Rune dabbed more blood onto the pad of her finger and continued drawing the symbol. As she dragged the mark across the door, the taste of salt bloomed in her mouth and a familiar roar echoed in her ears. Like the roar of the sea.
For Rune, casting spells always felt like swallowing the ocean. Like she was standing in the surf as the tide came in, only it was coming in faster and more forcefully than was natural, and it took all her strength to keep her feet planted and not get thrust over.
Rune shut her eyes as the magic swelled and her body trembled from the effort. The sea roared louder, its brackish taste stinging her throat.
She clenched her teeth and kept drawing, forcing more of the bloody symbol onto the door in front of her. Pain throbbed in her temples as that invisible wave started to crash. Rune felt its weight descending. She braced herself, trying to finish the mark as it came tumbling down on her. Her hand shook harder. She gripped her wrist, trying to steady it. There was only one line left to draw …
“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.