Cursed Blood | REWRITING

1. Sharp Teeth

A monster lurks inside every soul.

Icy tendrils of wind snaked through the thick layers of Silas Rosewood's robes, but it deterred the young wizard none. His shadows trailed his feet, watchful of any other that might cross their path, but he feared no wicked creatures would snatch him away in the night.

Behind dark storm clouds, the vibrant blood moon peeked out like a giant vampire iris in the sky. Festive strands of blue lights flickered and glistened like frosted crystals from the rafters of local shops and eateries. Some places even painted snowmen and snow deer on their window panes. Silas smiled, remembering how he and his mother used to decorate their home for the Night of Frost. It was only a night away.

Silence consumed the snow-sodden streets, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Someone would eventually catch him lurking around in the night if he weren't careful, but deep down, he believed the holy spirits would look after him.

If only he'd stayed snuggled up in bed that night with the candlelight to warm his shivering soul.

Upon reaching the cemetery gates, Silas plucked his wand from his robe's pocket and chanted a soft spell underneath his breath. "Avictia."

Frosted green embers encased the lock, seeping into the mechanism until it slowly gave way. With a soft pop, the lock snapped right off the metal bars. Silas smirked as he yanked open the heavy gate, gently closing it behind him so nobody caught him trespassing. He'd mend the lock before leaving, like always.

Still holding his wand, magical embers guided him through the endless maze of headstones. Snow flurries alighted onto his chestnut hair and on the sides of his face, melting against his rosy cheeks. Silas traversed the frozen ground, ducking beneath the branches of trees that dangled with the weight of the snow.

Upon reaching his mother's grave, Silas crouched down on the icy ground. He gently traced his fingers along the little angels carved into her headstone.

Beloved wife and mother.

Taken from us too soon.

Heavenly scripture was carved into the marble stone. A lone angel statue guarded her grave, placed there by Silas the very day they buried her.

"Hey, mom." Silas greeted her with a melancholy smile.

It was a tradition for him to come when the moon rose. At first, he sneaked away every night, but over the past two months he'd narrowed down his visits to every week.

From his robe's pocket, Silas produced a little sack of summoning supplies. He placed tealight candles all around her grave then sprinkled some salt on the snowy ground to connect them, ensuring to close the circle. With his lighter, he lit each individual candle and channeled his magic around each one to keep the wind from blowing them out.

To complete the ritual, he gently cut his index finger with his silver dagger and dribbled his own blood into his summoning circle, allowing his magic to pulse around them.

The summoning spell rippled through his core and vibrated through his veins. His palms burned with the amount of magic he forced into the circle. Despite how many times he'd summoned her, it always siphoned his magic and strength.

Necromancy was a form of black magic that the Supernatural Council did not look kindly upon. He was grateful to his grandmother for teaching him how to summon the dead long ago, promising to keep his gift a secret from his folks. She didn't wish for them to deem him wicked or plagued with madness. Not even his father knew he'd performed the spell on his dear mother countless times already. Silas could never tell him. He wouldn't understand.