Morgana Shadowveil wanted the oldest magic in the world caged to her will, but tonight she could not even hold a single familiar. Her robes hung like torn shadow around her, and her hands still shook from the last binding. Three familiars had already burned out under her power. She needed one strong enough to survive her, or her greater workings would never hold. So she came to the crooked emporium where dark creatures were sold, and she pressed her palm to its iron door. Inside, cages lined the walls. Small things scratched and hissed in the gloom. A shopkeeper watched from behind a counter but said nothing, wary of her. Morgana ignored the weak stock. She wanted the beast rumored to sleep in the back, the one no buyer had ever tamed. A hooded figure stepped from the shadows between the cages. Its face was a pale mask, wide and grinning like a killer from a nightmare. This was Morpheus Dread, and Morgana knew the name. Every witch did. Morpheus dealt in the creatures too dangerous to keep, and the mask never showed the same horror twice. "You've killed three already," Morpheus said. The mask shifted, the grin stretching wider. "Now you want mine." "I want what can hold my power," Morgana said. "Show me the beast." Morpheus led her to a black bin bound in iron. Ritual grooves cut its lid, and dried blood crusted the lock. "It answers to blood," Morpheus said. "Yours, if you dare. What's inside doesn't die easy. That's why it might live long enough to serve you." Morgana understood the price. She drew a blade across her palm and pressed the wound to the lock. Blood filled the grooves. The lid groaned open. Inside coiled a small stitched creature, patched and torn, with red eyes and long fangs. Dark magic pulsed under its seams. It looked up at her without fear. Grimstitch Shadowpaw. It had outlived every hand that tried to own it. Morgana spoke the binding. The words tore out of her and slammed into the creature. Her three lost familiars had screamed and crumbled here. Grimstitch only bared its fangs and held. The magic locked. A cold thread snapped tight between them, and for the first time her power did not break its anchor. She had her familiar at last. But as the binding sealed, Grimstitch's red eyes fixed on her with something that was not obedience. It had chosen to survive her, not to serve her. Morpheus laughed behind the mask. "You didn't tame it," they said. "You woke it. It will let you cast your great working. Then it will want its own price. And that one won't take blood." The emporium door swung open behind her. Morgana felt the thread between her and Grimstitch tighten like a leash she no longer held alone. She had her anchor. Now she had to learn what it would cost her to use it.