Prologue
“Sweeping tides, our love is sweeping tides. I am on the shore, I am out at sea, lost in our sweeping tides.” Malialani Dullanty
Spell work was tricky. There was no magic that required the same amount of precision, no power that could be so easily miscalculated. In order to create the perfect spell, the right amount of intuition, knowledge, and raw ability were essential. When a good spell was cast, everything came together in a flash of alchemy, bending time and space to its will. That kind of magic took something from you every time, as it only worked if a part of you went with it. That precision chained you to it—everything became a composition or an equation. There were rules.
Hecate kept her heart bound in a spell all its own—where there was no space for freedom.
? ? ?
The warbetween gods and titans was over. The mortal world believed that Zeus reigned on Mt. Olympus, but only the immortals knew the truth. In the last great conflict with Kronos, it was Erebus and Nyx who had delivered the deciding blows. Nyx had developed the pantheon and cursed Zeus, imprisoning him on the mountain before returning to Tartarus with Erebus. The acolytes of Zeus and Hera, embarrassed by the defeat, set out in numbers to change the perception of the battle. It was through their efforts—encouraged by the king and queen of Heaven themselves—that the intervention of Nyx and Erebus had been erased from man’s histories.
It happened swiftly, before even a year had passed since Kronos’s defeat. The primordials were content with the limitations that they had placed on Zeus, and more importantly, that they were left alone.
The titan wars had been the first time in a hundred years that Hecate had returned to the world. She was a devoted goddess, one of the most stringent when it came to listening to the prayers of her disciples. No other god paid as close attention to their devotees as Hecate did. Ironically, this kept her in the Underworld where her power was the strongest: doling out remedies, answers, and even vengeance when needed.
Hecate had never seen Nyx as downtrodden as she had been during her feud with Erebus, which had nearly split the world in two. That had been the real threat, not the mere titans. It had put a new sense of respect and fear in Hecate’s caged heart; she had heard the prayers and the cries of nearly every woman alive. The weeping voices of broken promises and abandoned lovers had crept their way into every crack in Hecate’s chest, sealing it into a foundation that was as strong as stone. As Hecate watched Nyx cry out for a man—cry out for Erebus—she painted over the stones with tar, sealing her heart away for good. If even a love as ancient and elemental as Nyx and Erebus’s could go so wretchedly wrong, there was no need for her to stray there.
Not that Hecate would. Or could. Or had even been tempted to. There had been other gods, mortal men, a titan or two over the centuries…but no one who could dissuade her from her beliefs. Hecate’s priestesses and devotees had come to respect that about the goddess—she was not a virgin goddess like Artemis, Athena, or Hestia, but she took no king consort, no husband, no god as her partner. This was a balance that was rare and one that was respected by everyone who took to their knees to bless her name.
There was only one problem with the caged-off architecture of Hecate’s heart. The evidence by which she had built it, the plans that she had used, were incomplete. No one ever prayed to Hecate when they fellin loveor when they woke up in the arms of a lover. No one lit incense in Hecate’s honor when they realized how deeply they respected and trusted their partner. No one worshipped Hecate at the end of their days when they realized they had loved and they had not lost.
No, they prayed to Hecate when they had been wronged. They lit incense to Hecate when they had been abandoned or abused. They worshipped Hecate when they had been swindled and broken.
Even Nyx, the Goddess of darkness, didn’t take up Hecate’s ear after the battle when she was reunited with darkness once more. Hecate had not seen the love, adoration, thefreedomwritten on Nyx’s expression when she and Erebus had come together again.
No, Hecate had built a wall around her heart—a spell of the most intricate and wicked proportions—based on one half of the story. The other half was about to be told.
Part I
1
Hecate moved around the kitchen like it was muscle memory; she could dance her way through it with her eyes closed. There was a fire going in the hearth, and her worktable was piled high with herbs and fresh jars. A pot hung above the open flame, something warm and smoky bubbling inside it. Two dogs were spread out in front of the fireplace, dozing peacefully and unbothered by the organized chaos around them.
After the war on the titans—during which several incidents had caused her to need to rebuild her kitchen—Hecate was desperately looking for some time off. The Underworld had gotten nosier, crowded with more souls, and its keepers were busier than ever, too. She hadn’t seen Nyx and Erebus since they departed Mt. Olympus although she could see their joint efforts turning the daylight to dark every night. The thought of her friend blissfully reunited with Erebus brought Hecate peace but not joy; she wouldn’t ever be able to truly forget the pain that Erebus had caused Nyx. She had never seen Nyx that heartbroken before. Now, all that remained of that argument was an ongoing inability for the couple to separate from one another.
Hecate was carrying half of a heartbreak that wasn’t hers and didn’t know how to cleanse herself of it. The events of the past year had found a way into her soul. Her hardened heart remained, but her own inability to move past the idea of Erebus’s betrayal, while Nyx had forgiven him, had put a glaring light on Hecate’s bitterness.
Might as well call it what it is.Hecate pushed the thought from her mind and tossed a couple of sprigs of rosemary into a small mortar.There must be something wrong with me. Maybe I’ve been doing this too long… What’s missing?
She had been working on behalf of the souls of women as long as time, staying in the Underworld where her powers were the strongest. She dropped a couple more herbs into the basin and mottled them all together, stepping closer to the fire. Hecate gracefully dropped to her knees in front of the hearth, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. The heads of the virgin and the crone appeared on her left and right shoulders, flickering with power as it ran over her body. Her eyes started to glow as the mortar she was holding began to smoke, red sparks glimmering up and down Hecate’s arms.
She resigned herself over to her power, the dogs getting up quickly and trotting to the other side of the kitchen with their tails between their legs. Hecate tossed the bowl into the pot, causing smoke to start pouring out of the top and billowing all around the floor. As soon as the ingredients mixed, the prayers of Hecate’s acolytes began flooding the room. Hecate heard them all, each individual voice, and answered in kind. Sometimes that meant throwing a different concoction in the fire or sending her dogs to do her bidding. During the most difficult of times, it meant that Hecate could do nothing at all and only time would heal the wound.
“Come to us, Mother…”one voice in particular called out, and Hecate recognized it immediately as one of her priestesses in Crete.
“Come to us, Virgin…”
“Come to us, Crone…”The priestess’s many devotees also cried out, making Hecate pause. She moved her fingers through the air, and the words materialized against the stones of her mantle. There was no desperation in their cries and no fear. There was only respect and longing. The prayers of her temple, bashful requests for Hecate’s presence among them. It had been a long time since Hecate had left the Underworld and a very long time since someone had asked her to. Her devotees were often pleased with Hecate’s dedication to her work in the Underworld; she didn’t make nearly as many appearances as, say, Dionysus.
Hecate waved her hands once more, and the words faded away as she lost herself in thought. She was tired—tired of cleaning up the messes of the Underworld, tired of trying and failing to understand her own discontent. There was no reason for her sadness, for the sudden onslaught of this empty, confused feeling. It was as though she was now conscious of the ache that had been building in her for ages, something that she had never noticed before.
She was ripped from her thoughts when a loud crashing sound came from her courtyard, and Hecate sat up straighter and rolled her eyes.
“Hermes,” she called out towards the door, “if you broke anythingagain, fix it before I come out there.”
There was a beat of silence before Hermes stepped into the kitchen, as if he belonged there, grinning like a fool as he pushed golden curls off his forehead.
“Hecate, O Mother of manslaughter, Virgin of vengeance…” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before she could swat him away. “Have I ever left your home in anything less than the condition I found it in?” Hermes straightened and sauntered over to the counter, hopping up on it and swinging his feet back and forth. Hecate couldn’t help but shake her head at his juvenile mannerisms.
