My first transformation was different from that of a regular magical girl, to say the least. Really, that should’ve been the first sign that I was abnormal, but I didn’t realize anything was wrong at the time, since it was all I knew. I never thought to compare my transformation to those of my teammates, not until Emmy mentioned the voice, wondering who it came from.

  There was no voice when I first transformed, no one asking me whether I accepted my incoming destiny. Nobody ever asked — not my mother, not my fairy, not my teammates, and certainly not my father and his comrades.

  Still, I was certainly born to fight. My Holy Sword was like a natural extension of my body.

  Not every magical girl is so lucky.

  When Suravi opened her eyes, she was back in the alleyway. There was no sea of ink, no mirror, no voice; everything was in the same position as when she’d invoked her Trump Card, like no time had passed. Suravi was the only factor that’d changed.

  Not only could she still feel her costume and her altered hair in a way that was new, but not entirely unwelcome, but her earlier dizziness and fatigue had left completely. An unfamiliar energy coursed through her body, her heart pumping warmth and something else she couldn’t quite identify through her bloodstream.

  It was this energy, this warmth, this new, strange feeling, that let her jump backwards just in time to avoid having her head bashed in when Tarot leapt at her, bringing his shield down as he landed.

  Suravi had just a second to breathe, to catch her bearings, before Tarot was on her again, firing beam after beam from his free hand. Each attack came so quickly that Suravi was sure the next one would hit her dead-on, but somehow, she always managed to dodge out of the way just in time. Left, right, duck, roll — her reflexes were sharper, quicker, and her body felt so light.

  During one roll, Suravi gathered her energy into her legs, then sprung up, launching herself right at Tarot’s feet. She moved with much more force than she’d expected, bowling into Tarot’s legs so hard that they both came down on the hard concrete with a hard smack.

  Tarot caught himself on his elbows before his head could hit the ground, shield still held firmly. He stretched out one hand towards Suravi, but before he could fire another beam, Suravi grabbed his hand and twisted it as hard as she could, pointing it down at the ground. Her whole arm shook with exertion, but even so, energy was still flowing through her, and she found the strength to ram her left knee into Tarot’s stomach.

  A noise came from Tarot — just a small grunt, but still enough to give Suravi a bit of confidence. She’d landed a hit!

  But that’s all I can do, she realized half a second later. I don’t have a weapon, and I can’t pin him down forever.

  Her mind went back to Clover and the beginning of the battle. How had Clover summoned her rod? There was some kind of incantation, right?

  (Clover was still sprawled out on the ground, barely moving, but Suravi wouldn’t let herself think about that right now.)

  “Into my ha—”

  Suravi was cut off as Tarot pushed off of the ground, springing to his feet and slamming his shield into her chest. She was thrown back, almost crashing into the wall behind her, but she pushed back against the wall and used the momentum to jump across to the other side of the alley. She was getting used to this lightness, to jumping like she was on a trampoline.

  Still, her chest hurt like hell. That was sure to bruise later. Now, if she could just —

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

  “Now’s your chance! Run!” the bird shouted down at her; sometime while Suravi wasn’t paying attention, the bird must have regained a bit of energy and flown up to perch on top of the wall.

  Suravi had no time to respond, as a second later, she was back to barely dodging every beam Tarot fired her way, but if she could, she would’ve shaken her head. There was no way she’d leave Clover to die, not when this was all her fault in the first place.

  The moment she found the smallest moment of reprieve from the constant attacks, Suravi tried again. “Into my hands, Spade Brush!”

  The last two words came out of her mouth unbidden, her lips and tongue seemingly moving on their own, but they felt so right.

  Then there was the flash of light, same as when Clover had summoned her rod, but this time, Suravi didn’t flinch. It was as if her eyes were stronger now, adjusted to this brightness, because she could see beyond the flash to where dark blue ink curled and twisted, then solidified like it had done to form her clothes. When the light faded, Suravi was left holding a calligraphy brush slightly longer than her forearm.

  It didn’t look all that magical, unlike Clover’s rod. It didn’t look much like a weapon, either. There was a sharp metal point at one end, but it was small and looked more decorative than anything. What the hell was she supposed to do with this? Club Tarot over the head with it? Try to bash his kneecaps?

  The bird called out again, her voice more panicked. “What are you doing? Run!”

  Suravi grit her teeth. What kind of coward did that bird think she was? She wasn’t just going to let Clover die to save her own skin.

  I can do this.

  Spade Brush in hand, Suravi charged.

  I can be brave.

  Tarot fired another beam. This time, instead of dodging, Suravi moved on some kind of new instinct and swung her brush down in a wide arc. Though the tip of the brush didn’t look wet at all, something trailed down after it, lingering in the air where the brush had swung. It was more of that dark blue ink substance, somehow painted on thin air. When the swing was done, the ink solidified just a bit, then shot forward, sliding through Tarot’s beam and slicing it in half.

  I’m not a coward.

  Not wasting a moment, Suravi dashed through the path she’d made, then swung her brush again as both the ink and the beam faded, this time swinging it like a baseball bat. The wooden part of the brush hit Tarot’s side, while another arc of ink materialized in the swing’s wake, coming around to hit Tarot in the back —

  Except Tarot whipped around and blocked the hit with his shield, then shoved it back at Suravi. The now-useless, liquid ink splattered all over her dress, but in the next second it was gone, fully absorbed into the costume without a single stain.

  At the same time, Tarot tried to bring his shield down on Suravi’s head again, but she blocked it with the brush held horizontally, both hands supporting it as she pushed it against the shield.

  I can do this. I can be brave. I’m not a coward.

  The two of them held that position for what felt like an eternity. It was all Suravi could do to hold steady, pushing as hard as she could to keep the shield from inching down any further. At least the brush wasn’t cracking; it stayed firm, no matter how much pressure was applied.

  I won’t run.

  Her arms were shaking, then her whole body was shaking, but there was no way she’d ever give up, not when —

  “They’re dead, you know,” Tarot said, speaking up for the first time since Suravi had transformed. Despite how hard he was pressing his shield down on her, his voice was completely level.

  Suravi knew that Tarot was just trying to scare her, trying to get her to lose focus so he could hit her again, but his words hit her hard anyway. She felt like ice was sliding down her spine. “What?”

  “Your mother, your sister. They’re dead. You’re the only one who was saved.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Shut up,” Suravi growled, begging her arms, her legs, everything she had to push harder, to end this before she had to hear any more of this.

  “You were bleeding out, right? And then you were saved; no doubt the Spade Trump Card was a massive part of that. I can sense it — it’s like the card is what’s holding everything in place while you finish healing,” Tarot explained, lips curled just a tiny bit, pressing even harder than he had been before. “Before I learned it was in you, the Spade Trump Card was the only free card, the only one without an owner. Even if your mother and sister weren’t immediately killed when the front of the car got crushed, which is unlikely, there were no Trump Cards that could’ve been used on them. They’re dead, Suravi.”

  “Shut up!” Suravi screamed, but it was no use. She couldn’t block the words that were burning themselves into her mind. She couldn’t turn her thoughts away from the crash, how the front of the car had collapsed completely, no screams, just that awful crunch…

  Of course they were dead. How could she have been stupid enough to ever think otherwise? There was no time for them to have been saved; they weren’t lucky like she was. They’d died the moment the front caved in.

  She was weakening, the shield was coming down, down, she couldn’t keep it away any longer, her grip on the brush was weakening, her mother and Sabi were dead —

  Suravi fell to her knees, barely feeling the impact of the concrete, and then Tarot blasted her point-on, sending her flying to the back of the alley. She was a crumpled mess, arms and legs askew. The lightness was gone from her body; trying to move felt like pushing through layer upon layer of thick mud.

  Tarot was coming towards her now, with a look in his awful pink eyes that could only mean her imminent death. Just like her mother, her sister, she was going to die. An end to the whole family. In the end, she hadn’t been saved; whoever had healed her and sent her here had only delayed the inevitable.

  “Suravi!” the bird screamed, desperation seeping into her voice.

  At least I won’t die a coward, Suravi thought, trying to console herself, but that didn’t really feel important anymore. Not when all her struggles had produced nothing. Not when Clover would probably die anyway. Not when her heart was pounding so hard and her mouth was dry and she didn’t feel warm anymore, just so cold and so scared.

  Oh God, I can’t take this anymore!

  And now Tarot was attacking, his shield dematerializing back into five cards, five razor-sharp cards glowing with the moon’s light, all aimed right at Suravi’s —

  “Blazing Clover Shot!”

  Tarot lurched to the right a moment too late, and the ball of flames hit his still-outstretched right arm as well as the five cards. Cringing, Suravi turned her head away, but it still didn’t block out the pained shout, the scent of burning flesh…

  When Suravi finally found the courage to look back, there was nothing more than a charred stump where Tarot’s right arm had been, and what looked like black smoke was streaming out from the wound. Hissing, Tarot clasped his remaining hand over the stump, blocking the flow of smoke.

  He may have been trying to kill her seconds ago, but Suravi couldn’t help but wince at Tarot’s condition. Frankly, it wasn’t something she ever wanted to see the likes of again. And, she supposed, magical girls like Clover probably saw a lot of that. Another point against that kind of life.

  Clover herself had pulled her trembling body into a kneeling position, and she still had her rod pointed at Tarot. She looked absolutely exhausted, not to mention battered, but when she caught Suravi looking at her, she gave her a small smile.

  Suravi couldn’t bring herself to return it, so instead, she looked back at Tarot. Though he was glaring murder at Clover, his voice was oddly calm as he gave a small chuckle.

  “See ya,” he said while his half-blackened cloak faded, giving way to the normal clothes Suravi had first seen him in. The right sleeve was loose, empty, and Suravi couldn’t take her eyes off it, not even when Tarot let go of his stump and reached for something in his pocket. His hand went in further, much deeper than the pocket could possibly be, and then in an instant he was gone. There was no warning; he’d simply vanished into thin air.

  Or, Suravi realized as she saw the one thing that remained where Tarot had just been standing: a pocket mirror, he vanished to the Other Side of the mirror.

  The moment Tarot was gone, Suravi called out to the second person who’d saved her that day. “Clover?”

  “Call me Jessica,” she replied, smiling weakly.

  “Thank you, Jessica,” Suravi squeaked out, her voice suddenly cracking. “You — you saved my life. I…” She trailed off. What else could she say? She had so many questions, but the most important thing right now was to get to somewhere warm, somewhere she could rest and have time to process everything that’d happened today.

  There was no response from Jessica; instead, Jessica began to sway back and forth, mouth moving soundlessly, until she collapsed on one side, eyes closed. There was a flash of light — no, fire — but then it dimmed and faded, leaving behind an ordinary girl.

  As the bird rushed over to Jessica and looked her over for injuries, Suravi stayed where she was, staring at the girl who’d saved her life. She didn’t look nearly as powerful in this form. She wore a green sweater, a too-small pair of jeans, and dirty, scuffed shoes that might have been white at one point. A braid of dark ginger hair came down to the middle of her back, and it was damp with grease, like Jessica hadn’t showered in days. Her frame was much more masculine than it’d been in her Lucky Clover persona, and Suravi had a pretty good idea as to why that was the case.

  Is that why she became a magical girl? Suravi wondered. So she could have a body that fit her true self?

  Either way, she shouldn’t stare.

  After a few minutes, the bird hopped away from Jessica and looked at Suravi. “I think she’ll be okay. She’s got a lot of bruises, and the fight didn’t do any favors for the cut on her side, but it’s not bleeding anymore. She probably just passed out from exhaustion — finishers take a lot out of you.”

  Suravi let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. She wasn’t exactly sure what a finisher was — another addition to the list of all the terms she needed to learn — but that was for later. Right now, she needed shelter, water, rest, maybe a shower.

  And time. Time to think about exactly what had happened, what was going to happen now that her mother and Sabi were…gone.

  “I’m sorry,” the bird began a bit awkwardly, almost like she knew what Suravi was thinking about. “This must be really hard for you, especially right after your —”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Suravi said flatly.

  “Right, of course,” the bird replied. “But, uh, we’re going to have to talk about what we’re gonna do next. Tarot is most likely telling the other Shades what happened as we speak. They’ll probably come after us. We need to get out of here, and we need to get Jessica home.”

  “Do you think Jessica’s parents might let me stay the night?” Suravi asked, her mind already filling up with images of warm beds. God, she was tired.

  “Well, um, when I said home, I meant more like a place to sleep. Like, where she’s currently sleeping,” the bird said, suddenly sounding much more nervous. “It’s not the greatest, but it’s shelter.”

  “And this shelter is…?”

  The bird made a sound just like a human’s sigh. “Some big bushes at the edge of what used to be a parking lot. We’ve made it a little nicer, but…” She sighed again. “I’m sorry. Please don’t think less of Jessica. She really is a good person, but she’s not in the greatest situation right now.”

  Suravi nodded. “I know she’s a good person. She saved me. I’m just, uh, not really looking forward to sleeping under a bush.”

  “I can’t blame you,” the bird said. After a bit of an awkward silence, she added, “I never introduced myself, did I? I’m Chip, Jessica’s fairy. Every magical girl team — or solo magical girl, if she has to go that route — has a fairy assigned to them.”

  Suravi stood up — at least her legs weren’t shaking anymore — and turned toward the street. “So how far is it to the lot, and how do we get Jessica there?”

  “It’ll take about twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five, if we walk fast,” Chip replied. As she spoke, her feathers dulled, going from pure white to gray striped with black. Her beak darkened to black, and the transformation was complete; Chip now looked just like an ordinary pigeon. “This is to help me blend in. Unfortunately, I have to ask you to stay transformed for now. As a magical girl, you’ll be able to carry Jessica effortlessly.”

  “So I just stay like this and carry her until we get there?”

  “Or until she wakes up, whichever is sooner. Don’t worry, no one really goes out at this hour, and if anyone does see you transformed, I can make them forget they did.”

  Memory wiping? That was a whole new layer to all of this, but at this point, Suravi was too tired to ask any questions. That could come later. Still, there was something she had to make very, very clear.

  Picking up Jessica was, as Chip had said, effortless. It was like she weighed nothing. Looking down at her, Suravi could see how skinny she was.

  It’s rude to stare, Suravi, she chided herself.

  Suravi held Jessica gently in her arms as she began to walk, making sure to keep her head supported. Her voice, however, was as firm as she could make it. “Let me make myself clear: I’ll stay transformed as long as Jessica needs to be carried, and I’ll get her back to where she sleeps, but then I’m going to return to normal, and I’m never going to do any of that again.”

  “Transforming, you mean?”

  Suravi kept her head down, her fingers curling just a bit tighter around Jessica. “Transforming. Fighting. I’m never going to do it again.”

  I won’t.

  I can’t.

  Oh, Suravi, you don’t understand.

  You made your choice before you even came to San Francisco.