Bloodspell (The Cruentus Curse, #1)(19)

Gabriel burst out laughing. "You know, if you hadn't choked on the 'like' part of that, I could have actually fallen for it!" He grinned at her chagrin. "Don't worry, she can be a little ... abrasive. Let's just say that we don't get along that well even though we are related." Gabriel got to his feet, and pulled Victoria up beside him. "Okay, if I give you a five stroke head-start, you think you can put up a better show than you did last time getting out here?"

"You're on!" Victoria swam for all she was worth toward the shore. She almost swallowed a mouthful of water when she saw Gabriel's lithe form coming up beside her. He was a powerful swimmer and something about the way he moved in the water seemed effortless. Breathless, they waded up the pebbly shore toward Charla and Angie who were sitting on a picnic table with two other friends.

"I think we can call that one a tie!" she said.

He gave her an incredulous look. "Maybe I'll give you that one, new girl, as a gesture of goodwill, but that was no tie." He grinned mischievously as he threw one arm across her shoulders. "We'll have to have a rematch one of these days."

Victoria noticed Charla's eyes narrow, and brushed Gabriel's arm off hurriedly by pretending to grab a towel. He didn't pay any attention and sauntered over to Angie, ruffling her hair. Her face, if possible, got even tighter and angrier, and she flinched from his touch as if he had slapped her. Victoria frowned, puzzled at her reaction. Gabriel said something to her, laughed his deep laugh and walked away. Angie's face looked like she was going to explode, throw up, or do both.

"Later, Charls! See you around, Tori," Gabriel said over his shoulder. He ignored his sister, which Victoria thought was odd, but understandable given the dynamic she had just witnessed between them.

They headed out soon after and the drive back was even more magnificent. The sky was a riot of color—red, gold and orange streaking across a deepening blue canvas. Victoria couldn't get over the purity of the landscape. Its beauty was everywhere she looked, in the trees, in the sky, in the lake, in the air. Even the houses were perfectly picturesque in the scenic setting. Victoria sighed. This was what she loved best about Maine; it was as if she were living in a Monet landscape where everything was vibrantly alive. She drank it all in, and it wasn't long before they got back to the campus parking lot where she'd left her car.

"See you on Monday then, Tori, if you're not at Marlow's tomorrow," Charla said. "Have fun on your date."

"It's not a date," Victoria said, but they had already driven off.

Reluctantly, she headed back to her apartment. The minute she walked in, like a siren, the music box on her dresser drew her attention. She'd had some time to decompress on the drive home, and looking at it no longer made her feel like burying it at the bottom of the lake.

Though she'd pushed the journal from her mind, some part of her subconscious had still processed its essential meaning—one, the Duchess of Warrick was her great, great, great, great grandmother; two, Victoria had inherited her blood from a line that stretched back at least three hundred years; and three, she was a witch, a very powerful witch.

She was less edgy for some reason, probably because she was worn out after her swim. Maybe she should go for a run—it was still early enough. Or read the rest of the journal, her sneaky inner voice whispered. The sudden rush of blood in her ears made her hesitate.

"Oh, get over it," she told herself, and walked over to the box, opening it. Beethoven switched on as she turned to the last page that she had read.

The next entry was dated October 31, 1616, ten years after the last. The tone was dispassionate and cold just like its prior entries. The strokes of ink were hard and bitter.

London, England. My abilities are endless. As I learned with Elizabeth, when my Change happened during my seventeenth year, my new blood foreshadowed death. I did not write about it in my last message to you, but all the servants at her birth … and death, died from poisoning of the blood. Such poetic irony. Still, I have discovered something about myself. I can change it. I can control it. You would not believe the things I can do!

Victoria shuddered but forced herself to keep reading and finish the passage. Every fiber of her being wanted to toss the journal as far away from her as possible, away from the grotesquely cold sense of delight that emerged from its pages, but a quietly insistent part of her needed to know who she was. What she was. She continued to read.

Lancaster was the first. I tried to reach him when he took Marcus away. And I found him. My mind found his so easily, almost like he had called me to him. I could still feel his love for me as he pleaded for me to leave our son with him. “You are lost, Brigid,” he said, “do not lose us too.” My heart cleaved in two as I heard those words. But still I felt the war within myself, my heart and my blood dueling. Lancaster could feel our love losing. Blood always won. “Then you will need to take me,” he said, “for I will never let him go.” My eyes burned black as my blood boiled in fury, and in my anger, I crushed the life from his body with a single word! The blood’s cursed magic rejoiced and I felt the castle walls shudder as a part of me died with him. Lancaster was right. I am lost! I murdered him. But still, that was not the end of it, I could not help myself, I searched for Marcus too. And for my life, I could not, still cannot, see him. I am amazed he can block himself so easily from me. My son, after all.