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The sour look returns to Dalia’s face, clearly not appreciating my nan breathing down her neck. “I’m testing the levels of magic in their blood. If our hypothesis is correct, it should show up here. It won’t tell us why, but it will give us somewhere to start.”
“Us?” Mildred echoes with a knowing smile.
The sour look intensifies as Dalia concentrates on retrieving gloves and alcohol wipes from a different pouch in her bag. “Since a witch’s magic is the cause of my grandson’s illness, it seems prudent to have the assistance of a witch to cure him.” She gives my nan a long, assessing look over her shoulder. “Your knowledge and presumed skills make you adequate for the position.”
“High praise,” my nan comments, her expression amused.
I’m surprised by how dismissive she is, considering she is the matriarch of one of the original bloodlines. As I understand it, that’s practically spitting on royalty, but she looks unfazed. It’s interesting to observe when she chooses to flex her importance and when she lets perceived slights pass. It speaks of a confidence I hope to emulate one day—not that I know how to do such a thing. Terrify people with my magic? Yeah, I’ve got that down mostly because I still have trouble controlling it when I’m upset, but I have no idea how to be important. Probably because I’ve spent most of my life trying to be invisible. The whole concept that my family ties have a different kind of power beyond my magic still baffles me.
While I was distracted by my inner thoughts, Dalia retrieved a notebook from her bag and made a few notes. After putting on the rubber gloves and sterilizing Nolan’s finger, she takes a sample of his blood with one of the small blue tubes that contains a needle. She’s fast and efficient, squeezing Nolan’s finger until a bead of blood appears, then she places the blood on one of the test strips before inserting it into the device. As we wait for the results, she places a bandage on Nolan’s finger and then disposes of the needle in a separate bag, her expression carefully blank. It seems odd that something as ordinary looking as this device can test for something as ethereal as magic.
When the device beeps, Nolan squeezes my hand. Tremors quake through his body, but I can’t tell if it’s from fear or the cold that he can never seem to escape. His skin feels like summer and winter are battling for dominance, the heat from the magic I wrapped around him earlier at odds with the iciness of his current natural state.
There’s a break in Dalia’s cool professional demeanor via a subtle pinching of her lips and furrow of her brow as she reads and records the results. “It’s as expected. Your levels are abnormally low.”
Nolan’s voice cracks as he asks, “How abnormal?”
Her eyes are the same piercing blue as her grandson’s, and they speak to the severity of the situation in a way her words do not. “Concerning levels.” She turns her attention to retrieving another alcohol wipe. “Once I check Callie’s levels, I can recommend treatment while we search for the cause.”
“You won’t be able to get an accurate reading,” Mildred supplies, leaning her hip against the worktable with her arms crossed over her chest. “The levels of magic in a witch’s blood fluctuates based upon how much she calls into herself.”
Frustration takes over Dalia’s features as she turns to face my nan. “Everyone’s levels fluctuate. A recently fed vampire will have higher levels than one who hasn’t. I just need a base level to start with.”
My nan shakes her head. “It’s not the same.” She holds out her hand. “Test me, and I can show you the difference.”
I frown. “Is this a sugar and tea thing?”
She laughs. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”
Dalia’s expression shifts to one of intellectual curiosity. Knowing how secretive witches are, she comprehends that this opportunity to learn the fundamentals of how a witch’s power works is unheard of. Mildred walks a very delicate line by sharing this information, giving an edge to those who aren’t quite an enemy but also not a friend, but it’s a cost she’s willing to pay to protect me—not only out of love, but necessity. I’m the most dangerous secret of all.
Nolan looks like if he doesn’t sit down, he’ll fall down, so while his grandmother does as Mildred requests, I lead him back to the kitchen chair. Without being prompted, I settle into his lap and hold his head against my chest. He sighs and wraps his arms around my waist.
“I’m tired of being tired,” he mumbles, his words slurred with exhaustion.
“I know.” I gently stroke the back of his neck with my fingers. “It’ll get better soon.”
His answer is to squeeze me tighter.
Worry lodges within my chest, a constant current of fear that despite his promise, he’s giving up. It eats me up, because I don’t know what to do. How do I make him fight to live? The worst part is, I understand. I know what it’s like to hurt so much that you beg for death.
The device beeps again, announcing Mildred’s current levels. I feel uneasy when Dalia records the results, because it’s the start of unraveling the mystery of witches.
“This might be a bit uncomfortable,” my nan warns, stepping away from the workbench and holding out her hands. Closing her eyes, she murmurs prayers to the goddess and something about the four corners of the wind. Suddenly, I feel the churning of air brush against my skin as it becomes increasingly more difficult to breathe. It’s only for a moment, but we’re all left panting and disheveled. All amusement has left Mildred’s face, and she coolly requests, “Test me again.”
Dalia is far less composed than earlier, and there’s a subtle shake in her hands as she performs the procedure again. When the device shows a higher number, she doesn’t record it, choosing to discard the page altogether instead.
I’m left in awe of my nan. In proving her point that to test the levels of a witch’s blood can be futile, she also laid out a clear warning—I can take the air from your lungs, and it will only make me stronger. There are limits to how much a witch can take, unless they are me and their sugar cube lives directly in the tea, but Nolan’s grandmother doesn’t know that. At least, not when it comes to the power of the matriarchs.
Wheezing, Nolan mutters, “Remind me never to piss off your grandmother.”
“Which one?” I murmur with a bemused smile. “Apparently, both of them are matriarchs.”
He groans in response.
After carefully cleaning up her supplies, Nolan’s grandmother crosses her arms over her chest and focuses her attention on Mildred. “Can I assume your granddaughter can enrich her blood to the same levels you just demonstrated?”
My nan looks at me, and the thoughts of what she should reveal swim within her warm brown eyes. She takes in the way Nolan and I are huddled close, locked together like two puzzle pieces, and sighs. “Her levels will be higher.” Her gaze shifts to Dalia, and there is a frightening fierceness to her features. “She is beyond your recording, and you will forget that as soon as Nolan is well.”
