Bitter Demons

45. The Cup Of Blood

My heart pounded. This was Mary Anne's family? She was the crow I'd seen in the school and on the balcony that night, but she wasn't the only crow. There were dozens. She'd never belonged in an orphanage or a foster home. It was all a set-up for this moment.

"Now that all of my descendants are here, we can finally begin," the ancient witch said. She held out her hand and a woman handed her an ornate silver cup with a red ruby encrusted on the side. The cup was tarnished. The old witch's fingernails scratched against the metal as she gripped it tight.

Fear gripped my chest and made it difficult for me to breathe. This couldn't be the end. There had to be some way to fight back.

The old witch held the cup high above her head and began to chant in an ancient language. I didn't understand what she was saying, but I knew it couldn't be good. My skin erupted in goose-bumps.

"Alocuskah. Migdalian. Beshka locutar singestra." With these last words, she held up a single fingertip and pressed the sharp nail against her wrist. She cut a sharp, jagged wound into her flesh and let the blood flow into the ancient cup.

The witch passed the cup around the room and one by one, each member of the family spilled her blood into the cup. I watched, unable to move or do anything to stop this crazy ritual. When the cup passed back to the old witch, she lifted my blue pendant high into the air, then dropped it into the blood.

A sharp pain pierced through my heart. I cried out, and the old witch laughed. "It hurts, doesn't it?" she said. "Your demon will be cut from you and it will feel like I've ripped your poor heart from your chest."

My muscles tensed, and I tried to break free. I wanted to lash out at the woman. To fight for my life. But I was bound too tightly by her magic. I couldn't feel my own power.

She turned to the women in the room. "When the last of her blood runs into the portal, we have only moments before her spirit leaves her body. It's at that precise moment that we must transfer the bloodline from her family to ours."

"Wait." Mary Anne's small voice rang out in the cave-like room.

"You have wasted enough of my time," the old woman said, her eyes flaring bright red. "Keep your mouth shut and do as I have taught you."

"You said we weren't going to hurt her," Mary Anne said. Her blue eyes were wide with panic and fear. "You told me the transfer would be painless. That it would just suck her power from her body and she would be fine."

"Don't be stupid," the old witch said. "This is not a child's game we are playing at here. The girl must die in order for the spell to work."

The energy in the room shifted. I could feel the fear and anxiety in the air, thick as smoke. It was obvious the family wasn't used to anyone speaking up to their leader. What was Mary Anne doing? Didn't she see the hopelessness in this situation? There were too many to fight. They were too powerful.

"I won't do it," Mary Anne said, her voice trembling.

"Nonsense," the old witch shouted. "The entire bloodline must participate in order to create the transfer."

"I can't let you kill her," Mary Anne said. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her lip trembled, but she stood her ground. She was risking everything to save my life. A small flame of hope ignited somewhere deep inside of me.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus my power. I let all of the images fall away from my thoughts and concentrated only on a single blue butterfly. A drop of power trickled through my veins.

"You must participate," Mary Anne's mother said, stepping forward from her spot in the far corner. "I know it's difficult to make such a sacrifice, but it's the only way."