Damien is even better at it than Bran.

“What do you need?” Damien asks Bee.

“Just blood.”

“No herbs or crystals or any of that shit?” Bran asks.

Bianca shakes her head. “Mulligans don’t need accoutrements.”

Damien stands up. “Then let’s get started.”

Because Bianca doesn’t need all of the witchy accessories that Rita does to perform magic, I have to admit, it’s not quite as magical.

There’s just a knife and a stainless-steel bowl on the kitchen island.

“We draw blood,” Bee explains, “and the blood from both of you will go into the bowl. I’ll perform the spell and that will link you. It usually lasts a few days before the effects wear off.”

“What will it feel like?” Kelly asks.

“I’ve never been linked myself, but I’ve been told it’s different for different people. Some describe it as nothing more than a phantom sensation. Others have been able to sense what the other is feeling. It really all depends on how close you are.”

How close are my sister and Damien? Maybe they love each other, but they’ve been holding each other at arm’s length for a while, I suspect.

“Ready?” Bianca asks.

Damien gives her his hand. “Be quick,” he tells her. “The wound will heal fast.”

She nods and pulls the blade over the palm of his hand, then turns him toward the bowl. She gets out barely a dribble before the wound is closed.

“Is that enough?” Damien asks.

Bianca winces. “Not quite.”

He takes the blade from her, fists it in his other hand, then jams the blade right through his palm.

Kelly yelps and staggers back. Bianca frowns. Seems living with Duvals requires constant exposure to blood and guts. I’m coming to expect it now.

With the blade still stuck in his flesh, Damien holds his hand over the bowl and lets the blood trail down.

“That should be good,” Bianca says after a few seconds.

Damien pulls the dagger out, spins it around and hands it to Bianca, hilt first.

She hesitates a second before taking it.

Next, Kelly holds her hand over the bowl and Bianca draws the blade over the fleshy part of her palm.

Kelly hisses from pain as blood wells in the wound, then trails down into the bowl, mixing with Damien’s.

When Bianca is satisfied with what they’ve gathered, Damien bites his wrist and adds his blood to my sister’s glass of wine.

“Drink,” he orders her.

“I thought the whole reason we were doing this is so I wouldn’t turn into a vampire? If I drink that and I die tomorrow, I will be changed.”

“It’s for the wound in your hand,” he tells her.

She frowns at him. “You expect me to believe that?”