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side. That should offer sufficient privacy to worry out the puzzle. She slipped into the darkness, relying on the advantage of sphere sight to lead her around the debris that made the footing dangerous. She found an empty crate and turned it over, plopping down on her makeshift stool.
    The stone didn't seem to respond to her touch, nor did it respond to her thoughts, either in the physical realm or in the ethereal one. It seemed utterly unaffected by magic and the few simple manipulations that Tionne tried. Warming it, cooling it, and suspending it with the power of her mind seemed to make no discernible difference. It stayed the same temperature as it had been from the moment Nerillia had thrust it into her palm.
    Her ruminations were disturbed by a man stumbling into the alley. He reeked of ale and teetered on his legs so violently that Tionne thought he might collapse at any moment. He saw her and stopped short, a broken smile glittering in the darkness.
    “ 'Choo doin here, pretty girl?”
    The words were so slurred that Tionne could barely understand him, but the naked intent on his face held enough meaning. She reached into the sleeve of her robes, taking an obsidian dagger from the sheath strapped to her forearm. She had crafted it herself, drawing the obsidian from the Great Tower and shaping it through sheer force of will in the Quintessential Sphere. Tempered with magic, the glass blade was just as strong and durable as the finest steel and twice as sharp.
    As he saw the blade, the drunkard's face took on hard lines. He held up a warning hand.
    “ Choo gonna stick me with 'at, girl?”
    I'd like nothing more , Tionne thought. However, she knew her limitations. She was no fighter. If she let the man get close enough, it was very possible he'd be able to overpower her. She was tall for her age, but she was lanky. She had reach, but no muscle to make her a skilled fighter. Instead, her power came from the timeless void of the Sphere and from there, she'd deal with his threat.
    Keeping the blade pointed at the man, who was still creeping toward her, she dropped the stone in an inside pocket of her robe. Then she drew the very tip of the blade across her other palm. The pain was exhilarating, an erotic pleasure that bubbled up from the black depths of her soul. A fine, thin line of blood welled up in her palm and she closed her eyes, slipping into sphere sight.
    The grey-washed living memory of the alley surrounded them. Speaking ancient words of command, Tionne slowed the passage of time in the physical realm, manipulating the memory-in-making. The drunk seemed to move in slow motion, a darkened shade consumed by a writhing blackness.
    Tionne's darkness was blacker still. Her manifestation in the ethereal realm was her body rendered black as coal. The only light that surrounded her was the pulsing, crimson glow that welled up from the palm of her hand where she had drawn the blood. She called to it in the sphere, coaxing it to do her bidding. She imbued it with the memories of ancient evils and wars long ended. Tionne commanded the infestation to attack and it broke from her body, streaking across the ethereal void to burrow into the man's chest.
    In the physical realm, there was a crimson flash as the transference was made. The line on her palm was a new, pink scar, untainted by a single drop of blood. The man seemed unchanged. Tionne let her control of the Sphere collapse and reentered the physical realm, doing her best to ignore the sudden nausea that swept over her.
    The drunk took a step forward and stopped with a lurch. The menacing look on his face shifted to surprise, then agony. He screamed, but no sound came, just a low gurgling from deep within his chest. Blood streamed out of his nose first, then his ears. Tionne could see it glimmer in the dim moonlight. The blood came from his eyes next, finally trickling from the corner of his mouth before he went rigid, falling face forward into the trash-strewn