I shook my head. “Not exactly. From Hecate’s explanation, it’s supposed to amplify my magics. The Apotheosis is supposed to cut away everything that hinders true growth, true power, and bring me to the peak of my potential. If you remove all stoppers, all obstacles, whether mental or physical – ”
“Then you also remove the limitations of your power,” Carver said. “How curious.”
“Listen to yourself,” Sterling spat, his eyes boring holes into mine. Oh, he was finally speaking to me directly. “How can you be so casual about this? Did you even hear what you said? You’re talking about cutting away parts of yourself. Think of the dangers, Dust.”
It tugged at me, hearing just how upset Sterling was over all this, but it was my decision to make. I knew that underneath all the cockiness and nonchalance that the heart of a good and loyal friend still beat in Sterling’s undead chest.
“It was how Agatha Black described things to me herself, when she held me up in the air. She said that I was never meant to be whole, to be fixed ever again. I was always supposed to be broken. Fractured. Why should I fight who I am?”
“And why should you listen to her?” Sterling barked, his teeth bared, his eyes somehow reddish. I jumped when his fist banged onto the table. Hairline cracks splintered across the wood. Heads turned from around the coffee shop. Carver’s hand spidered across the table, reaching for Sterling’s arm, then squeezing tightly.
“Sterling,” he muttered. “Control yourself. Use your words. We’ve talked about this.”
The traces of animal rage receded from his eyes, his lips relaxing over his fangs. The look he gave Carver was submissive, almost apologetic, but when he turned back to me, he was still glowering, the anger simmering just under his skin.
“Have you maybe considered that this is some kind of trap? That Agatha Black has wormed her way into your brain, leading you down the path that will turn you into just the perfect servant for the Eldest?” He leaned in across the table. “Have you even considered that Hecate may be in league with them?”
“Sterling,” Carver hissed. “That is a serious accusation. Don’t speak so lightly about such things.”
“That’s impossible,” I said, getting angry myself now, my body hitching across the table, my fingers digging into the wood. “The entities only ever act in their self-interest. Even Loki in his fucking boredom only ever wanted chaos, disorder. I can’t believe that you, of all people, can’t be understanding about this. You know about all the sacrifices I’ve made – that we’ve all made – to make sure the Eldest don’t annihilate us all. Why the fuck are you so pissed at me for this, Sterling?”
Sterling’s gaze could have stripped my flesh from my skeleton. He spoke softly, slowly.
“Because as much as I joke about draining you of all of your blood, as much as I poke fun about your flimsy mortal husk and you dying, I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself like this. Have you told Herald? Your father?”
I stammered, grasping for straws as I answered. “N-no, I haven’t.”
Sterling sneered. “They don’t deserve this from you. None of us do. I’ve lived long enough to see my friends perish around me, one by one. Imagine what you would be doing to those you love, if you changed, if you disappeared. What if the ritual corrupted you? And what if it failed? What if you died?”
He tossed back the contents of his demitasse, wincing as the lukewarm espresso made its way down his throat. He settled it back down on its equally tiny saucer, then stood up, tugging on his leather jacket.
“I’m done here. I’ve said what I had to say. Gonna go feed, or fuck, I don’t know. Anything to forget that this is something I’ll need to deal with. I’ll see you both back at the Boneyard.”
I watched in stunned silence as Sterling stalked away from the coffee shop, angrily lit a cigarette, and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. Carver sighed.
“He screams because he cares. Sterling is older than any of you at the Boneyard, but in many ways he is still young. He hasn’t filed away what’s left of his humanity, which is more than I can say for a vast swath of the undead that I’ve personally encountered. Of course, that turns the question on you, Mr. Graves.”
He turned to me, folding his hands together, his buffed nails gleaming as brightly as the jewels on his fingers. “Just how much of your humanity are you willing to surrender?”
Chapter 7
“Love you lots, Dad,” I said, giving Norman Graves my hugest smile.
“Love you more, buddy,” he said, tousling my hair in one hand like he used to, making me feel small again, like a kid.
I hugged him on his front porch, and he didn’t close the door until he saw me turn the corner away from his house, beaming and smiling the whole time, like it was my first day taking the bus to school all on my own.
From one father to another, I thought. After finishing our coffees, Carver and I went our separate ways. He still had misgivings about Hecate’s ritual, but considering what we had to fight Agatha Black with – our combined power against hers the equivalent of a peashooter going up against a cannon – he didn’t exactly forbid me outright. Even the Lorica could only do so much, and they’d raided everything that Luella Brandt had kept of her mother’s to follow Agatha’s movements with scrying. Somehow, the thirteen witches were always one step ahead. I scoffed, kicking at the ground. Thirteen steps ahead, more like.
I thought back to when I said my goodbyes to Carver at the coffee shop. “You are old enough, grown enough in your power to make your own choices, Dustin,” he said, much like a father. And, much like a father, he added: “As if there was anything I could do to stop you. You’ve made up your own mind, anyway.”
He was right. I had. I thought about it the whole way to Dad’s house, all the way through our steak dinner – he grilled it himself, and cooked everything else up, sides and all. He grilled me about Herald, too, and I promised I’d bring him over for dinner properly some other day. The entire time my heart thumped with the prospect of completing Hecate’s ritual, with the fear and thrill of it. The whole time, when Dad asked if everything was okay at work, I tried to pretend that I wasn’t lying.
“You definitely left out a lot of details,” a voice in my head rumbled.
I kicked at the pavement and huffed, now a couple of blocks away from Dad’s house, my hands warm in the soft recesses of the hoodie Herald had given me so long ago.
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” I answered through my mind.