*Wattys Winner 2022*
Charles Abbot is finally living the life he has always dreamed of. At only 25, he has managed to turn his unique magical ability of copying memories into a profitable business. However, his comfortable life is shattered when he...
Cecilia Monroe was sitting at her vanity, reading a book by the flickering candlelight, when she heard the sound of her balcony door swing open.
She looked up, expecting to see that the latch had come undone from the wind. Instead, she saw Charles standing in her bedroom.
"Charles," she said, pulling her dressing gown around herself. "I'm not decent."
But Charles wasn't looking at her attire. His eyes were dead and dull, full of a gravity that frightened her. The darkness under his lids made him look like a man who had just crawled out of his own grave.
"Is your father home?" he asked. His voice sounded strange, as if he were possessed.
"I-I don't know. I think he plays Whist on Sundays. With some of his friends."
Charles walked towards her, slowly. "I don't believe you. Tell me where he is."
Cecilia countered Charles' movements, working her way around the edge of the room. "Charles, what is going on? You're scaring me."
"You and your father have something of mine," he continued, "and you're going to tell me where it is."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
Cecilia had made it so her back was to the balcony. She made a quick calculation, wondering if she could make a run for it: dangle off the edge, fall the one floor down into the bushes, and escape into the night. But before she could make up her mind, she was grabbed—roughly—from behind.
She screamed, looked back, and realized she was being held by Charles' cousin, Lavinia.
"Lavinia!" she cried, but the woman wrapped an arm around her and pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth. The smell made her head spin. The last thing Cecilia heard before succumbing to the darkness was Lavinia murmuring, "You're coming with us."
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Charles stared at the body of his fiancée lying limp on the hardwood floor.
It was the same spot in their parlor that Lillian had been just a few days before. Only this time, instead of Juliette's lightning cage keeping her hostage, there was a large rune circle transcribed in Charles' blood.
Charles didn't like blood magick: it was a messy, primitive, and typically left a bad taste in his mouth. But sometimes, in situations where rage and madness coursed through his body, blood magick worked the best. And right now, he was furious. He couldn't even feel the cut he had made on his arm.
Slowly, Cecilia stirred. When she opened her eyes, she tried to scramble out of the circle, but that was impossible: the blood magick held her, trapping her within an invisible barrier. Once she realized this, she surveyed those who were gathered in the parlor: Charles, Lillian, and James. Her eyes were wide and fearful, and with it came that sickening sense of calmness, of trust, washing over Charles, toying with his mind, telling him to set her free...
