Blood magic—practiced thousands of years ago in the west, even though its origins hailed from the far east from a continent now unknown to the rest of the world, abandoned out of fear and hate. It was a land once rampant with mages, extraordinary creatures, and wonderful landscapes. Now it was left tainted with the remnants of death, war, and residual magic—the kind of magic everybody believed would kill, the kind no one wanted.

Female mages were responsible for the creation of menstrual blood magic—a magic that required no sacrifice and was no more dangerous than spilled ink.

Revan had told her—tried to convince her, really—that while menstruation in current society is a taboo, generally viewed with shame and disgust, there really wasn’t anything to be ashamed about. Some parts of the world, particularly the west where this magic was once prevalent, naturally weren’t shy about such topics, ones Zara herself considered sensitive, especially around men. Revan sure didn’t shy away from it, and acted like it was completely fine that he stand there with Zara’s jar of bloody gauze in his hands, speaking about things that would get any other man smacked across the face.

It hadn’t been easy. Zara couldn’t even face him properly for the first hour of his teaching, even though she was genuinely interested in everything he had to say. The more he taught her, the more curious she became. Which also humiliated her, because this magic was related to sex. Revan mentioned love spells and domination and too, but Zara was mostly fixated on the sex part. She wasn’t so ignorant as one would think, despite being shut in her home for years. Her fondness for knowledge guided her to some books (romance or otherwise) that hinted at the basics, but typically glossed over the details. She’d leave the rest to her imagination.

“Which sex do you prefer? Men or women?” Revan asked her bluntly. “Though, I can take a guess.”

“Which…do I prefer?” Zara stuttered out. “What?”

Her expression must have frustrated him because Revan clucked his tongue and let out a sigh. “You never let me forget how inexperienced you are at everything.”

Zara didn’t care. At that point she wanted to go home and not see his face for the rest of the month. Images of him and his “experience” started flashing through her mind for no reason. He had asked her about preference. She didn’t want to outright state it, since he seemed to already know. But it left her wondering what his were. She couldn’t imagine him with another man—or rather she wouldn’t let herself imagine it. But also imagining him with another woman made her uneasy. She’d become used to being in his presence now, without feeling too conscious over the fact that she was spending some nights alone with another man.

To her, he had become a teacher, somewhat of a role model, and a means of escape. Not once did he make her feel discomforted in his presence before. Now that he had gone and brought up the inappropriate subjects of menstruation and sex, she was suddenly hyper aware of herself as a woman, and him as a man. He was a man over a century in age, but his youthful appearance made him look maybe a decade older than she. With every glance, the glimmer of his brown eyes, the silky waves of his black hair, the clean trim of his beard over a dark, sleek jawline was catching her attention a little too much. She cast her gaze down only to be met with thoughts of his slim, masculine build under his clothes.

He went on about how she must be especially careful when practicing blood magic, as her “emotions” could cause her intent to go wayward, and that even in normal circumstances her overemotional responses could cause dangerous outbursts, such as the one she’d brought upon Naz.

“We’re lucky it hadn’t been any worse than a broken glass to the face,” he said.

Zara wanted to bang her head on the table. Yes, her stupid fury of emotions had gotten in the way, as usual. She wondered what kind of humiliating chaos she’d ensue with the uncontrollable sexual emotions that always occurred during this time of month. Disgusted with herself, she prayed Revan wouldn’t notice her distress.

Despite it all, the lesson hadn’t been a waste. The blood had been put to use, even if doing so made her queasy. He kindly reminded her that it was from her own body to shut up any further protests from her. She pinched and rubbed the gauze between her forefinger and thumb, letting the slimy substance coat her fingers. Revan provided her with a potted flower that had seen better days.

“I dug it up from the yard while you were in the washroom. I’ve never been that good of a gardener,” he explained, pouring himself more coffee from the jug. He really likes it, Zara randomly thought, as she herself could never ingest more than a cup without bloating. She watched his movements and tried not to think about the brownish-red gunk all over her fingertips. “Let’s run a test. Put your fingers into the soil, recite the spell as I’ve written in your scroll for you. To be honest, I’m not sure how effective it will be, considering the blood isn’t as fresh as it would be on your first day.”

Zara chose not to respond to that, just like she hadn’t responded to half the things he’d vocalized tonight. She pressed her fingers into the pot with the dead, crunchy flower and slowly went over the written spell, doing her best not to stutter through it. Stuttering never produced efficient results. Better to be slow than ineffective.

The wilted flower, dirty and brown, slowly but surely transformed. It’s wrinkled, dried up petals bloomed a vivid pink with orange speckles, the stem changed to a lively green and even grew some fresh leaves on it. Zara gasped.

“See, you’ve given it back its life,” Revan said proudly.

Blood that was both sacred and dangerous, one that could produce life, but could also bring about death. It had one effect on plants and animals, another on humans. For Zara, as Revan had emphasized with the question of her sex preference, it would be men. She needed to be careful.

“The men you choose to bring to life with your magic, should you ever fall into that position, will not be the same as they were originally,” Revan advised. “You can also choose to heal their worst wounds or cause them to fall fatally ill, per your desire. Should you choose to control their will—”

“Could I possibly control you?”

Revan paused, and narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Not even as a test?”

“No. And don’t bother trying so on your own. I would sense it coming before you’d even start. And then there will be consequences, since I’ll know the thought’s crossed your mind.”

“…Right.”

He snickered. “And you thought me a pervert.”

Zara scowled, defensive. “I wasn’t thinking of it like that. I was just curious.” If it would work on you. But of course, she couldn’t admit that now, even as a joke.

“Sure. I understand. Whatever your reason would be, sexual or otherwise, don’t think I will take it lightly.”

Zara’s cheeks burned. “It wouldn’t have been for sex. And I won’t do anything in the first place.”

As she continued to wipe her fingers clean, Revan smiled amicably.

“We’re done for the night, Zara. We can go over more again next month, but I will keep my end of the bargain for our next lesson.”

Drained, Zara managed a faint smile back.

She thought she’d be more exhausted by now, yet as soon as she stepped out the door, with her hooded cape wrapped around her shoulders to protect her from the cool breeze and mists of dawn, she found herself perked awake. She’d normally be out of Revan’s house while it was still dark out, but at this time, the sun was just beginning its ascent behind the peaks. From here, the view of Mount Lilith was majestic as it always was, its snowy cap cast in a pinkish glow. It was a bit haunting, the way this vast obsidian rock loomed above the morning skies, casting its dark shadow over everything.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Revan called out from the door, keeping his voice low. Though Zara thought it a bit pointless to be quiet, considering the sun was beginning to rise and the day workers were likely up and about already. She could see an older gentleman in a distant house closing the front gates behind him before making his way to the stable where his horses were.

Revan left the door ajar, leaving Zara alone in the front behind the gates. He walked her home after every lesson, to ensure she reached her destination safely. Zara could appreciate that.

She stretched her back, surveying the expansive property. His home must have been expensive. It was in a well-to-do neighborhood not too far from her own. The style of the house was traditional like her own home—a house built from clay, stones, and wood—but better pigmented, and less weather-worn. Exhibited on the outer walls were a few decorative engravings of angels and suns, and the auburn roof tiles remained in good condition. He had to have paid more for steady repairs. No one in Pria got by without yearly visits—sometimes twice a year—from maintenance workers, unless they’d like to live in a pile of crumbled rot. Revan’s house, though, looked to be in slight better condition than the other houses in the area.

The cost of extra repairs—or extra anything, really—must be nothing to him. She couldn’t help but wonder where all his money had come from. How much did he have, where had he earned it? She couldn’t picture Revan working a standard day to day job, ever. It just didn’t suit him. He had more power than he was showing her; Zara was slowly starting to sense his flares here and there, thanks to his recent training on magical auras. He was a Sorcerer, she couldn’t forget that. So what led him to where he was now? What was his story?

These were questions Zara was too shy to ask at her lessons, too afraid that he would shut her down for going off-topic. Tonight was the first time she’d actually spoken to him about problems outside of their usual lessons, and she spoke mostly of herself. She didn’t know how she could naturally bring her curiosity about him to light. Every scenario she could think of felt too random. It would seem as though she were fixated on him, like she’d spent long amounts of time pondering over him, which would only make him jump to conclusions about her, similar to how he had tonight.

Footsteps approached from the frost-covered road beyond the gates. Zara turned to see a young man in a black coat walking toward the house from the left. She awkwardly stood there, undecided on whether she should hurry back into the house or not. He was close enough to know that she was standing there. Running away would make it obvious that she was running away from him. But she was afraid that if she stuck rooted to her spot, the man would say something to her.

What did it matter if he did, though? The chances of him minding his own business were a lot higher anyway, right? Maybe Zara was being a bit too paranoid. Irrational. Still, she didn’t really want to face anyone right now, this early in the morning.

The man stopped at the gates.

Shit.

She’d been staring him down as he approached, like a fucking idiot. Of course he would stop at such suspicious behavior. Anyone would. Zara had been so lost on her own paranoia that she’d lost all awareness of herself.

Revan was taking too long. She should have just gone back inside to wait for him. The soothing breeze had grown chilly. She stared at the man. The man stared back.

So now they were both standing there on opposite sides of the gate staring at one another, at a loss. That broad figure, the structured face, the scruffy beard, those golden eyes she could now see clearly in the early morning glow—she began to recognize who this man was.

He shook his head and burped. “I think I’m still drunk,” he said, with a slight slur. “I could have sworn I’d seen you somewhere before.”

Zara couldn’t move. She gazed at him in awe, because she couldn’t actually believe it. She’d basically forgotten about him since her spontaneous night out, but now that he was here, the fleeting attraction came rushing back and her heart pounded in her chest.

“Yes. You have,” she mumbled.

“What was that?” he asked. “I couldn’t hear you. Do I look weird to you or something?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been looking at me the whole way here, girl.”

Zara swallowed. “Are you—? No, you’re Cina’s cousin, right?” What was his name again? Amir? Omar? Shit, I’m confused.

He slowly blinked twice before registering what she’d just said. “How do you know—?” His eyes lit up with clarity. “Oh! It’s you! You’re Zara!”

What.

“You…you know my name,” Zara stammered out. And I’ve completely forgotten yours.

How could she be like this? How could she forget the name of a handsome face, but then continue gaping at him like a fool?

“Yeah, uh.” He laughed, running his hand over the top of his head as he stepped closer to the iron bars. Last she saw him, those dirty brown locks were a loose chaos, but this morning it was tied back in a neat sleek knot. “You’re, um. I mean, I know you by word of mouth only. I’m sorry, but I’ve pretty much forgotten what you looked like, and that we met before. Well…almost forgotten. I’m remembering a bit now. Cina introduced you, but I was pretty out of it I think. I mean, I never saw you again after that night, so…” He smiled sheepishly. She found it endearing, though the first half of what he said was like a prick in the head.

“You’ve heard of me, though?” She didn’t know what the town was still saying about her. She didn’t care to know. Most people, like Cina’s cousin, didn’t even know what she looked like, besides the few that had survived that night. But right now, the town’s gossip was bothersome. What soiled image does this man have of her, because of such talk? Maybe it was still best not to know.

“Besides the times Cina’s mentioned you, it’s ‘cause of what happened at that boy’s death ceremony. My uncle can’t seem to get over it.” Uncle… “—Oh he was the one who performed the ritual, but it was like a disaster, obviously.” He chuckled like the whole thing was nothing, but Zara couldn’t bring herself to smile.

It made sense. He and Cina were related, so they had the same unhinged witch doctor for an uncle.

“Were you there?” she said, her breath practically halted. She hadn’t seen him there. He couldn’t have been. If he had, she would have noticed. He would have been with Cina, at least. She definitely would have seen him.

“Nah.” His smile was casual and he shrugged. “I don’t get involved with those things. That’s my uncle’s forte, but…” His relaxed expression wavered, and he looked away, to the road in front of him. “I shouldn’t get into it,” he finished lightly. “I went to that memorial after, but that was it. I’m just not the religious type, or to watch people dying over it.” He looked Zara straight in the eye and said in the most serious tone she’s ever heard him, “I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t reply, couldn’t utter any form of thanks; it made her want to cry about it all over again—and she’d been doing well forcing herself to get over it.

“Hey, um,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I almost forgot to mention. Tonight, Cina and I ran into…your brother? Our families met at the memorial. He was at Ruvini’s alone tonight. I mean, I recognized him because I’ve seen him around the red light side of town a lot lately.”

Wait…wait—

“You mean Rowan?” she said, incredulous to this information.

“Yeah. We all got to talking and he mentioned you guys were having a party or something in a couple of days, something about an engagement in the family was it—?”

Zara didn’t mean to tune him out. It was just the sudden rush in her head that prevented her from hearing anything else. What in Mother’s hell? Rowan had been at that tavern. Tonight. And he’d been out plenty of other nights too, apparently.

She didn’t know why it irked her that he had snuck out. This was normal for him, especially come warmer nights, and normal for her too at this point. But unlike him, she was only limited to solo excursions in the forest or weekly lessons at Revan’s house, which were both a safe distance from home. But here Rowan was, running off to and around town as usual, because he had people to see, and people who wanted to see him. He frequented these places so much that he was able to sit by himself at a sleazy bar and be comfortable about it. Whereas she couldn’t fathom climbing on a horse in the middle of the night without Rowan by her side, and that had only happened once when they’d become like friends somehow. She would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t feel a little jealous.

And now here was Cina’s cousin telling her that he and Rowan—and even Cina herself!—were acquainted with each other, and were out and about having fun while she’d been sitting here with her own menstrual blood covering her fingers, humiliated half the night.

“—but anyway, I’m sorry, I’m rambling aren’t I? I do that. Habit. So apparently, Cina’s family’s accepted the invite, and I’ve kinda gotten to like Rowan, knowing he’s feeling low right now. I wouldn’t want him alone. And since I didn’t get an invite from him, I was wondering whether you thought it a good idea for me to—”

Regret poured onto her now that she’d tuned back. She was struggling to understand where he was getting at, since she missed the first half of what he said. Invite? Cina’s family? He was referring to the engagement party. But what was this talk about liking Rowan and getting an invitation? She couldn’t even ask him to go back and repeat himself without looking like an insensitive dunce.

But he never was able to finish that thought before Revan finally stepped out, wearing a long gray cloak.

“Were you standing out here all this time?” Revan asked her, surprised. “Why? It’s cold. You should have just waited for me in the house.” He hadn’t noticed the other man yet. “I think I had a bit too much coffee.” He rubbed his abdomen. “You’d think I’d learn to rid myself of these pains by now, after all these years, but…”

Following Zara’s panicked back and forth gaze, he finally made eye contact with the young man behind the gates. It was good that he’d stopped talking when he did. Zara had a feeling he was about to reveal something unexplainable in front of a stranger.

Cina’s cousin stood there, eyeing them both. Zara’s breath caught in her throat as she realized what this looked like.

“Can I help you?” Revan inquired.

The other man cleared his throat, lowering his head. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I was just talking to Zara, here. We’re acquainted.”

Revan narrowed his gaze. “Acquainted?” He stepped closer to the gate. “What’s your name?”

The cousin looked from him to Zara, then back again, uncomfortably. “Um, no. I didn’t mean anything by talking to her, I was just—”

“I mean no harm. I’m asking you for your name, sir.”

“…Emran.”

Emran. I remember. I knew I had it at the tip of my tongue. Even though Revan was intimidating the man, Zara was just grateful to have found out his name like this. She would rather not be the one to have asked, especially since he already knew her name.

Revan gave him a quick nod. “Emran. Do you have a last name?”

“Um, yes. Mukrov.”

“Huh. I think I’ve seen you around town in the late hours before.”

Emran scratched his temple. “Right, yeah. I’m there.”

“I’m Revan, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“May I ask what you two were discussing?”

“He’s Cina’s cousin,” Zara quickly butted in. “Do you remember? The girl with the yellow hair?”

“Ah, yes, that…friend of yours,” Revan said, clasping his hands together. “She’s good to you, from what I’ve seen of her. Though, my more vivid recollection of her is that yellow hair dripping red with wine.”

Emran laughed. “You were there for that?”

Revan smiled. “Fond memories.”

Emran laughed again. “Right, right. It was pretty funny.” He paused, seeming to assess that he was getting in the other man’s way, and backed off. “But…anyway, I should get going now.” He looked back at Zara and raised a hand. “It was good meeting you. Again, I should say. So, uh, so long.”

“Wait, Emran!” Zara spoke up as he began walking back up the road. She hurried over to the gate and clasped a hand on one of the bars. “You were asking me something. What were you going to…?”

Emran was already shaking his head. She could sense his quick glance back at Revan standing behind her. “No. Don’t worry about it. Thank you, though.” He smiled kindly. “Talking to you this morning seemed to clear my head.”

Zara watched him leave, gripping the bars with both hands now because her legs felt like they’d fall apart.

He couldn’t fathom being exposed as “wrong” for anything in his life. Especially not this.

No matter how many of those damn blasphemous, disbelieving, lecherous fools in this depraved town doubted his words, he would never cave into their demands to compromise himself. He would never dare change his ways of life, nor his views of people. This was what he’d trained for, for years on end, to become as important as he was now: a witch doctor bringing the downfalls of this world to divine justice. For the common folk to bow at his feet for the saintly services bestowed over their weakened souls.

The boy had served retribution; he was now gone from this world. Not exactly in the way he had planned—he would rather not think of such shameful details—but he’d gone to where he belonged, leaving his blackened body parts to rot in the rocks below the cliff.

But then there was that woman. Zara. She hailed from a common councilman’s household—the Anvars. A good respectable family with an equally respectable man of the house, was what Governor Izmil had told him.

He scoffed. It was nothing but folly to him.

Anyone with a mind as sapient as his would figure that something was amiss. That quake in the mountain had been no coincidence. It was the act of a sinister intent. That pitiful boy’s accusation, the girl’s frightful disposition, her unconvincing act of innocence….he was called many things throughout his life, but a dumb man was not one of them.

He was sure he wasn’t mistaken about her. But there wasn’t much he could do at the moment. He’d regretfully displayed an act of weakness, in front of everyone, for the sake of his stupid niece, who had somehow gone off and befriended the fiendish thing. It angered him. His niece angered him. The Anvars angered him. But most of all, he was angry at himself. Among all the chaos, among all that horrible confusion, he had let his niece’s distress sway him. Because he had not sniffed out the witch lurking in the herd first, which was something he was supposed to have done as the reputable witch doctor he was known to be.

Nobody would trust his belated judgment about that woman now. His own family members wouldn’t allow him to go after her either. They and the Anvars had become acquainted with each other. He couldn’t touch them without his reputation falling through the cracks.

How could such a thing have happened? How could evil have gotten so close to him, yet remain untouchable? It couldn’t have been a coincidence. It had to be something dark at play. He truly believed so!

He sat in his most comfortable lounge chair in the study, gazing resentfully out the window at the summit’s snowy peak in the distance. The black mass contrasted considerably with its white icy top. Mount Lilith was dark compared to its surrounding companions, however, it was starting to look blacker than usual.

“Uncle,” a soft voice spoke behind him. His niece was standing by the door.

“What is it?” he replied without turning around.

“We’ll be heading out soon. Ammi’s going to leave you some supper on the stove.”

This made him turn his head. She was wearing a cropped jeweled blouse and a slim Georgette skirt. A shawl was draped across her chest, no doubt hiding from him the low cut of her blouse. Her golden locks were curled and fastened high above her head, with a few wavy strands let loose. A green, rhinestone bindi stamped her forehead, her colorful bangles—no doubt from his sister’s shop—clinked together whenever she moved her arms.

She was beautiful, but he wished she’d give up such senseless appearances. She was still young and didn’t realize the bigger picture of life. It seemed her main goal now was to come off as a seductress whenever possible. His grip on the chair’s armrest tightened. Idiot girl. Foolish bawd. She was becoming one of the damned before she knew it.

They all would. His family was attending a party at a witch’s house. And they didn’t even know it. He almost let out a bitter laugh.

“What did she make?” was what came out of his mouth in a low mumble instead.

“Beef lentils. There’s rice in the other pot.”

“…Very well. You have yourself…a pleasant evening.”

She smiled. “I’m just glad Abbi’s joining us for this.”

“His head is doing better?”

She nodded. “He’s still a bit slow, but moving around again.”

“…Good.” Now you will be gathering around the thing that was responsible for your father’s head injury.

“Well, I’ll be on my way. Eat well,” she said, then took her leave.

He sat there silently, in his brother-in-law’s study room. He’d arrived to this house only ten minutes prior, and opted to stay the night and watch the house while they were off engaging with the enemy.

He leaned his head back on the chair, wondering how he was supposed to let this unfavorable attachment of his niece’s go on. She may feel an affinity toward the Anvar girl, for whatever reason it may be, but he couldn’t simply leave her to rest in the hands of danger. More so, he couldn’t let himself be caught up in it. He needed to show them, show everyone, that woman’s true nature. He needed them to know his credibility as a doctor ran true. He needed to restore the faith of this fallen town.

An hour dragged into two. The lentil and rice pots grew cold. He stood from the chair, grabbed his cloak and turban, and left his sister’s house.