Page 24 of Grave Expectations

“I will not be spoken to in such a manner, no matter how important you were,” Franny said, emphasizing the last word. Roz put a steadying hand on Alaric’s knee. Selma’s gaze dropped to it, her lips turning up in a smile.

“Contact,” she said, wagging her finger. “How long have you been able to touch him?”

Roz’s cheeks pinked at the memory of the night before, of his lips on hers, then all over her body. She cleared her throat. “Since you left last night.”

“Fascinating. How?” Selma asked.

“Blood,” Roz said. “Just a drop or two.”

“Blood magic,” Franny hissed. “I cannot believe you dragged me here to bear witness to this! Blood magic has been stripped from our annals for a reason. Reckless, costly, imperfect. Blood magic always takes something, and it doesn’t like to give it back!” The amorphous blob swayed with every point, ticking them off in anger.

“Piss off, Fran. You’re just jealous. You were the last to try to commune with Alaric, weren’t you? And failed?”

The blob did not answer. Even without a face, Roz could feel the anger radiating off it.

“Now, let’s stop with the pissing matches. Alaric, tell Franny about the curse,” Selma waved to him good-naturedly. He took a deep breath and recounted the events leading up to his death, including the words of the reverend.

“Killed during a waning moon, weren’t you?” Franny asked. “Perfect time for banishment. Dragged from the coven to the church of our enemies. I’m assuming there was blood involved?”

“Mostly theirs, some of mine,” Alaric allowed, as if he didn’t still bear remnants of the bruises and scabs.

“Magic doesn’t always need skill, just intent. Accidental curse, probably placed you in a sort of…purgatory,” Franny said. “Witches don’t believe in purgatory. A land we cannot reach or understand, nor know how to access. That’s my best guess.”

“And my blood?” Roz asked. “All I did was cut my hand and bleed on his statue⁠—”

“On me,” Alaric said. “I was at the base of the statue…in case you fell. Some of your blood got on me.”

“Oh,” Roz said. If she’d fallen, there’s nothing he could have done. Yet he waited there, hovering, keeping her safe. She chanced a sideways glance at him. He wore the same surly expression he did on his statue, his gaze trained on her aunts.

“Blood is the elixir of life,” Franny said after a long pause. “It is the current through our veins, the life force of the vampire. It is grounding, as well. Your blood fell through the layers of our world and the next and tethered his spirit to yours.”

“And the more blood, the stronger the tether?” Selma suggested.

“Yes and no. A tether is a rope. You can fortify the rope and make it stronger, so he does not drift away again. But at some point, the rope is as strong as it will ever get.” Franny paused. “To let him pass, you have to sever the rope.”

“How do we know it won’t put him back in that purgatory?” Roz asked.

“Just break the curse,” Franny said, as if it were that simple. “You know the words, you know the intent, you know the moon phase…really, Roz, it’s simple magic.”

Roz’s cheeks burned again. She’d pulled the spirit of the beloved founder out of a three hundred-year curse and Franny still belittled her. She sat up straighter, refusing to let her aunt bully her like she was still a child.

“I am sorry I am considered such a grievous failure by you, Aunt Francesca. But I am the one necromancer that finally communed with Alaric, after centuries of you all trying and failing. And I did it by accident. I want to know more of what this means about my blood. There’s no way I’m the first person to bleed on his spirit in three hundred years.” Alaric put his hand atop hers and gave it a small squeeze in support. She glanced at him again, his surly expression replaced by a wolfish grin.

Franny was quiet for so long, Roz thought she wouldn’t speak. If it weren’t for the haze next to Selma, she would have thought she’d gone back to the spirit realm, likely refusing to speak to Roz again out of spite. That sounded like something Franny would do.

“Fran?” Selma asked.

“No,” Franny said, her tone clipped. “Blood magic is nothing to fool around with. It isn’t in practice for a reason, the trials never performed. Blood magic operates in a balance—blood gives life, so there must also be death. This is why the book is dangerous, why I hid it—” She cut off abruptly.

“Delia,” Selma muttered under her breath.

“What about my sister?” Roz asked, alarmed.

“Her decay magic, it’s a balance to you. It may explain why…well, never mind. Go on Franny, we don’t have all day.”

“In the past, we were able to reanimate corpses. It was eventually discontinued, due to some…unfortunate incidents. However, there are variations of reanimation. Alaric has no body, so perhaps your blood brings him closer to the mortal world, but also you to the spirit world. But make no mistake, he is not alive. He is a spirit, no matter how visible he is, no matter how tangible he becomes. He will never age, and he will remain tethered to you until he crosses.”

“Is it dangerous?” Alaric asked.