The Blood Keeper by Gratton Tessa

Author:Gratton, Tessa [Gratton, Tessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780375897696
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2012-08-28T07:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-ONE

MAB

With a shallow bowl under my arm, I carefully climbed out the attic window and onto the flat rectangle of roof where Arthur and I used to watch the stars.

Clouds spread across the dark sky, layers stretched into rippling sheets, overlapping in patterns difficult to understand. As though wind pushed from seven directions, at seven different heights. Some of that wind grasped at my unbound hair, throwing it around like tentacles. I angled my head up and searched for sky—there, and there, in the southwest. Bright, luminous black, and streaks of silver light from the hidden moon.

I crouched and set the bowl where it would catch as much moonlight as possible.

It contained a mixture of Will’s blood, dried-fig powder and rue, my blood for power, and five focus stones: obsidian, amethyst, lace agate, moonstone, and citrine. In the pale moonlight, I sketched a circle with chalk onto the roof, adding a rune of focus and a rune of pure intentions. I hummed a discordant tune as I plucked the stones from the bowl and set them around in their proper places in the circle.

It was finished and ready, and I hesitated before saying the words to set the spell. This was the first time I’d been up here since Arthur died.

I remembered late last summer bursting into his workshop with wild magic on my lips. I’d panted in the doorway as he drew a final line onto a piece of red construction paper. When he glanced up, his pale hair swung crazily about his face as though he’d been electrified. I laughed, and he said, “Bit of lightning got loose from its box,” as he flicked his fingers toward his bowing shelves. I hopped over to him, flung myself onto the worktable, and whispered my plan. As I spoke, his eyes lit, and he grabbed my hand and together we ran through the forest, leaping like deer, gathering all the excess magic the leaves had to offer.

We flung ourselves out of the trees and dashed through late-summer meadow. We kicked at the grasses and flowers, flinging seeds everywhere. And we danced into the sunflower field, aiming for the center of the riotous tangle of yellow and white.

“They’ve gone to seed!” I cried, flinging my arms out and spinning. Arthur plucked a single head, and the round flower fit perfectly cupped in his palm. He spat on it and threw it straight up.

“Fly,” he told it.

I pulled a pin from my hair and jabbed my finger. Picking a flower just as Arthur had, I dripped three drops of blood onto its face and tossed it high. “Fly!” I told it.

Together we wove through the field, touching flower heads and watching them leap up. The air was full of whirring sunflowers. They darted and dipped, and the crows arrived, laughing their bright, coughing laughs. The crows were black shapes dancing among the flowers. Arthur’s fingers wove into mine, and we twirled into a waltz. We tripped on stems and twisting leaves. I

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