Bloodspell (The Cruentus Curse, #1)(16)

My talents are astonishing. I have many premonitions and visions of the future. Sickness avoids me, and it seems I have developed a Healer’s touch. I can also read my beloved’s thoughts. I can sense that he is worried about King James. The witch-hunts have grown more vicious in the past few years. He fears for our safety, particularly mine, given my abilities. If King James were to find out, we would surely be condemned.

The next entry came just a month later, on September 14, 1606.

My daughter is dead.

The single abrupt sentence floored Victoria, and she gasped as if the pain were her own. The writing continued a day later, pressed into the paper with angry black strokes. The pages rustled, heavy with tears and stained with splotches of dark ink. Victoria felt her heart wrench in empathy as she continued to read.

I am dead. Elizabeth Marie Warrick Kensington is dead. She came into the world a warrior goddess, bathed in blood, so much black blood, it was terrifying. My cursed blood killed her! The servants crossed themselves every time they entered the birthing chamber. She was so perfect, an angel. I have never known such joy watching her tiny, peaceful face, so divinely beautiful even in death. I curse the God that ripped her from my womb! I curse myself!

The dark splotches of ink shimmered and Victoria realized that they weren't ink at all. They were blood—deep, dark red drops imprinted on the pages forever. The journal trembled in her shaking hands. The amulet pulsed hot on her chest, as if it were reliving memories that scorched it. Victoria's eyes raced over the remaining lines of the passage.

The screams that shake the castle nightly come from my own heart. Lancaster has taken Marcus away as he fears for his safety. So he should. I can feel his fear as he looks at me drowning in my hate. I am lost to him, he cannot save me where I have gone. My devil’s blood guides me now. I confess I can do things, demonic things. I sliced my wrist and I swear it healed before my eyes! Over and over I did it, until the black blood barely wept anymore. I bend the servants to my will, taking grotesque pleasure in hurting them. The blood’s magic takes control and I willingly go where it leads me, where I am free of consequence. Lancaster was right to take Marcus away. I am unworthy. I am evil.

The amulet was growing so unbearably hot that Victoria dropped the journal and frantically unfastened its clasp, hurling it into the box. The diamond pulsed blood red. She backed away slowly from the music box. Leto opened a sleepy eye and looked at her.

"Leto!" she cried. "The amulet is cursed! I have the same poisoned blood that she did. I am cursed too. I never should have worn it! Why did I listen to you?"

Calm down, Victoria. He began to purr and within a few minutes, Victoria felt less agitated from his calming energy. She sat back down on the bed, staring helplessly at him, her throat tight.

"I can't wear it," she said. "I just can't."

It is your birthright. You are a Warrick witch and the amulet is yours. You are who you are.

Victoria shook her head fervently. "I don't want it. I don't want any of that! I just want to be normal, and have a normal life. And not hurt people!" On the last word, Victoria's voice broke. "I can't be a witch. I wouldn't know what to do, or be ... or how ... I don't want to become ... her."

Then don't, Leto answered simply. Curious, he asked, did you read the whole journal?

"How could I?" Victoria said. "I can't bear to read anymore."

Perhaps you will feel differently if you do.





VICTORIA WELCOMED THE many distractions of the next week, if anything to avoid thinking about the journal. She had banished it all deep into the recesses of her brain. She worked to fill her days and nights, and kept herself so busy that she wouldn't have time to stop and think about anything, especially about who or what she was. She'd done it for the entire summer, and she could do it again. In time, she was determined to forget it completely.

"Tori? Earth to TORI!"

"Sorry, Charla. What did you say?" Victoria asked. They were sitting on a bench outside the cafeteria, waiting for Angie. It was hot for September, and some of Charla's friends had organized an impromptu lake party. Charla was her usual outgoing, affable self, talking non-stop. Victoria liked her openness and felt very comfortable with her, especially because she didn't have to talk that much, just nod occasionally.

"I said ... are you going to Marlow's birthday party?" Charla repeated.

"No, probably not."

"Why not? It's one of the biggest parties of the fall!"

Victoria couldn't stop the unwanted blush that stained her cheeks. "I have plans."

"Oh, really?" Charla's eyes brightened. "What kind of plans? Sounds like a date to me. Come on, dish—who with?"

She was saved from having to answer when Angie appeared, her face as usual, sour and tight. It tightened even more when she saw Victoria. Victoria couldn't understand what had made Angie take such a strong dislike to her. She had so much experience blocking people out that it really shouldn't have taken much to ignore Angie, but something about the girl really got under Victoria's skin, made her feel exposed.

Earlier that week, she'd seen Angie looking at her surreptitiously ... assessing her. But when Victoria made eye contact, Angie had just glared and looked away. She had stopped trying to break the ice with her as Angie either looked right through her or looked away rudely. Though it was tiresome, Charla was oblivious to it all and didn't seem to mind being the link between them.