Blood Magic (The Blood Journals)

by Tessa Gratton

  “She slit her wrists. To get rid of her blood.”

  Silla’s head rose just enough to meet my eyes. “Oh.” I could see the realization in her face, that she knew what Mom’s suicide attempt meant.

  “My grandfather told her she was evil. That the magic was evil.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I sank down to sit in front of her. “I don’t remember, but I think I should.”

  We stared at each other for a moment.

  I said, “I wasn’t lying about not remembering it all. What I did remember was … tainted. Because even though it had been fun at first, it all led to my mom trying to kill herself and get high to dilute the power. I even wonder if she put a spell on me to make me forget. Because it just all came crashing back on Saturday, after I saw you and Reese doing the possession. My mom could do that. And she taught me to do it.”

  “You didn’t know if you could trust me,” Silla whispered. “If I was—was evil, too. Or using it for evil purposes.”

  “Yeah.”

  She nodded clumsily. “I get that.”

  “I also think …” I hesitated.

  Her eyebrows rose a little.

  I cleared my throat. “My mom might have done something wrong, but I went through your dad’s book and there isn’t even the slightest curse or negative magic. It’s all healing, protection, transformation. I think your dad was good.”

  And just like that she was crying.

  I felt a little like That Guy who holds a baby at arm’s length because he’s afraid it’s going to pee on him.

  Her hands pressed to her face and she made actual sounds. Like, sobs. And sniffing. It was all muffled, though, as she hunched down, bending over herself and becoming this tiny ball. Her shoulders shook. I touched the top of her head. Just gently, not sure she wanted real comfort or my arm around her.

  It didn’t last long. Only a few moments, while the corn moved all around us in dry ocean waves.

  Sniffing hugely, Silla sat up. She wiped at her cheeks and eyes, and muttered “Sorry” several times. I just waited. Offered my sleeve. She smiled a tremulous smile and shook her head. “I’m okay. God, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Feel better?” I’d heard that crying really helped some people.

  “Ugh.” Sniff. “No. Not at all. I feel like my brain turned to snot and cotton balls.”

  “That’s how you look, too,” I said. Very seriously.

  It got a laugh from her. “God, don’t make me laugh. It hurts.” She pushed the butts of her hands into her eyes.

  So I waited another moment while she gathered herself up.

  “I’ve been afraid, you know?” she said to her hands, now folded in her lap. “That he deserved it. That he brought this upon us. And the woman who killed them told me that he was a liar and a horrible person. That Dad betrayed her. And it’s what everyone says.”

  “They’re wrong.”

  She took a huge breath and held it, then let it hiss out slowly. Blotches of pink stained her face, and her eyes were puffy. Good thing I wasn’t a mirror. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, I need to call Reese,” she said. “Warn him, get him home. But I … I left my backpack at school.”

  “My cell’s in my bag.” I touched her knuckle. “I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

  SILLA

  My breath rattled up my throat, sounding like the wind through the brown cornstalks behind me. Shaky, dry, and empty.

  I closed my eyes, felt the weak sunlight against the back of my neck, the hard twigs of grass under my butt. A distant crow called, and my stomach tightened.

  I dialed Reese’s number on Nick’s cell, and watched the display until it began ringing.

  Please be Reese. Please be my brother.

  On the fifth ring he picked up. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, it’s Silla.”

  “You’ve been crying, bumblebee.”

  Relief like cool rain poured over me. It was him. “I’m okay. I need you to go home. The person who killed Dad and Mom is definitely still around. Her name is Josephine Darly, and she possessed Wendy today and tried to steal the spell book. I’m afraid of what she’ll try next. We need to talk, and to find a way to protect ourselves.”

  Reese didn’t say anything for a moment. I could hear the roar of a tractor and yelled conversation faintly in the background. Then he said, “We can try the protection charms in the spell book. Is Nick with you? Do you have the book?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll have to go through it and look for—” He stopped, then whispered, “Look, I can’t talk about this here. I’ll head home.”

  “I hate that the important ones are the complicated ones. Why can’t we just bleed on each other and voila?” I tried to make my tone light, to insert some levity, but it fell flat.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll see you at home.”

  “Be careful, Silla.”

  “You too.”

  Reese hung up.

  Nick, on the other side of the ditch, climbed into the convertible and pulled it all the way off the road. As I watched him, the twist in my stomach slowly relaxed. He moved like an awkward marionette as he climbed out of the car, and it was easy to imagine someone else manipulating the strings. But I didn’t believe it. The sun caught some surprisingly bright auburn highlights in his hair, and I wondered if he even knew they were there. I wished I could forget Josephine and my parents, forget the magic, possession, blood, all of it, and just draw Nick back up here so that I could run my fingers through his hair and find more colors.

  Instead I dialed Wendy’s number. Went straight to voice mail. Her voice, peppy and bright, declared, “Hiya, you’ve almost reached Wendy—leave a message!”

  “Hey, it’s—it’s Silla. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I flaked, I know. It was just …” I licked my lips and then lied, “Um, the blood. I lost it, you know. The blood.” My voice fell to a whisper. “Anyway. I know you’re okay, but I don’t have my cell. You can call the house or something. Or this—it’s Nick’s phone. Sorry.”

  Before I babbled for another twenty minutes, I snapped the phone shut. Wendy would believe me. I’d been so stupidly delicate about blood and everything lately, it wouldn’t be a stretch.

  I shoved to my feet, head pounding with gentle but constant waves in time with my heartbeat. God, I hated crying like that. I didn’t feel right again for days. And doing it in front of anyone who wasn’t my mom … who, of course, would never care if I cried or not again … I stopped, closed my eyes, and took a long breath. I had to calm down. So much had happened in just an hour. Less than an hour. I could be steady. I could be fine.

  The calm, sea-green mask settled into its place. As Nick got out and moved around to the trunk, popping it with his key, I thought about what he’d said. That I was hiding behind masks. Maybe he was right about the silver and white one. It was cold and meant to be empty. But this one, or the sky and sun mask for joy, so many of the others, they were just part of who I was.

  After a final steadying breath, I walked to the car. Nick pulled a box out of the trunk. He tucked it under one arm and slammed the trunk shut, then placed the box on top of it.

  “What’s that?” I leaned my hip into the taillight, touching one finger to the lovely glossed finish of the box. Black crows were inlaid in the lid, against a purple sky.

  “My mom’s magic box,” he said, pushing aside the broken lock and opening it.

  I gasped, despite myself, at the contents. Tiny glass jars filled with differently colored powders and flakes of dry plants, seeds, metal filings, a feather quill, little slips of paper, ribbon. Wax. “Nick,” I breathed.

  He pulled out a jar. The glass was thin and cloudy, with a cork stopper. The jar was labeled blessed thistle. In Dad’s handwriting.

  “Nick!” I took it, caressed the curling paper glued to the bottle. “My dad wrote this.”

  Tugging at his bag, which hung off my shoulder, he dug in for th
e spell book. Flipping it open, he held up a page and compared. It was perfectly, obviously Dad’s writing. “They must have shared it,” he said. He glanced up at my face.

  “Judy said they dated in high school.” If my cheeks hadn’t already been blotchy from crying, I’d probably have blushed.

  Nick set the book on the car and rubbed his face. “Jesus, this is complicated.”

  I leaned into him, putting my cheek against his. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Let’s get home.”

  September 1937

  The Deacon! What a man—what a creature.

  He is simple, and as young and beautiful as an angel—a demon. When he says our power comes from Devil’s blood, it only makes sense to believe him. The Deacon could charm his way into a priest’s pants if he wanted. But he doesn’t—that is what makes him so strange to me. So strange and wonderful. He doesn’t use his charm to lie to or trick others. He just … is. Just as a storm seems like rage and desperation and need but is only wind and rain, not caring how you respond to it. The Deacon is a living part of nature.

  Philip immerses himself in this new experimenting of theirs. Drugs and aromas to cure ailments. Boring things. I watch the Deacon and wonder how he became what he is. He looked up at me this morning and smiled. In his eyes was something I had never seen in Philip’s.

  Challenge.

  While Philip dripped tinctures from one test tube into another, the Deacon asked me to venture into the wilderness with him, into the tall prairie grasses, with the promise of new magics for me.

  And oh, I am ever so glad that I accepted. He has opened my mind! I never imagined I could possess a flock of geese as they alit upon a lake, or possess a tree—a tree! Oh my soul. I can hardly put into words what it was like coursing through roots and up into the highest reaches of leaves, waving like hair in the wind. Endless power, endless peace, I think. The Deacon says it is the feeling of God.

  But peace does not entertain me for long. I prefer running with the coyotes or cutting through the sky with the eagles. With the Deacon at my side, I hunted. I killed, and felt the charge of filling my stomach with flesh ruined by my own claws.

  So long ago, Philip taught me that to possess was to dance with dangerous temptation. There is no temptation here, for I do not resist the wildness, the danger. I am the whole world.

  NICHOLAS

  As I drove, I told Silla what I remembered about my mom, and about the slippery memory where Mom had said we were going to save Robbie Kennicot. Silla told me about the grave desecration and the letter from some guy named Deacon, who’d sent her the spell book.

  “Hang on,” I stopped her, just as I turned up our mutual street. “Friday night, the night of the party—that’s when Josephine tried to get at your dad’s bones?”

  “Had to have been.”

  “Holy shit.” Gardening boots. Muddy gardening boots when the ground was too cold for gardening.

  “What, Nick?” Silla touched my arm.

  I shook my head. So many pieces fell into place. I had to focus on not scratching the Sebring’s paint on the gate when I turned onto the gravel driveway. When I’d parked, I swung to face her. “Lilith.”

  Silla waited.

  “I tripped over her muddy boots when I got home Friday night. And your folks died in July, right? She was here doing re-modeling. And she was at school today.” It was like the whole world was folding in around me. I hated Lilith, but I hadn’t really thought she was a murderer.

  Silla put her hands on my face. “Nick. Nick.” She kissed me, just smooshing her mouth against mine.

  Everything fell back into place. I mirrored her gesture, holding her face in my hands. Our kiss broke apart, and we leaned our foreheads together.

  “Let’s go inside, Nick, and we’ll talk it through. We’ll figure it out.”

  Half my mouth turned up in a smile. In just a short time, I’d gone from comforter to comfortee. “Okay, babe.”

  Just as I climbed out, Reese’s truck pulled into the driveway. I shut my door and was turning to say hi to Reese when Silla screamed.

  Wings flashed in my face and pain shot across my forehead as a little bird raked at my eyes. I ducked down, batting at the bird, and started to run around the car. “Silla! The house!” I could just make her out, flailing against a half dozen blue jays. They made awful croaking noises, and screeched. Little claws jabbed at my neck. I spun. They tore at my hands, pecking and trying to land on my head. They were everywhere. A cloud of them.

  I ran. I blacked out suddenly, like a giant blink, and then was still running, tripped and caught myself with my hands, and—

  SILLA

  The birds reared back as one, and I had a moment to breathe. “Nick!” I looked all around. One of his hands fished into his messenger bag and pulled out the book. A twisted smile spread across his face. No, oh, no.

  I darted for Nick, and just as I was there, reaching out, his face contorted and he slumped to his knees. The blue jays screamed, and a huge weight of them crashed into my back, tearing through my T-shirt. I wheeled my arms for balance, spinning to bat the birds away as painful heat blossomed through my body.

  A roar from Reese’s throat sounded like a war cry. He held a shovel and a plastic trash can lid. With the shovel, he slapped the birds out of the sky, and he used the lid like a shield. I fell next to Nick, who was struggling to stand. The spell book lay open, facedown on the gravel, pages bent. I grabbed it, and Nick grabbed my arm. “I’m okay,” he said quickly. We got up and lurched to Reese.

  “Behind me!” Reese bellowed, swinging his shovel in a huge arc. The thwack as he connected made my stomach churn, again and again. We backed up toward the house. Judy flung the door open for us. Nick and I nearly tripped up the porch steps, but Reese was firm and calm. The moment we were inside, Reese dropped the shovel and slammed the door.

  NICHOLAS

  Judy took Silla upstairs so that she could get some bandages on her back and change shirts. I leaned against the counter beside Reese, waiting for my turn with the nurse. Reese didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t inclined to, either. I kept my eyes closed and my jaw clenched against the sting from the cuts on my neck and hands, remembering what it had felt like for that long moment I’d been possessed. Disorientation. Numbness. Like being paralyzed, or in a weird waking coma. But I’d felt the second her grip had loosened—triumph at holding the spell book had disrupted her hold on me, and I’d pushed free.

  But I didn’t know if I could do it again. I shuddered.

  Reese stood abruptly. “I’ll be right back.” He strode to the front door and grabbed the shovel.

  “Hang on, what are you doing?”

  “You dropped the spell book. We’ve gotta have it.”

  Standing, I dug my car keys out of my jeans. “I’ll go. You cover me. There’s something in my trunk we need, too.”

  On the count of three, we flung open the door and ran out. I skidded in the gravel, catching myself painfully on one hand, and picked up the spell book. I realized Reese wasn’t swinging, and all the birds were gone. The sky was empty. Not a leaf fluttered, and there wasn’t a sound disturbing the afternoon. “I hate this,” I muttered, jamming the key into the trunk.

  Reese grunted. He continued moving around, half crouched in a batter’s stance, with the shovel gripped tight. When I had the box under one arm, and the book in the other hand, I nodded, slammed the trunk closed, and then we were back in the house, having only been gone about two minutes.

  We collapsed at the kitchen table, box and spell book between us. My messenger bag swung from the back of my chair.

  After a moment, Reese abruptly stood again and went to the counter. I just closed my eyes and didn’t open them until I heard the thunk of a mug hitting the table. I smelled coffee. “Oh, God.” Wrapping my sore hands around the hot drink, I inhaled.

  Reese pulled out the chair next to mine and held his coffee in his lap.

  “Reese,” I began. He flicked his eyes at me. Unconcerned. “I�
�ve always known about the magic.”

  He just freaking blinked. Then some tiny change in expression darkened his whole face. Kind of like one of my dad’s non-reactions.

  “My mom did it, and taught some of it to me when I was a kid.”

  His jaw muscles tightened and then released. I think he relaxed them deliberately. Setting his coffee down, he splayed his hands on the table and slid them toward me. Glaring. “Your mom did it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seriously.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you just … pretended not to know.”

  “It was the safest thing to do.”

  He leaned forward, the chair creaking under him like an echoed threat. Before he opened his mouth again, I said, “Look, it was my decision not to say anything, and I’m not going to feel guilty about it, so get over it.”

  “Does Silla know?” His voice was so low.

  “Yes. She just found out. And she told me about your parents and—and everything.” I wanted to add something about getting what it felt like, but was pretty damn sure Reese wasn’t feeling the bonding.

  “Okay.” He sat back, letting breath hiss out through his teeth. “Apparently, we all have a lot to talk about.”

  “I’ll, uh, go get Silla.” I forced myself not to move too quickly, but yeah, I was totally fleeing. I couldn’t tell if he was relaxing for real or just biding his time until he could punch me. Whichever, I wanted Silla there as a witness.

  SILLA

  “Whew! Wasn’t that exciting?” Judy buzzed into the bathroom and jerked open the mirrored cabinet. Her hands flapped around like if she was still she’d pass out. “Crazy birds! Must be a storm coming, or maybe there was a slight earthquake or something that we couldn’t even feel. Birds are sensitive to those kinds of harmonies, you know.”

  I plunked down on the toilet seat, holding my hands out. The tiny scrapes glistened. Judy crouched in front of me with a cardboard box of Band-Aids, a washcloth, cotton balls, and the bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She wet the washcloth in the sink, and wiped at my neck. I winced, though it didn’t really hurt. “Yeah. Crazy birds,” I whispered.