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“Exactly,” Carver said, finally adding his voice to the conversation. “Everything unified under one mind, perfectly orchestrating the same goal. The Coven of One is a bizarre, terrible ritual, one that allows a witch powerful and brazen enough to perform it to split her mind across multiple bodies. Thirteen of them, to be precise, as you all saw in the cauldron.”
Which, I should have mentioned, burst into flames, cracking the cauldron in the process. It took Carver and Romira’s combined efforts to get the fire settling at all, but by the time it had died out, nothing was left in the cauldron, no water, no shattered pieces of brooch. I must have been right, in a sense. Agatha detected us, and she didn’t like being watched.
“Far be it from me to cast judgment,” Carver said. “I am hardly blameless. I have also regretted the things I have done to extend my life beyond its natural bounds. There are different variations on the rite of becoming thirteen, but many of them require multiple sacrifices. Human sacrifices.”
The air went still. I looked around at the others, at the looks of shock and dawning dread on their faces. We thought we were up against Agatha Black – not thirteen witches powered by the madness of the Eldest.
“I never knew,” Bastion murmured. “Is that what Grandmother has been doing all this time?”
Prudence gripped him by the arm, but said nothing.
“As I am sure you have determined by now, the situation is far from ideal,” Carver said. “The world is in greater danger than we thought. And now Agatha knows that we are seeking her out. I would consider ourselves lucky if she didn’t look back through the ethers and see us. It wouldn’t take much for a witch of her power to track us down.”
“But what if that’s the answer?” Mason said, his head held high. “If we can’t find her, then maybe we have to work on making her come to us.”
Carver’s eyes remained impassive as he studied Mason for several long, uncomfortable seconds. “You are not wrong. But after the description of your initial encounter with Agatha Black at Brandt Manor, it is reasonable for me to express my – concerns.”
How could anyone forget? A man exploded, tiny parts of his body scattered across the mansion’s lawn. And all Agatha had to do was close her fist.
“I can use my gravesight,” Asher said. “I’m getting better and better at it. It might be slow – the dead aren’t used to hearing from someone on the other end of the world – but I can reach through the network, find out what everyone has heard.”
To see through the eyes of spirits in Southeast Asia, and hear through the dead ears of ghosts still lingering in urban Russia. I believed in Asher’s conviction and talent, but that sounded like a monstrous undertaking. How much energy would a necromancer need to spread his influence across the entire world?
Carver blinked several times rapidly, the concern washing across his features quickly banished. He raised his head. “This is possible. But be careful, Mr. Mayhew. Extremely careful. Scrying is powerful and useful in any form, but arcane backlash is very much a real thing. It can be dangerous. Fatal, too.”
Romira hugged her elbows and shuddered. “Tell me about it. I’ve heard about what happened to some of the Eyes at the Lorica. They were trying to track someone dangerous down in the nineties, this warlock who was terrorizing the Midwest. You know how he retaliated? By burning their eyes out. Worst kind of forced retirement there is.” She chuckled nervously. “Occupational hazards, am I right?”
“Then that goes for all of you who may think to scry for Agatha’s manifestations,” Carver said. “Stay safe. Employ every protection you can think of.”
“I’ll try my best,” Asher said, his voice only slightly shaken, his back rigid, muscles tense. Sterling stepped up and gripped Asher’s shoulder in one of his stark white hands, massaging with strong, dead fingers. You could barely tell, but Asher relaxed, giving Sterling a quiet, grateful nod. See? Whatever else Mason’s presence at the Boneyard meant, and despite the dizzying age difference, our necromancer and vampire were still best friends. Sterling was just being silly.
“Then we adjourn for now,” Carver said. “Consider all the resources you have at your disposal. Speak to your peers and superiors at the Lorica, whatever it is you must do to warn the arcane world of Agatha Black’s movements. We must be prepared. All of us.”
Our goodbyes were quiet and stilted, Team Lorica awkwardly shuffling out of the Boneyard, all clearly considering the ramifications of our discovery. I stayed in the livin
g area, staring at my thumbs. Carver and the other guys had mostly wandered off to their rooms, except for Asher and Mason, who had stayed behind to clean up.
“Thanks,” I said out loud to no one in particular, listening to the clink of beer bottles and drinking glasses.
“Yeah,” Asher said absently.
The sofa next to me dipped as Mason threw himself into the cushions. He leaned back, then sighed heavily.
“You know what gets me about this the most? If this Agatha person is so damn dangerous, why hasn’t she done anything yet? Why has everything been so quiet?”
I looked at Mason, then back down at the floor. He had a good point. A terrifying one, at that. What was Agatha up to? Mason leaned into the cushions even more, groaning and rubbing his forehead.
The dread in the air was palpable, even with just the three of us there. I reached for my phone, thinking to call Herald to fill him in on the bad news when it went off on its own.
And despite my anxiety, I had to smile. It was my dad, trying to initiate a video call. I picked up immediately. Norman Graves’s bushy, teacherly mustache filled the screen. He smiled at me, then frowned.
“Well, well,” he said gruffly. “Look who finally decided to pick up his phone and call his old man. Oh, wait.”
I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “Come on, Dad. You know things have been busy for us.”
He pursed his lips, then smiled again. “I know, buddy. It’s just been a while since I’ve seen you face to face. Would it kill you to swing by one of these days? We’ll do some beers, some burgers. Hey, bring Gil and Prudence and the others. We’ll make it a party.”
“Hi, Mr. Graves,” Asher said as he walked past the sofa, giving a quick wave.
