Текст книги "Reckless Magic"
Автор книги: Rachel Higginson
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Reckless Magic
The Star-Crossed Series
By Rachel Higginson
Copyright@ Rachel Higginson 2012
This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give, copy, scan, distribute or sell this book to anyone else.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.
Any people or places are strictly fictional and not based on anything else, fictional or non-fictional.
Editing services provided by Jennifer Nunez.
Printed in paperback May 2012 and available in Kindle and E-book format as of May 2012 through Amazon, Create Space and Barnes & Noble.
To my Daddy, who instilled the confidence in me
To write long before this daydream took form
To Kylee, my first reader and critic, who made
This possible from start to finish
To Zach, who was the first ever to believe
My dream could also be my work
Prologue
Headlights lit up the dark living room as a black, unmarked sedan pulled into the driveway. A man sitting silently in the corner arm chair lifted his head from his fingertips and focused sharply on the late night visitor.
The man was used to hosting many guests, mostly dignitaries and officials sent on palace business. The guests would come and go with lots of pomp and circumstance, reminding the man that he was a servant. He was a servant, to the Monarchy, the palace, the King.
The guests would also come with lots of warning. The car parked out front came with no notice and it caused the man to focus. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t worried. He was just curious.
Standing up slowly, he felt the tingling of magic ignite in his blood. They couldn’t disguise themselves, those that were like him. He could feel their presence before they were too close. Their similar magic, like a warning flare, always reminding him of whom he was, of whom he belonged to.
He expected the worst, the end to a too long life. The house he had made his home in recent years would be perfect for this tragic finale. An empty tomb holding centuries of memories, most of which he would have loved to forget. The expensive but empty house would be perfect to bid good-bye to this life. It felt like his over-lived existence: too large, too old and too empty.
He half wondered who they would send. He wondered who would be strong enough to finish the job no one previously had been able to finish. This time he wouldn’t fight. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of victory. There was nothing left for him to win. The people he had believed in had let him down. The King he had expected the worst from hadn’t. It was time to give up. Time to throw in the towel and let them destroy him; along with the cause he alone was defending. He was ready.
Finally, he was ready.
But as the magic moved towards the door, he was surprised to find it not threatening, but familiar, like an old magic, from an old friend. A friend from a different time and one that he had hoped to never meet again because he knew she must be desperate to brave this visit.
“Hello, Angelica,” the man answered the door before the old woman could knock. Her long white hair glistened in the moonlight, and she returned his scowl with a gentle smile and sad violet eyes.
“Hello, Amory,” Angelica’s arms were full of something covered with blankets. She pushed past him; his tall, muscular frame took up most of the door way. The cold night of a winter turning into spring blew quietly into the house, but encouraged the man to shut the door quickly behind them.
Once the door was shut, Amory turned the lights on in the darkened house, planning to invite the woman in for the night. The house now lit, took on a different personality from before. What once felt like a stark and empty room was now warm and inviting with the soft glow of light. A simple burst of magic brought a roaring fire to life and warmed the room, as quickly as it was lit.
Angelica sat down on a large leather couch near the fire. Her arms were still full of blankets and her expression still sad.
“Let me take those from you,” Amory offered, realizing Angelica looked frail and tired under her packages.
“I would love that,” her face lit up just a little bit as Amory bent over to take the first bundle out of her right arm.
As his strong hands slipped underneath a blue blanket to lift the package from her, they stopped suddenly, paralyzed by the soft and warm body underneath. Pulling his hands away, he stared at her with fear in his eyes.
“What is this?” he asked, nearly choking on his words.
“Take a look for yourself,” she nodded her head and encouraged him with tender eyes.
“Who? What? It can’t be,” Amory fumbled through words afraid of what was in either arm.
Eventually he found enough courage to pull the blue blanket away from a sleeping infant, not more than a week old. The little boy was perfect, tiny and soft with chubby cheeks and a thick head of dark curly hair that seemed too much for his little head. He stared at the child for several seconds recognizing his parents without ever needing confirmation.
He looked back to the woman who smiled even sweeter, a tear escaping from one of her violet eyes, making their strange color stand out starkly against her pale and wrinkly skin. She nodded to the other bundle, one wrapped in a pink blanket. Amory shook his head and stepped back.
The baby boy had not scared the man; it was the second bundle that had concerned him so. Several seconds passed before Amory found the courage to pull the blanket away from the second sleeping child. Almost identical to her twin brother, with chubby cheeks, and dark, unruly hair, she was unmistakably a girl, but with almost an angelic quality and a sweet, small nose.
“It’s not possible,” Amory shook his head again, noticing the tiny buzzing of infant magic swirling around him for the first time.
“That’s what I said,” Angelica held out the baby girl and, shaking slightly, Amory took her into his arms, feeling like the smallest mistake would shatter the fragile child.
“How did they….? How did you….? How did they get here?” Amory stumbled through several half questions before settling on the most recent. Twins did not exist in their culture, or at least they hadn’t in thousands of years.
“Two days ago, Justice came to me in the middle of the night with these two. He stayed for only a couple minutes, just long enough to explain that these were their children, their first and only, that they were twins, and that Delia and he were fine.” She cuddled the little boy in her arms, pressing her cheek against his head gently. “And, Amory, he asked me to bring them to you. It was Delia’s idea.” She stared down at the sleeping child, afraid to look up into her dear friend’s eyes.
Although Amory was infinitely older than her, no one would have been able to tell. His black hair showed no signs of gray, and his matching black eyes were as sharp as ever. She was nearing the beginning of old age and looked it. Her face was wrinkled and hair perfectly white; her hands were gnarled and she showed a lifetime of hardship that she was unwilling to admit to.
“To me?” His voice betrayed the fear he felt and took on the sweet cooing of a gentle soul speaking to a baby. The little girl sighed heavily in his arms as if perfectly content to be there.
“Yes, to you. They are choosing to stay hidden. The children would not survive if they stayed with them.” Although she was the younger of the two, Angelica’s voice took on a stern maternal quality that showed her desire to protect the two infants fiercely.
“And you suppose they will survive if they stay with me?” Amory’s voice did not lose the sweet, soft tone, but his question was valid.
“They have to. This is a miracle, Amory, an unbelievable miracle. They have to survive for the sake of our people,” Angelica stood, walking to Amory and putting her free hand against his face.
Amory looked deeply into Angelica’s lavender eyes and knew that she was right. The hope he had lost so many years ago was suddenly ignited again by these two seemingly impossible infants. The children continued to sleep in their arms, but made little noises only newborn babies did, oblivious to their surroundings, innocent of the world they were entering.
“Then we cannot keep them together, Annie. They cannot have anything to do with each other if we hope to keep them alive.” Amory looked back at the little girl, already the spitting image of her mother. She opened her eyes at the sound of his louder voice and gazed up at him. She did not cry; she only stared back at the man now responsible for her future.
“Agreed,” Angelica nodded with resolve. “Then we will leave now.”
She covered the little boy again with his blue, fleece blanket and leaned over to kiss the girl on the forehead. The baby lifted her mouth to the human contact, looking for a bottle.
“I don’t think I remember how to do this,” Amory was suddenly swept with a different kind of fear as he realized the child, although necessary to the cause recalled in the old man’s mind, had needs of her own; needs that a lonely bachelor was extremely ill-equipped to provide for.
“I have no doubt that you’ll figure it out,” Angelica reached for Amory’s face again, offering an encouraging smile before kissing him on the lips.
“Where will you go?” he asked her as she walked towards the front door, that she had only just entered.
“Not home,” she said sadly. “You?”
“I have no choice but to stay here,” Amory said with all the malice he was capable of.
“Then what will you do with the child?” The fear in Angelica’s voice was unmistakable. She had made a choice in bringing the children to Amory, and it was too late to change her mind, but regret flooded her veins when she realized the danger she had put all of them in.
“I have a dear friend here that will help me, a human friend. She is young but immeasurably smart and capable.” A sly grin crossed Amory’s face; he felt confident in his plan.
“Ah. You mean she is in love with you,” Angelica watched the embarrassment color her friend’s face, but he didn’t respond; no matter how long the man lived, he stayed humble and private. “I will contact you when we have settled somewhere.”
She turned to leave, opening the door and looking out across the deserted neighborhood street.
“Angelica, these children are our only hope,” Amory said quickly with more passion than he had felt in almost a century.
“I know,” she replied with determination.
“Annie, wait. Please know,” his voice broke with emotion, “please know what they mean to me.”
“I know that too,” Angelica did know, but it was with a sadder determination that she responded.
The man watched his friend carefully load the child back into the black sedan. Their departure was bittersweet, tearing at his determination to keep these children alive under any circumstance and his unwillingness to ever be separated from them again.
If this plan, this plan of survival born in the midnight hours were to work, his resolve would have to be strong. Magic swirled around him, as he watched her twin brother be driven away to safety, not knowing when the next time the siblings would meet.
He looked down at the little girl, wrapped in pink and sleeping again and smiled. There was hope again for his people. There was something worth living for, worth fighting for. And she was the key to it all. She just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter One
“Well, here we go,” I said softly to myself. I took a big breath and stepped out of the car. I gave a cautious wave to Aunt Syl as I watched her drive away. She waved back enthusiastically. I felt anything but encouraged.
I had to go to school, right? I did not have a choice. I was pretty sure it was against the law not to go…. I tried to think of other reasons to postpone the inevitable but came up empty handed. Social suicide…. I was well on my way.
I cringed inwardly, knowing I looked like a hot mess. I could feel my tan skin, turning translucent with nerves, and my unruly, dark hair, tangled and wild as I stood too long in the wind. It whipped around my face in the hot, humid breeze, partially blocking the impending view from sight. I brushed my hair out of my face, but it refused to obey and with another gust of unbearably hot August air, I was forced to walk forward to maintain my sight.
I felt sick and nauseous; I was practically on the verge of puking. I closed my eyes for several seconds and then opened them again, hoping I’d be someplace else, any place else. But I was right where I was supposed to be: staring up at my new school. The tall, ominous buildings clustering together, stared back. Their dark, red brick laughed at me silently, daring me to run away. The central tower, with its golden bell, and deep sweet chimes taunted me, mocked me.
Ok, maybe I was being a little over dramatic, but school had never been my, um, thing. It could have been because I was a complete social spaz; or it could have been because this was my fourth school in two years. Either way, I always seemed to have trouble adjusting to teenage normalcy.
Kingsley Preparatory Academy was a last resort of sorts. Well, really, it was the last prep school that would take me; God forbid I would attend public school. As the niece and only surviving relative of my aunt, the doctor, I was destined for a higher education.
If only I could have gone six months without being expelled. Kingsley was the last prep school in Omaha that had given me a chance, and that was only after a very generous contribution from my aunt and a promise from me that I wouldn’t burn it to the ground. Although I harbored no ill will for the school itself, I was not sure if I could keep my promise.
Not that I would burn it down on purpose, but that kind of stuff just happened to me. The burning down of schools, the flooding of schools, and the infestation of huge, tropical insects of schools…. All fell into the category of been there, done that. It’s not like I ever did it on purpose; it all just sort of happened.
So after another deep breath, I began my death march to the top of the hill and the large, brass, double doors that led into the Administration Building. The doors slammed shut behind me, making me almost jump out of my skin. The lobby was dimly lit; it took a while for my eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside.
Kingsley was immaculate; beautiful marble floors and elaborate lighted sconces filled the lobby. An intricate, crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and gave the room a warm glow that reminded me of dusk rather than 8:00 AM. Plush, crimson divans lined the lobby, and oil paintings of elderly people adorned the walls. I reminded myself that this was a school building and not the sitting room to a luxurious Victorian home.
I forced my feet forward and adjusted my backpack straps. I stopped to fiddle with my uniform, afraid to make the wrong first impression. The front counter, located directly on the other side of the lobby was crafted from a beautiful wood, probably mahogany, that expanded the width of the room and stood elbow-high. I walked the rest of the way tentatively, as this was like no other school building I had ever been in, and I’d had my fair share of experience.
An elderly woman, with snow-white hair and small-framed glasses, sat behind a small desk made from the same wood as the counter that partitioned us. Her posture was perfect and her legs crossed properly, as she focused typing at her computer. A name-plate that read “Mrs. Truance” decorated her desk, facing me. She glanced my way from the top of her spectacles and gave a little sigh.
“You must be Eden Matthews,” she declared more as a statement than a question.
“Yes, I am,” I choked out.
“Welcome to Kingsley,” she said tersely. Mrs. Truance stood up gracefully and walked over to me with some sheets of paper in her hand. “Here is your class list and map of the campus. It can be quite confusing, so please ask for help if you get lost.”
“Thank you, I will,” I tried to smile, but she had already turned away and headed back to her desk. So instead, I looked down at my class list and found my first hour of torture to be English.
I shuffled through the papers until I found a map of the campus. Junior AP English was located in the English and Arts Building, which appeared to be two buildings east of this one.
“Please hurry, Kiran. I don’t want you to be late for our first day,” a peculiar accent and heavy footsteps made me turn to see two figures walk through the brass double doors I had just come in. The bright sunshine illuminated the lobby; I was blinded for a moment as the doors slammed for a second time. My eyes took a moment to adjust again.
“Stop worrying; I’m royalty for God’s sake!” barked the second voice with a strong, aristocratic English accent that sounded irritated. As they walked closer, I could see that they were dressed in the Kingsley uniform, and close to my age.
The first boy who spoke resembled a giant; he was at least 6’5 and extremely muscular. Good-looking with olive skin and dark hair, he seemed to speak with an Italian or Spanish accent. He looked a bit rough, like he had been in a fight or two. He leaned toward the other in a strange way, almost as if he was bowing slightly. Although his eyes were a bit far apart, they were deep brown, with glints of gold, and said something about him, but I couldn’t determine what they might reveal.
As I watched the two boys walk closer, I eventually noticed the second one, who was almost overshadowed by his friend until he was nearly five feet away. My mouth dropped open as I looked at him. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
Not usually the type to objectify men, or even notice them at all, my reaction was almost as shocking as his beauty. He had thick, dirty blonde hair that was unkempt in a way that said movie star. He ran his fingers through it slowly, moving it away from his forehead; I could swear it happened in slow motion. He had clear dark eyes, a color almost indefinable. They reminded me of the ocean, aqua at first; but the closer he got the darker they appeared. Suddenly they were turquoise and shining. A straight nose and perfectly full, but masculine lips completed his face. I hardly noticed anything else as I stared stunned and bemused into his eyes, eyes that happened to be staring back into mine.
“Excuse me, Ms. Matthews; you are going to be late for class if you don’t get going. Can you read the map, or are you already lost?” the stern voice of the secretary pulled me out of my stupor.
“Um, no, I can read,” I said, sheepishly, still unable to take my eyes off the mysterious boy staring back.
“Of course you can read,” she said sharply, snapping my entranced head back to reality. “Now, get to class.”
This time I obeyed, although hesitantly. I was thankful for my long hair, and let it fall in front of my face, hoping to hide my embarrassment. I could feel my tan cheeks burning with shame. As I started to walk past the eyes that had captured my attention, I began to experience the strangest, but not-so-unfamiliar feeling.
My skin started to tingle as if I were being shocked a million times; my insides began to grow increasingly warmer until I felt like all of my vital organs were energized from the sun. Instantly my blood began to warm and then rapidly heated to what felt like a strong boil. I picked up my pace and nearly ran out of the double brass doors into the fresh air, trying to catch my breath.
It was only the end of August, so the sun was still hot and the humidity already overwhelming, despite the early morning hour. I pressed my face against the cool brick of the building, gasping for air and mentally calming my insides.
I realized that I looked ridiculous, but the physical changes that had just begun to occur in my body were usually a sign of pending destruction. Although I had never been sure of why my body suddenly felt like a giant microwave, I could always be positive that it would end in a great travesty. I pressed my face closer to the brick, allowing the shade of the building to cool me, calming the electrical impulses tingling beneath my skin.
I was officially humiliated by my erratic behavior. I was sure I left those inside thoroughly entertained and confused. I was just thankful I was able to stop the electrical build-up in time.
The first time I felt the electric pulses underneath my skin I thought they were bugs. In the middle of second semester of my freshman year, I thought I had been attacked by a swarm of insects. During gym class, I began to freak out, feeling the creepy-crawly sensation of the electricity building slowly inside of me. I remembered my gym teacher rushing over to my side and then I remember nothing. Supposedly I passed out, but not before screaming something about bugs being everywhere. When I finally woke up, I was outside in an ambulance, surrounded by hazmat guys. Apparently my school had become thoroughly infested with tropical insects, the really big kind. Unfortunately, I had implicated myself in what the school board assumed to be a serious prank, and I was respectfully asked to leave.
After pleading a pitiful case to the next school, I was allowed to begin my sophomore year on the provision of absolutely no shenanigans. I lasted all the way through the year until finals week when I felt the electrical sensation again. This time I tried to restrain myself and get it under control; I wished only to wash the feeling off. Again I must have blacked out because I woke up to find myself in another ambulance; the school had flooded spontaneously. The school board did not ask so nicely for me to leave; but Aunt Syl forced them to give me passing grades by threatening a lawsuit, since there was no substantial evidence that I caused the flood.
Last week, the beginning of my junior year, I started my third prep school, only to experience what felt like my blood beginning to boil. I was warned it was my last chance to finish high school. Unfortunately for them, no one would be finishing anything at that school, since I magically burned it to the ground.
I couldn’t explain what happened to me; I just knew better than to mess around. The powers in charge at Kingsley must have been brave souls to allow me entrance into their prestigious prep school, or had taken out an unusually large insurance policy.
I was just glad I was able to stop it that time. I had never felt the impulses react so strongly. More than a sweeping sense of unconsciousness, the electrical impulses had felt alive, as if they were reacting to something. Who knows what would have happened had I let them continue…. possibly the Apocalypse? I had no idea why those things happened to me, or what exactly they were. I just knew that I was always the one responsible for something catastrophic. And I was seriously hoping to avoid closing this school down for good.
I turned around, so that my back was to the wall, slid down slowly to the ground, and closed my eyes. I was utterly unconcerned with being late for class after all that; I had bigger things to worry about, like ensuring there was still a class to go to.
I compelled my nerves to calm down, and started slowly to relax. I forced my muscles to loosen up, mentally flexing them. My relaxation only lasted a second, though, as the Administration Building doors burst open. The two boys, from before, exited the building in mid-conversation.
I prayed they would not notice me and crouched even closer to the wall. I could not have felt more humiliated. Although the gorgeous one did look in my direction, he acted as though he couldn’t see me and continued down the steps.
“What are we doing here, Talbott?” the one named Kiran demanded, almost growling.
“Please sir, you know what we are doing here,” Talbott replied, almost too softly to be heard.
“No, I do not,” Kiran snapped again. “Aren’t there any qualified girls in London? This is ridiculous. I don’t even know where we are. This is the ugliest place I have ever seen. I cannot possibly be expected to spend the next two years of my life here. I want to talk to my father,” his voice had almost turned into a whine, but his accent was so sexy that I hardly noticed.
“There are none in London with her pedigree and power. Your father looked. Your father looked everywhere. And this place is called Omaha…. Nebraska. I’m afraid he will not be moved; this was his idea,” Talbott said humbly but persistently. Although inferior in looks, he certainly seemed to be the more mature of the two.
“This is ridiculous. Where is she?” Kiran looked around himself with such pride and arrogance that I found his beauty quickly fading. Crouching closer to the wall, I could not believe they still hadn’t noticed me.
“Please calm down. I believe you will meet her soon; but we must get to class now or you will be late on your first day,” Talbott half smiled and started walking in the direction of the academic buildings; Kiran followed slowly behind, arms crossed, looking less god-like and much more child-like.
I breathed a sigh of relief and slowly stood up. Reluctantly, I collected my papers and adjusted my uniform, which consisted of a navy-blue, pleated skirt and white button-down collared shirt, knee-high navy blue stockings and of course the classic prep school tie: navy-blue with red plaid. I gathered my nerve and headed in the same direction as Talbott and Kiran, already afraid of the rest of my day.
