When Wishes Bleed

by Casey Bond

  Praise for When Wishes Bleed:

  “Spellbinding and bewitching, When Wishes Bleed is the perfect mix of magic, danger, death, and love.” - # 1 New York Times Bestselling Author Jennifer L. Armentrout

  “The Selection meets The Hunger Games in this MUST read!” – Tara Brown, International bestselling author

  “Witchy, witty, and wildly addictive. Bond’s twist on Fate is imaginative and fun. Cinderella meets the Hunger Games in this magical tale of family, tradition, and deception.” - Tish Thawer, best-selling author of The Witches of BlackBrook series

  “Spell-binding and delicious, with magic that’s absolutely magnetizing. An unforgettable story with breakneck pace, enchanting characters and a dynamic plot. A real page-turner!” - Misty Provencher, author of the Cornerstone series

  “Casey crafted an intricate magical tale into a masterpiece. Be ready to be enthralled.” – Mary Ting, International bestselling, award-winning author Mary Ting

  “A magically phenomenal tale with a bewitching modern spin.” – Brittany Hively of Books Babble

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Map of the Sectors

  Praise

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One: When Wishes Bleed 1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  Part Two: When Wishes are Buried 13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  Part Three: When Wishes Burn 22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Casey L. Bond

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination.

  Copyright 2019 Casey L. Bond

  All rights reserved.

  Book Cover, Map and Interior Formatting designed by The Illustrated Author Design Services

  Edited by The Girl with the Red Pen

  To Misty,

  For showing me the magic in friendship.

  PART ONE

  When Wishes Bleed

  1

  The tips of my fingers, even my nails in their beds, were glacier blue despite the hot, dry autumn air. They ached and throbbed as I pumped water into a kettle and prickled as I carried it back inside and hung it over the fire. Nothing but death would bring them back to life at this point.

  I wrapped my icy fingers around my middle and waited patiently for her to arrive. She was almost here, thankfully. I had important business to see to today, but the two readings Fate demanded would take precedence.

  I took out the tea leaves and piled a heap on the counter, then sat three saucers behind them. To the witches I read for, they probably looked nearly identical, but each had its own markings and secrets only it could reveal.

  Today was my birthday, and my power and I were now considered mature. Fate, I knew all too well, was real. He wasn’t an obscure concept of destiny, or a dream of what the future might hold. And he certainly wasn’t luck or a wishing well. He was sentient and very much alive. I was Fate’s daughter, and he lived inside me.

  As a child, he was gentle with his demands, but today there was no gentleness left in him. His easy whispers turned to shouts, and lately, his nudges of guidance had become harsh shoves.

  Fate shoved me now, evidenced by my icy, dying fingers and the stiffness settling into my joints, but I had learned to push back. He almost always listened when I promised to do as he wanted in time, but today, he was impatient. He wanted a man to swing from the gallows, and for me to hang him there.

  I wanted to hang him there, to be honest. I wanted the needle-sharp pain to go away, to be able to extend my bones, and for the feeling to fully return to the parts that felt numb. The only thing holding me back was the fact that no crime had been committed yet. I always checked first to be sure. Fate warned me that an offense would happen, and that if I waited, whatever occurred would upset every witch in The Gallows, but I refused to hang someone when there existed the tiniest chance the offender might choose a different path. And I was a firm believer that until a line was crossed, there was hope.

  Fate… felt differently.

  Today was not a day I could hang someone unless I wanted to be exiled. It was the Equinox. Marring such a reverent and sacred day, even for Fate, was unwise. He would have to forbear his anger for a short time, and I would have to learn to better tolerate pain.

  I blew warm breath into the middles of my stiff fists.

  The girl stepped onto the porch, the worn planks creaking under her weight. She pushed the door open, lingering just inside as she surveyed my small, cluttered cabin. From head to toe, she wore red. Her robes, cloak, and even shoes represented the fiery color of her House. On her arm was a small basket, where the scent of fresh garlic wafted toward me: her payment.

  “Set the basket on the bench beside you.”

  She jumped and glanced at the basket as if she’d forgotten it hung from her arm. She gingerly sat it on the old wooden relic, careful that its unevenness didn’t allow the bottom to turn and spill the fragrant bulbs. Then she stood up straight and smoothed her skirt anxiously. She fussed with her cloak until she was satisfied with its position, the sides thrown back over her shoulders.

  “Tea, wax, or bones?” I asked, waiting for the answer I already knew she’d give.

  The girl chewed on her bottom lip while considering the three options. The smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks made her appear younger than she was, but her indecision was what truly showed her immaturity. Every witch in The Gallows knew what I preferred to read. The girl was no exception.

  The auburn shade of her hair was the same hue of the heap of loose tea leaves lying on the counter. Across the room, the kettle leaked steam. Loose, languid tendrils curled and entwined with one another. I could get lost in their silken dance if I stared long enough, so I snapped my eyes back to her to refocus.

  The water wasn’t heating for her; it warmed for the boy in the woods. He stood behind my cabin, clinging to the rough bark of a tree, desperately trying to talk himself into knocking on my door and asking me to read his fate, and berating himself for considering leaving before gathering it.

  Eventually, he would garner enough gumption to approach and ask me for the favor he coveted, but not before witnessing the girl’s hasty exit. He would emerge from the woods as she left through the back door, probably to keep from sullying his reputation should anyone see him here. And he would choose a tea leaf reading because he feared the color of candle that might choose him, and that the bones might tell him something he wasn’t prepared to hear; guide him where he was yet afraid to step.

  He was a boy who wrestled with intense self-doubt. A boy who would rather cling to a tree than let go. I pushed him out of my mind and watched as the girl inched farther into the room as if she was easing into a lake of cold water. There wasn’t much to see in the small, open space. A couch to her left, and a simple square table and chairs in the far corner. The kitchen lay to her right. Inside were only a few cabinets, and the stained, somewhat warped countertops were littered with precious stones and potted herbs. Her eyes caught on the hearth with its flickering fire, and the thicker slivers of steam pou
ring from the kettle.

  She turned away from the hearth and the tea.

  Her pale amber eyes caught on the casting cloth stretched over the table’s top. She noticed the wishbones piled high in a silver bowl, desperately wishing she weren’t so weak. I couldn’t hear her words in my head, but followed the way her delicate features revealed a swell of emotions that built and crashed over her countenance.

  “Fate doesn’t favor the weak,” I warned the girl as she shifted her weight back and forth, worrying her fingers. Her eyes met mine. In their depths swam both guilt and confusion. I elaborated for her. “You shouldn’t fear the bones. They can reveal things the wax and tea leaves cannot.”

  She was a girl who wouldn’t take advice even when it was in her best interest, a girl who gave fear dominion over her decisions. Her eyes flicked to a nearby shelf and the colorless candles it held. She refused to look away from the pale tapers, afraid the bones would call out to her again. They always did.

  “I choose wax, please,” she said, her voice quivering. The little mouse was terrified, not of the tea or wax, or even the bones… but of me.

  I gave her a smile to put her at ease, all too aware that it might do the opposite, and moved to the shelf, gathering the mound of slender tapers and bringing them over to the table. “Would you care to remove the cloth?”

  She hesitated, but gently pinched the corners of the dark silken square and pulled it from the wooden surface. I lay the tapers down, steadying them so none rolled off, then took the cloth from her. During the exchange, the tremble in her fingers rippled through the fabric into mine.

  Her eyes flicked to the plate of wishbones again, then back to me. I wouldn’t offer them to her again. She had made her choice, and my time was as valuable as my reading. I wouldn’t waste it on indecision or fear.

  I folded the dark casting cloth, tucked it into the wide pocket of my dress, and removed the bowl of bones from her sight. Tension oozed out of the girl’s muscles as soon as they were gone. I scooped a basket of mismatched candleholders from the shelves, handing it to her. “Place a taper in each, and arrange them in a circle.”

  She shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, then back again. “Which one do I start with? They all look the same.”

  “You’ll find they don’t feel the same. Hold each one, and then place it where you feel it belongs. The pattern is yours to design.”

  Her lips pinched together.

  “Think about a question to which you’d like to know the answer. Focus on it and the feel of the taper in your hand, then place it. If you allow it, the wax will show you the answer in the pattern you make. Let me know when you’re satisfied with the circle. The colors will reveal themselves, and I will decipher them for you.”

  She swallowed thickly and then picked up a taper, closing her fist around it and shutting her eyes for a brief moment before popping them open. She placed the first taper in the candleholder located at the twelve o’clock position. Slowly, she formed a circle, guiding each taper around the circumference in varying positions until every holder was full. She couldn’t see past the opaque wax to the color lying beneath, but I knew each one by heart. Her arrangement surprised me. It contained jarring combinations of yellow and black, violet and green, orange and white. When she’d completed the circle, she glanced up expectantly.

  “You’re satisfied?” I asked.

  She looked over the circle she made and nodded. “This feels right.”

  “I didn’t expect this from you,” I revealed, waving my hands over the sacred circle. The tapers lifted from their holders and began to spin around in the air. Their true colors absorbed into the white wax from the tip of each taper to its base. I expected to read her pattern, but again, she surprised me. Or rather, her future did. One candle in particular chose her, which was a rare gift.

  Her eyes struggled to keep up as the tapers slowed, and she watched warily as a single candle left its position in the wheel and drifted into the center. The wax was the color of eggplant, or a deep and long-lasting bruise – an unfortunate fortune for any witch to garner, but a wise witch would heed the warning and might be able to change her fate…

  “What does it mean?”

  “It’s a warning.”

  She gulped.

  “Foresight is a gift of Fate. If you heed his warning, you can make choices to avoid a catastrophe.”

  Her lips barely moved, but I saw them form a soundless ‘catastrophe’.

  “What will happen to me?” she asked.

  I whispered an incantation. Flame seared its wick, growing tall and flickering. Dark smoke drifted toward the ceiling. She watched the flame, the element and source of her power. The reflection of fire shone in her eyes. “Extinguish it,” I said softly.

  She closed her eyes and the flame died instantly.

  “Stay away from the border.”

  “For how long?” she was quick to ask. Too quick.

  I quirked a brow. She shouldn’t be going there unaccompanied, anyway. “Why are you leaving without permission?”

  The girl swallowed.

  Gripping the taper, I read the lingering breath she’d blown onto the wick. “A boy in Twelve? You’ve been sneaking across for months.”

  Her eyes widened. “Please don’t tell the Priestess. I’ll be banished from the House.”

  “The young man’s heart is as black as his words are sweet. He’s luring you into a web of lies. You should never see him again.”

  Her lip began to quiver.

  Oh, no. I could already feel the punch of emotions roiling through her. There was nothing I could do to stop a feeling as strong as love, but if I could get through to her, make her see that it was a love that had never been reciprocated… “Do you love him?”

  “Yes,” she croaked.

  “He does not love you.” A fat tear fell onto her cheek. She looked down at her shoes. Ashamed. “Deep down, you already know this.”

  A second tear fell from her eye. This one splashed onto the tip of her leather boot.

  “The occasional tryst might be overlooked, but you know that to be with anyone outside The Gallows means you can never return. Without your House, your power would dwindle. Do you wish to lose your flame?”

  She shook her head. She had to know that whatever fling she’d been having with the boy couldn’t last, but forbidden fruit was a temptation some couldn’t force themselves to turn away from.

  I softened my voice, hoping she could see reason. “What about your life? Do you wish to have it snuffed out?”

  The girl began to cry in earnest. She knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t lie to her, but the feelings she harbored for the malicious young man were as strong as his will to break her.

  “I can see his will,” I revealed, “and its only purpose is to hurt you.” The truth often stung.

  Her eyes snapped to mine. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “He will kill you. If you see him again, you will die by his hand.”

  She shook her head defiantly and wiped her nose. “He would never hurt me.”

  “It’s the truth. Now, you must make an important choice. The most urgent of your life. Will you heed my warning, or accept your fate?”

  She pushed by me and flung open the back door. A loud slam rattled the walls. I almost chastised her for rudeness, but in her defense, her reading was rather shocking. Most of the time, I held a sliver of hope that the person I read for might change their fate, but I didn’t think that would hold true in her case.

  If she went to him tonight as planned, this moment – and I – would be one of the last things she recalled before death claimed her.

  I hadn’t finished clearing the tapers away before the boy from outside entered the cabin. His cloak and robe reflected the blistering color of the House of Fire, but the clothes weren’t his. He had no flame. How strang
e... I’d never seen him before, and I thought I’d seen all the witches at one point or another. Still, there was something familiar about him, although I couldn’t put my finger on it. His eyes were downcast as they searched my cabin.

  “Would you like something sharp to dig the bark out from beneath your fingernails?” I asked, returning the wax and basket of holders to their rightful place.

  He bristled. “I want you to read my fate.”

  “What payment do you offer?”

  He fished into the left pocket of his cloak and withdrew a crystal. “Amethyst.”

  I plucked the pale purple stone from his hand. It was as big as my palm. I would never decline such a beautiful crystal. “Tea, wax, or bones?”

  “Tea,” he answered quickly. “Can you hurry? I need to get back soon.”

  “Before someone discovers you’ve come to me?”

  “Exactly.” His eyes darted from item to item in my sparse kitchen as I moved through the space.

  I gestured toward the countertop. “Choose a cup and saucer, then place three spoons-full of tea leaves into the cup. I’ll pour the water.”

  He moved to the counter and quickly scooped three lumps of leaves into a cup. His eyes flicked to me. The pupils were strange. Not round, but slitted… like a snake’s.

  I crossed my arms and leaned my hip on the counter. “Why did you come here?”

  “I’m sorry,” he asked, his brows furrowed.

  “You clearly don’t want to be here.”

  “I need my fate. Fast. Nothing more. And I don’t owe you an explanation beyond that, Daughter of Fate.”

  Kettle in hand, I paused over his cup. “You would be wise to be more respectful.”

  He inclined his head and muttered an apology. “It’s just that I’ve been plagued of late. Strange dreams. Voices…”

  I let the water flow into the plain white tea cup he’d chosen. All my teacups were white to the common eye, much like the tapers. But each had a distinct handle, and each chose the recipient of the fortune in a like way, as well. This cup reflected change. His life was about to be dramatically altered.