“My dear, I would love nothing more than to help you stand up to your mother.”
Persephone grinned and they teleported to her room in the Upperworld. Hecate got to work, instructing Persephone in the art of summoning spells.
“First, we must cleanse this area,” she said, burning sage and carrying the smoking bundle around the room. Once she was finished, Hecate used her magic to draw a triple circle on her floor.
“Conjuring the living is no different from conjuring the dead,” Hecate explained. “In both cases you are summoning the soul so the spell is the same.”
Hecate gave Persephone a piece of obsidian and a piece of quartz.
“Obsidian for protection,” she said. “And quartz for power.”
After that, she produced a black candle which she placed in the center of the triple circle. She hovered over it, her eyes lifting to meet Persephone’s.
“When I lite this candle, the spell is complete. Your mother will hear the call.”
“Are you sure she will come?”
The Goddess shrugged. “There is a chance she may resist, but I doubt your mother will give up the chance to see you.”
“You don’t know how angry she was when we last spoke.”
“You are still her daughter,” Hecate said. “She will come.
Hecate bent, cupping her hand over the wick of the candle. Persephone saw the goddess’s lips move, and when she pulled away, a black flame flickered.
“Shall I leave you now?”
Persephone nodded. “Yes, thank you, Hecate.”
She smiled. “Just blow out the candle, when you are ready for her to leave.”
Persephone bit her lip. “You are sure she won’t be able to stay?”
Or hurt me?
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“Only if she is invited,” Hecate promised before vanishing.
Persephone was alone for only a few minutes when the smell of sage and burning wax was cut with the scent of wildflowers and a sharp chill.
Strange.
Demeter’s magic usually felt warm like a pale spring sun.
Persephone turned, and found her mother standing in the shadow of her room. Demeter hadn’t changed, except for looking far more severe than she remembered. She wore blue robes, and her gold hair lay straight, parted at the center, framing her beautiful and cold face. Her antlers were both elegant and dreadful. They filled space, making Persephone’s room more cramped. She was perfection, and her presence sucked the air out of Persephone’s lungs.
“Daughter,” she said coldly.
“Mother,” Persephone acknowledged.
The goddess of harvest studied Persephone, probably picking apart her appearance. Demeter hated her curly hair and freckles, and when given the chance, she’d cover them up with her glamour. Whatever she saw there didn’t change her severe expression, and after a moment, her gaze swept the room.
“Am I too hopeful? Have you summoned me to beg my forgiveness?”
Persephone wanted to laugh. If anyone should beg forgiveness, it was Demeter. She was the one who had kept Persephone a prisoner most of her life, and even when she’d released her, it had been on a long leash.
“No, I have summoned you to tell you to stop interfering with my life.”