Page 42 of The Heartless One
He let it drop to the floor with a thud that echoed through his entire body. He wanted nothing to do with the magic of such dangerous women. But then again, was it even their magic that he was so repulsed by? Or his own?
The old woman seemed to know all of this was going through his mind. But rather than pry even further and dig into the festering wound of his soul, she took his hand in hers and gave him two papers. “I sent my boy out to call in a favor. These are your invitations.”
“That was rather easy for you.”
“I told you, I have many connections in this place. But I do not believe you should enter as Lady Jessamine Harmsworth and her Deathless God. Trust me when I say this, Fortuna Beaumont is a worthy adversary. It’s why she and I have battled for control over the Pleasure District for many years. The names on those invitations are for a couple who have lived here only a few years. They moved from another kingdom and are very new here, so few people have met them yet. They caused quite a stir when they first arrived. Foreign royals always are interesting. It’s a shame they died just a few weeks ago. Use the names Farah and Martin Bloodworth when you enter, and introduce yourself as such to anyone who might ask questions.”
Easy enough. Pocketing the invitations, he tilted his head to the side and watched as her eyes canted to the side. As though she was hesitant to make eye contact with him.
“Why are you wandering about the halls in the middle of the night with these invitations, Agnes?”
She swallowed hard, her throat working with the emotion. “My grandson thinks this is a fool’s errand. He told me that I was selling my soul for a few years of power. I am old, Deathless One. I know that. My time here is coming to an end very soon, and I fear what that means for my soul.”
He could tell her it meant very little. All souls went to the same place, and humans had never been able to dream up what death meant for them. He could tell her that someday her soul would wish to be reborn and that she would be given the opportunity to fix all the guilt that she carried with her into the afterlife. As unlikely as that was. A soul’s history followed it into the next life and became an accumulation of all the mistakes that happened before, repeating a never-ending cycle that was so hard to break. But these were details no one wanted to hear. They weren’t as comforting as humans wanted them to be.
“You have such fear in you for a witch,” he murmured, eyeing her and seeing the toll it had taken on her body. “I thought you were smarter than that. You have seen Sybil, have you not?”
“I see a young woman who chose to take her power in her youth. I am old. No part of me wishes to stay this way forever, so I will take the power and live a natural life. That is my decision.”
Something dark wriggled in his mind. A whisper that this was how he could punish the witches who had tormented him before. This was Olwyn’s last bloodline. He could promise that she would have the power and let her die. Then he could see to it that her grandson fell in a tragic event, and Olwyn herself would die with him.
A scream echoed that only he could hear. The spirit trapped in his realm wished to claw her way out of the muck to ensure her bloodline continued. She raged in his mind, and that was enough torture for him.
Instead, he looked Agnes in the eye and said, “You do not have to remain old if you accept this power. Should you wish it, I would make you young again.”
“Surely that’s not possible.”
“Dear one, you have such little faith in your god. Worship me. Sacrifice to me. Give me all that I desire from you, and I will not only make you immortal. I will give you back your youth.”
He’d said the words countless times before. Cajoled witches into giving him more power with their sacrifices so that he could take from them. This was one of the rare times where he genuinely meant it.
Elric knew he could punish her instead. But what a shame it was to see a powerful line of witches wiped off this realm simply because one of them had harmed him. He was better than that, even if they weren’t.
Ah, he hated growth. It was such a shame that he was no longer the bloodthirsty monster who had murdered witches for far less. Forgiveness was so much harder than just pretending they didn’t exist. But he supposed he did feel a little better about it afterward.
With wide eyes, she nodded. “Then consider those invitations my sacrifice to you, great Deathless One. Hollow god whom I will fill with magic, grant me eternal life, and in return, I promise to serve you until the light fades from my eyes.”
Ah, the ancient words filled him with purpose. Every witch seemed to know their meaning, and yet every single one of them had a new spin on how to bring the spell to life. He could feel the power from the invitations growing. Darkness spread throughout the hall, inky ropes clinging to the portraits and feeding into the magic he had stored in that other realm. He could feel it building in his chest even as he reached for the power that clung to him.
“With magic I take from you,” he growled, his voice low and echoing, “I give it back tenfold. Join my coven, witch, and all your sacrifices will no longer be in vain.”
Agnes parted her nightgown, and he reached for her chest. His hands slid beyond that wrinkled, sagging skin. Power flexed inside of him, and he cracked her open. Bit by creaking bit, he spread her ribs and left an empty fissure. For what was a witch if not just waiting to be filled by a god?
Shadows streamed down his hand. Writhing, ink-dark eels wriggled their way inside of her, and Agnes tilted her head back in a gasp. Her eyes opened wide with pain, but there was rapture in that gaze as well.
Though her hands remained wrinkled, curled, and scarred, the rest of her skin smoothed with the magic he fed into her. Age spots disappeared. Scars flattened into silver lines. What was an old face became young again, brimming with beauty and strength. White hair turned into strands of wheat-colored silk that slid halfway down her back. And when it was finally done, she was a stunning woman once more.
Agnes tied her nightgown back around her body, her hands shaking. “How do I look?”
“Young again,” he replied, before touching his finger to her chin. Tilting her head up, he stared down into her eyes so she could feel the full weight of his godly powers. “If you betray me, Agnes, I will not be merciful. Jessamine is the only tether that helps me remain human, and if you betray her? I will take all this power back, and I will make you watch yourself age into dust before I let your soul be gathered by the keeper of the dead. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” she replied, but then a wry grin spread across her face. “She is lucky to have you, Deathless One. A man so feral for a woman will see she goes far in life.”
“She is owed a throne.” He released her chin and stepped back into the shadows. “But I am owed much more than that.”
Seeing a young Agnes was more than a little startling. Everyone at the dining room table froze when she walked in. Clearly, it was her. She still had the same features and facial expression and voice, but she was now a stunning beauty. Even her grandson hadn’t known what to say as he looked at the woman who had to be his grandmother. Jessamine had watched food fall out of the poor man’s mouth before she’d caught her laugh with her hand. Sybil had been no better, and when the two of them looked at each other, it made their giggles all the worse.
But then she’d seen Elric’s expression and all of it felt… strange. He was smiling at them, certainly. There was a grin on his face as he’d lifted his mug of coffee to his mouth, but there was something off about his eyes. As though he wasn’t entirely there.
