3.11. Blood and Guts

As usual, there was blood everywhere. Andreas sighed miserably and shook a bit of human entrails off his boot. It was a boat house of some variety, but it might as well have been a slaughterhouse for all the bits and the smell. He had done his fair share of butchery over the aeons, but this was beyond the pale.

“Why can’t she just talk to people?” he demanded as he spotted his lover. Hector looked up and effected a small shrug.

“You try explaining that torture isn’t always necessary to a woman like Medea, you’ll likely end up like that,” he said, pointing at what looked like the remains of a skull. The brain was leaking out, somehow pooling sadly below it. Andreas decided not to dwell on how it had reached such a liquid state.

“Did we get anything at least?”

“Apparently we did,” Hector replied, gesturing at vaguely-visible sigils written all over walls, “according to  Mercedes, these are Keys to open a Gate to Hell, or something.”

“So...what? We’re going to storm Hades and retrieve Amy?”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple a plan,” Hector assured him, “not even Medea is a match for the Prince.”

“But does she knows that?” Andreas murmured, then, seriously, “as long as she lets us in on the plan, I don’t like the idea of Lucifer screwing around with the order of things.”

“If the Elder would get off their behinds and help it would make a difference.”

“So you believe we should go to Reveille?” Andreas asked, they had not discussed this before.

“I believe we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“You’re not wrong, love,” Andreas agreed, scraping some unknown visceral matter off the sole of his boot, “not wrong in the least.” 

3.10. Assurances and Reassurances

The house felt full now that there were actual people in it; for Jessica this changed the very timbre of the atmosphere, adding all manner of colours and hues to the odd sense of sight she now had. For the most part, the newcomers were strangers to her; as Morgan’s apprentice it had never been necessary for her to meet or work with other witches. Aeron introduced them to her one at a time so she could get a feel for the sound of everyone’s voices, not that she could remember them all, but a few stuck out. Michael’s presence was always there, somewhere in the room – the coven had accepted his presence as part of her own, and if there were any questions they were asked out of earshot.

“You alright, Jessica?” Delia asked her softly.

“Yeah, just a little overwhelmed.”

“You’ll get used to it,” came the reassuring reply, “or not...Morgan just referred to everyone as ‘dear’ or ‘darling’, I guess that helped.”

Jessica laughed.

“I think I might be a little young to call people that.”

“You’re the Diviner, you can come up with something else more appropriate.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jessica said, “right now I’m more concerned about how I’m supposed to be choosing the new Coven Master.”

Delia patted her hand in a maternal fashion, odd for someone her age and a small part of Jessica resented it.

“It’s meant to come to you, I don’t think you’ve got much to worry about.”

Jessica bit her tongue; she was really tired of people telling her there was ‘nothing to worry about’. No, she thought sarcastically, I’ve got blind, see weird colours and occasionally have weird dreams about the end of the world.

“At least all the candidates are here now, right?” she asked instead.

3.9. Clues and Acquaintances

“You’re a witch,” Alyxa said accusingly.

“I would have thought that was obvious, given the shop we’re in, my dear.”

Alyxa found herself blushing.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“As for being a witch, so are you,” the older woman pointed out, “a particularly powerful one.”

“What makes you say that?”

-She’s got eyes,- Bast muttered, stretching out to soothe her hackles, -you’re here with us.-

Alyxa blinked and looked at the cat and then at the Dream God disappearing down the narrow aisle of books.

“My name is June. The Lady Bast I know by reputation,” the old witch went on, following Alyxa’s gaze, “the other...I cannot name.”

Morpheus stuck his head out from around the end of the bookshelf.

“I am Morpheus, Lord of Dreams, Wandering King, Master of Reveille, Prince of – ”

-I think she gets it, kitten,- Bast cut in.

“Are you sure?” Morpheus asked, tilting his head curiously at June.

“I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Lord Morpheus,” the witch assured him.

“Of course,” Morpheus agreed, taking it for granted. Alyxa couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him.

-Now...you wouldn’t happen to have a tea-like last name would you, June?- Bast asked slyly, her narrow face looking decidedly pointed at the question.

“Darjeeling? You’re looking for young Maye then, I assume.”

“Actually, yes, we are,” Alyxa replied, glad that they were finally making some headway.

“She is my great-niece,” June said softly, “she said people would come looking for her. I didn’t expect you. What do you want with her?”

-She cost us something precious in exchange for her newfound powers,- Bast snarled.

“What precious something?” June queried.

“An Unbound Dreamer. Traded to Lucifer,” Morpheus stated, “a trade this world cannot afford.”

“Then it is true, and Lucifer wishes to bridge the Rift. How interesting.”

3.8. Dust and Cobwebs

“Can I help you? Or are you happy to browse?” the elderly woman behind the counter queried politely when Alyxa and Bast came in.

“Um...just looking, thanks,” Alyxa replied. The old woman nodded and smiled. The shop was incredibly narrow, as though it had been squished between two buildings as an afterthought by some enterprising young architect bent on efficiency.

Floor to ceiling, the place was packed full of dusty books, jars full of herbs and spices, and all manner of ingredients for ritual, spell, charm or brew. Alyxa had never seen so much witchery in one place, not even in Maye’s spellroom. Morpheus was running his fingers along the spines of a few books.

“Morph-” Alyxa started, halting herself when she realised ‘Morpheus’ wasn’t the most common name in the world, “what are you doing?”

“Searching,” he replied stoically.

“For what?” Alyxa demanded impatiently, but he had wandered down the aisle of shelves already.

“Where’s that accent from, dear?” the old lady asked. Usually such a question, prying into her personal affairs, would have rankled Alyxa, but it was posed so politely that she felt quite happy to reply.

“Oh, I’m English but I lived in France for a few years when I was little.”

“How wonderful,” the old lady declared, “I visited Paris as a girl. A long time ago.”

“Oh, neat,” Alyxa replied, trying to be polite.

“My family is from India, originally, most of us lived in England, but some came down here. What brings you to Australia?”

-This old bat likes to talk,- Bast commented, jumping onto the countertop.

“Only about interesting things, Cat Queen,” the old lady replied without missing a beat.

Bast’s fur fluffed itself into a fury and she hissed.

“You...you can see her?” Alyxa asked softly.

“Of course, dear, can’t you?”