BooksBarbecue
Back We Are Blood and Thunder
Chapters (32)
  1. PROLOGUE
  2. ONE
  3. TWO
  4. THREE
  5. FOUR
  6. FIVE
  7. SIX
  8. SEVEN
  9. EIGHT
  10. NINE
  11. TEN
  12. ELEVEN
  13. TWELVE
  14. THIRTEEN
  15. FOURTEEN
  16. FIFTEEN
  17. SIXTEEN
  18. SEVENTEEN
  19. EIGHTEEN
  20. NINETEEN
  21. TWENTY
  22. TWENTY-ONE
  23. TWENTY-TWO
  24. TWENTY-THREE
  25. TWENTY-FOUR
  26. TWENTY-FIVE
  27. TWENTY-SIX
  28. TWENTY-SEVEN
  29. TWENTY-EIGHT
  30. TWENTY-NINE
  31. EPILOGUE
  32. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Emotions fought for ownership of Winton’s face too—confusion, anger, love, despair. “Why would you do such a thing? I don’t understand…”

“Listen to me, Winton,” she said softly, stepping closer to him. “I was four years old when my mother died, but I remember her. She was a mage too. She told wonderful stories, and she showed me little tricks, little games. She showed me books—atlases, storybooks, picture books … and other texts too. Magical books. In secret, of course. In her own chambers. And I loved her, Winton, because she was wonderful, and magical, and she was my mother. She was like nobody else in this dark place—even as a small child, I knew that.” Constance felt her eyes sting, and she turned aside. “I know I was young, but I remember everything so clearly. And when she died—so suddenly, even suspiciously—I knew there was a lot more she had to tell me. What stories, what knowledge, had I lost in losing her? What secrets? What … love?” Her voice cracked, and she bowed slightly under the weight of the admission. And then she drew her shoulders back, her spine straight. “As soon as my powers started to manifest, I knew I had to find out how to bring her back.”

“Oh, Constance…” Winton shook his head. “I don’t know much about magic, but even I know that’s not possi—”

“Who is to say what is possible?” Constance snapped, interrupting. “What gives you the right? People never stop judging. This is allowed. This is forbidden. And what for? Isn’t all magic just a tool to be turned to a purpose?” She stepped toward Winton, challenging him, her whole body alive with fire and energy and purpose. “All I know is that my mother did not deserve to die. I read all her books over the years, scoured them. And there was one with such a spell. And I learned it. Who would have done differently? Can you deny your heart leaped when you saw your dead mother move again?”

A strangled noise emerged from Winton’s throat, a note of pure anguish.

“You cast the spell in the crypts that night six years ago, over your mother’s body,” the girl whispered from behind her.