“How did you get here?” I ask, fighting to keep the fear from my voice.
“Same as you, child. Of course, I didn’t do it in such a dramatic fashion, but the entry is the same for anyone who choses to pass through this realm.”
“And what realm is that, specifically?”
“The Void of Mist and Spirit. One of my favorite destinations. Your final one, unfortunately.”
The Void of Mist and Spirit… like my mother’s book, Journey Through the Void of Mist and Spirit.
“It’s a realm?” I ask, both curious and stalling for time. My eyes dart around the room, searching for something—a weapon, a potion, anything…
“Of course,” he says, busying himself at the table. In addition to the objects, he’s also got a stack of books and a few vials of liquid, one of them glowing bright silver. “Though, not so easily accessible to most witches and mages. Many who’ve attempted to enter have died—including my Chariot, unfortunately. Hasty woman. Prone to rash decisions. Not her best moment.”
“Chariot’s dead?” I ask.
“Yes. Judgment too. But not you. No, never you, little Star. You were meant for greater things than death.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, trying to hide my elation over the deaths of his dark companions. “Then why are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m not trying to kill you. That’s just an unfortunate side effect—a necessary evil, if you will.”
“So I’m going to die here?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“How is that possible? I’m an Arcana witch. This is a magickal realm.”
“This is themostmagickal realm,” he says. “The place that’s in between the in-between. All things are possible here, including our deaths. But fear not—you still have a few hours left on the clock. We haven’t even begun the ceremony yet.”
He says this with so much glee, you’d think he was talking about a wedding.
I tug on my bonds. No dice.
“So, how does this whole thing work, anyway?” I ask, still casting about for an escape. Unfortunately, the only things in my immediate vicinity are this awful dress and the copper bowl full of my blood. Even if I could reach it, though, the only thing I could do with it is bash him over the head.
Somehow, I don’t think that will stop him. This asshole is on a mission.
“It works as it did the first time,” he says calmly, as if he’s explaining it to a child. “Actually, allow me to read it to you—the authors are much more eloquent than I.” He grabs one of the books and flips to the page he’s looking for, then reads, “As part of the sacrifice, he gave his bones to create the first pentacle, representing earth magick; his skull for the first chalice, and his blood and tears to fill it, both representing water; his last breath to stoke the flames that forged the first sword, representing air; and the energy of his final ecstasy through forced ceremonial orgasm, representing fire. From there, these ancient artifacts were said to channel all elemental magick, and the man’s spirit became the ultimate essence of that magick, known thereafter as the First Fool from which all magick flows, et cetera, et cetera.”
He slams the book shut and turns to me with a wide grin, his eyes dancing with manic light.
I know that passage. He just read from the same text that Kirin and I discovered when we were first digging into Mom’s prophecies and learning about the origins of magick.
“I hope that answers your questions,” he says.
I swallow hard, desperate to quiet the sudden frantic pounding of my heart. With every wild beat, more blood leaks into the copper bowl.
He’s not going to kill me—at least not right away.
He’s going to perform the same ritual on me as the elemental beings performed on his father, the First Fool.
A slow, torturous death.
And I’m trapped here, locked in a cave with this psycho, no weapons, no magick, no…wait.
What am I talking about? I still have my magick, don’t I?
I close my eyes, forcing myself to calm the fuck down. With a deep breath, I send a pulse of healing energy to my left wrist—the one that’s farthest from the Magician’s view. Slowly, the pain begins to recede. Not completely, and it’s still bleeding, but it’s something. A start.
