Page 19 of The Deathless One
There was no other option.
On a long exhale, she breathed, “Deathless One.”
She poured every ounce of her need into it, and she had plenty. So much that she was fairly bursting with it, and then…
Holding her breath, she watched for what felt like forever. Then she peeled one of her eyes open, looking around before she sealed it shut again. Maybe she needed to will it a little harder. Focusing on her breathing, she tried one more time. “Deathless One.”
“This is almost sad to watch.”
Ah, there he was.
Frowning, she looked up at the altar to realize he was still seated upon it. Or at least, what little she could see of him was. As always, he appeared to be nothing more than the silhouette of a man, a shadow that had detached itself from a body and left the meat somewhere else.
“You were the one who wanted me to summon you,” she muttered, folding her hands carefully in her lap. “I am merely doing what you asked.”
“This is not summoning me, witch,” he hissed, and the shadows undulated around him. The more she stared, the more she realized it wasn’t just shadows. It looked like someone had used charcoal to sketch a shadow. There were marks around him, jagged edges and crude smudges that made him look almost like a painting.
“Is it not?” she asked, then smiled as though this wasn’t bothering her in the slightest. “You’re here. You’re talking to me.”
His voice changed into a mocking tone, mimicking her. “I was here. I was talking to you.”
Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. Through gritted teeth she muttered, “I intended to control the conversation a little more than you insulting me.”
“The only reason for this spell is to commune with gods. It’s used to speak with a patron, not to give the wielder any sort of power.” He sighed. “A patron, my dear gravesinger, is a god that you worship directly for power. In case you didn’t know.”
“I know what a patron is,” she snapped. “That was the point. I’m trying to talk to you without you lying to me.”
All the hairs on her arms stood up at his low snarl. Some part of her mind whispered that she was a tiny little mouse, and he was a massive cat. If she said something wrong, moved in the wrong direction, he’d snap his jaws around her and that would be it. But then she reminded herself those fears weren’t true. According to this spell, she was in control of this encounter. That gave her a little more power than she had before.
Narrowing her eyes on him, she refused to flinch or show any fear. “Why do you want me to summon you?”
“I have been dead for centuries, witch. Do I need a reason other than that? I desire to be real again. I desire life.”
It made enough sense, she supposed. “Why do you keep calling me ‘witch’?”
“Because you are one.”
“I’m not a witch,” she replied. Jessamine clutched her hands together in her lap, trying not to let him see how hard they were shaking. “I’ve read a lot of books on witchcraft, and I’ve studied the nature of the beast for most of my life. It’s a fascinating fairy tale, but I am not a witch.”
“You are a gravesinger, to be more accurate.” He hopped off the altar and began to circle her slowly. “Do you know what a gravesinger is?”
“No.”
“It’s a particular kind of witch. The kind I’ve been looking for. There used to be countless of your kind, natural-born witches who could connectdirectly with a patron. In the old days, I had twenty gravesingers at my beck and call.” His cold breath fanned over the sweat at the base of her neck. “Now I have only you.”
“How disappointing.”
“You have no idea.”
It made little sense, though. Jessamine had never practiced magic in her life. And didn’t witches show signs? Magical… happenings started around them when they were very young, didn’t they? Either way, she couldn’t be who he wanted her to be. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be his gravesinger even if she could.
The Deathless One circled behind her, the dark shape of him undulating and changing forms in the window’s reflection. “You are certainly a disappointing witch, but you can be shaped. Molded into what I wish.”
Everything in her clenched at his words and then darted out of her lips. “No!”
The word echoed. If he had a face, she supposed she might see surprise on his features as he stared down at her on her knees. “No?” he repeated, his tone utterly shocked. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean you will not shape me. I cast the spell to speak with you, not the other way around. No one will ever shape me into what they want again.” She glared up at him, her hands curled into fists. “No one will tell me who or what I am. Not even a god.”
