Blood Match

Chapter 41: Marlowe's Magic Ritual

Marlowe sat cross-legged on the polished floor, surrounded by small packets of powder, a wide pewter bowl, and a water-skin made from wallaby hide.

She had caught the animal herself—just as the Garratji had instructed. “The magic will hold better,” he’d said, “if the skin is earned, not gifted.”

So she had hunted it in silence, skinned it with care, and stitched the vessel by moonlight. Now, with the waterskin at her side, she prepared to make a vial of opportunity potent enough to open doors that had long remained shut.

Opening the waterskin, she poured the moon-blessed water into the pewter bowl. The surface shimmered faintly under the flickering candlelight.

She reached for the first packet. Tearing it open with care, she sprinkled the powder into the water.

"Mandrake, root of old, we call to thee—strength now you must be."

The second followed, darker, finer.

"Henbane, pure and black, close the door, allow no one back."

The third packet was the most dangerous. Deadly nightshade. Belladonna.

*"Belladonna, sacred shade of night—close the gate, blot out the light.

Unholy three, be the key. Lock the gate, in holy hate."*

She waited. The surface of the brew quivered—then pulsed with a soft, unnatural glow.

Drawing her ritual knife, the same one she had used to skin the wallaby, she slashed her palm. Blood dripped into the glowing mixture. The light flared once… and held.

She nodded to herself, satisfied, and began filling the syringes one by one. When the last was secured in its plastic case, Gideon strolled in and flopped lazily into a nearby chair.

“Done playing witch doctor?” he asked, voice thick with mockery.

“Just finished,” Marlowe replied, not looking up. “If we’re right, this should be enough to incapacitate Leo long enough to finish the job.”

She snapped the case shut and began tidying her tools with practiced precision. “The real trick,” she added, more to herself than to Gideon, “is getting it inside the manor. Tonight, security will be tighter than ever.”

“Yes,” Marlowe said, “Harrison mentioned it would be difficult to bring the case in ourselves. But he managed to get his hands on the delivery schedule.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully as Gideon continued.

“There are several shipments due today—mostly for the kitchens. We happen to have someone on the inside. Not one of Leo’s handpicked staff,” he added with a smirk, “but a temporary hire helping with unloading and storage. Outer access only.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver-colored disk. “Slide this into the case. Once our operative stashes it somewhere on the grounds, we’ll be able to find it—no matter where it lands.”

“How does it work?” Marlowe asked, turning the small disk over in her fingers, eyes narrowed with curiosity.

“It’s infused with a rare element,” Gideon said smoothly. “Harmless to touch, but its signature is impossible to hide. Harrison’s watch is calibrated to detect it. Once our agent plants the package, Harrison will retrieve it later—whenever the timing’s right.”

Marlowe’s eyes gleamed as she studied the disk. “Marvelous. It’s clever, discreet… and delightfully reckless.”

Tristan and Liam arrived just as Leo turned the key in the heavy wooden door to Don Fernando’s suite.

Without thinking, Liam reached for Leo’s hand—offering quiet support. He knew this moment wasn’t just about unlocking a room. Leo hadn’t set foot in these chambers since his return to the manor, and the silence behind that door held centuries of memory.

On the walk over, Tristan had filled Liam in on Leo’s search and the clue Aditya had offered. But Liam sensed that what waited inside was more than secrets. Leo was about to confront a wound that never truly healed—the room of a man who had been his center, his guide, his immortal father. A father taken by violence, and mourned in silence for far too long.

As the door opened, Liam was hit with a wave of nostalgia. He realized it was Leo’s feelings that he was experiencing. The room had remained untouched, other than being lovingly cleaned by the staff in the manor. Everything was exactly as it had been the day Don Fernando had left it for the last time.

A picture of him and Genevieve sat on the nightstand by the bed. A book lay open there as well—The Interior Castle by St. Teresa of Ávila, a contemporary of St. John of the Cross. From Leo’s thoughts, Liam understood that Don Fernando had known both saints intimately. They had spent many nights in discussion about the soul and its path to God. A pair of reading glasses lay across the book as if just left there momentarily, as though Don Fernando might return at any moment to retrieve them and continue reading.

Liam felt it hit—the waves of grief crashing over him like a storm at sea. For a moment, he was capsized, struggling to find his bearings. Liam had known grief; instinctively, he surrendered to it. He let it sweep through him, allowed himself to feel everything.

This grief wasn’t his. It was Leo’s—raw, ancient, and bottomless.

So he did what felt right.

He shared it.

He became the anchor, a light in the tempest, a beacon shining steady so Leo could find his way back.

I am here, he thought. You are not alone.

Hold on to me, and I will bear you up. Together we will weather this, and it will not pull us under.

He wrapped Leo in love, not the fiery passion they knew so well, but something quieter—bands of strength, care, and pure understanding.

And in time, he felt Leo settle. The storm subsided. Peace returned.

Liam looked up and into Leo’s eyes, and there—clear as the stars—he saw wonder and love. He reached up, fingers brushing Leo’s cheek.

“Together. Always. You’ll never face anything alone again.”

Leo pulled him into a rough embrace. Liam felt the dampness on Leo’s cheek, tears freely shed.

It felt like an eternity had passed, but it had been less than a minute.

They both became suddenly aware that they weren’t alone—Aditya and Tristan stood a few feet away, respectfully silent.

A beat passed, and then Liam and Leo broke into sheepish laughter.

“We’re sorry, Honored One,” Leo said, slipping his arm around Liam’s waist. “You mentioned my father kept a secret vault in this room. Can you show us?”

Aditya nodded and moved to the far wall, where two desks sat side by side—one slightly larger than the other. Leo recognized them instantly. He’d watched Don Fernando and Genevieve sit there countless times, working in quiet harmony.

Aditya approached Genevieve’s desk, crouched beneath it, and pressed a spot on the underside. A soft hum filled the room as a section of the wall behind the desks slid open, revealing a metal door.

Leo stepped forward, eyes narrowing. The door had no handle—only a cryptex-style cylinder embedded at its center, with four intricately carved letter wheels gleaming in the low light.

Leo’s fingers hovered over the cryptex.

He didn’t know the code.