Page 24 of Untethering Dark

“What else would you like to know?”

Lots. What were his moments of joy? Did he have friends? Mates? Children? Or had he spent his whole life chasing one meal to the next?

Astrid paused, unsure of how to ask all that, and settled on asking about his kin instead.

A small, wan smile returned. “He shares some characteristics with other creatures, but truly? He’s the only one of his kind, as far as I’ve been able to tell.”

That sounded incredibly lonely. Ten thousand years or more without kindred? Astrid had Johanna and Suri. Perchta and Dahlia. Not a big circle by any means, but they were each just a scrying spell or trip down the mountain away. Her time spent alone might be weeks, maybe months, but never years, let alone centuries or whole millennia.

Ten thousand years or more of solitude was incomprehensible.

“No mates or offspring that I’m aware of either,” Perchta continued. “And I’ve kept pretty good tabs on der Schwarzwald for the past six hundred years.”

Mutter spoke of centuries like humans spoke of decades, and Astrid hadn’t yet lived long enough to get quite used to it.

Before returning to der Schwarzwald, where she was born sometime in the 500s C.E., Perchta spent numerous centuries with Astrid’s adopted coven-sister Dahlia and her horde of children abroad. Completing the final hag’s rite bestowed them with longevity. For someone who was actually by definition “ancient,” Perchta was a “comely crone” as Dahlia sometimes teased.

A life bound to magic staved off the ravages of time and granted slow, graceful aging, even as the world around was a fast-forwarding motion picture of change. Maybe it was vanity, or fear of Death, or an arrogant desire to feel powerful and untouchable, but Astrid wanted it. To be a constant, a piece of history trapped in amber. To have her mother and sister for centuries, millennia even.

Eighty, ninety years would never be enough. There was too much to see, too much to do—now and in the days to come. She was resting now, but she wanted to tour the world over and over again. To see how it changed, to explore every nook and cranny she missed the first time around. She wanted to make her adventures with Dahlia a tradition they honored every century. And just as much, she wanted to better get to know her nieces, nephews, and niblings.

“You’d be Altes Geweih’s first.” Not this again. Mutter waggled her eyebrows. With her full mouth of sharp teeth on display, the expression was practically maniacal. “There’s extra magical potency in that.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “He’s at least ten thousand years old. I don’t believe for a second that in all that time, he’s not had sex once.”

The horny old woman waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be judgmental.”

“I’m not being judgmental. It’s statistically improbable.”

“Well, even if you’re not his first, the power you’d gain from him far surpasses what Demos can give you, as lovely as I’m sure he is. You only get this once. When the ritual is complete, and the transformation takes hold, the power you get is what you get. There’s no do-overs, no leveling up.”

“I know.” Her mother meant well, but annoyance seeped into Astrid’s tone.

More power would be nice, but everything was already arranged with Demos. Did she really want to throw that all out the window on the off chance that she might one day seduce Altes Geweih well enough that he’d agree to do the ritual with her? That could take months, years.

And Astrid didn’t have years, did she? Not if she was going to take up Perchta’s mantle as the Yuletide protectress of children and slayer of unworthy guardians. Comely crone or not, time was taking a toll on the winter goddess. Maybe a reprieve would restore her. Or maybe long living didn’t mean forever.

The thought knifed through Astrid’s chest, cruel and unexpected, then twisted. She turned away from the scrying bowl to blink back tears and pretend she was picking up a dropped towel.

If there was a chance, any chance at all, that shouldering Perchta’s responsibilities would extend her life, Astrid would do it a thousand times over.

It wasn’t a lack of ambition that put her on this course. Choosing Demos meant she could be a hag before the month was out, leaving her with the better part of the year to master Perchta’s Yuletide magic. She needed a sure thing.

And Perchta—even if she didn’t realize it—needed this to be a sure thing.

“Do you have feelings for Demos?”

Perchta’s question snapped Astrid back to the present.

Friendship. Camaraderie. A shared fondness for bed sport.

They always went their separate ways, sated and content, and that never pained her. No expectations, no commitments. Just fun—as much for him as it was for her. “I care about him, respect him, but not in the way you’re implying.”

“The choice is yours, and yours alone,” Perchta said softly. “Above all else, it’s a rite that should be undertaken with someone you care about and respect.”

The concession eased the fire in her chest. Her Hexe Mutter had always respected personal choice. Although she brought Astrid into the coven as a young child and trained her to be a competent witch, it was never with the expectation that she’d take the hag path. That had been Astrid’s choice.

Decorating done, Astrid began plating the cookies in an artful, spiraling arrangement.

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