18. Morgan

It’s beentwo days since Blaze approached me with the book.

Now, we’re sitting at an old wooden picnic table—the type that’s faded and peeling after seeing too many winters. The Matterhorn looms over us, its peak piercing the bright afternoon sky, majestic and indifferent as we read as much as possible as quickly as possible.

A picnic basket sits nearby, full of cheese and bread, but we’ve barely touched it since getting here.

We’re too focused on devouring the book.

It’s slow going. The text is small and squished, full of spells, lore, and cryptic warnings. None of them directly point to the answer we need.

“I can’t believe you’ve never read this thing before,” I mutter as I turn another worn page.

I don’t care how much he dislikes magic after what happened to his dad. How can he not be curious? How can he not want to arm himself with knowledge in case something happens and he needs to use it someday?

“Like I told you before—I stay as far away from magic as possible.” He flicks his gaze up to meet mine, capturing my full attention with the piercing starbursts of his eyes. “At least I did, until crossing paths with the girl with the comet tattoo.”

My fingers instantly go to the tattoo behind my ear.

“Why did you pick a comet?” he asks.

“It symbolizes change,” I explain, my mind traveling back to the day I chose it. “A comet, hurtling through the darkness, brings light and transformation. For me, it meant embracing my magic and changing my fate.”

Because I can use my blood to see the future, I think, although I obviously don’t say that part out loud, no matter how tempting it is.

The more time we spend together, the more it sinks in that there are others like me and my sisters out there. But I can’t risk exposing us. As much as I want to be honest with Blaze, two days isn’t enough time to build that kind of trust.

“Change,” he says, leaning back. “I like that. It’s hopeful.”

“It is,” I agree. “We used ink from the same pots, hoping it would bind us through blood.”

“Do you think it does?” He watches me closely, like I’m a secret he’s trying to unravel.

Which, I suppose, I am.

“I do,” I say, and that’s when it hits me.

“What?” he asks.

“I have an idea.”

“I can see that.” He smiles and motions for me to continue. “Want to share?”

“This might sound crazy, but hear me out.” I take a deep breath, excited and amazed that I didn’t think of this earlier. “You can use your blood to do spells on objects. So, maybe you can do spells on people, too? By inscribing your blood onto their skin, like a tattoo? Maybe there’s a spell you can do to get the poison out of Amber’s blood?—”

“I can’t do that,” he cuts me off, tearing his gaze away from mine.

I flinch at the sudden change of his tone. “But have you ever tried?” I ask, unwilling to drop it so easily.

Shadows darken his eyes. “I have.”

“And…?”

“It went wrong,” he says. “Really, really wrong.”

“What happened?” I lean forward, the book forgotten, needing to know more.

He presses his lips together, gazing out at the mountain.

I say nothing, instead giving him space to think.

“I wasn’t in full control of the magic,” he finally says. “It requires far more precision and strength to use blood magic on skin than it does on objects. When I tried, it was like the magic overwhelmed my intentions and took on a life of its own. I won’t do that to anyone again. I can’t. It’s not worth it.”

The intensity in his eyes makes it clear he won’t budge on this one.

At least, not yet.

“All right,” I decide. “Then it sounds like we’re going to have to figure out a way to strengthen your magic and make it more precise, so that you can do it.”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You seriously want me to do a blood spell on your friend, after I told you I don’t have that level of skill?”

When he puts it like that, I can’t really blame him.

“Amber’s magic is being eaten away by a potion that’s making her a beacon for shadow souls,” I remind him. “I’m not sure it can go anywhere worse from there.”

“Trust me,” he says, darkness returning to his eyes. “It can get worse. Way, way worse.”

I want to ask him what happened, but I don’t.

After all, I know better than anyone what it’s like to keep secrets. Pushing him isn’t going to get him to open up to me.

The only thing that will is time.

“Let’s keep searching through the book,” I say, since it’s clearly going to give me more information than Blaze will right now.

“For an idea that doesn’t involve me using my magic to curse your friend?” he asks.

“For anything that might help,” I say, and when we return to reading, he’s more focused than ever.

We continue in near silence, taking an occasional break to nibble on some cheese.

With each page turned, I feel like we’re getting closer and closer to an answer. But eventually, shadows creep across the pages as the sun starts to set, making it harder to read, until we’re ready to give up entirely.

“We should head back soon,” Blaze says, not sounding sad about it.

“Just a few more minutes.” I read faster, as if the answer’s going to pop out at any second. “There’s something here. I can feel it. We’re close.”

“Fine,” he says. “A few more minutes.”

I can tell from his tone that he doesn’t think we’re going to find anything.

But every bone in my body tells me to keep going. So, I turn the page, and the next, and then…

My breath catches at the detailed illustration of a quill, its red hue vibrant even in the fading light.

The title above it calls it the Crimson Quill, and the text around it speaks of ancient blood magic. Of a tool both powerful and perilous, with the capacity of creating unimaginable change.

“Look at this,” I say, and he moves closer as we read together.

The Crimson Quill was crafted by ancient blood witches, meant to amplify their magic. It’s a tool that can provide the precision and strength that Blaze’s magic lacks.

Better yet?

There are clear instructions for how to find it.

“Why do I feel like there’s no stopping you from trying to get this thing?” Blaze asks after we’ve read everything we possibly can about it.

“Because there’s no stopping me from trying to get this thing,” I say simply.

“I figured.” He breathes out, apparently knowing better than to put up a fight.

“Do you want to come with me?” I ask, hoping he does.

He pauses for a few seconds, thinking, and I remain totally still as I wait for his answer.

“You might need the book out there,” he finally says. “And you can’t read the book without me nearby. So… I guess that means I’m coming.”

“Good.” I smile, quickly turning serious again. “Thank you. You won’t regret this. It’s going to change everything.”

“I didn’t say I’ll use that thing on your friend’s skin,” he reminds me. “Just that I’ll help you find it.”

“Sure,” I say, although I’m too distracted by thoughts of the quill to debate this with him.

Instead, I pull out my phone and type a message to Amber.

We have a lead. More information to come later. Hang tight.

I press send.

Blaze walks to the other side of the table and starts putting the food and drinks back into the picnic basket.

“Do you really think this will work?” he asks.

“I do,” I say, with more conviction than I’ve felt in a long time. “The Crimson Quill isn’t just a tool. It’s a symbol of the power of blood magic—a reminder that our magic has roots that run deep into the history of the supernatural world. With it, we can do incredible things. I feel it stronger than the fire burning inside me.”

Blaze says nothing for a few seconds. He’s just watching me… studying me.

“What?” I ask.

“Our magic?” he finally says, and I instantly realize my slip-up.

I said “our” magic. As if both of us have blood magic.

Which, obviously, we do.

A stupid, potentially costly slip up.

I need to fix this. Before he figures out the truth.

“In case you forgot, I’m a witch, too,” I say, hiding my mistake with the pretense of being offended.

Then, as if to dig it in even more, I rise and call on my fire, letting it surge out of the tips of my fingers and dance around me like ribbons in the wind.

I keep my gaze locked on his, daring him to challenge me.

“As if I could ever forget.” He gives me a knowing smile, then releases his own stream of fire across the top of the table, allowing it to intertwine with mine.

There’s something so intimate about it, and we stand there for a few moments, watching the fire dance wildly between us.

Then, just as quickly as it began, we let the flames die down, the air shifting around us. It’s like a shared understanding—an acknowledgment of the power running through our veins. And, even though the fire is gone, the space between us continues to crackle and pop, refusing to simmer down.

The intense way he’s staring at me makes me feel like I want to burst into flames, too.

He takes one step closer, then another… and then he stops at the table and reaches for the book, closing it and bringing it to his chest.

“We need a plan,” he says, and any tension between us is replaced by sheer determination. “Retrieving the Crimson Quill won’t be as simple as walking into that witch’s cottage and taking it for ourselves. The book mentioned guardians, and traps designed to test the worthiness of those who seek its power. We have to be ready for anything.”

“Your family’s lived in this area for generations,” I say. “Do you have any idea what those guardians and traps might be?”

“Don’t you remember?” he asks. “I stay away from magic at all costs.”

“But magic is more than spells and trinkets,” I say. “It’s also myth and legend—stories that have been passed down from generation to generation. Stories enjoyed by humans and supernaturals alike about our struggles, our triumphs, and the eternal dance between light and dark.”

I sit back, letting my words hang in the air. Hopefully they’ll bring Blaze closer to seeing magic the way I do—not as a divide, but as a shared language spoken by every creature touched by its existence.

“You really want me to tell you stories from Swiss folklore?” he finally asks. “The type of stories my parents told me when I was a kid?”

“I’d love that.” I smile, motioning to the path ahead. “We have a bit of a walk back. So, entertain me.”

“Challenge accepted,” he says, and as he launches into the first tale, I listen attentively, trying to commit every detail to memory. It’s so different from the stories I heard growing up, and I’m fascinated by every word.

By the time we return to the hostel, the sun has set, and the world around us feels charged with magic, possibility, and the promise of answers and adventures ahead.

But, most of all, with a clear purpose.

Because we’re going to find that quill. Blaze is going to use it to get that potion out of Amber’s body.

And then, we’ll free the city from the shadow souls, once and for all.