Blood Like Magic

Book 1: Blood Like Magic

by Liselle Sambury

Genres: YA Contemporary; YA Wizards & Witches

Synopsis

“High stakes, big heart, and lots of Black Girl Magic…unputdownable.” —Aiden Thomas, New York Times bestselling author of Cemetery Boys

A rich, dark urban fantasy debut following a teen witch who is given a horrifying task: sacrificing her first love to save her family’s magic. The problem is, she’s never been in love—she’ll have to find the perfect guy before she can kill him.

After years of waiting for her Calling—a trial every witch must pass to come into their powers—the one thing Voya Thomas didn’t expect was to fail. When Voya’s ancestor gives her an unprecedented second chance to complete her Calling, she agrees—and then is horrified when her task is to kill her first love. And this time, failure means every Thomas witch will be stripped of their magic.

Voya is determined to save her family’s magic no matter the cost. The problem is, Voya has never been in love, so for her to succeed, she’ll first have to find the perfect guy—and fast. Fortunately, a genetic matchmaking program has just hit the market. Her plan is to join the program, fall in love, and complete her task before the deadline. What she doesn’t count on is being paired with the infuriating Luc—how can she fall in love with a guy who seemingly wants nothing to do with her?

With mounting pressure from her family, Voya is caught between her morality and her duty to her bloodline. If she wants to save their heritage and Luc, she’ll have to find something her ancestor wants more than blood. And in witchcraft, blood is everything.

Release date: June 15, 2021

Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books

Print pages: 496

Sample

There’s something about lounging in a bath of blood that makes me want to stay until my fingers shrivel enough to show the outlines of my bones.

 

My toes peek out of thick ruby ripples. Slick drops slide off my fingers and splash with an echo in the tub like spicy pumpkin pone batter dripping off a mixing spoon.

“Sorry to stop you waxing poetic, but you need to get out of the tub.” My cousin Keis slouches against the doorframe of our bathroom. The toilet is so close to the bathtub that you have to prop your feet on the ledge when you pee.

She blows a breath out of her nose and crosses her arms. The powder-blue robe she’s wearing is embroidered with a K for Keisha. Our oldest cousin, Alex, made one for everyone in the family last Christmas. My canary-yellow robe with a V for Voya is hanging up in my room.

“Don’t call me Keisha, even in your head,” she says, casually reading the thought off the top of my mind.

Sorry. Even a year after Keis got her mind-reading gift, I still sometimes forget that she has it.

Granny used to say that Keishas were bad. To fry Granny’s battery, Auntie Maise gave the name to both her twin girls. Keis, as she insists on being called, is pronounced “KAY-ss,” like something you put glasses into instead of the more natural “KEY-shh,” which also sounds like a delicious egg-and-spinach tart. I figure this is a way for my cousin to differentiate herself even more from her sister, who she’s clashed with since birth on account of their shared name.

My cousin clenches her jaw. “Keisha is annoying and obsessed with her feed and dating. That’s why we clash. Taking those pictures with her ass stuck out like she’s some sort of NuMoney tagalong. For what? So some stranger can give her a five-star rating?”

I like Keisha’s feed. She makes living outside the downtown core look glamorous, and I find her open sexuality kind of rebel feminist. It is a lot of boobs and butt, but at least she’s proud of it?

Keis pulls off her headscarf, and curly ringlets bounce out of its hold. The roots are a black 1B and the ends blond 14/88A. I bought the sew-in wig online for her birthday. Yolanda, it’s called. It looks real for fake.

Keis opens her mouth.

Not fake, sorry. It’s real hair, but it’s not yours.

Having someone inside your head constantly is an experience. By now, I’m used to it. Sometimes it makes things easier because I have a best friend who can comfort me about something I feel shitty about before I even tell her. And sometimes it makes things harder, like when I feel shitty because I know I’ll never be as smart or strong or talented as Keis, and I have to see her face shift as she pretends she hasn’t heard the thought.

I press the small button on the bath keypad. It’s embedded, crooked (thanks, Uncle Cathius), in the white tiles lining the tub. The steam icon lights up neon green, and the installed jets feed heat into the blood bath. I shiver as the warmth hits me.

Every minute I spend here is another I don’t have to pass downstairs. I should be enjoying this time, not spending it dreading what comes next.

Keis’s lip curls. “Don’t tell me you turned the heat on.”

Okay, I won’t. I hug my legs to my chest. “Why do I need to get out right now?”

My cousin sags against the door. “I checked on your food, as you bossily messaged me to, an hour ago. It’s been ready. We want to eat, but Granny won’t let us touch anything until you come down. It’s a special dinner to celebrate your Bleeding, after all.”

I don’t know if non-magic girls get excited about puberty, but it’s a big deal in the witch community. At fourteen and fifteen, I was disappointed when nothing happened, but not everyone can be an early bloomer. Or an early-late bloomer, given that witches tend to get their periods later. But I always felt like sixteen would be my time. Every day since my sixteenth birthday a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been in a constant state of anticipation, waiting for the moment that finally happened a few hours ago.