Blood Magic

Hardcover | September 10, 2013

byTessa Gratton

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This page-turning debut novel will entice fans who like their paranormal romances dark and disturbing. It's a natural next-read for fans of Stephanie Meyer, Carrie Jones, and Becca Fitzpatrick. But instead of mythical creatures, blood magic has everything to do with primal human desires like power, wealth, and immortality. Everywhere Silla Kennicott turns she sees blood. She can't stop thinking about her parents alleged murder-suicide. She is consumed by a book filled with spells that arrives mysteriously in the mail. The spells share one common ingredient: blood, and Silla is more than willing to cast a few. What's a little spilled blood if she can uncover the truth? And then there's Nick—the new guy at school who makes her pulse race. He has a few secrets of his own and is all too familiar with the lure of blood magic. Drawn together by a combination of fate and chemistry, Silla and Nick must find out who else in their small Missouri town knows their secret and will do anything to take the book and magic from Silla.

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From the Publisher

This page-turning debut novel will entice fans who like their paranormal romances dark and disturbing. It's a natural next-read for fans of Stephanie Meyer, Carrie Jones, and Becca Fitzpatrick. But instead of mythical creatures, blood magic has everything to do with primal human desires like power, wealth, and immortality. Everywhere S...

TESSA GRATTON has wanted to be a paleontologist or a wizard since she was seven. She was too impatient to hunt dinosaurs, but is still searching for someone to teach her magic. After traveling the world with her military family, she acquired a BA (and the important parts of an MA) in Gender Studies, then settled down in Kansas with her...

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Format:HardcoverDimensions:416 pages, 8.52 × 6.08 × 1.38 inPublished:September 10, 2013Publisher:Random House Children's BooksLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0375867333

ISBN - 13:9780375867330

Appropriate for ages: 9 - 12


Rated 4 out of 5 by from Great take on witches There are three viewpoints from this story. One from Silla’s point of view which the entire present is told, one from Nicholas’ point of view and one from the written journal of a woman who practiced blood magic long ago. I love the three viewpoints, it gives the reader the depth and view of different opinions and thoughts that I couldn’t help but praise Tessa Gratton for writing Blood Magic in that format. Clearly, reading the title alone, I would be witnessed to some magic that is beyond Harry Potter magic. Blood Magic. Yup, to make magic work, blood is needed. How the characters procure this blood made me cringe. Slicing your hand open to turn a dead leaf into a living leaf isn’t something I would want to do. However, the spells that were introduced were all for the good of its people. Not one dark drop of dark magic is practiced here that’s for sure. Except when there’s a good side, there’s also a bad side. And that bad side is in the form of a crazy person that I can’t help but want to help because the character has some mental issues. The plot is original and disturbing (Warning! some scenes could make you a little queasy. Especially if you’re an animal lover. I almost dropped the book reading one disturbing scene…. ), the bad guy is actually revealed so early on due to all the hints the author places, and the characters are your average cliche run-of-the-mill teenagers with a dark and dangerous past. And as always, I love talking about the characters. My heart goes out to Silla. Here she is just trying to live her teenage life when she can’t, because she is the only one who believes her dad is not the murderer everyone believes he is. Sure, I couldn’t help but scoff at the instant love she has over new boy Nicholas, but I guess teenage hormones get in the way. Especially when said boyfriend knows exactly what you’re going through considering his traumatizing past. Seriously these two teens had such horrible pasts, that I’m surprised they are even attempting to function through high school and all its shortcomings. Am I going to pick up the next book in this series? Of course. I would love nothing more than to find out what happens next since the series isn’t over.
Date published: 2014-12-02
Rated 4 out of 5 by from A Suspenseful and Dark Read! Blood Magic has cast its very own spell on me! Following Silla and Nick's foray into the dangerous world of blood magic, Tessa Gratton has weaved a dark and alluring tale that will be sure to enthrall you from start to finish! I really did love Tessa Gratton's writing style... and the dual perspectives between Nick and Silla along with old journal entries were just an added bonus that were brought to the table. Tessa Gratton's prose is almost poetic and lyrical at times with the way she integrates allusions into the story, and at others, she's very straight-forward and direct to the point she's making. The relationship between Nick and Silla seemed to evolve rather quickly, with their feelings for each other strengthening quite soon, but I was able to overcome this fact for the most part. Because we get inside the minds of both characters, it's easy to see how these two teens can feel a close connection right away with their complicated pasts and their shared interest in learning more about blood magic. My heart ached for the misfortune that had befallen on Silla... and Nick's past, while a little better, wasn't exactly sunshine and rainbows either. They were both in need of help and through supporting each other, they could heal some of the pain to become stronger individuals. As I was reading, there were times when I was staring so hard at the words before me that I thought I'd burn a hole right through the pages! Sure, I thought the pacing was rather slow sometimes, but there were also moments where I was completely gripped by the intensity of the events. This is a novel not for the faint of heart. Blood is spilled many times (from as simple as a drop!) due to the nature of this form of magic and with Tessa Gratton's descriptions, you'll easily be able to conjure images of the events to mind. Sometimes, it felt like I should be even shuddering but instead, I was left with this odd, deep fascination for the thrill and power of blood magic, and the sacrifices it entailed. And the lead up to the ending? It was heart-pounding and thrilling in a way that kept me constantly on my toes trying to guess the outcome! There were quite a few twists and turns that left me surprised and wide-eyed, that's for sure! Tessa Gratton's debut novel is suspenseful and addictive in so many ways! Without a doubt, I shall be eagerly looking forward to The Blood Keeper, a companion novel to Blood Magic, which will be released next year! With a very original storyline, Blood Magic will easily stand out amongst novels in the paranormal genre! You can read this review at:
Date published: 2011-05-19

Extra Content

Read from the Book

one I am Josephine Darly, and I intend to live forever. two Silla It is impossible to know who you really are until you spend time alone in a cemetery. The headstone was cold against my back, pressing my thin T-shirt into the sweat trickling down my skin. Dusk washed the cemetery of shadows, lending it a quality of between-ness: neither day nor night, but a gray, teary moment. I sat with my legs crossed and the book in my lap. Beneath me, scraggly grass hid my parents’ graves. I brushed dirt off the front cover of the book. It was the size of a paperback novel, so small and insignificant-seeming between my hands. The mahogany leather cover was soft and scuffed from years of use; the color had worn off the corners. The pages used to be gilded, but that was rubbed off, too. Cracking it open, I read the inscription again, whispering it to myself, making it more real. Notes on Transformation and Transcendence Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew.—Shakespeare It had been one of Dad’s favorite quotes. From Hamlet. Dad used to recite it whenever Reese or I stormed out of the room to pout. Said we had nothing to complain about compared to the prince of Denmark. I remembered his blue eyes narrowing at me over the rims of his glasses. The book had arrived in the mail this afternoon, wrapped in brown paper with no return address. Drusilla Kennicot was written in plain block letters, like a summoning. There were six stamps in the corner. It smelled like blood. That particular raw-penny aroma stuck in the back of my throat, clinging with memory. I closed my eyes and saw a splash of blood streaked across bookshelves. When I opened my eyes again, I was still alone in the cemetery. Inside the front cover of the book was a note, folded in thirds and written on thick, unlined paper. Silla, it began. I shivered every time I saw my name written in the old cursive hand. The bottom of the s spiraled into oblivion. Silla, I feel your loss as my own, child. I have known your father for most of his life, and he was a dearest friend. I regret I am unable to present myself for his memorial, though trust that his life is celebrated and his death greatly mourned. If there can be any small consolation, I hope that this is it. Here in this book are the secrets he perfected. Decades of research, a lifetime’s worth of knowledge. He was a gloriously talented magician and healer, and he was proud of you, proud of your strength. I know he would like for you to have this record of his work now. All my brightest hopes be with you and your brother. It was signed only The Deacon. No last name or contact information. Crows laughed, bursting up through headstones a distance away. The black cloud of them cut through the air in a flapping of wings and raucous cawing. I watched them against the gray sky as they flew west toward my house. Probably to terrorize the blue jays that lived in our front-yard maple. Wind blew my short hair against my cheeks, and I brushed it back. I wondered who this Deacon was. He claimed friendship with my dad, but I’d never heard of him. And why he would suggest such incredible, ridiculous things: that my dad was a magician and healer, when he’d only been a high school Latin teacher. But despite that, I knew without a doubt that I was holding a book my dad had written: I recognized his ?ne, delicate handwriting, with its tiny loops in every capital L and its perfectly angled Rs. He’d abhorred typing, and used to lecture Reese and me about learning to write longhand legibly. Reese had compromised by printing block letters, but I’d been too enamored of wild, looping cursive to worry about readability. No matter where it had come from, this book was Dad’s. As I flipped through it, I saw that every page contained lines and lines of perfect writing and meticulous diagrams sprawling like spider webs. The diagrams contained circles within circles, Greek letters or strange pictographs and runes. There were triangles and octagons, pentacles, squares, and seven-pointed stars. Dad had made tiny notes at the edges of the pages, written descriptive paragraphs in Latin, and made lists of ingredients. Salt dominated the lists, and recognizable items like ginger, wax, fingernails, mirrors, chicken claws, cat teeth, and colored ribbons. But there were words I didn’t know, like carmot and agrimony and spikenard. And blood. Every list included a drop of blood. They were magic spells. For locating lost items, for blessing new babies and deterring curses. For protecting against evil. For seeing over long distances. Predicting the future. For healing all manner of illness and wound. I flipped through, heart alight with wonder and fear. I could taste excitement, too, like electricity in the back of my throat. Could it be real? Dad hadn’t been one to play elaborate tricks, and was the opposite of fanciful, despite his love for old books and heroic tales. There had to be a spell I could try. To test it. To see. As I thought about it, the smell crawled up the back of my throat again, blood clinging to my sinuses and trailing like sticky smoke down my esophagus. I raised the book to my nose and drew in a long, cleansing breath. And I imagined I could smell him in the book. My dad. Not the overwhelming blood that had saturated his shirt and the carpet beneath his body, but the slightly oiled cigarettes-and-soap when he came to breakfast every morning, after a shower and quick smoke on the back patio. I dropped the book into my lap and closed my eyes until Dad was right there, sitting in front of me, one hand touching my right knee.