The Art of Exsanguination - A study of Blood Magic

  That was the first class they’d share together that day. She hadn’t heard from Arric or Castigan since the fight, but this would be a chance to get close again.

  But first she had to stay awake through Spirit Binding - A Basic Introduction.

  Damnit. She thought, as she reviewed the course syllabus, I already know 95% of this stuff.

  The room was dark. Subdued lighting seemed to be a theme at Veilward. It did little to help her stay awake. The smell of something rotting nearby however…

  “Soul Shard,” she droned along with the rest of the class.

  “Very good,” said professor Morticia, a tall, pale woman with jet-black hair. “Now who can tell me the Academy recommended maximum number of bindings?

  Five.

  No one answered.

  “Come now, someone must know. I know, I know. First day jitters, but we’re here all semester, so let’s make sure we’re participating.”

  “Five,” Eve said, “‘but I honestly think it’s a bullshit recommendation for people who don’t have a personality any more distinct than a used gym sock.”

  Morticia smiled. “Well, Miss Bishop – you’re certainly correct, five is the recommendation – and you’ve alluded perfectly to my next question. Why five souls?”

  She looked directly at Eve. The answer came from the other side of the room.

  “Because most of us ‘used gym socks’ prefer not to lose control of our bodies when we stop being able to determine which voice is the real…’gym sock’.

  Eve turned to see the speaker. A tall young woman with violent red hair. She looked back at her, daring her to speak again.

  “Recommendations are for the weak of constitution,” Eve said, “if you can’t handle five voices in your head I don’t know how you’re going to –”

  “It would be six voices, actually. Yours, plus the other five. Or maybe you’re just the gym sock.”

  “For fuck sake, I –”

  “That’s enough, class. Let’s get back on topic, please. Wren Brown, Eve Bishop, thank you for contributing.”

  Eve stewed for the rest of the class. Hardly taking in what Professor Morticia was saying. Not that it mattered.

  Fucking, Wren.

  The candle snuffer at the front of the room finally snapped shut and the class began to filter out.

  She packed her things slowly.

  Fucking asshole. Stupid fucking red hair ‘ohhh it’six not five’, what a fucking –

  “Miss Bishop?”

  It was Morticia.

  “Yes Professor?”

  “Eleven souls. That’s the most I’ve ever carried. A heavy burden.” She paused for a moment. “I can see you’re not a…gym sock…I also know that you might find that things are a little different for…well, someone such as yourself.”

  Shade-born.

  “Be careful with the souls you carry. You could very well find that one day you wake up with a little less fire than normal and,” she snapped her fingers.

  Eve nodded.

  “I will, Professor.”

  Eve opened the door quietly, trying not to disturb the class in session. She’d gotten lost along the way and would prefer not to draw attention to –

  “Ahhh, you must be Miss Bishop!” Crowed a stout man in a hooded cloak. Professor Flint. She could just barely make out a bald head underneath the hood. “We’ve just finished a brief introduction to the material, but no matter, come in, please sit.”

  One seat left. Front row center.

  Arric sat in the back. He didn’t meet her gaze as she entered.

  Castigan.

  She looked to his left.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Great. That fucking asshole.

  Wren Brown gave her a sarcastic wave as she launched herself into the first row.

  “Now then, as I was saying, many among us would consider blood magic to be a fragmented field, dominated by two opposing schools: Corpse Raising, and Blood Weaving. This course will teach you the basics of both in hopes that, in your more advanced learnings you will master them and use them together.”

  “I don't see how.” Eve whispered under her breath.

  “Ah, a question from our latecomer! Perfect. Come, come, introduce yourself then ask away.”

  He motioned for her to stand next to him.

  Shit.

  Eve rose slowly from her seat and turned to face the class. Twenty-four faces stared at her. Castigan's glare was withering.

  “Hi. Eve Bishop. I was just wondering –”

  “Ah, ah, something interesting about yourself!” The professor smiled at her.

  “Uhhhh…some of you might recognize me from my dad's research on Soul Binding and the prevention of souls dissipation. Gerald Bishop.”

  “Ahhh, yes, a groundbreaker.”

  She nodded at him.

  “Now the question, dear.”

  “Well it wasn't a question really, I guess I was just saying that I didn't really see how the two fields would work together.”

  “A very common thought amongst first years. Would anyone hazard a guess?”

  The room sat in silence. The front row shifted uncomfortably

  “No one?”

  He paused.

  “Well th–”

  “You can use blood magic, mending, weaving, on a raised corpse. Relieve pain. Extend life.”

  Castigan's voice was cold as he stared at Eve.

  “But some of us might feel that raised souls don't deserve such treatment…such respect.”

  Flint cast a glance between the two of them.

  “Ah, yes, well…a very good application of both schools. Please, Miss Bishop, have a seat.”

  Just fucking end me.

  Eve sank into her seat in the front row. She could feel Castigan's eyes boring a hole in her skull from the back of the room.

  Whatever Flint said during the rest of the class, Eve didn't hear it. All she could hear was an echo.

  “‘Love’”, a filthy, disgusting, replacement for mortal morality.”

  All she could feel, was hunger.

  She stood in the dim hallway outside the classroom door. She planned to skip the dining common. She knew it wouldn't help. Being around others could only serve to deepen her embarrassment at that point.

  She had three hours before Practical Applications of Weaponry.

  Awkward timing. What should I do?

  She was deep in the middle of debating whether to go sulk in her room, risking an assault from Nisha and Jace's afternoon delights, or somewhere quiet on campus when –

  “Could you move?”

  She looked up from her thoughts.

  Wren.

  She stared.

  “You hard of hearing now, too?”

  “There's a whole hallway through which you're welcome to walk.”

  “No, but, you're in my way, so…move.”

  Eve continued glaring at her.

  She's not worth the fight right now, she thought.

  She stepped to the side, bowing as she did.

  “Thanks.”

  Eve let her take a few steps before letting out an exhausted, “fuck you.”

  Wren turned, slowly, looked her up and down, then replied – simply, “You wish you fucking could.” Before proceeding to walk off.

  It wasn't Wren she wanted to be fucking.

  That'd be something to do. Arric... Or Castigan…or both…but why did she even want to?

  She exhaled a deep breath.

  Not to mention that I've probably never been further from “eligible” to those two. Castigan might actually maim me if I touch him.

  It still sent a thrill through her.

  Gotta get a hold of myself.

  She ran a hand through her hair, pulling on a tangle that had been bothering her all morning. Maybe she could ask Arric to brush her hair the next time she saw him.

  Get. It. Together.

  The blade? Maybe she could go see if they'd learned anything. It was locked up in the administratorium. Dean Sheffield would probably be around, right?

  Both of her morning classes had been in Verne Academic Hall. The administratorium was about halfway across campus. No short walk.

  And then I have to get back across campus for Weaponry in the armory.

  She checked the candle at the end of the hallway.

  These fucking things.

  She pulled out her phone.. 12:33 - She had just over two and a half hours to get there and then back to the armory. She tossed her bag on her back and started jogging.

  She was out of breath by the time she arrived. Her chest ached, despite the distinct relief of a run unburdened by her own thoughts. Dean Sheffield was just leaving the building as she arrived.

  “Oh, excuse me, Dean Sheffield!”

  The straight-backed, military looking, Sheffield began to speak as he turned, “I’m sorry, young lady, I – Oh, Miss Bishop. It’s you.”

  She waved awkwardly at him.

  “Was there something you needed?”

  “Well, not so much needed,” she responded, “but I was wondering about…the blade. Is it – have you learned anything?”

  His expression hardened. “Not much…but now that I have you, maybe you can help me with something. Please, follow me.”

  She followed him back into the administratorium, her eyes lingering briefly on the pathway nearby. She hadn’t noticed the garden before…but they were close to the front gate where they’d entered. Close to the brick path. Close to where her heart had hit the floor.

  Close to where we tasted Anastasia.

  She knew the voice was still there. She just didn’t want to hear it.

  Sheffield led Eve into his office, a surprisingly elaborately decorated room. The man liked his lights.

  “Stand there.” He pointed to a spot in front of his desk. “Please.” Eve did as instructed. “We noticed a strange behavior that the blade has begun to exhibit. Please don’t be alarmed if you hear a loud noise, I promise you are completely safe.”

  He produced a glass box, and placed it on his desk. Inside it lay the blade.

  She could almost feel it in the room. She hadn’t noticed it before, but it was like she was being drawn to it.

  A sudden crack filled the air as the blade swiveled on the handle and shot across the glass. The blade slammed into the sidewall of its cage, again and again, almost desperately trying to escape. Desperately seeking its target. Desperately waiting to taste the flesh again.

  The blade was pointed directly at Eve’s heart.

  “You and I both know what would happen if this blade left this case.”

  Is…is he threatening me?

  “I imagine it should be terribly pleased to…run you through again.” His eyes, cold brown flecks against bright white, measured her response.

  Eve crossed her arms in front of her chest. A chill prickled across her skin.

  “And if it should…I think you would destroy this entire campus before something could stop you.”

  Nothing could stop you.

  She felt a sudden surge of power through her, a want, a need to fight. To grasp the blade, to drive it deep, to feed feed feed feed.

  The air burned as she inhaled deeply. The wound in her ached to her, called to her. It could sense it. She could sense it. Her heart could sense it.

  His soul.

  Her face was hot. Too hot. Red. Her breaths were heavy. She wiped saliva from her lips.

  “Miss Eve?”

  Her eyes snapped back to him. How long had she been staring into the blade?

  “I…thank you for letting me see it. I think I should go now.”

  He looked at her cautiously. “I think that might be for the best.”

  She stepped outside into the afternoon air. Her heart thrummed in her chest.

  Eve?

  She doubled over, hyperventilating.

  He’s still here.

  Her bile painted the ground.

  “I know.”

  She checked her phone. 2:37. Weaponry with Professor Tavour.

  She picked up a familiar jog.