He had no idea what to do. He had to believe the priestesses had carved their own path, because it was impossible to believe the Crone would have ordered such madness. His siblings had known from the first flicker of his power that Elric would outlast them all. He couldn’t die, after all.
Of course, there was always the chance that the ancient goddess had a plan that went far above the heads of any other god or goddess. Perhaps this was a last-minute ploy to use her own body to remain relevant for the longest time possible. Perhaps she’d resented the end of her reign and grown desperate to forestall it. He hadn’t been there when all the gods disappeared, which meant he wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened. He just knew the moment they’d all died.
Felt all of their lights dimming, one by one.
Blinking, he came back into his body as though he’d been sleepwalking. The kitchen was already in movement. Sybil had started early, it seemed, considering the scent of scones filled the air and tea was already on the stove. He caught the kettle just before it shrieked with steam.
“Sybil,” he scolded. “Let everyone sleep in.”
“I think you and I need to have a talk. Excuse me if I’m waking you a little earlier than you are used to.” She turned, her dark hair piled on topof her head and sticking out in all directions. There were deep hollows under her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept at all. “They’re using souls?”
“Yes.”
“For a spell that is likely far beyond what any of us could ever guess?”
He poured himself a cup of hot water and plunked a tea bag into it. As the red stain of tea spread in the water, he nodded. “That is what it seems.”
“That’s not good,” she breathed. “Would have been helpful to know sooner than now. You were too distracted with Jessamine to tell us, clearly.”
“You’re right. It is not good.” Did he want sugar and cream this morning? After all that he’d been through, he decided that he did. A sweet treat first thing in the morning might wake him up. Of all people, he needed a sharp mind.
So he got his cup ready and sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for Sybil to join him. She was angrily clanking around back there, likely trying to cook something else that would calm her nerves, but there was no such recipe.
Only the two of them understood how horrible this was. Even though Sybil had been young in the days when the witches had given up their lives, she knew what it meant that souls were now in play.
Finally, she sat down in front of him with her own cup of tea, still drinking out of a chipped mug. He mused how she always found the broken one, no matter where she was, when she finally spoke.
“I think the coven needs to be stronger.”
“It does.”
“And you sent a man back here.”
The swift change in the subject reminded him that he had, indeed, done that. A young man who had been more than a little curious during their time at Fortuna’s home. “He was at the party. He knew who Jessamine was, even with the mask, and he warned us to leave before the spell was unleashed. He knows something.”
“Of course he knows something. Did you not even ask who he was?”
“He didn’t answer.” He sipped the tea, then scowled down into the mug when he found it was still too hot to drink.
“He’s a Bishop.”
“I don’t need any religious men here.”
“He’sLeonBishop’s brother, Elric.”
The world seemed to stop spinning as he looked at Sybil, feeling his gaze heat with the massive amount of hatred that burned inside him. “Excuse me?”
“He is Leon Bishop’s brother. He is here because he said he saw you and Jessamine at the party, and he knew something that could be told only to the Deathless One himself.” She quirked her brow at him, clearly waiting for an explanation that he did not have. “So I tell you again, Elric. This coven needs to grow, and it needs to become significantly stronger than it is. You want Jessamine on a throne? She’s going to need a lot more than just a single god on her side.”
Yes, he was seeing that now. She would need every ounce of power he had to get there, and all of this was unraveling at a terrifying pace.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, narrowing his gaze on her.
Sybil had leaned forward against the table, her hands braced on the edges and a wild expression on her face. Her eyes were too wide, her jaw jumping as she ground her teeth. There was something going on in her head and he didn’t like it.
“The covens of old were powerful because they had a leader,” she said. “Groups are powerful, but better when there is someone at the helm. You know this. I know this.”
“What are you getting at?”
