It’s one thing to be starstruck because you’re talking to witches you know by reputation. Talking to witches whose streams you’ve watched? Witches that you may or may not have spent money on in the past? Witches who—no, I shan’t say. I very bravely and impressively keep my composure and don't flail about as Bombshell pulls me over to meet the Visage duo cuddling on a couch together. They both look up when Bombshell calls, but Kira quickly returns her attention to the video game in front of her while Sweet Tooth waves back. “Bombshell!” Sweet Tooth cheers. “Oh my gosh it’s been so long, what have you been up to? Wait, don’t answer that, I can totally guess. And who’s this cutie?” The witch shoots me an inquiring glance, but before I can actually say anything she raises a hand and keeps going. “Wait, no, we should introduce ourselves first! Kira! Kira! Kira!” She pokes her couchmate in the shoulder with each repetition of her name. Kira rolls her eyes. “I’m fighting Allant and there’s no fucking pause button in this game, give me a minute!” “It’s fine, babe, it’s fine, you’re not going to kill him this run—no, I totally believe in you, no, I absolutely do, it’s just that you’ve been stuck on this boss for like an hour—aaand you’re dead. So now you can intro with me?” Kira throws the controller down and hisses at the screen. “Bastard! Level-draining cocksucker! Do that move one more time and I’m poisoning your ass!” The two witches pose together, though neither actually leaves the sofa where they’re cozied up, Sweet Tooth practically draped across Kira Kira. Internally, I’m squealing at the confirmation that these two are definitely an item and not just baiting for the camera. The fact that I can’t tell anyone about this is my personal 9/11. The first witch, holding up double peace signs, shouts, “I’m the candy-coated countess of all things cute and crunchy: your new favorite treat, Sweet Tooth!” Sweet Tooth is a pastel explosion. Pink hair tied in twintails with blue ribbon, pink eyes full of sparkles, and a dress composed entirely of frills in pink, yellow, and blue, all of it in soft, pale tones. The sole exception is in her teeth, where normal human canines have been replaced by candy corn fangs. It looks more adorable than you’d think. Her power as a witch is petrification, only instead of turning people to stone she turns them into candy. Most of her “crimes” amount to acts of petty vandalism and performance art that are quickly undone, as it’s public knowledge that her candy petrification can be reduced by running the victim—or object, as her power works on animate and inanimate alike—under saltwater. She’s a perfect fit for Visage, as she clearly values the attention more than she values actually causing harm. She is also, like all witches and magical girls signed on with Visage, a streamer. Sweet Tooth is a Minecraft streamer, to be precise, and one of the main “villains” of Visage’s survival multiplayer server, meaning she does a lot of harmless pranks to the magical girl streamers and fights on the witch team in PvP events. She even designed her own custom texture pack. The other witch, arms crossed and chin raised, introduces herself next. “This world is imperfect, so I’ll burn it all away. Fear the wrath of Kira Kira, the fury of the stars herself!” Kira is a rage streamer. Her specialty is playing Soulslikes, but she’ll also drag other Visage streamers into grueling physics games that are designed to get you screaming when you inevitably lose an hour of progress to one bad jump. It’s good fun. As a witch, she mostly performs random acts of destruction, though they’re not so random when you notice she really only destroys things that were already due for demolition or that Visage paid to put there. It’s just part of the game. Her powerset is explosive and cosmic, channeling the “fury of the stars” to throw around fire or mess with gravity. Like every magic user, her powers are reflected in her transformation. The stars shine in her eyes, and her hair is a mane of drifting red light like some hellish nebula. The galaxy leggings and spiky leather boots are more mundane, and so is the spiked, sleeveless, bedazzled leather jacket. She’s not wearing anything underneath the jacket, but indecency is prevented by the swirling vortex of endless space where her heart should be, like a black hole drawing in stars. Both wrists are covered in chain accessories, a few of which have purple charms dangling from them. This time I really, really can’t help it when I squeal out loud and clap my hands. “Amazing! Magical! It’s so lovely to meet the both of you. My name is Archon, and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. Big fan of your content, sincerely.” Bombshell takes a seat on the other side of the couch and adds, “I met her through work, she’s real fun. I think you’d get along.” It shouldn’t surprise me how friendly Bombshell is with the other two, given she used to be part of Visage, but her style is just so different from theirs. Kira and Sweet Tooth are both, well, gamers, while I’m not sure if Bombshell has ever touched a video game. All her streams were beauty and fashion, wrestling commentary, or physical challenges. “The new girl, yeah,” Kira says, slipping back into her more casual persona as she picks up the controller and starts playing again. “Heard you robbed a bank.” “I did!” I confirm. Just standing feels awkward, but sitting right next to everyone also feels awkward, so I plop myself on the arm of the couch. “On Bombshell’s advice, actually. Got in a fight with the Blurs, nasty pieces of work.” “I saw that!” Sweet Tooth chirps. “Oh my gosh, sooo glad I don’t have to fight freaks like those guys. But hey, that was some great presentation! Real sizzle, you totally know how to play to a crowd. Y’know,” she leans in conspiratorially, “we’re always looking for witches with real talent to liven things up, and Bombshell’s already vouching for you. If you’ve ever wanted to be on camera—and I know you do, don’t even try to deny it, you’re so the type—you just have to let me take you up the Spire to talk with Radiance. The benefits are crazy good, no lie, and we can help you workshop your branding and get nice graphics and merch and sponsors and—Kira, hey Kira, tell her how great it’d be to work together!” Kira groans, attention still largely focused on the video game. “Babe, it’s Halloween. This is our night off. Do you have to do networking literally right now?” A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. “I’m just being friendly!” the other witch insists as she pushes her head against Kira’s shoulder and pouts. “You’re so grumpy! If you love what you do you’ll never work a day in your life and I am so, so, so full of love for everything I do so I never, ever work.” “Bullshit,” Kira snorts. “Look, piss away truce night if you like, but I’m not helping.” Sweet Tooth sticks her tongue out at her partner. Halloween is a special day in towns where witches and magical girls are common, more than just another holiday. There are a few urban legends about strange occurrences that don’t line up with typical conflict between magic users, but there’s no proof for any of those. Practically speaking, what makes Halloween important is the truce enforced by witches and magical girls alike, another rule of the pact between sides. The truce didn’t always exist; it came about by tragic necessity. One year, right here in Forks, an overworked magical girl fighting an illusionist witch mistook a child in costume for a familiar. The result wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t the only incident that night across the region. Now, even the Syndicate respects the truce night—mostly—under threat of Striga herself raining hell down upon anyone who breaks it. I laugh lightly and smile at the pair. “You two have a great dynamic, it’s really fun to watch. I’ll admit, you’ve got me dead to rights on being interested in Visage, but we can talk about that some other night. I’m here to meet the scene, such as it is.” “And we’re most mirthful to meet you,” says the third witch around the couch, the one hanging upside down over the back of it. I flinch at the sound of their voice, nervous at the sudden reminder of their presence. Their face twists in a macabre, garish grin. I don’t know if Harlequin really is the most dangerous witch in this room, but they’d certainly be the hardest to kill. They’re the Coterie’s primary enforcer, and their superpower is a regeneration factor so strong they quite literally laugh off attacks that would kill a lesser witch. It turns off their sense of pain, too, or at least that’s what people assume from the way they lean into harm and juggle their own severed limbs—which pop off when cut with a spray of confetti instead of blood. That absurd regeneration extends to their familiars, too, which are autonomous clones indistinguishable from the main Harlequin. I could be talking to a copy right now and I wouldn’t even know it. Harlequin’s costume is a riot of color, all bright and clashing. Greens and purples, blues and reds, white and black, everything mismatched and asymmetrical from their pointy shoes to their patchwork cloak. Their skin is like smooth marble in both color and texture, and a rictus grin is painted over their lips and cheeks that becomes more ghoulish when they smile. Their hair is the most ordinary part of their appearance, base blonde and kept in a ponytail, but even that is streaked with random color. “Harlequin,” I greet cautiously. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” The witch laughs. “We can tell! But that’s fine. The pleasure of this meeting is all mine and all mine. We bore witness to your clash with that silly speedster set. Did you like it? Was it fun? Or is there anything you regret?” “You’re such a freak,” Sweet Tooth says with affection. “Fuck!” Kira adds, completely focused on her game again. “Are you running into that every time on purpose?” Bombshell asks, teasing Kira. I chew on my words, unsure of how to answer Harlequin. “It didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped, but I can’t call it anything less than a victory. I mean, the violence was satisfying, but I didn’t really get to finish.” Kira snickers. Sweet Tooth swats her. Harlequin keeps smiling. “A tragic turn,” the clown witch consoles. “Next time, no doubt, you’ll take your revenge on that strange, dreamy girl.” Dreamy. Does Harlequin know? Do they share the dream? I don’t let anything show in my expression, not in front of so many witches whose allegiances I can’t be certain of. “Probably,” I shrug. “I’m not too bothered either way. Can’t expect a perfect game every round, right? It’s all about the long run.” Bombshell pumps a fist. “Perspective, woo! Keep that attitude, hun.” “It’s greedy to expect,” Harlequin admits, “but then is not greed the very essence of a witch? We are, all of us, such spectacular sinners. What are your sins, sister?” “Are they always ?” I ask the others. “Yes,” all three confirm at the same time. “Noted. And not answering that, sorry. What’s your deal, anyway?” I perch my chin on my hand and lean in. “You get along great with Visage types but you’re a diehard Coterie loyalist, and you’re an enforcer for the Coterie despite only seeming interested in sadomasochistic mischief. Why are you playing the game, sister?” It’s a little more aggro than I’d be comfortable running against most of the witches in this room, but Harlequin’s jester persona is one that invites antagonism. Harlequin claps, still unmoved from their place over the couch back. “Ooh, ooh, some fire, some ire! Yes, indeed, your eye sees true. I have my own reasons, just like you. My place is my place, where I am and I’ll stay. But there’s no game, none at all, just an honest, bloody fray.” “That’s Coterie thinking for you,” Bombshell comments. “Those guys are always so serious,” Sweet Tooth complains. “It’s all responsibility and purpose, even from the funny weirdos like Harls. It’s like none of them get that we’re the villains. That means we get to have all the fun! People love villains, villains are so much hotter than heroes and everyone knows it, mhm.” Kira dies again to the same boss she’s been fighting and hisses at the television, but after a second she frowns and adds, “If we’re really gonna have this chat, I’ll say my piece: the Coterie are too idealistic and the Syndicate are too ruthless. Being a witch can be profitable without stepping into organized crime. There, ugh.” “So why did you leave?” I ask Bombshell. “You still feel Visage, to me.” The villainess laughs. “I hear that a lot. But it’s really simple: I got tired of scripts. When I fight, I wanna throw hands with the strongest foes I can find. I can’t chase those heights playing for the crowd, even if it was pretty fun while it lasted. I want to become… the strongest.” A fresh bout of noise from over by the bar interrupts my train of thought, stalling my response. I glance over and see Riddlemaster laughing uproariously at something Priscilla said, who looks smug about it. Wavecaller is still passed out. The fourth witch in that area, Howl, notices my glance and catches my eye. She raises an eyebrow, and then she makes a subtle “come here” gesture with her free hand while chugging a beer with the other. Bombshell follows my gaze. “If you want to meet that bunch, you should probably do it soon, before our third gets here.” “You’ll see,” Bombshell says mysteriously, grinning. I chew my lip. “Yeah, good point. Thanks for the conversation, Kira Kira, Sweet Tooth. We should talk again, but for now I want to finish my rounds. Nice meeting you.” “Get in touch!” Sweet Tooth shouts as I push off the couch and make to leave. “Be seeing you,” Harlequin smiles. I head over to the bar and grab a stool on the opposite side of Howl from her giant wolf, as tempted as I am to pet that adorably fluffy giant. Howl is one of the witches in this room that I know the least about, though I’m hardly alone in that. She’s a wandering witch, like Harlequin, only she has zero connections to any of the witch factions in the Pacific Northwest, or beyond. Her familiars are her wolves, but I have no idea what her power is; she fights with a pair of swords in melee and a compound bow at range, neither of her weapons seeming particularly magical. She was sighted all over Europe before coming to North America, with no rhyme or reason to her actions. Visually, she doesn’t really look like a witch. She’s dressed like a detective from a cyberpunk story in a heavy brown coat over black, black, and more black. Blonde hair, short and choppy. Bright green eyes. The only thing to really separate her from any rando on the street is the fact that her ears are long and pointed, like elf ears. Howl finishes off her beer, lets out a half-satisfied sigh, and looks me up and down. “Yeah, alright. Let’s chat, new girl.”