Blood Like Magic, page 34
This is the only cost of being a Davis. They have to do the dirty work so the rest of us can live safe in this community. Their family takes lives to save lives. It’s not as easy to judge them when I’m doing the same thing.
“We come here tonight to honor our ancestors and protect their kin.” Johan spreads his arms. “This rite is to bless our sacred day where we celebrate our traditions and welcome our ancestors from their eternal sleep. We will stomp out violence that seeks to harm our people. This carnival is our heritage, and we will protect it.”
Johan claps his hands together. “That is the intention of this rite.”
They have the intention. Now comes the blood.
Instantly, I want to jerk my head away. To avoid what I came here to do.
But I don’t.
Johan lifts his knife high and digs it into the man’s stomach. His victim screams in a way that sounds more like a squealing animal than a human. His skin splits away from the blade. Blood gushes and sprays the blue plastic of Johan’s poncho. Johan doesn’t smile. He doesn’t enjoy it. He just does it. Crimson coats his victim’s hair…
Blue-gray hair.
My stomach throbs as if I were the one stabbed.
That hair. Luc?
I jerk up from my spot on the steps, stumbling forward. Wanting—no, needing—to get closer.
The others follow Johan, faces grim as they sink their knives into Luc’s body. Flesh ripping open and spilling blood like a macabre fountain. And all the while, Luc screams and jerks his body, trying to get free.
Did the adults set this up? Granny, Mom, Auntie… Did they bring Luc here so the Davises could kill him for me?
I keep moving closer and closer. Walking in a staggered line.
Peridot’s knife gets stuck, and he has to brace his foot against Luc’s body to pull it out, Johan coaching him gently all the while.
The magic builds in the room like an extra dose of gravity trying to force me to the floor. Peridot is panting from his struggle with the stuck knife.
“Don’t!” Luc’s voice is wet––the sobs clogging his throat with spit that gurgles as he screams. “Please stop!”
My legs are as cold and stiff as the concrete floor I’m walking on. His body swings toward me, and blood leaks from his wounds and splashes against my bare feet. I feel it squishing between my toes.
“Stop,” I mumble, my voice thundering and thrumming in my ears, but soft out loud. “Stop it.”
They’re going to kill him.
They’re going to kill him!
My fingers press against his face, wet with tears.
“Voya!” Johan screams, suddenly right next to my ear.
The vision snaps, and all at once I become aware that the man in front of me is not Luc.
He never was.
I stumble back, away from his bleeding body.
And it’s only once I’ve done it that I realize my mistake.
I’ve broken the circle.
The thickening magic in the air changes from a fog to a lightning bolt in a storm. It takes shape and forms a whip of fire.
And it’s directed at the circle breaker. At me.
When the first lash of rogue magic hits my chest, a scream shreds my throat. I turn and shrink away from the pain, and the next lash hits my back. The smell of my flesh burning fills the basement. The scent is like charred bacon in a skillet.
I’m sobbing so hard I can’t breathe, waiting for the next lash, but it doesn’t come.
The loud grunt that sounds behind my ear makes me turn my head.
Behind me, Johan is crouching over my body, his face overcome with agony, every vein in his neck thick and pronounced. Overtop him, the white-hot light of magic strikes down on his back again and again.
Lashes meant for me.
“What are you doing?” I choke out.
Johan’s eyebrows knit together, and he lets out a sharp cry as another whip comes down. “I won’t let another child die in this house.” He bares his teeth. “Even if she’s a stupid little girl who brought this on herself.”
One final whip echoes in the basement before it dies out, like the calm after a bomb goes off. The scent of ash and decay lingers in the air.
Johan collapses next to me, covered in his blood, my blood, and the blood of the man swinging on the rope.
The man who’s no longer crying and jerking.
The man who isn’t Luc.
He’s gone.
Another sob tears through my throat, and I curl up next to Johan. The pain rushing through my body feels like it will never stop.
The door to the basement slams open, and there’s a rush of feet down the stairs. Someone picks me up, and I scream as they jostle my wounds.
“I know it’s painful, it’s okay,” Uncle Cathius whispers by my ear.
I’ve never been so happy to see him. “It hurts.”
Alex comes up beside Uncle and presses her hand to my face. “I’m sorry, I had to tell someone, and he’s the only one keyed into the scanner for the basement. It’s going to be okay.”
She doesn’t understand. The pain of the whip stings, but what hurts more is watching Johan bleeding on the ground as his children slice open their fingers to offer blood and heal his wounds. Peridot won’t stop shaking.
What cuts into me is the dead man swinging from his rope and knowing that Caribana will not be protected this year or the next. An entire community, vulnerable to anything on the one day we’re supposed to feel safe. A life is gone, and it doesn’t matter. A man has died for nothing.
The pain that thrums in my heart is because, against all odds, I saw them killing Luc and my first instinct was to stop it. This is the second time I’ve tried to protect him from death when I’m meant to deliver it, even if it wasn’t real today.
Alex said she knew fashion was her first love because she couldn’t imagine a future without it.
In the back of my mind, I can’t picture a world without Luc. I don’t want to. Even if he hates me or I never see him again, I would want to know that he’s out there living his life.
The realization is as swift as the punishment for breaking the circle.
I can’t kill Luc because I’m in love with him.
And my baby sister is going to die for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I wake to burning skin and the stink of aloe mixed with medicinal herbs. Around me, the familiar sights of my room come into focus. The huge window beside my bed that overlooks the backyard, the cheap digital board I hung on the far wall that shuffles through food feed photos, and my wardrobe with its mirrored doors.
My reflection shows heavy bags under my eyes, the knotted mess of my hair squished into a bun, and thick patches of a milky green cream creeping up my neck from underneath the blankets.
Uncle sits in a chair beside me, peeling one of his apples. The skin falls away in perfect ringlets under the sharp blade of the paring knife. He slices it into quarters, removes the core, and cuts each quarter into four identical pieces. Skewering a segment on the tip of the knife, he offers it to me.
I shake my head. “How long have I been asleep?” I expect my voice to be as dry as my throat, but it sounds the same as usual.
Uncle retracts his piece of apple and pops it in his mouth. “You shouldn’t have been in that ritual.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be in it.” I clench my jaw and curl up off my stomach. “Please don’t lecture me right now.”
“Keep your back straight! That ointment needs to set.” He puts aside the plate and eyes my wounds. “How is your chest?”
My fingers graze the stinging lines that snake from the bottom of my stomach to under my clavicle. I expect gauze and tape, but what I touch is a rubber mesh pressed over the thick green cream. It’s the kind that they use in private hospitals for those who can afford the high price. “How did we get these? This is Magic Mesh.” Magic Mesh—not actually magic—heals burns and wounds faster with a combo of nano tech and stem cells.
Uncle grunts. “Your boy brought them.”
“Luc?”
“Lie down!”
I stop trying to push myself up and collapse back down into the sheets. “Luc is here?” My cheeks warm, and I develop a sudden fear that “I love Luc” is pasted on my body somewhere for everyone to see.
Uncle’s crossed arms show his disapproval. “Apparently, that monitor you have gave off some sort of spike, and he was over here pounding on the door and demanding to see you.”
My heart is beating too hard and fast. It hurts against my tender chest. “And Granny let him in?”
“He was threatening to get his sponsor dad over here—someone we definitely don’t want anywhere near our home, though I doubt he knew that—so she let him in.” He clenches and unclenches his fists. “I hate to admit it, but that mesh he brought helped a lot. You were lucky.”
“Lucky?” The memory of the magic whipping me burns its way to the surface.
“Sapphire died the last time a circle was broken. And you’re alive.” Uncle’s brows dip, and his entire bald head wrinkles.
“Johan… He helped me. Why couldn’t he help her?”
He blows out a breath. “My mother stopped him. She’s the Matriarch, no matter how he tries to play at it. Her rule is every Davis in that house age twelve and older participates. The same rule her mother and her mother’s mother used. If they break the circle, you let the magic decide whether they live or die. You don’t interfere. So, he didn’t. I guess this time, he wasn’t willing to step aside again. Probably helps that she wasn’t around too.”
His eyes travel over my back. “Ava would never let something like that happen. It’s part of the reason I’m proud to assist her. She changed this family for the better. Went against everything she was raised to be and made a difference. My mother would never. She’s too invested in power. Your granny has always been willing to put everything on the line to do what’s right for her family. If I hadn’t married Maise, I would have pledged myself to Ava just to be a part of this family.”
I stare slack-jawed at Uncle. I thought he hung around Granny out of some strange wish to be Matriarch, even knowing that he never would. Instead, he only ever wanted to be part of a family that wasn’t like his. A family that wouldn’t let a child die in their basement for the sake of tradition.
“Sapphire had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” he says. “Big and brown. She was too soft a girl born into too hard a family.”
“Am I like that?” I’ve never cared about Uncle’s opinions, but somehow, in this moment, I want to know.
“No,” he says. “You’re a strong girl in a strong family who was given the wrong task.”
I think of Alex’s words in combination with Uncle’s. I was sure everyone in this family thought I was weak. Voya, who can’t make decisions no matter how simple. Voya, who already failed her Calling once. Voya, who can’t kill a boy to save her sister. But now two people have said the opposite.
Mama Jova said she picked me for a reason. I wonder what she thought of herself before the moment she became a Mama. Did she think of herself as someone strong or as a failure? Could someone like me ever have the sort of strength she has?
My mind goes to the image of crimson whips slicing through bodies, and immediately the screams of that man in the basement fill my ears, shrill and sharp.
That’s not the sort of strength that I want.
There’s a quick knock on the door, and then Mom and Auntie push their way into the room. I try and use the mirror to see if Keis, Alex, or Keisha is behind them, but no one else enters. No Luc, either.
Uncle stands and clears his throat. “Feel better. And don’t do anything like that again.” He points to the plate of apples. “Eat something.”
I roll my eyes and sink back into my pillows. Classic Uncle. Still, as his hand is on the doorknob, I say, “Thank you. And please thank Johan, too.” No matter what Granny or anyone else thinks of him, even if I disagree with some of what he does, Johan helped me last night. He set aside his Matriarch’s rules and put his life in danger to save mine.
Uncle nods in acknowledgment before leaving the room.
Auntie settles in the chair while Mom sits on my bed. She tugs out the elastic in my hair and rearranges it into a neater bun.
When I look into her eyes, they’re edged with tears. “Mom…”
“I shouldn’t have told you to finish it,” she chokes out. “That day on the phone. You told me you couldn’t do it, but I kept pushing you.”
“That wasn’t why I went. I was trying to save Eden. I thought if I could see them take a life, maybe I would understand how I could too.” I let out a breath. “It just went all wrong.”
Auntie snorts. “No shit.”
“Maise!” Mom shouts.
“What? We know something got sparked because you’ve got magic lashes on your body taller than you.” She shakes her head and brushes my forehead with a trembling hand. “Got you over here looking like Mama Jova.”
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. “My head is messed up. I keep getting confused. And I’m too weak to finish the task sooner and make it stop.”
Auntie clucks her tongue. “If weakness is not being able to kill someone you’re in love with, we’re all weaklings. Mama gave you an impossible task.”
“Don’t pretend,” I snap at her, pulling my hands away from my face. “None of you have ever thought this was something I could do.”
Mom stumbles over her words. “It’s not because we don’t believe in you specifically. Like Maise said, it’s an impossible thing to do.”
“The ancestors don’t give impossible tasks.”
Mom grabs my hand. Her eyes are hard and serious. “Do you think I could kill your dad?”
“What?” My ribs press in and make my heart struggle for space.
“Do you think I could kill your dad if I was given that task? If it was for the sake of the family and magic, he may even volunteer to die. But do you think I could murder him in cold blood?”
What kind of question is that? “I…” Could she? Mom doesn’t like Dad. They fought while together, and now that they’re apart, they ignore each other. I don’t think she loves him anymore. It should be easier. And yet… “No.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
Auntie clears her throat. “Do you think I could kill Cathius?”
My first instinct is to say yes. But that’s wrong too. When their relationship went sour, Auntie could have pushed for him to move out. She didn’t.
Neither of them could have done this task. Mom and Auntie have always been strong women. I think of them and picture iron will and perseverance. I’ve never thought of myself that way, and yet it would be as hard for them as it is for me.
Mom grips my fingers. “Your dad and I have had our problems. There have been bad times. There have also been good times. Whether it’s your first love, second, third, or fourth, it’s not easy to forget about that. It’s near impossible to snuff it out.”
“Then why would she make me?” It’s the question that’s been on my mind from the start of this process. Tasks are supposed to help you learn, become better, and prepare for your gift. This… What could she possibly be preparing me for?
Auntie sighs. “Who knows why the ancestors do anything? Mom is the only one of us who speaks to them outside of the Coming-of-Age, and she doesn’t give anything away.”
I clench my fists in my pillow. “Mama said she chose me for a reason. But why? We barely have anything in common.”
“You look like her right now,” Auntie mutters.
Mom shoots her a look. “It’s hard to understand her reasoning. Mama Jova was a different sort of witch. She has always straddled the line. She refused to practice witchcraft for a long time, and so she always ended up in the middle of being pure or impure. She killed those men to save our kin with a method that both used her blood in a pure way and used the blood of others in an impure way.”
I nod along to Mom’s words, but it’s not quite right. Mama told me she couldn’t decide which to be, pure or impure. She didn’t refuse to practice out of some stance like what Keis does. She just couldn’t make up her mind, and when she finally decided to use magic, like Mom says, it ended up in between. “Has anyone in the family ever been able to do what she could? Turn blood into a weapon like that?”
Mom crosses her arms. “You need to get better at remembering your history.”
I scowl.
“Other Thomases have tried, but no one could ever do it like she did,” Auntie Maise says. “They could do it with their own blood but not someone else’s, or the other way around. And never with the power that people say she had. At most they could get the blood to lift up, but it wouldn’t form into the deadly whips she made.”
“She refuses to explain how to do it, according to the almanac,” Mom adds.
As much as I’m not a fan of Mama Jova, I can’t help but be amazed. There’s a cast that only she can do, which is rare in families. Though her refusal to explain it probably helps with that.
She doesn’t like to explain much at all. Like how she keeps saying this is my choice, yet everything comes down to this thing I have to do but don’t want to. This thing I can’t do, if I’m being honest.
Mom clears her throat. “Now, I’ve had your cousins entertaining him, but there’s a boy downstairs who’s impatient to see you.”
“What does he think happened?”
“We figured we would leave that conversation and decision to you. The question is, do you want to see him?”
I don’t need to think about my answer. Even though I got into this mess trying to learn to kill him, I can’t say anything but “Yes.”
* * *
It’s only been a few moments of waiting for Luc after Mom and Auntie leave when the sound of something shattering carries up to my room. It’s loud enough that I sit up, hissing in pain, expecting to see something fallen in my room, but nothing’s out of place.
