Will of Shadows: Inkwell Trilogy 2 (The Inkwell Trilogy)

by Aaron Buchanan

  I called Joy.

  “Grey—something’s happened.” Her voice trembled with fear, maybe even panic.

  “I know. I’m watching the news here. Please tell me you know something?” I implored her to tell me this was just part of Athena’s plan she met with me about—to euthanize the fading gods. It did not matter that it made no sense; that the Sucikhata was still safely squirreled away in my vault; that Athena was not one for spectacle, in any case.

  She started and stopped. She had been crying and continued to. “There all dead, Grey. Anyone who was there. Diomedes.” She did not say Athena.

  “Have you spoken with Athena? Is she okay? Victoria?”

  “I couldn’t reach Athena, but Victoria finally picked up. They weren’t in Windsor. But Diomedes was. He was their protector. Victoria said they murdered him first.”

  “But…” I was at a loss. “How?”

  “Stabbed, Grey. Victoria says it’s a horror. She’s the one who set the fire to cover up the ichor. She says Athena is tracking those who did it.” On the news, they were not reacting to anyone finding bodies bleeding gold fluid. The bodies they likely found were those of nurses, orderlies, food service staff, janitors; anyone else lost in the carnage.

  Or maybe first responders were finding other bodies flaked with golden blood. Perhaps it just wasn’t being reported.

  “Oh.” It was not a commensurate response with what Joy was telling me. But none of it made sense. “How could they have been stabbed, Joy? You and I are the only ones who can open my vault? Oh no…”

  “Oh no what?” she murmured.

  “Pushan. Urania. They were there too, weren’t they?” It only just then occurred to me about our former traveling companion and Hindu god.

  “She didn’t say any names. She just said everyone. Are you coming back to…” she broke off, unwilling to name her location over the phone either by paranoia or because of some intelligence given to her by Victoria. “Are you coming back here?”

  “Yes. But I have to check the vault. Cool Luke will still be there when we intended. But I’m going home. I’ll be in touch.” I pressed the button to end the call.

  Cool Luke put an arm around me. I collapsed into him.

  He held my weight easily as I sobbed into his shoulder.

  * * *

  Cool Luke and I took the same flights that connected in Frankfurt, Germany to JFK. There we parted ways and, after renting a vehicle and driving around Windsor to the east to avoid traffic, I finally arrived in Springfield about four hours after we landed.

  I found myself experiencing something I had never felt before; something that I could not have recognized at the time: despair.

  It dogged me from the pub in Ankara to winding back roads of Connecticut and into Massachusetts.

  Shred gone.

  Diomedes. Pushan. Urania.

  I felt utterly empty; a husk of a human being relying on ingrained habit to carry me home. And once I got there, I knew there would be no respite. No hope.

  It was a cycle of dread and despair.

  I parked the rental in a narrow alleyway behind a house whose occupant I knew to be a hoarder—and would never do anything about the vehicle parked behind her house. It was a three-block-walk to my house. Along the way I cloaked myself so no one would see me enter.

  The impossibility of someone breaking into my vault was something I now had to consider. Gavin had done it…sort of. What if he had worked some spellwork while inside that would allow him to return?

  The house was heavily warded. Dangerously so. No one should have even been able to get through the doors of my house, let alone into the even more heavily warded vault.

  Once inside, I navigated immediately into the basement and faced the door of the vault. It took several tries to clear my mind enough to open it, but once it did, I darted inside.

  Joy and I had reorganized and catalogued everything. The Sucikhata was precisely on the shelf where we left it, wholly undisturbed.

  No one else should have been able to enter the cave in Cevennes to access the Well of Gods. No one could have hewn any more of the strange obsidian-like rock from the cavern to make another weapon.

  I sat on the floor, taking the scrying chest out of my bag. I was out of blood to use for it, so jabbed a thumbnail hard into my forearm to draw more blood.

  I wrote out the question: Is the Sucikhata in my vault?

  I dropped the paper in the box as I eye-balled the item sitting on the shelf.

  The answer was No.

  I squeezed out more blood and asked another question: Is what I think to be the Sucikhata a forgery?

  Yes.

  The answer came, black and oily. I suddenly found myself recoiling in disgust at the object and not for the first time did I wonder if using the scrying chest and the blood magic that it required were affecting me somehow.

  I fell back, staring at the ceiling of the vault, tears streaming. I thought I had cried enough that it wasn’t possible to do so any more.

  I was wrong.

  I sobbed even more and retched. With my supply of tears exhausted, I found myself screaming at the walls that buried any sound above a whisper. It was strange how the vault even kept sound locked within, like so many of its secrets.

  I rolled over onto my haunches. I had to think. To remember.

  Who was the last one to definitively hold the Sucikhata?

  Then I remembered our time back in London after the battle at Cevennes. Joy and I were touring the city and had scheduled to meet the one who picked it up after the battle.

  It was raining that day. And now that I looked back, it was so easy to see how ill-at-ease I was, even then, for some inexplicable reason. We met at Piccadilly Circus. Under the statue.

  His statue. Cupid’s statue.

  This was all Cupid.

  Though I was reticent, I could not help but scrying one more question: Where is Cupid?

  Hidden.

  I had no way of being sure, but only someone—or some magoi—skilled enough could possibly shroud Cupid in such a way.

  Lou Sunderlin was right. My dad, though he was never specific, was also right. He hid me. He kept me in the dark. All because The Triginta could not be trusted; and, perhaps, without endangering me, I could not be trusted with all the facts or else unwittingly become a pawn of The Triginta’s inner circle.

  I saw the necklace Mania had given me back at the Athens trivium on the shelf next to the faux-Sucikhata, along with the bronze coin Pushan had given me back in London. I stowed the coin in my pocket, but grabbed the necklace and clutched it hard, letting its surface dig into my palm before putting it into the inner pocket of my jacket. I climbed the basement stairs and left my house.

  I was also still cloaked, so I was surprised when someone grabbed me from behind.

  “Grey, we must speak,” the old crone said. Zala appeared less put together than when I last saw her in San Francisco. She sounded frantic. “They’re there. Waiting for you at Island Lake!”

  It was surprising. I could not begin to imagine how they would even know about the cabin, but if The Cor knew where it was, then it made too much sense. “They’re waiting for me? That’s easy enough to solve.”

  I sent a text message to Joy: Will be there shortly. Take Sean and Lou out to dinner in Cadillac. Text me when you get there so I know where to go.

  The next message was to both Athena and Victoria: Lake retreat compromised. Extract the three?

  Seconds later I received the message back from Victoria: Working on it.

  At the moment, I knew where to go. Years ago I saw shadows that did not belong. Even though I was young, I knew they did not belong in our world.

  That was why my father took us back then. There was an opening to the shadow world there.

  My last message was to Korezeloth: Meet me in Chattanooga as quickly as you can get there.

  Epilogue

  It was a mess. An unequivocal, higgledy-piggledy mess. Selene knew what t
he god had planned and had even helped him execute portions of the plan—it wasn’t every day one wiped 200 gods off the face of the world.

  But it was on the television. People were reacting. Of course, they were blaming the wrong people and that did work in their favor, but international headlines were something else entirely. A gas leak and explosion would have made more sense to hide the evidence. Surely those investigating the scene forensically would not have looked too hard at the charred remains.

  It did not matter now. Even if the Muslim terrorists falsely took credit for the slaughter, there would assuredly be questions. And investigations. And even more questions. Questions could lead to consequences. In a way, they always did.

  “Have you figured out how we’re going to spin this?” Selene asked the Italian man sitting across the table from her.

  Meanwhile, the god Cupid, skulked about the empty board room, drinking the mud-colored draft she had prepared for him.

  The chairman of The Entelechy brooded, seeming to contemplate the question.

  Selene grew frustrated. If it was workable, she would work a spell and dispense with the haughty chairman entirely. Even if it would be accompanied by Cupid’s wrath.

  Sol Invictus sat at the other length of the table, across from where Cupid would have been if he were idle. He, too, sipped at the mud-colored mixture. It was not as potent as Cupid’s but it did contain some of the same active ingredients. There was no way he was happy about matters either. He seemed to seethe with rage.

  Cupid, however beamed. His smile was as radiant as the first time he presented the plan to the members of The Cor.

  “We can use our contacts within the media to affirm that the Islamic group takes full credit. If the scene is further examined, we’ll do what we’ve done in the past and throw enough money and favors to silence those who look too closely,” Macciocchi said.

  Sol Invictus sniggered. Selene could not help but smirk at the reaction.

  “There will be retribution. Those who remain will be looking for you, in particular, Saul.” He, of course, realized this. Selene, however, was not entirely sure that Macciocchi did. “There is only one Sucikhata. And the logomancer buried the box so deeply in the earth, we have virtually no chance of ever recovering it. Especially at a UNESCO site.”

  “It took all the resources we had just to clear the area for 24 hours. So, you’re correct.” Macciocchi’s smarminess only further galled Selene. She cast a glance at Sol Invictus whose head was buried in his hands, no doubt attempting to quell his anger.

  “The logomancer and her allies should be of paramount concern.” Cupid finally spoke. The smile disappeared. “Even now, our operatives are moving against them. They’re not likely to trouble us much longer.”

  Selene had heard of Grey Theroux. She knew her grandfather personally. Even intimately on occasion. If she were anything like him, should would be among the most formidable of mages. It was a stroke of luck her father kept her training to a minimum. Just as suddenly, Selene recalled Grey’s mother, Penthesilea Bowness.

  She was cunning, ruthless. Her intellect was keen, and her abilities lethal. She was likely among the most dangerous people Selene had yet come across. And she was not even a mage. The Wayfarer proved more dangerous than nearly any member of The Triginta. If Grey were anything like both her and her grandfather?

  Selene beat down the inclination to panic, composed herself, and spoke: “Still, it would be the height of folly to disregard Ms. Theroux. I realize you have had limited interactions with her, but with the help of her two friends, she nearly wiped us out in Turkey. I also have it on good word that she killed Triolo herself. Even in Cevennes, you acknowledged she was fierce. When it comes to her, we need to account for more than the sum of her parts. She has certainly shown she has her mother’s killer instinct.”

  Cupid finally sat down at the table across from Sol Invictus, who raised his eyes up to address Cupid. “Is she still a part of the plan or can we dispatch her as well?”

  “Like Selene has stated—there is much more to Grey Theroux than we can say at this time. Our men are already in place in Michigan and, as we speak, prepare to take out everyone who remains. They are under my orders to wait until Ms. Theroux arrives.” Cupid stood up, bending over the table, looking at Macciocchi, then Saul, then Selene.

  “I trust you know of the Malthusian limit?” Cupid asked.

  Around the table, Sol Invictus and Macciocchi nodded. Selene could acknowledge that it sounded vaguely familiar, but could not place in what context she had heard the term before.

  Selene’s expression betrayed her, as Cupid addressed her directly. “At the end of the 18th Century, Thomas Malthus posited that humans find happiness in seeing through the growth of the species, but once that population outpaces the production of food, a catastrophe occurs to reset the balance once more. The next Malthusian catastrophe, though, will almost certainly spell the end of humanity and gods, both.”

  Selene nodded, finally recognizing—still vaguely—of what Cupid spoke.

  Cupid sighed. “We’ve crossed a threshold. The inhabitants of this planet stand at the precipice of enlightenment or extinction.” He raised the glass of liquid that was nearly drained and emptied it. “This is why we have undertaken this. We take in the ichor and essence of the former gods and unify part of them within us. Given the dangers, given what is at stake, it is time for us to eschew the heavy-handed, sycophantic tactics of rEvolve. That is why Progress is no longer with us. Between Sol Invictus, me, and our ally in America, we will become the new trinity to guide the earth. We are gods of light, love, and spirit. We will shepherd our people to a meaningful, self-reliant future.”

  “It sounds so benevolent when you put it this way. But is relying on more of your divine intervention the way to accomplish this?” Macciocchi wondered, leaning back in his black leather chair. He was looking at a paper on the pad in front of him, but shifted his eyes toward Cupid.

  Cupid nodded. “Humans want and need affirmation, but for a species ironically capable of accomplishing so much, they have, historically, been unable to work out their own salvation. The way forward is a new religion with only preservation at its heart, but unlike our opportunistic predecessors, we will see our people through the peril and step back. Retire and admire our handiwork. And if we do it correctly, they might not even notice who saved them from the brink.”

  Not for the first time, Selene wondered if The Cor were, in fact, acting on humanity’s best interests. The Triginta were neither interested in the preservation of the gods, nor the ideal of reaching for some romantic notion of what humanity could one day be—entelechy. Selene merely wanted to save her species and if that meant bowing to old gods in new clothing, then so be it.

  So, Cupid, draw back your bow

  And let your arrow go

  Straight to my lover's heart for me, nobody but me

  Cupid, please hear my cry

  And let your arrow fly

  Straight to my lover's heart for me

  Now, Cupid

  Don't you hear me

  Calling you?

  I need you

  Cupid

  Help me

  I need you

  Cupid

  Don't fail

  —Sam Cooke, Cupid

  Acknowledgements

  The bulk of this novel was written during National Novel-Writing Month, but some components—and the ending—were not added until much later. I’m pleased with the overall product and could not have made it without the help of my readers: Abby Brueggen and my sister, Karen Buchanan, and especially Brandi Clark. My wife also proved to be a valuable sounding-board for wading through various ideas. Much love and many thanks to all!

  These are strange times, but I also think we are forced to reckon that all times are strange. Hopefully this volume provided some entertainment and a new lens through which to view these times.

  Cover art by Alan G. Brooks

  bsp;

  Aaron Buchanan, Will of Shadows: Inkwell Trilogy 2 (The Inkwell Trilogy)