Page 18 of The Deathless One
And with that, the witch slammed the door hard enough to rain dust from the ceiling. Then came the distinctive sound of a lock turning.
Jessamine was shaking when she turned to the altar. It didn’t escape his notice that she touched her hand to her throat often when she was nervous. Like she was feeling the disgusting length of his mark wriggling underneath her flesh. He hoped it made her uncomfortable.
But then she surprised him, as she often did. She walked up to the altar, slowly fell onto her knees on the pillow, and then bowed her head and started whispering. The image of her reflected in the single window of the room, a supplicant kneeling in prayer while uttering hymns of need.
He had to take a few steps closer to hear what she was saying, looming over her like the darkest night sky.
“—if you have ever listened to me, please. I need to know if this is the right thing to do.”
She was praying? To whom?
He almost laughed in her ear, just to see how she would respond, but then he saw there was a shadow cast across the altar and stretching up onto it in the candlelight. He could use that. All it would take was a single flex of his power and then… yes. Now he was seated on the altar right in front of her. Legs spread wide, staring at those deep furrows underneath her eyes that spoke of a woman who hadn’t slept in ages.
She didn’t hold her hands together in prayer, instead pressing them against the ground as she bent over, braced on her dirty palms.
Who was she talking to?
He couldn’t stand not knowing. So the Deathless One reached through the shadows, his pitch-black hand formless as he tried his best to scare her. He couldn’t touch her, not without her being in his coven. But he could show her something out of her worst dreams.
But she didn’t frighten easily, not his nightmare. She stiffened and then looked up at him, hollow eyes staring straight into his darkness. “I don’t know if I want you to have a physical form.”
Like she’d known he was here the entire time. Like she had felt him as he felt her.
A stirring rustled in his chest. The scraping of dry leaves pushed by a breeze that threatened to knock him ever closer to her. “All you have to do is summon me, and I will take control.”
“I don’t want you to take control. I just want what is mine.”
“I cannot even be before you without you giving me a form. You need my power, Jessamine.”
She reached for the book in front of her and flipped through its pages. He heard each one, like scissors snipping away at his opportunity. “What are you doing?” he snarled.
“There has to be another way. I know this book. I’ve seen it before, when I bought it from a peddler.” She found the page she wanted and then started moving the spell ingredients around.
She got rid of the match entirely, then licked her dirty fingers to stick the salt onto them. She coated one of the candles with that salt and her own spit before he realized he had to stop her. He had to. This wasn’t right. She was meant to summon him, not to make him wait even longer.
“I told you there was a debt—”
“And I will repay it,” she hissed before crawling on her hands and knees to find that match she’d discarded. “But first I want answers from you, Deathless One, and I will not go another step further in this plan until I get them.”
All her life, she had been told what to do. She should do what someone else said, because they knew best. She should trust that everyone was going to take care of her, because she was beloved by all in the kingdom, including the people who worked for her. She should be polite, poised, and kind, because that was what princesses were.
What a load of bullshit.
Where had trusting people led her? To a knife at her throat, a debt to a god, and nothing to her name.
So excuse the god in front of her, who was clearly sulking as she figured out what she wanted to do. She had read this spell book before, and she knew which spell she wanted to cast. No one was going to tell her what to do. Not anymore. This was her kingdom, her responsibility, and she definitely did not trust the god who sat on the altar.
Because Sybil had called her Jessamine. And only this asshole in front of her knew her real name.
“Obviously you told her who I am,” she muttered as she placed the book on the floor and smoothed out the pages. “I don’t appreciate that.”
He had receded back into the shadows, either no longer capable of responding to her or deciding that he didn’t want to play this game. Whichever it was, his silence was enough of an answer.
Salt-covered black candle. Match in hand. All she had to do was set the black candle at the base of an altar, and she assumed this one would suffice. Then she had to light the candle while clearing her mind. Thisspell was very different from the one Sybil had laid out for her. The other had words to say, a ritual to complete, and a list of rules before starting the incantation.
But this one? It said to clear her mind of all intent other than speaking with the deity, and then to say their name. Invoking the spirit through will alone would summon them.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Jessamine lit the candle, closed her eyes, and forced her mind to reach out. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted him to answer her questions, and hewouldanswer her questions.
