A broken panel from the mirrored Control Tower snagged her attention.
In the filthy and spiderwebbed reflection, she beheld herself standing there. Bruises were blooming across her neck and forehead, and her hair was covered in dust and soot and blood and ash. She looked as human and pathetic as she felt—
Aside from the white flames rippling out from above her heart. From inside her.
Her aura.
Loren’s eyelids slipped shut as her mind traveled back to that day—to the words the Widow had said to her, deep in the reeking shadows of her habitat.
In the ruin of her beloved city, Loren remembered.
“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. 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 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 be frank with 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?”
Loren’s fingers went to the talisman—the pendant with a closed eye at its centre. “The Avertera talisman is only hiding my aura.”
“I do not speak of that pendant, child. I speak of the conduit you’ve worn since you were a baby.Hold me close when the hour is dire and wish upon the Liar.Does that not ring a bell?”
Loren was shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”
“But you will. The wish was bought for you by your father for you to use in a time of need. And youmustwish upon the Liar. It will be your only chance.” The urgency in the spider’s voice sent a chill down Loren’s spine.
“I have to go,” she whispered, suddenly lightheaded. Her tattoo was glowing, just like her skin in her odd reflection. The meaning behind the engraving on her solar pendant pulsed inside her skull, begging for her to understand it. She thought, perhaps, she did.
Loren opened her eyes.
That was when she’d realized it. She’d figured as much from her visit with the Widow, but she’d hid the truth from everyone—even from herself.
Because she was terrified. And because she didn’t think finding the Well was going to do them any good, wouldn’t make her safe again—would only put her in greater danger.
Because there wasn’t a Well to find. When her father had hidden his invention, he’d put it where no one would ever find it.
The Well couldn’t be recreated, nor destroyed. And all replicas were cursed to never function the same way.
