The Last Blood Moon

1692

I leaned over the river and studied the shadowy silhouette staring back at me.

Above, the blood moon stained the night sky crimson, while faint ribbons of red drifted across the black water below.

It was near midnight, and I was concealed within a cove of weeds and tall grass, straining to do the one thing I was forbidden to do.

Look at my reflection.

Crickets sang as the river flowed quietly before me.

Beyond that, there was only silence.

Just the way it had always been.

A ripple disturbed the water's exterior, and I glanced up. A familiar obsidian-scaled creature emerged from the darkness, gliding silently toward me.

Smiling, I dipped my hand beneath the black surface and waited.

Vernon came willingly, winding around my fingers before slithering up my arm. His cool scales brushed against my skin as he settled across my shoulders.

Most creatures feared humans.

Then again, I had long suspected I was not entirely human myself.

"Hello, Vernon," I greeted my closest companion.

His forked tongue flickered in response.

"Another evening with only the two of us," I added.

Tiny slits for eyes questioned me as he tilted his head.

"No, Grandmother does not know I left the cottage," I huffed at him. "And she shall not find out either."

Appearing unconvinced, Vernon nestled into the grass next to me as I leaned over the river once more.

I strained to make out my reflection, but all I could see was pale skin and dark hair blurred by the water's movement.

"Besides," I murmured, "it is my sixteenth birthday. Surely I am entitled to some small celebration."

Then it happened.

Two glowing red eyes emerged from the inky water.

Not eyes belonging to the river. Nor the forest.

My eyes.

My breath caught.

The last blood moon had risen on the eve of my thirteenth birthday.

That was when I first saw them.

I had slipped away from the cottage much as I had tonight, desperate for answers despite Grandmother's warnings.

She claimed mirrors invited misfortune. We owned none, and I was forbidden to look at my reflection.

The river had become my only rebellion.

I still remember kneeling beside the water and seeing those crimson eyes staring back at me for the first time.

I remember screaming and fleeing through the woods in tears.

Grandmother took one look at me and went pale.

She never asked what I had seen.

Instead, she locked every shutter in the cottage and sat awake until dawn.

That was the night I began searching for answers.

"I must be a monster," I whispered.

The words settled heavily upon my chest, and wisps of shadow stirred in answer.

"And since Grandmother refuses to tell me what I am..." I reached toward my reflection.

Vernon recoiled as the shadows rose higher.

"I will do whatever it takes to learn the truth myself."

A branch snapped somewhere in the distance.

The shadows vanished instantly.

I straightened.

A small orange light flickered between the trees.

A campfire.

My pulse quickened. Every instinct urged me to return to the cottage and wake Grandmother, who always swore that strangers brought ruin.

Curiosity won.

Vernon hissed softly in warning as I slipped through the trees.

The source of the fire soon came into view.

A boy sat beside the flames, his face half-hidden by shifting light. Curls the color of wheat hung close to his eyes.

I froze.

Not because he appeared dangerous.

But because I had never seen someone my own age before.

The realization stole the breath from my lungs.

A merchant's cart rested nearby, its wheels sunk deep in the mud.

I circled closer.

One more step and I would have remained unseen.

Instead, my foot snagged on a tangle of roots.

I lurched forward and landed hard in front of him.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.

Then he shouted.

Startled, he stumbled backward over the log behind him and nearly fell into the fire. His hands shook as he snatched his weapon.

"Stay back!" he barked, leveling the rifle at my chest. “Who are you?”

I scrambled backward so quickly my palms tore against the dirt.

The boy stared.

Not at my face, but at my eyes.

"Dear God," he whispered. The barrel dipped.

"What are you?" His eyes searched me from head to toe.

I rose unsteadily to my feet, every instinct screaming at me to run.

"My name is Rowena."

"I'll be damned," he breathed. "You're a witch."

The word struck harder than any blow.

"No," I said. "I am not."

"Then why do your eyes burn red like the devil?"

I had no answer. Not one he would believe.

"Please," I whispered. "I mean you no harm."

A long pause. Then, movement stirred beside the tent.

A small animal trotted from the darkness and pressed itself against my skirts, its tail wagging.

The boy blinked and then lowered his rifle.

"Well," he said slowly, "that is unexpected."

Tentatively, I reached down and brushed my fingers across the creature's head.

“His name is Tracker, and he usually doesn’t care for strangers.” The boy added, staring at both of us with a curious look on his face.

"I did not know coyotes behaved this way," I murmured.

The boy barked a laugh. "Coyotes?" he repeated.

I looked up. He was smiling now, only slightly.

"He’s just a dog."

Embarrassment heated my face.

"Oh… sorry.”

For the first time since I had fallen into the clearing, neither of us looked away.

"My name is Jack," he said at last.

I gave a half-smile, unsure of what to say.

Another pause stretched between us.

"I should leave," I murmured.

Jack sat back down against the log he was using for a chair and gestured toward the fire.

"Stay a moment," he offered, handing me a canteen with something dark sloshing around inside.

The invitation felt dangerous.

A sensible girl would leave.

A sensible girl would return to the cottage and forget she had ever seen him.

Instead, I sat.

The idea of having company was so foreign, I almost wondered if I was imagining it all.

Tracker curled up between us as the fire burned low.

Jack began telling me a story about his recent travels as a peddler.

And for the first time in sixteen years, I did not feel entirely alone.

***

The nights that followed became ours.

Sometimes Jack brought warm bread from town.

Other nights, he filled the darkness with stories of distant places beyond the forest. Sun-scorched deserts, towering cities, and seas so vast they swallowed the horizon.

Each story felt like a window into a world I had been denied.

Before long, he stopped staring at my eyes. When he realized I had no answers of my own, he stopped asking for them.

Beneath a blanket of stars, we traded pieces of ourselves.

I told him about Grandmother.

He told me about his late mother and the father who drowned his grief in brandy.

We laughed at things that should have made us cry.

Jack brought old books, newspaper clippings, and once, a small tin of brightly colored paint.

I spent hours spreading impossible shades of blue and gold across scraps of paper while he watched and pretended not to smile.

Sometimes we talked until dawn forced me back to the cottage.

I even fell asleep at breakfast once, earning a sharp pinch from Grandmother before my face landed in my porridge.

Life had never felt so full.

Until it didn't.

One night, we discovered a weeping willow so enormous its branches brushed the forest floor.

We lay under its tangled vines, watching the moonlight flutter through the leaves.

"I wish every night could be like this," I whispered.

The vines rustled overhead.

"You could come back with me."

He said it so easily.

As though leaving everything I had ever known required nothing more than a decision.

Before I could answer, he reached into his coat and produced a small silk pouch tied with a scarlet ribbon.

"What is it?" I smiled, sitting up.

"Something that reminded me of you."

No one besides Grandmother had ever given me a gift.

My cheeks warmed as I untied the ribbon.

Nestled inside was a silver sphere encrusted with rubies.

The smile slipped from my face.

A mirror.

The one rule in my life had never felt so meaningless, so easy to break.

"So?" Jack asked.

I stared at the temptation.

"Where did you get this?"

"A merchant never tells his secrets." He winked.

My throat tightened.

"It's beautiful."

I threw my arms around him.

That was when he kissed me.

It was little more than a brush of lips.

Yet the forest seemed to hold its breath around us.

I smiled the entire way home, the mirror tucked safely into my pocket.

Until the truth finally caught up with me.

This could never last.

Not unless I told Grandmother everything.

Not unless she agreed to let me leave the only world I had ever known.

And for the first time in my life, I was prepared to defy her.

***

Later that day, I found Grandmother beside the hearth, mending a torn sleeve.

I lingered in the doorway.

"Grandmother?"

She glanced up and smiled.

"There you are, my girl."

The knot in my stomach tightened as I sat across from her.

"What troubles you?" she asked.

I sighed. "There is something I wish to tell you."

Her sewing needle paused.

Suddenly, I felt six years old again.

"I have made a friend."

"A friend?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Yes."

"From where?"

"The forest."

Her smile vanished.

"He is a traveling peddler," I continued carefully. "His name is Jack."

The room fell silent.

The sewing basket slipped from her lap. Needles scattered across the floor.

I had never seen such fear enter her eyes.

"Rowena," she whispered. "Tell me you have not been speaking to a stranger."

I swallowed. "I have."

"How long?"

"Weeks."

The word seemed to hollow her out.

Grandmother rose so abruptly her chair scraped across the floor.

"You foolish girl."

"He is kind," I protested.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

Fear began creeping into my chest.

"Grandmother, what is wrong?"

When she opened her eyes, they looked older than I had ever seen them.

"He does not care for you."

The words stung.

"That is not true."

"Oh, but it is." She argued.

For a moment, she looked utterly heartbroken.

Then anger took its place.

"He does not care for you." She hissed.

"How could you possibly know that?" I cried.

"Because they never do!"

The words escaped before she could stop them.

Silence fell.

They.

Not he.

They.

Grandmother's face drained of color.

"What do you mean?" I breathed.

"I am trying to protect you." She insisted.

"From what?"

Her gaze drifted toward the mirror that lay clutched in my hand.

Toward Jack's gift.

And suddenly, she looked like a ghost.

"Where did you get that?"

"Nowhere." I hide my hands behind my back.

"Where, Rowena?" She asked again.

"Jack gave it to me."

Grandmother crossed the room in two strides.

"Give it here."

I snatched it away.

"Grandmother—"

"Break it."

"What?"

"BREAK IT."

The windows rattled.

Neither of us moved.

"Why?" I whispered.

Her eyes glistened.

"Because she must never see herself."

"Who?"

Grandmother covered her mouth.

As though she had spoken too much.

"Who?" I demanded again.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"The one sleeping inside you."

My blood ran cold.

"Tell me what that means."

"I cannot." She refused.

"Why?"

Her eyes squeezed shut.

"Because the moment you know the truth..." Her voice broke.

"...she will remember who she is."

I could not endure another riddle.

Another secret. Another half-answer.

I turned and hurried toward the front door.

"Rowena!" Grandmother cried.

My hand wrapped around the handle and flung it open. Cold night air rushed into the cottage.

"You must not go to him, my girl."

The desperation in her voice almost stopped me.

Grandmother's eyes filled with tears.

"I am tired of being hidden." My voice broke.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she whispered something so quietly I nearly missed it.

"If he truly sees you..." Her voice trembled.

"Then God help us all."

A chill crept down my spine.

But all I could see was Jack waiting beside the fire.

All I could think about was a life beyond these woods.

"I am sorry, Grandmother."

And then I ran.

I ran until my lungs burned.

Until my feet ached.

Until the cottage disappeared behind the trees.

I ran from the loneliness.

From the secrets.

And straight toward the truth.

***

It didn’t take long before the grass disappeared and was replaced with a cobblestone street.

Lampposts flickered, but not a single soul was in sight.

I remember where Jack told me he resided.

The offer to come back with him still played in my head. Grandmother's warnings did too.

I passed darkened shop windows and an apothecary whose sign creaked softly in the wind.

I cradled my arms from the chill, soaking in every new detail around me.

I passed a narrow alley.

A net dropped from above.

Before I could scream, darkness swallowed me.

I screamed in protest, but someone’s hand flew over my mouth.

Panic exploded through me as my body began to flail.

Rough laughter poisoned the air.

Two men dragged me deeper into the shadows, using the netting to keep my arms in place.

“Stop!” I shouted.

I managed to kick one of them so hard that he fell on his knees.

“You wretched girl.” The man said hoarsely.

I could feel shadows writhing within me, but I didn’t know how to use them.

“Let me go!” I cried.

One of them poked me with something sharp, surely enough to draw blood.

I shouted at the pain.

“For God’s sake, can you keep her quiet?” A familiar voice sounded in the distance.

My blood turned to ice.

No.

Not that voice.

Anyone but that voice.

The fight drained from my limbs.

Slowly, I turned.

A small orange ember glowed in the darkness.

Then a familiar face emerged behind it.

Jack.

And he was smirking.

My knees nearly gave out.

"Why?" I croaked.

"It was never supposed to be personal, Rowena."

The words struck harder than any blow.

The men holding me tightened their grip as Jack stepped forward.

"I've been looking for you for a very long time."

"No." My voice shook. "You're lying."

A carriage rolled into the alley behind him. A metal cage rattled at its rear.

My stomach dropped.

It had all been a trap.

"Not just me," Jack continued. "My father searched for you. His father before him."

I stared at him.

At the stranger wearing the face of the boy I thought I knew.

"Please," I whispered. "You have the wrong girl."

A humorless laugh escaped him.

"We have exactly who we need."

The men shoved me toward the cage.

I fought them, but it was useless.

The door slammed shut.

I gripped the bars.

"Who are you looking for?" I demanded.

For a moment, Jack simply watched me.

The horses shifted impatiently.

Then he spoke.

"The Blood Witch."

***

I drifted in and out of consciousness.

Pain throbbed through every inch of my body.

Voices echoed around me.

Then someone shouted.

"She's awake!"

The events of the alley came rushing back.

My eyes flew open.

The breath left my lungs.

A crowd surrounded me.

Pitchforks.

Torches.

Families clutching their children close.

And beneath my feet—

firewood.

Panic seized me.

I was tied to a post.

"No!" I screamed.

"PLEASE! I am innocent!"

A familiar figure stepped through the crowd.

Jack.

"You are collateral, Rowena."

The words struck harder than the ropes digging into my skin.

The crowd quieted as he raised his arms.

"For centuries, we have searched for the Blood Witch."

Excited murmurs swept through the people.

“For centuries, she has concealed herself, using innocent humans as her vessel.”

A primal look spread across his face.

"And tonight, we will finally wake her."

My stomach dropped.

Grandmother's words echoed through my mind.

The one sleeping inside you.

Jack reached into his coat.

My blood froze.

He pulled out the mirror.

"Please," I begged. "Don't do this."

He ignored me.

The hand mirror snapped open.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Strong hands seized my face and forced them open.

And then I saw it.

My reflection.

For the first time in sixteen years.

I gasped.

There was beauty in that face.

But there was sorrow too.

Ancient sorrow.

Then the red eyes appeared.

A burning sensation tore through my veins.

Rage surged from somewhere deep inside me.

Old.

Hungry.

Endless.

"You wretched beast."

The voice wasn't Jack's.

It was mine.

My thoughts began to slip away.

A flicker of grief caressed my mind.

Something vast and ancient beckoned from the darkness.

Promising an end to the pain.

I thought of Grandmother.

Of Vernon.

Of Jack.

Then I let go.

The mirror slipped from Jack's fingers.

The glass reflected a face I did not recognize.

A face far older than my own.

Someone screamed.

Perhaps it was Jack.

Perhaps it was me.

Shadows erupted, swallowing the town.

And for the first time in sixteen years...

Rowena remembered her real name.