Page 3

I woke, safe and sound in my bed, not hunted through the thorny grove by a hooded figure, but this time, the horror had followed me into the real world.

My skin was on fire.

Not on literal fire, there was no trace of flames, but an all too familiar burning sensation covered my neck, shoulder, arms, spreading farther and farther down as I writhed and bit back a scream.

I had to do something. This couldn’t continue another second; any half-brained witch knew that. Whatever spell, jinx, or curse had been cast against me needed to stop before it could do more damage.

Determined, ignoring the agony as much as I could, I sat up, ripping my clothes off my shoulders, wincing at every movement.Pain aside, my body seemed reluctant to obey my commands.

What the fuck is happening to me?

I wasn’t used to pain, per se. Well, I had been burned just like this once before, almost fifteen years ago, but other than that one instance that fueled all my nightmares since, my life hadn't predisposed me to torture, yet there was no doubt I was being tortured.

Who did this to me?

I would find out and I would rip their eyes out with my own nails. Rage and fury grew inside me, dangerous in any magic user, me in particular, but I used it, clinging to anger rather than my suffering to do the next necessary thing: think. Reason my way out of it.

Something was tearing through my skin, burning it at each cut. Marks were slowly appearing lower on my shoulders, reaching my elbow, inching down to my wrists.Runes.

I was no stranger to runes. My eyes tried to analyze them through the haze of agony, but I couldn’t read these. The lines and circles and angles made as little sense as the rest of what happened to me.

I'd have screamed for help if it were any use, but the house was silent and still, as usual.The main reason I never saw the point in arguing when my parents insisted I stay at home through my training was that neither of them spent much time here. The soft light out the window suggested it couldn’t be later than four or five in the morning; the sun hadn’t properly risen. The housekeeper wouldn’t be there yet. And even if she were, I doubt she could have helped.

Think, think, think. You're a witch, dammit, and a healer to boot.

But it was hard while being cut open, my skin sliced before my eyes. No blood fell. A cauterized wound, which explained the burning.

All right. All right. First, handle the pain. You know how to treat the symptoms, at least, even if you have no clue of the cause.

What would I do if I saw someone getting cut open by a burning blade?

Cooling charm. A degree of numbing magic if I could, but I needed to keep my wits so that wasn’t an option.

My golden magic surrounded me, lighting the dim room and easing some of my panic.

I got this.

The pain faded little by little as I forced my energy to turn inward. It wasn’t natural; healers are meant to take care of other people, not themselves. I wasn’t nearly as efficient at healing my own wounds as other people’s. But I could handle a basic charm. Freezing the air was water magic more than anything. Water was always the easiest element for me to summon.

Certainly not healed, but no longer in an amount of pain too debilitating to function, I could properly make use of my brain, as well as my unwilling limbs.

This was complex, nefariousmagic. Someone was deliberately doing this to me, which raised three questions: who, why, and how could I fucking stop it?

The fourth was how I was going to make them pay for it as soon as I found my torturer, but I filed that one to currently unimportant—it would be soothing to reflect on later.

"Salt," I called out loud, lifting my hand.

I didn’t usually have to voice anything for a simple levitation charm, but magic required precise focus, something I was currently not capable of. Helping it along with my voice was the best alternative.

The next instant the iron pot of salt in my dresser burst through the white furniture and into my hand.

I wasnevergoing to hear the end of it.

Couldn't you will the damn drawer to open rather than destroy a priceless antique while you were trying not to get murdered by blood magic, Kleos?

I wished I was exaggerating, but that would be the exact reaction if any of this ever reached my mother’s ear. Which was why I firmly intended to keep it all to myself. I’d have to fix the dresser, though craft certainly wasn’t my forte.

My trembling hands weren’t going to perform precise work right now, so I didn’t even try for the manual approach. Another reprimand came to mind.