I’m so distracted by the sight, I don’t realize Mamá has already entered the circle or that everyone is patiently waiting for me. I hasten my pace and reach the high priestess of our coven.
“Hola, Abuela,” I say as I face my paternal grandma.
“Niña,” she says in an informal greeting.
There is an athame in her hand—the one we use for every ritual. The handle is sleek and black, and the blade is long, double-edged, and shiny silver in color. We’ve had this ritual tool in our family for generations. Abuela passed it down to Papá, who left it to Mamá and me when he died. Abuela wields it now, but one day, it will be my responsibility to wield it properly.
“How do you enter?” she asks, holding the tip of the blade to my throat.
“With perfect love and perfect trust,” I reply. This is how we enter every circle ritual.
She lowers the blade, kisses my cheek, and steps aside. I enter the circle and stand beside Mamá. Abuela returns to her place beside us. Three generations of López witches stand side by side, ready to worship the moon’s power.
“Full moons have forever been a mystical time of connecting with our spiritual, sacred selves,” Abuela says. “As born witches, it is our duty to honor all phases of the moon. The full moon tonight represents the culmination of energy. It is during this time we celebrate the moon’s completion. The full moon grants us the opportunity to pave the way for change, to begin again.”
I stand strong beside Abuela and Mamá, even though I can’t help but miss Papá. Every month, when we pay tribute to the moon’s strength, I think of him. He should be here, beside us now, not waiting for us in the afterlife.
“Because the full moon increases psychic and emotional sensitivity, we have been preparing for this ritual since the early morning hours,” Abuela says. “You should have completed your meditation to realign your chakras and the sage smudging ritual to cleanse your aura. Do not allow the powerful energy to overwhelm you tonight. Instead, harness it as a gift provided by the moon to improve your lives, to start anew, and to strengthen your connection with spirit.”
Abuela glances at me, and my cheeks warm. The only witches who can connect with the spirit element are spirit witches, so I know she added that last bit just for me. Like Mamá, she doesn’t quite trust my judgment or instincts. It seems every witch in the village thinks I’m a novice spirit witch.
“Beneath our cloaks, we are sky-clad, for this is the way our ancestors worshiped the moon, the earth, the goddesses, and the gods,” Abuela continues. “Tonight, we will bathe in the moonlight and allow the power of the moon to infuse with our mortal beings. She shall replenish us, and we shall release all negativity, for there is nothing better than replacing the darkness within us with magical moonlight.”
Holding my hands out to my sides, I close my eyes as I tilt my head back to face the sky. The moonlight shines over me, and I imagine my mind, body, heart, and soul soaking the luminescent silvery rays.
Sunlight energizes and uplifts me, but moonlight excites something else, something sunlight could never touch. Moonlight awakens my intuitive, spiritual side. This side of me is softer, more receptive to empathy and kindness. After every moon ritual, I’m ready to change the world. Absorbing full moonlight is therapeutic and healing, and it especially nourishes my sacral chakra.
“Chant your intentions aloud. Tell the moon what you wish from her,” Abuela says, and the many different voices of our coven mates clutter my mind. I focus on my own intentions, blocking out the wishes of others.
“Allow the moon to shower you with love and strength,” she continues. “Focus on your innate psychic abilities and connect with her.”
The sudden rush of the elements washes over me. The wind increases, tickling my nose and blowing loose tresses into my eyes. But I don’t dare open them, even though I so desperately want to see if the others are connecting to the elements as strongly as I am. The temperature rises, and mist forms. The earth vibrates through my feet, sending shock waves through every fiber of my being. I’m giddy with pleasure, power, and rejuvenated strength.
And then everything stops.
The world is spinning, witches are screaming, and I’m falling to my knees as I break connection with spirit.
Mamá stands before me, but she looks into the distance, jaw open, eyes wide with fear.
Still on all fours, I glance in the same direction. My eyes adjust to the darkness of the woods—and the several sets of glowing crimson irises that stare back at me.
Vampires.
My coven begins to slowly back away, but Mamá steps forward. The witches form a line of defense behind us as they hold hands, interlocking fingers.
“You’re not welcome here,” Mamá says.
In all my years, Mamá has never frightened me. She’s small, short, and while she does have a fiery temper, her bark is much worse than her bite. The anger she showed me today, when she slapped me into obedience, is the most violence I’ve ever seen from her. In fact, she is the one witch hesitant to send witches from our coven out on regular patrols of Darkhaven to hunt vampires. She might not be as soft as Liv’s mother, but rarely does Mamá ever strike fear in my heart.
But she does now, confronting the vampires. Her words are laced in hatred rooted so deeply, I’m sure even she doesn’t know when or where or how she ever started hating vampires.
“Leave this place. Now,” she orders.
I stand, feeling a little woozy from my abrupt disconnect with the elements, but I regain my composure quickly. My hands hang as balled fists at my sides as I scan our surroundings. There’s at least a half-dozen vampires approaching us, each with eager smiles. They’re waiting for the command—the one that tells them they can charge.
It takes only seconds for me to find their leader. He smiles back at me, his eyes offering me a knowing stare. The vampire I allowed to escape last night fulfilled his promise. He returned, with friends, and is coming for my soul.
My coven mates, dressed nude beneath traditional ritual cloaks, are inexperienced in the craft of war. So many choose not to fight and send me out instead.
My heart sinks a little the moment I realize I’m unarmed. My stake is inside, tucked safely in its box in my bedroom. The witches have joined hands, lending their strength and power to those who can harness it, like the fire witches of our coven.
“Tatiana, Ava, join us,” Abuela says from behind.
“Sígueme, niña,” Mamá says.
She’s several steps behind me and reaches the threshold of witches by the time I’ve reached the altar. I glance over and notice the athame. I have only moments to consider my options. At any moment, the vampires can outmaneuver us by speed alone. The last thing I want my coven to do is break the link to allow me passage. That would weaken them. I could never forgive myself if their demise is due to my actions.
My gaze darts between the athame and the vampires, and I know what I must do.
“Te quiero, Mamá,” I whisper.
I dash to the altar. Just as I wrap the blessed blade in the palm of my hand, a vampire is by my side. He reaches for the athame, but I was expecting this. Spirit witches have very little control over the elements, but it’s a lot easier to call upon fire when there’s something nearby to tap into.
I harness energy from the flaming candles atop our altar and use it to command fire. The vampire before me is lit aflame, distracting him long enough for me to sink my athame into his chest, penetrating his heart. His eyes bulge from their sockets as his body turns to dust. I sure do appreciate that vampires clean up after themselves. The last thing witches need is to find ways to dispose of bodies.
I twirl the weapon in my hand, readying myself for another attack. I don’t have to turn around to know the witches behind me are readying themselves too. They’ve interlocked their hands, which will send power surges to those who can wield fire. These vampires attacked us, probably expecting an easy battle, but they have no idea who they’re messing with.
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I give the vampire leader my full attention. I have no concern for the other vampires. If I’m to die today, I’m making sure I’m bringing my one mistake with me.
I can see the anger in his eyes as the witches begin their attack. One by one, the vampires combust. It brings a smile to my face to see him so very disappointed in his fangy friends. Yet again, he misjudged us.
We make the decision to attack in unison. We charge together, and just as he’s about to land his first hit, I drop to my knees, skidding past him. I manage to sink my athame into his ankle. His shock is music to my ears. I spin on my heels to face him again.
We’re at eye level now, my assault against his legs bringing him down to his knees. He snarls like an animal and claws at the ground as he runs toward me while on all fours. He slams into me, and I tighten my grip on the athame.
But it’s no use.
He clutches my hand within his own viselike grip and slams it repeatedly onto the ground until even my will isn’t strong enough to maintain my hold on the weapon. I drop the athame, crying out as the tiny bones in my hand snap.
I stare into his crimson irises, and I see it. He hates me just as much as I hate him. I’m not sure if it’s because we’re destined enemies or if it’s because I wounded his pride last night.
He sinks his fangs into my neck, and I shriek from shock, fear, and pain. My gaze darts at our surroundings as he drains my life force. The witches have disbanded—some running in a hopeless attempt to save themselves, others fighting and succumbing to the strength of these monsters.
Almost as soon as it began, it’s over. The vampire sits up, resting his weight against my torso, and smiles down at me with a bloodstained chin. It’s my blood that coats his skin and stains his fangs a pale pink. It’s my blood that splatters against my face as he opens his mouth to taunt me.
Even though tears burn behind my eyes, I refuse to cry. But I do scream. The moment the vampire wraps his dirt-caked, bloodstained hand around my neck, I bellow. I scratch at his fingers with my one good hand, but it’s no use. He’s too strong.
Without hesitation behind his shining crimson eyes, he clenches his fist, crushing my throat.
Mamá screams my name as I gasp for air. In heavy, uneven breaths, I ask the elements to heal me. But they refuse me, for I’m not strong enough to wield all five at once.
I scratch at the vampire straddling me, but he simply smiles.
My eyelids grow heavier with each passing second as I struggle to breathe. I’m only moments away from certain death, and as my soul begins to slip into the afterlife, I panic.
My killer must grow tired of watching me struggle to hold on to life, because he stands and joins the rest of the vampires in their assault against my coven, leaving me with nothing but the welcoming darkness.
“Look at me,” someone says. “Focus.”
His voice is smooth and echoes in my head. His words twist around me, lifting me to him, to this world of agony. Torn away from my blissful demise, I open my eyes.
His crimson-red irises stare back at me, and I nearly choke on my tongue.
This vampire is so close—too close.
He kneels on the ground over me, holding my bruised body against his. My head, too heavy for me to lift, is supported by his other hand. Only inches away from my face, his breath is hot on my cheek, his hand cool on my back. I don’t recognize him.
Tearing my watery gaze from his, I search for Mamá in the midst of a war.
Help!
I shout the words in my head, but of course, no one hears me. My coven mates are fighting their own battles. A vampire lunges to attack a water witch, and she falls to the ground, screaming, but another vampire appears by her side.
He withdraws a dagger from his belt and slams it into the other vampire’s chest. As dust scatters all around them, he yells for the witch to run, to save herself.
What’s happening?
The realization sinks in that some vampires are fighting on the side of the witches to help save my coven.
Who are these vampires? How is this possible?
Unfortunately, our saviors can’t help everyone. Bodies are scattered across the sacred ground of our ritual space.
Witches.
Vampires.
Their fragmented bits and broken bodies look eerily identical in the moonlit patches. Blood stains what was once lush green grass. But whose blood is it? This red wave of defeat mixes together seamlessly without a care about its source or the feuding creatures who contributed.
The witches call upon their elements. Air slices through flesh, piercing vampire hearts, as the witches try to save themselves. Fire witches aid those who are less fortunate, like those who control water or even earth.
My people are badly wounded, and they need my help.
Staring once again into his eyes, the world melts away. I choke on my breath, and my sputtering heart makes it hard to focus.
I will not fail my coven. I will not leave them unprotected.
The pain begins to subside, and I know death is my saving grace. In a last desperate attempt to survive, I beg for salvation.
Save me. I mouth the words, knowing there is only one way he knows how.
My grip on life is weakening, and in my most desperate of times, I see my reprieve in his eyes. As life slips through my grasp, I panic. I will offer anything to survive this attack, to save my coven—even if the only thing I have to offer is my mortality.
I whimper and scratch at his body with my one good hand, and his fangs lengthen into two bloodthirsty points.
His crimson irises take on an eerie glow as he allows the demon within him to surface. With a slight whimper, I turn my head, exposing my brutalized neck.
I watch the world around me, struggling to focus on anything but what’s about to happen, what I’m about to give up.
The remaining members of my coven fight to control their magic against the vampires who wish us harm—against what I am to become.
These newcomers look different than the murderous eyes around us. The animals who attacked us and still surround us are just that: animals. Their dirty, bloodstained bodies contain the souls of fiends.
I gasp as my neck is pierced one final time. I dig my nails into his arms, marking him like he marks me. It’s over before I truly realize it’s even begun.
He glances down at me, a steady stream of my blood slides down his chin, and my stomach twists into knots. I must grimace, because he frowns at me. My vision blurs from tears, and I blink to push them away.
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I nod.
He tips my head back, opening my mouth. He presses his body against me, raising a hand. He bites into his wrist and offers it to me. A metallic-tasting substance drips into my open mouth. His essence, his power, soars through me, healing wounds as it floods each crevice of my broken body.
Wrapped in a warm blanket of bliss, I slide my hand up his strong, muscular arms, tangling my fingers in his hair.
I hold on to him, drinking as though he is my only source of water in the midst of a desert.
Briefly, I forget the world around us. I forget about the war and my hatred for vampires. I even forget about my impending death.
There is only him.
There is only me.
There is only blood.
Chapter Six
You need to wake, Ava.
Mamá’s voice echoes in my mind. She stands before me, slowly backing away. The light follows her exit. I thrash and plead for an escape, fearing the inevitable darkness she will leave behind. The air is hazy and thick, and I struggle to breathe, to stay awake.
“Mamá?” I say, unable to hide the fear in my voice. My words echo all around me. I am trapped in my own skin. I see nothing but a void, and time stands still. I can feel the darkness of eternity closing in, making its new home within me.
I run toward her, grabbing on to her flowing sheer white gown. My fingers fall numb, unable to grip as the fabric slips through.
“Please don’t leave me,” I beg.
The shadow moves closer, circling me. I whip around, lashing back and forth, but it has already ensnared me. Her silhouette slowly begins to fade. The darkness is consuming her, just as it will consume me too. It moves closer with each step I take back.
My lungs fill with the misty air, and I fall to my knees, hacking. I am drowning—drowning without being submerged in water. The darkness, the air, the haze, it consumes me, stealing away my breath, forcing me to my knees, to beg for life.
Ava, she says, and I look up, my chest heaving. Wake up.
Mamá speaks to me, yet her lips never move. I reach out, but my limb falls numb, hitting the ground in a thump. I slump over, unable to hold my own weight. My breath comes in short bursts.
I’m dying.
I know this to be true. The empty void that surrounds me and the darkness closing in is penance for asking the vampire to save my soul. Oh, the irony of asking a damned creature to save me… I am forced to spend an eternity in solitude with nothing but my thoughts and the lingering regret.
If the witches fear nothing else, they fear the vampire species.
And I asked to become one of them.
I look up at Mamá as I accept my fate. She gives me one final glance before fading into the darkness.
“Leave immediately.” Mamá’s voice squeaks under her threatening tone.
Darkness still surrounds me, but the familiar scent of home creeps in. I inhale deeply and find comfort in the sage smoke that wafts through the air.
“She’ll awaken soon,” a man says. I recognize his voice. He’s not a witch from our coven; he’s the vampire who agreed to snap my mortal coil from its earthly existence.
Something within me twists into knots. I don’t feel good about this, about this man.
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