Valec interrupts. “Bloodcraft and Rootcraft are practitioner ideologies. Belief systems about how to best use aether. Some folks get very”—he sniffs—“stuffy about how they were raised in magic.” He gives Mariah a pointed look.

“So, Patricia was… wrong?” I ask Mariah.

She shakes her head. “Nah. Doc Hartwood’s not wrong. She’s just particular about her tradition. I know lots of practitioners like her, and lots who aren’t, like Aunt Lu.” She smiles, shaking her head. “We’re all raised on slightly different beliefs.”

Valec rolls his eyes. “There are a thousand different philosophies about the ‘right way’ to handle power once you possess it, metaphysical or not.” He turns back to me, eyes glinting. “But in the case of magic, there are only three methods that the living can use to access it.”

“Borrow, bargain, or steal…,” I murmur.

“Exactly. Your chosen belief system determines your acquisition method. Rootcrafters believe in balance, that magic is not theirs to own, so they preach borrowing. Fine, that’s their way. Bloodcrafters believe there is value in binding magic to their bloodlines permanently—as a morally questionable philosophy in the first place, its practitioners are usually the type to access power through theft. See: the Legendborn and the corresponding Abatement that is the universe correcting for that theft. But Bloodcrafters aren’t required to steal power. Nothing is stopping a Bloodcrafter from making a permanent bargain for her power instead.” He grins. “So, let’s review, shall we? Vera used magic for the practice of Bloodcraft, but how did she get that magic in the first place…?”

I think back. The request. Protect us, please. Then thousands of voices answering. A price. “Oh God. A bargain.”

He gestures to me with an open hand. “And who did Vera make the bargain with?”

“Her ancestors. Mine.”

“How many?”

“All… of them?”

“Well, damn.” Mariah looks at Valec, who whistles long and low.

“High reward like that requires a high price.”

I bite my lip. “ ‘One daughter at a time, for all time.’ And the mothers, my mother… they all die early.”

His eyes flicker with pain. “That’ll do it. But it wasn’t your ancestors who gave you that mark. Couldn’t have been.”

I blink. “Who did?”

“And what is it?” Sel demands.

Valec regards us all for a moment, and satisfaction turns to concern. “None of you know?”

Sel groans. “You’re enjoying our ignorance.”

“Yours, mostly.”

“Valec.” Mariah chides. “Even I don’t know. Just spit it out.”

Valec draws a deep breath through his nose. For the first time since I’ve met him, something like sympathy crosses his face, and his brows turn up in the middle when he faces me.

“To most demons, humans are fickle, short-lived things who lie. A lot.”

“Don’t demons lie?” I protest.