WARNING: THIS CHAPTER DEALS WITH HOW MAEV ACTIVATES HER BLOOD MAGIC, WHICH INCLUDES CUTTING A  SINGLE LINE ON HER ARM. IT IS NOT SELF HARM IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM, NOR IS IT GRAPHIC, BUT IF THIS IS TRIGGERING FOR YOU PLEASE SKIP IT. 

two.

it's called magic, darling

WHAT ARE YOU? 

Maev stared at the man, mouth gaping slightly as she tried to formulate a response, mulling over his response. Yes, at first glance she looked unusual but never had anyone guessed that she wasn't human. And while there are a multitude of codes and conducts on how to deal with situations like these, she was never one to follow them, instead choosing to follow her gut instinct. So, Maev simply tilted her head to the side and smiled, dark eyes glistening, painting a picture of mystery, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, handsome."

A mechanical clink reached her ears as he curls his left fist tighter, "That's not an answer, doll." His voice is a deep timbre and a shiver slithers down her spine as he takes a step forward, edging out of his apartment, the nickname holding more venom than she thought one word could possibly carry.

Not one to be intimidated, and to be honest, she'd much rather prefer to be the intimidator, Maev leaned forward and lowered her voice as if she was about to tell him a massive secret, "Are you sure you want to know? I wouldn't want to scare you off." The man looks mildly offended at the idea and subconsciously leans forward to hear her better. She raises her hands into the air and wiggles her fingers, "I'm a witch."

Silence. And then the man sighs as if disappointed in himself, turning around to go back into his apartment, most likely thinking she was just a drunk lunatic. 

Her stomach twisted at the thought of the man leaving and the possibility of never seeing him again made a sour taste enter her mouth. Blood magic was strange, but if there was one thing over the years that Maev had learned, was that it never lead her astray. Which meant that this man needed help and she was to lend him a helping hand in his healing. 

So, without thinking about the consequences, Maev lifted her left hand so her palm was facing up, her pinky and ring finger curled inwards, her remaining three fingers pointing forwards. And drawing upon the magic humming underneath the surface of her skin, Maev whispered a single word before twisting her wrist so suddenly her bones groaned at the movement.

Dekat.

His apartment door slammed shut in his face.

Close.

He whirled around quickly, so quickly that Maev found herself stumbling backwards, the hair on the back of her neck raising. She took a deep breath to calm herself and crossed her arms underneath her chest, raising her right eyebrow. "I told you, I'm a witch."

His face twisted into a scowl, "What do you want?"

"To help you."

A bitter laugh fell from his lips, "Liar."

Now it was her turn to scowl, "I may be many things, but I am not a liar."

He stepped closer until they were a mere inch apart, his head bent slightly as his eyes bore into hers. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and he was clearly used to using this to his advantage. Even though Maev considered herself tall, he still had a few inches on her and he filled up the entire hallway with his presence. If Maev was human, she'd probably have run by now, but instead, she met his gaze and held it, clenching her jaw in stubbornness.

She'd be damned if she let him slip away after getting this close.

"What would it take," her voice is quiet but a vein of iron runs underneath her words, "to prove you wrong?"

He doesn't answer for a moment and she can feel his warm breath hitting her cheek as he exhaled, "Why do you care if I believe you or not?" 

She took this chance to study his face, taking in the bags underneath his frozen eyes, the few day old stubble, the crooked nose from taking one too many punches. A thin scar lay across the top of his cheekbone, and she reckoned there were a plethora of others hidden beneath the many layers he wore.

"Like I said, I want to help you. I don't expect you to understand why, but if you'd like to see why, and how I help, meet me in front of the building tomorrow morning at 7." She slowly took a step back, letting him take the small victory of her backing away first. 

He relaxed a minuscule amount as the movement and said nothing about her offer, but as Maev strode up the stairs to her apartment she could feel his eyes burning into her back, tracking her movement until she was finally out of his sight.

Maev packed her bag the following morning, dawn peaking timidly out across the horizon. Satisfied that she had everything she might need and then some, the witch took a moment to assess her outfit. Black jeans, black boots, gray shirt, and her black trench coat over the top. A wry smile appeared on her face as her sister's words echoed in her minds.

Just because we're witches doesn't mean we need to sacrifice our fashion sense and wear all black. Why don't you branch out a bit, lighten up a bit?

As many times as Adaire tried to get her to wear, well, anything other than neutral colors, Maev still stuck to her black and gray outfits, finding comfort in the familiarity of it. 

Shrugging her backpack on, which was also black, Maev exited her apartment and walked down the flights of stairs, hands stuffed in her pockets. Exiting the building, she reached up and pulled her sunglasses down from her hair and placed them on her face, exhaling and watching the translucent breath emit from her mouth, only visible due to the temperature.

"You definitely dress like a witch." The dry voice echoed in the air, drawing her attention to the left where the man stood, leaning against the building. He wore a similar outfit as yesterday with the exception of a jacket and a small backpack. 

Maev looked at him and smiled, trying to exude friendliness, "Might as well dress the part, helps convince people."

He straightened up and walked over to her, his every move reminding her of a predator stalking down his prey.

"By the way," she commented when he reached her, "you never told me your name."

"And you never told me yours."

Maev straightened up and held out her hand, "Maev Barebone, blood witch extraordinaire."

He snorted and looked at her hand with disdain, "James."

It wasn't much, but it was something and Maev took it gladly. She retracted her hand, stuffing it back into her pocket before her fingers grew too numb. "Well then James, the city awaits." He followed her, his footsteps unnervingly quiet as if he was simply her shadow and not a man. They wound through the edges of the city, going further and further away from the bustling streets and finally submerging into the outskirts.

The slums reeked of broken dreams, fearful souls, and discarded futures. The homes were pieces of wood hastily nailed together, the roofs and doors shredded pieces of fabric. And above all else, death lingered in every nook and cranny, a constant presence. 

She felt James stiffen behind her as people stirred at their arrival, and out of the corner of her eyes, she saw his hand stray to his pocket. "Don't draw any weapons, we're perfectly safe." She hissed at him, taking her hands out of her pockets as a little girl peers from behind a curtain that was meant to act as a door. 

The little girl's face brightened upon seeing Maev and she hurried out from the shack, her hands coming up to clasp one of Maev's. "Are you here to see mama?" 

The witch nods and lets the little girl pull her into the small space, revealing a woman laying on a cot, her breaths rattling in her lungs, her body covered in threadbare blankets.

Maev kneeled down next to the woman, taking in her sunken eyes and cheekbones, any vitality carved brutally from her as a result of disease and starvation. Her eyelashes flutter open and she coughs, a wet sound that is only amplified by the empty space. "You're back," she rasped, dull brown eyes slowly focusing on Maev. They slid behind her, "And you brought company."

"He's a friend," Maev assured her in a gentle voice, taking off her backpack and unzipping the sides. "Now tell me, what's happened since I last saw you?"

The woman spoke in sections, having to pause to take deep breaths in order to keep talking. She spoke of her ailments— of blood leaking from her mouth and lungs struggling to inflate and aching bones and an invisible anchor laying on her chest and of a tiredness she just couldn't seem to shake.

Maev listened with attentiveness, digging through her back and finally producing two things. The first was a thin stack of money bound by a rubber band, and the second was a wicked looking knife. The handle was ornate, carved with beautiful symbols that spread to the blade, which rippled blue underneath the faint life, the edge sharp and curved at the bottom.

Neither the woman or the daughter seemed alarmed at the presence of the weapon.

As the woman finished speaking, Maev rolled up her right sleeve, revealing a single scar that stretched across the entire length of her forearm, such a straight line that anyone could tell it was done on purpose. 

"As per usual, I must recite the rules." Maev smiled kindly at the woman, "I know you must know them by heart by now but the deal will be void unless the terms are set." Receiving a nod from the woman, Maev settled back onto her heels, hands clasped around the knife's hilt.

"My name is Maev Barebone and I offer you, a human, my magic to heal you. I shall rid your body of disease and, in exchange, you shall never tell a soul of how you were cured. As a precaution, I will implant a seed of magic in your brain so that if anyone ever asks how you became better, you forget any and everything about me. Do you accept these terms?"

"I accept," the woman gasps out, a harsh cough racking through her body.

Maev bows her head, "The bargain has been struck." She raises the knife and, in one fluid motion, reopens the thin scar. It isn't a deep wound and barely any blood rises to the surface, but the air around them suddenly feels heavy, as if a force that they had been unaware of was suddenly unveiled.

James felt goosebumps appear on his arm, fighting the urge to flee from the unknown and forcing himself to watch as Maev draws two fingers over her forearm, collecting blood on her index and middle finger of her left hand. 

She then presses those two fingers to the index and middle finger of her right hand, her ring and pinky finger coming to rest above her right thumb. Words in a foreign language flow off of her lips, a beautiful melody that traces him, the air pressing against him. And just as it becomes too much, as his chest aches and his lungs burn for oxygen and his body begs him to run, it all disappears in a split second.

Maev gets to her feet, leaving the money with the little girl, and watching at the woman sits up. Her eyes sparkle once more and her feet are sure as she stands up. 

"This will be the last time I come here," she murmurs, "for your body is completely healed at this point. Take care of yourself." The woman's eyes brim with tears, but before she can thank Maev, the witch is already out the door and wandering down the streets.

He tails her closely and watches as, one by one, she makes her way through the dirty streets, offering the same bargain to those who were desperate enough to try anything. Again and again, the air grew heavy, again and again, she painted her fingers with her blood, again and again, people who he would've deemed past saving were cured.

All by a woman covered from head to toe in black. All by a woman who claimed to have magic. All by a woman who told him she just wanted to help him, in a world where he believed that actions driven by pure intentions were simply myths.

And as James watches her, he could no longer deny the truth, that Maev Barebone was a witch.

whew, that's a length chapter haha. i hope the warning at the start helped, and while i know it wasn't graphic i still felt the need to say something.

let me know what you think :)