But if this spell can level the playing-field between Sadal and I, perhaps I can finally make things right. Perhaps I can avenge Altair and redeem myself. I hide the book under the four-poster bed and peeks out of the tent. I need ingredients for this spell, ingredients that I know the Bloodbane will have somewhere in this camp. Since we’ve been here, I’ve seen them brewing their potions and poisons nearby.
The witches are staggering between the tents, drunk and exhausted. I hold my dagger tightly in my hand, in case one of the witches catches me while I steal from their supplies. I slip out of the tent, tugging my hood up to obscure my face. With this hood, I’m practically invisible now. I’m one of them.
I stalk between the tents, weaving between the distracted witches. They cackle and holler, clustering around fires with their deadwood brooms in hand. I stare as one falls hazardously close to the flames. But the broom doesn’t catch fire and the witch draws it away from the flames with a drunken apology. The other strikes her as quickly as a viper, falling on her angrily. They pummel each other, rolling across the muddy ground and snarling.
I take a step back, shock widening my eyes. The fight intensifies, and I see a flash of silver as one pulls a dagger. The blade is coated in green; poison. I step back as they wander this way, hissing at each other.
I whirl away, running in the opposite direction as one of the witches draws first blood. My blood is pounding in my ears as fear rushes through me. I’ve never left the tent at night before and I can feel my fear slowly beginning to petrify me. In the distance, the howling of the demons grows louder, and I wonder if they’re feeding on Bloodbane witches that accidentally wandered into range in their drunken stupor.
I force myself to keep walking, to keep peeking into tents in search of the supplies I need. I push through a crowd of Bloodbane that are clinging to each other, looking sick. I see bottles of their alcohol littering the ground nearby. Their eyes are glazed over and half-closed. They won’t remember my presence in the morning.
A witch stumbles out of a tent, and as the tent closes, I catch a glimpse of shining beakers and heavy wooden boxes. The supplies. I rush forward, hand clutching my dagger. Casting one look around to make sure I’m not being followed; I slip into the tent.
Inside, I find shelves and stacks of various herbs, dried body parts, powders, and mysterious liquids I don’t dare touch. I run my finger along the glass beakers and bottles, reading the short descriptions written in jagged handwriting. I grab a bundle of chalk and sticks of dried herbs. Grimacing, I shove my hands into glass containers filled with vinegar and wrap my hand around soggy frog legs. I stuff them into my cloak, trying not to gag.
I close my eyes, trying to picture the list of ingredients the spell called for. The Azulina Mushroom. I search for the name and find them stored in a wooden box. The mushrooms are blue with wide lips. They seem fragile, so I place them carefully in my pocket.
Suddenly, I hear the tent open. I whirl around, dagger pointed towards the door. My hand is shaking, and the tip of the blade trembles. I see a tall, thin woman framed in front of the doorway. She studies me, her face in shadow. Slowly, she pulls her hood down and my lips part in surprise as I take in the familiar face.
Nakarr smiles wickedly at me. “Remember me, mortal?”
“You kidnapped me,” I say, surprised. I recover and brandish my dagger at her.
“What are you doing in here? What are you stealing?” Nakarr knocks my dagger aside with a snort of disgust. She steps around me and studies the jars and boxes I’ve put in disarray. She eyes me, looking impressed. “A death spell?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammer, refusing to drop her gaze.
Nakarr’s lips quirk into a smile. “Perhaps you are more Bloodbane than we have thought.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, brows furrowing.
Nakarr’s hand snakes around my shoulders and she turns me towards the door. She draws it aside, showing me the Bloodbane locked in quarrels or asleep on the ground. I stare at the Bloodbane fighting hand to hand. One of them slams her deadwood broom into the other’s cheeks. A tooth flies from her mouth, blood clinging to the roots. I twist my lips into a grimace watching them attack each other.
“Those women are from the same coven, sisters by blood and not just in name,” Nakarr explains. “Do you know why they fight?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Because they’re Bloodbane and Bloodbane live to hurt others.”
Nakarr chuckles. “They fight because six hundred years ago, the younger took the man the older was pursuing. She fucked him first, and the older has never forgiven her sister.”
“For six hundred years?” I gape.
“That’s the blink of an eye to most Bloodbane,” Nakarr says. She turns me to face her and grips my shoulder. “Every woman that becomes a Bloodbane aches for revenge, whether she knows it or not. You want to kill your enemy? Now you are a Bloodbane.”
She slips away from me, drawing her hood back up. I watch Nakarr disappear into the darkness as her parting words echo in my mind. I can still hear the Bloodbane witches quarrelling, screeching now about
