Lol I know! And yes, really. Sorry for the late notice; I’m such a flake sometimes. Bring your boyfriend, too. It’s going to be all couples. Oh, and wear red!
She doesn’t give me her address; she doesn’t need to. Everyone knows Lilian Peters lives in the stone mansion on the lake.
I send a response before I can stop to think about it. I’ll be there! Thank you!And then I sit and stare at what I’ve just typed. Shit. What am I talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend. And now I can’t take back my RSVP. But if I go alone, I’ll look like a total dork and I’ll have to spend all night staring at other model-esque couples hooking up on Lilian’s tufted couches. Great job, Nia. Really top-notch thinking there.
“Where the hell is a fairy godmother when you need one?” I mutter, tossing my phone on my desk. And then I pause, remembering something. The spell.
My slightly quirky, highly superstitious older sister Michaela’s away at college, but months ago, she gave mea “love spell” concocted by her college coven club. It was supposed to be done twenty-four hours before the blood moon, I remember now.
It’s a binding spell,Michaela had said.It’s supposed to bring the perfect boy into your life within an hour of completion, and he’ll stay with you for the next twenty-four hours. But be careful. It’s very powerful. You have to say it exactly right or it won’t work.
I open the desk drawer into which I’d shoved the spell all those months ago, touched by my sister’s concern about my love life but one thousand percent sure I’d never attempt it. Spells aren’t real. Magic isn’t real. But here’s the thing—desperation is.
I glance out my open window at the silvery-black sky. If there ever were a night for a magic spell to work, it’d be tonight. A cool breeze swirls through the room and in spite of myself, I shiver lightly.
Reaching into the drawer, I pull out the piece of paper that has the spell written on it and unfold it. What do I have to lose, really?
“Let’s do this,” I mutter to myself, feeling like the biggest, most loser-ish idiot on the planet.
Minutes later, I have my room prepped and I’m ready to get on with it. I’ve turned out all the lights save for a single red candle in a holder on the floor in front of me. I’ve set it—and myself—in a large rectangular patch of silver moonlight. Mydoor is locked, just in case my parents decide to wander in and ruin things, as parents are wont to do.
The instructions are in front of me, as are the other ingredients I need—a handful of red rose petals from my mom’s greenhouse, the red candle, and a small needle, for a drop of my blood. This last part makes me queasy, but I’ve sterilized the needle in the flame, and at this point I’m thinking it can’t be more painful than the shame I’ll feel tomorrow if I turn up alone at Lilian’s party.
Glancing down at the piece of paper, I clear my throat and speak aloud:
Moon of mine, moon up high,
Come alive and come alight.
Blood of heart and blood of soul,
Bind him to me for my life whole.
I pause. “Ugh. Who writes this crap?” But there’s no time to make more fun of the poet, because the instructions are very clear—I have to prick myself and feed my blood to the flame (gross) within thirty seconds of saying the rhyme.
Taking a deep breath, I slide the needle into my index finger, watching as blood beads on my skin like lustful pearls and then drops, sparkling, into the fire, which burns a jewel-green in response.
I stare, entranced. “Whoa.”
A moment later, the ground begins to shake.
There’s a very tall, very gorgeous stranger standing in my now-open doorway. I jump to my feet, my heart racing, but my legs apparently can’t take my weight because I collapse in a heap onto my nearby bed.
The stranger rushes forward, thick brows knitted together as if he’s concerned for my safety. I stare at him, my brown eyes wide and unblinking in the near darkness. The moonlight streaming in through the window adds silver streaks to his hair.
“You...” My voice is barely a whisper. I clear my throat and try again. “You’re... Who are you? And why are you here?”
The stranger looks down at me, frowning. “You summoned me, human.”
My mouth twitches. Then, without really thinking about it, I begin to laugh, maybe a little too forcefully. “ ‘Human.’ You called me ‘human.’ ”
The stranger’s frown deepens. “I do not understand the cause for your mirth. This is a customary way for demons to address your kind before we are told your name.”
I snort. “Oh-kay!” Standing, hands on my hips, I tip my head back to look at the stranger. “How much is Michaela paying you to prank me?”
“...‘Prank’ you?” The stranger stares at me, still frowning. “I am the demon Jaxallath, awakened from a long slumber. You did the spell. Did you not know what you were summoning, human?”
“Oh, come on. We both know you’re not a demon.” I roll my eyes. “So? Who are you? Some hungry freshman? She paying you with a free slice of pep?”
