Page 13 of Poison Sun

Plus, Blaze can never know the truth of what I am. I have to keep him at arm’s length—even though we’re going to be spending a lot of time near each other.

So, I open the book again. True to Blaze’s word, the text reappears, as if summoned by his presence.

“Incredible,” I say, breathless. “Where do we start?”

“Simple.” He leans back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “We start by you telling me why you need this book so badly.”

I freeze, caught off guard, his question hanging heavily in the air between us.

What should I say? Sure, he’s helping me. He’s trusting me because of some premonition of his mom’s—which I’m fascinated by, and which I will learn more about.

But that doesn’t mean I have to share my secrets in return.

“It’s a favor,” I start, choosing my words carefully. “An important favor, for a friend.”

My gaze drifts to the book, then back to Blaze. He’s listening closely, his curiosity evident, with no impatience or judgment in his eyes.

“Your friend’s in trouble.” He leans forward, bridging the gap between us without getting uncomfortably close.

“Yes,” I admit. “She did something that could cost her—and everyone around her—a lot if I don’t fix it. This book supposedly holds knowledge that can help. So… here we are.”

“Here we are.” He sizes me up, studying me, and I can practically see the gears spinning in his head. “We all have our secrets, Morgan,” he eventually says. “When you’re ready, I’m here. Until then, we focus on the book. On helping your friend. Sound good?”

“Yes. Sounds good,” I say, the tightness in my chest releasing. Then, to steer the conversation away from topics I’m not ready to discuss, I gesture at the book. “The ink only appears when you’re nearby. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Likely because you’ve never met me or my ancestors,” he replies. “This ink is from them. From the life force that ran inside their veins. Which now runs inside my veins.”

My eyes widen, not just at the revelation, but at the implications of it.

The life force that runs inside veins.

Blood.

He’s hinting at blood magic.

Panic rises in my chest. Does he know about me? Is this an elaborate trick to force my hand into… well, I don’t know what he’d want to force my hand into doing, but people want all sorts of unpredictable things.

No, I think, steadying my breathing to calm myself.

My visions led me to the book. To him. And he’s telling me about himself. There’s no logical reason to think he knows my secret. The universe wouldn’t have sent me straight into a trap.

I can manage this.

One of the best ways to hide secrets is to feign confusion and innocence. So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ve been doing it for my entire life, and I can certainly handle doing it now.

“Are you’re saying this book was penned with the blood of your ancestors?” I ask, continuing before he can answer. “Because that’s impossible. That type of magic doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

“It’s possible,” he says, as if he’s not admitting something that could get him hunted down and killed. “My family… we’re not just any witches. We’re blood witches. When we write certain words with our blood, we can infuse the object we wrote it on with powerful magic.”

I stare at him, eyes wide, the book forgotten.

“You’re a blood witch.” I can hardly believe the words coming out of my mouth, especially when he nods, urging me to continue. “But aren’t blood witches…”

“Evil? Extinct?” he says.

I shudder at the first word.

Evil.

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