Blood Magic

by Tessa Gratton

  “What for?” She was biting the inside of her lip again.

  “Nah, nothing much.” Between fifth and sixth period, Scott Jobson had asked if she’d gotten those bruises for sucking my dick wrong. I shoved his face into the lockers and spent the rest of the day in detention. “Just had an incredibly bad day.”

  “Me too.”

  “Hey.” I leaned forward so that I could dig the picture out of my jeans pocket. “Look.”

  She unfolded it slowly, and I watched her face. When she recognized her dad, her lips parted. She gripped the photo in both hands. “Oh, Nick.”

  “I found it last night. I found a bunch of my mom’s stuff.”

  “They look so happy.”

  I picked at her hair, brushing it into some semblance of order. And I avoided her eyes as I asked, “Do you think we met for a reason?”

  “Other than coincidence?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tilting her head into my hand, she closed her eyes and said, “I don’t think I care.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m glad we met. So if it was for a specific reason, fine. If it wasn’t, fine. It happened. And I wouldn’t change it.”

  What if I only moved here because Lilith killed your parents? The words didn’t make it out of my mouth. “Are you ready for tonight?” I asked instead.

  “Yes. God, yes. We set the potion out last night.” She reached up and caught my hand, pulling it down into her lap. The photo quivered on her knee as she stroked my palm, then held out her hand for my left one. She examined them. “I like your hands.”

  “I like yours, too. Even though you cut yourself right through your life line.”

  “My what?”

  “Life line. It’s palmistry.”

  “You know the funniest things, Nick.”

  “I wrote a poem for you. Yesterday afternoon, out on the football field.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I hear it?”

  “If I ever remember the first line.”

  “Nick!” Her laughter turned into a grin. “That’s mean.”

  I laughed, too. “I wanted to see you smile.”

  A crow cawed from nearby, and Silla jumped. The smile fell off her face. “Let’s go,” she said, glancing at the sky.

  October 10, 1967

  How the world can change in a few short years! Because men are short-lived and passionate, their children rebel and turn a country from a depressed shadow into a wilderness of neon Love!

  I spent all of 1963 in a van, driving and driving across the country. It is amazing how everything transforms around us. So many new worlds, so many humans ready to give me attention and money. I hardly have to transmute metal into gold anymore. I’ve saved so much, and always, always have more to funnel in. Why? Because no one is afraid of witches anymore. They seek us out. They want me to show them the lands of death, to say, “You do not need pills, and you do not need a hospital. You need this amulet that I shall make with blood, spit, and yarrow. We will bless it under the full moon while we dance and make love brighter than the stars!” They want my magic to be real. They want me to be their goddess. And I am.

  Philip is reproachful, but I am irresistible to him now. I found him in California, working with his hands in the dirt on a farm. He saw me, and I woke in him that same sleeping need he woke in me when I was dying in St. James almost sixty-five years ago.

  He hungers for me more the stronger I am, the more he sees others want me. He needs me as I needed him. When I kiss him, I taste eternity on his tongue!

  I said to him when we returned to Boston, “Philip, do you remember you thought of yourself as my Devil? Tempting me to throw off my innocence and embrace all this dark magic?” He replied, “I did my job too well.” And he is morose enough to believe it. I love him all the more for his seriousness. He is my husband and father, my only real partner. I laugh at him, and tease him into happiness.

  Oh, my diary. I have missed you these long years as I’ve traveled. I rather enjoy leaving you here, and opening your cover only when I think of it. Flipping through the first entries fills me with both sadness and joy, for I was such a child then, but I knew what I wanted, and I have it all. I am true to my path.

  SILLA

  For once, the crunch of gravel remained in the background. Clouds had rolled in while I slept, so even though there was plenty of time before sunset, the air had a dim, foreboding feel to it. Or maybe I was projecting. But if I’d had to set a stage for this kind of blood ritual, I’d have used yellow-gray backdrops with industrial platforms and metallic trees. We witches would emerge down center, through stark flashes of red spots, and light candles until the entire stage was alive with fire.

  Reese appeared on the porch as Nick and I climbed out of the convertible. He was wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Very solemn. “Hey,” he said. “I hope the rest of your afternoon was better than lunch.”

  “She was totally shit on,” Nick said, “after what happened yesterday.”

  I almost smacked him.

  “You feeling up to this, Sil?” Reese clomped down the porch stairs.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Both Reese and Nick just looked at me. “Oh my God”—I threw up my hands—“I could suffocate. Yes. Yes! I’m fine. Why don’t you two cowboys stay out here and preach at each other about how you need to take care of your little women and everything. I’ll go change into something more …” I faltered, glancing down at my yellow sweater. “More, um …”

  “Bloody?” Nick offered.

  “Yes.” I swung around and made a valiant attempt not to stomp up into the house.

  Dumping my backpack next to my bed, I switched out the sweater for a dark red button-up shirt. It wouldn’t show stains as much and wasn’t one of my favorites anyway. In the mirror, my face looked awful: white, thin, and delicate, with large purple-gray holes where my eyes should be. I needed a death mask like King Tut’s, golden and brimming with life to hide the corpse beneath.

  Scrubbing my hands through my hair made it stick up like an insane person’s. I needed a cut. I’d had it all chopped off in July but hadn’t touched it since. There were old highlights grown out a couple of inches so that you couldn’t really tell the roots were roots anymore. If I was generous. I grabbed a handkerchief from my bureau and tied it over my hair like Cinderella. It hardly improved anything.

  “Silla?”

  Gram Judy stood in the doorway. Her own hair hung in two long braids on either side of her face. The smear of blood across her forehead looked both ridiculous and somehow natural. It had dried a little into the wrinkles between her eyes. “Hi, Gram.”

  “Judy,” she said with a genuine smile.

  I walked over to her and slid my arms around her waist. I pressed my cheek to hers and I hugged. Her arms came around my shoulders and she said, “Oh, Silla.”

  “It was a rough day.”

  She rubbed my back. “There, pet. We’ll get this protection up, and find out who Josephine is pretending to be, and exorcise her permanently. Then you’ll be able to relax and have a good time with your charming boy.”

  “Which has been your plan all along.” I felt warmer, thinking about how Gram had been matchmaking for me from the very beginning. At least something was consistent. Gram hadn’t changed a jot, even if I’d only known her for a few months.

  “That’s right.” Squeezing my shoulders, she pushed back a little to catch my eyes with hers. “You know what this all means? All this blood stuff?”

  I shook my head.

  “It means you’re strong. Strength is in your blood.”

  “I hope so.”

  She grinned. “I know so. Your dad was strong, and your granddad. I ever tell you how we met?”

  “No.”

  “It was in 1978. He was in D.C. for a meeting, and I was marching for the Equal Rights Amendment. I sat down on the curb for a minute because I had a pebble in my shoe. It was a big man’
s boot I was wearing, being there for gender equality and all, and all of a sudden there was this shadow over me and a voice said, ‘Isn’t that ironic.’ I glanced up, and had to shade myself from the sun with my hand. Your granddad thought I was asking for help to stand and he grabbed my hand and just hoisted me up easy as pie.” Judy’s face melted into a soft, girlish smile. “He was so pretty, Silla. But I told him off right there, that how dare he assume I needed help to stand, la-dee-da, and you know what? He apologized. Then took me out for coffee. I shouldn’t have gone. Ditched my whole march!” She chuckled.

  “That’s the wrong kind of strong,” I teased.

  “Ha! Well, you know what I mean.”

  “You’ve done so many things. Traveled around the world by yourself. That year you were a hippie.”

  Judy laughed a single, uproarious laugh. “That was a tough one. Way worse than body snatchers.”

  With her braids, she looked like a not-quite-retired Viking princess. “I wish I was as brave as you, Judy.”

  “Baby, you sure are. You’ve withstood so much, you and that brother of yours. More than you should’ve had to.”

  Putting my hands on hers, I said, “I don’t know if we ever said it, Judy, but Reese and I are glad you came.”

  “It’s what anyone would have done.”

  It wasn’t true, of course, that anybody would’ve. But you don’t point out the lies everyone knows.

  April 1972

  Philip took my hand last Friday and said, “Josephine, grow old with me.”

  I laughed, but saw he was serious. The Deacon gave him the carmot we mixed together from the bones of a blood witch like us. But those thirty years are nearly up. I have some time yet to make more, and to convince Philip to drink it with me.

  NICHOLAS

  I stuck a long stick into the tripod of fire Reese had gotten lit before jogging off into the cemetery. Flames crackled up as one of the logs shifted, shooting sparks up. Standing over it, I let the smoke blow across my face. The bitter smell choked me, but it felt sort of like penance for something. It was different out here, not all contained in a marble fireplace with an iron grate keeping the heat and danger back. Here, if it wasn’t watched, the fire could pick a direction and just tear through the grass. Reach the house or the giant bushes. Send everything up.

  Pulling the old photo of Mom and Robbie Kennicot out of my jeans, I held it just close enough to the heat for the paper to bend. Mom’s smile twisted. Part of me wanted to toss it into the fire, watch it turn brown and curl up. Instead I tucked it back into my jeans.

  The grass crunched under my boots as I paced to the bushes and then back to the fire. I wished Silla’d hurry up, and the others. I wanted this over with. From the front of the house, I heard birds singing. The noise made my skin crawl. And even though the sun wouldn’t set for a while, the low clouds made everything darker. Between the house and the fence of thorny bushes, I was trapped.

  Just as I started for the magic box, to pull out the blood-letter and at least arm myself with a bit of blood, the back door swung open, slapping against the side of the house.

  Silla hopped down the concrete stairs to the patio. “Hey.”

  Relieved, I moved straight for her. All her hair was hidden under a bright red bandanna. I kissed her. She must have been expecting something else, because she squeaked and caught herself with her hands on my hips. “You okay?” she asked, her mouth an inch from mine.

  “Just ready to do this.” I kissed her again.

  She pressed her lips firmly against mine, and then stepped back. With a sharp nod, she said, “Let’s do it, then. Where’s Reese?”

  I nodded my head toward the bushes. “Cemetery. He said he’d be right back.”

  “Let’s go get him.” Silla took my hand and led me to the solid wall of bushes. Just like the night after the party, she knew exactly where to step to avoid the sharpest branches. I closed my eyes and let her hand guide me through. On the other side, I stepped up beside her and helped her up onto the wall. Stopping at the top, Silla took a long breath and gazed out over the slope of the cemetery. I climbed beside her. I’d never really looked at the whole thing laid out like this. Between us and the far side where the wall pushed up against the woods, the mismatched headstones seemed like toys some giant kid had thrown across a field. A few loner trees bent over clusters of big stone crosses and more regular headstones. Their branches all leaned toward the south, molded that way by the wind, probably.

  From this perspective, it all just looked pretty sad.

  “I see him,” Silla said, hopping down from the wall. I didn’t move. I could just make him out, too, standing near the middle, where their parents were buried. After a few steps, Silla turned back to me. “Nick?”

  I frowned at her. “Maybe I should wait here. I don’t want to—uh—interrupt.” Especially if he was talking to his parents.

  Her face fell, and for a moment, she looked as sad as the graveyard. Beside a tuft of really tall yellow grass, with a marble headstone on the other side, her bandanna was a glaring red spot. “You’re right,” she murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

  As she left, I called, “Silla?”

  With a little laugh, she turned back around again. “Nick?”

  “Be careful.” I lifted my head to scan the sky. She got the message, and picked up her pace.

  SILLA

  The graveyard was awash in cool pink and gray from the reflection of the setting sun on the overcast clouds. My favorite time there, just like it had been when I’d first opened the spell book, first brought that leaf back to life.

  This shadowy in-between time seemed the best time for magic.

  I approached Reese slowly, not wanting to disturb him. But I was curious. He hadn’t come out here on his own before, that I knew of. So I sank my feet carefully, picking through leaves and dead grass.

  He crouched at the foot of their graves, head down. His elbows were propped on his knees, and his hands just dangled down between them. The tight line of his shoulders and his closed eyes made my stomach clench up, too. I’d never seen him look so vulnerable. Stooped and still, like the statue of a sorrowful angel. I just stood, staring at my brother, heart aching.

  Wind tickled my face and shook the trees. Evening frogs and cicadas picked up their songs, wailing their high-pitched competition. Wet anticipation clung in the air, promising overnight rain. Reese still didn’t move. Not even when the breeze ruffled his dark hair.

  “Reese?” I called softly, resting my hand on the huge stone cross beside me.

  He rose up to stand in a single, smooth motion. “Hey. Time?”

  I nodded and walked forward to take his hand. I squeezed it between both of mine. “You need a shave.”

  His mouth twitched up on one side. “Thanks, Sil.”

  “Mom wouldn’t have tolerated that scruffy look.” I lowered my gaze to his chest, not strong enough to keep looking at his sad eyes.

  “She’d have hated your haircut, too.” Reese pulled me into his arms rather roughly. “When this is all over, maybe we should leave.”

  “Leave Yaleylah?” I linked my hands around his back.

  “Yeah. I should go to college, and you can come with me.”

  “I don’t want to live in Manhattan, Kansas. The Little Apple,” I teased, closing my eyes and pretending we were talking in the kitchen, with Mom and Dad listening. Mom would tug my hair gently for teasing my brother, and Dad would smile as he marked up Latin homework.

  But Reese didn’t respond like it was a joke. He sighed. The expansion of his ribs stretched my arms. “I don’t have to go to K-State. I can go anywhere. Somewhere you’d be happy, too. Somewhere you can have a good senior year, far away from all this. Start new.”

  I thought about Nick. I didn’t want to go somewhere I couldn’t kiss him. But he’d be graduating in May and leaving to find his mom. I had no idea where our relationship was going. Where I wanted it to go. I pushed my face into Reese’s shoulder. “Maybe
Chicago,” I muttered. “Judy has an apartment there still.”

  “Sure. Someplace. Anyplace that isn’t here, really.”

  The gruff tone in his voice made me push back enough to see his face. He scowled at the ground, and my heart popped to see the shine of tears in his eyes. He looked at me, then away. “Everything here is dead, Silla.”

  “Not us.” I found his hands and squeezed them, feeling tears prick my own eyes.

  August 1972

  He has not given it up. He said, “I’m done. I want to know what it is like to stare in the mirror and see in my hair and on my face all the years I feel in my soul.” Philip is melodramatic. He kissed me. “Josephine, we have been together, living wild, for seventy years. An entire human lifetime. And what do we have to show for it? Nothing. No one knows what we do, who we are. Who will remember us?”

  “I am happy. I don’t care about who will remember us in the future—because I’ll be there.”

  “Stop taking the resurrection potion with me. Let our bodies revert to their own natural rhythms. I will marry you. We could have children, Josie. Can’t you imagine how wonderful that could be? It is its own kind of magic. Better magic.”

  “I don’t want to die, Phil. I don’t want gray hair or aches in my joints.”

  “But children, I think”—he paused, and I don’t know if what he said next was true—“I think we would make good kids.”

  I sighed. He will change his mind when he moves out of this funk. It is always ups and downs with Philip.

  The Deacon and I will make fresh carmot together again, if Philip will not. And when we do, I will hide it in stir-fry. The soy complements the ginger nicely.

  We will both live forever, together. I don’t care about anything else.

  NICHOLAS

  I sat on the wall, with my elbows on my knees. The rough stone cut into my ass. It was freezing. I shifted, trying to get comfortable.

  Everything was so gray. In the distance, the forest around my house was a dark gray blob against a lighter gray sky. Kind of like a forest of thorns surrounding the castle in some goddamn fairy tale. Only this castle didn’t have a fairy princess inside, or whatever. It was the home of an evil stepmother. Literally.