First, she had to figure out what the mark actually did. Maybe he hadn’t lied, and she was being paranoid and overly suspicious. It was possible. She wanted to believe in him, and she wanted to give him the chance to prove that he was worthy of her trust But she had to take care of herself too.
After her tea steeped, she went back to her bedroom, stripped off her robe and T-shirt, and then used her phone to take a picture of the mark on her chest. She zoomed in, studying it closely.
The skin was already scabbing over, thanks to her accelerated healing. It struck her as strange that she hadn’t felt Murmur use the mark already. The sigil’s power would fade as it mended, so whatever purpose Murmur had for it, he should have acted on it right away.
Had he done the spell already while she was asleep, so she hadn’t felt the drain on her energy? If so, there was no point researching this. But instinct told her to keep digging.
She copied the mark onto a piece of paper in her notebook so she didn’t have to tell anyone that she’d let a demon carve it into her chest. Then she snapped a photo of the drawing and sent an email to a certain black-magic coven in New York.
The head of the coven, Moira, was an eighty-year-old witch who looked forty, thanks to frequent youthfulness animal-sacrifice rituals, and that was who Suyin contacted directly. She attached a photo of the drawing and asked if Moira or anyone she knew recognized it.
Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long for a reply.
She’d just gotten dressed when her phone buzzed. Heart racing, she opened the message immediately.
Hi Suyin,
Where did you see this symbol? You need to be extremely careful. Do not put this mark anywhere near your bare skin. I would even be careful touching it without gloves on—it’s that powerful.
This is a Sheolic death mark. Once carved into the skin, it can be triggered from anywhere. It’s used for sacrificial magic when the sacrifice isn’t present for the ritual. The caster cuts a second symbol on herself and then uses the blood of her sacrifice to activate it, which will cause the sacrifice to die instantly, channeling his life force into her spell.
If you’re planning to attempt it, the challenge is getting the mark into your sacrifice’s skin. You need him to trust you enough to allow you to carve it, or he would need to be drugged or restrained.
This is not a low-level casting. Chances of failure are high, even if you follow all the steps correctly. I would recommend considering a simpler method for a male sacrifice.
Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions. Last I heard you were hesitant to learn Sheolic magic, and now you’re casting death marks! Something tells me we have lots to catch up on. ;)
Moira
Suyin reread the email five times. Each time, her heart beat faster, and it grew harder to draw breath. She dropped into a chair, clutching her phone with a white-knuckled, shaking hand. It took all her self-control not to find a knife and slash through the sigil right then, but she knew better than to break the line before learning the consequences.
She clutched her sweater tightly over her heart. Over the death mark.
Thedeathmark.
The Sheolic death mark that Murmur had carved into her skin.
Do not put this mark anywhere near your bare skin. I would even be careful touching it without gloves on—it’s that powerful.
Well, it was carved into her fucking chest.
And just like the stupid male sacrifices Moira was talking about, Suyin had sat back and let Murmur do it. She remembered his averted gaze, his softened tone as he avoided her questions …
Do you trust me, Suyin?
She had. She’d been trying to, anyway. Trying to overcome her habitual distrust of people for his sake, because she’d believed he deserved it. At the very least, she’d trusted in their blood vow to protect her.
But now, replaying the conversation in her mind, she recalled exactly what he’d said, and she realized she’d been duped.I will return you from whence you came in more or less the same condition I found you in.
He had returned her home unharmed, as promised. He’d never sworn not to kill her from afar once he did.
Her phone clattered to the floor as it slipped from her hand. She tore her sweater and shirt off and stepped in front of the mirror. There, topless, she stood looking at her body with that physical manifestation of betrayal carved into her chest.
Right over her fucking heart.
She screamed. A primal scream of rage.
And then she felt it … The shift.
