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I held my hand above the black glass bowl Damien had given me. It was empty, but soon it would fill up with my blood. The bowl was beautiful, made of crystal, and had been a gift from Quinton to me. The black knife had also been a gift from Damien. It was made of some type of glass with an incredibly sharp edge to it. Sharp enough to slice through my skin like a butter knife slicing through warm butter.

Blood poured out of my wrist into the bowl in a steady stream. Perhaps I had cut too deep, but I wasn’t worried about it. Damien had also given me something else. He’d given me a small black glass vial that contained something Julian had made specifically for Damien. It would stop the bleeding. Damien had promised me Julian would be able to make him another one, it was the only reason I had agreed to take it from him. Damien would likely need it more than I would.

For this spell to work, I only needed words and blood. And Quint’s disapproval, which I currently had in spades. He was all about waiting, taking things slow, and looking for a different way to make things happen. But I disagreed. Mainly, because if it had been his blood filling the bowl then he would have been more than willing to go this route. That was Quinton, always looking out for me no matter the situation, always ready to put himself in front of me and act as my shield.

Well, not this time.

Which meant, I was running out of time.

I had to hurry.

It wouldn’t be long before someone came in here to check on me. It wasn’t only Quinton I had to worry about. It was all of them. I was never alone for very long because they always wanted to be around me at all times.

Normally, I wouldn’t have minded because I enjoyed being around them as well. This time was different.

This time we were doing things my way. I trusted them without doubt. And I knew that they trusted me the same. But they wanted to put me on this pedestal. Something pretty to look at and admire. This is Ariel Kimber. She’s our female witch. Isn’t she pretty? Yes, we know how lucky we are to have her? No, you may not borrow her, and, you’ve looked her over long enough; please avert your eyes now. Thank you. No… you’re right, she never comes off of that pedestal.

Something to admire, something others would be envious of. Only marred a little bit, that you could see, that is. But ultimately, useless.

Well, that’s not how we were going to do things here. With time they would learn. This would be their first lesson.

If it had been their fathers or their mothers, no one would have batted an eye lash at them doing this. It was only different for me because I was the girl. Unacceptable.

The burn in my wrist was starting to fade, numbness was filling its place. I didn’t think that was good.

I uncapped the glass vial and tipped it over, directly above the wound on my wrist. It was the first time I had looked at it. I had been avoiding looking until this point, afraid I would see what I had done to myself and back out.

I was right to have not looked before. The cut was deeper than I had anticipated. The bowl was half full. Damn.

I shook the vial and thick liquid slowly drained out. It covered the underside of my wrist and immediately the blood stopped running out of me. Once again, I found myself incredibly grateful for Julian and his magic skills. I had a feeling I would always find myself grateful for that man, or, at least, I hoped I had the opportunity to have him in my life so I could feel grateful for him.

The wound on my wrist was going to leave a serious mark. I looked back to the mirror, taking in my reflection, and shook my head. What was one more scar, big or small? I didn’t care.

I recapped the vial and sat it down on top of the dresser beside the glass black blade.

Without taking my eyes off of my reflection in the mirror, I dipped the fingertips of my right hand into the black bowl of blood. I pulled them out and only hesitated slightly before pressing them to my scarred cheek. I felt it appropriate to start there given I’d recently bled so much from that one place.

I rubbed my fingertips in half circle motions gently around my cheek, smearing the blood around. When my fingers were stained but nothing more was coming off of them, I dipped them in the bowl again and moved to the other cheek where I repeated the process.

I focused on nothing more than the blood in the bowl, my fingers dipping into it and what I was doing with it to my face. It was important for me to keep my mind only focused on the task at hand and nothing more.

I ran blood-soaked fingertips across my forehead. I ran them over my nose. Across my lips. Over my closed eyelids. Under my eyes. Across my brow. I didn’t stop until my entire face was covered and the whites in my eyes looked to be twice the average size and they glowed in my face in the candle light.

I dipped my fingers into the bowl and pressed them against my face in the mirror. I swiped down. I did it over and over again until there was no blood left in the bowl.

All I saw was red.

Red on my face.

Red in the mirror.

The room was red.

Red as blood.

This was blood magic. And I was going to use it to find my father.

No one could stop me.

The End.