Page 62 of Witchlore
The salt circle.
Bastian.
Fear jolts through me so fast I scramble up. Bastian is gone and so is the beast. The salt circle is smeared. I must have broken it when I fell, which means the Black Shuck is free and Bastian is in a lot of trouble.
“Bastian?” I yell. No one answers me. “Oh no, oh no, oh no…” I chant as I run stiffly around to the front of the cathedral and see, with a terrified lurch, that the door is open. There’s no alarm blaring, which can only mean one thing—Bastian opened it with witchcraft.
I run inside. The light from the open door is sharp and violent on the floor, making the pillars cast long, ominous shadows across the stone. There is a sense of endless space around and all above me, as if the Black Shuck could be hiding in the rafters with the carvings of angels. I cling to the nearest pillar, grateful for thefirm, grainy feel of the sandstone against my face. I peer into the threatening darkness, trying to make out shapes, chairs or pews or something, but there’s nothing. Then I hear it. A growling, low and persistent, echoing against the columns and carved faces of saints, all around me and nowhere.
“Bastian?” I whisper. All I hear is a wet cough and a horrible low growl. I try to open my eyes wider, standing on my tiptoes, desperate to illuminate more of the darkness, my own gasping breath so loud I can barely hear the forbidding growling. Then I see it. A flash of red eyes, a shadowy, prowling form and, farther down, sprawled on the floor by the altar, a wounded man being stalked by a hellhound.
“Leave him alone!” I yell, lurching forward and running straight into a chair. I grasp downward, seize a clothbound Bible, and lob it at the shadowy beast. It flinches and rolls its red eyes toward me but doesn’t stop advancing on Bastian. “Leave himalone!”
I throw another Bible, a hymn book, anything I can find. It does nothing and Bastian still isn’t moving. Maybe he’ll never move again. My heart stutters in my chest at that thought but I have to do something. I try to remember everything I’ve learned in the weeks we’ve been researching. Bastian called the Black Shuck, so that’s why it can come into the church—he’s tethered it to himself—but there are ways to send a demon back.But I’m useless!I think desperately.Can’t do fucking magic, can’t do anything.Then I remember Professor Wallace’s words in class:Sometimes, the oldest ways are the best.…
“Magical blood,” I whisper. “Holy water!”
I spin around, scouring desperately for what I need, looking past stained glass and marble plaques and gilded crosses until I seeit. I twist and run back up the cathedral to the bell tower, my footsteps slapping loudly against the polished marble. I search frantically for anything to cut myself with, a knife, anything sharp, and my eyes fall on an intercessory display, rows of candles that have been neatly trimmed for visitors and a set of wick scissors left beside the matches. I glance at the Black Shuck, and it’s far enough away that I risk it. I snatch the wick scissors up, wincing as I set the circular blades around my fingertip, pinching them together until the skin breaks and the blood flows. After all, what’s more magical than shapeshifter blood? Panting, I throw myself to the floor in front of the font, hastily using my bloody finger to draw one of the many exorcism circles I’ve been practicing.
“Please work,” I whisper frantically. “Please, please, fucking work.”
I scramble back to the font and haul the ornate wooden lid with its carved angels off it with a thunderous clang, loud enough to draw the Black Shuck’s attention. I look up and see red eyes advancing toward me, dipping in and out of the shafts of light weakly cast across the stone, one minute a hairy, bristling wolf made of shadows and the next, entirely invisible apart from nastily glowing eyes.
My hands are bumbling as I seize the plastic jug left inside the font. There’s not a lot of water, maybe just whatever was leftover from a baptism, but I know it will have been consecrated. It’ll have to be enough. The Black Shuck has stopped halfway down the aisle, licking its foaming jaw and tilting its head to look at me. It sniffs, scenting my magical blood on the air. Then it looks back to Bastian, as if weighing up who is the more exciting treat.
“Hey, Cujo! Fluffy!” I yell, waving my hand with the bleedingfinger. The hound sniffs the air and its growling intensifies. “Come and get me!”
Drops of my blood hit the floor and it gnashes its teeth, before crouching closer to the ground, a hunting stance.Oh, shit,I think.It’s actually coming to get me.
“Here we go, here we go,” I chant to myself, grabbing the small jug and scooping some holy water. I squeeze my hand, again and again, so the blood keeps dripping, keeping up the scent. It’s sickening to watch the beast inch closer on its belly, teeth so huge, abnormally long and slavering. I try not to think about how much of Bastian’s blood it’s lapped up.
“Come on, yes, good pupper, good pup, just get in the circle,” I mutter, as the Black Shuck’s growls send shakes of terror trembling down my limbs. The water in the jug rocks precariously in my ready hand. “Come on, you ugly mutt! COME ON!”
With an indignant, haunting howl, it launches into the air; I see it happening from outside myself—its body crossing the blood circle, my hand throwing the water, its hideous mouth opening, a long purple tongue ready to taste my flesh—and then I’m losing my footing. I’m toppling down, my back is hitting the tiles with a painful smack, and I’m waiting for the piercing sting of hideous fangs that never comes. Instead, there’s a horrible high-pitched scream and a hissing sound on the other side of the font. The water is burning the Black Shuck, melting and eating away the beastly fur. It’s pushing itself from side to side, trying to free itself from my blood circle but it can’t because it’sworking.I stare in amazement as it bangs itself against the walls of its invisible cage, horribly writhing, disintegrating, becoming less of a dog and more of a burning shadow. Then it’s howling and twisting into nothing but sparks of fire in the air, before disappearing.
It’s done. The air is empty; the cathedral is quiet; I can hear cars driving by on the main road outside. Inside, the silence is oppressive, my heavy breathing too loud and echoey in the vast, open space. I stare hard at the blood circle, not daring to believe the Shuck is really gone, but the final embers drift to the stone and… nothing happens.Holy shit, I actually did it!
My realization forces me to scramble up and stagger back down the aisle to Bastian, legs feeling like jelly. In the illuminated patches of the cathedral floor, I can see ugly dark streaks leading to a pair of blood-flecked jeans. I crumple on the stone flags next to Bastian, dragging his head into my lap. His eyes flutter open.
“Cujo,” he chuckles wetly. “Funny.”
“Bastian.” His T-shirt is dark and damp, ripped with giant gash marks. Suddenly, I see Elizabeth in his place, the way dirt and blood muddied her blond hair. My only thought isThis can’t be happening to me again.“No, no, no—”
“I’m okay, Lando.” Bastian’s sluggish hand finds mine, squeezing it impossibly tight. “Don’t panic, I’m not going to die.”
“You’re not?” I gasp, realizing that I’m panting through tears.
“No, I—I have a healing ring.” Bastian winces, trying to pull up his T-shirt. “I just need you to—to put it on the wound.…”
I’ve never been so glad to touch a witch’s ring. I fumble to place Bastian’s hand against the bloody scrapes of huge claws across his stomach.
“Can I—” Bastian swallows heavily, his eyes rolling sluggishly. “Can I borrow some of your—your magic? I know how to do it, I’ve been looking into sharing magic, there’s—there’s a spell I found. It won’t work if we’renotmagically compatible, but—”
I know I should be terrified of it; I know it’s exactly the kind of thing that shifter parents down the ages have warned theirchildren about, sharing magic with a witch, but I’m not. I don’t care what my father would think, his disdain and ridicule. All I want is for Bastian to live.
“Try it anyway,” I say determinedly.
“Do the Eye of Horus,” Bastian whispers. “Around my ring.”
