Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(78)

Many witches throughout history claimed that they had found the book and resurrected the magic. Most of them had been stuffed into dungeons, regarded as heretics or insane. But what if they had been right? What if the Book of Spells wasn’t lost after all?

The power contained within would certainly draw a witch like Miss Mabel. If she resurrected the old Almorran powers by using the Book of Spells, all of Antebellum would fall. We only escaped the wicked black magic of the Almorran priests by sheer luck and tenacity during the Mortal Wars. What would save us this time?

I released the scroll. It bounced back together with a little hiss and I set it aside, a cold feeling of dread holding onto my heart. All the ugly arithmetic of Miss Mabel’s vile plans began to line up.

The real question now was whether Miss Mabel had found the Book of Spells yet, and if she had, what was her plan?





Do You Feel Stronger?

“Your birthday is tomorrow, isn’t it?” Merrick asked the next morning. A blanket of hot air sat on the new world. Since spring moved out and summer stormed in, Letum Wood had boiled to life. Green walls of ivy surrounded the Forgotten Gardens on all sides, eradicating any sign of stone. Tufts of grass grew in between the rocks below in a thick carpet. The air, too heavy and hot to allow a breeze, just hung. Sweat caked my back and neck, dripping down my face in long rivulets.

“Yes,” I said, attacking the wooden dummy Mikhail again. Viveet’s glowing blade bit into the wood, chipping off a piece that flew through the air and landed a few paces away. I took another swing, arcing Viveet up through the air to slice up through the arm. It fell off with a loud thud. Merrick waved his hand and the limb leapt up, adhering itself back to the dummy. He cast me a concerned look I ignored.

“Worried about something?” he asked.

Yes. I will die tomorrow if I don’t kill Miss Mabel first. Oh, and I think she’s resurrecting an ancient evil magic to wipe out the world but I can’t tell anyone about it because my secret binding won’t let me.

The thought gave me a second surge of power. I used it to lop Mikhail’s head off. Viveet’s blue flame danced in slow licks until I set her aside. The light and power faded as soon as I released her. She rested on the stone wall, nothing more than a sharp piece of metal without me.

“No,” I lied. “Just practicing.”

“Let me guess: You don’t like birthdays?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow. His green eyes matched the emerald flora. Sweat poured off him too, darkening his sandy hair at the roots. The lightest shade of a blonde beard ghosted against his strong jaw.

“Not really,” I said. “When I was growing up, birthdays only meant I’d get older.”

“I guess when you have an Inheritance Curse threatening to kill you, the day loses some of its excitement. This year you should celebrate. It’s your first birthday without fear, right?”

Oh, how I wish.

“Sure. When are the Protectors going to vote on you?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. The thought of tomorrow weighed enough on my mind that I didn’t want to discuss it with other witches. “Isn’t that supposed to be soon?”

An unmistakable tension crept into his shoulders.

“Yes,” he said. “Any day the Protectors want to vote.”

“You mean they don’t tell you when?”

He shook his head. “They could be voting right now, in fact. They won’t say anything. They’ll just inform me as soon as they’ve decided.”

“So you have to just keep working in the meantime?”

“Yes. Speaking of work, it’s been a few days since you and I have had a proper spar. Let’s see what you can do.”

Yes, I wanted to agree. Let’s see if I have any hope of defeating Miss Mabel before she kills me tomorrow.

“Sure,” I said, forcing a sarcastic smile. “Let’s see how sad you are when I prove that I’m better than you.”

Merrick never announced the beginning of a fight; he just started it and expected me to pick up the defense. Today was no different. He came at me with a high swing. I called to Viveet and she flew to my palm just in time to block his sword from slicing me in half. Although Merrick’s strength was twice my own, my powers quickly bounced to life and held him at bay.

We fell into a familiar, but always changing, attack-and-defend dance. He moved forward, I worked back. My feet never crossed, my sword never dropped. Viveet and I sang, whirling, twirling, and dancing in a sweet kind of symphony that could only come from the interplay of swords and magic.

Despite all my work over the past several months, I couldn’t beat him in skill or speed, and probably never would. Near the end of the sparring session, when the sweat on my roughened, calloused hands made it difficult to grip Viveet’s hilt, Merrick kicked her from my hand and snatched both of my wrists, holding them behind my back.

“This is one of the most common holds you’ll see,” he said right next to my ear. “They’ll get both hands behind you and twist them up your back until your shoulders pop out of socket. You’ll be almost useless.”

He took both my wrists and pushed them up between my shoulder blades. I bit back a yelp of pain by grinding my teeth together.

“How are you going to get out?” he asked. “You can’t transport because someone else is touching you.”