Harlot looks at me with contempt, and her hatred toward me is evident. When he offers to heal my broken bones, I refuse; the fact that it will require his blood to mix with mine makes me nauseous. Jodelle looks at them angrily as she tells me we should find a doctor or a healer, but I can’t. I promised Caria not to provoke Harlot and this beast. I need to amend this somehow. We trail after them as they wander around the fair until a show is announced: a knife show.
Jodelle furrows her eyebrows at me as we forge a path through the crowd. There, I see a witch tied up, her markings not even close to Caria’s. I watch the show with disdain. We leave the moment the guy mocks that the show’s over, since she’s dead. I would have laughed at that in the past, but my connection with Caria changed everything. All I thought I knew vanished slowly, replaced with a new understanding. An understanding of a world I am a part of, one I rejected from the start, not evenwilling to try. I refuse to remain that stubborn; the least I can do is try to comprehend.
The inn is empty; most of the creatures are outside at the fair or the square. A new group of humans, mostly male this time, has entered, awaiting their inevitable death. I tear my eyes away despite the resistance I feel. The magic always wants me to watch the slaughtering of these groups, but flaming red hair catches my attention. I see Caria once more, accompanied by the same male witch, the one I saw last night, the one she was entertained by. Yet when she sees my injury, she cautiously comes closer. She leaves the other witch behind her, and he stays put, watching her like a hawk.
“Can I see?” she asks.
I nod as Jodelle eyes her wearily. I can’t blame her; if a man approaches her, I will probably slam him to the ground, unable to contain my emotions.
Caria carefully touches my wrist, and I wince in pain as she takes hold of it.
“I can fix this if you’d like?”
She looks at me, acting as if Jodelle is not even present, and I know it’s purely to piss her off.
“How?” I ask.
She takes a dagger hidden underneath her clothes. It's lined with crystals I am not familiar with, and the handle is fine leather. I see the blotches of blood on it—a ritual knife.
“This is a dagger I use for my blood magic. Don’t worry,” she laughs. “I will only cut myself this time, and not you too. My blood will mend your bones if you trust me.”
“I do,” I say without hesitation.
Caria uses the dagger and slides the blade into the palm of both of her hands, cutting her delicate skin. She puts the dagger back where she took it from and takes my wrist into her bloodiedhands, the air filling with a metallic odor combined with hints of vanilla, the scent of her blood, I conclude.
“This will hurt a little,” she says, starting to chant in a low voice.
I watch in fascination as her blood starts to spiral around my wrist; as she recites the exact wording over and over, it starts to intrude through my skin, causing it to sting. I bite my lip as her blood seeps into my body, the sting becoming a strong ache as it travels through each layer of my flesh.
“FUCK!” I scream loudly as her blood starts to set my bones, piecing the fractures back together. Splinters are pulled out, agony taking hold of me. I want to throw up from the pain, but I can’t move until she finishes; her blood magic keeps my wrist straight.
“Almost done, baby,” she murmurs.
I stare at her, not missing the caress in her voice, and she winks at me.
“What did you call him?” Jodelle asks furiously.
“A baby, you know, a big baby, because he can’t take a little pain,” she says smugly.
I shake my head, the pain becoming less as my bone is healing back into one piece. When she’s done, I twist and turn it; my wrist functions like it never happened.
“Thank you, truly, thank you, Caria,” I say.
“Of course, you’d do the same for me,” she responds.
Irritated, Jodelle pulls me away from Caria’s gaze, not expressing any form of gratitude for healing my broken bones. Again, I am torn between logic and emotion: one tells me there’s no need for her to thank Caria, as she’s not her friend, just mine; the other feels a distaste for her behavior. Even if Caria’s not her friend, she’s mine, and as my partner, Jodelle should at least have some decency and manners toward those who matter tome. Particularly to those who have saved my life and now cured my injury by breaking open their own skin.
It was a strange sensation, allowing witch powers through the surface of Aurum. Her blood trickled through my flesh, then warped and reformed my bone structure, her essence mixing with mine. Her blood has such a sweet smell; it is the first time I've been able to distinguish anything besides the typical metallic tang.
The male witch watches the entire ordeal, not moving one finger as if he is frozen in time. He watches her every move as if his peculiar eyes are shackled to her being. He is probably the better option for her; besides, I am connected to Jodelle, my soulmate Harlot had called her. I don’t believe I fit with a Blood Witch anyway, one that’s part of the deadliest of the covens. Eight of them are left after the war Caria had mentioned, eight covens of Blood Witches, each with their own talents and hunger for blood—the blood they extract in their own unique ways. I look at the stranger who’s part of Caria’s life, and I can’t help but wonder which coven he belongs to and if they are destined mates of some sort.
If Jodelle could, she would stare Caria to death; her eyes are slits as she tracks every movement of her prey. A shadow creature, feline it appears, jumps on Caria’s shoulder and hisses at Jodelle, snarling with its bare, sharp teeth.
“There, there, Hako, leave the silly human alone; she’s not worth your energy,” Caria says, soothing the shadowy animal.
My curiosity gets the better of me as I look at the shadow beast for the first time, able to see one up close. It’s intriguing and peculiar-looking at the same time. A dark color covers its skin, approaching black, and its fur seems fluid, flowing as it moves. Its tail split into three, full as a fox’s tail, each one moving of its own accord. The ears are large, with big plumes, and outof proportion to its head, almost making it look sweet, but the sharp double rows of teeth, like a shark, and its pointed claws make it clear it is not to be messed with. It moves with a graceful fluidity as it balances itself on Caria’s shoulders. The creature bumps his head against hers.
“Is he yours?” I ask in fascination.
