There was a clacking sound, like bones knocking together, as the spider adjusted its position slightly, as if she had grown uncomfortable from staying still for so long. “Usually, it is years off a person’s life. Or perhaps knowledge if they possess a great deal of it. Sometimes, it’s beauty. And your beauty is a rather enticing thing, I must admit. It makes me…” The spider made a smacking sound. “It makes me thirsty.”
The space behind Loren’s eyes burned. “I’ll give it. I don’t want it anymore—you can have it.”
A pause, heavy and silent. “I’m afraid it isn’t enough.”
Loren wasn’t sure what emotions her face betrayed, but a peculiar atmosphere entered the fountain. She thought it felt a little like pity.
“Seeing as you’ve come all this way for nothing, I will gift you with an answer to one question, as long as it is in my power to give it.”Drip, drip, drip.“You may ask. And if it is a question that I cannot answer, you may ask another.”
“Alright,” Loren gritted out. “Who is out for my blood and how can we stop them?”
“Those are two questions, and I may answer neither. Choose another.”
Loren’s jaw tightened. “It’s useless to have gorged on so much knowledge only to be unable to share it.”
“Trust me, child,” the spider said, “there are many truths that are begging to come out of me. It feels like my skin is stretched taut with the burden of holding them in, but I am sworn to secrecy by magic older than our world. Now, go on and ask another.”
Loren thought fast, the questions she wanted to ask bouncing against each other in her head. “Where can we find the other half of the Master Scroll?”
“It has already been found and it is being hidden even from my sight. Someone bartered with the Pale Man to possess it.” Another creature of another Crossroads. Another of the Nameless.
“Where is the Arcanum Well? TheoriginalWell?”
A slithering chuckle. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you that. Besides, you’ve already used up your one free question.”
“And what if I called you by your true name?” The misty shadows that made up the spider stiffened. The thing didn’t make a sound as Loren went on to say, “What if I called youAraneae?”
Loren had read up about the Nameless in secondary school, and she’d read up about them more in recent days at Hell’s Gate—before Singer had died. She had checked ancient books out of the library that had no place on anyone’s shelf. She knew that the Nameless were bound by the Law of Names; to know one of the creature’s names was to give the person who knew it some level of power over it.
The spider’s voice dipped low. “There are some things I am sworn not to reveal.”
“Then tell me what you can.” Loren lowered her chin, and in a voice like a purr she added, “Araneae.” The spider was silent and still. “If I am Erasmus Sophronia’s daughter, then why haven’t I been able to figure out where the Well is?”
“Because you do not truly wish to find it, child,” said the Widow. “When your father hid the Well, he gave the power only to himself. For many years it did not belong to a single living soul—not until the daughter he bore grew into a woman, and she inherited his gifts. But your father made certain his mistake could never be replicated; all attempts at recreating the Well would fail. And even if another person managed to Make it, the prima materia would only listen to its master—to the original Creator.”
“That’s what the scroll meant,” Loren mused. “That’s what it meant when it said, ‘Blood of my blood.’” Her mind reeled, the yawning pit of the fountain before her churning like a dark potion. The coppery reek of all the blood that had been offered to this creature over the years knifed down her throat. “How did my father make it? How was a human able to access the prima materia?”
“He made a deal with one of us—a Nameless.” The spider’s voice slithered over the walls. “Upon finding out the true name of one of us infernal beings of Ignis, the Nameless granted him access to the creature of the gods, and Erasmus went on to use it to create the Arcanum Well.”
“How can we destroy it?”
“It cannot be undone, Liliana Sophronia. And to try to destroy it would have deadly consequences for all involved.”
“How can I find it?” She was breathing so hard she was panting, the sound echoing against the slimy walls. “Where can I look?”
“Inside yourself,” the Widow said.
“I don’t know what that means,” Loren snapped, “and to be frank, I am tired of your riddles.”
The spider stirred. “Very well. Regardless, that is all I may share. And to befrankwith you, I have shared plenty. It isn’t my fault if you choose not to listen.”
Loren stared into the churning fountain before her. Her reflection was murky and distorted, and her skin seemed to glow white. “I shouldn’t have even come here,” she muttered.
“A word of warning,” the Widow cut in. Loren lifted her head. “Use your magic and you will die, Liliana Sophronia.”
Loren stared into its shadows. “I don’t have magic.” She was starting to get frustrated that everyone thought she did.
“And I’m not thirsty.” There was a strange pause. “Is what you wear around your neck not indicative enough that you are more than ordinary?”
