“Who is he, anyway?” I asked, trying to get my mind off my own troubles. “And why did you tell him to go back to Hell?”
She looked uncomfortable. “He’s nobody. A minor demon I had to ask for help when I made that stake for Corbin. Now he thinks I owe him or something.”
“I thought you said you don’t call demons,” I said. “Didn’t you say that was a big no-no if a witch wanted to keep practicing white magic?”
“It’s complicated. What I’m doing is sort of…gray magic.” She blew out a breath in frustration. “Look, do you want your bond broken or not?”
I took a deep breath. “No, but it needs to happen. As soon as possible.”
“I can do it tonight,” she said. “Let me get my things.”
She went to the kitchen and I heard Laish speaking to her again.
“So you’re really going to do this? Break a blood-bond sanctioned by the Goddess?”
“I’m doing what the client wants,” Gwendolyn said and I heard some banging, as though she was looking for something in the cabinets.
“In order to get the blood for your vengeance spell. This is dark magic, Gwendolyn. It will cast a long shadow on your soul.” Laish sounded serious. “Why don’t you simply tell me the name of the person who has hurt you? I’ll kill them at once and you won’t have to further compromise yourself.”
Gwendolyn snorted. “And put myself further into your debt? I don’t think so, demon.”
“You wound me, ma cher. I have only your best interests at heart.”
“I wouldn’t believe that even if you had a heart—which you don’t,” Gwendolyn snapped. “Now leave me alone and let me work.”
I thought I heard him murmur, “As you wish,” and then I had the distinct feeling that Gwendolyn and I were alone in the house again. Where had he gone—back to Hell? And was he really only a minor demon…or something else? Something more?
The questions were driven out of my mind when Gwendolyn came back into the living room with some instruments wrapped in a black towel. When she unrolled it onto the coffee table, I saw matches, a silver bowl, the demon’s breath flowers, a long silver knife, and a lump of something that looked like black modeling clay or wax.
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Now let’s get started. This is going to be a little tricky since it’s not the usual breaking up spell.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “So this is like an everyday thing you do?”
She shrugged. “Usually, no. Not unless the client is in a really destructive relationship. Like her husband beats her and won’t let her leave—something like that.”
“So what do you do in that case?” I asked, fascinated despite myself.
Gwendolyn shrugged. “Something a lot more subtle than this is going to be, I can tell you that. Usually I write the names of the people who need to break up on two slips of paper and burn them in the bowl with some personal effects—hair or fingernail clippings, that kind of thing. Then I cut a lemon lengthwise and sprinkle the ashes inside, seal up the lemon and tie it with a black cord. Then just leave it on the windowsill to dry up.”
“And that works…how?” I asked doubtfully.
“Like I said, it’s subtle. The relationship sours and dries up as the lemon dries up. The abusive man finds he wants to leave his wife and has no desire to see her or torment her again.”
She was working as she talked, using the long, pointed silver dagger to chop the demon’s breath into tiny pieces, which she scraped into the silver bowl. The flowers had a very unpleasant scent now that they were chopped and I couldn’t help noticing that their sap was as red as blood.
“I, uh, hope you don’t want me to eat that stuff,” I said, eyeing the silver bowl with distaste.
“Good Lord, no.” Gwendolyn made a face. “Demon’s breath is poison no matter what kind of supe you are. Well, except for demons—apparently they make a kind of tea out of it. Ugh.”
“Well, what are you going to do with it then?” I asked. “And how will it be different from your usual ‘break up’ spell?”
“I’m going to burn it with six drops of your blood.” She frowned at me. “I don’t suppose you have anything of Victor’s on you, do you? A strand of hair maybe? Or a fingernail clipping?”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry—it never occurred to me to bring anything like that and well, I took a shower tonight after…after. Does that mean this won’t work? Since we don’t have anything of his to add to the mix?” A surge of hope coursed through me. Maybe I wouldn’t have to break our bond after all!
Gwendolyn frowned. “In most cases I’d say yes. But in this case…you’re drinking from Victor and no one else, right?”
I nodded. “Well, yes.”
“Good. Then your blood will do for both you and him—it came from him originally but it’s been circulating through your body. Perfect, actually.”
My sudden hope died abruptly.“Oh. Okay.”
She looked at me sharply. “Look, if you don’t want to do this…”
“No.” I lifted my chin. “No, I need to. But…”
“But what?” she asked impatiently.
“Well…” I cleared my throat. “I, uh, heard you and um, Laish talking and he said something about how you doing this spell for me will cast a shadow on your soul…?”
She shifted uncomfortably.
“Look, sweetie, you worry about your soul and let me worry about mine. I’m fine and I want to do this deal—but only if you’re sure.”
I thought of Victor lying there all bloody and bitten and scratched, his arm over his eyes, unable to look at me.
“Yes,” I said softly. “Yes, let’s do it.”
“All right.” Gwendolyn held out her palm. “Then give me your hand. I need your blood to make this work.”
She pierced my middle finger with the point of the silver dagger, which she told me was called an athame, and carefully squeezed out twelve drops of blood—six for me and six for Victor—over the chopped pile of demon’s breath in the silver bowl. She collected twelve more drops for herself in a little glass vial and then put it aside.
“All right,” she said. “Now for the fire. You might feel this a little.”
She struck one long fireplace match and touched it to the bloody demon’s breath. It burned surprisingly well considering it was wet with both blood and the ruby red sap.
At first I didn’t notice anything but a little warmth and tingling in my hands and feet. But then the burning sensation began in my veins.
“Ah!” I gasped, jumping in surprise.
Gwendolyn looked up, a concerned expression in her eyes.
“Are you all right?”
“No!” I looked down at my arms, half expecting to see flames leaping from them. There was nothing to see but plenty to feel—the sensation of being set on fire from the inside out was spreading up from my hands and feet and into my arms, legs, and core.
“What is it? What do you feel?” Gwendolyn asked anxiously.
“Burning.” I writhed helplessly on the couch. “God, it hurts! Is this normal?”
“I don’t know!” Gwendolyn bit her lower lip. “I’ve never tried to break such a strong bond before. Usually when I do a spell like this at least one of the people involved hates the other one.”
“Then this shouldn’t be so hard. Victor does hate me,” I protested. Or if he didn’t, he should. The burning was spreading to the pit of my stomach now and I felt like any minute it would engulf my heart. “Gwendolyn, please—do something!”
“It’s almost ash.” She stirred the bowl with the tip of her athame. “The pain will be gone once the last of the demon’s breath is consumed. Just hang in there.”
“I’ll…try,” I said through gritted teeth. The burning was all through me now, flames licking from my toes to my hairline, one solid wash of fiery agony. I tried to hold still but I couldn’t help twisting in pain. God, it was awful.
Just as I felt like I couldn’t take it a
nymore, the burning flowers gave one last puff of nasty smelling smoke and the flames went out.
“Ah…” I sagged back in relief against the floral couch. “That was horrible.” A sudden thought occurred to me. “Does…is Victor feeling this too?”
“If he still loves you, I’m afraid so,” Gwendolyn said.
I gave a sigh of relief. “Then he should be fine. So…I’m only hurting because I still…still have feelings for him?”
She nodded. “It’s your love for him that brings you pain with the breaking of your bond. Are you sure you want to do this? I’m afraid the next part might hurt considerably more.”
I gave a shaky laugh. “More than being set on fire from the inside out? Wow, you really need to give out some kind of disclaimer before you do this kind of spell.”
She spread her hands. “Like I said, I don’t usually try to break a bond this strong. Considering the fact you’ve only been bonded a little over a month, it’s phenomenal how deep and ingrained it is. Almost like…”
“Like what?” I asked.
Gwendolyn looked down. “Like it was meant to be. Look, are you sure—?”
“Do it,” I said, trying to sound stoic and failing. “Just…please, hurry. Okay?”
She nodded briskly. “Going as fast as I can.”
Scooping the powdery ashes from the bowl, she pressed them into the black waxy lump and kneaded them in. Then her long, slim fingers began to work, molding the lump into a figure—or rather, two figures. I watched in fascination as they took form—a large, muscular man and a tall, slender but curvy woman with long flowing hair. The figures were formed from the same lump of clay and were connected—standing with their arms around each other.
“That’s Victor and me.” I looked up at her with amazement. “You know, if you ever decide to give up the witchcraft thing, you could have a career in art.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly. “But I’d rather be a well fed witch than a starving artist any day. And this…isn’t supposed to be this way. Let me try again.”
Rapidly she pulled the figures apart and reformed them, a frown of concentration on her delicate features. Again the figures formed, looking like exact miniatures of Victor and myself, face to face with our arms around each other.
I thought they looked really good but Gwendolyn swore in obvious irritation.
“Damn it—what is going on here?” she muttered.
I watched as she tore the figures apart, balled them up, and formed them a third time…with the same result.
“What is it?” I asked at last. “What’s going wrong?”
“I don’t know.” She looked up at me. “They’re supposed to be standing back to back—symbolic of hate. But somehow you two keep coming up face to face.” She shook her head. “Are you sure about this, Taylor? Something or someone out there really doesn’t want me to break this bond.”
I thought of Victor again—how he couldn’t even look at me. The choked sound in his voice when he told me to go.
“Yes,” I whispered, feeling like I might cry. “Go ahead—do it.”
“There are probably going to be consequences for this,” she warned me. “A blood-bond carries its own warding—a kind of protective spell around the bonded parties. You’re going to lose that if I do this.”
“I know there will be consequences,” I said calmly. “I’ve been warned. So what happens next?”
Gwendolyn sighed. “Well, normally I would make this into a candle and put a wick right between the two of you, here.” She pointed to the spot in the middle where the Victor figure was joined to the Taylor figure. “Then I would burn the candle until it melted the two of you apart. But I’m afraid that might be really long and drawn out.”
“Not to mention extremely freaking painful,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
She gave me a level look. “I won’t lie to you, Taylor—this is going to hurt a lot no matter how we do it. The question is, do you want the pain drawn out or should I get it over with all at once?”
“All at once,” I said. “Like ripping off a bandage.”
“Good call.” She lifted the silver athame and held it like a butcher knife above the wax figurines. “Okay, here goes.”
“Do it.” I clenched my hands into fists, waiting for the pain. But instead of chopping immediately, Gwendolyn took a deep breath and began to chant in a low, melodious voice.
“Herein I place Taylor’s name,
And humbly ask the sacred flame,
Release her now from blood-bond’s power,
Make her stronger by the hour.
Cleanse her soul and set her free
So bonded she’ll no longer be
Free of blood and bond and pain
Ashes only shall remain.
So mote it be.”
Then with a swift, chopping motion, she brought the athame down, slicing the wax figurines apart with one brutal slice.
My back arched in pain as I felt the stroke like a knife in my heart—chopping me in two. Severing me from Victor and cutting the tie that bound us together.
For a moment I could only writhe in pain. God, it hurt so much! It was ten times worse than the burning I’d experienced earlier. The stabbing sensation like a knife in my chest, my inability to draw breath—was this what a heart attack felt like? Was I dying now? My hands curled into fists and tears gathered in my eyes as I fought the pain, feeling like I was drowning in agony.
“Taylor? Taylor, are you all right?” Gwendolyn was leaning over me, patting my cheek. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t know it would be this bad. Come on—breathe…”
Some vampires don’t need to breathe anymore but I had never lost the habit. It was a great relief when I was finally able to drag some much-needed air into my lungs. I lay on Gwendolyn’s couch panting, the tears streaming from the corners of my eyes, trying to make sure I was still alive.
“Are you okay?” she asked again, anxiously. “My God, you scared me to death! I thought I was going to have to do CPR.”
“CPR on a vampire? We’re already dead, remember?” I tried to laugh but couldn’t quiet manage.
“You’re okay then? Do you feel any different?”
I looked at the two figurines, lying severed on her coffee table.
“No…yes. Yes, I think I do.”
“How?” she asked anxiously. “Do you feel lighter? Freer? That’s what I usually hear from female clients when I do a spell like this.”
“I feel it here.” I rubbed my chest, over my heart. “It’s like…a wound. Like a hole inside me opened up and I don’t know…don’t know how to close it.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Gwendolyn put an arm around me. “I shouldn’t have done it. I’m so sorry.”
“No…” I sniffed and swiped at my eyes, leaving bloody tracks on the backs of my hands. “I…I asked you to. It was for the best. It just…it hurts, you know?”
“I know,” she murmured. “But hopefully it won’t hurt so much in time. Just give yourself time…time to heal.”
“Right.” I straightened up and forced myself to get off her couch. “Okay, well…I guess we’re done here.”
“You don’t have to go right away,” she said, rising to join me. “Stay a while if you need to recover. I’ll make you some tea—or you can have some more pickles.”
I shook my head. “No thanks. I just…really all I want to do is go home and climb in bed and pull the covers over my head.”
“I understand,” she said quietly. “Even when you have to end something for the best, it still hurts.”
Hurts wasn’t the word I would have chosen. I was in agony inside—it felt like my soul was bleeding. Like I would never be whole again. My only consolation was that Victor hadn’t felt anything. He couldn’t—his love for me was already gone. Now the only thing to do was go home and wait for my love for him to die as well.
As if it ever could.
“I should go,” I said dully, getting the keys to Addison’s c
ar. “I’m tired. I need to rest.”
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.” Gwendolyn looked at me for a long moment then came and gave me a warm hug.
I was shocked at first—she didn’t seem like the hugging kind. Or maybe she was just really picky about who she was affectionate with. But I appreciated her kindness—it made me feel a little less ragged, a little less desperate. Slowly, I hugged her back.
“Thanks,” I whispered when we finally pulled apart.
“You’re welcome,” Gwendolyn said. She looked at me thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t usually care for vampires but you’re all right.”
I laughed weakly. “You sound like Addison—she used to hate all vamps but me. She says I should be the poster child for vampire tolerance.”
“Right. I could see that.” Gwendolyn smiled. “Please let me know if you need anything else—anything at all.”
“I’m fine, really,” I said, heading for the door.
“Okay.” She sighed. “I hope next time I can do some happier magic for you. Tell you what, your next love spell is on the house. Okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was never going to take her up on her generous offer. Victor had been the only one for me and now he was gone.
“Goodbye,” I said and walked out of her house…straight into a trap.
Chapter Twenty-four—Victor
The burning pain hit me about halfway to Tampa. I was driving along a back road in my truck, heading for Corbin’s club where I figured Taylor would be staying, when my hands and feet started to tingle. The tingle turned into warmth, which turned into a fire, which spread up my arms and legs and into my stomach and crotch.
“Shit!” I swerved to the right, nearly hitting a tree and then somehow managed to get control of the truck. Luckily the small road I was on was practically deserted.
“What the hell?” I muttered, pulling to the soft sandy shoulder. The pain was getting more and more intense and somehow I knew it had to do with Taylor.
Where are you, baby, and what’s happening to you? Are you okay?
I burned for her—ached to have my arms around her. The flames grew more intense until I couldn’t sit still. I was writhing around on the car seat like a crazy man—if anyone had seen me they probably would have assumed I was having some kind of a fucking seizure.
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