“Huh,” Fortuna said, taking a step back from her. “So that’s what he did. It seems you don’t have a soul after all.”
“A soul?” Jessamine wheezed, planting her palms on the floor and readying herself to get up. “What do you mean, I don’t have a soul?”
“Souls are the strongest fodder for magic, and we are going to create the most powerful spell this world has ever seen.” Fortuna said the words like she wasn’t really paying attention to them. Instead, she was watching Jessamine until a little bubble of a chuckle escaped her lips.
“Fortuna,” she snarled, shoving herself upright and forcing herself onto her knees.
“He took your soul, little cousin. He took all the bits and pieces of what made youyou, and he hid them away to keep you safe. How tragic. You’re just the shell of a person with no soul—and he never told you.” Fortuna tilted her head to the side, backing toward the door. “No wonder you don’t feel like yourself, because youaren’tyourself. No soul. No life. No kingdom. You’re a sewn-together doll that he brought back from the dead to puppet around. Poor little princess. You have no idea how much he has taken from you.”
Then she opened the door and walked out.
Jessamine let out a guttural shriek that echoed through the room. Her anger pulsed with a tinge of madness that made her wonder what she would do if she could just summon her strength. Bits and pieces of the Crone’s magic still tore at her, but Jessamine refused to let Fortuna go.
Not when she still had so many questions. What was Leon planning? What was the spell that tasted like ash on her tongue? What had Elric done to her?
She crawled toward the door, moving through the remnants of Fortuna’s spell and slipping in her own blood. Her hands grew slick with it as she smeared the liquid all over the floor, but she would get to that door. She pulled herself up on the doorjamb and staggered out into the portrait gallery. Her legs were liquid, her strength waning, but fury alone kept her going.
“Burn,” she muttered under her breath. The shadows that had always resisted her command now slithered at her sides like snakes made of ink. They surged ahead of her and soon enough, she could hear the portraits screaming.
“Burn until they are nothing more than dust,” she spat out.
She didn’t care if they were remnants of the family’s souls. They all deserved to die for bringing into this world a woman who could curse a kingdom into ruin. Fortuna would pay for what she had done, if Jessamine could justrun.
But she couldn’t. Her body refused, and even as she fell to her hands and knees and crawled her way underneath the smoke, one thought stayed with her the entire time.
She didn’t have a soul.
What did that mean for her? Was she feeling things less because she lacked such an important part of what made her human? No, she was certain she could still feel because this anger rolling through her entire body was all-consuming. She wanted more than revenge. She wanted Fortuna to suffer for centuries on end. Jessamine wanted that woman’s head as a sacrifice, and then she wanted to bring her back and kill her again.
Power flexed between her fingers and writhed in shadows that ached for her to use them. They waited for an order that would end the lives of anyone who stood in the way of the vengeful goddess she’d become.
Maybe that was what came of missing a soul. Maybe she was a monster now, and these emotions weren’t even hers.
Even now, as she slumped against a wall and tried to hold herself up, ash raining down on her head from the burning portraits, she wondered if these feelings were his. Had he made her an empty vessel for his own rage and resentment?
Because she’d never felt as empty as she did now.
The second story of the home contained more guards. More people who were slumped against walls and choking on their own blood. Elric didn’t stop to help them, but something in his chest burned with the knowledge that he’d been tricked. This whole house had been a trap.
They never should have come here, and he was the one who had led them inside. When he got his hands on Fortuna, he would make her suffer worse than any of his other victims.
“Jessamine!” he shouted, trying to get his bearings in this massive home. He could feel that she was still in the building, but he couldn’t sense where she was. He had to find her. That was all he needed to do. He needed to get her out of here. Then they would regroup with the rest of the coven and figure out what the fuck had gone so wrong.
As he passed another guard, he had the distinct horror of feeling the man’s soul go in the wrong direction. It was leaving the house, yes, but it wasn’t disappearing into the next realm. Something—or someone—was taking the souls of the people here.
But he’d never heard of a spell that could do that, not even one of his own. And again, all the hairs on his arms stood up as he was brushed by magic that was eerily familiar. He could taste it on his tongue, and… ah, yes, he had it now. He could hear the Crone’s voice in his head.
Oh, Elric. You are the youngest of us. Surely you don’t think you know everything?
It was like she was right here with him. Like that wrinkly old woman had crawled her way out of a grave just to torment him some more. She’dalways thought she knew more than the rest of them. And sure, she was one of the oldest of his siblings. But he had learned a long time ago that age did not equal wisdom, no matter how much she wanted to believe that.
“Get out of my head, you shriveled old bat,” he growled.
Even though he knew she wasn’t really here, some essence of her still remained. A bit of the creature who had terrified him in his youth and then tormented him as he grew older. She was still the Crone, after all, and even a bit of her magic was dangerous.
He could hear her laughter, that grating, awful noise that had always set his teeth grinding until there was a flicker of pain in his jaw. Then it all clicked into place; his mind always had worked faster when she was laughing at him.
“A magical malady,” he muttered, just as he had when he’d first seen the infected.
