The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(38)
Fat, glossy bubbles rose to the surface of the bloodred liquid, and Dinah smiled.
You could take a girl away from her cauldron, but you could never really take the witchcraft out of her heart.
Setting her spoon down, she leaned over the mixture and whispered her intent as the bubbles burst, their hearts blooming black until none of the red remained. Dinah cut a burlap sack into small squares and measured three drops of the spell onto each square. The thick, tarry liquid soaked into the squares and hardened. After quickly cleaning the pot, restocking the ingredients she hadn’t used, and then wiping down her work surface, Dinah gathered the burlap pieces into her cloak pocket and left the shop as the sun sank into the distant horizon, disintegrating around the western mountains in ribbons of fire.
For a moment, Dinah stared at the far-off mountains, her heart beating in strange, heavy thuds.
That’s where the true magic existed. That’s where true power lived and breathed, trapped in a cage Dinah didn’t know how to break.
If she had the wraith at her disposal, all of Mr. Dubois’s carefully laid plans, all his guards and the many locks on his doors, would be nothing. Ash in the wind. A pile of twigs trying desperately to stop a fire from spreading.
But she didn’t have the wraith, and it was no use dreaming about weapons that were out of reach. She had her own ingenuity, her own courage, and her own unflinching readiness to do what was necessary. It would be enough.
Turning, she began moving through the Gaillard quarter until she reached a small crowd standing outside a butcher’s shop waiting to buy at a discount the poorer cuts of meat left over from the day’s customers. She slipped a square from her pocket and whispered, “Sruthán gan scor.” The square heated in her hand, the tarry black of the spell beginning to bubble. She dropped the burlap between the feet of those closest to the road and then hurried on.
She was just turning toward the next quarter when the screaming began.
SIXTEEN
DANCING WITH KELLAN was surprisingly fun. He escorted Blue back into the pub, waved at his friends, and then whirled her onto the dance floor without breaking stride. Before she knew it, she was laughing as they dipped and spun their way through the melody. He wore his charming smirk, the one that usually made her wish he’d trip and fall into a slop bucket, but somehow tonight, she didn’t mind.
“You’re a good dancer,” she said as the musicians changed the tune, and the dancers glided into another rhythm.
“No need to sound surprised.” He raised a brow at her. “I happen to have excelled at pub dancing while at school up north.”
“There’s a class for pub dancing?”
He laughed. “If there had been, I would’ve aced it.”
“How did you do in your classes?” she asked because it suddenly occurred to her that all she really knew of his life away from Balavata were the few things Nessa had told her.
“I did well enough. Not as well as my roommate, Javan, but that’s what happens when you choose adventures over constant studying. You remind me of Javan, actually. You’re both sticklers for rules and refuse to have fun unless all your other options are gone. Both champions of always doing the right thing. I guess the stars must think I need rule followers in my life to keep me in line.” He winked.
“Every time you wink, I want to poke you in the eye.”
“And every time you scowl at me, I want to dunk you in the rain barrel. Again.” He spun her out and then in, his smirk back in place. “That was a memorable afternoon. What were you . . . eight? Nine?”
She rolled her eyes, but warmth was bubbling up inside her, comforting and safe. “Ten, and Grand-mère nearly flayed you alive for that.”
He grinned, adjusting his grip on her waist. “How was I supposed to know your fancy curls would get ruined in the water?”
“She’d spent hours on those.”
“Oh, I know. She told me in great detail.” He turned them to the right as the violins chased another melody. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for intervening before she made good on her threat to throw me into the sea. I believe I might owe you my life.”
“Please. You owe me your life a hundred times over.” She gripped his hand and decided to ignore the fizzy feeling that was spreading through her veins. It was the dancing. The laughter. The way her complicated life suddenly felt as simple as following Kellan’s lead across the floor.
“How do you figure?”
“The only reason you’re still alive today is because I spent our childhood thinking two or three steps ahead of you so that I could save you from yourself.”
He gave her a cocky grin. “Or maybe I just let you think those were my real plans so that you and my parents would be so busy putting a stop to one thing, you’d never think to look at what I was really doing.”
“Or maybe those backup plans were safe enough that I decided not to tell on you because your chances of survival were acceptable.” She returned his smirk with one of her own.
“Or maybe . . . wait. Is that true?” He pulled her near as another couple whirled past, the heat of his body a mere whisper from hers. The couple continued on, but Kellan kept her close, his big hands enfolding hers while he stared at her like she was a puzzle he was delighted to discover.
One tiny step forward, and the sliver of space between them would disappear. One tiny step, and she could lean against him, letting the thunder of his heartbeat drown out the violins.