Page 41 of Summer of Sacrifice

Laurent’s attention flicked to her over Seleste’s shoulder before he continued. “And we can protect the people.” He held his arms wide just as he did on stage. “We are Druids, not just cirque freaks.”

Seleste’s scowl only deepened, and Laurent sighed.

“We also need to protect the rebellion factions,” he said slowly. It occurred to Winnie then that he had a lot of experience dealing with the Joubert witches’ tempers. “We need to keep the scent away from them. Thus, we perform in towns I’ve strategically selected. With the help of the reaper prince, by the damned way.”

Seleste’s shoulders lost a measure of their rigidity, but there was sadness in her voice as she said, “The mortal people, Laurent. There will be casualties if she comes.”

“I don’t fear her.” He was getting defensive now.

“Perhaps you should!” Seleste spat, her rage building again. “Don’t you think Aggie and Grimm would have killed her long ago if it was that simple? If it was just a matter of not fearing her? Don’t you think Grimm would have gutted her the first chance he had when he was trapped in her sadistic compound? There is a reason he continuously passed her off to another realm only to repeat the whole thing. Did you think of that?” Spittle flew from her mouth with the last words and Winnie came forward to put a hand on her back. This was behaviour typical of Sorscha and even Aggie, but Seleste…

“Of course I have!” Laurent shot back, his calm demeanour vanishing entirely. “I’m no fool, Seleste.”

“You’re making a beacon for her to follow and putting mortals in the way! That is awfully foolish if you ask me.”

“We’re already a fucking beacon!” Laurent threw his hands in the air, Tomás and Eleanor’s attention volleying from one to the other. “We have the goddess quill and her blood is in my fucking veins!”

Winnie watched as Seleste froze. Her good eye went glazed, then sharp, her jaw slack.

Her cunning.

“Hush!” Winnie hissed at Laurent, moving to better see Seleste’s face. “What is it, Sister?” she prompted quietly. “What do you see?”

“He’s right.” Her words hardly carried, her eye scanning the dry, brittle grass at their feet. Then, her attention suddenly snapped up. “I need a bit of your blood, Laurent.”

Surprise drew one of Lau’s brows up. “For…”

“You wanted to be a beacon.” Seleste threw her shoulders back. “Then we are going to make your beacon even brighter.”

AGATHA

The heady fragrance of night blooming jasmine and hellebore cloyed with her senses, followed swiftly by the ethereal glow of mist hovering over a bed of black tulips, dahlias, and roses so dark they resembled blood ensconced in shadow.

Grimm wove his fingers through hers, his gaze following her line of sight. “I do remember that this was one of your favourite places.”

“Correct.” Nyxia smiled, beckoning them forward along the cobbled stone path—little steps of moonstone amongst the gloom.

“Is it perpetually night here?” she asked the Goddess of Death.

“No, but it is always bedimmed. Those of us in Achlys like the darker shades of things.”

They strode past an elegant glass gazebo, all filigreed iron and twisted vines. A memory began tickling the back of her skull like the wings of a moth, never quite landing. Sensing the elusiveness in their bond, Grimm squeezed her hand.

In time, little witch. Be patient.

“I knew of Achlys,” Agatha said to Nyxia as they strode on, “but I don’t think I’ve ever read about the other places in The Void. Where the other of the Thirteen live.”

She caught her own mistake just as Nyxia’s face fell. “Nine. There are only nine of us now.”

Agatha swallowed. Nine, because Asteria and Thanasim were in The Void but only as a reaper and a witch, and Athania was running feral in their realm.

“To answer your question, there is a place for each of us in The Void. A place that we call home. Not quite within the Afterlife, but adjacent. You elected to live here in Achlys, with Thanasim from day one. I even took you to Athania’s castle of garnet in the rocky crags of Bellonia and to Lisbeth’s garden oasis in Dodona.” Nyxia inhaled in a melancholy wistfulness that only frustrated Agatha for the simple fact that she couldn’t share the memories. “Though you spent much time in both places, you only wished to live here with us.

“The Meadow, where Thanasim tells me you first remembered who you are, is where we hold court when it is necessary to convene. Since it is the only place we’re all together at once—or, I should say, were together all at once—it is where most of the legends and hearth tales originate from. Bits and pieces of fragmented moments mentioned by one or the other of us, seeping into lore. However, our gathering happens rarely. Even more rarely now.” She looked away, before planting a dimmed smile on her face.

Wanting to draw Nyxia away from painful memories, Aggie changed the subject abruptly. “Is Chresedia—Athania, I mean—a witch now? Is that what she is?”

They approached a wooded area, naked trees with long, sprawling branches like claws reaching out of the foliage. Herbage so shadowed a green that it was almost black.

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