thunderstruck | book #2 | discontinued

X V I I I

Hecate was beautiful. Even shrouded in shadows, she seemed to emit an eerie silver glow that reminded Remy of a new moon in a clouded sky. It was difficult to look anywhere but at her, for she demanded everyone's attention—even the warlocks' and witches' who stood on either side of her like guards outside of the queen's palace.

Remy could not help but wonder why she was here, and brushed her clothes down self-consciously. Beside her, Hilda was as still as stone, her green eyes frozen on the woman in front of her.

"You must be Remy, the mortal girl," Hecate smiled. She had been sitting on a large slab of marble, but now she stood up politely. "And Hilda. It is nice to see you again. You look well."

"I am as well as I can be, thank you." Hilda sounded about as friendly as Remy had ever heard her, and if she was not standing in an underground tunnel that sheltered the goddess of witchcraft, she might have been surprised by it. "Thank you for inviting us. I must admit, I was surprised to have received your message. It has been a while since we last spoke."

"I hope you will forgive me for that. We live eternally, and yet there is never enough time to do all that is desired. It is nice to finally be reunited, though, even if it is under such dire circumstances."

Every word she said sounded musical. The way slivers of gold danced beneath the witch's dark skin was enough to hypnotise Remy, and she could not help but wonder how the key, which had caused so much fear and pain, could have been created by such a being as her.

Hecate stepped forward so that she was only a few inches from Remy and Hilda. All that stood between them now were a three steps where the platform she was on began, and a cool breeze seemed to radiate from her, though it did not shift her flowing robes or blow her hair out of place. It passed through Remy, though, causing strands of her hair to curl at the ends and float weightlessly behind her. The torchlight spattered painted silhouettes across the walls over and over. The only thing that remained unmoving and constant was Hecate and her braced guards.

"I believe you brought the key, young one?"

It took Remy a moment to realise that Hecate was talking to her, and she reached into her back pocket, nodding with urgency. "Yes. It's here."

She thrust the key out in front of her, taking a few steps forwards so that she could hand it over.

"I do not wish to hold it. I only needed reassurance that it still belongs to you." Hecate blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, Remy noticed how strange they were. They seemed to possess a whole galaxy, with swirls of purples and dark blues pooled around clusters of gold flecks. There were no pupils, and no whites surrounding the iris.

"I don't understand," Remy said, frowning and lowering the key. It was cold, icy cold—the opposite to how it usually felt when she encountered warlocks and witches. "This key never belonged to me. I wore it around my neck because I found it washed up on a beach in the Mortal World. Why would you want me to have it?"

"How can you say it does not belong to you after all it has done for you?"

"All it has done for anyone is start a war and put people in danger."

"That is not all it has done," she responded in a knowing tone, and descended the steps until she was face to face with Remy. She was much taller than her, even when they were stood on even ground, and she looked more like a painting than a real person. She was all golds and purples and silvers merging together like watercolours, and her skin gleamed where the light bounced off it. Remy had barely believed Maksim to be real with his beauty—how could she be? "It has saved your life on more than one occasion. It has protected you from unclean hands. It has given you a new source of life. Am I wrong?"