Blood Magic

  Confronting Lilith was gonna be a bitch. How was I going to do it, after we got these protection amulets made? All I knew was that it would murder my dad when he found out he’d slept with more than one crazy witch. For once, I wasn’t at all thrilled at the idea.

  I was so caught up in staring at the dark trees, thinking about Lilith’s sharp fingernails and whether or not I could get her to just back off and leave, I didn’t hear her come up behind me.

  The shuffle of grass warned me, and I started to turn, expecting Gram Judy. But a cold knife pushed against my neck, and her hand clutched my throat. “Hi, there, Nicky,” she said, her breath warm on my ear. “Isn’t this convenient?” It wasn’t Lilith’s voice.

  “Josephine,” I said, freezing up. The blade cut into my skin, and I tightened my jaw. My hands flexed into fists. I wanted so badly to jump away.

  “Very good!”

  Golden curls spilled into my sight as she tilted her head around, pushing the dagger into my neck and using my shoulder to climb over the cemetery wall.

  It was Ms. Tripp. Looking younger than before in a leather jacket and tight jeans. She grinned. “Surprise!”

  I swallowed, and the motion dug the knife in deeper. Pain shot down into my chest, and I felt the first long drip of blood hit the collar of my shirt. “What do you want?”

  “Not you, alas.” She rolled her eyes. “But it will be much easier to get what I do want if you’re not being bothersome.” Her free hand slid into her jacket pocket.

  It was now or never. I knocked aside her arm.

  The knife left a searing hot pain in its wake. Josephine stepped back in surprise, but just as I moved to tackle her, she withdrew her pocketed hand and blew something into my face.

  Bits of powder pelted my cheeks and eyes. The dust went up my nose and I sneezed. Once and then twice, violently.

  It stung my eyes, and I was blinking away tears. My vision narrowed and blipped out like the TV of my life had snapped off.

  Small hands pushed at my chest and I stumbled back, flailing my arms to stop my fall. I landed on my ass, my head cracking back. The ground spun under me.

  SILLA

  The moment the sun sank past the horizon, I knew it. The silver edge to the gray light deepened into purple. Magic time.

  Reese had walked forward and put one hand on their gravestone. “Wish you were here,” he said quietly but off-handedly, like he was signing a postcard. “Okay, Silla, let’s go.” He turned to me and froze, staring over my shoulder toward the house. I whirled around.

  Ms. Tripp.

  She walked confidently, her leisurely steps bringing her through the maze of headstones. Instead of her usual sweater and neat bun, she wore a leather jacket and her curls bounced all around her face like a lion’s mane. Her smile made the hair stand up on my arms. “You kids are making this too easy for me, really.” She shook her head.

  “Who the hell are you?” I felt the anger vibrating from Reese through my back.

  “It’s Ms. Tripp,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and even as I slipped my hand into my jeans pocket and curled my fingers around my pocketknife.

  She shrugged. Casually, like we were meeting in a brightly lit restaurant and not a darkening cemetery. “Call me Josephine, if you prefer. It’s what your dad preferred.”

  “Is that your real body?” I asked, refusing to rise to her bait.

  Josephine actually spun for us. A little pirouette on one foot with her arms out.

  It’s what made me notice the blade in her hand. A big silver wedge of a butcher’s knife.

  We couldn’t give her the chance to use it. As she planted herself back onto the ground, I walked forward. “Leave us alone, Josephine. Get out of here. I won’t help you get the bones, and we don’t need you. We’ll fight you.”

  Her face fell into a pout, and she raised her knife, tapping it gently against the side of her face. It left a smear of blood. “That was Nick’s attitude, too, and look what happened to him.”

  My stomach dropped like I was on the upside-down loop of a roller coaster. “You’re lying.” I said it like a command, as if that would make it true. I flicked out my pocketknife.

  “Oh, Silla!” Josephine grinned and pressed her hands to her chest. The knife was pale and hard against the black leather jacket. “You’re delightful!”

  Reese grabbed my shoulders, hard. “Ow!” I jerked, but he said, “Stop struggling, darling.”

  He said it, and so did Josephine, at the exact same time.

  No. I twisted my neck, and he shook me, forcing my knees out so that I hit the earth hard enough to jar my teeth. I brandished the pocketknife, but they said, “Over here.” Their voices pounded at me in stereo, one high, one low and oh so familiar.

  How could I fight him?

  Reese dragged me to the grave, where Josephine leaned her hip against Mom and Dad’s grave marker.

  I struggled against him, digging my heels in and pulling away—I tried to flip open the pocketknife, but he shook me again, jostling my brain, and then he threw me to the ground. The knife hit beside me with a thud. I got up onto my hands and knees, fingers sinking into the graveyard dirt. His hand reached around me, and he dug the pocketknife out of the grass.

  Josephine grabbed my hair, pulling my head up. The pain brought tears to my eyes.

  I didn’t know what to do. Panic whirled in my stomach, making me go hot and cold in flashes.

  Reese knelt behind me, his strong arms trapping mine, and I could smell him, my brother’s outside, dry hay smell, with the undercurrent of oil that never quite went away because it had sunk into his skin and under his nails.

  “If you’d only cooperated,” Josephine grumbled as she bent in front of me, flashing the knife past my face. Reese finished the sentence, whispering harshly in my ear, “This wouldn’t—be—necessary.”

  Pinned between my brother and Josephine, I closed my eyes and thought frantically for a way out. I just needed blood. Just a little, to banish her from Reese, and to—to get away from her.

  “Please,” I whimpered, grateful for the tears that plopped out of my eyes. “Please stop, I’ll do what you want.” The mask I fit over my face was a sickly yellow, like vomit and fear. “Please, just don’t hurt me.” I clutched at Josephine’s jacket.

  Our eyes met, very close together. Hers were a raging blue, dark and flecked with gray at the edges. Beautiful like a tidal wave about to destroy you. They narrowed, studying me with a predator’s keen gaze. I held tight to my mask of terror, letting her see all the pain and fear I had for Reese, the doubt about what she’d done to Nick, the knowledge that she’d killed my parents and they couldn’t stop her, either.

  Josephine smiled. It softened her expression into one of almost friendliness, and she said very gently, “There, now, Silla. It will be better if you help willingly.”

  With a quick motion, she slashed my chest with her knife.

  Pain exploded as blood poured down from my collarbone like a necklace. I faltered back, but Reese caught me.

  “Just let your blood spill, Silla, and undo the curse you laid on this grave.”

  The reek of the blood burned in my nose, and I forced myself to open my eyes. Josephine stood and moved back just enough.

  Turning in Reese’s arms, I tugged down the neck of his T-shirt and slapped my bloody hand onto the permanent-marker rune I’d drawn over his heart that morning. “Be free, Reese!” I cried, pushing my burning magic from the raw cut over my heart all the way down my arm and into my brother.

  The shock of magic blew us both back, and Reese and I landed several feet apart. Reese’s eyes popped open wide and met mine, and I knew it was him in that instant. He leapt to his feet, a snarl on his face as he whirled to Josephine.

  I scrambled out of the way, smearing my hand across my chest to ready more blood. Together, Reese and I would finish her.

  With the roar of a warrior, Reese charged Josephine. She whipped her knife at him, and he caught her wrist in on
e hand. He had my pocketknife in the other. “You can’t have me anymore, Josephine,” he said. “My heart is shielded from you.”

  Josephine dug into her jacket and drew out a handful of something as dark as mud. She lifted it and threw it at Reese. He dodged the flying dust, releasing her wrist at the same time. Baring her teeth, she stabbed the knife into his chest.

  Through the heart rune.

  The world dropped out from under me.

  My scream caught in my throat.

  Josephine held on to the hilt where it stuck out from Reese’s ribs. She laughed.

  Reese’s head tilted down, and for a moment, he stared at the knife. So did I. So did Josephine.

  I could not move. Couldn’t breathe. My body was encased in stone. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

  Reese took a deep, impossible breath, and then swung his arm around, burying my pocketknife high in Josephine’s side.

  Her mouth popped open, and her eyes widened.

  The two of them leaned together, caught in a bloody embrace.

  Josephine yanked herself away, hands clasping the knife in her side. She staggered back, fell against a headstone.

  The cemetery spun like a merry-go-round as Reese dropped to his knees. I felt the contact vibration as if the ground was made of tin.

  His hands gripped the hilt.

  “No!” I shrieked, finally able to move. I jumped toward him, landing next to him and covering his hands with mine. “Don’t, don’t take it out.”

  “Sil.” His whisper was like dry leaves rubbing on my skin. He pulled the knife out in one smooth motion.

  Blood darkened his black T-shirt in a flood, and he swayed backward. I barely got behind him as he fell, landing on me. He coughed, his face contorting with pain. I wrapped my arms around him and grappled with the hole in his shirt, tearing. “I can heal it, Reese, I’ll regenerate this, I can do it.”

  The smell choked me, and red flashed over my eyes: red-soaked carpet, red splashed over gravel, red in a thick, chunky mess around what was left of my dad’s face. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed my hands over the slick wound, feeling waves of blood pour over my fingers with the rhythm of Reese’s heart.

  His breath bubbled. I shifted out from under him, laying Reese down on the dirt. On my knees, I smeared my filthy hand across the cut on my collarbone, sending shocks of fiery pain straight to my stomach. Then I pressed my blood to his.

  “Sil,” my brother whispered. He reached up and touched my face. “Be well,” he said.

  It sounded like a goodbye, but it wasn’t.

  It was magic.

  New pain scorched across my chest. The power surged up from the ground, from the air, from Reese. And into me. The leaves all around us flew up and spun around us in a tornado.

  Reese flared like a firecracker.

  Then his hand fell, slapping into the dry leaves of the forest floor.

  NICHOLAS

  Being temporarily blind was quite the eye-opener.

  My blood rushed in my ears, pounding against my skull like I was trapped underwater. Over and over, my heartbeat drowned me in the noise.

  Under me, the cemetery ground was cold and rough. I dug my fingers into thick grass, gripping as if my life depended on it.

  And it did.

  It was just me and the cemetery.

  I could hear everything. Grass against stone, the shuffle of my hands over dry leaves. Faraway wind blowing through trees. A billion bugs screaming like sirens.

  For the briefest instant, I thought I could hear the clouds blowing past overhead.

  Then a cry—Silla’s cry. Fear shot through me. I had to help her.

  Rolling over, I crawled to the cemetery wall. The rough edges were perfect. I shoved up and sat with my legs crossed, and before I could think harder, I reached up to the corner and dragged my hand over the edge as hard as I could.

  The pain was immediate, and I shouted. Cradling my hand against my chest, I was suddenly glad that I couldn’t see how badly I’d messed it up. Waves of pain pumped up my arm, and I felt blood and heat filling my palm.

  I could do this. It was in my hands—in my blood. “Blood to heal,” I whispered, thinking of my mom, who could do anything with just a little blood and a bad rhyme. Like the paper stars and hearts floating over my bed.

  I cupped my hand, squeezing it, letting the blood pool grow. My eyes were shut because it was easier than remembering I couldn’t see.

  Bending close to my hands, I sucked in a deep breath, full of coppery blood. I can do this, I thought again. “Blood of mine, magic ignite. Cleanse my eyes, and restore my sight.” I said it again as the itch drove up my spine and I felt the heat of magic burn in my scraped hand. In the total darkness, it was hard to believe anything had happened. I could feel myself blinking as I painted my own blood over my eyelids.

  I repeated my crappy rhyme a third time. Then I pressed my hands flat to my face, fingers over my closed eyes. For a second, I didn’t move.

  Rubbing my hands down, I slowly opened my eyes, blinking away drops of blood.

  Dim gray shapes blurred into view.

  I grinned, and a burst of shocked laughter shoved out of me. I’d done it! I’d beaten that bitch, and could see again. I’d won. With only my blood.

  I climbed to my feet, cradling my throbbing hand against my stomach, and looked out over the cemetery.

  The first real thing I saw was Silla, stumbling toward me. Her hands left scarlet prints on every headstone she touched.

  It is the worst thing I have ever done.

  My real name is Philip Osborn, and I killed a seventeen-year-old boy because I was afraid to die.

  SILLA

  Seven hours after they declared my brother dead, I heard flapping wings against my bedroom window.

  I’d been staring at the ceiling after hours of interrogation by Sheriff Todd, vomiting in the bathroom while Gram rubbed my back, and crying and crying as if my internal spigot had been turned to ON. I was tired enough that my blood felt like lead in my veins, but was unable to sleep. Unable to do anything but lie there while tears crept down my temples and into my hair. Nausea swam in my stomach like a goldfish.

  I wanted him back, more than I’d ever wanted anything. I imagined regenerating his body, pushing life back into it. Seeing his eyes open and his lips pull back into a smile … but he was dead. Just like Mom and Dad, he’d died and left me for someplace else. Someplace better, I hoped. If anybody deserved heaven, it was my brother.

  And his blood, like theirs, had soaked into my hands. Into the cloth of my jeans as I’d knelt in it. I’d smeared it everywhere: on headstones, on Nick. It had gotten on his face as I’d dragged him back to Reese’s body. I squeezed my eyes shut. My head pounded, and my sinuses burned.

  The wing beats shocked my heart into action. I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. Nothing.

  It was six in the morning, and the far eastern horizon—past Nick’s house, beyond the cemetery—glinted with gentle silver light. The maple tree in our front yard was still. My breath fogged the glass and I wiped it away, peering into the gloomy morning. Had I imagined the sound of feathers? Had it only been a gust of wind?

  A crow cawed, and I almost swallowed my tongue.

  Where was she? That horrible bitch! Tears scalded my eyes again as I thought of her, of her knife stabbing into my brother.

  One of the branches of the maple jerked as a crow took flight. It flapped toward me, screaming. I slapped my hand flat against the window, and the crow wheeled back, settling down again on the maple. Then I could see them. A dozen black crows hiding behind the leaves. Watching me.

  I whirled, ran downstairs, and slammed out the front door. The hard gravel poked into my bare feet, but I darted at the tree, waving my arms and yelling, “Go away! Leave me alone!” I hit the tree with my shoulder. “Go away!”

  The smooth bark bit back as I punched and slapped at it with my hands. I grabbed the whole trunk in my arms and shook. Tears flooded my
eyes, and the branches overhead shuddered. Leaves fell; the crows squawked and cackled. I screamed at them, then backed up and spread my arms. Their black wings flapped and beat, pushing leaves into my face. “Here I am,” I said. “Take me if you want me.” I could die, too.

  But the noise faded. Leaves fluttered around my bare feet, reminding me of Reese, tossing a dead leaf into the air and laughing as it blossomed into a fresh green thing before settling on the cemetery ground.

  I was alone.

  The world around me blurred, and through my tears I couldn’t see where the birds had gone.

  I made my way back to the porch and pulled on my sneakers. The tears coating my eyes were like shellac, like a hard, crystallized film over my eyeballs that I couldn’t get to go away. I hated it, and I rubbed at them. But something inside me was broken.

  The chilly air pecked at my cheeks and bare arms. I bounced back and forth on my toes. The gravel crunched.

  Reese had been a runner, and that’s all I wanted to do. Run. Escape. I took off down the road, jogging at first to warm up my muscles, and then stretching my legs farther and farther until I sprinted full out. The gravel slid beneath me, and I panted. When my chest ached, I pushed on and didn’t let myself stop. The pain cut more sharply than any knife, and my breath puffed out in front of me. In and out, in and out, harsh and smooth and then harsh again. My feet pounded, jarring my knees and my hips until the muscles loosened.

  My vision swam in the darkness, and the nausea cooled down. The wind dried out my eyes.

  I lost time and space for a brief moment: I was free.

  Then I stumbled.

  I slowed, caught myself, and then collapsed onto the gravel road, panting and heaving with effort. I rolled onto my back. The tiny rocks poked into my shoulder blades, my hips, my calves. I spread out my arms and stared up at the sky. All I could hear was my raging breath. High overhead, the stars glittered at me.