Bloodspell Read online

"I'm right here, sweetheart."

  "They're coming ..."

  THE NIGHTMARE'S TERRIBLE fingers touched everywhere, holding her prisoner in that space between dream and reality. Flashes of shiny, corrugated metal, the smell of fire and sulfur heavy in the air, and the blood, so much blood, it was everywhere—on the ground, on her clothes, on her hands. Oh God, her hands. What had she done? Their faces were gruesome in death, their bloodied arms grasping her, pulling her down into hell with them.

  Her body jerked. She was older now, lying in a sterile hospital bed. Molten lava flooded into her body, drowning her. She was imploding, her skin splintering as something unimaginable inside her struggled to get out. She felt it tearing its way through her body, shredding tissue and bone and skin like paper until it was free. The creature turned slowly, agonizingly. Burning red eyes blazed into hers. The demon had her face.

  She couldn't stop screaming.

  "Tori, wake up," a worried voice said, shaking her. "Victoria! Wake up!"

  Her screams dissolved into strangled gasps as she struggled to sit up. A kind, wrinkled face swam into focus. "It's okay, love. It's just a dream. You're safe now."

  "Oh God, Aunt Holly, their faces!"

  "It's okay, it's over now. It was only a dream. Take a deep breath, sweetheart."

  "It wasn't just the car crash this time, it was something worse. Did you ever see The Omen? Well, in my dream, I was the baby ... I was the devil."

  "No one could live through what you've been through and not have terrifying moments," Holly said kindly, stroking Victoria's back with a soothing motion. "Now try to get some sleep, it's early."

  "Aunt Holly, I should have died with them. It's just not fair to be so lucky."

  "Hush now, darling. You've been through a lot the past few days. Please just get some rest. Things will look better in the morning, I promise. I love you."

  "Love you, too."

  As Holly left the room, Victoria stared into the darkness. The clock on the nightstand said four a.m. Sleep was an elusive bedmate. Whenever she was able to fall asleep, she had terrible dreams, although none quite as bad as the one she'd just had. Most nights, she lay awake in bed thinking about anything and everything, afraid to close her eyes until the dawn's light chased away the monsters. Tonight was no exception.

  Despite occasional flashes, she still couldn't remember everything that had happened in the parking lot, and when she tried to think about it, her head ached as if the memory was blocked by some obstruction. Under Dr. Mills' orders, she hadn't returned to St. Xavier's, and given the circumstances, she'd been excused from the rest of the school year. It'd been a relief not to have to face the Stepfords or anyone else at the exclusive high school that had for the past two years made her life a living hell.

  St. Xavier's had been a special scholarship from their church—one which the benefactors had insisted would give Victoria an edge come college time. A loner by nature, making new friends had always been difficult at best, and after a few months, Victoria had given up, preferring to keep to herself. Then the Stepfords had taken everything to a whole new level as Brett had let it leak that she was his parents' charity case. It had been a nightmare from there on out, and a different Victoria had begun to emerge, one fluent in cynicism, distant and aloof. For the first time in her life, she had become a social outcast.

  "I am officially a freak," Victoria murmured out loud. She hugged her middle, her fingers encountering a soft, furry head. Leto. She stroked him and he purred in response.

  "Hey, how're you doing?" she whispered, fondling his soft velvet ears.

  Leto had been a fixture in her life as long as she could remember. He was the only living memory she had of her parents, and whenever she confided in him, spilling out her secrets, everything always seemed better ... and less lonely. She pulled him unto her chest.

  "I've missed you. I hate these nightmares so much ... mom, dad, school, the hospital. It's all so ugly." Leto watched her, unblinking, as Victoria thought of Brett, remembering the way he'd looked at her with such horror, blood covering his face. She shivered. "I wish I knew what happened, but it's like I don't want to remember or something inside of me doesn't want me to."

  She scratched his head. "You love me, don't you, Leto? At least you don't think I'm a freak, like everyone else does."

  She sighed and glanced at the clock. Six a.m. Her body still ached and she sat up slowly, pushing a grumpy Leto aside. Streaks of pale golden light seeped through her bedroom curtains chasing away the shadows of the night.

  For a minute, she stood transfixed by the light dancing across the dark material—light into dark, dark into light; hypnotic, a silent metaphor for something she felt but couldn't express. Her eyes burned as she jabbed the backs of her thumbs fiercely into them. She'd promised herself no more tears.

  Today is no different than any other day, Victoria told herself. You're just one year older, nothing more.

  Selecting a black sweatshirt and a pair of black jeans, Victoria finger-combed the snarls out of her thick, dark hair and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She'd lost more weight since the hospital, and the black clothing only made her look more gaunt than usual. In the dim lighting, even her eyes looked dark. The girl in the mirror smiled at the irony. Black was fitting; it was a day of death after all.

  As if on cue, pins and needles surged through her hands and she rubbed them tiredly against her jeans. The tingling hadn't stopped since the hospital, but Dr. Mills had said that it would go away eventually. Leto jumped down from the bed and rubbed his silver-furred body against her legs, yowling as static electricity sparked from her jeans to his fur. His large, green eyes fixed on hers accusingly.

  "Oh Leto, I'm so sorry! I'm a live-wire lately." She pulled him into her arms after a last glance at the mirror and scratched his ears as she started toward the stairs. Leto stared at her with oddly knowing eyes and purred loudly, pressing his face into the crook of her arm. Strangely enough, the tingling in her palms lessened.

  Victoria peered over the landing. She knew Holly was up to something, especially given how excited and secretive she had been during the days leading up to Victoria's birthday. Although not her real aunt, Holly had been her grandmother's best friend, and when Victoria's parents had died when she was nine, Holly had taken her in and brought her to her home in Millinocket, Maine.

  An hour north of Bangor with a population of just five thousand people, Millinocket was the most picturesque town Victoria had ever seen, home to lush forests and pristine rivers and lakes, resting against the backdrop of Mount Katahdin. It was a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Greenwich Village in New York where she had lived with her parents until the tragic accident that had torn her life apart.

  Holly's house was located just on the outskirts of the main village and backed onto the thickly wooded forest of the North Maine Woods. It felt safe in a way New York no longer did without her mother and father. The minute she'd set foot on the threshold, it felt like home, and Victoria had found that she didn't want to live anywhere else.

  "Don't make a sound," she told Leto, and tiptoed toward the kitchen. It was empty. Sighing with relief, she poured herself a cup of coffee just as a second dizzying wave of queasiness made her double over, pins and needles spearing her entire body. Her back arched backward, hot coffee scalding her hand and flying everywhere.

  "Ouch! Son of a—"

  As Victoria shook her stinging fingers, her elbow caught the edge of a crystal vase sitting on the counter and tipped it off the side. Time slowed to a crawl and she could foresee the next four seconds of flawless inevitability ending with one of Holly's prized possessions shattered on the floor. Blood thundered in her ears and surged to the tips of her fingers in electric response.

  A single word escaped her lips. "No!"

  Obediently, time stopped.

  Victoria swung around to the right to pluck the vase from midair milliseconds before it crashed to the floor, her breath harsh in the unnatural stillness
. A blink, and the spell was broken. She replaced the vase with shaking fingers and took a deep, calming breath, her blood coursing wildly in her veins. Leto growled softly, his sudden stare insistent, unnerving. She shook her head.

  "You imagined it," she said, pressing her hot palms to the cool surface of the countertop. "It's just adrenaline ... excess energy. Breathe, Tori."

  She shook her head again, starting to feel that she would be better off returning to bed, when she heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. A few minutes later, Holly walked in, beaming as she saw Victoria and towing a bunch of shiny balloons behind her through the kitchen door.

  "Happy Birthday, Tori! I've got one for each year! Seventeen of them!" she cried. "So, how's my birthday-girl?" Victoria couldn't help smiling.

  "I'm not exactly sure. Still waking up, I think," she said, with a glance at her reddened hand.

  A concerned look. "Did you manage to get any sleep at all?"

  "Not much. The nightmares have been a lot worse lately. But I guess it's just the time of year," she said. "Not every girl has a birthday on the anniversary of her parents' death."

  "I know, darling, it's hard. But they would be very proud of you, you know," Holly said, squeezing Victoria in a sympathetic hug before adding briskly, "so let's focus on the positive. How does it feel to be seventeen?"

  Victoria smiled at Holly's intensity. Holly pretended to love birthdays, but Victoria knew deep down that Holly only did it so that the happiness of the celebration would eclipse the sadness of what had happened eight years ago. And her thoughtful ploy worked, year after year.

  "It's strange, I do feel different. My body feels like it could run a marathon, like I've had six cups of coffee or something. I've had pins and needles all morning. Even Leto won't come near me."

  "Sounds like birthday jitters to me," Holly said. "No wonder, seventeen, that's a big milestone."

  "You said that last year when I was sixteen, remember? 'Sweet sixteen is a big milestone,'" she quoted in a chirpy falsetto.

  "Well, it is, and they all are," Holly argued good-naturedly. "And I do not sound like that."

  "You do when you get excited," Victoria said, pouring herself a second cup of coffee. "Seriously though, why is it even called sweet sixteen? It's so archaic. It's not even a true coming-of-age anymore. Don't you know eleven is the new sixteen?"

  "Very funny," said Holly. "When I grew up, sweet sixteen was about celebrating girlhood into adulthood. I think the saying sweet sixteen comes from 'sweet sixteen and never been kissed.'"

  "Don't look at me, I'd hardly know. I've never kissed anyone, unless you count Peter from church when I was thirteen. Gross. Anyway, I'm glad sweet sixteen is over. I can honestly say there was nothing sweet about it."

  "Maybe this will be your sweet seventeen then," Holly said with a wink, and Victoria rolled her eyes. "Your grandmother always said that seventeen was a big deal too, you know, like a rite of passage."

  Victoria turned and leveled a suspicious glance in Holly's direction. "Aunt Holly, you haven't gone and done anything crazy, have you?"

  "Now, now, Tori, don't get that tone with me, young lady. A young woman deserves something special on her seventeenth birthday, doesn't she? I really think, no ... I insist that you should have something special! Happy Birthday, Tori!" Holly put two gaily-wrapped boxes in front of Victoria on the table. "Go on, open!"

  "Aunt Holly! You do too much already!" Victoria said. "You spoil me."

  "Don't deny an old lady her joys, darling."

  "Old lady? Whatever!" Victoria laughed as she squeezed her thoughtful, infuriating, wonderful aunt in a bear-hug. "But this is the last time, okay. No more," she joked, before removing the wrapping paper carefully and opened the smaller of the two boxes. Inside, nestled on a bed of cotton gauze, was a delicate, golden key. She looked questioningly at Holly who indicated that she should now open the second, larger box.

  "Oh no, Aunt Holly, you didn't!" Victoria gasped and pulled the shiny, thin laptop from its plastic wrapping. She held it gingerly in her hands. "It's too much, really it is!"

  "Do you like it? Jim at the shop told me it was top of the line, and great for writing or drawing. I know you're always doodling in that notebook of yours, and well, the one I've got is practically extinct as you know." She laughed.

  "I love it! It's perfect! You're perfect! I can't believe you got me a Mac! The graphics in these things are amazing! It's got like a super fast processor and stacks of RAM. And look how thin it is! It's so pretty!"

  "I'm so happy that you're happy, Tori," Holly said. "I don't know about rams and sheep and whatnot, but I'm so glad you like it. Seeing that smile again was worth it. I was worried it wouldn't be the right one, you know how you young people are." She reached for a package beside her. "I still have one more thing for you."

  Victoria touched the laptop's shiny surface reverently. "You've already done so much, Aunt Holly. Really."

  "Well, this one is indirectly from your grandmother," Holly said, lifting a delicately carved wooden box from beneath several layers of yellowing tissue paper.

  "My grandmother?" Victoria repeated, confused. Her grandmother had died when she was eight.

  "This was her music box. That's what the golden key is for. Before she died, she told me that I was to pass it to you on your seventeenth birthday. She said it was important, that she meant for you to have it."

  With infinite care, Victoria held the music box. It was a warm, worn, cherry-wood interlaid with rosewood, crisscrossed by delicate gold carvings in an intricate design. She squinted closely ... the design looked like some sort of crest. She ran her hands across the top of it and it warmed to her touch.

  Feeling strangely expectant, she put the small gold key into the lock and turned the latch. As she opened the top, the faint smell of gardenias drifted up and a haunting melody hummed. It was Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven.

  Victoria swallowed, her throat tight, and realized that Holly had left the room to give her some privacy. Inside the box was a collection of papers, some yellowed with age, and a small red velvet box. The top piece of paper was folded over and inscribed with her name. She opened it with surprise.

  My darling Victoria,

  How I wish I could have seen you grow up. You were so full of life and carried so much joy, my beautiful granddaughter. If this box has come to you in the manner I wished, you will be reading this on your seventeenth birthday. This is a special birthday for Warrick women. It marks both an end and a beginning, the end of what we know and the beginning of what we are to become. Don’t fear it. Embrace it. You are a Warrick.

  All my love,

  Your Loving Grandmother, Emmeline Warrick

  Victoria read the letter again, savoring the memory of the voice behind the words, then shuffled through the rest of the papers. There were many more letters, some quite old, that appeared to have been written to other Warrick girls on their seventeenth birthdays, all with the same message. She realized that the letters must be some sort of coming of age ritual for the women in her family. They seemed to cling to her hands as if they were part of her, drawn to her mysteriously, and she liked the feeling they gave her. She also found a thin notebook that looked like a journal. She put it aside; she would read it later. The red velvet box beckoned.

  She opened it carefully and, with a gasp, removed a delicate amulet on a thin chain. The amulet held a shimmering rose-tinted diamond suspended between the golden threads edging its perimeter in the same triangular design—crest?—the one engraved on the music box. It was breathtaking.

  Victoria gently traced the outside of the delicate crest and winced as the sharp bottom edge almost sliced her finger—it was very sharp when held just so, although seemed to be quite safe when flat on her palm. How strange.

  "Aunt Holly, did you ever see my grandmother wear this amulet?" Holly walked back into the kitchen and examined the necklace.

  "Many times. She told me that it was a family heirloom. Your gran
dmother was convinced that this amulet kept her out of trouble. She called it her lucky charm. And it did too! She always said she had the devil's own luck. You wouldn't believe her escapades and how many times she got away with murder!" She laughed at the memory and fastened the necklace to Victoria's slim neck. "There, it's lovely. Go have a look."

  Victoria went to the bathroom mirror and peered at her reflection. Her dark, blue-black hair hung in the same tangled mass as always, but the necklace lent a warm glow to her face. The amulet lay on her chest like it belonged there, its weight heavy and profound. Leto, who had followed her into the bathroom, scratched his front paws against her knees and she bent to pick him up.

  "What do you think, Leto? Beautiful, isn't it?"

  Leto's green eyes met hers in the mirror. She suddenly felt breathless, unable to look away from the cat's bright gaze.

  "Isn't it odd that our eyes are exactly the same color? I don't think I ever noticed," she heard herself say.

  The amulet was so bright and so hot that she could feel it nearly burning her chest. Her blood raced beneath it, her breath coming in rapid, shallow pants. Leto's body trembled in her arms, his green eyes blazing.

  Embrace it.

  She almost dropped him as the words echoed unbidden in her head.

  "Leto?" she said. She was going crazy. But Leto mewed softly, still holding her gaze. Victoria was so spellbound by the pull of the amulet that her mind felt drunk, her instincts leaden. She was burning hot just like in her nightmares, exploding from the inside out. Underneath the murkiness, she felt something awaken inside of her. Terrified, she grasped Leto so tightly that his claws dug into her forearms.

  The more frightened she became, the more her blood seemed to be feasting on her fear. The amulet scorched her chest, and the light she'd felt not ten seconds before disappeared into a thick, suffocating darkness. Dark into light, light into dark. Victoria stared at the mirror.

  The demon had her face.

  Her nightmare had become reality. Everything suddenly felt as if it were spinning out of control, the floor beneath her feet tilted and bile coated the back of her tongue. Victoria flung Leto aside and ripped the amulet off her chest.