Page 38 of Cursed

She dropped the basket to the floor and I let out a chuckle as the expensive perfumes and lotions clacked together.

I set the grimoire on the vanity and stepped away to give her space. “Sit.”

Avril eyed me warily and then slid into the chair. She placed her hands flat on the surface of the vanity and stared at the grimoire intently.

“Now what?”

“Open it,” I said.

She frowned and glared up at me. “I don’t know how.”

“Don’t you?”

“Bastian— this isn’t helping—”

I moved closer and Avril sucked in a breath as I reached over her shoulder.Gods, she was so easy…

“Look closer.”

I slid my fingers down the spine of the book and paused.

She hadn’t found it.

The moment I pulled the knife from the spine of the Bloodstone Grimoire, a shiver seemed to run through the room, and it prickled over my skin the same way it had when the grimoire had first come into my hands.

Avril’s eyes widened in horror as she stared at the dark silver blade. She clutched the edges of the desk, her knuckles paling beneath the strain. “Bastian, don’t!”

Her voice trembled—she was afraid.

Good. This book shouldn’t be approached with anything less.

“Shhh,” I said, and I smiled as I pressed the shining edge against the side of my hand. The metal bit into flesh, and I relished the sharp sting of it. Blood welled up, glistening crimson, and dripped down over the clasp.

As my blood seeped into the dark metal, the air thickened around us, swirling with an energy that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I could almost taste the magic as it coiled through the atmosphere, dark and toxic. The whispers of the book stirred, and an echo of forgotten voices seemed to rise from the depths of its binding—hungry, yearning.

“Stop!” Avril gasped, but there was a fascination lurking in her pale hazel eyes.

I wanted her captivated. She was far too innocent for this world, yet here she was, drawn to the darkness—

She let out a choked cry as the clasp burst open and the book opened with a strange force.

Maybe it did remember me—

“How—”

The pages flipped, turned by an unseen hand, until it stopped. The room filled with whispers and I closed my eyes as I tried to steady my breathing.

“This— this is what happened to me,” she murmured. “I cut my finger… and the book opened… Can you read these symbols? I can’t read them.”

“You’re not supposed to read these ones,” I said.

I pulled the blade away from my wound and allowed my blood to drop onto the pages.

As my blood soaked into the stained parchment, something began to shift—the red-brown ink shimmered, and lines of arcane script unfurled like serpents. As the text shifted, new symbols emerged and glowed faintly with an eerie light.

I leaned closer and watched the transformation with a twisted satisfaction, knowing I had awakened something powerful and wicked—but it wouldn’t last long. The book had already gorged on my blood—years ago—it would tire of the familiar taste quickly.

It wanted someone new.

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