Chapter 28 Crossroads #2
For a heartbeat, we just sat there, his hand in mine. Butterflies filled my stomach, and I let out a sheepish, nervous laugh as I took my hand back gently, willing my cheeks to stop burning. He only smiled at me fondly, returning to his food.
When we finished, Kian collected our dishes, stacking them with the kind of neat precision that made me suspect he actually enjoyed doing the washing up.
“So how do we summon her?” I asked, watching him rinse a plate. “Are we supposed to light candles and burn herbs or draw sigils or something?”
He chuckled, drying his hands and moving toward the couch. “You’ve been reading too many Tumblr witch guides.”
“I am a holistic health student,” I reminded him, narrowing my eyes. “You’re telling me you don’t even have a summoning circle hidden somewhere? Not even a travel-sized one?”
Instead of pulling chalk from a drawer or rummaging for ceremonial daggers or instructing me on proper Greek pronunciation, Kian pulled his phone from his pocket and started scrolling through his contacts.
“Wait—what are you doing?”
He glanced up, lips twitching in amusement. “Calling her.”
I stared. “You—you can just call Hecate? On a cell phone?”
“Well, she’s not going to answer if I don’t,” he chuckled, thumb hovering over her name in his contacts, which was just labeled “H” with a key emoji. Because apparently even ancient goddesses used emojis.
My jaw dropped. “Hecate has a cell phone.”
“She’s had one since 1996,” Kian said, like this was normal information everyone should know. “She was an early adopter. Very enthusiastic about text messaging. I believe she follows several celebrity chefs on social media now.”
“Next, you’ll tell me she does TikTok dance trends in her spare time,” I muttered, trying to rewire my brain around the image of the goddess of magic scrolling through reels.
He laughed but didn’t confirm or deny, which somehow made it worse. Kian tapped his screen and lifted the phone to his ear.
“She prefers text,” he added. “But she’ll answer if it’s me.”
There was a beat of silence, then he said smoothly into the phone, “Hey. Yeah, it’s me. She wants to meet you.” Pause. “Yes, she’s ready now.” Another pause, then the faintest smile tugged at his mouth. “See you soon.”
He hung up, turning his attention back to me.
“That’s it?” I demanded, gesturing incredulously.
“You sound a little disappointed.” His laugh was soft, teasing.
“I mean,” I muttered, feeling oddly cheated, “I thought this was going to be… I don’t know. Cloaks. Latin incantations. Some dry ice at minimum for dramatic effect.”
He grinned. “I can light candles if it helps. Really set the mood.”
I swatted at him with my bandaged hand, and he laughed.
“She’s on her way,” Kian said, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“The kettle?”
“For tea. She likes lapsang souchong.”
I just stared at him, because apparently, in this new reality, the Queen of Witches could be summoned with a phone call and a well-timed tea service.
The lights flickered. The air shifted, something ancient sliding through the space. The room didn’t get colder exactly, but the shadows thickened in corners they shouldn’t have reached. From the hallway, footsteps echoed, coming from a direction that shouldn’t exist.
Then she was just there. Not walking through the door, just suddenly present, like she’d always been standing in the room, and we’d only just noticed.
She looked different out of her scrubs. She had more of an otherworldly appearance now, wearing a black trench coat over a dark plum sweater, jeans tucked into knee-high boots. Her salt-and-pepper hair was braided down one shoulder, interwoven with what looked like small bones, or maybe keys.
Kian smiled as Hecate swept in, pulling him into an embrace that spoke of genuine affection—old friends who’d weathered the fall of civilizations together.
“Hades,” she said warmly. “Still brooding beautifully, I see.”
He chuckled. “I go by Kian now. Let me put the kettle on, and we can catch up.”
“Still taking care of everyone before yourself,” she said, smiling. “Some things never change.”
The ease between them made me feel like an outsider looking in on something private.
She turned her full attention on me, and I felt it everywhere like a key sliding into a lock in my chest and turning.
The hairs on my arms rose. Hecate’s expression softened into something almost maternal, like she was seeing through all my layers, straight down to the original girl who’d picked flowers in a meadow before the world learned her name.
“Come closer, child. Let me look at you properly.”
I obeyed before thinking, stepping forward.
From the kitchen where the kettle was beginning to whistle, Kian called, “She’s just beginning to remember. Be kind.”
“I’m always kind,” Hecate replied, but her eyes never left me. “But you didn’t call me to soften the truth. Not when time is running short, and lives hang in the balance.”
She circled me, and I could almost feel her reading my soul like an open book.
“So many lifetimes since you’ve stood in your true form,” she said, “and yet your essence remains unchanged.”
I flushed under her scrutiny. She stopped when she saw the bandages. Her eyebrow rose slightly.
“I, uh—had an incident on the way here.” I snapped my mouth shut, cheeks burning.
Hecate glanced toward Kian, whose expression darkened. Some silent communication passed between them.
She turned back to me. “Warrior marks. There’s no shame in them.”
Her hand touched my arm, and a strange current of warmth washed over me, easing the ache. “That will help. You will be fully healed by tomorrow.”
I blinked, surprised. “T-thank you.”
Hecate stepped back, her eyes skimming over my features, studying me.
“W-what you did for my friend at the hospital,” I said quickly. “Thank you.”
“Of course, child,” Hecate said, her smile gentle. “The young reincarnation of Artemis must be protected. Her spirit burns bright even in sleep. The Hunt recognizes its own, even when trapped in mortal flesh and forced into slumber.”
My chest tightened. Knowing it was one thing. But hearing Hecate speak of Amy as Artemis made it more real.
Kian reappeared with three steaming mugs.
He handed one to Hecate first, then me. I accepted it gratefully, fingers tightening around the ceramic.
Hecate sank into his armchair and gestured to the couch.
I sat without hesitation, Kian perched on the arm beside me, close enough that I felt his warmth.
All three dogs stirred by the fireplace. Bran lifted his massive head, and Vex and Duska pressed closer together.
I took a breath that felt too big for my lungs. “You know where my mother is. Don’t you?”
The room seemed to hold its breath with me.
Hecate’s expression didn’t change, but the air grew heavier. “I do.”
My hands clenched around the mug. “Tell me. Please. I need to know she’s alive.”
“The woman known as Candace Blumenthal in this life, the reincarnation of Demeter, lives. And yes, she is being held.”
The breath I’d been holding escaped in a rush. Relief and horror mixed together.
“Held. As in a prisoner?”
“Yes.”
My mother was imprisoned by Ekklesia. Demeter, who’d nearly destroyed the world the last time her daughter was taken. The irony was bitter.
“So it was him,” I said, voice hollow. “Cyrus took her.”
“He has many hands, many servants. But yes. Ultimately, he gave the order.”
My stomach twisted. “And he wanted me to know. Wanted me to find out she was missing.”
“Perhaps.” Hecate’s expression darkened with uncertainty.
“Though I’ll admit, I don’t fully understand his game.
If Cyrus wanted to stop you from remembering, he could have struck at any time these past weeks.
You’ve been vulnerable, unaware.” She paused, her fingers drumming against the table.
“No—this feels deliberate. He’s set up a scenario where he wins regardless of the outcome. ”
“What do you mean?”
“He takes someone you love. Someone whose pain will make you angry, reckless. If that rage causes you to slip, to make a mistake that triggers your curse…” Hecate met my eyes.
“He wins whatever game he is playing. But if it doesn’t?
” Her voice went cold. “Candace is a nascent goddess. Her divinity is still unharvested. He loses nothing by keeping her as a backup prize.”
Cold flooded through me. “So this is my fault. If I’d been more careful, if I hadn’t started remembering—”
“No.” The word cracked like a whip. Hecate leaned forward, eyes blazing. “Do not take his cruelty and make it yours to carry. His actions, his evil, his responsibility. Not yours.”
I swallowed hard. “Then tell me what to do. How do I get her back?”
“To save her,” Hecate said, eyes glowing now, “your best bet is to awaken what still sleeps within you. The veil of mortality you’ve carried for nineteen lifetimes is thinning, but it is not yet gone. You are still trapped between what you were and what you are. That must change.”
My pulse quickened. “You mean I need to become Persephone again?”
“Not become,” she corrected. “Remember. Reclaim. The divine spirit within you has always been buried beneath mortal lives and deaths, but it was never gone. You must reconnect with her—with yourself.”
I looked down at the tea in my hands, trembling harder. “And if I can’t?”
Hecate reached out and placed two fingers under my chin, tilting my gaze back to hers.
“Then you will lose her,” she stated. “And possibly yourself. Cyrus will have won. Your mother will fade. And the cycle will begin again.”
The weight of her words sank into me, hard and unmoving.
“How?” I asked. “How do I reconnect with something I don’t remember losing?”
Hecate took a slow sip of her tea. “Power like yours is remembered from within, not granted. You’re reclaiming what was always yours.”
I swallowed. “So… meditation? Visualization?”