Page 15 of Blood Caged

Gran! Can you hear me? Gran!

Nothing. It’s like hitting an invisible wall, cold and unyielding.

Frustrated, I try again, this time thinking of Kara. I imagine her laughing, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Again, I push my thoughts outward, straining to feel even the faintest hint of her energy.

Kara, I need help!

But there’s only emptiness.

My heart races as panic starts to set in. I try Mom and Dad next, picturing them in our kitchen, working on plans for their next event. I pour all my concentration into finding that thread of connection, but it’s like grasping at smoke.

Finally, desperately, I focus on Rowan. Despite our recent argument, surely our sisterly bond would be strong enough to break through whatever’s blocking me? I think of her nervous smile, the way she fidgets with her glasses when she’s anxious. I push harder than before, willing my thoughts to reach her.

But it’s useless. The wall remains, impenetrable and cold.

Tears of frustration sting my eyes. I’ve never felt so alone, so cut off from everything and everyone I love. The realization hits me hard – I’m truly on my own here.

I stare at the jug on the table, anger and frustration boiling over. Without thinking, I grab it and hurl it against the wall. The crash is satisfying, the shatter of ceramic echoing in the small room.

Water pools on the floor, mingling with the broken pieces. I approach cautiously, bare feet avoiding the shards. One piece catches my eye – larger and sharper than the rest. I pick it up, turning it over in my hand.

A bitter laugh escapes me. They took my belt, my shoes, anything I could use to harm myself. Yet here I am, holding a makeshift weapon they practically created for me.

The edge glints in the dim light. I clutch it tighter, feeling it bite into my palm. Pain flares, sharp and immediate. I open my hand to see blood welling up, bright red against my skin.

A forbidden thought creeps in. Blood magic. It’s taboo, dangerous…but I’m desperate.

I hesitate, then dip my finger into the small pool of blood. The metallic scent fills my nostrils as I trace a rune on my arm, one for unlocking, for freedom. I close my eyes, focusing all my energy on the spell.

“Libertas,” I whisper, pouring every ounce of will into the word.

Nothing happens. The rune remains lifeless, just blood on skin. No surge of power, no rush of magic.

Dropping to my knees, I start scrawling patterns on the floor in blood, the most powerful runes I can think of. All the while, I chant under my breath. Words I’d been told from childhood that I should never utter out loud.

Still nothing.

I slump against the wall, defeated. Even blood magic is beyond my reach here.

No! You can’t let this defeat you!

I straighten and face the door. “Hello? Is anyone there?” I yell. “Let me out of here!” I hit the door with my fist, my temper flaring. “You can’t keep me here! Do you have any idea who I am?” I pummel the door, ignoring the pain reverberating up my arm. “I’m Mia Blackwood, and when my family finds out about this, you’ll wish you’d never been born!”

The silence that follows my outburst is deafening. No footsteps, no voices, not even the scurrying of rats. Just that all-pervasive…nothing.

“Cowards!” I shout, my throat burning. “Face me, you bastards!”

I kick the door in frustration, accomplishing nothing but a throbbing toe. Slumping against the cold metal, I slide to the floor, chest heaving.

“Please,” I whisper, hating how weak I sound. “Someone…anyone…”

As my voice trails off, something shifts. It’s subtle at first, a faint tickle at the edge of my senses. I sit up straighter, every nerve on high alert. The feeling grows stronger, like static electricity dancing across my skin.

I freeze, every muscle tensing as an eerie sensation washes over me. Despite the emptiness of the room, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. My witch’s intuition, honed through years of training, screams at me to pay attention.

Slowly, I push myself to my feet. My eyes sweep the room, taking in every detail with renewed focus. My head is still foggy, making it hard to distinguish what’s real from what’s imagined. But there’s something…wrong.

I scan the rune-inscribed walls, searching for any hint of a hidden opening or magical concealment. The iron door remains as impenetrable as ever. The bunk where I woke up reveals no secrets.

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