The Witching Hour | ✎

eight

a/n: chapter eight — one day late! sorry :( but enjoy now, hehe !

eight

🔮 — 🔮

She awoke on the floor of her bedroom, with the tang of copper and ash mixing in her mouth. She was half-crumpled in the middle of her room, a sharp pain ricocheting through her arm as she attempted moving.

A wince rocked through her, a hiss accompanying the sharp stab of pain from Bilemoth's wound.

No, not just a wound — my payment.

Forcing herself to turn over, Callie pushed herself onto her knees with weak, trembling arms. The remaining traces of chalk from her summoning circle had been completely vaporized, leaving behind nothing but that ashy smell in the air, and the very real pain wracking her body.

Callie cursed, pressing a hand against her arm as she watched the wound bleed. Blood dripped onto her flooring, spreading into a pool as she pushed from her knees to her feet, staggering slightly. There were no other sounds in the house save for her curses, and the loud rush of her frantic heartbeat in her ears.

Her eyes darted back to her arm, to the blood welling beneath the pressure of her hand.

"Oh, hell."

Stumbling her way over to her bathroom, Callie leaned briefly against the doorway before stepping in front of the mirror. One hand twisted the tap, the other attempting to maneuver itself under the spray of lukewarm water. As the fast stream hit her skin, the curse slipped into a shout of pain as the water swept away the blood in a river of murky red.

Bending down, Callie wrenched open the bathroom cupboard, only to find the aid kit missing. Her lips thinned, displeasure swiftly growing into tangible annoyance thanks to the pulsing pain. Slowly, she lifted her hand from the wound, eyes roving over its uneven, jagged edges. It ran from the bend of her arm to her wrist, an angry red tint to the surrounding skin.

She could probably patch it up on her own. Maybe.

As long as I find the first aid kit, I'll be fine.

Callie snagged a hand towel from the rack on the wall, replacing her hand with it in order to stem the blood flow. Pushing away from the sink, she strode through her room, down the stairs — beelining straight for the large bathroom that was adjacent to her parents' master bedroom.

She shouldered the door open, winced when it hit the wall as it swung around too harshly. She'd worry about marks in the wallpaper later — when her entire arm wasn't throbbing with demonic pain. Kneeling by the double sinks, she rifled through the cupboards — painted a cheery yellow that contrasted wildly to her current mood — in search of the first aid kit.

When she couldn't find it, she sank back onto her heels and let a tired sigh overwhelm her, tears pressing against the corners of her eyes. She'd done everything by the book — had followed every rule she had ever learned when it came to her wretched powers.

Then why do I feel so terrible?

Callie reached up with her free hand, furiously wiping away the tears that were swiftly brewing in the corners of her eyes.

"Not now, Callie, not now — come on, get a grip!"

She rubbed harder at her eyes, as if pushing the tears back into her — forcing the emotions back beneath a duvet of ignorance. The press of her fingers against her cheeks, her eyes, left smears of blood over her face.