Once, I created magical rods to amplify our mirror at home. My sisters called them antennae because it caused our mirror to look like a shiny beetle. But I didn’t think I would need them if I tapped right into the magic of Kiln.
Kneeling, I pressed my palms to the floor and sought with my senses, seeking the magic. It was deep beneath the mountain, but I found the closest line of magic. I coaxed it to me, but the more I swept it toward me, it seemed to slip out of my grasp like water running through my fingers.
Slowly it came, and I tapped into it. My vision merged with the ley line, and I followed it. It was like being in a dream, slipping in and out of consciousness. I followed the magic to the source and found a void deep within the mountain.
“What is this?” I murmured. As I studied it, I saw another ley line that had been redirected and converged into the darkness and nothing came out. The darkness was swallowing the magic like a leech. This seemed to be the source. I would need more time to study it and to determine how to cast it out. Whatever it was.
My hands were shaking. It was draining, following the trail of magic. And even though it was giving me strength, there was something odd about the ley line. The magic tasted off. Like a well that had been spoiled. I was wary of staying connected for too long. Just as I tried to disengage from the vision, the void shifted, as if noticing my presence.
My heart pounded as I tried to pull my consciousness back. A strand of shadow shot out of the void and seized my wrist.
I cried out as a sharp pain hit me in the chest, the darkness ripping at the source of my magic. My soul. I fought it, pulling away, but it hungered for my power. It had tasted my magic, and I knew it was trying to drag me into it. I could feel it try to pull me into the void. The black strand solidified into a black sticky goo and encased my arm and shoulder. The more I struggled, the farther up my arm it traveled.
“No!” I shouted at the darkness. “You cannot have me!”
A deep chuckle came from it. Ancient. Old and powerful. Goosebumps ran across my skin as it spoke. “You are mine.”
It pulled again, and I recognized the same sensation I’d experienced with the cursed treasure.
Terror gripped me. My mouth went dry, and I knew that if I couldn’t disengage right now, I would die.
Even though it was a vision, it was a fight for my life. The black curse of magic now trapped both of my feet and worked around my hips. I tried to use my magic to fight it, but it only swallowed me faster.
“Help!” I cried out, screaming into the ether. “Help!”
A golden blast of fire ripped through the air and cut through the strands. The fire, white and purifying, made the darkness retreat. The dark goo, once disconnected from the void, dissipated into smoke.
Quickly, I pulled my consciousness back into my physical body. The return was brutal as I slammed into myself and fell backward onto the floor. I lay there, breathing hard, holding up my hands and envisioning the darkness that had moments ago almost swallowed me whole. I knew it didn’t physically touch me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was still in danger. If it hadn’t been for that fire spell . . . or was it a spell? I didn’t know. But someone, another sorcerer maybe, had come to my aid at the last minute. If they hadn’t . . . I shuddered.
“What are you?” I spoke aloud, thinking of the dark void.
I could feel its greed; the insatiable hunger of that monster and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time. I would face the eater of magic. I wasn’t sure if I could survive my encounter a second time. Painfully, I sat up and winced. My head was throbbing. I tried to stand, but my legs wobbled.
My nerves were shot, and I was exhausted, my mind swept up in the fear of the unknown. I didn’t have the energy to search for bedding.
I pulled the high-back chair closer to the fire, tucked a few books under the broken leg that was four inches too short and curled up in the chair. I was scared to leave the protection of the warm fire. I loved books, and sleeping in a room surrounded by books—even if there were few—was comforting. After what I’d just experienced, I needed all the comfort I could get.
Against the crackling warmth of the fire, bathed in a sweet glow of light, I drifted into a fitful sleep.
A loud crash awoke me from my dream, and I sat up. My heart pounded wildly in my chest. The fire had dimmed. The coals were barely alive, and the room was immersed in darkness. The storm howled fiercely outside. I had thought I imagined the noise when the sound came again from out in the main hall.
Something was in the house. The giant dog-sized rat? No . . . the giant dog-sized rat, and all its friends.
Then I heard the creak of a door opening and shutting.
Rats can’t open doors.
Which meant a person.
How? I thought. This place was warded and impossible to find. Then realization hit me. I’d never replaced the spell. I clenched my teeth together in frustration at my stupidity.
Tiptoeing toward the open sitting-room door, I slid behind it and looked through the crack into the hall. It was empty.
For a moment, I wondered if I had let my imagination get the best of me.
Then a gigantic shadow passed by, and I almost screamed. I clamped my hand over my mouth as the human-like shape moved toward the dining room. There was no way about it. There was an intruder in my mother’s home.
I reached for my magic, and I hesitated. Would that thing find me again if I used it?
That doubt had me reaching for the heaviest book I could find. I slipped back behind the door, holding the volume of ancient herbal remedies above my head.
The stranger moved toward the sitting room. I held my breath as the tip of a blade came into view first, followed by a hand. My arms trembled from the weight of the tome as I waited to strike. My breath caught, and I could feel my heart thudding loudly in my ears. Surely, he could hear it too.
A log shifted on the fireplace, and the stranger turned toward the sound. I stepped out from behind the door, swinging the book downward with all my might, aiming for the back of his head—and I missed.
He was lightning fast. He grabbed my hand and twisted, pulling my body toward him. I flew through the air and landed on the wooden floor. My breath knocked from my lungs. I gasped as the knife came down toward my throat, stopping to press lightly against my skin. Torn between struggling and not, I held still as he tapped my neck with the tip.
The man was clothed in darkness, backlit only by the dying fire. I couldn’t see my attacker, only the long knife and the hand that held it. I waited for him to strike. Instead, he looked at what I clutched in my hands.
“Did you really try to attack me with . . . a book?” he scoffed. “I’d hardly call that dangerous.”
Was he making fun of me?
“Books are a weapon in the right hands.” My anger rolled through me, and I closed my eyes and concentrated. I didn’t do well in stressful situations. My reaction times were slow, my thoughts jumbled. I was a planner, not a fighter. My previous hesitation about using magic dissipated.
“Fiergo,” I whispered.
The fire roared to life, and he turned to glance over his shoulder, giving me enough leeway to snake my arm up and press a finger to his forehead, calling forth a sleeping spell that was activated by touch.
“Somnus.”
The man collapsed on top of me in a spelled slumber, the knife clattering to the floor.