Chapter 4

Wands are conduits of a witch's magic. Over time and after lengthy study, the witch bonds to an object that holds great significance for them. The process of attachment and the focus of study informs the nature and specialty of the witch's future castings.

-Hecate's Guide to Arcane Philosophy

Rorick

M y sun slumber had started the way it often did—with me not quite ready for it, sprawled on my bed at the brownstone I kept in the city. I'd barely gotten my boots off when sunrise hit me. Whatever Hecate had placed in my tea, I felt myself drifting deeper into my subconscious and at an unnaturally fast rate, plummeting into the murkier recesses of my mind.

I was back in my coffin in my dream, clawing free through dirt that was cold and hard and stung my hands.

Then I was being chased by ichors, only I was no longer in my body. I was floating far above it all, vaguely aware that I was safe in bed and dreaming. I watched myself fleeing the graveyard, the somber tombstone of Liam Rorick there beside the unpacked earth I'd left behind. A horde of shifters pursued me. From my new perspective, I could smell the ichors' moldy skin, could hear the gnashing of their sharp teeth, and I felt no fear. The memories were unpleasant, but I knew I'd wake up soon.

In the way of dreams, I was suddenly no longer in the graveyard. I hovered over my body as I was being chased through the streets of Castleway, in the city. The tents of the Castleway Circus towered in the distance as big as a palace, backlit by moonlight.

I made it to the deserted street with the small pub I knew, and when I reached the door, the ichors gave up their pursuit, vanishing as though they'd never been there at all.

Floating safely above my own body, I observed myself enter the pub and take a seat at the lone table across from Hecate. She poured steaming water into a ceramic teacup.

"You're late," she said, dropping two tea bags inside. They floated to the surface, turning the water an auburn shade.

"The Night Train was late," I told her—or the version of me sitting at the table did.

"Was the train the only reason you're behind schedule?" Her slanted smile was knowing.

"I went to see her again," I confessed, returning her grin. "Her laboratory isn't far from here."

She rolled her eyes at me, annoyance and affection in the taunt. "I told you to stop that snooping. She doesn't know you. You could ruin everything by mistake. Let chance happen. You can't force these things."

"She didn't catch me snooping. You've already convinced me to let our first proper meeting happen naturally. I just . . . needed to see her for a moment."

Hecate squinted at me. "See her how ? It's midnight, and Quiet isn't a vampire. She doesn't keep night hours."

"Her doors are warded, but her mirrors are not. She must not know much about travelers. I flew in through the bedroom mirror and took a peek inside with no trouble. Lots of insects in there— Don't look at me like that. I was quick. She never knew a thing."

"Impatient fool," she tutted at me. "You're a stranger to her! If she'd found you there, she'd have cursed you into a gnat or worse. I certainly would have."

I shrugged my shoulders. "She's new to the craft still, you said. Only recently came into her immortality."

"We're fast learners," Hecate admonished.

But her disapproval did nothing to sour my mood. I'd finally gotten to meet her—my constant. My reason for returning to this plane after venturing through the Nothing and meeting Death. Whatever Hecate's feelings on the matter, the exhilaration of tempting Fate in such a way reverberated through me, pebbling my skin.

"I hope she finds me soon," I said.

"I knew it was a bad idea, telling you all about that constant business. You shouldn't tease Fate so. There are consequences!"

I ignored her scolding because it wasn't the first time I'd heard it. "How did you meet yours again? Tell me the details exactly. Perhaps ours will be similar?" I was as eager as a child who was about to open a wrapped present, sitting on the edge of my seat.

"I didn't leave anything out the first time I told you the story. We were partners eons ago in a world similar to this one. He was an alchemist—same as you—and I was a witch, like Quiet, though our specialties are very different. We worked together to solve magical problems for our community. But none of that means your story will happen the same exact way." She pushed the tea bags around, bobbing them in the rust-colored liquid. "Have I told you about the time I visited a distant world and found a version of myself who was a pirate captain on a ship called Purgatory? Or about the version of me who was a professor at a magical academy? There are variants. An infinite number of them. Choices are made every day—every second. They will all impact the way your path toward one another plays out."

My grin held firm, mood unaffected by her caution. "Sure, sure, there are variants. But there are always constants, too," I said with great hope. "Constants like love."

Even as Hecate sighed in exasperation, the corner of her lips quirked. She removed the tea bags one at a time, wringing them out with a small spoon. "In every world I've visited, when our souls manage to find each other, yes, there is love," she confirmed.

Joy lit up my face, spreading my lips even wider, showcasing my fangs. A great deal of my life had been consumed by a deep and dark pit of loneliness that nothing seemed to allay. I was the odd duke, an eccentric recluse, they said, always lost in my studies. I didn't bother with company often, because even company did nothing to ease the ache of melancholy loneliness had created. So few found my work interesting. So few tolerated my inability to behave in a consistently charming manner. The loneliness had burrowed inside of me and made a nest there, convincing me there was no cure for it.

And then I learned through Hecate about constants. The very notion of a relationship that transcended time and space burned away the darkness in me. My constant was out there, working her way toward me the way I was working my way toward her, without ever knowing it. That night, I'd stolen another quick peek at her—just a harmless glance at what would be, and I felt joy in a way I'd never felt it before.

Hecate dropped two lumps of sugar into my tea. They landed with heavy, foreboding plops. "You're forgetting my warnings already, or you're ignoring them outright, and I can't decide which I dislike more."

"I didn't forget," I told her, the cheer finally fading from my expression.

"When we find each other, there's always love, but in every world I've visited, eventually we're separated. You know I lost my constant to my own hubris . . . Fate save me, Rorick, you look so much like him. There are times when there's an expression on your face that is exactly like one I've seen on his so many times before. I have to remind myself that you aren't him . . . Please, please don't make me regret helping you."

I understood what worried her. She'd explained about eternal consequences and who paid the price for them should we test Fate too much.

But now I had hope. Not even Hecate's most somber disclaimer could sully that.

"I'll be traveling again soon." She pushed the cup across the table toward me. "I'm not certain when I'll return. Rorick, promise me you'll let your path cross naturally with Quiet's."

"For her sake, I promise," I said, sipping at my tea. I meant my words. I wouldn't risk any harm coming to her, no matter how impatient I was to know her.

Hecate sat there nibbling at her lip for a moment. "About your nephew . . . I know Alex is your family and you're tired of me saying this," she said crossly, "but do be more careful with what you tell him about your research. I don't trust that man as far as I can throw him in my crone form."

"I don't trust him either," I said with a shrug. Alex was clever and a bit too ambitious, but the preternatural world was new to him. I had little to fear from my nephew.

"I mean it," she grumped. "Your blood is a gift from Death himself. I understand how much your sister meant to you, but I wish you hadn't gone and shared it with the likes of Alexander Harker."

"Don't stress yourself," I said softly, laying my hand over hers, waiting for her gaze to lift to mine. I knew what truly had her worried. Hecate always got pushier when she was anxious. "I'm going to change our fate. We'll break the cycle. You'll see."

"You can't know that," she whispered, gray eyes turning glassy. "I wish you could, but you just can't. Our loss is one our souls carry into every life as sure as our affection for one another."

I squeezed her hand comfortingly. "It won't happen this time."

The scene before me faded. Hecate and that version of myself I didn't recognize turned to mist, and when the mist faded, I was back in my coffin again. My sensitive ears picked up the sound of earthworms and other critters crawling and scratching in the dirt through the pine walls of my prison. I was so miserably cold.

"Please," I panted, "I'm not dead . . ."

But then the lid burst open, and the sunlight poured in. Quiet was there like she always was in my dreams, freeing me from the frozen darkness. Saving me.