Marcy commanded. “All I need is a few more drops. Quit being such a baby.” I was perched at an awkward angle over a small fire she had kindled, my hand wrapped around her body so I didn’t have to witness the cutting. “I’m hardly being a baby. This is the fifth time you’ve sliced me open with a hunting knife, the kind used for skinning large prey. It’s not exactly like a needle prick,” I grumbled. “If you’d stop healing the moment I poked you, we’d be golden. We need your blood. It’s the only thing that will cement these spells and make them strong enough to go up against the bokor’s magic.” She readjusted her grip on my wrist, tugging it over the pot. “And I just need a few more drops. Hold still.” I gritted my teeth. “Hurry up.” My wrist throbbed. Marcy had brewed the initial spells at her camp but had to get them bubbling again to add my blood. We were losing time. She poked me again and I flinched. “No go. Nada. Healed up already. What are you anyway?
