Bloodleaf by Crystal Smith

Author:Crystal Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HMH Books

 20

That evening, when I was alone again, the first thing I did was crack open the copy of the Compendium Zan let me take from the library. The day had left my feelings in an unruly tangle; now, whenever my thoughts began to drift, they invariably made their way back to Zan. His insufferable smile. His maddening, uncaring demeanor. His quick wit, his sharp tongue. His eyes.

To distract myself, I threw all my energy into a single, straight­forward task: the identification of the blood mage who murdered Falada.

Despite the questionable place from which my motivation sprang, the goal was a worthy one. Now that High Gate’s seal was broken, the clock for Forest Gate was ticking. If we didn’t act soon, a maid, a mother, and a crone would meet the same fate as Falada. Zan believed these three sacrifices would be attempted in the span between the waxing and waning gibbous moons, the full moon marking the middle, the apex of the month. Ten days in total, but the attacks could begin anytime. We could not afford any delay.

I scoured the book back to front but saw nothing that might help until I turned to a section about scrying. Farseeing, it said on the top of the page. Most easily practiced by feral or high mages. Blood magic is less precise and may return unsatisfactory results.

It was the best option I could find, but my hopes to attempt it died quickly; this spell required a small personal token. I could use it to see someone far away, someone I knew, but it would not help me identify a stranger. I closed the book, frustrated, only to immediately open it again.

I could use it to see someone far away, someone I knew. I could use it to see my mother.

I needed her. I wanted to tell her everything. The fear, the hurt, the triumphs . . . the unexpected and complicated connection with an intriguing, infuriating boy with green eyes.

Following the instruction of the spell, I filled a copper bowl to the brim with water and let it settle until the surface was as smooth as glass. Lay out the memento of the person you’re trying to reach, the book said. A lock of hair, a handwriting sample, or a painting of their visage.

I did have my wedding dress, sewn with my mother’s own hand, but it was packed away, and I didn’t want to be reminded that when all of this was over, if things went successfully, I’d still have to marry Zan’s cousin. No, I’d use the bloodcloth. Kneeling, I held the folded square in one hand while I nicked a finger on the other and let the blood drip into the bowl.

Concentrate, the book directed, and repeat the words: Indica mihi quem quaeritis. Show me the one I seek.

“‘Indica mihi quem quaeritis,’” I said as the droplets of my blood bloomed like roses in the water.

I clutched the bloodcloth and searched the water for some sign that it was working .

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