Some People Never Learn – Part Five

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I enjoyed spelling as much as a root canal. The perspective of a whole night of that required its weight in wine. Unfortunately, alcohol messed up the bloody craft. I’d have to settle for a handful of sleeping pills so I could sleep the day away and not suffer from the post-spelling amped up state.
Goddess, I needed a new job! But not before I had a new car.
I arranged all my things on the island counter of my kitchen – just a whole lot of herbs and trinkets to anyone not versed in magic. To me, they were a doorway to untold mysteries. Also untold was how foolish I looked while accessing said mysteries.
“Candles, candles, candles…” My cat came purring around my legs. “Would you know where I stuck the damned things?”
Miss Kitty rolled on her back, commanding me to pet her belly. I indulged her for a bit, and then I picked her up. She went crazy when I spelled – I couldn’t blame her – so I trapped her in her room on the opposite side of the house.
“The back of the hall’s closet!”
After pushing aside my winter coats and outdated ceremonial gowns, I found my stash of colored candles. I dusted a few candle-holders piled in the barely accessible corner of the kitchen cabinets. Good thing I kept my favorite Zippo in my back pocket at all times – one never knew when a fireball would come in handy to calm a runner – or I would have had to hunt down the matches.
I had a hard time remembering exactly where to put all the stuff. The order was crucial unless I wanted a would-be benign spell to blow up in my face. That would not only suck but also keep me from fulfilling my assignment and getting rid of Jordan.
I dug up my old spell book to ensure nothing would go wrong. Especially since “benign” only applied to half the things I had to craft tonight.
Besides what I bought at the shop, I needed a few spell unique to my particular blend of magic. I decided to begin with the most complicated first, while my mind was still fully awake and able to concentrate.
I drew the ruins on the island with the chalk I blessed years ago. I should have run out by now if I used it half as often as I ought to but, luckily, only a ritual performed with desecrated ground could reverse the blessing.
Not that anyone ever bothered given that you could just crumble the thing and be done with it.
“Ancestors’ Moon,” I said, droning every word. Magic worked with resonance – my voice’s, the candles’, the chalk runes’ – without the proper hum, my spell would fizzle out of existence.
“Blood Moon.” I felt my hair lift off the back of my head. The soft sensation reminded me of a lover’s touch. It wouldn’t last.
“I am your heir.” The lover stabbed the back of my head, merging its surge of power with my spine. I groaned under the weight of the burden pressing my shoulders and burning from the base of my skull to the small of my back.
“Test my will for it cannot falter.” The pain doubled and I let it ring through me. My bloodline’s resonance answered my call’s. Tears ran down my cheeks. I pressed a small vial under my eye to collect them.
“Taste my blood for it is genuine.” The resonance pulled blood cells through my skin and they pooled an inch over my palm. I swooped it with the vial. The pain receded a bit and I dwelt in the temporary respite for a couple of deep breaths.
“Try my body for it is beyond human.” I yelled as my spine collapsed onto itself. The cracking of bones was deafening, a drum beating to the shallow ebb and flow of my breath. I knelt before my legs shortened and my articulations realigned. My arms were next. The pain of my limbs almost eclipsed the morphing of my face.
Almost.
Witches could spit on us. The thrill seekers could pretend being one of us.
We didn’t care. We could always kick the ass of the undeserving and save the ass of the worthy.
We would always be stronger.
The pain vanished and so did my human perception of the world. I prompted myself on my back legs and drooled in the vial before dropping back down.
Satisfied, I howled.

Part Six >>