landed on the counter. Karter squirmed in the grip of the black dog.
“Heel,” said the woman. The dog retreated and Karter grabbed his leg to stanch the bleeding. The woman turned back to Mrs. Redmond. “Katrina Valek.”
“Wha—what?” I stammered.
The woman narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Redmond in a way that sent a bolt of pure, unfiltered terror straight through me. “You’ve denied your own name? Melissa Redmond, Louise Farris, Angela Carroll. Lies.”
My mind looped back on itself. Those were names from the apothecary’s ledger. She’d been here, trying to get access to the Heart for years, decades.
“How did you find them?” the cloaked woman asked. She closed her hand tighter around Mrs. Redmond’s—Katrina Valek’s—throat when she didn’t respond. “The guardians of the Heart. How did you find them?”
Katrina kicked her legs wildly. The woman loosened her grip slightly.
“Jason’s line remains,” Katrina gasped. “We’ve been hunting them since the Heart’s inception. We should be the ones to reap the benefits of its magic.” Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
“The keepers of the Heart determine who is and is not worthy of possessing it,” said the woman.
“Why?” Katrina asked, angrily. “Why do they get to decide? Selene was selfish. She wanted to keep it for herself!”
“To protect it,” said the woman. “And you slaughtered her like an animal.”
I flinched. It hurt to hear what Mrs. Redmond—Katrina—had done to Selene. The woman paused for a moment, glancing back at me. Her gaze was hypnotic. There was something unnatural about the way she moved, the way she spoke.
“You will not wield it,” said the cloaked woman. “You are not worthy of the power it will grant you.”
“I deserve to be among them! Among the gods!”
The tall woman tilted her head back and let out a laugh that shook the walls and rattled the floor. “You deserve no such thing.”
Katrina struck the woman in the face. She didn’t even flinch. With a flick of her wrist, the woman tossed Katrina onto the floor. The dog descended on her, sinking its teeth into her shoulder. She wailed in agony.
I stumbled back to where Mo sat with Mom’s lifeless body. My ears popped like the air pressure in the room had changed. A huge, black void appeared by the door. Heat radiated from it, so stifling I threw my hand up to cover my eyes. It burned my nose and the inside of my throat.
The dog pulled Katrina toward the opening. Somewhere inside was a light like a smoldering ember. In one angry motion, the dog whipped its head and tossed her into the void. The last thing I saw before Katrina disappeared were her wild, terrified eyes.
The woman picked up the vial of Living Elixir and walked over to where Karter lay. She crouched over him. “Leave this place and never return.”
Karter stumbled to his feet. Limping toward the door, he glanced at me. The giant dog growled angrily and Karter rushed out of the apothecary.
The tall woman rose and came toward me. Mo scooted back, dragging my mom with her, but I stood and faced her. She reached out and cupped my face in her hands. Her skin was cool and smooth to the touch. She smelled like fire.
A strange feeling swept over me. It was like I knew her. My deep fear was tempered with a deep sense of understanding. “Please. My mom, she’s—she’s hurt.”
“She’s dead,” the woman said.
Grief washed over me again. The woman wiped away my tears with the sleeve of her cloak. “Death is only painful for the living.” Her gaze moved over my face. She traced my jawline. Her hand, from palm to fingertips, was longer than my entire face. Her shoulders were inhumanly broad, and she was taller than me while kneeling. I stared at the woman whose appearance seemed to shift as we stood in the shadows.
Her face grew softer, her eyes more luminescent. “Do you know me?”
“I—I don’t know,” I stammered. I didn’t, but I felt like I should.
“You all look so much alike, the members of this ancient family. My family.”
I blinked. This wasn’t Medea if the portraits that hung around the house were accurate, but she did look a bit like her. The women were connected somehow . . .
It suddenly dawned on me that I knew exactly who she was.
“Hecate.”
Her eyes turned to liquid gold in the darkness. She nodded gently.
“But Medea—the stories—she was your devotee.”
“My daughter,” she corrected. “And Absyrtus, my son.”
My heart raced as the revelation seeped into my brain.