What is the Blood Witch trying to do? As the question presses to the front of my mind, I know I’m right. This wasn’t a Reg.
I may not know much about blood, but I understand paint. There’s a confidence to these runes, a sureness to their creation. If a Reg drew these, there’d be imperfections in the lines where they hesitated and consulted their guide. No. These runes look exactly like the ones in New York, complete with the impressions of two fingers in each stroke along the stone wall. A Reg couldn’t do this. They wouldn’t be this precise.
Was I wrong about Evan? He’s clearly up to something, but maybe he wasn’t the one who killed that raccoon. Maybe the same witch who drew these runes was out in the woods with us.
My hands shake as I reach for my phone. How did they do this without getting caught? This isn’t exactly a quiet street. Even now, people in line are giving me weird looks for climbing through the bushes to take a photo. I doubt even Lady Ariana could test the wall for magic without being seen, so how did the Blood Witch—
It doesn’t matter. I just need proof so Lady Ariana will believe me and take care of the intruder. She’ll keep us safe.
I snap pictures of the runes with my phone. My parents should be able to identify the rest and tell me what they mean. In case that isn’t enough to prove this wasn’t a Reg with access to Google, I grab a receipt from my other pocket, soft and worn from going through the wash once or twice. I cringe as I swipe the thin paper along the markings, careful to avoid skin contact. I know firsthand what happens when a Blood Witch takes an Elemental’s blood.
I’d rather not find out what happens if I touch theirs.
7
I’M HYPERAWARE OF THE blood in my back pocket when I return to work. Cal shoots me a panicked look as the register beeps at him, and I hurry over to help ring up a pair of tourists purchasing matching amethyst necklaces.
After my shift, driving home is an unexpected challenge. I keep picturing the bloody receipt pressing against me, and the thought twists my stomach into knots. I’ve never gotten out of my car faster than when I pull into our driveway.
My parents aren’t back yet. Of course. The one time I actually want them to beat me home from work, they don’t. I rush upstairs, set a clean tissue on my desk, and lay the receipt on top. It almost looks innocuous, like it came from a paper cut, but the bloody runes are seared into my mind. I may have to burn these pants.
I slip out of my jeans and throw on a clean pair. The ick factor is still there—I wiped blood off a wall—but there are more pressing concerns.
“Hannah?” Mom calls as the front door slams shut. The greasy smell of fried chicken trails up the stairs. “I brought home dinner.”
I pick up the edges of the tissue and gently carry the bloody receipt out of my room. “Mom? I need your help.”
There must be an edge of panic to my voice, because Mom comes rushing out of the dining room. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“We need the grimoire.”
Mom raises a brow at me. “Why?” Her gaze falls to the receipt in my hands. “What’s that?”
“It’s evidence. I need you to test it.” I squeeze by Mom on the landing. “I found runes on the side of the Witch Museum, written in blood, and—”
“And you think it’s Blood Magic?” Air whips through the house, pulling the tissue from my grip. Mom uses the wind to float the receipt onto the coffee table and kneels beside it. “What were you thinking, bringing something like this into our house?”
“I’m sorry. I just—”
“Ooh, something smells good,” Dad calls from the front door and wanders into the living room. He stops cold when he sees us, his boring gray tie halfway undone. “Do I want to know what’s going on?”
“Your daughter thinks there’s a Blood Witch in town. Again.” Mom rolls up her sleeves and flicks her fingers, creating fire out of nothing. Jealousy presses at my skin. I cannot wait to learn how to do that.
“Hannah, you heard Lady Ariana. We’re the only coven in town.” Dad sighs and sinks into his recliner while Mom grows the fire in her hands.
“Then explain this.” I pull out my phone and open my photos. “These were drawn on the side of the Witch Museum.”
Dad takes the phone from me and zooms in on the picture. He studies the image for a moment before his eyebrows shoot up. “Marie? Have you seen these?” There’s an odd note to his voice. It’s higher than normal. Strained.
“What is it? What do they mean?”
“Let me see.” Mom leans over while Dad holds out the phone. Her eyes go wide as the fire in her hands turns blue. “Do you think?”
“I don’t know.” Dad moves onto the floor beside Mom, conjuring a wind that lifts the bloody receipt into the air.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I pace the living room while my parents weave magic I don’t understand. “Is there a Blood Witch here or not?”
Mom shoots me a look, her eyes reflecting the now-purple fire. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.” She nods to Dad, who guides the receipt into the flame. The receipt catches fire and burns a bright turquoise. In a flash, it’s gone.
“Is that it?” The whole thing took, like, two seconds. “What does that mean?”
My parents stand and share a look. It feels like a hundred years pass in the span of a few moments before either of them speaks. Finally, Mom sighs. “The test was negative. There was no magic in the sample.”
“As your grandmother already said,” Dad adds, “we are the only coven in Salem. We have been for a very long time.”
“Are you sure? What about the runes?” They looked so similar to the ones I saw before. They have to be real.
Dad shrugs. “The runes seemed legitimate, but a Reg must have copied them from the internet.” He leads us into the dining room. “The coven is safe. I promise.”
I try to feel relieved, but mostly, I feel confused. How could I have been so wrong?
Dad and I follow Mom to the table, where she turns her curious gaze on me and studies my face. “What’s with this sudden obsession with Blood Witches? You’ve never worried about them before.”
“I—” All my secrets threaten to spill out, but I swallow them down before they make it to my lips. I’ve already lost a month of training because of these fears. If I tell my parents what happened in New York, if anyone finds out, the Council will come for me and Veronica. They’ll come and they’ll strip away our magic piece by piece until we’re nothing but hollowed-out shells. Until we’re nothing more than Regs. Worse, even, since we’ll know how much we’ve lost.