Page 53 of Will It Hurt?

A gold shadow traced an outline around my palm and the pages of the spellbook pressed up against me in a hurry to be tuned. I pulled my hand away and the pages shuffled in a non-existent breeze, landing on a spell that had four short lines.

As forbidden spells went, it was a minor one.

To Summon A Whisperling

Draw a circle using charcoal and salt, ensuring there are no breaks.

Place a mirror in the center of the circle, fog it with your breath, and trace an eye from one end to the other.

Offer a palm-sized cloth stained with your blood.

Light a candle three times to signal to the whisperling that you’re ready.

“Wait here,” I told Jinn, disappearing into the library to gather the materials.

Jinn watched me work when I settled back into the circle, her eyes tracking me as I placed each item carefully on the ground and marked out the perimeter of the summoning circle.

In my right hand, I gripped the charcoal, and in my left was a big handful of salt.

Crouching low, I placed the corner of the charcoal pointing true north and let a tiny stream of salt pour from my fingers.

Black and white lines marked the ground as I moved, following the lines I had already marked in chalk earlier.

My fingertips tingled lightly at first, like the brush of static before a thunderstorm.

But as the salt and charcoal lines reached a half-circle and continued toward completion, the sensation deepened into pins and needles prickling just beneath my skin.

When the lines met at the top of the circle, the white candle sputtered to life .

“Is that supposed to happen?” Jinn asked.

I bit my lip, unsure.

“Maybe?” I ventured, forcing myself not to pause and second guess each move.

I placed the chalk and the leftover salt at the top of the circle, ignoring the way the flakes clung uncomfortably to my skin as though unwilling to let go.

The mirror was old, possibly something from the fifties, and it looked a little distorted as I brought it up to my face. It was barely as big as my palm.

I leaned in quickly, parting my lips so that my breath feathered against the glass. The cold swallowed it too quickly, leaving only the faintest whisper of mist. I filled my lungs slower this time and exhaled again, watching as a fragile bloom of fog spread every which way… And held.

Yes!

Without wasting a single second, I traced the outline of an eye with the tip of my finger, surprised to find that the glass had warmed significantly. When I drew the shape of the pupil, the silver edges around the mirror turned to a beaming gold.

Just outside the circle, I thought I saw Jinn’s lips twitch into a smile, but surely that was wishful thinking on my part.

So close, I thought, picking up the old cloth and finding the texture strange and brittle in my hands.

Palm-sized cloth stained with your blood.

Grabbing a frayed edge, I ripped it down to size. The threads barely resisted, coming apart under the slightest provocation.

I tested the size to make sure it fit in my hands.

Perfect.

Now, for a drop of blood…

I pressed my fingertips together, feeling the magick jump against my skin, surprisingly restless and eager. Heat bloomed where my fingers met, and a tiny sharp bite made me flinch.

Dark and glistening, a single drop of blood welled from my thumb. It spread on the threadbare cloth like a network of crimson veins.

Shit.

I glanced up sharply.

How could I have forgotten my very undead, very blood-motivated audience?

I found her eyes trained onto me, to my hands, to the cloth where the blood continued to spread. Her pupils had dilated, black swallowing color, red lining the starkness, and her lips parted just enough to catch a negligible hint of fangs.

Not bared. Not lunging. Not a threat.

Just there, sharp and white against the pink of her lips like a promise.

She leaned forward slightly, her spine bending in my direction. I watched, unsure, as her nostrils flared with one deep breath, and a look of bliss spread across her features. It was as though she could already taste it… Already taste me.

Her fingers twitched where they lay on her thighs, betraying the effort it took to keep herself in check as the scent of blood rose in the air.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips—a flicker of motion. A tell.

She was savoring it—the smell of my blood.

Savoring me.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Her lips glistened, pink and wet.

“Just fine, little wytch.” Her voice was deeper than I remembered, with a rasp that curled deep in my belly. “Continue.”

I moved almost mechanically, setting the bloodied cloth next to the mirror. With a flick of my fingers, I lit the candle then snuffed it out, repeating the process three more times, until…

“What do you want?!”

I started visibly as a high voice spoke too close to my ear. The sudden motion forced me to tip forward and lose my balance.

My palm landed on the edge of the charcoal line, my pinky almost breaking the circle.

“Watch yourself!”

Jinn was on her feet at the edge of salt line, although there was nothing she could’ve done to help if I had mistakenly broken it.

We both turned toward the annoyed voice, watching as the whisperling flicked invisible lint off her puffy white skirt with clawed fingers.

Barely two feet tall, she was a perfect copy of the sketch in the spellbook with eyes too large for her face and lips that lent her a bird-like look.

“Oh, hell no,” she cursed in her too-high voice as she glanced around the solarium. “You can’t expect me to put this place to rights. Just scrubbing the floors will take me years!”

She shot me an accusatory glare, moving around the room in quick, unnatural bursts. One moment, she was utterly still, her eyes dark with anger, and the next, she flickered across the solarium like a candle flame caught in a draft.

The slight humming sound made sense when she turned around to reveal a small pair of wings that fluttered with silver magick.

“I don’t expect you to put this place to rights,” I said, parroting her words. “I, uh—”

I glanced at Jinn, hoping for some help.

“We need your help to figure out a spell,” Jinn said, surprising me with her quick thinking .

“That’s not something I do,” the whisperling quipped. “Did you even read about my skills before you summoned me and wasted my time?”

“I was trying out a spell,” I explained. “But since you’re here, could you list the type of things you can do?”

She sighed, glancing at her claws. “I’m a hearth creature. I clean, I cook, I decapitate. Now, do you need any of those services?”

Jinn and I glanced at each other.

“No,” we said in unison.

“Fine, then. Hand me my payment,” she said, holding out a hand. When I didn’t move, she pointed to the ground. “The cloth. Hand me the cloth. Now, please.”

The moment her clawed fingers ripped the cloth from my hands, her lip stretched wide, too wide, splitting up the sides of her face. Rows of needle-thin teeth gleamed wetly as she bit down on the stained cloth, not chewing, not savoring just… Devouring.

She shuddered as she fed, limbs shaking as the cloth disappeared between her lips.

“Not bad at all,” she flicked her tongue along one claw as though mopping up anything that remained of the cloth. Her features relaxed into an innocent smile.

“If you don’t need me, you have to dismiss me,” she said, speaking slowly as though we were children in need of schooling.

“Right,” I said. “Dismissed.”

She disappeared with a pop of silver.

When I looked up at Jinn, there was a strange look on her face.

“What?” I asked, trying to decipher the slight pursing of her lips.

“I’m thinking that you’re far more talented than you give yourself credit for, little wytch. ”

Oh.

Was there anything I could have done to prepare myself for unexpected praise? I think not .

I tried to keep my face neutral, tried to ignore the way my pulse fluttered in response, but the warmth of her words only deepened as it settled around my heart. Fuck, this felt dangerously close to joy, and I wanted to hold on to it as though the words could be kept somewhere safe beneath my skin.

Instead, I swallowed hard and pretended to keep myself busy by gathering the items off the ground.

“Thanks,” I murmured under my breath. “I hope that proved to you that I’m capable of casting a forbidden spell.”

“It’s promising.”

The words brought heat to my cheeks.

“Once we speak to Elder Anitha, I’ll do another practice round with you tomorrow.”

I pushed to my feet and walked quickly to the vault, hoping Jinn wasn’t watching as I replaced the spellbook in its assigned slot with a less-than-sophisticated jump.

No other words passed between us until we were back on the street. The snow under our boots had turned to wet, brown-flecked sludge.

“Earlier,” Jinn said, halting me as I turned to walk down the narrow alleyway. “You talked about filling a tank with your magick. Do you know how to fill it?”

I shrugged. “Could be anything, really. As an Eclectic, I don’t draw power from one source like most people do.

While I’m in the covenstead, I usually use energy generated by the pain and suffering of the trapped beings in the museum, but power can come from anywhere.

Anger and guilt are strong sources, so is joy and love and all things beautiful.

And, of course, we can also draw significant power from—”

Sex .

The words fell away abruptly.

I looked at my boots, unable to meet her inky gaze, but something in her stance told me she knew exactly what I was going to say.

I coughed into my palm.

“Anyway.” I took one step back, then another. “I hope Elder Anitha will have more information for us tomorrow.”

“Right. At the cabaret.”

More snow crunched underfoot.

“Yes.” I tucked a strand of curls behind my ears. “Um, see you then.”

I raised my palm in goodbye, but it sat between us awkwardly. Why did it feel so weird to say goodbye?

This wasn’t a date.

But for a non-date situation, we had done a few things that made it feel like a date—a much better date than any I’d been on recently.

I shoved my hands into my jacket and turned to leave.

“See you tomorrow, little wytch.”

Curse it all, I should really hate those words, but all I could think about was the way she’d whispered them as she’d dragged her tongue against mine.

Ugh.

Stupidstupidstupid.

I could only hope I wouldn’t make the same mistake tomorrow…

…but even as the thought entered my mind, I knew I absolutely would.

Self-control was overrated anyway.