Page 3 of Cursed Evermore
I surveyed the desolate space and the memory of what happened here struck me fresh, callous and as unrelenting as if it were happening all over again before my eyes.
I'd gone riding to gather some herbs for Grandmother. When I reached this spot, I saw my father riding toward me on his horse. The black mass—a vortex of writhing shadow—appeared behind him, out of nowhere. Before I could even call out to him or dismount my horse, it swallowed him whole, and Father vanished as quickly as morning mist.
If my spell worked, I’d have him back.And maybe …maybe I wouldn’t feel so broken anymore.
I couldn’t begin to imagine what joy I would feel waking tomorrow, knowing my father was at home and the memories I’d created over the last two days would stay with me. Those hopes were dreams my heart had clung to for five long years.
Taking measured steps, I crept into the heart of the clearing and gazed up at the indigo sky stretching above me, vast and endless. The last breath of daylight bled from the horizon and stars pierced through the darkness like scattered diamonds on smooth black velvet.
It was time.
According to Grandmother’s grimoire, I needed to prepare the area for the ritual just before the moon rose.
With a determined breath, I knelt atop the soft grass, grateful for the cushioning it gave my knees. I opened my satchel and carefully slid out the dead crow I'd found that morning.
I’d wrapped it in the black silk scarf Grandmother had given me. Against the fabric, the crow’s obsidian feathers were still glossy.
I laid it on the tuft of grass before me and unwrapped the scarf. The smooth texture was a stark contrast to the crow’s stiff, cold feathers beneath.
The earthy, pungent scent of dried herbs rose from my bag as I took them out, then I retrieved the notepaper I’d written the spell on.
The spell was one that called back the lost from where they’d gone. The grimoire mentioned that necromancers and alchemists from Vaelthorne—the magical realm—had used it to reanimate the dead, and that witches reclaimed lost powers. I only hoped it would be enough to find Father.
I finished the preparation by spreading the herbs around the crow in a circle, then gazed up just as the silvery glow of the moon began to spill across the sky.
My breath caught at the sight.
The Phantom Moon crept above the horizon, larger thananynormal moon, its surface shimmering with an ethereal silvery-blue light.
The temperature plummeted as the moon rose, its otherworldly light transforming the clearing into shades of silver against deep shadow. The air crackled with static energy, making the fine hairs on my arms rise. Shadows seemed to breathe and shift, moving in ways that defied reality.
The moon rose higher, and the dark corona forming around it shifted and swirled like living smoke. Unlike a normal moon, it took on an ethereal quality as if viewed through a veil of spirits.
“Gods, it’s really happening.” I brought my hands to my heart, holding on to hope.
The magical realm called the Phantom Moon the Eclipse of Souls, because it was believed that as the moon passed through the celestial pathway, it absorbed the remnants of ancient magic left behind by the dead.
Spells invoked during a Phantom Moon were said to be amplified a hundredfold. That’s why I had faith the blood spell would work for me.
The moon climbed higher and higher, and I swore I saw faces in the midst of its gunmetal surface. Ancient, hungry faces that watched with eyes that had never been human.
I’d never seen anything like this before. The sheer magnificence made me ignore the thrashing of my heart and the angst curling low in my gut.
The wind stirred my hair as I picked up the silver athame from my bag. My hand trembled, but I pressed the blade to my palm.
“By blood and bone,” my voice trembled, then steadied like steel finding its temper. “By the bonds that cannot break, by the sacred oath I make. Through darkness deep and shadows long, through time's relentless tide, reveal what magic stole away, show where my father hides. By Phantom Moon and crow's last breath, by power old and true, pierce the veil between the worlds and guide my sight anew.”
I ran the blade across my palm, allowing it to bite deep into my flesh. I gasped at the sting but kept my hand steady as I let the blood drip onto the crow's feathers.
One drop. Two. Three... Each drop seemed to pulse with the rhythm of two heartbeats.
I stared at the crow with my heart throbbing in my throat as I waited for something to happen.
A minute went by, then another. And…nothing.
A shaky breath escaped my lips, desperate and demanding in tandem with the staccatoed rise and fall of my chest.
Why wasn’t anything happening? I was sure I’d done everything right.
