The Order of Mischief I

2.16

Anya folded the letter that was delivered to her early in the morning. She stared at the mirror that hung opposite her bed. Her curly hair was frizzy and every baby curl on her head stood up like she was electrocuted. Her fingers ran along the edge of the paper that Fleamont gave to her. He awoke before dawn and was greeted by the swift flight of a pecking snow owl. It seemed that he wasted no time in ensuring that she received the letter written to her. And Anya wasted no time in opening the letter, especially after she recognised the calligraphic writing, alongside the golden Zion seal.

"What does it say?" James asked, folding his arms under his head as he rested upon it. He snuck into the room after his father had walked past his bedchamber to enter hers. James had spent a couple of nights with Anya because she asked him to stay with her, since her arrival. But last night, she stopped asking him to stay with her.

"Nothing much," Anya answered, handing him the letter. James sat up straight and looked at her with an uncertain and hesitant expression. She shook her hand, holding it out to him. James nodded and took the delicate paper into his hand, unfolding it slowly. His eyes stared at every letter on the page, half admiring the calligraphic writing, and half understanding it.

"Your father has invited us all to a Zion family party, on New Year's Eve," James dictated aloud. He was slightly irritated by her nonchalant reaction. But then again, she was a Zion, so, it was probably not surprising for her to be invited to exclusive events that consisted of powerful individuals within it.

Anya nodded, "Your father said he was aware of the content within that letter."

James quickly commented, defending his father's honour, "I do not think my father read your letter. He is not that type of person."

Anya shook her head, "No, he is not. I think my father invited you all directly in a letter addressed to your father."

James hummed in agreement, liking this conclusion more than the other ones that were offered up. He looked to her, "Do you want to go? And do you want us to come?"

"What else is written in that letter, James?" Anya asked, ignoring his question. She wondered why he was so fixated on the invitation within it.

"Nothing else, just that," James replied, shrugging his shoulders. He flipped the page over and over and reread it, looking for more information within it. But he could find nothing.

"It is blood magic," she said, smiling to herself proudly. As soon as the words escaped her lips, James threw the letter away from himself. He frowned as he looked at her, feeling like his fingers had touched something foul. Anya chuckled, picking up the letter addressed to her, "It is not a bad thing."

"Anya, blood magic is foul and it is forbidden," James told her, his tone warning her.

She shook her head, "No, it is a cruel form of magic that no one really knows how to use. It is one of the few mediums of magic that does not have a generically safe manner of execution. It does not steal from an individual's energy, but from the pain they are willing to endure for it."

"You know little about light and basic magic, but know so much about this?" James questioned.

"Yes," Anya nodded, "my father taught me about it. He said never to use it in school, or in front of others. But it is forbidden because it is untraceable. This type of magic demands payment in blood, hence its name. But it does whatever you want it to. Most people do not know how to make the payment and think it demands a life, so, they resorted to sacrificing others for their cause. That is why it is forbidden to use, but that rule does not apply to my family."

James stared at her with a curious expression, eager to know more about it. He promised to himself that whatever she told him from now on would most certainly remain a secret from everyone, even his parents. He asked, "Why would your father use blood magic on a letter?"