Hecate was in the Enodia when Qebhet's message came through.
She was purifying one of her protected rooms, working her way in a circle through the self contained apartment. In every hotel she owned, she had a few of these rooms set aside, places that people could hide when they needed to. Places that would obscure them from hungry, searching eyes. The latest resident, Cornelia, had spent almost a month in here, moving out of a shaken, wounded state to a furious one, till she found her mind on the brink of being ready to heal. She'd moved out this morning, heading toward an aunt who lived in Baltimore.
The room was crowded with the ghosts of her pain, though. So Hecate was here, doing some spiritual housekeeping before she allowed the regular housekeeping to finish up.
Quebet's message stabbed through her peace of mind, a dark arrow of warning. Hecate lowered her smudge stick as her eyes turned toward her phone, lying near the fruit bowl, a shadowy aura of warning hanging over it.
The message was nonspecific and cast a bolt of ice down Hecate's spine. And Qebhet would not answer her phone.
Hecate did not swear even though she wanted to. She kept her breathing even and finished her circle of the room, muttering words of rest and peace and purification.
And then opened up the windows, and turned her attention back to Qebhet.
HELP.
First things first, Hecate needed to find her, and she wouldn't risk heading straight for the most obvious place - her home, first, the funeral home second - only to find Qebhet needed aid in the opposite direction.
She pulled open the cupboards and grabbed a mixing bowl, setting it down in the middle of the kitchen. Candles were already burning on the bench; Hecate did not like to work under electric lights. When she pulled open the small fridge her eyes protested, and she drew back, a little, against the unnatural light. Only for a moment though, before her hands searched through the supplies Cornelia hadn't used. Sitting back on her heels with a carton of cran-grape juice, Hecate eyed it a moment, then decided it would do.
She poured the dark liquid into the bowl, and it caught the candlelight and threw it back at her. Hecate let the breath flow through her, and leaned, introspectively, over the bowl.
"Qebhet," she said, her voice low and even and certain. "Show me where to find Qebhet."
It should have been simple. A simple question, a simple answer.