Heartless Hunter (Crimson Moth, #1) (32)

“Rune,” Verity said. Her voice sounded muffled. Far away.

I can do it. It’s almost done.

“Rune, stop. You going to—”

The next time the wave swelled, Rune lost her footing. The spell crashed down and her legs buckled. Rune collapsed beneath it, drowning in that thunderous roar.





SIXTEEN

RUNE




SOMEONE WAS SHAKING HER.

“Rune!”

Her head throbbed. In fact, her whole body throbbed, pain reverberating outward from one intense point at the back of her skull. Ughhhh.

“Alex … can you help me sit her up?”

Rune forced her eyes open. The room blurred and swayed above her. She saw a smudge of gold overhead, heard Alex murmur something to Verity, and closed her eyes again.

From the hard surface beneath her back, she knew she was on the floor.

“What happened?” she whispered.

Alex scooped her into his arms and set her on Verity’s bed.

“You fainted,” answered Verity.

It wasn’t the first time. It happened whenever she pushed herself too hard on a spell that was too difficult for her.

If Nan were still alive to guide her, maybe this would be easier. But Rune’s first bleeding came a few months after they’d purged her. She’d had to learn everything on her own, or with Verity’s help. And after two years of being a witch, Rune could still only cast a handful of spells.

As the pounding in her head subsided, she forced her eyes open. The room spun.

“You overexerted yourself,” said Verity. “It’s like when too much electric current flows through a wire. The wire can’t hold that much power and overheats, causing a fire or explosion.”

Rune frowned at her friend. “I don’t follow.”

“Your power—the amount of magic you’re capable of—is too much for your conductor, or the quality of blood you’re using. So the spell short-circuits.”

But Rune had no other blood to use.

Sighing, she waited for her vision to clear. Finally, Alex and Verity came into view, their brows furrowed as they stood over her. An uncorked vial lay on the floor, its contents spilling out in a glistening pool of bright red blood.

“No, no, no …” Rune scrambled toward it, but it was too late. Most of the blood had seeped into the cracks between the floorboards and was already drying.

Rune touched her index finger to the precious, sticky blood.

What a waste.

She only had one full vial left until her next cycle started.

Her hand fisted as she stared at the mess. “I wish I was better at this.”

“You could be.” Verity crouched down next to her. “This blood is old, Rune. No matter how much practicing you do or how perfect your marks are, some spells are going to be impossible or dangerous to cast without fresh blood. You might get away with a basic Minora spell and some Mirages, but if you want to cast more complex spells, you need fresh blood. Otherwise, this will keep happening.”

“To do that, I’d have to cut myself,” said Rune. Which would create casting scars, which she couldn’t risk.

When a witch drew blood by cutting her skin, the magic used to cast a spell discolored the scar, turning it silver. It was why casting scars were considered beautiful during the Reign of Witches. Many witches made their cuts with care, intentionally creating elaborate designs across their bodies. Some employed skilled artists to do the cutting for them. Popular places were down the arms and back, and along the shoulders, collarbones, and wrists. But these were also highly visible, so after the revolution, witches with scars in these places had been the first to be identified and purged.

Rune’s grandmother had kept her scars contained to her arms. If Rune closed her eyes, she could still see them. The delicate cuts began at the edge of Nan’s collarbone and flowed down to her wrists in silvery designs depicting nautical scenes: a ship in a storm, half-swallowed by waves; sea monsters swimming in the deep.

“You wouldn’t have to cut yourself,” said Verity.

“What do you mean?” asked Alex from behind them.

Verity glanced back at him. “My sisters used to say that a witch’s skill is a combination of study and practice. The more she learns and memorizes, and the more she consistently practices her spellmarks, the more she excels at her spells. But an equally vital component is the blood she has access to. An accomplished witch can master complex spells using her own fresh blood, or someone else’s. Rune can’t use her own, for obvious reasons, but she could use someone else’s—if they were willing to bear the scars.”

Nan had mentioned it to her once—that some witches used the blood of others to amplify their spells. This was necessary for immense magical workings, such as Majoras and Arcanas—the two highest categories of spellcraft. Majora spells required someone else’s blood given with permission; Arcana spells required someone else’s blood taken against their will.

Arcanas were the most powerful of all spells and had been outlawed for centuries. Not only were they considered wicked, they came with a considerable cost: if a witch took someone’s blood against their will, the spell using that blood would corrupt the witch. She would crave the power it gave her, and resort to more coercive bloodletting, often killing her sources.