He was such a good boy, Hecate thought, as she fetched a tea towel from the small kitchen down the hall and mopped up as much of the water as she could. Hecate sometimes wished more people would just let her tell them what they needed to do. And then listen when she spoke.
Will did listen. He shuffled when she told him to shuffle, chose cards when she asked him to, and together they asked, over and over, Where is Clio?
Where is Clio? Where is Martin? What are we missing that will lead us to them? It didn't matter what spread she used, the cards told the same story: self-centered ambition attempting to corrupt a pure creative force and bend it to his will. They knew that.
And they didn't need the cards to tell them the strength Clio was going to need, or the fact that the obstacles in their way were as simple and impassible as the millions of people in this city, making one man and one goddess vanish, like needles in a giant pile of needles.
"Will," Hecate said, looking down at the spread she'd painted across the floor of Clio's office (as the night wore on, Martin's desk had proved far too restrictive - she needed the space on the floor) with a long sigh. "I wish I had clearer advice for you tonight. I get the sense that anything the cards tell me to tell you, you already know: you walk a long and difficult road but you do not walk it alone, so don't forget it. Your inner drive will only fail you if you let your burdens crush you, so... don't do that either. And that she will need you," she lifted her eyes to Will again, fingertips massaging the ache of tension at her temple. "But we both already know she'll need you at the end of this. I wish I could give you more to go on."