Rachel St. Sebastian loved two things.

Working on cadavers, and being on her knees between a womans legs, and thankfully, rooming here at this funeral home under her apprenticeship while attending mortuary school, she got to do both, a lot. The woman who ran the funeral home, an older woman named Alyssa, had taken more than just a shining to Rachel, and soon enough, Rachel had happily become a staple in her bedroom. She'd had a perfect day. They'd worked on a corpse together after she got out of class, and then they went to dinner and then came home, where Rachel St. Sebastian now found herself on her knees at the floor by the end of the bed, her face buried deep between Alyssa's soft, warm thighs, her cries of pleasure filling the room, her fingers gripping Rachel's hair. As she climaxed, Rachel gladly cleaning it all with her tongue, Alyssa felt like the luckiest funeral director in the world. And Rachel? Well. Her parents always told her college was all about new experiences.

                                                       ***

"Why do you have taxidermy in your room?" Katie asked.

"Because I do it for fun," Rachel replied, shrugging. Katie had been Rachel's damn near only friend all throughout school, but now, about to finish high school and attend college, she couldn't help but feel like they'd grown apart, and part of that was just because Rachel's interests discomforted Katie.

"You do it for fun?" Katie asked, sneering as she looked at the bird on the shelf.

"When I was a kid," Rachel said, sitting up on her bed now, "I used to collect dead animals and stuff, keep em in shoe boxes. I just...always found death weirdly beautiful. Like...there's this odd sense of serenity, you know? The things we thought were huge, that we made grandiose gestures towards, didn't really matter, because we all end up this way in the end and I guess that's kind of the approach I want to have in life. Not be so worried all the time. Not take everything so seriously. Also, I just like birds."

Katie laughed and sat back on the bed.

"You're so weird, dude, I'm gonna miss you," Katie said, and Rachel smiled back. She would miss Katie too, but she knew that she was headed for new and better things. They both were. And they graduated, they went to their respective colleges and, as usually happens, they drifted apart slowly over the course of the next year. Katie went into interior design and fashion, while Rachel St. Sebastian wound up in an apprenticeship during her tenure at mortuary school, and becoming intimately involved with her boss. All in all, it was good. It was a new life. She called her folks once a month, kept them at arms length, and she focused on her career, her studies, and her love for women.

And then...a few years after college...Katie called her up.

"I'm glad you're easy to find," Katie told her, as she lay in her bed at home, Rachel sitting in a chair beside her, "I'm glad I reached out and looked, because it just...didn't seem right not to. I'm sorry that I got so distant. I'm sorry that now the only reason you're seeing me is because I'm about to die from illness. But I'm glad you're here. Cause there's nobody else I'd trust with this."

Rachel was confused. Trust with what, exactly, she wondered.

"I want you to do it," Katie whispered, reaching out and taking Rachel's hand, smiling warmly as she ran her thumb over the skin of her fingers, "I want you to do my autopsy, prepare me for burial, all of that. I want you to do it."

"Excuse me?" Rachel asked, genuinely shocked, her eyes wide.

"You say you see beauty in death. I dedicated my life to beauty. The beauty of homes, and people, fashion and interior design are all about looking great," Katie said, pausing to wipe her nose, "and...I don't look great now, but you could make me look great. Please. Do this for me. I trust you."

Rachel had never worked on the body of a person she knew, but...how did one turn down someone who was dying, who meant so much to them at one point in their formative years? So she said yes, because that's what Rachel St. Sebastian had been brought up to do. To say yes. She was a people pleaser, especially to those she felt connected to, such as Katie Gillis. And after Katie passed, she did exactly what she'd been requested. She received the body, and she did the work. She emptied her, embalmed her, and got her looking as pretty as possible. Standing there in the funeral home the day of the showing, in the back smoking a cigarette, Rachel St. Sebastian felt like she was changed now, somehow. Like the allure of death had somehow been jaded by this act of kindness. Women had always requested things from her that she didn't want to give them. Katie, asking her to embalm her. Alyssa, coming onto her. Her own mother had pushed her to do things in school she didn't want to do, either socially or academically. All her life, Rachel St. Sebastian had simply said 'yes' to other women.

She would never say yes to herself.

                                                       ***

Rachel hated these little get togethers.

She hated talking to other morticians and funeral home directors, but she came because it was good to be kept in the loop, especially about new tools, new equipment, and, of course, for the snacks. Standing at the table and picking at the little sandwiches and cheese and cracker plates, the small cookies, she figured if nothing else at least she might not have to eat dinner when she got home.

"You guys are all kinda morbid," a woman said from beside her. Rachel turned and saw a young woman with bushy red hair and big round glasses standing there, smiling at her.

"Well, we are morticians," Rachel replied, "I mean, it just kinda comes with the territory."

"You didn't seem very interested in being sociable," the woman said, "and I don't mean that as a judgment or anything, I mean, hell, who wants to be sociable, am I right? What good has ever come from knowing others? I guess I more am just wondering if you're okay, cause you seemed so reserved."

Rachel smiled weakly. The woman really got her sense of disillusion with other people, and she liked that. She also appreciated how she seemingly was concerned for her well being.

"I'll be alright," Rachel said, shrugging, "I've had a rough week. Lot of bodies. Had to order new supplies, which is always a frustrating endeavor. Dealing with suppliers is my least favorite part of my job. Having to pretend to be all friendly...as you said, being sociable is horrid."

"What did you have to order?" the woman asked, picking up a little cupcake from the table.

"Some new tools, new equipment, ether, things like that," Rachel said, not noticing the woman smirking.

"I'm Claire," the woman finally said, reaching out, leading to Rachel shaking her hand as she added, "so, if you don't like being sociable, how about we leave and we go discuss the awfulness of human interaction elsewhere, away from people?"

Rachel St. Sebastian finally turned back and looked this woman up and down. Was she...propositioning her? Rachel didn't know it at the time, but Claire really wanted her access to ether more than anything else, as she'd found that it calmed the horrible thoughts and voices that constantly ran through her head. In the end, yes, Claire would find Rachel to be a wholly intriguing and worthwhile person to know, would develop romantic feelings for her, but at the start? She was the means to an end, nothing more, nothing less, just like every other person she saw in life. And maybe it was how attractive she was, maybe it was the fact Rachel hadn't been laid in months, maybe it was the fact that, after so many years spent being closed off, she wanted to be with someone again...but Rachel was willing to give it a shot.

"Where did you have in mind?" Rachel asked, as Claire leaned in and whispered.

"Well," Claire said softly, their faces a mere inch apart now, her breath hot on Rachel's face, causing her heartbeat to quicken; Claire continued, "I've always wanted to know what it's like to be on the table. You've got one of those, right? Where you embalm them?"

Rachel nodded slowly, feeling herself flush.

"Show me the other side," Claire whispered, and that was all it took. Rachel St. Sebastian was hooked. For the next few years she would give Claire ether so long as Claire kept her satisfied sexually, and it was a mutually beneficial exchange, each one appreciating and enjoying the others company genuinely, and not solely involved for the things they got out of it. But over time, Rachel once again became aware - especially once Claire had gotten the cult going, moved onto the compound - how much she was willing to sacrifice just for a pretty girl who liked her. Once again, she didn't say no. She just went along. And when Claire finally killed someone, and begged her to help, she didn't say no.

But, would it matter, really, if she did? Would the word 'no' even mean anything to Claire?

She hoped it would. But she couldn't be certain, and that terrified her more than anything else.

***

"Would you be willing to entertain the possibility that your own parents detachment from your life, particularly your mother, is why you crave the approval of other women?" her therapist asked, causing Rachel to grimace.

"Maybe," she replied, shrugging, "but I don't think it's that simple. I wish it were, but I don't think it is. I think I just want to be appreciated. Hell, even my job centers around doing things for people who aren't even alive anymore. Even the needs of those who've shuffled off this mortal coil gain more importance than my own to myself. I do everything for other people."

"You do, and it isn't healthy," her therapist said, "but it's good you recognize it."

"Well I'm not an idiot," Rachel remarked, shrugging, "I know my flaws and my faults, that's why I'm in therapy, because I am aware enough of them to want to change them if they are, in fact, things that can be changed. But I like taking care of others, too, so it's a hard tight rope to balance on."

Rachel looked out the window, then down to her shoes. Black. Shiny. Bright gold buckles. She smiled as she tapped her cigarette on a nearby ashtray.

"Claire got me these shoes," Rachel said, "she used to do nice things for me like that. She used to think of me a lot. But I suppose that's how relationships are, right? They eventually sour or simmer down. Things stop feeling as special. You just...you're never prepared for it if you're a hopeless romantic, you want the honeymoon period to be eternal."

Her therapist nodded, taking in her train of thought before clearing their throat and crossing their arms as they sank back into their chair.

"Do you think it's healthy to want it to be eternal?" they asked, "I mean, that level of co-dependency can't be good, right? To never be, like, your own person?"

"See I don't see it like that. I don't see it like...two people coming together to form one, that isn't codependent to me, that's love. You share your life with eachother, but you won't share eachother? Something about modern romantic mentality doesn't add up to me. And now...the things Claire has done, not just to me but to people around me that we know, I don't want to be associated with someone so callous, who only puts herself at the front, especially when my entire career is built on the concept of helping others."

"That's admirable," her therapist replied, nodding some more before asking, "so then, in that case, what do you do about it?"

Claire thought, chewing her lip. That was the question, right? She didn't have the answer. She couldn't cut Claire off. She couldn't turn Claire in. All she could hope for was that the universe would eventually course correct itself. All the other evils that surrounded her were seemingly finally getting their just desserts. Maybe the same would happen to Claire. And if that day ever came...oh if it ever happened...

...maybe some new shoes would be in order, and that way she could walk away fully on her own.

***

"Do you know what the False Shuffler is?" Zoe asked.

Zoe and Rachel had been meeting for lunch almost daily. It was weirdly therapeutic for each of them; Zoe, because Rachel had been the one to clean Raindrop up, and Rachel because Zoe was the closest thing to Allie, which Claire was obsessed with. Sitting at the pizza parlor downtown, Rachel took a long sip of her soda and shook her head.

"Pray tell what is the false shuffle?" Rachel asked.

"So, obviously, it's a magic term. A False Shuffle is a card shuffling technique that makes a deck of cards appear to be randomized when its order actually remains the same or is subtly altered. Basically, you give the illusion that you aren't retaining control, when, in actuality, you still have total control over the cards," Zoe said.

"And you're telling me this why?" Rachel asked, a smirk on her lips.

"Because it feels like everyone around me is constantly doing false shuffles, you know? Allie likes to act as though she has no plan, flying by the seat of her pants, but is she really or is that all just an act so she can claim innocence? I'm sure you think the same thing about Claire," Zoe said, "either way, I trust Allie, but...I do have to remind myself at times that she's an expert liar, it's what makes her so good at magic in the first place."

"Even if you lack control, to give off the illusion that you're still in control is a valuable one," Rachel said, picking up her pizza and taking a long bite, chewing as she added, "because it throws off everyone else around you. They'll constantly question reality. That's a good upper hand to have."

Zoe shrugged and bit into her own pizza. Rachel reached for a napkin and dabbed gingerly at her mouth. She sighed, setting it back down and looking at the pizza on the plate before her.

"It is important to always act as though you're in charge, even if you're not, because it can ultimately give you the upper hand," Rachel said, "but I don't think we see magicians the same way. You act as though they're geniuses, capable of outsmarting anyone. You speak of them in terms of expert card tricksters. I see them much more in the way of someone playing the shell game on the street. Yes, Allie...and Claire...they're liars. But Allie is doing it for the benefit of those around her. Claire is not. So maybe count your blessings, and don't count cards."

Zoe nodded slowly, taking it in. Rachel had been through hell and back, she knew that, and she knew not to second guess whatever advice she had to offer up, especially on the topic of hero worship. She knew Rachel had hitched her wagon to an unhinged horse, and now was paying the price. And she also knew that, eventually, the horse would have to be put down.

***

"Your friends seemed perturbed by our age difference," Rachel said.

She and Alyssa had just finished a tryst, and Alyssa was now standing at the minibar she had in her bedroom, fixing them both drinks. Alyssa chuckled as she mixed some drinks and then turned to face Rachel, who was still lying in bed, sheet barely covering her over the hip.

"It doesn't bother you, does it?" Alyssa asked.

"I couldn't care less," Rachel remarked, shaking her head, "no, I'm not perturbed. I'm aware of it, and aware of the perception others might have of it, but I know what I like, what I want, I'm an adult. I was just making small talk was all."

Alyssa finished the drinks and brought them back to the bed, handing one to Rachel who sipped it carefully. Rachel, in hindsight, would later realize how young and naive she was, but all people that age thought they were more mature than their peers. Even as she neared her mid twenties, out of college, she still thought it. It was likely she always would.

"Do you ever think about who is going to take care of you when you finally go?" Rachel asked, "I had a friend...this friend growing up, and she...she asked me specifically to take care of her when she died. I did it. But it felt...wrong. Sex is supposed to be this intimate thing, you know, to give oneself to another fully, but embalming someone you care about, that feels so much more intimate. Seeing them at their absolute weakest. No longer alive. That's trust."

"She probably felt safe with you," Alyssa said, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her robe.

"She shouldn't," Rachel whispered.

She knew, even then, somehow, that she would end up doing terrible things. Not of her own accord, exactly, but she would. Now, today, standing in the room over her table as she watched yet another person drain of their fluids, different fluid pumped inside them, cigarette hanging loosely from her lips, Rachel St. Sebastian realized that if she could just do one good thing...one amazing thing, maybe it would make right all the wrong she'd been a part of. Maybe karma wasn't real. Maybe fate didn't exist. Evil is rarely held accountable and justice is rarely served. The one lesson Claire had taught her was that if you want something done right, you had to do it yourself.

And she knew exactly what she had to do.