Free Bloodring by Faith Hunter

humans who had joined the Dragon of Darkness, the Big D, had done blood sacrifice of innocents and attacked seraphs, wounding many to the point of death. Even now, seraphs remained on hyperalert during the full and new moons, watching for a resurgence of blood sacrifice and black magic. And I, the only unlicensed neomage living outside of protective Enclave, hiding in plain sight, had just spilled my own blood in the full moon. Glory and infamy. What had I done? Can one even perform black magic by accident? Doesn’t intent have to be part of the ritual? Or is spilling blood enough?
    â€œI make a protection aroun’ you. But dat no enough. I fear. I fear fo’ you.”
    â€œI’ll be careful, Lolo.”
    The call was disconnected without good-byes, as always, and I slowly replaced the receiver. What had I done?
    Â 
“Did you see?” Ciana burst through the door of the shop and slammed into me, enveloping me in a hug that crushed my waist and forced out a grunt of pain. “My daddy got kidnapped.” The words came muffled from my clothing as I caught my balance.
    My heart clenched and I wrapped her in my arms. “I saw. It was awful. But I’m here, darlin’.” What could I say? Should I lie and tell her everything would be all right? It might not be, even if we got Lucas back. He had been injured, maybe pretty badly. I remembered the boots kicking him.
    â€œHe’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked, her tone wounded, perfumed with fear.
    â€œOh, Ciana, no, I hope not.” I rocked her, tears gathering in my eyes.
    â€œI’m praying about it. After school, I’m going to kirk and praying to God the Victorious to save him. Will you come?” she begged.
    Shock tightened my hands on her shoulders. To the kirk? Dangerous thoughts overlapped about Lolo’s warning, about my fear of the High Host, about human whispers that their cries were no longer heard, or that the Most High might have turned against the earth and the life he created. And the secret blasphemies that no one had seen God, not ever, that he might not exist, might not ever have existed. About the danger I was already in, and that I shouldn’t call attention to myself by going to kirk too often or too seldom, all washed through me as I opened my mouth to answer. In the end nothing could stop me from helping Ciana. “Of course I’ll go with you. If Marla doesn’t mind.”
    â€œMama thinks it’s funny,” Ciana whispered into my waist, her arms tightening. “She keeps watching the TV when daddy falls. And on top of that, she called me a liar.”
    I rocked her against me, finding Rupert on the far side of the store watching us, his eyes filling with tears. Rupert loved kids, and Ciana especially. He worried because she was being raised in loveless, chaotic, emotionally tumultuous homes, by parents who lived apart and hated each other. He held up a mug, mouthed cocoa , and pointed at the seating area. “Well, that sucks Habbiel’s pearly toes,” I said to Ciana, nodding at Rupert. Of course we would part with a small serving of the shop’s fantastically expensive, imported chocolate. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”
    Ciana sobbed and hiccuped into my clothes.
    â€œCome on.” I pulled her toward the small kettle where milk now simmered. “Let’s get some hot cocoa into you and get you calmed down enough for school. And I’ll be here at five for the trip to the kirk,” I promised, dread already building in my heart.
    â€œTell Thorn why Marla called you a liar,” Rupert said softly.
    â€œYou won’t laugh, will you?” Ciana looked up at me, her dark hair mussed, her blue eyes—so like Lucas’—wet with tears. She sat in my favorite chair and curled her legs under her, legging-covered knees and leather shoes sticking out beneath her school uniform tunic. Ciana was eight and very bright, far too