Chapter 16
BLOOD MAGIC
“Iwas with Baird the other night…you know.” I gave Sorcha a pointed look, hoping she'd catch my drift. She didn't. She'd wandered into my studio and made herself comfortable while I worked, so I figured I might as well take advantage of the moment.
“No, Mira, I dinnae ken. What do ye mean?” she asked, her voice slow and deliberate.
“I mean,” I said dryly, “there was nudity. And feelings. And blood.” If I was going to talk about my sex life, we clearly needed to get on more familiar terms. “We were intimate.
And I had this overwhelming—desire isn't even the right word—need. I needed to drink his blood. It was so all-consuming I screamed for it. I lost all sense of where I was, what I was doing, who I was…until I got it.”
Her eyes narrowed the faintest degree. “He let ye drink fae him?” she asked, her tone clinical, detached—like she was ticking boxes on my medical history.
I nodded. “He didn't hesitate.”
“Where did ye drink fae? His neck? His heart vein, perhaps?”
“No,” I shook my head. “His wrist.”
A low, dismissive sound slipped from her. Disappointment?
“And then—light started flaring off my skin.
So bright I had to shield my eyes. It looked like flames, but it wasn't. It was yellow-gold light, blazing out of me like a human signal flare.
I'd been buzzing all day—for several days really—something just beneath the surface, just waiting to erupt. And when I drank, it did.”
Still no real reaction—just that steady, indecipherable gaze. As if she’d been expecting every word. As if my story wasn’t shocking, but confirmation. The silence stretched too long, and in it, I realized: it wasn’t that Sorcha felt nothing. She already knew something I didn’t.
“No light show at the moment, I see. How do ye feel?” she asked.
“The buzzing's still there—like I could tap into that current anytime.” It was true. Holding it back now took effort.
“Blood magic,” Sorcha said, as if the words alone explained the weight of history.
“Witches have used it since the dawn of time. Blood is life itself—the very essence of vitality. We smear it on talismans, on doorways, to charge them with our power, ward off evil. In a spell, even a drop makes it uniquely yours. A magical fingerprint—as personal as your signature.”
The smudges inside the Mother's Book flashed in my mind—especially the one that still held a perfect swirl pattern left by an ancestor's finger. Could those dark stains be blood? Garvie blood?
“Blood amplifies magic,” Sorcha said evenly. “A few drops when ye cast a spell can help ensure the right outcome. It can consecrate what's sacred. A drop of blood in your grimoire feeds. Binds it to ye.”
Sometimes it felt like Sorcha was reading my mind. “There are bloody fingerprints inside the Mother's Book,” I whispered, nodding slowly, the realization settling over me.
Sorcha's gaze softened just a fraction. “Aye. You're starting to see it now. The blood of the Abhartach—well, that's the most powerful blood of all,” Sorcha added almost casually. “Did ye notice how often it's mentioned in the book?”
I nodded. I had seen the word—Abhartach, one of the names Granny Margaret told me our Celtic ancestors once used for what we now call a vampire—scattered through the pages. But I'd only truly tried to read one of those entries: the spell Granny claimed was meant for protection against them.
“So let me get this straight,” I said. “The Garvies sometimes used vampire blood in their spells—where exactly do you think they got it? Because I'm guessing you couldn't pick this up at the local drug store.”
She only stared, silent, as if daring me to work it out. I hated it when she adopted that elementary school teacher air with me—too measured, too patient. “Where did ye get it the other night?” she said at last, her words dropping like a stone, simultaneously a clue and a challenge.
My mouth opened, then closed. “No. No…that's impossible.” Was she implying what I think she was implying? “There's a vampire protection spell in the book—Granny Margaret told me. It's supposed to keep a vampire from crossing your threshold. The Garvies were afraid of them.”
“I'm afraid that's no an accurate translation of the spell,” Sorcha said quietly, her brogue swirling around each word, dropping them as puzzle pieces into place, the picture slowly coming into focus.
“I read the spell the other day. It isna meant to bar a vampire from your home, Mira.
It's meant to keep one from finding their way into your heart.”
“That feels,” I said slowly, “like a very specific warning.” Maybe I wasn't the first Garvie to fall for a vampire.