Jessica Andersen - Blood Spells

They both looked at the bed, where the older, tougher version lay motionless and stern-featured.

“Okay,” Rabbit said after a moment. “Yeah. Okay.” She got the feeling he wasn’t totally satisfied, but he didn’t pursue it. Just nudged the pot with the toe of his boot. “You should be all set. The folder’s got the translated spell, both in phonetic Mayan and English, along with Lucius’s interpretation. There’s some incense and stuff in the Ziploc. I’m not sure what all’s in there, but Jade said the spell itself wasn’t anything too drastic. None of the old ‘Draw the thorny vine through your pierced tongue’ or ‘Let blood from your foreskin.’” He gave an exaggerated shudder, but his sidelong look was one hundred percent serious. “I could help, you know. Unless you think the hellmark will fuck things up yet again.”

“I don’t—” That time, the knee-jerk almost made it out, but she stopped herself, narrowing her eyes. “You’re still a manipulative little shit, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, unrepentant. “Almost worked.”

She pointed to the hallway door. “Out.”

The order echoed back to the numerous times she’d banished him and the twins out to the patio, or the pool, or just about anyplace other than the suite, with its enclosed spaces and tight acoustics. This time, though, the echo brought a sense of the past and present connecting rather than moving further apart. And it eased something inside her, just a little.

He tossed her one of the panic buttons that were hardwired into the Skywatch system. “Jox wanted me to remind you not to be shy about using it.” He paused. “You want an earpiece? One of us could monitor—”

“No,” she cut in, “but thanks.”

He nodded, sent her a “good luck” salute, and headed out. Before the hallway door had fully shut behind him, she had cleared off the nightstand, dragged it into position beside the bed, and hefted the three-legged pot onto it.

The upper rim of the artifact had a wide, flattened section that was stained dark with char. The interior of the pot was painted glossy black and buffed to a shine around the sides; the bottom was inset with a perfect circle of black stone—obsidian, maybe?—that had been polished to a ruthless gleam that threw her own reflection back at her, even in the indirect bedroom lighting.

A brightly painted scene ringed the outside of the pot: Against a creamy white background, the black-outlined figures were painted in shades of earthy red, orange, and yellow, with vivid sea blue accents. The painting showed a ceremonially robed figure with the flattened forehead and exaggerated nose typical of ancient Mayan art—a king or a priest, maybe—inhaling curls of smoke from the small dish at the top of the three-legged pot, with a second pot turned on its side to show the interior . . . which was marked with a jagged “X” symbol. Etznab. More smoke billowed around the figure, its tendrils becoming strange, hunched figures—gods, maybe, or ancestors—who acted out unintelligible pantomimes.

“Okay,” she said softly to herself. “Burn the sacrifice, inhale the smoke, look into the mirror, and see your past. I can do that.” Question was, could she use what was left of the jun tan bond to bring Brandt into the magic? Gods, I hope so.

She prepped things per Lucius’s instructions, removing Brandt’s IV, folding their blood sacrifices into a blob of the Nightkeepers’ claylike brown incense, and then lighting the sacrifice with a match and a dash of highly alcoholic pulque .

As she tipped the pot on its side, so the mirror reflected Brandt’s image, magic buzzed in the air, touching her skin with phantom caresses that heated her body and made her ache with the memory of better days. But it was those memories she sought, so she didn’t will them away as she normally would. Instead she thought about her dream-vision of earlier that morning.

She remembered how he had slipped into her from behind, locking her to him with a strong arm that banded across her body to her opposite shoulder, trapping her with pleasure as he moved within her, possessed her, loved her. Their jun tan connection had been wide-open, letting the sensations wash back and forth so she felt his passion as her own, and vice versa, binding them together in an escalating wash of heat that had put her over and left her shuddering against him, helpless beneath their shared orgasm.

Ignoring the moisture that blurred her vision, she stretched out beside him and clasped his hand, pressing their bloodied palms together and intertwining their fingers in a familiar move that made her throb with longing. She inhaled a deep breath of incense-laden air, then another and another, until her head spun with the mildly hallucinogenic properties of the copan . Closing her eyes, she whispered the spell words Lucius had given her.

The humming magic changed pitch, gaining a high, sweet note, and energy brushed across her skin, warming her. For a few seconds she hesitated, unable to make herself look into the mirror and complete the spell, fearing that the memories wouldn’t meet her expectations . . . or that they would exceed them. She wasn’t sure which would be worse.

Finally, she whispered to herself, “You can do this.” And she opened her eyes.

The glossy black mirror glowed silver, lit by magic. It swirled with liquid ripples that ran across the surface, light chasing dark in ever-expanding circles that shimmered . . . curved . . . curled . . . and began to resolve into images, flickers of memory.

She saw Harry’s sweet smile, Braden’s devilish gleam, Hannah’s proud scars . . . and Brandt’s glittering brown eyes gone gold-shot with love.

Going on instinct, she rose over him, pressed her lips to his, and summoned every shred of magic she could wrap her mind around. She gathered the power, not shaping it into a fireball, a shield, or her own personal talent of invisibility, but rather collecting it into a pool of pure energy that rippled in her mind’s eye, suddenly looking like a mirror itself. Then she focused on the cool spot on her wrist.

And she sent the magic into it.

The jun tan tingled, then heated. Warmth washed into her, through her, making her feel whole and connected, like she was part of something larger and stronger than herself. But still it wasn’t enough.

She kissed him again, only this time she held nothing back. She opened herself fully, sacrificing her self-respect and the barriers that had protected her, offering her magic, energy, and love. Then, whispering against his lips, she repeated the spell.

Time stalled for a second; the magic went silent, the air strung tight with anticipation. Lifting her eyes, she looked into their reflections and said, “Show us the night we met.”

The mated link flared to life, her jun tan going from cold to warm, then to blazing hot as energy poured out of her and into him, draining through the uplink. She gasped as the magic left her. Her perceptions grayed, yet still the power flowed from her, into a seemingly bottomless sink within him.

Then the grayness detonated in a red-gold flash, and she was back in her own body—or rather, she was in a younger version of herself.

The warm, humid Yucatán night embraced her, grainy sand pressed underfoot, and a sea of coeds swarmed around her in various states of inebriation and undress. Fireworks arced overhead, celebrating the equinox; when they burst, they illuminated the looming bulk of Mayan ruins nearby, overlooking the ocean.

It was spring break of her senior year in college. She was nineteen, almost twenty. And she was staring at the biggest, most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen in her life.

She had done it. They were back at the beginning.