The familiar sound of heavy footsteps echoes down the hall right as I’m finishing.
Now I just have to hope that they need me alive. We’re about to find out.
I quietly scramble onto my bed, lying face down and making my body as limp and still as possible. The footsteps get louder, along with the smell of something sweet and savory—another unmistakable childhood favorite, if my nose is right. Squash soup. My mother used to make it when I was sick… before she realized how much power I really had and started to worry less about my favorite foods and childhood comforts and more about how I could be useful to her.
My throat tightens with the threat of rageful tears, but I force myself to stay still and silent, making my breaths as shallow as possible so they won’t be noticeable in the dim light.
“Food,” Elvira grunts.
I don’t move.
“Food,” she says again.
Limp, barely breathing… Put the pieces together, bitch, and come check on me.
She’s quiet for a second, and then I hear the bars rattle.
“Wake up. Eat.” She grunts again, and then I hear the metallic clang of a key in the lock.
Still. Still. Still. Don’t get excited.She clomps heavily into my cell, closing the door behind her. There’s no way for her to get to my cot without stepping right into the circle.
Please work. Please work. Please work.
Her large, icy hand clenches around my shoulder and she gives me a rough shake. “Wake up,” she commands again, and then she leans in close. The fetid stench of rotting meat reaches my nose, covered by the scent of lavender. There’s no hot breath against my face, even though she’s inches away, studying me closely. “You are not dead,” she says decisively before letting go of me and backing away.
The bars rattle again and her footsteps disappear.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. It didn’t work. I sit up with a growl, raking my fingers through my dirty, matted hair. Why didn’t it work? Maybe I overestimated the power of the symbols themselves.
I stare at the circle, barely visible, but there.
It’s possible there’s another reason it didn’t work.
The rotting smell, the cold skin…
“Fuck,” I groan out loud. Whoever has me hostage is a nasty motherfucker if they’re messing with necromancy.
This shit just keeps getting better and better. As much as my pride would take a hit, I really fucking hope Atlas finds a way to get me out of here, and soon.
EIGHT
ATLAS
The room I enter is dim, and thick with magic to the point that I cough as inhale deeply.
Kallis is placing the honey and pomegranates on an altar with two large sculptures of the goddesses perched on it. I stand behind her quietly, waiting for her to initiate the conversation.
“I’m most curious,” Kallis says, turning slowly toward me. “What could you possibly want from me?”
“I was told you can access knowledge that may be helpful to me.”
“I’m sure I can. Why would I want to?”
“My friend is in trouble. He’s being held captive somewhere, but I don’t know where. I was hoping maybe you could help me find him.”
“Hmm.” She studies my face again for a moment. “What do you know about me?”
Rune’s warnings bounce around my head, but I push them back. “You’re very powerful, you worship the goddesses Persephone and Hecate, and you may be my only hope.”
