Bloodcraft

by Amalie Howard

  “Christian,” she said, her fingers tickling his rib cage. “Are you awake?”

  “I am now,” he said dazedly, tucking an elbow beneath his cheek. His silver eyes met hers, traces of sleep still in them. “You look beautiful in the morning.”

  She felt a flush consume her body from her hairline to her toes at the look in those eyes of his. “So do you.”

  He reached for her, scooting her body beneath him and turning his at the same time so that he lifted up on one elbow to look down at her. The sheet slid lower, baring her upper half to his greedy gaze. Fire pooled deep, spreading its hot fingers wide until her entire body felt as if it were burning.

  “Christian, wait,” she murmured. “I feel so hot.”

  “Yes,” he said, a fingertip stroking down the valley between her breasts and stopping at her navel. Her stomach muscles clenched at the featherlight touch, sweeping back and forth beneath it in a teasing motion. “I know. I want you to burn for me.”

  His fingers slid lower, brushing against the heart of her, and something ignited. She grasped his shoulders, her back arching as the flames took hold. “No,” she gasped. “Wait. Something’s wrong.”

  He reached up to hold her face between his palms, his eyes mesmerizing. “Nothing’s wrong,” he whispered. “We’re in paradise. Can’t you see that?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, but something didn’t feel right. Her gaze shifted to him. He looked like Christian, but he didn’t smell right. Something felt off. The breeze was too perfect, the scent of the ocean too briny. Her blood burned hot in her veins, scorching the inside of her skin as if forcing her to feel the pain and leave the fantasy. Instead, she shied away from it.

  “It’s too hot,” she muttered. Christian smiled, his teeth perfect and white. Her eyes narrowed at the conspicuous lack of fangs. His fingers were cool against her cheek.

  “I only want to please you.” His lips descended to hers, taking them in a sweet, demanding kiss that left her breathless. Her blood surged in response, licking against the inside of her like an inferno. She was burning up from the inside out. She tore at the sheets, ripping them off of her, scraping at her skin so that red claw marks appeared.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Is it something I’ve done? I want to please you.”

  Something in his repeated words dug at her. Her blood blistered her skin, forcing the fog in her mind to clear briefly. Focusing on it, Victoria embraced the pain of her blood, letting it fill her until she felt nothing but clarity. She sank her nails into her palm, the release of the blood almost her undoing.

  “I love you,” Christian said, pulling her close.

  “No!” she shouted, shoving him off of her.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, reaching for her.

  She drew the sheet up to cover herself and shook her head. Blackly red blood streaked the silk sheets as the blood magic surged to the fore. “You’re not real. None of this is.”

  Within moments, the tranquil ocean scene disappeared and there was nothing but darkness. Victoria could feel her body, but she couldn’t see anything. There was no idyllic ocean hut, no beach, and no half-nude Christian professing his undying love. Reality was swift to return. As much as she had been seduced by the fantasy, she and Christian had broken up. She hadn’t seen him. Once she recognized that truth, the world that her mind had created started to collapse. She’d been charmed somehow.

  Her head felt as if it’d been hit with a sledgehammer.

  Pan.

  What the holy hell had he done to her?

  She pressed her hands upward and encountered nothing but dirt and a prison made of tree roots. She was buried. Underground. She called upon her magic, but couldn’t focus. Her head felt fuzzy as if something was inhibiting her ability to think. She blinked and bit her lip. Hard. Blood flowed into her mouth along with swift lucidity and filtered memories. Pan had blown something into her face, making her a prisoner and compromising her magic with some kind of herbal hallucinogen—one that had created the fantasy she’d just imagined.

  It’d been so real. She could still feel the slant of Christian’s lips and the hard, male press of his body moving atop hers. She flushed in the darkness. Whatever Pan had given her had made her fevered imaginings seem genuine, when it was obvious they’d been nothing but dreams. Her entire body tingled with the visceral memory of it.

  She shook herself roughly. She didn’t have much time or oxygen, and as far as she knew, powerful witch or not, she needed to breathe to survive. She pressed upward again, feeling the dirt crumble between her fingers. Pan had been clever—she’d fallen for his naïve act hook, line, and sinker, even though he had known who she was the whole time. He had always known. His words chilled her to the bone.

  I know exactly who you are, little bird.

  And then he’d blown the yellow dust into her face, and she’d felt the teleportation spell take effect. She’d fallen prey to the pollen immediately, unable to defend herself, and now she was here, trapped in a dark prison of roots and dirt.

  Victoria kicked against the walls of the space, blinking as a shower of soil rained into her eyes. She pushed outward—she had absolutely no sense of where she was, whether she was upside down, buried a hundred feet in the earth, or anything. Panic started to set in, sweeping along her limbs in icy-cold bursts.

  Focus, she told herself. You’ve been buried in an avalanche before. This is nothing.

  But the remnants of the pollen hallucinogen made it difficult to concentrate or pull her thoughts cohesively together. It’d been a brilliant plan by Pan—poison her nervous system so that she was unable to command her magic. She took a deep breath and tried to tap into the blood’s magic. It gathered at her core and then dissipated in the same instant. She couldn’t concentrate worth a damn.

  She had underestimated Pan, thinking him guileless and innocent. But he’d been biding his time until he could make his move. Victoria wondered what that was. He couldn’t expect to use the Cruentus Curse himself, and unless he was attempting to use her as a bargaining chip to the witches or the warlocks, or even the vampires, she couldn’t imagine what was driving him.

  Her breaths were becoming shallower with the increasing lack of oxygen, and she tried again to summon her blood magic, deciding to give in to its powers and assume the risk. She dug her nails into her palms, tearing at the skin there, but nothing happened. Her blood soaked into the earth beneath her. Whatever Pan had poisoned her with had been potent and effective. Plants. She should have known.

  Victoria pushed her awareness outward. Leto? Are you there?

  She wasn’t surprised at the lack of response. Leto had been more absent than present the last few weeks, caught up in his own doings. Lately, he was preoccupied and surly, so much so that Victoria had taken to keeping him at a distance. Now, caught in this trap, she wished she had done otherwise, especially after banishing him at Holly’s house. Leto did not respond. She tried Angie next, but that failed, too. Angie was no doubt somewhere in Paris, wondering why her friend had decided to desert her.

  Half-defeated, she sank back against the crumbling walls of her prison. She’d be better off being lost in her fantasy with Christian. The thought of him made something flutter in the pit of her stomach, and she wondered whether he’d still be able to hear her. She reached out into the void.

  Christian? Can you hear me? She tried again, but there was nothing.

  Victoria closed her eyes and the image of the ocean reformed in her brain. The urge to return to the safety of it was a powerful one and she almost gave in. She reached out for Christian one more time, hoping beyond hope that he’d hear her.

  Tori? The sound of his voice coming back to her made tears spring to her eyes.

  Can you hear me? she choked.

  You’re so far away.

  I’m trapped somewhere. Pan buried me underground and fed me some plant pathogen. I can’t use my magic to free myself.

 
Okay. Don’t let go, he said. Hold on to me. I’m coming to you. Tori, hold on and don’t let go.

  I will.

  Victoria tried to take short shallow breaths to conserve the remaining oxygen in the space, but she could feel her strength failing. She had to stay conscious so that Christian could find her. A part of her wondered whether she had spoken to the real Christian at all or whether it, too, had been in her head. She blinked, confusion numbing her. She couldn’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality anymore. Was any of this real? Was she real?

  Suddenly, the earth around her started to collapse as the roots pushed in to cradle her body, grabbing her like a giant hand and scooping her body upward. A burst of fresh sweet air crashed into her face as she broke free from the soil. She could see that she was still entrapped in a cocoon of roots. Images rushed toward her—a thick grove of trees, a dirt path strewn with rocks. They were in some kind of wood. She recognized a sequoia tree. A forest? In Paris? It could be the Bois de Boulogne. But for all she knew, they could be back in Maine. Witches could teleport anywhere.

  Her eyes adjusted to the daylight and Pan’s face swam into view.

  “Hello, lovely,” he said, his voice unnaturally loud. He snapped two fingers in front of her. “Wake up, princess. Looks like I got you in the nick of time.”

  “You nearly killed me,” she gasped, letting the sweet air fill her lungs. She was alive and this was real. Pan had put her here.

  “Come now, don’t be melodramatic. You’re alive, aren’t you?”

  “What did you do to me?”

  He peered at her. “You didn’t enjoy it? It’s my own special recipe, meant to take your wildest dreams and make them come true.” He eyed her. “Knowing everything I know about you, I expect your wildest imaginings to be about your gorgeous forbidden vampire lover.”

  “You said you liked him,” she accused, trying desperately to focus, but her mind refused to cooperate.

  “I did like him,” Pan said in a conversational voice. “I didn’t like that he had you wrapped around his little finger. Or that you were too stupid to see that you were.”

  “Stupid?” she repeated dully.

  Pan rolled his eyes, taking something from a pouch at his waist. “All this power and you sit around, waiting for some vampire to come rescue you. Girls are so blind. They all want the romance when it’s the biggest joke. You think he cares about you? How can he? You’re a witch, he’s a vampire. You’re from two different worlds. He’s using you, Tori.”

  “And you aren’t?”

  “It’s not the same thing. He’s a vampire.”

  “I’d trust him at my side more than I would you.” She shook her head, fighting to think clearly. “I would have thought that you of all people would understand about differences. Who cares if he’s a vampire? He loves me.” Loved me, she added silently.

  “It is forbidden according to all our laws, laws that you flaunt so carelessly. You are nothing but an undeserving foolish girl.” Pan stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “And if your vampire prince loves you so much, then where’s your white knight now?” he taunted. “Isn’t he going to come save you? Rescue you?”

  “I can rescue myself,” Victoria said.

  “If you say so.”

  Victoria felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as sanity came back in miniscule doses. She focused as hard as she could on the boy hovering over her cage of roots. The magic pooled within her, struggling past the remnants of the hallucinogen he’d given her. Whatever it was, it was powerful. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so scattered, as if she could barely hold a coherent thought. She guessed that was the point of Pan’s toxin—magic needed focus and concentration, even blood magic. She needed to distract him, get him talking so that she could let more of it wear off.

  “When did you know?” she asked. “About me?”

  “After that episode in the glade,” he said with a smile. “That counter spell was genius. Even the trees were impressed. They told me who you were then.”

  “So you decided to poison me?”

  “On the contrary,” Pan said, one white eyebrow arching high. “I wanted to inhibit those magnificent powers of yours.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m still working on a synthesis that gets the components just right—psychotomimetics and psychotaraxics and things like that—without killing you, I mean.” He grinned as if pleased with himself. “It’s a delicate balance, plant study.”

  Victoria blinked. Her knowledge of botany was sparse, but she did know that many of the worst poisons and hallucinogens had their origins in plants. She should have guessed. “Why? Didn’t your precious trees tell you that you can’t control the Cruentus Curse? Others have tried and died for their efforts.”

  “Of course they did,” he smirked. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t control you.”

  “I’ll never do what you want.”

  “Not of your own free will, sure. But there are ways to induce that.” He nodded to the pouch at his waist. “Case in point. With this little mixture, you are completely powerless, unable to conjure the simplest of spells. With the one I’m developing, you will do exactly as I tell you to.”

  She stared at him, a tendril of fear coiling in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t get it. Why would you do this?”

  Pan’s eyes took on a fevered glaze as something rolled across his features. “You don’t know what it’s like, do you? To be constantly overlooked? When nothing you do is good enough? When people choose not to see you? I’ve always felt invisible, and with you, I won’t be.”

  Despite Pan’s betrayal, Victoria felt a stirring of pity. She knew exactly what it was like to feel like nothing. “I was like that my whole life. I get it, Pan.”

  “You’re not now.”

  “Because I chose to change. You can, too.”

  “I am changing,” he said. “I have the Cruentus Curse in my grasp and soon people will really see me.”

  Victoria shook her head, grasping the gnarly bars of her cage. “The curse will defend itself, Pan. There comes a point where I can’t control it and nothing is safe. It will destroy you. It will destroy everything in its path without consequence.”

  “Not if I keep you in a state of mental paralysis,” he said. “Your blood magic depends on the state of your consciousness. It has to flow through you, and if you, its instrument, is incapacitated, then it will be too. Don’t you see? It’s perfect.”

  Pan was pacing back and forth, his face contorted with all his scheming. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before, but in hindsight, she recalled all the circumspect sidelong glances. He’d hidden his true colors beneath a front of friendship that she’d eaten up. Even her blood had been fooled by his guilelessness.

  It surged within her and Victoria felt the power at her core growing stronger, although her awareness felt disjointed. She had a choice—she could keep Pan talking until she had enough strength for one good spell, or she could give in to the blood’s magic and hope for the best. The latter was a risk, as there was a good chance it would kill Pan without conscience, and despite his betrayal, she didn’t want his death on her hands.

  “What do you hope to get out of this? Validation? Recognition? Those things don’t matter. This is a curse, Pan,” she added desperately. “A warlock tried to take it last year and he’s dead now.”

  “I am not some foolish warlock,” he screamed, his voice turning deep and guttural. Victoria frowned at the sudden change, recognition crowding her brain. He’d changed before when they’d fought at Belles Fontaines and she had thought she imagined it. Once more, his features shifted, growing sharper and more defined … more elfin. “You will be completely under my control, just as you are now. I want everyone to know my name—witches, warlocks, vampires, humans. I want them to bend, to cower, to grovel before me.”

  “You’re insane,” she whispered, a prickling of fear spreading along her spine. Pan’s slow chuckle made the fear turn to ice
. He didn’t seem like the same person.

  “It’s not insanity.”

  Her eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to her—he wasn’t the same person. “Who are you?” she asked.

  He fluttered his eyelashes at her, a hand flying to his breast in mock astonishment. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You’re not Pan. You’re someone else.” She studied him. The change in his face had been deliberate—he’d meant to show her. He wasn’t possessed by something—she would have sensed a second being. It was as if he were two people in the same body, a two-faced split personality. “You’re a Janusite.”

  “Such a clever girl,” he crowed, clapping his hands. “I knew you would figure it out eventually. I didn’t think it would be this soon, but I guess this is a lesson for me not to underestimate you.”

  Victoria’s eyes widened. She’d never met one of them before, only heard the urban legends. It was mostly a human condition, but had been known to affect witches from time to time, and Pan had told her that he had human blood in him. Janusites were torn between good and evil. The little she knew of them told her that they could not be reasoned with or appealed to, and when one side took over, the other retreated. Right now, she knew she was dealing with the beast instead of the boy.

  “How did you hide yourself from Madame Starke and the rest of the teachers at Belles Fontaines?” They never would have admitted him had they known.

  “What makes you think I hid anything? And even if I did, people believe what they choose to believe. I told you, when you are invisible, you can accomplish many things.”

  “You’re not invisible, Pan.”

  He laughed, his mirth making him double over. “Oh, come now. Tell me you didn’t see me coming? You saw what you wanted to believe just like everyone else does. Don’t pretend for a second otherwise.”