I do—and there he is. Right next to me, and I latch onto him, tears welling in my eyes. He's holding my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Please, Athy, please."
"I'm trying, woman," He grits his teeth, turning his body to hold me close. "I'm close, I promise you."
The old woman appears again, her face hazy. I know I won’t stay long—he’s pulling me back, doing something. “She won’t stay here,” she says, almost mournful.
Athanasius looks at me, intense. His lips meet mine. Gods, I love the way he kisses—but then, Ambrose’s lips flicker through my memory. Heat creeps up my neck.
“Rabbit, concentrate,” Athanasius says. “What is he giving you? Making you do?”
“He’s being nice. Feeding me. I can come and go now.”
The witch is behind me, stroking my back, her fingers sifting through my hair like she’s searching for something. “It could be these clothes,” she mutters.
Athanasius leans closer, his expression dark. He sniffs near my lips, then curses. “It’s in the food. He’s feeding you something.”
The old woman pushes him aside and grabs my shoulders. “Girl, can you hear me?”
As soon as Athanasius releases me my mind fogs again. “Ambrose,” I say, distracted. I hear him. He’s calling my name, from far away. “I have to go now.”
“No,” she hisses, and pinches my arm—hard. My eyes snap wide. “Eat as little as possible!” Her voice is muffled now, like I’m underwater again. “Do you hear me? He’s—”
Gone. Someone is stroking my face, lifting me from the ground, holding me close. I open my eyes and Ambrose is standing over me, light catching in his hair. “Hey, sleepyhead. Come eat lunch.”
He helps me to my feet, steadying me. What just happened? Someone else was here, talking to me. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. My head aches. “Guess I was tired.”
He’s still holding my hand. Warm. Strong. But… something’s off. Why do I remember something different? A different hand—pale, long fingers, inked with symbols…
“Let’s go, cutie,” he says with a grin. “I just wanted to make sure they were on the right track," What does that mean? Ambrose pulls me close to him. "I’ve got lunch made.”
Chapter thirty-six
Closer
Athanasius
Ambrosetearsherawayfrom me. She was here and then gone, like the wind and I'm suffocating from the lack of her.
I roar, and the sea answers. It thrashes, boils, surges around me like it, too, has lost something. My rage shakes the trenches. Creatures flee. The pressure down here could kill a mortal a thousand times over, and I still want more destruction.
“Calm down!” the witch snaps, sharp as bone. “He’s lacing his spells into food. This one’s meant to make her compliant. Maybe erase her memories—at the very least, her memory of you. Disconnect her. Sever your bond.”
My chest sinks inward, folding around something fragile. Grief. A human thing. I hate that I recognize it. “Tell me what to do, witch,” I say, voice raw. “Tell me what to do, and I will see it done.” Where is that fool? “Servant!” I bellow.
The old man scrambles out of the darkness like a rat from the walls. His eyes are wide, bones trembling under too-thin skin. “M-Master?”
“See to it she has what she needs. You will do exactly as she asks—and nothing more. If you fuck this up, I will tear the skin from your muscles and make you walk like that for a week.” He nods. Whimpers. Good.
The witch clicks her tongue. “I need time to gather a few things. Meet me in the Atacama Desert. Three days.”
I nod once, pull a bubble of breath around her and the fool, and launch her toward the surface.
Then it’s just me.
I sit in the black, endless deep, and fold in on myself. I center on my heart—not human, not even close. It’s a swirling core of dark matter, folding in on itself like a star on the brink of collapse. My blood is the vapor of dying suns and birthless galaxies, humming with the ache of absence.
My avatar is gone. No—my consort.
