Blood Magic (Blood Magic Series Book 1) Read online

  And then he was gone, and all I could do was press my fingers to my still tingling lips and smile.

  After leaving the meeting hall that day, I continued to be confused by the fierce passion I felt for him. I could not explain the complete and desperate hunger I felt for someone I barely knew, but some part of me recognized, reached out, and yearned for him.

  I was powerless against the onslaught of emotions that simply being in his mere presence evoked in me, and, so, that night I had crept down the stairs of my two-story house—walked out the door—and run straight into his arms.

  And I had been doing it almost every night since, for the past three months. Every opportunity I had to sneak away, I did, and spent many wonderful nights holding hands, kissing, and laughing and talking.

  One night not so long ago, we spread a blanket out under a grove of white pine trees and simply held on to each other, as we gazed up through the branches of the trees at the thousands of stars winking down at us from above. Lying there with my head pillowed on his chest, and my eyes growing heavy, the sound of his heart beating was the most beautiful lullaby I had ever heard.

  We often chased each other through the woods, laughing like we had gone mad, and when we stopped he would always try to kiss me. And I would always push him away and take off running again—until he caught me, pushed me up against a tree, and kissed me senseless.

  We made up songs that only we knew the words to and sang them to each other. And we danced under the pale moon to music that only we could hear.

  We threw pinecones for Marmalade and he would run and pounce on them—batting them around the forest floor with his little paws. He followed us many nights, but he had been sworn to secrecy, and could be easily bribed with scraps from the dinner table.

  Everything had been beautiful and wonderful and perfect in our secret little world until a few days ago…

  Most everyone in the village of Salem had been listening to Reverend Parris’ sermon about the afflicted girls. Reverend Parris’ said that the devil’s witches were among us causing the unbearable suffering of the young girls. We must be vigilant and steadfast in our efforts to rid our town of this evil. These women had made an unlawful covenant with the devil and must be punished.

  At this point, Abigail Williams, Betty Parris, and Ann Putnam Jr. had stood up and started screaming about something biting them. They fell to the floor, writhing around, pulling their own hair, and hitting themselves in the face. The church had erupted into pandemonium. Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne, and Tituba, a slave, had been accused and dragged from the building.

  That was when Joshua’s father stood up and said, “Tis all a bunch of nonsense if you ask me. Those women are no more witches that I am! If you want to find those doing the devil’s bidding, look no further than these mischief making little girls here!”

  “Thomas Abbot, art thou saying that thou denies the existence of witches?” Reverend Parris asked, icily.

  “I’m saying that the only evil I see is the devil standing right in front of me, you hypocrite! And maybe these afflicted girls are really your witches!” Joshua’s father had yelled.

  “Father please?” Joshua had begged, trying desperately to silence him, to no avail.

  Reverend Parris then turned to Joshua and said, “What of thee, young, Joshua? Dost thou believe the lies spewing forth from thy drunkard of a father’s mouth?” Reverend Parris asked, with a fanatical gleam in his eyes.

  “I believe,” Joshua said, carefully, “That perhaps the girls are mistaken.”

  Reverend Parris then turned to the congregation and said, “You have all born witness to this heresy. In denying the existence of the devil and his minions, they also deny the existence of the almighty God. There can be no light without darkness, no good without evil. The words of these men are blasphemous. They shall be imprisoned tonight, and tomorrow they shall be whipped and each receive forty lashes.”

  He paused dramatically before continuing, “They are both, henceforth, excommunicated from this church. They are out of communion with God. Upon their deaths, they will not be given a Christian burial, and will surely find themselves with the devil they so vehemently deny. They will be shunned. They will wear a large E upon their clothing to show that they have been excommunicated. We will have no more dealings with these people. They no longer exist to us.”

  I had been present for the whipping of Joshua and his father the following day. And every blow had been like a knife to my heart. The look on his face almost brought me to my knees, and I was choking on the tears that I could not cry.

  My heart felt like it had been ripped from my chest and squeezed until it burst. I was aching for him, but selfishly, for myself as well. I was aching for the life we would never have, the children I would never bear and raise with him, and the nights I would never spend as his wife.

  You see, even though my father did not approve of Joshua, he still would have needed a very good reason to deny me the right to wed him, and now he had one.

  Members of the church were forbidden to marry non-church members. And thanks to his recent excommunication, Joshua no longer was. I knew he had probably reached the same conclusions that I had, and it was breaking my heart—because all I really wanted was for him to comfort me and tell me that everything would be okay.

  In all of my seventeen years, I had never felt pain like this. Every breath was hard to take. Every morning I awoke with a crushing pain in my chest, and every night I cried myself to sleep. Every second of every minute, of every hour of everyday, had been a living hell since I’d last seen him.

  I had known he would need to recover after his harsh beating, but tonight there had been a candle in his window–and I felt the first glimmer of hope I’d had in days.

  My feet could not carry me fast enough, as I ran through the woods to our spot. And when I came into the clearing and saw him standing there so battered and broken, a helpless sob escaped my throat.

  “Anna, don’t cry,” he said, pleadingly. Then he held out his arms and said, “Come here, baby.”

  I flew into his arms and we sank to the ground holding on to each other, desperately. I cried until there were no tears left to cry, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw that he had been crying, too.

  “Joshua, I love you. I think I’ve loved you from that first wink, and I’ll love you till my last breath. Nothing in Heaven or Hell can change that,” I said, fiercely.

  “I love you too, Annabelle. And I swear to you, I will spend every moment of the rest of my life trying to make this right. We will be together someday.”

  And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I smiled.

  Chapter Three

  Cold Reality

  Present Day

  My body felt like it was made of lead, and every time I tried to open my eyes—I was assaulted by shards of light stabbing through my eyes and into my skull. I could hear voices from far away, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I felt like a kid on Charlie Brown—where the adults make unintelligible sounds, instead of using actual words.

  Everything was too bright and intense, too loud—piercing my eardrums mercilessly. My throat was on fire, and my lungs burned with every breath I took. I just wanted to burrow back into the comforting, quiet darkness and be left alone, but, unfortunately, Dr. Donald Sanderson had other ideas. And suddenly the light and the noises came roaring in, whether I wanted them to or not.

  “Allison, can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes.”

  My eyes slowly fluttered open; to be filled with the sight of cloudy, bespectacled blue eyes peering down at me. The glasses and blue eyes were attached to a kind, wrinkled face with wavy, graying hair.

  “Dr. Sanderson,” I said, smiling. But then as I noticed my surroundings, the smile faltered and finally faded completely away—to be replaced with confusion and then fear.

  “What am I doing in the hospital?” I asked, as I took note of all the tubes, machines, and the IV sticking i
n my arm.

  “You don’t remember?” he asked, clearly concerned.

  I just shook my head, as the dread in my stomach began to intensify.

  “Allison, you fell into the lake and almost drowned.”

  And suddenly—like someone had flipped a switch—it all came rushing back: skating with my friends at the lake, drinking almost a whole bottle of wine by myself, everybody leaving, and me going back out onto the ice and… No, I thought, desperately—squeezing my eyes shut; as if that would magically make it all just go away. Then a single, solitary tear escaped and traced its way down my cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Allison,” Dr. Sanderson said kindly, as I quickly wiped the wetness from my cheek.

  Dr. Sanderson is one of the nicest men I have ever known. And he has known me since I was three. He is one of my dad’s colleagues, and when I was little he and his wife used to baby-sit me all the time. I actually used to cry when my dad would come to pick me up. And while I might not mind very much for Dr. Sanderson to see this side of me, I would die before letting my father see this weakness; so, when I heard the door open, I quickly composed myself before looking into, my father, Dr. David Chamberlain’s ice-blue eyes.

  He barely glanced at me, before turning to Dr. Sanderson and saying, “How is she?”

  “She’s a tough little gal,” Dr. Sanderson, said affectionately, “I expect her to make a full recovery.”

  “Tough? Well, that’s one word for her,” my father said, smiling in my direction. But I was not fooled. I knew as soon as we were alone the smiling man before me would be replaced by the cold, hard man I’d known all my life.

  “I’ll let you two have a few moments alone and I’ll be back to check in on her shortly,” Dr. Sanderson said, turning to leave.

  “No,” I suddenly yelled, “I mean, maybe you could explain what exactly I was treated for when I got here,” I said, stalling for time.

  “Allison, Dr. Sanderson is a very busy man and—”

  “No, no, no, it’s no problem. I’d be happy to tell her anything she wants to know,” Dr. Sanderson said indulgently.

  When Dr. Sanderson turned back around to face me, I saw my father cross his arms over his chest and roll his eyes.

  “The boy who brought you in—”

  “Wait! What?” I asked shrilly.

  “Well, now, you didn’t think you walked in here all by yourself did you?”

  “No, I guess not. I hadn’t really thought about it.” My father had snorted at this, but I just ignored him.

  “He was about your age—said he heard you hollering for help, and he jumped in and pulled you out. You weren’t breathing, so he had to do CPR, but you coughed up all the water you swallowed. Your lungs are still a little inflamed though, so we’ll have to start you on a round of antibiotics to prevent infection. We like to err on the side of caution,” he said, smiling.

  “What was his name? Who is he? Where is he?” I asked, eagerly.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Allison! Is that really relevant right now?” my father exploded.

  “It is to me,” I said, quietly, “He saved my life, daddy. Shouldn’t we thank him?” I asked, innocently. I never called him daddy, and he knew exactly what I was doing. I watched as he searched for something loving and fatherly to say. It would almost be funny if it weren’t so sad. At least during moments like this one he had to pretend to love me.

  “Of course, Allie. I would like to shake the young man’s hand myself. Sometimes we don’t realize how truly precious someone is until we almost lose them,” he said, and I wanted so badly to believe him that it hurt.

  Dr. Sanderson spoke then, freeing me from my illusions of being loved and wanted, “I don’t know him or his name, but I believe he was taken to get dry clothes and warm up. I’m sure you’ll both have the chance to thank him later.”

  I nodded, still completely focused on the fact that some strange guy had had his lips on mine. I know it was only CPR, but it still kinda weirded me out.

  Dr. Sanderson cleared his throat and smiled, and I had the very uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what I had been thinking.

  “Allison, did you hear me? You also have hypothermia as a result of your fall into freezing water.”

  “That’s, like, when your body temperature drops really low, right?”

  “Yes, Allison, but it also causes other complications.”

  “What kind of complications?” I asked, swallowing convulsively, and winced at the pain it caused. My throat felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to it.

  “Well, when you become hypothermic, it’s kind of like your body goes into panic mode and starts trying to conserve all the heat it can. As a result, you were suffering from hypertension, meaning your blood pressure was too high. Your heart rate was also dangerously elevated, and you were breathing much too fast.

  I nodded woodenly—my stomach flipping with each medical term he threw at me—wondering how I could have done this to myself.

  “Shall I continue?” he asked, and I nodded again.

  “You were also hypoglycemic, meaning that there wasn’t enough glucose in your blood or your brain. And this is the one I want you to pay close attention to, Allie. Alcohol causes vasodilation. There was a significant amount of alcohol in your blood stream. It causes the blood vessels to widen and increases blood flow to your skin and extremities. It makes you feel warm, but increases heat loss significantly. The alcohol only made everything worse. And probably played a part in the accident as well. Allison, if that boy hadn’t pulled you out of there—you’d be dead.”

  I sat quietly, staring down at my hands folded in my lap. I knew all the big words, the explanations, and the lecture were meant to deter me from doing anything stupid in the future, and it was working. It was scary, but in all fairness, I did ask.

  “Allison, your case was very mild. You’re a very lucky young lady. After falling into a frozen lake, it should have been much worse. Your body—after only a few hours—is rapidly returning to normal. A little dextrose and saline in the IV for dehydration, and you should be good to go by tomorrow,” he said.

  “Thanks Dr. Sanshun,” I said, smiling sadly. That’s what I used to call him when I was little and couldn’t say Sanderson.

  “You’re very welcome, peanut,” he said, calling me by my childhood nickname and tapping me on the nose with his finger. “Don’t let me see you back in here again,” he said, as he went out the door.

  Then he was gone; off to visit other patients, which left me very alone with my very angry, very disapproving father.

  He waited until the sound of Dr. Sanderson’s footsteps faded away before turning his cold, furious eyes in my direction, “You little idiot! What were you thinking?” he asked, with barely controlled rage, “Do you know how poorly this reflects upon me? Having my drunk seventeen year old daughter brought into the hospital—it’s humiliating! You do realize that I am currently trying to get a seat on the board at this hospital! The hospital, ironically, named after the lake you drunkenly stumbled into.”

  “Well, just as long as you’re not trying to win an award for father of the year, I think you’re okay, because you would have just blown that straight to you know where,” I said, whispering the last three words.

  He reached his hands toward me—curving them like claws—before dropping them to his sides, curled into two tight fists.

  “Allison, I need for the board to see us as at least a semi-normal family unit. If I can’t control my own child, then how can I help run this hospital?”

  “Oh, I see. You want me to put my hair in pigtails and wear a cute little dress, and let you bounce me on your knee and tell everyone that you’re the bestest daddy in the whole world.

  “Everything is a joke to you, isn’t it?”

  “One of us has to have a sense of humor,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Yes, and apparently only one of us has a working brain. Where in the world did you get the alcohol from—one of your fri
ends? What kind of imbecilic parents leave liquor where their kids can find it?” he asked, grumpily.

  “You did,” I said, smiling sweetly, “I got it from your liquor cabinet.”

  “That cabinet was locked!” he yelled.

  “You know what they say—locks were made to be broken, or in this case picked.”

  “Where did you learn how to pick locks?” he asked.

  “Youtube is just full of useful information. It’s not all kitty videos, although I do love those.”

  “There is absolutely no sense in trying to talk to you!” he said, viciously.

  “You don’t talk to me. You talk at me, and the only time you actually even care about the answer is when it’s exactly what you want to hear. You don’t care what I think or how I feel, and I gave up on trying to get you to care a long time ago. All I ever wanted was for you to love me and be proud of me, but you can’t; you’re not even capable of it,” I said sadly.

  “What have you done to earn my love and respect, Allison?”

  “That’s just it, dad; when you love someone they don’t have to do anything to earn it—it’s just there,” I said tiredly.

  “I have spoiled you and given you everything you’ve ever wanted, and all you give me is aggravation!”

  “Yes, everything I wanted—everything but you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to rest.” Then I turned away from him and closed my eyes, and didn’t open them until I heard him walk to the door, open it, and walk out of the room.

  I think I had actually managed to drift off for a little while after he left when I heard my best friend Cassie Flynn throwing a fit outside my door. “What do you mean I can’t go in and see her, Doc? It sure ain’t like I’m gonna catch hypothermia is it?” she asked petulantly.

  “I don’t know Cass; I’m pretty sure you caught stupid from Eric a long time ago,” this was from Matt Turner, my second grade boyfriend, whose statement was followed by a loud, “Ouch!” I can only assume she punched him.