into my pockets. Edith was unarmed, I noticed. Reluctantly, I gave her both the dagger and pistol. "You might need it." I told her. She nodded.
Silas led us down a set of stairs into a cellar, set up as some approximation of a laboratory. "Please, stand within the sigil." He ordered, Edith and I obliging as he began to teach.
"Alchemy is all about manipulating your psi, to produce a desired effect. Aspen, you know how to use a sigil, correct?"
"Correct. But what's psi?" I answered.
"Your psi is your... life force, or your soul, I suppose. Think of sigils like a stencil. It applies your psi in a very specific way, and only that way. True sorcery is akin to freehand drawing. Understand?"
"Yes, I think so." Edith said.
I focused hard on my light sigil, producing the radiant orb in my palm, increasing my focus to brighten it. "Like this?"
"No, Aspen. You're still relying on a sigil, you're just varying the amount of psi you're putting in. Watch."
Silas opened his hand, producing a ball of light like mine, but it constantly changed colours, then moved independently, orbiting Silas. "See?"
"Yes, but I can't do that." I said, a little disappointed.
"You will, eventually. Your first lesson is teaching yourself to recognise and detect psi." Silas continued.
"How exactly can we do that?" Edith cut in.
"By opening your third eye, of course." Silas explained as if it was obvious.
"The third eye is just a metaphor, though..." I argued.
Silas turned around, pointing at me. "No. The one you're familiar with is a metaphor, the Third Eye is a real thing, although not an eye, much more a bundle of nerves, and the pineal gland, that just need a little... push, to accept the... unusual."
"And how do you propose you open it?" Edith asked.
Silas grinned. "Easy. You just have to get a little exposure to the arcane. Either you'll open your third eye, or you'll die horribly."
"Excuse me?" I asked, just as the sigil beneath us began to glow.
"You'll be fine, probably." Silas called out, over the growing cacophony of crackling.
"Silas you fucking..." Edith began.
"See you in an hour!" Silas cheerily called out.
We were plunged into complete darkness an instant later.