Page 127 of Cursed

My hand shook as I raised the dagger. Could I do this? I wasn’t ready—

“Do it,” Titus commanded.

I bit down hard on my tongue and the pain made my hand lurch forward. Bastian grabbed my wrist and guided the blade against the side of his hand—I had never noticed it, but his smooth flesh was criss-crossed with thin silvery scars… reminders of his own path with the grimoire.

“This is going to take all night,” he muttered. “I’ll do it— this way you won’t cut my hand off.”

The blade kissed the side of his hand, and blood welled up and then dripped down the blade and onto the grimoire’s lock.

“Quickly,” he snapped. “Get the others before the damned book thinks I’m the one driving.”

Valen grabbed my wrist next and pressed his hand against the blade. His blood joined Bastian’s.

Then Titus. I didn’t need his help. Before he could grab me, I pressed the knife against the side of his wrist, just above the bone, and his blood mingled with his brothers’ on the blackened silver clasp.

“Now you,” Titus growled.

I pressed my lips together and did as he commanded. The blade barely stung—I was used to the feel of it—the impossible sharpness as it bit into my flesh and my blood dripped onto the clasp with theirs.

The stones embedded in the grimoire’s cover glowed bright red—like evil eyes—before they faded to a dull sheen.

They had never done that before.

I let out a small gasp as the clasp fell away and the grimoire snapped open. The pages turned, as though an invisible hand were reading the ancient texts, until it stopped. The markings on the page were unfamiliar, and I frowned down at it in confusion.

“What—”

“You haven’t seen that page before?” Valen’s voice caught in his throat.

“No,” I replied.

“I haven’t seen than page,” Bastian said, “what the fuck—”

Titus held his hand over the page and let his blood drip onto the parchment.

“Titus— are you sure?” Valen started.

“Do it,” Titus growled.

Bastian and Valen exchanged a look and then did as Titus commanded.

As their blood dripped onto the ravenous pages, they all looked at me. I hesitated for only a moment before I held my hand over the page and clenched my fist to make the blood flow.

The room was silent as we stared down at the blood-spattered pages.

Seconds passed.

Too many.

Why wasn’t it working?

“Why isn’t it—” Bastian murmured.

“Shut up,” Titus said through gritted teeth.

“We didn’t set an intention,” Valen said.

As he spoke those words, the ancient parchment absorbed the blood—slowly at first, and then faster until the page was clean once more.

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