Текст книги "Bespelled"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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CHAPTER 48

“I’ll be damned. We got them both.”

I make a noise as I blink my eyes open. My cheek is pressed to cold marble, and the room is sideways, but I can see several sets of suit-clad legs.

Before I can rise onto my knees, I feel someone’s boot connect with the back of my head. I grunt as pain explodes behind my eyes, dulling my vision, and I fall back to the floor.

Behind me, I hear a scream.

“Stay down,” a masculine voice growls at me, “or we’ll make you.”

Somewhere beyond my back, I can hear soft sobbing.

The man who kicked me now moves away, his boots squeaking against the floor. “I assumed you’d be happy you wouldn’t have to die tonight,” he taunts the crying woman.

Sybil.

I lift my head and turn it, uncaring that I might receive another hit to the head for the action.

The hit doesn’t come, and the first thing I see is my friend, flanked by several burly men who are currently talking quietly to one another. At least I think that’s Sybil.

Horror drips down my spine as I take her in. Both of her eyes are bruised and swollen nearly shut, and her body is bloody. She’s still sobbing, her entire body quaking.

“Sybil…” I whisper, reaching for her.

Sybil glances up at me, then shakes her head frantically, her gaze moving briefly to one of the men standing guard. The man glances her way, and she shrinks back, her shoulders curling in on herself.

Was he the one who gave her those bruises? He’s a dead man.

Ignoring her warning, my power leaves my palm, aimed at the guard in question. It’s only moved about a foot from me when it fans out across an invisible wall.

What the⁠—?

I sit up a little more, and that’s when I notice the hastily made chalk circle drawn around me, clearly made to contain me and my power inside.

I reach out a finger to the edge of the chalk, but instead of touching the powdery substance, I feel the bottom of the circle’s transparent wall.

I’m trapped.

My attention moves past the invisible barrier to the rest of the room. Everything in me goes still when I see a massive, slumped form just beyond my feet, trapped in his own chalk circle.

I make a low, aggrieved sound. All I can see of him from this angle is his wavy black hair and his broad back. He lies there, unmoving.

Memnon? Are you all right?

I wait for some sort of response, but the bond between us is idle. I let out another noise, and the guard who kicked me scowls down at me, taking a step in my direction.

“Leave it, Dain,” one of the other guards says, “Sophia is already on her way, and she wants the girl terrified, not beaten.”

Memnon, wake up! I push what magic I can down our bond.

Nothing.

I can still feel the eyes of the guard, Dain, on me. “Sophia wants the girl terrified?”

For the love of your gods, est xsaya, wake up! I command.

On the other side of our connection, I feel his awareness flicker, and his body stirs a little.

“I can give her terrified,” Dain says darkly.

Sybil cowers as he passes her, and I swear I see my friend’s nails elongate before quickly retracting. Dain stops at the edge of the chalk circle encasing my mate. He assesses Memnon curiously before lifting a buffed black shoe as though preparing to kick the back of the sorcerer’s skull.

Memnon!

My power flares out of me and fills the spell circle as Dain’s leg snaps out.

Faster than I can follow, Memnon rolls onto his back and catches Dain’s boot in his hands. With a jerk of his arms, he twists Dain’s leg.

Snap.

Dain screams as bone breaks, and he topples into the circle.

One of the other guards rushes after Dain, who Memnon now has by the head. My mate twists hard to the right⁠—

Snap.

Sybil screams as the lifeless body of Dain slumps against Memnon, partway in, partway out of the spell circle.

The sorcerer is already angling the body to try to get some part of it to smudge the chalk and break the circle when one of the guards grabs on to Dain’s legs.

In the distance, I hear an elevator ding, followed by the click of heels, but I hardly pay it much attention.

I rise to my feet, placing my palms on the translucent walls of my cage as I watch my mate play tug-of-war with a corpse.

Est amage, are you all right? Memnon asks down our bond. His concern is so at odds with the merciless way he’s handling what’s left of Dain.

Now that you’re awake, yes.

You honor me, Memnon says.

“What the fuck is happening here?” Sophia’s voice echoes from the hallway beyond Memnon. A moment later, she enters the room, two more guards in suits flanking her.

Her eyes fall to Memnon, Dain, and the guard tussling with my mate.

She lifts an arm toward my mate. “Sleep.” The spell hits the sorcerer square in the face, and I cry out as he falls back against the invisible wall of his cage, his eyes closed.

The other guard stumbles back with the lifeless body of Dain.

“You fucking fool,” Sophia spits out at him. “Do you realize this is a sorcerer we have trapped? Had I not shown up when I did, you’d be dead and my family’s chance at revenge would’ve been squandered.” Her magic is unspooling out of her with her anger. “Get the hell off the ground, and take the girl”—she gestures to Sybil—“upstairs to the auction room.”

Sybil wails at the order, and I cry out along with her.

The guard drops Dain and hustles over to Sybil, roughly grabbing my friend by the arm and prying her from the two remaining guards posted on either side of her. Sybil begins to shriek and flail. Fur sprouts from her skin before retreating back into her.

“You will not shift,” the sorceress commands, “nor will you fight back.”

Sybil cries out brokenly, a shiver racking her body as the order does something to her. The fact that Sophia’s words worked at all means my friend must be bonded to her again.

A hopeless sort of fury rises in me. Sybil had done so much to escape this woman and all for what, a day or two of freedom?

I slam my fist against the wall of the spell circle as I watch the guard drag my sobbing friend away.

The action catches Sophia’s eye, and she turns to me briefly. “Ah, yes, Selene. You made it. Just in time, too.” She follows my gaze to where I’m looking at Sybil. “Oh, don’t worry about her. I am a woman of my word, and I did promise that if you came, your friend’s life would be spared.” She flashes me a smile that’s more cruel than sweet. “So I shall spare it.” Sophia calls out to the retreating guard. “Make sure you first ensure the girl is healed and then get her appropriately dressed for the auction. She needs to look enticing, not like she’s been mauled by wolves.” Sophia gives me a conspiratorial look. “Though I hear she’s into that sort of thing these days.”

Sybil begins to shriek anew, and the sorceress stands there, listening to her cries, while the elevator dings in the distance. They continue until the doors hiss closed, and my friend is whisked away.

My cheeks are wet when Sophia turns her attention to Memnon’s sleeping form. She tilts her head, studying him briefly.

“Funny to think that the man who killed my”—Sophia’s voice catches—“so many of our men,” she corrects, “could look so vulnerable. What a waste,” she muses, seemingly to herself. To the guards who flank her, Sophia says, “Take the sorcerer to my brother immediately. Even though our captive is under spelled sleep, use extreme caution—he could wake at any point. I don’t need to remind you that he killed dozens of people the last time he wasn’t happy.”

Memnon! I call out to him. Memnon, wake up! I push as much command as I can into those words, hoping that the bond might force him awake. But the sorcerer doesn’t stir as the guards break the chalk circle and grab him. One of them must be a mage because I see his red-orange magic pool around Memnon as the two heft my mate up by the arms.

Please, Memnon, I beg, wake up.

He still doesn’t stir.

The two guards cart the sorcerer away, the tips of my mate’s shoes squeaking as they drag across the marble.

“What is your brother going to do to him?” My voice comes out as a whisper.

“The same thing my father plans to do to you,” Sophia says. She tilts her head. “I hear you’ve been trying to solve the murders.” She gives me another cruel smile. “Congratulations. You’re about to.” She lifts a hand. “Sleep.”

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CHAPTER 49

When I wake, I’m slumped between two guards who each have me by the arms. My feet drag uselessly behind me.

I lift my head and blink away the spelled sleep as we approach two ominous maroon doors with fancy golden handles. At the sight of them, a bolt of fear runs down my spine. I know intuitively that beyond them is the secret behind the murders, the mystery that not even Memnon has been able to figure out. I can feel the wrongness of whatever lies beyond.

I struggle against the guards’ hold, my magic surging up. I gather it in my hands⁠—

“Sleep.” Royal purple magic billows into my face, and the world goes dark again.

The sharp bite of pain right over my heart wakes me. I can feel warm blood welling from the wound when suddenly I’m tossed forward onto cold concrete, my body skidding across it.

I groan, blinking my eyes and trying to focus.

Another sleep spell.

I roll onto my back, and the movement causes the skin over my heart to sting. Absently I touch it, and my fingers come away bloody.

A hoarse, masculine voice begins speaking in Latin, their tone low. “By water and flame, earth and sky, I invoke the elements.”

Behind me, I can hear the sound of sand being poured from a bag.

What in the seven hells is going on?

I press my hands to the concrete floor and sit up. The room is dimly lit by several sets of wrought iron chandeliers, the warm glow of their lights illuminating the black walls of the cavernous room. Besides the light itself, there are precious few things in the room, save for the two men in front of me and the one coming around from my back.

The older of the two wears a brown tweed suit, his wiry white hair sticking up here and there around his head. He looks like an academic, with the exception of his eyes, which seem to dance darkly here in the dim light.

Next to him⁠—

I freeze at the sight of the man whose face I’ve repeatedly stared at over the last week. His hair is a little whiter at the temples than in his picture, and his skin is perhaps not quite as enviable, but Luca Fortuna is still an arresting sight.

In his hands, he cradles a leather-bound grimoire, a fairly wicked one if the oily black smoke wafting off it is any indication.

He pauses his incantation, his eyes fixed on the individual pouring the sand along a clockwise arc. I glance at the man in question. He wears a suit, a thick bag in his hands.

It’s not sand he’s pouring, I realize as the man completes the arc and empties out the last of the bag’s contents, but salt.

Horror dawns. It’s another fucking spell circle. One he just finished drawing while I sat here getting my bearings.

I lunge for the curving line of salt.

“Bind this circle so that nothing may escape.” Luca rushes out the last of the incantation.

The blood on my fingers sizzles as it touches the salt, and the lights above me flicker as the physical walls of the spell circle rise, trapping me inside.

Fuck.

My pulse is beginning to pound in my ears.

I back up, my eyes moving from the men to the space within the circle. I realize the concrete I’m standing on is stained, and it smells like antiseptic and, and…

Blood.

My insides wither when I realize this is where all the other witches died. This is where I will die, unless I can escape this cursed circle.

I feel three sets of eyes on me. The suited guard gives me a flat look, like he’s seen too much and cannot summon the energy to care. The elderly scholar—or whoever he is—stares at me intently, his head cocked.

But it’s Luca, Luca Fortuna, whose attention seizes me. There’s a bitter glee to his expression.

“Selene Bowers,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “I know your name, and I know you were one of the last to see my Li—” He cuts himself off, though I’m positive he was about to say his daughter’s name.

The scholar watches the two of us quizzically, looking back and forth, while the suit-clad guard quietly exits the room.

“I don’t make it a habit to learn the names of the witches I need,” Luca continues, drawing my attention back to him, “but you mean something to that fucking dead man, Memnon. If any part of him still lives once Leonard is finished with him, then I will make sure he knows about your last moments, and I will savor his pain.”

My heart nearly stops at his words. Memnon. I haven’t heard a thing from him since we were parted.

Frantically, I reach out across our bond, but other than the warmth of his life force, there’s no spark of awareness. He must still be asleep.

Wake up, Memnon, I command him, unsure if consciousness is better, given our circumstances.

But whatever spell my mate is under, it’s too powerful for even my words to penetrate.

The scholar glances between me and Luca, looking a little uneasy at the topic of my impending death and how Luca might savor it. But he doesn’t appear surprised. The man clearly knows that whatever is about to happen, I’m not supposed to survive it. He knows it, and he’s not trying to stop it at all.

As though he can’t help himself, Luca steps in close to the circle’s edge, his gaze fixed to mine.

“I don’t have to hope your death will be slow and painful,” Luca says so softly only I can hear it. “Because I know it will be. That is the only comfort I get, knowing I gave my Lia some measure of justice.”

My eyes drop to the grimoire in Luca’s hands. As I watch, more oily, dark magic curls and smokes off it.

I suck in a sharp breath as I remember the bloody bodies, the dark magic that coated the victims’ butchered remains.

It suddenly strikes me. The book is not a grimoire.

Though the cover in Luca’s arms bears no title, this book has one. There’s only one tome that comes steeped in that much unholy magic.

The Book of the Damned.

I look at Luca with dawning horror. “You’re summoning demons.”

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CHAPTER 50

Holy Goddess. Demons.

Those ravaged bodies out in the woods were the work of demons.

That’s my fate and Memnon’s unless I can escape this fucking spell circle.

Memnon! I call out to him, more desperate than ever. Wake up! I nearly weep out the command.

But the other end of the bond stays placid. The sorcerer is still asleep.

My mind races. I have minutes until midnight to figure out some sort of game plan.

Unfortunately, I don’t know much about demons. They’ve always been slotted in with the dark magic shit that witches aren’t supposed to trifle with. Not reading about them has probably fucked me over.

“Why are you summoning demons?” I ask.

Luca tilts his head. “We’re not simply summoning them,” the sorcerer admits. “We’re binding them.”

“Binding them?” I echo. Even as I say it, the Fortunas’ entire industry becomes clear, and my blood runs cold.

They’re in the business of trafficking supernaturals. I assumed that was limited to those of us who were of this realm, but it’s clearly not. They’re moving demons too.

My eyes touch briefly on the somewhat anxious-looking scholar. That…that must be Luca’s client, the one who is buying this demon’s bond.

“If this is about binding demons,” I say slowly, returning my attention to Luca, “then what do you need me for?”

“Demons are different from mortals,” Luca replies, backing up. “They need to feed once they come here if they wish to remain.” His eyes skate over my form. “They like the young ones in particular. Something about their innocence and vitality makes them taste richer, sweeter. We use that to get the demons to bond.”

I vividly recall the body of Charlotte Evensen. It had been badly mutilated, and all her organs had been removed…

No, eaten.

Nausea rolls through me.

I glance down at the cut on my own chest, the bloody wound making much more sense now. Like throwing bleeding bait overboard in hopes it will lure in a shark.

I force my rising terror down.

Focus.

I’m not going to die tonight. Not like this.

On impulse, I reach for my heels and remove them, tossing one then the other aside so I can be light on my feet. I try not to grimace as the chill from the floor seeps into my skin.

Next, I turn to the walls of my prison. Spell circles like this one, which has been activated in blood, are notoriously hard for anyone but the spellcaster to undo.

However, at the end of the day, a spell circle is nothing more than a really strong ward. Wards themselves are essentially giant tapestries, and like tapestries, they can be unraveled if one knows where to pull.

I look for the telltale magical signature, but if it’s there, it’s just as translucent as the rest of the circle’s walls.

Luca glances down at a fancy gold watch on his wrist. “It’s about time we begin.” he says to the older man. “Are you ready, Jacques?”

“Yes,” Jacques replies, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Good,” Luca says. With a final, heavy look at me, the sorcerer begins incanting in Latin again.

“From the infernal fires of hell, I call forth Asmodeth, devourer of the damned, reveler of the anguished. Curse weaver and soul eater. Rise within the circle I have cast.”

The air smokes, then sizzles. Noxious plumes rise from the ground. Rather than dissipating into the air, it begins to shape itself into the form of a man.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The curling black smoke coalesces.

On the other end of my bond, I feel the spark of awareness.

Selene! Memnon bellows down our bond. It’s his first thought.

Memnon, forget about me. They’re summoning demons, I rush out. We’re about to fight for our lives.

It’s quiet for a long, pensive moment. How do you know this? he finally asks.

I’m trapped in a demon-summoning circle. After a moment, I add, Aren’t you?

Rather than answering, the floor begins to tremble, and I can feel the burn of Memnon’s rapidly growing rage.

Memnon, do not give whoever is there with you another reason to knock you out, I beg him. I will be all right. Stay safe. I need to go.

I pull away before he can say more, and I ready my magic. For this fight, I’ll need all my attention to remain on my opponent.

The demon is now less dark smoke and more flesh and bone, the magic solidifying into body parts. I study the creature’s features as they take shape.

I’ve heard that some demons are truly hideous looking, with forked serpent tongues, razor-sharp teeth, and slitted noses, but this one looks like a man, and a handsome one at that—if you can get past his sharpened claws, the horizontal pupils at the centers of his eyes, and the wicked horns that curve away from his face. He’s also as naked as the day he was born—or formed or damned or however the hell demons are created.

“Asmodeth,” Luca says, “I offer this witch to you as a sign of my good will.”

The demon takes a step toward me, his nostril’s flaring.

“But be warned. It comes at a price. With the first swallow of her blood, you bind your body and will to Jacques Allard. You will roam the earth, deathless and unchanging for the span of this mortal’s lifetime. Upon Jacques’s death, the bond shall be severed, and you shall return to the Underworld.

“You have until the rise of the sun to make your decision, or else you shall be banished back to the fiery realm from whence you came.”

Asmodeth turns from me and levels a look at the men standing there. “I want a soul. Only that will do.”

“You shall only get a body,” Luca says smoothly.

Asmodeth’s laughter fills the space, raising the hairs at the nape of my neck. “Insolent human. Do you have any concept of who I am?”

As he speaks, his head keeps drifting in my direction, and his nostrils continue to flare, like he’s distracted by the smell of me.

Because he wants to eat me.

Fuck, do I attack him? Do I let this play out? Do I and the demon enter into an unholy pact where we become reluctant allies?

That last one sounds good, except again, he wants to eat me.

“Of course I know who you are,” Luca says. “It’s all laid out in this book. The legions you command, the damned you oversee. You can go back to it all at first light, or you can bind yourself to this mage next to me and see your first true sunrise in one hundred and seven years.”

Asmodeth stares at Luca and Jacques for a long moment. Then, slowly, the demon turns to me.

Fuck. I think he’s made his decision.

I shift my weight, drawing my magic close. The demon’s eyes dip to the cut along my chest, and his pupils blow wide.

Asmodeth snarls, then he lunges for me. I dive to the side, banging hard against the invisible barrier.

I barely have time to pivot before the demon is charging again. And again I dive out of the way, only just escaping the attack.

The action is futile. There’s nowhere to go. The circle can’t be more than twenty feet in diameter. I can keep this up for another few minutes, but I’m going to stumble eventually, and the beast will get me. He’s practically vibrating with need.

I form my magic in my hand.

“Explode,” I whisper, lobbing the spell at him.

BOOM!

It detonates before it even reaches Asmodeth, blowing the demon into the air. He slams against the curved walls of the spell circle, then falls to the ground. His shoulder is mildly cut up, but for the most part, he looks unharmed.

Jacques has crept near the edge of the circle, his eyes rapt as he watches me and Asmodeth.

“Do not get close,” Luca warns. “If you smudge the salt, the demon can escape unbonded, and if any part of you crosses the barrier, you can be dragged in, and the demon gets a free meal.”

I draw together my power as, across from me, Asmodeth rises.

“Annihilate.” The curse hisses out of me, hitting him square in the chest.

The demon grunts as he staggers back, but the spell that should have blown him to bits seems to sink into him.

Asmodeth laughs. “I am made of curses, witch. They do not harm me. They fuel me.”

That bit of information would’ve been helpful a while ago.

From the other side of my bond, I feel a burst of pain.

Memnon!

I hear him laugh across our connection. I am fine, est amage. Just fighting a worthy opponent. Hold fast, and give these creatures hell.

While I’m half-distracted, the demon rushes me, his claws extended. His body slams into mine, taking us both to the ground.

Shit. I go for one of my daggers, but the weapon is pinned beneath the silk dress, and the silk dress is pinned beneath the demon.

I grunt as Asmodeth presses his face into my wound. His wet tongue licks up the slit of the cut, and ugh, that is so fucking gross.

He groans. “Haven’t tasted flesh in a long time.”

Beneath us, the ground trembles.

“He did it,” Jacques says way too eagerly. “The demon tasted her.”

“Congratulations,” Luca murmurs. “He’s agreed to the bond. Now we simply wait for him to finish.”

Finish me, they mean.

Asmodeth’s lips curl back to reveal two rows of sharp teeth. The sight is frightening, terrible.

You too are a dark, deadly thing, I remind myself. I gave myself to that earth for two millennia, and now I can easily draw power from it.

Here, deep in the bowels of the earth, at midnight of the new moon, the magic beneath the ground is especially potent. I press my hands to the cold floor, reaching for the buried power, siphoning it up from the earth. My palms prick as magic seeps into my flesh, then my bloodstream. It gathers like a storm in my veins.

Mistress of old, something far beneath me whispers, we’ve tasted your blood and bones before…

The demon pauses, his head cocking to the side.

“The Old Ones speak to you? And they’ve tasted you?” His eyes flit over my body. “How very interesting.” He casually swipes out, his claws cleanly slicing through my dress and the skin beneath.

I jerk, swallowing my scream as my blood wells.

“I don’t often meet curious mortals,” he says. “A pity you have to die. I will enjoy feasting on you though.” Asmodeth leans forward, his teeth and tongue hot on my injured flesh.

I draw my power together, and all at once, I shove my hands and my power at him. “Get off me.”

Clouds of my orange magic blow the demon back clear across the spell circle. I hear the smack of flesh as his body hits the ground.

I force myself to my feet, but just as quickly as I rise, Asmodeth does as well. A low, demonic growl rises from him, and when he glances at me, his eyes flash red.

I raise a hand. “Stop,” I command in Sarmatian, my power rushing out of me.

The demon freezes in place, his body going still beneath my spell. It holds for mere seconds before Asmodeth breaks through it, then barrels toward me once more.

I draw more power from beneath the soles of my feet.

Empress, the voices below hiss out, amage…mistress…queen…how we hunger…

“Explode.” I cast the spell at the demon, aware it will hardly affect him.

BOOM!

It detonates against his shoulder, throwing him against the wall of the spell circle for a moment.

Blood drips down my torso, but I’m too focused on Asmodeth to heal myself. My hand hovers over my thigh, where my dagger rests hidden.

In battle, you cannot solely rely on magic to save you. Memnon told me that long ago.

I will myself to believe it as Asmodeth closes in on me. I draw in a breath, growing calm as the demon reaches me. This time, I don’t cast a spell, and I don’t dive away. I let Asmodeth crash into me, slamming my body against the walls of the circle.

If the demon is surprised by my sudden lack of fight, he doesn’t stop to question it. His mouth opens, and his lips peel back, his gaze fixed on my throat.

All at once, he lunges for it.

Now.

I withdraw my dagger, and just as those sharp canines close around my neck, I sink my blade into his throat.

Asmodeth lets out an unholy cry, releasing my bloody neck. I yank the dagger out, and black blood spatters onto my dress and skin. Once more, I slam the blade into his throat.

The demon shrieks, then falls from me, my dagger making a wet noise as it exits the wound. Asmodeth hits the ground hard, and as he lays there, he weakly places a clawed hand against his neck. Blood rapidly spills out from between his fingers.

The whole building trembles, and someone somewhere is shitting their pants right now that they underestimated my mate.

I breathe heavily as I stare down at Asmodeth. I don’t believe demons can be killed, merely sent back to the Underworld.

I round on the demon’s body. Though every fiber of my being is screaming at me to run from this creature, I move to straddle him, my dagger still loosely held in my hands.

Weakly, he swipes at me, his claws parting my flesh like a knife through butter. The pain bursts to life along my arms and torso, but I ignore it, raising my dagger.

I bring it down sharply, letting my magic guide my movements. The thin blade cleanly slides between Asmodeth’s ribs and impales his heart.

The demon’s scream echoes through the room, the sound terrifying and not of this world.

I draw on both my own blood and the demon’s, the crimson liquid burning up as my power devours it. And then I call on the magic beneath the earth, pulling it into me.

We give you power. Give us something in return.

I ignore the voices and cobble together a spell.

“From blood and air, to rock and flame.” As I incant, I fold my power into the words. “I banish you back from whence you came.”

My magic detonates, filling the space in a massive cloud of pale orange plumes. I can’t see anything, but it doesn’t matter, I can feel my magic pressing in on the demon.

“I assure you,” Luca says somewhere beyond the circle, “she cannot send the creature back.”

Old queen, forgotten queen… the voices murmur.

Harder and harder, my power tightens on the demon. I see the plumes of it push and push against the demon bleeding out.

Asmodeth tries to fight the magic, but he’s lost so much blood, and my power holds him fast.

My body trembles as I continue to exert force, pressing, pressing. I scream at the energy it takes, my limbs beginning to tremble as my power strains.

All at once, there’s a pop, then Asmodeth is gone.

I’m breathing hard as I kneel on the now empty ground, which is scrubbed clean of all the black blood that pooled on it a moment ago. I can hear the steady drip of my own bleeding wounds. Aside from that, the room is deathly silent.

Eventually, Jacques says, “You said she couldn’t send the demon back?”

“That’s…never happened before.” Luca clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter. We can try summoning Asmodeth once more…though he might be too weak to make the journey. I have another demon in mind that might be perfect.” He begins flipping through the pages of The Book of the Damned.

I glare at the pair of them and gather my magic.

I’m too angry and too impatient to study this spell circle for some exploitable weakness. I want out now.

I rise from the floor and draw on my magic remorselessly. One of the most basic aspects of a spell circle is that power moves in two directions along them: clockwise for creation, counterclockwise for destruction.

My blood continues to drip from the wounds on my chest, but for what I intend, I know intuitively that I need more. I drag the knife I still hold across my wrist and let my blood flow freely.

This whole time, I’ve been pretending to be something wholesome when being wholesome meant denying this part of me.

I let the blood drip down my fisted hand to the ground, my bare feet stepping over the droplets as I begin to walk in a counterclockwise motion.

“To the gods that dwell beneath my feet,” I call out in Sarmatian, “give me power, and I will give you blood.” My voice sounds deeper, stronger, surer as I speak.

I sense something beneath me moving toward my offering. The blood on the floor evaporates, and thick, smoky plumes of my orange magic rise up, streaked with veins of inky black. Dark magic.

Distantly, I’m aware that my power is falling on the wrong side of good and evil. But too much of me thrills at the thick ropes of power I drag up from the earth. It’s so much more magic than what the ground usually offers up.

We hunger for more, mistress…more blood. We have missed the taste of you…

I let my blood continue to fall as I pace the perimeter of the circle. “From air, I breathe. With fire, I burn. From water, I drink. To earth, all shall return.”