Page 98 of Her Blood Revenge

A clap of thunder rings out overhead, and a bolt of lightning illuminates the area. I stop dead when the light shows me something I was not expecting.

A tree. That in itself is not the strange aspect of the moment. But I know that tree.

It’s the same tree from a dream I had not that long ago. A dream the Dream Walker put me into.

A dream in which Neve, my mother, slit my throat and buried me in the earth.

Half buried in the ground and covered with forest floor debris, an emerald green gem glints in the pale moonlight. I sweep it aside.

A lump forms in my throat as I recognise it.

‘Mother…’ I whisper longingly.

Not Neve. But my earth witch mother. She was here in this very spot.

I pull the jade stone from the soil and gently dig, stopping when I find a piece of soft cloth a few feet below. When I brush my fingers against it, I freeze.

The tiniest little skeletal foot tumbles from the folds.

A whimper passes my lips as I swell with grief.

Grief for the baby my mother buried here. Her biological child.

It was here I rose from the ground, blood-soaked and dying from Neve’s attack.

It was here I was healed by ancient earth magic. And it was here my earth witch mother claimed me as hers andplaced the glamour bracelet on me to hide my kindred markings.

I rest my fingertips on the bones with delicate care, filled with a need to offer some kind of comfort to her.

The soil beneath starts to churn. My eyes narrow as I watch it. As magic pulses from beneath.

I quickly let go of the bones, a terrifying thought forming that perhaps I had accidentally tapped into blood magic again and was keen not to commune with the lost child or be pulled back to hell.

But the soil continues to writhe, and the only power I can feel is the thrum of earth magic.

Purple roots emerge, thick and solid, slithering around each other like a hundred snakes.

‘Dorian?!’ I call out.

He appears behind me and grips my shoulders, ready to pull me away. But just like my familiar and me, he’s transfixed, watching this strange event.

‘Purple vines. The same ones from earlier,’ he says.

‘Athir…’ I breathe. ‘It’s him.’

I reach out. My snake goes rigid as she prepares to attack, and Dorian tugs me back.

But the roots part for me.

‘It’s okay,’ I assure them, unable to look away. ‘It’s friendly. I feel it.’

I reach in.

My fingers feel something solid, and when I get a firm grip, I pull.

The roots release it without reluctance, and I’m left with a book in my grasp. The bindings seem to be made ofwood. And all around it, life. Vines grow to the cover, and the pages have thin purple veins.

‘The earth coven’s grimoire,’ I breathe. My fingers trace the cover. ‘Athir has sent me the grimoire.’ It feels a little different than the last time I held it. It’s vibrant with power, and I know, without a doubt, it’s just as alive as the trees around me are, just as I am. I open it and let out a stunned puff of laughter. There it is. The spells. The incantations.

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