Blood Sworn

by Lauryn Evans

  “Wait,” Heather said. “Are you saying Azazel was working with the Nightblood coven?”

  “No,” Mariel clarified. “The Nightblood witches feared him. I assumed he was there to keep them in line.”

  It was like a light bulb suddenly turned on above Renata’s head. “Why don’t we just ask them ourselves?” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of this earlier.

  “What?” Heather asked, utterly perplexed. “Aren’t they dead now?”

  “Yes,” Renata thought aloud. “Which means they’re ancestors.”

  “What are you getting at Renata?” Jackson asked, struggling to follow her logic.

  Mariel quickly caught onto Renata’s plan. “She wants to communicate with them.”

  “Exactly. If I can successfully perform the ritual, we can ask the Nightblood ancestors ourselves.” Renata’s mind whirred, the cogs in her head turning. “Then we can learn more about him and what he was doing and hopefully find out why he’s weakening the witches.”

  Adela crossed her arms. “What if the witches don’t tell you anything?”

  “We won’t know if we don’t try,” Renata said, hoping to make them understand. “This could work.”

  “Hold on,” Adelaide interjected. “To talk to the ancestors, you’d need magic yourself. Didn’t you say magic’s fading?”

  “My magic doesn’t seem to be affected by all this,” Renata responded evenly. “I assume it’s because I’m not a part of a coven.”

  “But,” Veronica countered, “the source of your magic would still be the ancestors, right? Coven or no coven?”

  Renata furrowed her brow. “I would assume so.”

  Veronica had a point. Whether or not she was part of a coven, the ancestors would still be the source of Renata’s magic. Something didn’t make sense. Why wasn’t her magic affected by all this?

  “No,” Jackson said sternly. “The last time we had anything to do with Nightblood coven, you nearly died, Renata.”

  “I don’t need Dorothea’s permission to speak with her coven’s ancestors,” Renata grumbled, her annoyance bleeding through her words. “Besides, the Lightblood witches would never help with this. No coven can help in their condition.”

  “You want to do that kind of ritual alone?” Jackson asked, his brows raised. “Ren, that sounds risky. If you exhaust your power…” His voice trailed off. It was obvious he didn’t want to think about what could happen.

  She saw why he was hesitant to accept the idea. She’d nearly used up every drop of magic she had to bring up the veil between this world and the next, and it almost killed her.

  Besides, living or dead, she wasn’t sure she could trust Nightblood witches. For all she knew, they would lie to her from the grave, if they agreed to help at all. But it was the only way they could learn more about Azazel, making it their best hope, risks and all.

  “What he said,” Edwin chimed in, pointing his thumb at Jackson.

  Veronica kicked Edwin in the shin with a loud thump.

  “Ow!” he wailed.

  Adela spoke up. “I agree with Jackson too. You shouldn’t push yourself unless it’s a last resort.”

  “We’ll find another way to figure out what Azazel’s up to,” Jackson told Renata, gently taking both of her hands. “One step at a time.”

  Renata could tell that would be the end of the discussion. She knew Jackson wouldn’t budge. Even though she was an adult who didn’t need his permission, his fixed stance begged her to reconsider, for her own sake.

  Still, Renata couldn’t shake the feeling that this could work. She could ask Clarissa for the ritual, read it over, and get the supplies…

  “Stop thinking about it,” Jackson said, interrupting her train of thought. “You’re making that face you make when you’re coming up with a plan.”

  “Fine.” Renata let out an annoyed huff, crossing her arms. “But, if there’s no other way, this is our backup plan.”

  Jackson remained silent, crossing his muscular arms across his chest.

  An awkward silence filled the room.

  “So, what should we do for now?” Adela asked, breaking the silence.

  “As of right now, nothing,” Renata grumbled, frustrated to no end. She sighed, calming herself down. “We’ll keep planning the Anderson birthday party and go about business as usual.”

  Renata hated that. She hated knowing there was a threat out there and doing absolutely nothing. Knowing herself, she knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until she addressed the risk and solved the problem. Every bone in her body wished she could fix it with a snap of her fingers, right then and there, and be done with it. Once Azazel became more of a threat, as she knew he would, she would be forced to act.

  She just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  “Meeting adjourned,” Renata said, dismissing the House members, freeing them to go back to whatever it was they were doing before this little chat. Talk of their clients’ events filled the room, as well as other conversations Renata couldn’t pick out.

  Mariel sighed as the other House members trailed out of the common room. “Our long lives will never be dull, will they?”

  “No,” Renata laughed half-heartedly. “I don’t think they ever will be.”

  The next morning, Renata sat in bed with her legs dangling over the side, her mind already going a mile a minute.

  “You need to let this idea go,” Jackson said and tore off his pajama shirt, replacing it with a white T-shirt.

  Renata knew what he was referring to. Her plan to talk to the Nightblood ancestors.

  At times like this, she cursed him for getting to know her so well the past year they’d known each other.

  “The witches will handle this,” he reasoned. “Let them.” His hands found their place on her waist. “You don’t need to be the one to fix everything.”

  “I can’t just forget about it,” she protested. She doubted the witches would be able to handle this on their own. Not with their magic fading more and more by the minute. “I want to be ready if the witches can’t take care of this.”

  “We will be,” he assured her. “We’ve survived everything that’s been thrown at us. What’s one more?”

  There’s always a first time for everything, Renata thought cynically.

  “He could threaten us! Or he could attack us, just like he did a thousand years ago.” She wouldn’t allow Azazel to hurt them the way he hurt Alexander and Mariel all those years ago.

  Jackson stroked her hair. His soft touch instantly calmed her. “Worry about that when it happens. Worrying about it now, when he’s not our problem, won’t solve anything.”

  He kissed her softly, and she indulged in the taste, smell, and feel of him.

  Good lord, he knew just how to convince her.

  Renata supposed he was right. That there was no sense in worrying about Azazel before the witches had a chance to deal with him. But, she couldn’t ignore the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to believe the witches had everything under control, but the odds didn’t seem high.

  She’d do her best to save her worrying for when the time came. If the time came.

  Then again, Renata couldn’t think much about anything while Jackson’s intoxicating lips distracted her, never mind worry.

  It was Saturday, meaning she didn’t have anything important to do. She threw Jackson a grin and picked up her copy of Great Expectations before getting comfortable in bed—the perfect place to cuddle with a good book, in her opinion. He went downstairs to join the others, doing god knows what, and Renata lost track of how long she’d been reading when she felt something tug on her magic.

  This tugging sensation was different from the one she’d felt before. About two months ago, when Aurora’s necklace—bound to the other half of her soul—called out to her, it felt familiar, like it was singing to her. But this tugging, on the other hand, felt urgent and dire, like someone sent her an important message that needed answering. Or a desperat
e call for help.

  Renata focused on the book, brushing off the yanking sensation. But the tugging grew stronger, more intense, with a growing sense of urgency she couldn’t ignore.

  With a sense of urgency, she went downstairs, grabbing the keys to Will’s truck.

  “Hey, Renata,” Heather said with a smile. She and the others sat around the TV, watching a movie—a typical weekend activity. She looked confused. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes,” Renata said, pulling on her jacket. “I’ll explain everything when I get back.”

  Jackson stood and pulled her into a hug. “Text me if you need me, okay?”

  Renata smiled. “I will.”

  She found herself getting into Will’s navy pickup truck, compelled to follow the invisible string leading her into the unknown. After about thirty minutes of driving, Renata pulled over to the side of the road and parked in front of a little cottage. If she had to guess, she was somewhere a couple of towns over from the house.

  Warily, she knocked on the front door. Who knew what was waiting for her on the other side?

  To Renata’s surprise, Clarissa’s sun-kissed face appeared in the doorway. “Good, you’re here just in time.”

  4

  “That was you?” Renata asked, bewildered. She assumed this was what Clarissa meant when she said she’d be “in touch.” A cool gust of November wind sent Renata’s hands into the pockets of her thin jacket.

  “Yeah.” Clarissa stepped back to let Renata into the house. “I’m the one that summoned you here. Look,” she said, closing the door behind her, “I’m desperate. My magic, and my coven’s magic, is fading. I barely had enough power to summon you.”

  If this was true, then Azazel was most definitely becoming an issue. That was undeniable. And now, it seemed like the witches couldn’t handle the situation.

  “Is this your house?” Renata looked around. This house wasn’t the same one where she’d helped the Lightblood coven communicate with their ancestors. No, this house was cozy and more homey than that one, despite having a rustic interior design that looked like it hopped out of an HGTV show.

  “Yeah, it is. It’s not far from the coven meeting place,” Clarissa called out from the small kitchen. “Want anything to drink?”

  “No, thanks.” Renata stood awkwardly, looking around as she waited for her hostess to invite her to sit. The lack of pictures and neatness about the place told her that Clarissa lived here alone, the décor reflecting a feminine touch.

  Clarissa emerged from the kitchen with a steaming cup of tea in her hand.

  Renata followed her into the living room as she unzipped her jacket. The room was tidy and open, decorated with brown and gold accents. A potted plant sat in the corner of the room, and the large windows brightened the space.

  Renata peered at the mug in Clarissa’s hands. “What is it with witches and tea?”

  Every time she visited Jackson’s cousin Nora, she always had a cup of tea. Renata was beginning to think it was a witch-thing.

  Clarissa plopped down onto the leather couch, careful not to spill the hot drink. “It soothes magical energy.” Catching wind of Renata’s curious expression, Clarissa quickly added, “Don’t ask me how, though, because I have no idea.”

  “Good to know.” Renata chuckled, taking a seat next to the witch.

  Clarissa cleared her throat and took a swig of her tea, getting down to business. “So here’s the deal. I think, well, no,” she corrected herself, holding up a pointed finger, “I know Azazel is drawing the ancestor’s energy. But why he’d need more power, I don’t know.”

  “Maybe it’s not that he needs more power,” Renata realized as she thought aloud. “Maybe he wants the witches to be weak. He must be the reason why the Nightblood coven ancestors wanted to take the veil down so badly.”

  “That’s what I was thinking too.” Clarissa furrowed her brow. “I get the sense, though, that your magic hasn’t been affected by all this. Am I right?”

  Renata nodded. “Right. It must have something to do with me not being part of a coven.”

  “Then it’s best you stay that way. Whatever Azazel’s doing,” Clarissa winced, “it’s bad. Really bad, if he’s taking all the ancestors’ power.”

  “Every witch is losing their magic?”

  “Yes,” Clarissa said with a grim expression. “All the witch covens tied to mine internationally are experiencing the same thing. He’s amassing a serious amount of power on top of what he already has.”

  “Who is he?” Renata asked, eyes wide. Whoever he was, Azazel was looking like a bigger problem than she’d originally thought. Witches losing their magic worldwide? What was Azazel planning?

  Clarissa sighed, blowing her tea. “He’s a fallen archangel.”

  “What? Isn’t he a demon?”

  “Yeah, but, a fallen archangel isn’t just any demon.” Clarissa put her mug down onto the glass-paneled coffee table. “He’s a pure immortal. That kind of power is dangerous on its own in the natural world. With all this extra power added on top of it, I don’t even want to think about what he could do.”

  “What’s a pure immortal?” Renata asked, struggling to make sense of what Clarissa told her.

  An archangel?

  Clarissa took a sip of her tea. “Seeing as you’re not familiar with the term, I’ll explain it to you.” She put her mug back down. “Pure immortals are neither made nor destroyed by usual means—they just are. Oh, and the whole blood-sucking thing,” she gestured to Renata, “they don’t need to do that. They don’t need any sustenance,” she added, using hand motions to emphasize the severity of her words. “Think demons, fallen angels, that kind of thing.”

  Renata’s head spun in the whirlwind of heavy information. She needed time to process this. “All right…”

  “What I’m getting at here,” Clarissa emphasized, “is that this guy’s not playing around. He’s draining the witches’ power for a reason. And it’s not because he needs more.”

  Now, Renata was following. Clarissa’s message rang loud and clear. “So whatever he’s planning, you think he’s targeting the witches specifically?”

  Clarissa sipped her tea with a complacent look on her face. “Thank god you’re smarter than you look.”

  Renata rolled her eyes, brushing off the comment. “And you want my help in stopping him.”

  “Precisely. But first,” Clarissa interjected, pointing a finger, “we need to figure out his plan. We can’t stop him if we don’t know what we’re up against.”

  Renata smirked. “At least we’re both smarter than we look, huh?”

  Clarissa frowned. “Well played.”

  “Why don’t I give you my number,” Renata said, pulling out her old model smartphone. “So you can call me next time you need to talk to me.”

  Clarissa laughed as she typed Renata’s number into her phone. “Okay.”

  “I don’t use it much aside from calling and texting,” Renata explained, “but I keep it with me in case of emergencies.”

  “I got it,” Clarissa replied, looking almost disappointed. “No more summoning.”

  Renata was relieved. “Good.”

  By the time Renata got home, it was already dark outside, and Jackson was waiting for her in the kitchen.

  She filled him in on what she and Clarissa talked about—Azazel draining the witch ancestors, pure immortals, everything she could think of.

  “Now’s the time to worry,” Jackson admitted, nervously running his hand through his long black hair. “I still don’t understand why your magic is fine, while every witch in the world is losing theirs.”

  Renata tucked her chocolate-brown waves behind her ear. “It has to be because I’m not bound to a coven.” She couldn’t think of any other explanation why her power was left untouched.

  “There have to be other witches who aren’t part of a coven,” Jackson reasoned. “Why would you be the only one unaffected?” He shook his head. “It just doesn’t make sens
e, Ren.”

  He did have a point, but Renata couldn’t come up with any other plausible explanation. Her power had to come from the ancestors, like every other witch. Unless, her soul, having been split for years, somehow affected her magic’s connection to the ancestors. But that didn’t seem right either.

  “Let’s just get some sleep.” Jackson kissed Renata lightly on the forehead, before the two snuggled into bed, his strong arms forming a protective barrier around her narrow frame.

  Once she fell asleep, strange dreams took over her unconscious mind, filling it with oddly familiar images.

  A tall man with shaggy black hair stood in front of her, his hands casually in the pocket of his slick black dress pants. His inky suit jacket stood out against the oak trees behind him, and his shiny black shoes meshed with the asphalt.

  The man cocked his head towards her ever so slightly, revealing part of his pale face. Sharp yellow eyes bore into Renata’s soul, and her heart pounded faster and faster.

  A sly, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of the man’s lips.

  “Remember.”

  Renata lurched upright, her cold body drenched in sweat. The unlit room soothed her and reminded her of where she was. She was home and in her bed, safe. There was no one there to hurt her.

  Renata knew she’d just seen Azazel.

  Again.

  She wondered if she’d seen another one of Aurora’s memories, but quickly dismissed the idea. Azazel was dressed so modernly in the dream, vision, whatever it was. There was no way it could be one of Aurora’s memories—she died over a thousand years ago.

  But, if it wasn’t a memory, then what was it? She’d never seen Azazel in her waking life. Was this dream sent to her? Did he have the power to do that? And what did he want her to remember?

  No, that’s ridiculous.

  As far as she knew, dreams couldn’t be sent like emails. It had to be a nightmare. Or a figment of her imagination. Her thoughts had been consumed by all of this lately. Perhaps it was finally making its way into her subconscious.