Of Darkness & Light: Blood Descent Book 2

by T. L. McDonald

  I wish more than anything I could talk to Sebastian about it, or even Liv and Jack, but after what I did at the diner, I don’t know if I can ever face them again. Which brings me to the other part of myself, the part that knows I have no other choice but to go with her because she’s offering me a way to help Evan, and at the moment, there’s no one else I can turn to.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, I take her hand. “Let’s go.”

  9

  “Okay, how about this one?” I flip the pages of the Book of Shadows to a spell in the back that takes away a person’s free will. It’s the sixth spell I’ve asked Ivy to convince me is not evil. So far she’s had a reason for every single one, but there’s no way she can dispute this. “Can you honestly tell me this isn’t dark?”

  She leans over, a slight roll to her eyes and a grin on her lips. We’ve been at this for at least an hour, but despite all her explanations, I’m still not convinced certain spells aren’t dark all on their own. They have to be. “This spell isn’t dark either.”

  “How can you say that? It takes a person’s free will from them so they have to obey whoever’s casting it.”

  “It’s a spell meant for misbehaving children. My parents used it on me all the time when I was younger, and they weren’t evil.” She sighs when I start to flip through more pages. “Are we going to do this all night, Indi, or do you want to work on the reversal spell for your ex?”

  I slowly close the book. “I guess we should work on the reversal spell. But can we use your book?”

  “Your Book of Shadows isn’t evil, but if it makes you more comfortable, yes, we can use mine.” She hesitates at the doorway to her bedroom, glancing back over her shoulder. “Though, the spell would be more potent and work faster if we used a spell from your book, since it’s tied to your magic.”

  “Except the original spell came from you,” I counter. “So wouldn’t it be more effective for the reversal to come from you too?”

  “I guess we’ll find out.” She disappears into the bedroom and comes out moments later with a goliath of a book. The thing is huge and makes a loud thud when she drops it down onto the coffee table. I can’t help but stare at it with wide eyes. It’s the biggest book I’ve ever seen. No way would it ever fit into a backpack.

  A half-smile lifts one corner of her eggplant-colored lips as her gaze roams over my face. She runs her fingertips over the giant ouroboros on the leather-bound cover, and I swear it moves, but before I can get a good look, she opens it and begins flipping through the pages in sections. “It’s been in my family for hundreds of years, so it’s grown as the decades have passed.”

  “I’ll say. I’m surprised it didn’t give you a hernia carrying it in here.” It’s a lame attempt at a joke, but I’ve got to say something to keep my mind off all the potential dark spells her book could contain.

  “Here we go.” She pulls out a notepad and pen from a small drawer in the coffee table and begins copying down the spell. It’s written in some kind of runic language I’ve never seen before.

  “Uh, can you translate it to English?” There’s no way I can decipher what she’s writing. Even if I Googled it—since asking my cousins is out of the question—I’d probably still butcher it and end up making Evan worse off than he already is.

  She cocks an eyebrow, the look in her eyes hard to read. I can’t tell if she’s happy I don’t know what the runes mean or surprised at my cluelessness. I’m leaning more toward the former, which is weird because I feel like I should trust her, despite the quiet voice in the back of my mind whispering maybe I shouldn’t.

  “Sure.” Flipping to a new page, she copies the spell down once again but in English. “Now for the ingredients.” She hands me the paper then heads into the kitchen, leaving me to follow after her. “I should have everything you need.”

  She rummages through the cabinets, pulling out different jars and tins, and lining them up along the countertop. “Would you like to do the honors? I can walk you through the spell if you like. I know it can be a little confusing when you’re just learning.”

  “That obvious I’m a newbie at this, huh?” I take a seat at the counter and rest my chin in my hand.

  She offers me a warm smile. “I suspected as much the day you came into the shop and were surprised I’d called you an elemental witch. Add in the hour we just spent going over the nature of spells and your lack of rune knowledge, and yeah, it’s pretty obvious you’re a newbie. By now you should be well versed in magic, but for whatever reason you’re not. You don’t have to tell me why you’re behind. Just know I’m here if you need a teacher. So, what do you say? Want to try your hand at spell casting?”

  “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to just watch.”

  “Sure. I’ll explain the steps as I go.”

  Over the next half hour, Ivy walks me through the spell and the incantation in its rightful language so many times I’m starting to botch speaking in regular English.

  “Maybe we should take a break,” Ivy says, taking pity on me. She glances down at her watch, then grabs two mugs from a cabinet before filling a kettle with water. “I’ll make us some tea. Why don’t you take a seat in the living room, and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks. A break and some tea sounds great.” I fold up the paper containing the incantation and slip it under the purple ribbon securing the lid on a small wooden box. It’s not unlike the first box she gave me for the happiness spell. The casting is the same too. I blow spelled powder into Evan’s face and then recite the spell. Easy-peasy. If it works, he’ll go right back to hating me. It’ll suck being back on the receiving end of his pain and anger, but at least his emotions will be genuine. If I don’t royally muck things up, that is. Given my track record when it comes to Evan, it isn’t out of the realm of possibility. All I’ve ever wanted was for him to be happy and safe, but all I’ve ever done is break his heart and steal his rightful feelings.

  I slip the box into a pouch on the front of my backpack and flop down on the sofa. Resting my head along the back, I close my eyes as I work out the best way to approach Evan. Blowing the powder in his face should be easy. Doing the cleansing ritual afterward when he’s got his feelings back… not so much. For one, the only cleansing ritual I know is the one Jack and Liv showed me during my magic lessons, and it requires all participants to be present. There’s no way Evan can be present because A) he’ll be back to hating me, and B) I want to keep him safe from the supernatural world, not bring him into it. He can’t know the truth about my family and me.

  Maybe I can skip the cleansing ritual? Ivy hasn’t mentioned anything about needing to do one, so maybe it’s not really necessary? Then again, I probably shouldn’t discount what Jack said when I asked him in my own roundabout way on what to do if someone cast a spell to affect someone’s free will. Of course, he thought I was asking my questions based on having just watched The Craft, but still. If I want all traces of the spell gone, along with any negativity left over from it, I can’t skimp out. I’ll just have to figure out a way to cast it without Evan being aware of it—‘cause that won’t be hard or anything.

  I am so in over my head.

  Covering my face with my hands, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. A growl slips up my throat, only to be crushed against my palms. Why does everything have to be so hard all the time? Why can’t I just wave a wand or something and be done with it?

  I open my eyes at the sound of a mug being placed on the coffee table in front of me. The aroma sweeps under my nose, and I inhale deeply. All the tension clenching my muscles into a tight knot begins to drain, allowing them to finally relax. It’s the lightest I’ve felt all day. I take a sip, the hotness of the tea filling me with warmth.

  “Cookie?” Ivy holds out a plate piled high with chocolate chip goodness.

  I grab one and take a bite. The chocolate is warm and gooey and so delicious. It tastes like it just came out of the oven, even though she didn’t bake a th
ing. Magical cookies? I consider it a moment, then shrug. Who cares where it came from? It tastes like heaven.

  “This is really good. Thank you.” She sets the plate down, and I take another drink of my tea. It tastes even better than before, the blend of sugar and cinnamon a perfect mix dancing over my tongue until all I want to do is chug it.

  Heat spreads out from my belly into every part of my body until I’m wrapped up in a cocoon of fuzzy warmth. Ivy’s face sways in and out of focus, my eyelids growing heavier and heavier with each blink. I set the mug down, then cover my yawn with the back of my hand, a half-eaten cookie still clutched in the other. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so tired.” My words come out low and slurred, my thoughts growing more and more confused. My arm falls into my lap, the cookie now rolling over my leg and onto the floor. The longer I hold my head up, the harder the task becomes until I finally give in and rest it against the back of the sofa.

  Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimes. I watch as several Ivys stand, each one a little delayed from the Ivy before it until they coalesce back into one person. She goes to the door, leaving a trail of Ivys behind her to catch up. On the other side of the door, a tall blurry figure stands, his face going in and out of focus. I squeeze my eyes closed, then open them over and over to clear my vision, but things only become hazier with each attempt. I shake my head, or at least I think I do. Honestly, I can’t tell if I’ve even moved.

  The blurry figure moves inside, the room swaying to his steps as thick gray clouds swoop in around my line of sight, growing thicker and thicker until they merge in the middle, and everything goes black.

  A shrill chime pierces my eardrums, then climbs straight through to echo all around my skull, agitating the dull ache already residing there. I slam my hand down in search of the alarm to make it stop before it entices a full-blown migraine.

  The tip of my finger hits something cold and hard in pursuit of the snooze button. It tips over with a bang, and I shoot straight up, slamming my back into a hard cushion that knocks the breath from my lungs. “What the…?”

  My gaze bounces all over the place, from the shiny white tabletop with specks of silver, to an aquamarine booth on the other side, to a ketchup bottle rocking back and forth beside my hand. I pick it up, nearly spilling a cold cup of coffee sitting in front of me in the process. I twist around in my seat, locking gazes with a little girl in pigtails. She sticks her tongue out at me, then slams her tiny fists down onto the tabletop, her high-pitched four-year-old voice demanding chocolate milk.

  I swivel back around, my mind working overtime to sort through the fog filling my head. I have no idea where I am, why I’m here, or where here even is.

  I can’t remember anything.

  Why can’t I remember anything?

  Panic plants itself in the center of my chest the longer I try to remember and can’t. Its roots branch out to wrap around my lungs until my breaths are too fast and shallow and beads of sweat spring over the back of my neck. I grip onto the edge of the table, the room around me moving in a slow dipping spin. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe through it. Deep breath in, slow breath out. Deep breath in, slow breath out.

  I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for why I’m waking up in some diner, and once I get through my panic attack, I can figure it out. I just need to breathe, and clear my mind, and it’ll all come back to me. Then everything will make sense.

  I open my eyes slowly and turn to look out over the diner once again, hoping it’ll jog something loose when my foot bumps up against something under the table. Reaching under, I grab hold of my backpack and set it in the booth with me just as a waitress sets down a fresh cup of coffee beside the old one. I jump, my sudden movements spilling some of the hot liquid onto the surface.

  “Crap. Sorry.” I reach for a wad of napkins, but she beats me to the mess with a stack tucked in the pocket of her apron.

  “Sorry, hon. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just… jumpy, I guess.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, using the edge of my wrist to wipe off a bit of drool on my cheek—discreetly, I hope. Geez, how long was I asleep? I offer a smile, hoping to downplay the whole thing, if only to keep myself from diving headfirst into another panic attack.

  The smile she gives in return is warm, but her brown eyes hint at concern. “Sorry again for startling you. I thought you might like a fresh cup since you left your last one untouched.” Leaving the coffee-soaked napkins balled up on the corner of the table, she wipes her hand off on the side of her black pants before pulling out a notepad. “I can get you another or something else if you like. Maybe breakfast too? Our pancakes are the fluffiest around, and we just got in a fresh shipment of strawberries to top them.”

  My stomach growls at the mention of food while simultaneously rebelling against it. “This, um, this might sound weird, but where am I?”

  Her brows draw together, tiny lines forming between them. “You’re at Annie’s Café. You came in around four this morning, half-dead on your feet. Don’t you remember?” At my blank stare she continues, “You ordered coffee and eggs and fell asleep at the booth before your breakfast was ready. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

  “I did? I don’t even like coffee,” I mumble as I rack my brain, trying my hardest to remember coming here. All I come up with is a big fat nothing. My eyes drift back to the backpack in the booth beside me. I stare at it as though it’ll suddenly grow a mouth and tell me the answers I seek when something sparks within my mind.

  I ran away.

  The same moment the thought comes, so do the horrible memories for why: the diner with Sebastian and my cousins, the vampires who came to kill me, what I did. The way Liv looked at me. Jack. Waking up in the white room. Leaving everything behind so they could all be safe. And then…

  “The reversal spell.”

  I was at Ivy’s.

  Turning my back to the waitress—who no doubt thinks I’m even crazier now than before by the look on her face—I search through my pack until my fingers land on a small box with a scrap of paper tucked beneath purple ribbon. A deep sigh of relief slips past my lips. I can undo what I did to Evan. I kiss the box like the precious item it is, then put it back into my backpack.

  But if I was with Ivy last night—which I obviously was because I have the spell—how did I end up here? And why don’t I remember it?

  I flash another smile at the waitress, an embarrassed God-I-hope-she-doesn’t-think-I’m-a-nutcase half-laugh slipping out behind it. I take in the details of her face—tired eyes, freckles across her nose, full lips, chipped front tooth—hoping for any kind of spark to jog my memory before gazing out over the diner. There’s nothing. Not a single thing—including her—that looks familiar at all.

  “Um, when I came in last night… was I alone?” I draw out. “Or was I with anyone? A girl with short purple hair, perhaps?”

  The look the waitress gives me says she’s about two seconds away from either having me committed or giving me a hug. “No. It was just you.” She places a gentle hand down on my shoulder. Her gaze roams over my face with a heavy dose of mom worry etched into the lines crinkling over her forehead. “Is there anyone you’d like me to call to come pick you up? Your parents? A brother or sister?”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine. Really. It was just a long night last night studying for exams with my friends,” I lie with the hope she’ll think I’m some out-all-hours-of-the-night college student or something and not think much of it. “I must have been more exhausted than I thought when I came in. Sorry I fell asleep at the table.” I force myself to smile, praying it’s convincing. The last thing I need is for her to call the cops or social services if she doesn’t buy my lie and thinks I’m unstable, on drugs, or the teenage runaway I am.

  A fist slams down onto a table somewhere behind me, and my butt lifts up off the seat, my heart crashing forward into my ribs. The waitress sighs deeply
then redirects her scrutinizing gaze from me to whoever’s causing the ruckus in a way that suggests fist slamming on tabletops is commonplace here.

  “Yo, waitress. Can we get some service over here or what?” a gruff, slurred voice yells out.

  I turn in my seat, glaring at a booth occupied by three dudes who don’t look more than a few years older than me. I can smell the alcohol on them from halfway across the room. They’re either still drunk from the night before or had a major bender this morning.

  “Yeah. I’m starving.” A guy with a messy man-bun raises the arm he’s not resting his head on to point down at himself. “I must have sustenance.”

  A third guy who has what looks likes dried vomit down the front of his shirt, flashes a lopsided smile at the waitress. “Do you guys serve beer here?” His gaze shifts in my direction, where it crawls over my skin in slow movements. “Would you like to join us, Red? I promise we don’t bite. Unless you want us to.” He licks his lips and raises a suggestive eyebrow while his friend beside him cheers him on.

  Gross.

  “Let me know if you want to order anything, hon.” The waitress places a menu onto the table, then makes her way to the booth of idiots who are now shouting for bacon and beer.

  I drop a few bills beside the steaming cup of coffee and slip my backpack on. I need to find Ivy. Maybe she can tell me how I got here.

  A sharp pain slices through my head upon standing, and I nearly fall back into the booth. I grip the back of the seat to hold myself up, the touch of wood and vinyl solid under my hand while the rest of the café yanks out from underneath my feet.

  Candles surround me, the light flickering off the walls and over the ceiling in a dizzying dance that become smears of yellow and orange with the smallest movement of my head. Several voices belonging to shadowed faces murmur in a soft cadence all around me, the weight of their words pressing down against my chest. Down, down, down, until my skin begins to burn.