Page 70 of A Fate of Blood and Magic
“If you’ll allow me,” Alastor said gently, “you and I can cast a protection spell over the house. Once it’s in place, it will only allow those who mean you and yours no harm to enter.”
“Yes.” I said immediately. My voice wobbled and my limbs still trembled, but inside, a part of me was eager. “What do I do?”
Alastor walked to the kitchen, selected one of our bowls and filled it halfway with water. When he returned, he held out a hand.
I laid the back of mine against his palm.
He raised a small blade in his other hand. “I’m going to prick your finger. We only need three drops of blood.”
My lips parted. “Why blood?”
“Unlike fae magic, mage magic requires a cost,” he said. “If you do not offer a sacrifice, the magic will take what it wants from you.” His gray eyes held mine. “You do not want it choosing what it takes.”
I nodded, the weight of that truth pressing into my bones.
“For your first attempt, we’ll mix our blood with water,” Alastor explained, his tone patient. “The water helps weigh the blood and keeps the magic steady.”
“Only for my first attempt?” I asked, trying to focus on learning and not how tight my throat felt.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s to help you familiarize yourself with the essence of mage magic. If you use it more than once, you run the risk of needing the weight of the water rather than allowing your magic to grow.” He moved with precision, pricking the tip of my finger, then his. Our blood mingled in the water, curling up like ink. “The bowl acts as a focus. It doesn’t weaken the magic, but it can become a crutch if you let it. I use it often.”
I nodded again.
“Repeat after me.”
The words he spoke weren’t familiar, but somehow my soul knew them. They resonated. I echoed them back, and as we spoke, warmth bloomed beneath my skin, replacing the cold panic that had held me hostage.
The peach threads of my magic billowed atop the bowl, never touching the water. I wondered if my own curiosity was the reason my magic drew so close to the bowl, especially since Alastor kept his magic restrained inside himself. When I called my magic back, it returned reluctantly.
Our voices rose together, his steady, mine uncertain but growing stronger. The words seemed to settle into the very air around us, heavy and bright.
When the final phrase left our mouths, the bloodied water shimmered and swirled. A thin smoke curled up, spreading across the room. It drifted outward, through the walls, windows, ceilings, until it disappeared.
Something inside me clicked. My soul exhaled.
I pressed a hand to my chest, startled by how hard my heart was beating.
“It’s done?” I asked, breathless.
“It is,” Alastor said. “How do you feel?”
I took inventory. My magic, my breath, the tension in my muscles. “Better. I’m not trembling anymore.” I gave a breathy laugh. “I feel . . . okay.”
Strangely, I meant it. My anxieties had lessened, and while I was tired, it wasn’t the bone-weary kind of tired I’d felt before we did our spell.
“Good,” he said, a rare smile ghosting his lips. “Working with your magic should feel right. If it doesn’t, if something inside you resists, you stop. Always.”
Then he closed his eyes, and I felt the way he swept his magic over the house. Each pass made the house a little warmer.
An uneasy emptiness filled me when Alastor and George left to question my attacker, so I searched for the ease I’d felt after Alastor and I had completed our protection spell. My body fought a shudder as I looked around the house that had felt like a haven. It’d taken only a few moments for that sense of safety to shatter.
And I felt it would take far less for me to follow suit and crumble.
Startling me, Hee-haw let out a loud bray as he stepped from the hallway into the living room. He gave me an annoyed glare before he settled in front of the fireplace with a loud huff.
Damn donkey. I was glad he’d stayed hidden, probably in the girls’ playroom, until the danger had passed.
The female lirio came into the house again. She blinked at me, much the way Bon did when our conversations turned serious.
