Page 21

21

FELIX

I watch Gaida step into the centre of the stone circle, her face a mask of courage that doesn’t hide her fear from me. The full moon hangs heavy above us, barely visible through the heavy canopy of leaves bathing the ritual space in silver light that catches on the chalk sigils I’ve spent hours perfecting. Time is running short—less than an hour until midnight—and we’re still missing the most crucial element of our ritual.

“How exactly does one call a magickal sword?” Gaida asks, her voice betraying her frustration. It’s a rhetorical question, one designed to be spoken out loud to ease some of the tension.

“It’s tied to you,” Luke says, anyway. “To your blood, your essence as the Blood Queen. Focus on that connection.”

Dante moves to the perimeter of the circle, his stance alert as he scans the darkened forest beyond our small island of light. Always the protector, even now.

“What if it doesn’t come?” Gaida’s question hangs in the air, giving voice to the fear we’ve all been avoiding.

“It will,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “It wants you.”

My veins hum with Gaida’s blood, a constant reminder of what’s at stake. The transfusion has changed something fundamental in me; I can feel it in the way magick responds to my call now, wilder and more potent than before.

Gaida closes her eyes, extending her hands palms up. “Come on, sword. Come to me.”

“Think of it as an extension of yourself,” Luke suggests after a beat where nothing happens.

She nods, taking a deep breath. The air around her shimmers slightly, power gathering in response to her concentration. I can feel it through her blood in my system. It’s a tugging sensation, as if something far away is stirring.

Minutes tick by with nothing happening.

“This isn’t working,” she says finally, opening her eyes. “Maybe it really is gone for good.”

“No.” Luke’s voice is firm. “The sword always returns to the Blood Queen. Always.”

“What if Draken’s holding it back?” Dante suggests. “For his own reasons?”

I consider this. “Draken’s fate is tied to Mashtar’s. If Mashtar is destroyed, Draken dies too. Why would he sabotage the ritual?”

“To survive?” Dante shrugs. “Self-preservation is a powerful motivator.”

“No,” Gaida says, shaking her head. “That’s not it. He’s accepted his fate.” She looks at me, her blue eyes reflecting the moonlight. “I’m missing something. Some way to connect with it.”

An idea forms in my mind, sparked by the ritual theory I’ve been studying. “Blood,” I say. “The sword responds to Blood Queen blood. Your blood.”

Gaida hesitates, then nods. She extends her hand, and with a quick flick of her nail across her palm, opens a shallow cut. Blood wells dark against her pale skin, almost black in the moonlight.

“Sword of Mashtar,” she intones, her voice taking on a resonance that raises the hair on my arms. “The Blood Queen calls you. Return to me.”

The blood on her palm moves, swirling into patterns that match the sigils on the ground. Power builds, thickening the air until it’s almost difficult to breathe. Then, just as suddenly, it dissipates.

Nothing.

“Fuck,” Gaida whispers, shoulders slumping.

I step forward, unable to stay back any longer. “Let me try something.”

She looks up, confused. “What?”

“Your blood is in me now,” I explain. “Maybe we can use that. A conduit.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. She reaches for my hand, reopening her own wound. I wince as her nail slices across my palm as well, our blood mingling as our hands press together.

“Focus with me,” she says. “Think of the sword. Feel it.”

I close my eyes, concentrating on the sensation of our joined hands, our mingled blood. Through Gaida’s blood in my veins, I can almost feel what she feels, the strange emptiness where a connection should be, like a phantom limb.

“Sword of Mashtar,” we say together, my academic knowledge of ritual language blending with her innate power. “Blood calls to blood, Queen calls to weapon. Return to us now.”

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then the air splits.

A sound like tearing fabric rips through the night, and the sword materialises, hovering in the air between us. Its golden hilt glows, the blade gleams wickedly. I stare at it, feeling Mashtar’s malice radiating from the metal like heat from a flame.

“It worked,” Gaida breathes, reaching for the sword with her free hand.

“Wait,” I say, tightening my grip on her other hand. “I have to so it can’t tell the difference, remember?”

“Shit, yeah,” she murmurs.

Luke moves closer, tension evident in every line of his body. “Be careful. Mashtar will know what we’re attempting.”

I nod, steeling myself. This is the moment of truth. If I can’t hold the sword, our entire plan falls apart.

Slowly, I reach out with my free hand. The sword vibrates as my fingers near it, almost humming with malevolent anticipation. I brace myself for pain, for the burning rejection.

My fingers close around the hilt.

For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then agony sears up my arm, white-hot and all-consuming. I nearly drop the sword, a grunt locked behind my gritted teeth.

“Felix!” Gaida cries.

“I can do this.”

I focus through the pain, concentrating on the blood connection between Gaida and me. I can feel her fear, her strength, her stubborn determination. I draw on that, pulling her essence around me like a shield.

Gradually, impossibly, the pain recedes. The sword stops fighting me, settling into my grip with reluctant acceptance. I can still feel Mashtar’s consciousness within it, raging against the deception, but he can’t break the blood connection.

“It’s working,” I say, my voice rough. “It recognises me as an extension of you.”

Relief transforms Gaida’s face. She squeezes my hand again before letting go.

“We have to begin immediately,” Luke says, checking his pocket watch. “The moon reaches its apex in a few minutes.”

I nod, already feeling the strain of holding the sword. “I need a few minutes to prepare myself.”

While the others arrange the final elements of the ritual, I stand in the centre of the stone circle. Despite its acceptance of me as its wielder, it feels wrong in my hands. Alien and hostile, constantly probing for weaknesses in my defences.

I’ve spent hours researching this ritual, piecing together fragments from ancient texts, extrapolating from similar workings. The theory is sound. The timing is perfect. Full moon, midnight, the power accumulated through the preparatory ritual we just completed. All the pieces are in place.

Now I just have to die.

The thought should terrify me. Strange how it doesn’t, not really. Death has always been an academic concept to me, a transition rather than an ending. As a sorcerer, I’ve studied it, even glimpsed beyond its veil during certain rituals. The prospect of my own death is almost interesting. A new experience to analyse.

What does terrify me is the possibility of failure. Of dying for nothing. Of leaving Gaida and the others to face Mashtar without me.

“It’s time,” Luke’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

I open my eyes to find the three of them standing around me, forming a protective triangle. Dante to my left, Luke to my right, Gaida directly in front of me. Their faces are solemn, resolute.

“The ritual has three phases,” I explain, rising to my feet with the sword. “First, I channel my magick through the sword while reciting the binding incantation. Then...” I hesitate, but there’s no point sugarcoating it. “Then I use the sword to open my veins. My blood needs to cover the blade completely for the destructive spell to activate.”

Gaida flinches but says nothing. We’ve been over this before. She knows what has to happen.

“And the third phase?” Dante asks, his expression carefully neutral.

“That’s where Gaida comes in,” I say. “As I die, she performs the turning ritual. If all goes well, I’ll be reborn as her charge, and Mashtar will be destroyed in the process.”

“And if it doesn’t go well?” Dante presses.

I meet his eyes steadily. “Then make sure my death means something. Find another way to destroy Mashtar.”

Luke places a hand on my shoulder. “It will work.”

I nod, hoping he’s right. “You three need to maintain the protective circle. Whatever happens, whatever you see or hear, don’t break it until the ritual is complete.”

They move into position, each standing at one of the cardinal points of the circle. I take my place in the centre, the sword held before me in both hands.

“Ready?” I ask, staring at the sword.

It’s time.

I close my eyes, channelling my magick through the sword. The familiar sensation of power flowing through me intensifies, amplified by Gaida’s blood in my system. Words in an ancient language spill from my lips, the binding incantation I’ve memorised over countless sleepless nights.

The sword grows warm in my hands, then hot, fighting against the spell. I push harder, forcing my will upon it. Sweat beads on my forehead, running into my eyes. The pain is immense, like trying to bend steel with my bare hands, but I don’t stop.

Around me, I sense rather than see the protective circle strengthening as Luke, Dante, and Gaida add their power to mine. The air thickens, and pressure builds like before a thunderstorm. The sigils chalked onto the ground glow with a pale blue light, illuminating the circle from below.

The first phase of the ritual feels endless, though rationally I know it can’t be more than minutes. My entire being narrows to the struggle between my will and the sword’s resistance. Finally, I feel something give way. It’s not a physical sensation, but a psychic one. The sword’s defences crack, allowing my magick to penetrate deeper.

Without pausing in my chant, I rotate the sword in my grip, positioning the blade against my left wrist. I meet Gaida’s eyes across the circle. Her face is a mask of anguish, but she gives me a slight nod.

I drag the blade across my wrist.

Pain flares, sharp and bright, but surprisingly manageable compared to the magickal battle I’ve been waging. Blood wells immediately, darker than normal human blood from Gaida’s transfusion. It flows down my arm and onto the sword, hissing where it touches the metal.

I switch hands, slicing my right wrist as well. The sword’s glow intensifies as my blood covers more of its surface, changing from gold to a deep, angry red. The chant flows from my lips, though my voice grows weaker as blood loss takes its toll.

The world blurs around the edges. I sway on my feet but force myself to remain standing. Not yet. I’m not finished yet.

Through the haze of approaching unconsciousness, I notice something alarming. The light from our ritual has grown much brighter than it should be, visible now through the trees surrounding our clearing.

Rustling, growling, the snap of twigs breaking under many feet.

“We have company,” Dante calls, his voice tight with tension.

I try to focus beyond our circle. Shapes move in the darkness between the trees, hunched, feral forms with glowing eyes. Dozens of them, forming a ring around our ritual site.

“Ferals,” Luke confirms grimly. “They sense what we’re doing.”

“Can they break through the protective circle?” Gaida asks, her eyes darting between me and the encroaching threat.

“Not if we maintain it,” Luke says. “But they’ll try.”

I force myself to concentrate on the ritual. My job is to finish this, to destroy Mashtar. The others will handle the ferals.

The sword in my hands is now completely covered in my blood, glowing like a hot coal. The chant reaches its crescendo as I drive the point into the ground at the exact centre of the circle. Power explodes outward, a shockwave that makes the air ripple visibly.

My legs give way. I collapse to my knees beside the sword, blood still flowing freely from my wrists. The world tilts and spins around me. This is it, I realise. I’m dying.

Strangely, my mind has never been clearer. I see everything with perfect clarity. Gaida’s face, twisted with anguish as she maintains her position in the circle. Luke, ancient and powerful, his eyes glowing with vampiric light as he pours energy into the protective barrier. Dante, fierce and determined, already positioning himself to fight if the ferals break through.

These people. My people. My strange, improbable family.

The ferals are throwing themselves against the invisible barrier now, drawn by the scent of blood and the disruption in magical energies. Their howls pierce the night, hungry and furious. Beyond them, I sense other presences gathering, creatures drawn by the power we’re generating.

“Felix,” Gaida calls, her voice seeming to come from very far away. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”

I try to nod, but my body no longer responds to my commands. The blood loss is too severe, the ritual drawing on my life force as well as my blood. Darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision.

“Now, Gaida,” Luke shouts. “It’s time!”

Gaida breaks from her position, rushing to my side as I collapse. She cradles my head in her lap, her blood tears falling on my face. “I’m here,” she whispers. “I’ve got you.”

The protective circle wavers as she leaves her post, but Luke and Dante compensate, pouring more power into maintaining the barrier. Outside, the ferals grow more frenzied, sensing the fluctuation.

With the last of my strength, I reach up to touch her face. She turns her head, pressing a kiss to my palm.

Then her fangs extend, and she bites into her wrist. Blood wells, dark and potent.

“Drink,” she urges, pressing her wrist to my lips.

It burns going down, spreading warmth through my dying body.

“I love you,” she whispers, bending to kiss my forehead. “Come back to me.”

The darkness claims me then, a velvet silence falling over the chaos around us. The last thing I hear is a terrible, inhuman scream of rage. Mashtar recognises his end has come.

Then nothing.

Death, when it arrives, is not what I expected. There’s no light, no tunnel, no departed loved ones waiting to greet me. Just a vast, endless void, peaceful in its emptiness. I float in it, formless and serene, my awareness expanded beyond physical limitations.

Time has no meaning here. I could have been in this state for seconds or centuries; there’s no way to tell. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of... something. Fragments of worlds beyond worlds. Realities stacked like pages in a book, separated by the thinnest of veils.

Then, distantly, I feel a pull. A tether connecting me to something far away. It tugs gently at first, then with increasing urgency.

Gaida.

The void resists, clinging to me. But the pull is stronger, more insistent. I feel myself being drawn back, away from the peaceful nothingness, toward pain, complexity, and life.

A choice presents itself. I could resist. Could drift deeper into the void, beyond Gaida’s reach. Part of me is tempted. Here, in this in-between place, I sense truths that have eluded me my entire life.

But there’s another part of me, stronger than I realised. The part that loves. That belongs. That has found its family after a lifetime of solitude.

I stop resisting and let the tether pull me home.

Pain returns first, sharp and all-consuming. My body feels wrong. Everything is too sensitive, too loud, too everything. I grunt, lungs expanding in a chest that hasn’t drawn breath in... how long? Minutes? Hours?

“Felix,” Gaida’s voice, ragged with exhaustion. “Felix, can you hear me?”

I force my eyes open. The world is too bright, too detailed. I can see individual fibres in the clothing around me, count the stars in a sky that should be obscured by leaves.

“G-Gaida,” I manage, my voice a harsh rasp.

She’s leaning over me, her face streaked with blood tears. Behind her, I can make out Luke and Dante, both looking battle-worn and exhausted.

“Did it work?” I ask. “Is he gone?”

Gaida nods, helping me sit up. “It worked. Mashtar is destroyed.”

I look around, taking in the changed ritual site. The sword is gone, replaced by a pile of fine, golden dust. The protective circle has been breached in several places, the ground torn up as if by claws. Beyond our immediate area, I can see motionless forms scattered throughout the trees. The ferals that managed to break through, now dealt with by Luke and Dante.

“The ferals attacked when you died,” Gaida explains, following my gaze. “When Mashtar was destroyed, most of them just collapsed. The ones that didn’t, Luke and Dante handled.”

I nod, processing this information. My mind feels different. Sharper, faster, connections forming between ideas at dizzying speed. “And me? Did the turning work?”

Gaida helps me to my feet. My body feels strange. Lighter, stronger, but also foreign, as if I’m wearing someone else’s skin. “You’re my charge now,” she says, “Bound to me as Luke is.”

I reach for her hand, marvelling at how different her skin feels to my enhanced senses. “I can feel you,” I say wonderingly. “In my mind. Like a presence that’s always been there, but I never noticed before.”

“That’s the sire bond,” Luke explains, joining us. “It will strengthen over time.”

“And the blood hunger?” I ask, acutely aware of a burning thirst at the back of my throat.

“That too,” Luke says grimly. “But we’ll help you manage it.”

Dante approaches, wiping blood from his hands onto his already ruined shirt. “Hate to break up this touching reunion, but we should move. That light show attracted attention from half the supernatural population of England. The ones that haven’t already shown up will be here soon.”

Luke nods. “He’s right. We need to get back behind the academy wards.”

As we prepare to leave, I notice Gaida swaying slightly on her feet. “Are you okay?” I ask, steadying her with a hand on her arm.

Luke’s expression is concerned. “When Mashtar was destroyed, something happened to you, Gaida. Some kind of energy transfer.” He bends down, and the golden dust that was once the sword of Mashtar glimmers in the moonlight. He gathers it up in a magickal pouch and pockets it. It’s better safe than sorry.

She nods wearily. “I felt it. All that power returning to me. I just need time to process it.”

But there’s something in her eyes. A new awareness, a weight that wasn’t there before.

“Come on,” Dante says, taking Gaida’s other arm.

Luke sweeps us up in his magick and teleports us back to MistHallow.