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“Boneweaver?”
She raised an eyebrow, placing one hand over her cup. “He is a necromancer, is he not? One who manipulates the very forces of life and death. Such a rare talent. Keep him close, fleshling. Keep all your friends close. The cosmos has entwined your fate with those of mortals brimming with unknown power, with arcane potential.”
“You mean Asher’s going to be a big shot some day?”
“That is one way to put it, yes. The boneweaver, the frostbringer, many of your friends possess swirling vortices of incredible talent within their frail bodies.” She curled her fingers, the creamy off-white of her coffee rising in droplets, disappearing into the palm of her hand. “Ah. Delicious. Fortifying. We pretend it isn’t so, but there’s nothing quite like a good cup of coffee.”
The frostbringer. She meant Herald, didn’t she? He specialized in ice magic, after all. I already knew he was a Hecate fanboy. If he heard all these things she was saying about his future he would totally flip. Though Hecate didn’t really surprise me in that respect. No one could doubt that Asher and Herald, hell, even Bastion were destined for greatness.
She set her cup and saucer down on the dining table, smoothed down her cloak, then cleared her throat. “As we were saying: the Old Ones are proving to be an imminent danger for you and your friends. We have come to tell you of the great and horrible things you may do to quickly acquire eldritch might. Tap into deeper wells of pure magic, and you may yet protect your loved ones and defeat the Eldest.”
I folded my arms and leaned against the sink, curious, but already more than slightly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure I like where this is going, Hecate.”
“Tell us, fleshling.” She steepled her fingers, very much the way that Carver might. “Have you heard of the concept of patronage?”
“Patronage?”
“You might like to call it matronage, depending on who will take you.” She laughed softly, the sound of an evening breeze rushing over a meadow. “Patronage, dear fleshling, is when you offer yourself bodily to an entity, to receive their boundless support, a portion of their power. You become their champion. You yourself have seen and felt the benefits of befriending the right entities.”
Too true. A lot of what I’d gotten from the entities had summed up to information, truthfully – whether from the spider-queen Arachne and her stealthy offspring, or the oddly stylish trinity who called themselves the Sisters. Once, Amaterasu, the Japanese goddess of the sun, had even lent me a mirror I could use to steal the very sunlight out of the sky itself, turning day into night.
“But how does that differ from what I’ve already experienced?” I didn’t fancy the sound of giving myself “bodily” to an entity. I really didn’t like how she’d put it.
“It is a contract like any other, Dustin Graves. You give yourself wholly, exclusively to a single entity, and depending on their dominion, their portfolio, you might receive a range of arcane gifts.” She took a step forward, until she was close enough that I could smell her breath: like sweet grass, and like petrichor, like the earth after a fresh rain.
“Say, perhaps, you become the champion of one of the gods of night. Their favor comes in the form of the Crown of Stars, an artifact that will
lend you the greatest of power. Oh, the things you could do in the darkness, Dustin. Imagine that the stars themselves are your eyes, that you could see where to find your enemies. That you could walk from here, to any other point on this wretched planet. That you could reach through the black of night and skewer those who defy you through the heart.”
Hecate had always been good at this, at seducing me with her words, with her promises of power. But it sounded too good to be true, and it was, because patronage didn’t just sound like devotion, or a contract.
“Hecate,” I said. “You’re basically telling me to sell my soul in exchange for power.”
“In a sense, yes, we are.”
I bit my lip, buying myself time to think, but I already knew my answer.
“No.”
Hecate said nothing. Her expression didn’t change.
“And don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but if I was going to surrender my soul – which I wouldn’t, let’s just be clear – I’d probably just as well hand it over to you.”
Hecate’s laughter rang throughout the Boneyard. If the guys hadn’t been alerted to the fact that we had an intruder yet, they’d know now. In a minute I predicted Sterling would come skidding in, demanding to collect someone’s teeth, and possibly their organs.
“Why fleshling, you flatter us so. Your trust in us is most pleasing. But to come to the very fullest of your power, you would need to bind yourself to an entity who rules the night. One who governs darkness, and shadow. Give a warrior a stick, and he will flail and fall in battle, crippled with the wrong tool for the wrong work. His strokes will be artless, his body vulnerable. But give him a sword, and it becomes his paintbrush. What beautiful, bloody portraits he will create. Do you understand?”
My hands gripped the edge of the sink tight, my fingers sliding against stray droplets of dishwater. “I think so,” I said softly, my brain so thoroughly against the very idea of patronage, but my heart thumping in increasing excitement over the promise of strength and glory.
“Consider it, Dustin Graves. Consider the power that comes with wearing the Crown of Stars.”
She stepped off the edge of the stone slab – something none of us had ever done before, for fear of the consequences, whether it was plummeting into the darkness, or simply floating off into dead space. But Hecate only kept walking, each of her steps leaving flaming green footprints in thin air.
“The heart wants what it wants,” she said. My blood went cold. “What is it that you desire?”
Royce’s warning. What did she know?
“Hecate, wait. What does that mean? What you just said, about the heart?”
