Page 82 of Reckless Witch

I laugh. “I happen to like being wrapped around her finger. Don’t take part in the blood pact. But, at least, be honest with yourself. I don’t know what all the fuss is about. You’re nearly already there. You drank her blood.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“Drinking her blood has done you good.”

He casts me a narrow-eyed look.

“You can’t blame me for speaking the truth,” I say.

Chapter Thirty-Four

LEILAH

Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.

Grams taught me that magic is everywhere just waiting to be unearthed, and once a person understands that, it’s a simple matter to set it free. My first memory of her telling me that, I was three and a half years old. Her voice still rings clear in my head: “Don’t let anyone tell you magic has to be complicated. Some is—that’s necessary—but most is peeking out from its hiding place begging for us to remove it’s constraints.”

Big words for a little kid, but I eventually understood. Obviously, not well enough.

I’ve spent the last three hours since my final class staring at Grams’ spell book. The desk light is the only light on in my room and shines directly on the open pages. The magic contained in the book hasn’t so much as sent up the wisp of a smoke signal. I shouldn’t be surprised. Grams was a tangle of contradictions—something I think she reveled in—and she probably had a big laugh at the thought of someone trying to decipher her spells after she was gone.

I would laugh, if not for the dread heavy in my stomach. Magic isn’t needed to tell me this book holds the spells she was using in the end. I should hand the book over to the Illumina. A single question stops me: why hide light magic?

I stare at the foreign marks on the open pages. How do I persuade the letters to rearrange into coherent words for me? I glance at the sigil on my hand. The damn thing hasn’t yet acted up. But, then, I haven’t tried real magic. I’ve repeated a few incantations, requesting aid from nature spirits, with no luck. Should I try pushing through the sigil? If the spells are…not quite right, will I set off warning bells? Without my magic, I might not be able to put a halt to anything that goes wrong.

Blade said they would remove the sigil if I agree to the blood pact. He caught up with me between classes and told me we were on for tonight. I said okay, but, truth is, I’m not sure I’ll go through with the rite.

I made one blood pact in my life. I was twelve; he was sixteen. Seton, the big brother I never had. With a laugh I can still hear, he finally gave into my pestering. While any blood pact is powerful, we made several large mistakes that lessened the power of the pact. I suspect Seton knew that, but said nothing.

The confusion—and desire—I experienced when Blade caught me returning to my room yesterday has dissipated and, now that I’ve had time to think, I’m wary of making a pact with The Three. I feel pretty sure that instructors—especially Blade, Ethan and Raith—don’t go around making blood pacts with students, which makes me suspicious.

Blood pacts are usually created between spouses, family members, or friends who knew one another in a past life. The last possibility sends a wave of chills from my feet all the way up my body and makes my scalp tighten like sun-dried leather.

This is bad. Very bad.

“Fudge,” I mutter.

I rarely have such an extreme physical reaction, but, when I do, it means something big—something very big. Is it possible I knew these men in another life? I think back to the night I met Blade, two days after I’d arrived in New York. He sat down at my table, as casually as he had the night Ethan put the sigil on my arm, and flirted shamelessly. Blade always flirts shamelessly, but he never follows through with me—and Blade is capable of following through.

The night we met, we talked into the wee hours of the night. I found him incredibly attractive, but was oddly relieved when he didn’t ask me to go home with him. He put me in a cab and paid the driver to take me home. I remember wondering if the world knew what a gentleman he is.

But he really isn’t a gentleman. He’s more the ‘Tonight is all I have to give, baby’ sort of man rather than the ‘send a woman home safely in a cab’ kind of guy. So, why was he so sweet with me?

Why does he lurk outside my dorm? He probably doesn’t think I see him among the trees to the left of Penncarrow Hall. I might not have noticed him if I’d had anything to do other than watch the grass grow. Is it really possible we knew each other in another life? Maybe I knew him but not Ethan or Raith? I laugh. Raith dislikes me enough to have previously known me. Maybe I wronged him in another life. God, if that’s so, then he really can hold a grudge. Vampires have a reputation for being unforgiving.

I release a breath. This last week has gotten me nothing but trouble. Raith said I could leave—if I’m willing to give up my magic. If I give up magic, I won’t be in danger from The Shadows—only from criminals who have harnessed Shadow power. That’s one helluva trade-off.

I look at the book. Without magic, I will never know what’s in this book.

Who would I be without magic? What would I do? Get a nine to five job at some office. Party on weekends and, one day, settle down and have kids. My stomach sours. That’s no life for me. I’m too old to become a James Bond agent and too young to settle for a dreary day job.

My choices are: one, wait powerless in this room, thanks to the damn sigil, until The Three find my would-be killer. Two, renounce magic. Three, enter into a blood pact with The Three. If I didn’t know better, I would think they’d planned this. I sit up straight. Is that possible?

No. The stark fear on Blade and Ethan’s faces couldn’t be faked. So why suggest a blood pact? Why not just keep me locked in this room? A tremor ripples through my stomach. What might it be like to share a blood pact with Blade? I can see myself falling in love with the guy. Hell, I’m in lust with him, as it is. He’s kind, and I’ve glimpsed the loyal man beneath the playboy exterior.

What had he said? “I call being surrounded by people who love you ‘home.’”

Love? People you love? What the hell was he talking about? I might wish a man like him would want me, really want me, but I have no illusions. I’m not that special. But a man in love doesn’t refer to himself as people.