Page 50 of Discovery of the Vampire
I knelt in the shadow of an ancient mausoleum, far from the prying eyes of tourists or any night watchmen who might wander by. The graveyard's residents were my only witnesses as I unfolded a small cloth bundle containing my tools: a small obsidian blade, a vial of driedadrán-cascabelherb, and a weathered leather pouch.
"Forgive me, ancestors," I whispered, acknowledging the familiar tug of guilt. My grandmother had warned me about blood magic, how it created debts that could never truly be repaid. But I had no choice—not with Marcus breathing down my neck and Brogan...
I pushed thoughts of him away. I couldn't afford distractions.
The obsidian blade glinted in the moonlight as I raised it to my palm. One smooth motion—quick and precise—and crimson welled up from the cut. I hissed through clenched teeth, more from the violation than the pain itself.
"Es mi sangre. Es mi poder. Es mi derecho." It is my blood. It is my power. It is my right.
I let the blood pool in my palm before adding a pinch of theadrán-cascabel. The dried herb, with its distinctive rattle-like seeds, mixed with my blood, creating a paste that smelled of copper and earth. Using my finger, I began to draw the sigil on the stone path—a series of interlocking circles and jagged lines that resembled a twisted tree with roots reaching into the earth and branches stretching toward the sky.
As the sigil took form, the air grew thick and heavy around me. The sounds of the night—distant traffic, chirping insects—faded away, replaced by an expectant silence.
"Sangre de mi sangre," I chanted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Hueso de mis huesos. Yo invoco a los espíritus de mi linaje. Guíenme en esta oscuridad."
Blood of my blood. Bone of my bones. I invoke the spirits of my lineage. Guide me through this darkness.
The sigil began to pulse with a dull red glow that matched the rhythm of my heartbeat.A connection formed as tendrils of energy linking me to generations past, to the women who had practiced these arts before me. Their knowledge, their power, their burden were now mine to command.
The sigil pulsed with power as my ancestors begin to answer my call. This was dangerous magic, forbidden by most covens. Magic that could corrupt. But I wasn't looking for power—I was looking for knowledge.
"Muéstrame el camino," I whispered. Show me the way.
The blood in the sigil moved, defying gravity as it crawled across the stone in thin rivulets, forming new patterns within the original design—a small cottage surrounded by large trees.
A sharp pain lanced through my temples. The price for this knowledge. Blood magic always demanded payment, and information about the book wouldn't come cheap.
I gritted my teeth against the pain as more symbols formed. A humble home with handmade furniture. Herbs hung from the ceiling where they dried.
"Más," I demanded, though my head throbbed. More.
The blood pulsed angrily, but obeyed. Dark tendrils snaked from the sigil, wrapping around my wrists like burning chains. I bit my lip to keep from crying out as the vision grew stronger.
A face appeared—a woman with pretty features and eyes that sparkled with secrets. She wore simple clothing from the early 1900s. The blood spelled out a name: Alice Moss. But it wasn't the same woman I'd met at Lizzy's shop.
"Who are you to this book?" I whispered.
The blood responded by showing me the woman clutching an old book to her chest, her expression both protective and fearful. Then the vision shifted to show her casting a powerful spell, hiding the book away.
My nose began to bleed, warm droplets pattering onto the stone beside the sigil. Too much. I was pushing too hard. But I couldn't stop now. "The protections. Show me what guards it."
The sigil flared with angry red light. The blood bubbled and hissed, scalding my skin where the tendrils touched. Images flooded my mind—wards of ancient design, curses that would flay the skin from anyone unauthorized, and something darker... something that seemed to watch me through the vision itself.
I felt it then—a presence becoming aware of my scrying. Whatever guarded the book had sensed my magic and peered back at me through the connection.
I severed the spell immediately, gasping as the blood sigil dried and cracked, turning to black dust that scattered in the breeze.
As the glow faded, I slumped forward, exhausted and emotionally drained. All I wanted to do was curl up on the hard stone and sleep. But I’d only passed the first trial. There were more to come, and I had to stay strong.
Pressing my palms where the sigil had once been, I stood on shaky legs and brushed the dust from my knees. I folded the pocket knife and slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans.
I found a few tissues and my pocket mirror in my jacket pocket and used them to clean the blood from my face and check my lipstick. Then I turned to leave the cemetery. I still didn't know if I'd be powerful enough to find the book, but I had to at least try.
As I made my way through the city of the dead toward the front gate, a familiar figure stepped out from behind one of the larger tombs, blocking my path.
Brogan.
I froze midstep, afraid to get closer. How much had he seen?
