Winter Fire (The Witchling #3)
Lizzy Ford
Chapter One
Beck Turner, the Master of Light, stretched out on his bed to sleep. He gazed into the darkness of his room. At some point, he assumed he’d be tired enough to fall asleep.
So far, that wasn’t the case. He hadn’t slept in several nights. It was his first night back at the school after three weeks of hell: lawyers, police, grieving parents, and disappearing Light.
The death of the girl he started dating had resulted in an in-depth investigation where he was the primary suspect. After all, he was the one to find her and the one whose fingerprints were on her necklace. The police assumed he was a jealous, angry or abusive boyfriend who went too far.
It was hard to explain how he found her when there was no evidence leading him to her and how he knew who did it. He saw Tanya’s memories in the magick lingering in her amulet. In no court on the planet would the it-was-magick argument hold up.
His phone vibrated. He checked it, expecting the message to be from Dawn, the ex-girlfriend he knocked up. His guess was right, but there were too many curse words for it to be a message worth reading. He locked his phone, smile fading.
On a weekend, there was no calling the legal team his father hired to start a custody battle for their unborn child. Beck rose. He’d never sleep at this rate. Pulling on his clothes, he left the dorm room. The Square – the common area behind the school where students gathered for outdoor classes and bonfires – was silent. Snow glistened under a bright moon. Pine trees were heavy with white frosting while the depths of the forest appeared even darker in contrast with the snow.
He loved the forest. It was the only place he felt peace.
Leaving the Square, Beck walked down a familiar path into the forest. His earth magick swept snow from his path in whichever direction he wanted to go. Usually, he played with the earth, darting in new directions to see if it could keep up with him.
He was too tired to play and too wired to sleep.
“Hey, you want to spar?” he asked a tree.
Its spirit murmured in agreement. Beck dropped into a sparring stance. Decker and their mother had both been teaching him how to fight, claiming he’d need to know in order to protect Light witchlings.
The tree stretched and released a branch. It smashed into Beck, sending him flying into another tree.
The danger of sparring with trees: they were stronger than they looked. Beck lay on the ground for a long minute, gazing up at the night sky visible through the treetops. He folded his arms beneath his head. The ground beneath him warmed while the tree’s gentle spirit murmured an apology.
“It’s okay, really,” Beck assured it. “I needed to have my ass kicked.”
No one disagreed with him. He steadied his breathing and let his mind wander, hoping he’d fall asleep here, since he couldn’t rest in bed.
Where have you been?
He twisted to see the forest creature, Sam, whose auburn hair clashed with the bright snow. The yeti was seated on a log nearby. For those who didn’t understand the language of the yetis, Sam communicated through the mind rather than in verbal exchanges.
“I don’t want to go into it,” Beck replied. “I’m no longer suspected of murder, though.”
This sounds like a good thing.
“Yeah,” Beck agreed. His mind drifted to the night three weeks ago when he found Tanya. He would never forget it or how sad her soul had been. “I’ve got to get better at being me.”
It takes time.
“I don’t have time.”
Be as gentle with yourself as you are with others.
“That might be an issue, too. If I stopped to think before I got involved with Dawn, Tanya would be alive. Summer never would’ve gone Dark. I dunno. Maybe there are other issues caused by me not thinking.”
Does it matter?
Beck raised his head, surprised by the question.
Tanya did die. Summer did go Dark and recovered. Dawn did go Dark. Can you change these things?
“You’re the magickal yeti. You tell me,” Beck said. He sat and draped his arms around his knees. “I know, Sam. I can’t change what’s happened, but I should learn from it. No more girls.” Not even the pretty one he met a few weeks ago with flame red hair and beautiful green eyes. His one interaction with her had been on a different level. She’d been at the back of his mind since.
Beck sighed, exhausted.
You will learn.
“I’m sure I will. Might take a couple more girlfriends being knocked off by my jealous ex,” he said sarcastically. “Wow. That was mean, right?”
Sam chuckled. Spoken out of frustration.
Beck rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t mean it. As the protector of Light and witchlings, he didn’t want harm to befall anyone. His frustration was born of the knowledge that he really wasn’t certain how to be the great protector the Light needed in a time where the Darkness had grown so much.
“Sam, who was the strongest Master of Light?” he asked. “I know what we’re taught in our history classes about the line of succession, but I think you know the real story.”
The son of Bartholomew-the-Terrible. Tyron-the-Bright. Like you, he was born into a time of great evil.
“What was he like?”
He was a fire witchling. He was always angry, Sam said.
Beck laughed. “Okay, but what made him so good at what he did?”