True to his word, Federico immediately returned to his home to grab his money, sparing very little time to chat with his siblings as he did so, simply promising them that “life was about to change” for all of them.

  “I’m so excited.” Valentina said, giving him a great big hug before they departed.

  The two enjoyed a casual stroll, fantasizing about all the ways they would break in the new abode, unaware of the seller’s trick. As soon as the couple had left, Teresa contacted one of her number of associates - some thug whose name she didn’t bother to record, and told him of an easy mark, flush with cash.

  That is how the two found themselves on the receiving end of a knife held at the young man’s throat, with the assailant telling him, “Your cash. Now.”

  “Sorry,” Federico said, “I’m not carrying any.”

  “Don’t play coy with me.” The knifeman said, whilst Valentina kept her head on a swivel, looking for a way out.

  “No, seriously, I’m not -” His argument was silenced when the tip of the blade pressed against his Adam’s apple.

  “I’m only gonna tell you once more, friend -” The robber retorted, backing Federico up against a nearby wall.

  “Just give it up, Rico!” Valentina cried, “We can always get more money.”

  This isn’t about the money! He thought, still wanting to maintain his facade. Before he could try another tactic, however, the thief plunged his blade into the heir’s gut, twisting it for good measure before cleaning his pockets out and dashing off, leaving Valentina to crouch down over her lover.

  “Help, help!” She cried, “He’s been stabbed!”

  —

  Federico, luckily, was not killed immediately. Rather unluckily, the knife had ripped apart his intestines, and the surgery to save his life was a traumatic, bloody affair. Over thirty stitches and six hours were spent bringing him back from the brink, and at the end of it, there was still no guarantee he would come back at all.

  Eventually though, nearly twenty-four whole hours after he was stabbed, his eyes weakly opened, and he tried to sit up to no avail, groaning, “Where am I?”

  “Rico!” Valentina threw her arms around him, drawing a pained groan from the man who was still very much sore and tender, “Oh, I worried you wouldn’t wake up!”

  “The last thing I remember…” He put his hand to his forehead, gripping tightly, “The money! Did he -”

  “Rico, don’t worry about the money.” She cried, hugging him tighter. Her eyes were red and swollen and her voice was hoarse, “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

  —

  The cheer did not last long. At first it was subtle, Federico’s appetite had decreased: he went from eating three meals a day to two, then to one, then to an occasional snack. Then there were the fevers, persistent, malignant periods that often left him racked with pain and shivering with an ironic cold. No matter the medicine or treatment, his body was unable to fight off the malady that had overcome him.

  His condition deteriorated so much his father had taken time from work to care for him personally, attending to his needs and wants. Whether it was motivated by genuine desire for his son or simply driven by his own ego and refusal to lose his heir was open to anyone’s interpretation, but the underlying motive ultimately amounted to nothing.

  A week after he awoke, Federico fell into a coma. His breathing was ragged, short and erratic as his body desperately fought to stay alive. However, it seemed to no avail. With all traditional, scientific means explored and scrutinized, Alejandro remembered back to rumors he heard in his youth - out in the swamps just outside of Castego’s borders, supposedly lived a witch with a great and terrible gift.

  So, he donned a cloak, not wishing to be seen, and departed, towing his eldest son in a wheelbarrow in the dark of night. No words were said to anyone, there was no need, and the only sound was the rolling of the wheel and the occasional groan or bump from behind him as he continued on his journey.

  He knocked trepidatiously on the door of the run down shack, not intending to spend any more time than necessary with whatever ilk lived in such a sty. The door creaked open, and sure enough, there stood a witch, hat and all. She had the head of a vulture, and the wings, too. She eyed him up, and his son, like she already knew what he was here for. If she was scared that she was going to be found out, she did a remarkable job at hiding it.

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  “What’s wrong with the boy?” She played dumb, sorting through her potions for what she knew he needed.

  “He’s frail, not long for this world…” The father said, a mix of shame and regret on his face, “He was attacked by some ruffian, stabbed, and now can barely even speak when he manages to wake.”

  “Sepsis…” She observed calmly and cooly, “Afraid it’s too advanced to treat.”

  “Please -” He begged, “Surely you must be able to do something! I’ll do anything!”

  With her back turned to him, she grinned, knowing that she had won. “Anything?” She repeated, awaiting his confirmation, “Well, I can’t guarantee he’ll stay the same, but I can save his life. But it’s going to cost you, dearly.”

  “Whatever price you ask, I assure you I can pay.” The President confirmed.

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not money I’m after.” She loomed over him, like a real vulture does over carrion, “No, I’ll be taking something different from you - your hands.”

  Alejandro looked down at the appendages, running through the implications. He wasn’t a farmer or in any sense some type of laborer, but it would still be of great inconvenience to go through life without them. Was it really worth it?

  “Don’t worry,” Teresa said, interrupting his musings, “I can fashion you up a pair of convincing fakes, should be able to serve you. But with your hands comes your ambition - you won’t be able to reach for anything, take anything without being reminded of what you’ve lost - and that is the price you’ll pay.”

  The father pondered the decision for a moment, but in his arrogance he assumed he had already dealt with worse, and he shook her hand, sealing the deal. She stepped out for only a moment to grab a large cleaver, and in one stroke each, cut off both of his hands. He anticipated screaming in pain and braced himself for it, but whatever implement was used was clearly doused in some strong numbing agent which prevented the blood from even flowing.

  “And here you go.” She said, affixing the prosthetics - which were strangely accurate to his own normal hands in size and color - to his hands, “Now, for the boy.”

  Being part vulture and not part eagle or raptor, her wiry musculature was unsuited to carrying Federico, and so she dragged him out of her house, down the rickety walkway and descended the stairs that led into the swamp proper. They came upon a small clearing, with a single hummock, covered in vines, floating in the still, brackish water.

  “Help him up.” Teresa instructed, and Alejandro used his new, unfamiliar hands to lift his son’s legs onto the island. Once on it, the vulturewoman poured a small vial of a ruddy liquid into his mouth. “Now, we wait.”

  The process was slow and arduous, at first the vines on the hummock grew agitated, coiling around the young man as though driven by the smell of whatever liquid he was made to ingest. Then they coiled around his midsection, drawing him lower into themselves. At first, the businessman had the idea to run in and drag his son out, but the witch put her hand up, informing him of the necessity of the step.

  Then, the vines slowly tightened around him, going around every inch of skin and every ridge on his body. Eventually they grew tired of searching aimlessly on the outside of his torso, and pierced through his intestines, which nearly roused him from his slumber with pain, before they explored his insides, drinking up every drop of the pheromones they could find.

  In just a few more minutes, they’d completed their route, and integrated fully into his bodies various systems, which now naturally produced the pheromone which kept them in check. The only difference visible from the outside was that his right eye had been eaten by the plants, replaced with a single, green flower.

  Federico still slumbered on the way back to his home, only rousing at dawn. He felt miraculously better, no longer afflicted by the tremendous bouts of pain or fever, and although his appetite was still diminished, he eventually came to realize he got his nutrients from the sun instead of food.

  —

  Alejandro, as it turned out, would be proven wrong over the coming months. He was powerless to fight off the indolence he had agreed to, caring for little more than living and spending time with his family. His temper had lowered, no longer did he push his children into what he wanted, and the only times he ever did work were at Federico’s urging.

  “Rico, you can’t keep avoiding me!” Valentina pounded on the door of their bedroom.

  Federico only opened the door enough to peek the left side of his face out. He was still new and inexperienced at controlling the vines, and his gift (which was the ability to keep his emotions in check) had disappeared when he became whatever he was, “I’m not avoiding you.” He lied.

  Before he could close the door again, she took both hands and slammed it open, stepping in and looking him up and down. He was currently shirtless, and the vines protruded primarily from the wound on his stomach. They covered him like a protective cloak, coiling around him defensively.

  Wordlessly, his lover threw her arms around him, ignoring the thorny prickling at her skin. He broke down at the tender caress, sobbing into her shoulder at the monster he’d become. He lamented and anguished the situation, how gullible he had been, and how hasty he was. The two stood there for a good while, just embracing the other as Federico gradually came down and calmed himself.

  “I swear,” He said, holding her at arm’s length by her shoulders, “I will marry you one day. But, for now, until I can accept who - what I am…”

  “It’s ok, Rico…” She smiled warmly at him, “I understand.”

  —

  Paracelsus and Serpacinno sat, stunned and, in case of the swordswoman, slackjawed, staring at the heir. Neither really asked for, or even particularly wanted, all that information, but nonetheless it was quite the juicy story to the pair.

  What I don’t get is why? Paracelsus thought, not giving anything away on his face, His siblings are clearly guilty, yes? What reason do they have for killing Valentina?

  What the fuck? Serpacinno thought, giving away her shock on her face, What the actual fuck?

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” Federico asked, nervous.

  The alchemist quickly recovered, coughing into his hand and clapping the two of them together, “Right. That was certainly quite the story. Err, I suppose it’s only fair I hold up my end of the bargain.” He said, before relaying his own goals and missions, leaving nothing out.

  “You’re ambitious.” The heir said with a smile, “I wish you luck. As for me, I still have to deal with things back here. And make sure my family is safe.”

  The Captain nodded awkwardly. He assumed they were on the same page, but evidently not. Still though, he was going to see this through, consequences be damned.

  Federico stood up to pace around nervously, and the alchemist leaned over to his partner, “What do you think? Is he telling the truth?”

  “It was way too specific to be a lie.” Serpacinno said, “And besides, why would he lie to us?”