September 2026 Volume 16 No 9

Knots of Red and Black

by

Victoria Brun

Persephone stalked through the Academy's dimly lit corridors. The halls were silent, save for the sound of her boots on the stone floor and the rustle of her dark robes. Still, she paused halfway down the corridor and turned, glancing over her shoulder at the shadows cast by a gas lamp.

"You're paranoid," she whispered to herself in a bitter tone she wouldn't have tolerated from anyone else.

She continued down the hallway and when she reached the heavy oak doors to the training hall, she shoved them open and stepped inside before she could second-guess her decision.

Inside, a cohort of novices, no older than fourteen, clustered on the training mat. None of the girls noticed Persephone's entrance. Their eyes were fixed on their teacher, and Persephone's eyes fell on her as well.

Reece was standing with her back to the door. Her dark hair was pulled up in traditional blood witch braids: one large one across the top of her head and two smaller braids on each side. She wore dark training robes cinched with a plain black belt that marked her as a first-degree witch. She held a wooden training knife in one hand and she was currently using it to gesture at the young cohort kneeling around her feet as she spoke, saying something about the importance of always maintaining good posture.

Persephone barely heard the words. Her heart raced as she studied Reece, the woman she'd spent the last few months diligently avoiding.

She couldn't do that any longer.

"Reece," she called, wrestling the words from her suddenly dry mouth. Reece immediately turned toward her, dropping smoothly to one knee as she did so.

The novices startled at their teacher's sudden movement, but they quickly copied her, dropping to one knee before they recognized Persephone and sunk to both knees and lowered their heads to the mat, perfectly prostrate.

Persephone swallowed. She still wasn't accustomed to this treatment. She'd always yearned for the rank of fifth-degree witch, but she'd never really considered what it had meant until she had it. She looked down at Reece, kneeling before her. It was so strange. So wrong.

Reece stared up at her. Confusion was clear in her red eyes, but Persephone detected none of the other emotions she'd expected and feared.

"Come with me," Persephone said, before turning and escaping those red eyes. She headed for the door, keeping her stride slow so Reece could catch up.

Behind her, she heard Reece give hurried orders to her pupils. "We'll continue this tomorrow. Practice on your own for the remainder of class. Forms only—no sparring."

"Thank you, teacher," came the chorus of young voices as Reece left the mat.

Persephone heard Reece's hurried footsteps behind her, and by the time Persephone had reached the door, Reece had fallen perfectly into step behind her, like her living shadow, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"There is a matter I need to handle personally," Persephone said without looking back at her. "You will accompany me."

That's not what she'd meant to say. She'd meant to make it a question. She meant to ask whether Reece would accompany her, but her terror that Reece would refuse had made her tongue change the words at the last moment and now everything was wrong.

Reece said nothing, not that a response was technically necessary. She'd been given an order by a higher-ranked witch—by the Academy headmistress no less—so the matter was considered settled. Still, Persephone wanted her to say something.

"You're free to speak," Persephone said with some hesitation, given all the things Reece could rightly say to her. Accuse her of.

"When do we leave?" Reece asked, which was not the response Persephone was expecting.

"Now," Persephone said. "I've had a dedicant clear your schedule. Someone else will cover your classes." Even as she said the words, they disgusted her. She could rearrange Reece's life with a word. "Pack an overnight bag and meet me at the front."

"Thank you, my lady," Reece said. It was the proper response, but it made Persephone feel like she'd been punched in the gut. The difference between "my lady" and "Pers" was stark.

Reece bowed before vanishing down the corridor in the other direction, leaving Persephone alone in the dark hall. She wanted to scream, but she kept her face a mask of composure and kept walking—and nearly walked straight into Serena as the fourth-degree witch turned the corner.

"Ah, just the woman I was looking for," Serena said. "I was told you were going on an important assignment. Would you like me to accompany you?"

"Thank you, but that is unnecessary," Serena would be Persephone's last choice of companion. Serena, who was fifteen years Persephone's senior, had been the prior headmistress before Persephone had unseated her, knocking her back one rank. Serena had made no secret of the fact she thought Persephone was unworthy of the title.

"You're not going alone, are you?" Serena asked. Her voice dripped with false concern.

"No."

Serena frowned. "Who's going with you then?"

Persephone didn't want to tell her, but it felt childish not to. "Reece."

Serena's eyebrows arched, and her lips puckered in amusement. "An interesting choice. Well, I am sure you have your reasons."

"I do," Persephone said, surprised Serena hadn't given her any pushback. "Now I must be on my way."

"Of course," Serena said, stepping to the side to let Persephone pass.

The interruption had taken less than a minute, yet Reece still beat Persephone to the front, which suggested that she'd run at least part of the way and likely had her bag already packed. Persephone wasn't sure what to make of that.

Reece had also made time to change her boots and swap out her training robe for a finer set. Her belt was still pure black, contrasting with Persephone's blood red one. Two years ago, they'd both worn different belts. Reece's black belt had held one thick red stripe, marking her as a second-degree witch. Persephone, as a third-degree witch, had worn a belt with two red stripes.

The buggy was already waiting on them. The driver was not a witch but a hired hand who kept his gaze lowered as they climbed aboard.

"To the station, lady?" he asked.

"Yes," Persephone said, and she noticed Reece tilt her head in an unspoken question, but Persephone would not answer it in front of this man. Reece sat next to her, and when Persephone dared to meet Reece's eyes, she found excitement sparkling in them.

So far, this was not going how Persephone expected. It was going much smoother and that made her nervous.

It took two hours to reach the station, and Reece remained excited and alert throughout. Although the sun was bright overhead and these lands were well protected, her red eyes scanned the forest with nearly predatory intent. Her sentry made Persephone relax, feeling no need to watch the trees herself. Instead, she attempted to meditate.

And failed miserably.

At the train station, they were met by an extremely nervous attendant who led them to a private room on the train as shocked onlookers clustered around to gape, point, and whisper. Persephone felt as if the same whispers chased her everywhere she went. "Those are blood witches. Look at those awful scars. Hideous. I don't understand why they cut their faces like that. But look at those eyes! They really are red!"

Persephone was long past being bothered by other people's thoughts on her appearance, but it was tiresome to have to listen to them.

The cabin was adequate. It had a small table with two chairs and one bed. There was a large window, which currently overlooked the cow field opposite the train station.

As soon as they were inside, the attendant shut the door and fled without a word. Reece cocked an eyebrow, looking amused, and sat their bags down on the floor. Persephone dropped into one of the chairs, suddenly exhausted. Reece knelt at her feet, a silent entreaty for permission to speak.

It made her stomach turn, having Reece sitting at her feet like this, but she took advantage of the moment to study the face before her. She could still see remnants of the ritual scars all blood witches carried. They cut them during their entrance rites—when they rose from novice to first-rank blood witch.

Persephone had those same scars across her cheeks and down her chin. But Reece had many additional scars. Most were not from the rite but were from her own blade. The face bleeds heavily, making it a useful place to cut in a pinch—although most witches tried to avoid cutting there for aesthetic reasons. Reece was not one of them.

However, some of Reece's scars were from shrapnel flung from the same explosion that had nearly taken her life during the Great War. Persephone was still haunted by the struggle to patch her back together. She'd had so much blood—so much power—at her disposal, but the damage was just as great, and it had been a battle to keep Reece's heart pumping.

But she'd done it.

She felt the urge to touch those scars now, to brush her fingers along that beautiful face.

"Take a seat and speak freely," she said, as she forced her hands to stay in her lap.

Reece slid into the chair opposite her. "Where are we going?"

"The Capital," Persephone said. "There is suspicion that a blood witch is behind several recent murders there. The governor, Lord Aster, requested the Academy's support. Since it is a delicate matter, I want to handle it personally." She highly doubted it was a blood witch, but if she didn't go settle the matter, those useless cops would certainly lay the fault there. They'd probably blame some red-eyed child too young to attend the Academy.

Reece nodded, and Persephone waited for the next question, which would obviously be why she was bringing Reece along—after ignoring her for the past year.

Yet Reece merely inclined her head, saying nothing else.

Persephone felt blindsided by the continued silence. This was Reece. Reece who could converse with a pile of bricks, yet she said nothing.

When Reece glanced out the window, Persephone could still see that spark of excitement in her eyes. Apparently getting to leave the Academy was well worth the sacrifice of enduring Persephone's presence. She wondered when Reece had last left the Academy. She suspected it had been more than a year, not since the accident.

The room suddenly felt hot. Persephone undid her belt and shrugged out of her robes, leaving her in the long-sleeved black tunic beneath. She moved to the bed, sitting cross-legged upon it as she tried again to meditate.

After a few minutes, she felt the thin mattress shift, and she opened her eyes to find Reece settling into place next to her. She'd removed her robes as well, and the sleeveless shirt she was wearing beneath revealed muscular arms, far more muscular than they'd been a year ago.

But the fresh lines of scars managed to steal Persephone's attention away from the bulge of muscles. She blinked at the neat pink lines crossing Reece's upper arm, trying and failing to think why Reece would have acquired any new scars since the accident.

She reached out, running her finger along one of the raised lines. "What are these from?" she asked.

"What?" Reece looked at her, seemingly baffled.

"Why do you have fresh scars?" There was no reason for Reece to cut herself anymore. Reece had no magic. Not now. Not since Persephone had stolen it.

It had been an accident during the war. They'd joint cast, both contributing their blood and power to the array Persephone had drawn, but something had gone terribly wrong. Persephone still didn't understand what, despite poring over every book in the Academy library.

But the why didn't really matter. What mattered was that she'd messed up, and Reece had paid the price. She'd nearly died, her magic torn right out of her—and given to Persephone.

While Reece had been shipped back to the Academy's medical ward, Persephone had suddenly possessed more power than she could handle. She'd struggled to control it on the battlefield.

"I still have witch blood," Reece said. "I'm not completely useless, you know."

Persephone was beginning to understand, but it only fueled her horror. "Who's been using your blood? And what for?"

"The healers," Reece said. "For healing."

Persephone had not been aware of this, and she wasn't going to allow it. When they returned, she'd order a stop to it. Reece wasn't a cow they could milk for her blood. She was still a blood witch. She'd been knocked down a rank—second to first—but she couldn't lose that title. She'd passed her rites and she'd earned her place as a fight instructor.

Reece was studying her with a confused expression. "Is that not why I'm here?"

"No!" Persephone physically flinched from the idea, and she released Reece's arm, only now realizing she'd let her hand linger there.

Reece arched an eyebrow. "You're anemic."

"I'm fine," Persephone snapped, appalled by the idea that Reece thought she'd brought her along as a blood tribute.

Reece caught Persephone's hand and pressed it into the back of Reece's opposite palm. Persephone blinked at their joined hands, too startled by the fact they were touching to understand what Reece was demonstrating. But after a moment she understood. The contrast between their hands was stark. Persephone's hand was pale, almost yellow, compared to Reece's healthier complexion. Reece was naturally darker, but her point was still clear.

"I'm not taking your blood," Persephone whispered.

Reece sighed, releasing her hand before saying, "Why not, Pers? You've taken everything else from me, so why not that?"

Persephone felt like she'd been slapped, but she had no defense. No response. No words.

Reece put her head in her hands. "That was out of line of me," she said, sounding almost as miserable as Persephone felt. "I apologize, my lady."

Persephone let a strangled noise, like that of a dying animal, escape her lips. "Don't apologize to me."

Reece raised her head from her hands and looked at her. "What do you want from me?" The tone was pleading, desperate.

"I don't know," Persephone said.

"Why am I here then?"

"Because I need someone I trust on this."

Reece's eyes narrowed. "You have nearly sixty witches under your command. Are there no others you trust?"

"No," Persephone said, and after a moment of hesitation she added, "Someone is trying to kill me."

Reece sighed deeply. "So you brought the only witch in your entire cohort who is completely incapable of casting a single spell with you."

Persephone said nothing to that because it was true, and although it sounded absurd, she still thought it was her best move. The Academy was absolutely cutthroat with everyone grappling for the top spot, which was fifth rank, a position that was awarded to one person. When Persephone had unseated Serena to claim that spot, nobody had been pleased by it. There were days when Persephone felt as if everyone in the Academy was conspiring against her.

Persephone had always aspired to earn fifth rank; most witches did, but she'd always assumed when she'd got there that Reece would be at her back, at least third rank, if not fourth. Reece had never been good with complicated arrays or runes, but she was a skilled fighter. She'd always been Persephone's right hand, always had her back, hovering a step behind her.

Becoming fifth with absolutely no one on her side was terrifying. The fact that everyone knew she was a magic thief did not endear her to others either.

Reece flopped backward on the bed and put her hands over her face. This gave Persephone the opportunity to stare unabashedly at the muscle Reece had added over the past year.

"Who is trying to kill you?" Reece asked.

"A shadow mage," Persephone said, as she continued to study Reece's prone form. "It was the last time I left the Academy." The Academy was armed with powerful protective wards. There was no way a mage could attack her while she was within those old walls.

Reece was silent as she considered this. "What sort of attack?"

After a moment of hesitation, Persephone lifted her shirt.

Reece sat bolt upright. "Fuck," she said, as she stared at the mass of scars covering Persephone's stomach and back where a dozen shadow blades had impaled her.

"Fuck," Reece repeated. She reached out, sliding one hand across Persephone's stomach and one across her back, tracing the set of scars nearest her spine. Although Reece's hands were warm, Persephone shivered at the touch. "No wonder you're anemic. Who else knows?"

"No one," Persephone said, earning her a look from Reece who dropped her hands.

Persephone tugged her shirt down and fidgeted with her skirt for something to do with her hands. "Reece, I have no friends in the Academy. If they suspected I was weak they would challenge me for rank. For all I know, one of my witches orchestrated this."

Reece hissed between clenched teeth. "And you suspect this invitation is a trap?"

"Yes."

Reece nodded, looking pensive. "You could have sent someone else."

"I can't hide forever," Persephone said. "Besides, if this is real, it needs to be me. It would be a snub to the governor otherwise."

Reece inclined her head.

They said little after that, but the silence was not so tense and painful as it had been before, and eventually Persephone found herself drifting to sleep, and she let herself, knowing that Reece was keeping watch.

~~~

Lord Aster's servants were not pleased to see them. This was unsurprising. As a general rule, no one was ever happy to see a blood witch, usually not even other blood witches.

Most people knew little of blood witches beyond the fact that they were supposed to despise them. Blood magic was dark and taboo in a way elemental or spirit magic was not. Persephone suspected that this had less to do with the involvement of blood and more to do with the fact that blood witches were almost entirely female, and blood magic tended to be a lot more powerful. Powerful women were not a beloved commodity in general society.

This lack of knowledge was helpful today, because fifth-rank witches did not travel with first-rank witches. Had Persephone adhered to proper protocol, she would have taken Serena or one of the other fourth-rank witches—although taking a promising third would have also been acceptable.

However, no one outside the Academy would raise an eyebrow at a red belt traveling with a black belt. On the flip side, few outside the Academy understood the significance of her red belt and the title it conferred upon her.

An old and extraordinarily nervous butler led them down a hallway. He fidgeted with his cuffs as he walked and occasionally glanced back at them. Persephone thought his behavior disgraceful. Not even a first-year novice, a child, would squirm like this.

He led them into a showy sitting room with a single occupant, presumably Lord Aster, lounging on a blue couch reading a newspaper. He was a large man swathed in a frilly green suit that looked both very expensive and very ugly. He tossed the paper aside as they entered.

"Ah, the blood witches," he said approvingly. "Come in ladies and take a seat." He motioned at the other couch, which was opposite his own, meaning they would have their backs to the door.

Persephone was not pleased, but sat, trying to look as poised, straight-backed, and serious as possible. Reece did not sit. Instead, she knelt next to Persephone's feet. Persephone was baffled—and annoyed—because she'd not asked for this, but then she realized Reece probably had the same concern about the door that she had and was intentionally putting herself where she was not expected.

The other thing it did, whether this was Reece's intention or not, was to completely change the way the governor looked at Persephone. His carefree attitude slipped and was replaced by a more attentive one as he looked Persephone up and down—taking her seriously, which he apparently wasn't doing before.

"So you are the Academy's headmistress?"

"Yes," she said.

"But you are so young." Amusement slipped back into his voice.

"We rank on power," Persephone said. "Not age."

"I see." Lord Aster's gaze flickered to Reece again. As novices, they spent a lot of time kneeling, with the idea that it would give them the ability to ignore pain and discomfort—critical to those who fuel their magic with their own blood. At the very least, novices quickly learned not to complain, or their mats were replaced with gravel. Persephone was unconvinced that kneeling was truly a necessary part of the curriculum but wouldn't dare to change something so core to the blood witch culture. There would be riots from those who'd already suffered through it.

"I wish I could get my men to be so obedient."

She didn't like the way he was looking at Reece, even though it also gave her an excuse to also look at Reece, who was far preferable scenery than the old lord.

"Why has my presence been requested?"

"Ah, straight to business then. Too bad. You know, I thought you'd be wizened old crones."

Persephone did not know this nor did she care what he'd expected. She was tired of hearing about her age or the lack of more than twenty-five years of it. She stared at him blankly, waiting for her question to be answered.

After an awkward silence, Lord Aster finally got to the point. "I summoned you because there have been several murders recently in my city. There are rumors they were done by a blood witch, so I thought it was something your kind ought to handle—not that I'm saying it's a blood witch from your fine Academy, certainly not. It could be some foreigner or a rogue witch."

"Why do people believe these killings were conducted by a blood witch?"

"The victims have all been bled out."

"Really," Persephone said dryly. "Would you be able to show me one of them?"

This startled him. He looked appalled. "The victims? They're dead."

"Either the corpses or their spilled blood will do," she said as she examined her nails.

"I don't think either are a fit sight for a fine lady such as yourself."

"We fought in the trenches during the war," Persephone said. "We've seen horrors you could not dream of, governor."

He had no argument against that, so he had his driver take them to the scene of the most recent crime. There was indeed a large dark brown splotch on the sidewalk. It was a scene that Persephone couldn't imagine anyone would find the least bit upsetting, but perhaps she was too familiar with blood.

"Will that work?" Lord Aster asked.

"Indeed," Persephone said.

He grinned. "Do I get to witness the most powerful blood witch alive do blood magic? What a treat."

Persephone didn't answer. She slipped off her gloves, revealing hands covered in fine scars from her knuckles to her elbows. She'd cut each rune into her own flesh, forming delicate arrays that she could use over and over when refreshed with blood. However, she didn't need them now, not for such a simple spell. All she needed was a drop of blood.

She reached under her robes for her hidden knife, but froze as Reece unexpectedly pressed the back of her hand into Persephone's palm. Persephone felt fire go through her at the touch: a rush of power so sudden and violent that it felt as if she'd been drenched in it. For a moment, she couldn't figure out what was happening, but when she jerked her hand free, blood—Reece's blood—was smeared across her palm.

There wasn't much blood. It didn't match the power she felt, which was like she'd plunged her hands into the corpse of a dying man.

Reece sheathed the knife that Persephone hadn't even seen her draw. Persephone scowled at her. She had not asked Reece for this, but now that the blood was spilled, it would be stupid to draw her own. She squatted and touched the bloodstained pavement with her other hand.

It immediately gave her everything, spilled all its secrets to her, telling her about the man and how he'd died.

"Shadow magic," she said as she rose. She grabbed Reece's hand and pressed her index finger into the small cut across the back of her hand. The skin knitted together under her touch. Her magic sang with the blood.

The most powerful blood was lifeblood—the blood of someone crossing from life to death. The second most powerful blood was donated blood, given freely with no coercion or reward. The third was your own blood. Finally, stolen, bartered, or coerced blood was the weakest, so weak as to be of little value. In all four cases, blood witch blood eclipsed human blood several fold.

She suspected Reece's blood was so powerful because it was both donated and her blood—or at least, her stolen magic's blood. Somehow that duality must have multiplied the effect.

"Are you certain it's shadow magic?" Lord Aster asked with obvious skepticism. He seemed disappointed by what he'd witnessed, which admittedly had been nothing more than a woman kneeling in a bloodstain.

"Yes," Persephone said, before raising her hand to her lips and licking the remnants of Reece's blood off her skin. Lord Aster gasped at this, as did the little crowd that had gathered to watch.

Persephone ignored them. Wasting donated blood was considered the height of disrespect. It had to be either used or consumed, and Reece's blood had been so powerful she'd barely used any of it.

"I will prove it," Persephone said as she tugged her gloves back on. "I'll catch this shadow mage before we leave."

"Oh?" He still looked horrified. "Yes, wonderful."

Lord Aster put them up for the night in one of his spare bedrooms, specifically, Persephone suspected, in the furthest spare bedroom from his own.

Once they were alone—the door shut, locked, and warded—Persephone rounded on Reece. "What the hell was that?"

"You're anemic," Reece said.

"I didn't ask for your blood," Persephone snapped.

"You didn't need to. I gave it freely anyway. It's my blood. I can give it to whoever I damn well choose." There was no trace of the submissive servant kneeling at her feet now. It was all Reece. It was a relief and also a pain in the ass.

Persephone scowled at her. "I didn't bring you here as my blood tribute."

"Then what did you bring me here as?"

"As someone who would watch my back," Persephone said, annoyed they were having this conversation a second time.

"I am watching your back. That was me watching your back."

Persephone gritted her teeth. "Just don't do it again."

"No," Reece said sharply, surprising her. "You said I was the only one you trust, so you have to trust me, Pers."

Persephone sat down on the bed. "I've taken enough from you, Reece. I will not take anymore. I shouldn't have brought you." It had been selfish, again. Everything she did was selfish.

Persephone was looking directly at Reece, yet she didn't see the attack coming. One second, she was sitting on the bed, and the next, her face was being dragged along the duvet.

She reflexively went for the knife under her robe, but Reece caught her wrist and pinned her to the bed so thoroughly that she couldn't do more than twitch. Her face was pushed into the duvet, and Reece controlled every muscle in both pinned arms, from her wrists to her shoulders. Persephone tried to move her hips, but Reece shut that down with one hook of her leg.

"Yield," Persephone panted into the duvet, and Reece moved off her, but she did not release her. Instead, Reece rolled her over, sitting on her hips and pinning Persephone's hands above her head. It was a weaker position, but Persephone made no attempt to fight it.

"I'm not helpless," Reece said, her voice quivering as she held the fifth-rank witch beneath her. "I can still serve you. I thought you saw that. I thought you'd come to your senses."

Persephone felt herself tremble. She wasn't scared exactly. She knew Reece wouldn't hurt her—but she couldn't recall the last time she'd been so vulnerable.

"What would you have me do?" Persephone asked. "Use you as my personal blood supply?" The idea was abhorrent to her.

"Make me your personal guard. Your servant. I don't care what you call it."

Persephone frowned at the odd request. Was this what Reece's behavior today had been? An attempt to show she could be the perfect servant?

"Reece, you're so much more than that."

"No," Reece said. "I'm less. I'm the creature everyone else pities. They avoid me like I carry some contagion—like being around me might make them lose their magic. You have no idea what it's like, Pers. Being stripped of my belt was the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me. I kept telling myself it would be better when you got back from the war, but when you got back, you never even fucking deigned to look my way!"

Reece was breathing hard now and Persephone couldn't recall ever hearing her so upset before.

"I couldn't even request an audience with you," Reece continued, "because I don't have the rank. I haven't left the Academy once in the past year because I don't qualify for any offsite assignments. I'm always the one stuck cleaning the fucking mats because I'm the lowest rank and will be for the rest of my life. I have to bow and scrape to every useless piece of shit who I used to outrank."

Persephone stared at her, unaware of most of this.

Her lack of response made Reece add a small qualifier. "I do like training the novices though. They're good kids."

Persephone still didn't know what to say.

Reece took another breath. "Why didn't you ever come see me before today?"

"I thought you'd hate me. And I couldn't face that. I didn't think you wanted to see me. I didn't know…" Persephone trailed off. She'd been a coward. She'd been afraid, so she'd avoided Reece until she'd become absolutely desperate with no one else to turn to. "I'm sorry," she added, knowing it was too little and far too late.

Reece pursed her lips, and they were both silent for a long moment before Reece finally asked, "What's going to happen to me when I let you up?"

Persephone blinked, startled by the implication of that question. She almost responded with a protest that she'd never hurt Reece—but that was ludicrous. It seemed that all she did was hurt Reece. So she simply said, "Nothing."

Reece gave her a skeptical look but released her wrists and climbed off her, sitting next to her on the bed.

"I can't believe I did that." Indeed, Reece looked more shaken by the incident than Persephone was. "Attacking you like that. You'd be within your right to skin me alive."

"You know I'd do nothing of the sort." Persephone sat up. Her heart was still pounding, and her mind was stuck on Reece's request to be a bodyguard or servant. The idea still horrified her, but it made more sense in light of the rant she'd just heard.

"You could make a couple nice books with the skin," Reece continued, which was how Persephone knew Reece was truly frightened because she had a habit of going down rabbit holes with hypothetical word vomit when she was scared.

"You cannot be my bodyguard or servant," Persephone said, which at least captured Reece's attention and got her to stop talking about what one could make out of her skin.

However, it also earned Persephone a look of pure betrayal that was like a stab to the heart.

"Why not?"

"There is no historic precedent for such a thing." Persephone had learned quite quickly that the only way to get the Academy to accept anything was to establish that there was historical precedent. However, that wasn't the only reason. Reece deserved status. She was half the reason Persephone was headmistress. Or maybe the entire reason.

"But you're headmistress. You took me on this assignment."

That was true, but Persephone was certain she was going to return to complaints about how disrespectful this choice had been to all the other blood witches. Not everyone would simply be amused as Serena had been.

"What do you really want?" Persephone asked. "You just want to get away from the Academy?"

"Not just that. I want to do things. I want to be with you. We were supposed to be a team," Reece said. Softer, she added, "I want it to be like it was before."

The final item was not something Persephone could give her. If she could undo the past or return Reece's stolen magic, she would in a heartbeat, but she couldn't. However, the rest, she could do.

"Consort."

Reece blinked at her. "What?"

"You could be my consort. There is historical precedent for the headmistress having a consort."

Reece stared at her with such a wide-eyed expression that Persephone was almost certain she was going to resume talking about uses for human skin, but instead, Reece managed to say, "That has a different connotation, doesn't it?"

"Generally, yes," Persephone agreed, and she could feel her cheeks warming, and given how pale she was right now, she expected that the effect was extremely noticeable.

"Right," Reece said.

"Are you opposed?" Persephone asked, and she suspected that her heart was racing faster now than when Reece had jumped her.

"Not opposed," Reece said, and then, not knowing what else to say but apparently feeling the need to say something, she simply repeated it. "Not opposed."

"Good," Persephone said. "Then I suppose the matter is settled. You shall be my consort."

"Your consort," Reece echoed, faintly.

The two witches stared at one another for another minute before Reece changed the subject as seemingly hard as she could. "How are we going to kill this shadow mage?"

Persephone steepled her fingers in front of her, considering the question. Assuming this was a trap, he would be hunting them, but she didn't want to sit all night in the dark waiting for him to attack—and he would need dark to attack. As long as there was light, they were safe from shadow magic.

"If you insist on me using your blood, give me a pinprick," Persephone said as she slipped off her gloves. "I don't need even a fraction of what you gave me earlier today."

"Yes, my lady." Reece drew her knife, cutting open the tip of her index finger and offering it to Persephone, who spread the blood across the array scarred into the back of her left hand. It was a search array. She cast a wide net, searching for the signature of the shadow mage she'd felt in the blood.

She got a hit almost immediately. That bastard was nearby, likely already on the grounds of Lord Aster's estate. He was probably planning to attack them as they slept.

She relayed this to Reece, who immediately moved to stand by the door like a mastiff wanting to be let out. Waiting on her. Sighing, Persephone drew her knife. It was a smaller one than Reece's—made not for fighting, but for drawing exact quantities of blood. Reece eyed it but made no protest. She kept her own blade in her hand as they slipped silently out of the room. Persephone led with Reece a perfect step behind.

Persephone's heart was racing. She'd not fought a shadow mage since the war--they'd been a nightmare in the trenches, their shadow blades tearing through unsuspecting men as they slumbered in the darkness. The only way to keep the shadow magic at bay had been to flood the trenches with light—which had made them excellent targets for other attacks.

The two witches left the manor and headed across the well-maintained yard. It was dark, the sun having dropped from sight for the night.

Persephone estimated that their quarry was only about one hundred meters away when the air crackled with shadow magic.

Reece was immediately on guard, spinning to put them back-to-back. Persephone gritted her teeth, annoyed she'd lost the element of surprise. She felt the shadowy tendrils swirl around her, testing for weak points—and finding it, they went for Reece.

But Reece wasn't a weak point.

While no metal could cut through shadow magic, Reece had coated her blade in her own blood. Persephone could feel it, connected as they were by the blood staining Persephone's hand. She sharpened the blood on the blade, and when Reece drove it through the shadows, it sliced into them.

The shadows recoiled, twisted, and immediately struck again, this time going for Persephone. She frantically pulled the magic from the blood coating her fingers to craft a defense, but Reece was faster. She pivoted, swift and nimble as a dancer, although her knife struck like a serpent.

The blade tore through the shadow magic, and there was a shriek of pain from the darkness.

Reece caught Persephone's free hand in her blood-slicked one. She'd sliced open her palm to coat the blade, and it was bleeding fiercely. The rush of power was overwhelming. Persephone stumbled, barely able to stay upright.

She was still reeling under the sudden power when the darkness stabbed at her. She blocked with blood magic—no, she didn't just block. She caught the shadows, and they screamed and thrashed as she tore them apart. The mage screamed too, an echo of agony, as she shredded them—chasing them back to their source without her feet moving an inch.

She felt the change in substance as her magic reached the mage, and she felt him die as she ripped out the last of his shadow magic in a single violent tug.

She staggered back, gasping for breath. Her knife fell from her hand, and she likely would have fallen to her knees had Reece not caught her around the waist. Persephone was still clutching the other witch's bleeding hand. She quickly sealed the wound, afraid she might drown in that power, but she could not bear to unthread their fingers and draw her hand away.

"Reece," she panted as she clutched at the other witch's robes.

"I've got you."

"He's dead."

"Breathe, Pers," Reece said, sounding worried. "Are you injured?"

Persephone shook her head. She was struggling to find the words to explain this overwhelming flush of power when she sensed something else in the darkness. She recognized the magical signature.

"Serena!" she yelled. "Show yourself, you traitor."

Reece turned, pulling Persephone protectively against her chest as footsteps approached them.

"Traitor?" came a voice from the darkness. "How dare you, when you're nothing but a cowardly thief! You've stolen your power and you've stolen my title. You don't deserve to be in the Academy, let alone lead it."

"So you hired a shadow mage to kill me? How brave you are, an exemplar of Academy values."

"No." Serena moved close enough that Persephone could discern her outline in the darkness. "He was just to make it a fair fight. If you get to use someone else's magic, surely I do too. Unless you're a coward, agree to duel me no-holds-barred for the title. Here and now."

"I agree. Reece will witness."

"What the fuck," her witness said, and then much quieter but no less dubious. "Can you even stand?"

Persephone wasn't sure she could. She was still drowning in a sea of power. Although she'd stemmed the source, her hand was still coated in Reece's blood, thick and intoxicating. But standing didn't matter. She could kill Serena from the ground.

She could hardly believe Serena would dare face her now—but she realized that Serena, like Reece, mistook her panting for exertion, had assumed the shadow mage had weakened her, and she'd now be an easy opponent.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing herself to release her grip on Reece. "Go."

Reece hesitated, not removing the arm from Persephone's waist.

"Trust me," Persephone hissed, not wanting Reece in the way when Serena attacked. "Go."

Reece slipped her bloodstained knife into Persephone's fingers and released her slowly, testing to make sure Persephone could stand. Persephone lurched away from her and managed to stay upright despite her unsteady legs. She touched the blood-covered blade and immediately wished she hadn't. The added power made her sway, but she clung to it. She couldn't lose this match.

She took a breath, steadying herself, as she watched Serena, barely visible in the darkness. Fights between blood witches tended to be short and brutal. She'd be unlikely to get more than one or two strikes, so any mistake would likely be her last.

Serena attacked suddenly—throwing a blood-covered blade directly at Persephone. It was a clever gambit. Persephone's weakness had always been physical attacks, and the darkness made it even more difficult to see the slim throwing knife. However, Persephone was so high off blood magic that it wouldn't have mattered if Serena had thrown a dart or an entire house at her.

The air crackled, and the knife froze in the air, caught in a web of magic.

Persephone smeared Reece's blood across the backs of her hands, filling her scars and activating the arrays there. She dropped Reece's knife and pressed her hands together. She could feel Serena preparing her own magical attack, but she could also feel all the blood in Serena's body—and it was weaker than hers. It was hers to command. Persephone twisted her hands, and she took control of it in a blood binding. She felt the other woman jerk, trying to reclaim control.

Persephone didn't allow her the chance. She spread her fingers, and Serena's blood obediently tore through her veins, her muscles, her own heart. She was dead before she hit the ground.

Persephone stumbled back and her legs gave out, but strong hands caught her. She wrapped an arm around Reece's neck as the other witch cradled her against her chest.

"Shit," Reece breathed in Persephone's ear. "That was fast. She's dead right?"

"Yes," Persephone panted. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could keep the thrumming in her head at bay. Even with her eyes closed, the world seemed to tilt around her.

"Do you want me to put you down?" Reece asked.

Persephone rubbed her fingers together, feeling Reece's dried blood between her skin. The remnants of that power still prickled in her fingertips. Beautiful. Terrible. Intoxicating.

"Pers?"

The worry in Reece's voice drew Persephone from her vertiginous thoughts. It took her a moment to recall that Reece had asked her a question. Did she want Reece to put her down?

"No," she said, tightening her hold around Reece's neck. She forced her eyes open and drew in a deep, slow breath. The metallic tang of iron lingered in the air. She slowly exhaled. "But next time give me less blood. I feel like I'm drunk."

"Next time?" Reece repeated hopefully, looking down at Persephone, who suddenly couldn't help herself. She cupped Reece's cheek with a bloodstained hand, leaned forward, and kissed her startled mouth—so startled in fact, that Reece nearly dropped her, but she managed to recover, pulling Persephone into an even tighter embrace.

"So that is what consort means," Reece breathed against the other witch's cheek.

"Only if that's what you want it to mean," Persephone said, hoping she'd not overstepped. Given the way Reece was holding her, she didn't think she had.

"Yes, my lady," Reece said, and Persephone found she did not mind the title so much—not when Reece was smiling. She minded it even less when Reece dipped her head and kissed her back. "That is exactly what I want."

___

Copyright 2026 Victoria Brun

Victoria Brun is a writer and project manager at a national laboratory. When not bugging hardworking scientists about budget reports and service agreements, she's writing stories and articles you can find in Clarkesworld, Nature Futures, Factor Four Magazine, and beyond. You can find her at victoriabrun.com.

Giganotosaurus is published monthly and is edited by LaShawn M. Wanak.

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