Tarot Academy 1: Spells of Iron and Bone

by Sarah Piper

  Then he hands a card to me. I know what it is before I even glance at it.

  “The Star,” I whisper, a tear sliding down my cheek as I turn it over and confirm.

  “We are the Keepers of the Grave,” Dr. Devane says. “Four emanations of the Major Arcana, sworn to protect magick and its many secrets from all who seek to destroy it. The Grave is a reference to the Fool’s Grave, an honorary site our forebears designated in the forest of Iron and Bone, the place that symbolizes our connection to the First Fool.”

  “The Majors are… are real,” I say, my mind whirling at the possibility, all of the pieces clicking into place. The secrets, the mystery, the magick, the darkness. “You guys are the… and I’m… and that means Phaines…”

  “From what you saw when he drank your blood, we believe he’s the Hierophant, or High Priest. Trump Five.” Ani removes that card from the deck, turns it upside down. “Gone dark, just like Trump One.” He pulls out the Magician.

  He then removes two more cards and turns them upside down—Seven, the Chariot. Twenty, Judgment.

  “Based on your vision of the undead army,” Devane says, “we believe these have also turned dark, all in service of the Magician’s quest.”

  I recall my words, spoken through the haze of my fever. One, five, seven, twenty. Arcana devours, all and plenty…

  Ani puts the Dark Arcana back in the deck, but the mages are still holding their cards. I look at each one in turn. The Devil, Trump Fifteen. The Tower, Trump Sixteen. The Moon, Eighteen. The Sun, Nineteen.

  Then, glancing down at my own, I shiver.

  “Seventeen,” I whisper, gazing at my lady of the lake, pouring her sacred urns. “I’m The Star.”

  “You are the center holding us all together,” Kirin says, his voice thick with emotion. In his eyes, I see his true feelings for me, feel his walls start to break down, despite his best efforts to keep them in place.

  “But… how do you know?” I ask. “About any of this? About your own gifts and about each other’s? About mine? Is this why I’m spirit-blessed? Are all of you the same?”

  “No,” Dr. Devane says. “Your elemental gifts are special and unique to you, Stevie. I’m simply water-blessed, Kirin is air, Baz is earth, Ani is fire.”

  He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I feel the ocean at my toes, the cool, salty breeze tickling my skin.

  “As for how we know about the Majors? It’s something you come to learn over time,” Dr. Devane continues. “It’s different for everyone. We believe the four of us found our way to this Academy for this very purpose—to form our Brotherhood, to serve our cause. When you started having visions of our true forms—and we of yours—we suspected you were one of us, too. But some Majors—like Phaines—they actively shield themselves. It’s possible he knew about us, but we didn’t know about him.”

  “This is… I still don’t understand,” I say.

  “We are the Keepers of the Grave,” Dr. Devane repeats, then heads to the spare bedroom. He returns with his briefcase—the same one he had at the prison. He pops it open and retrieves a large black book, setting it on the coffee table.

  Chills erupt across my skin, and a wave of nausea makes my knees wobble.

  I sit on the couch, the others gathering around me.

  “Originally I thought that was the Book of Shadow and Mists,” I say. “That it was evil.”

  I tell them about my flight with the owl, that I’d witnessed their meeting.

  “This is the Book of the Brotherhood, Stevie,” Dr. Devane says. “It’s a reckoning of our accounts, our tasks, our solemn order. It’s been marked with the blood of all the Keepers of the Grave for generations.”

  “Why does it make me feel like… like I’m going to be sick, and it’s going to drag me right down to hell?”

  “It’s calling to your blood. It knows you’re one of us—it wants the connection.”

  “You’re one of us,” Ani says again, squeezing my hand.

  My mouth is dry, but my eyes aren’t. My brain keeps searching for the flaw in their argument, for some other explanation. Majors aren’t real—it’s all just a legend. The Dark Arcana—they’re just crooked mages and witches, bent on power. This is a trick, isn’t it? An elaborate prank, the hazing Ani swore they’d never do.

  But no matter how hard my mind rails against it, deep down, I know they’re telling me the truth. Finally.

  “Your very name speaks to your destiny,” Kirin says. “A clue lying in stasis your entire life, waiting for the moment of discovery.”

  “Starla Eve,” I say. “My mother used to call me Starlight.”

  “It’s likely she knew,” Dr. Devane says. “She was a great seer, after all. And a Major herself.”

  I gasp, my eyes darting up to meet his. He opens the book, shows me her signature. Melissa Milan.

  “Your mother was The World, Stevie. Trump Twenty-One. The end and the beginning. And you are only just starting to understand her legacy. We all are.”

  “Did my father know?”

  Devane shakes his dark head. “We are all bound to secrecy. You can never speak of your nature—or of ours—to anyone outside of the Brotherhood.”

  “But my mother… She’s dead,” I say. “Does that mean there isn’t a World now?”

  “No,” Dr. Devane says. “There are always twenty-one, including the Fool, whose essence runs through all of us. When our physical form passes, our spirit finds another. Sometimes we know our destiny from birth. Other times, like I said, we come to that knowledge much later.”

  “The World,” I whisper, still trying to wrap my head around all of this. “Wait—the world… Blood of the world… Kirin, remember that passage from the Arcana Legends book?”

  Kirin’s eyes light up as he nods, both of us recalling the words.

  It is said that he who is in possession of these objects, along with the blood of the world and an arcane spell of indeterminate origins…

  “Do you think that’s what it means? My mother’s blood? My blood?”

  “It’s possible,” Kirin says. “We won’t know until we do more research.”

  “We haven’t even scratched the surface of those prophecies, have we?”

  Kirin shakes his head. “But you’ve made more progress in a month than the Academy elders have made in a decade, so that’s promising.”

  “Your destiny is bound to this, Stevie,” Dr. Devane says, setting an athame on top of a fresh page in the book. “In more ways than one. But you are not obligated to serve the Brotherhood, or to continue this quest any more than you already have. You say you don’t want to relocate—okay. But you still have the option of remaining at the Academy and completing your studies.”

  I nod and close my eyes.

  “You don’t have to decide right now,” Baz says.

  “I know. Thank you. I just… Wow, this is a lot to take in.” I let out a breath, run my hands through my hair. “I guess… I guess I just have one question.”

  “Anything,” Ani says.

  “What is it, Little Bird?” Baz asks, and I hear the hopefulness in his tone, feel the rise of protective, welcoming energy radiating from each of them.

  “Okay, here it is.” I look around at my mages and take a deep breath, calling up the most somber, serious face I can muster. “If I sign up for this gig, do I get one of those creepy black robes?”

  All of us crack up at that.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Dr. Devane says with mock reverence. “The secret society aesthetic must be upheld at all costs.”

  My laughter fades, and I take another deep breath, looking over the friends gathered around me. The brothers.

  The Dark Mage is rising—it’s not a legend, and it’s connected to the crimes against the broader magickal community in ways we can only guess at. Professor Phaines has disappeared, and he’s no doubt in league with those trying to bring the darkness to power—a loose cannon bent on stealing magick for himself. At least two other Majors have gone dark. We’ve
lost the Books of Shadow and Mists, and my mother’s prophecies still loom large in the distance, mysteries we’ve yet to solve. I still have so many unanswered questions about my mother, about her time here, about what happened to make her and Dad turn their backs on magick for good. And now, we’ve got four sacred objects to hunt down before someone else finds them first.

  And if that’s not enough excitement for a lifetime? The five of us have some serious interpersonal issues to work through, because I’m pretty sure this brotherhood bond goes a lot deeper than that.

  Ahem. No pun intended.

  But when I look at the mages surrounding me now, when I feel their energy and see the loyalty and friendship in their eyes, I know Ani was right.

  I am one of them.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, I reach for Doc’s athame, prick my palm, and sign the book in my blood.

  Starla Eve Milan.

  The five of us rise as one.

  “Who gathers here as bonded brothers?” Dr. Devane asks, taking on his official tone.

  “We, the Keepers of the Grave.”

  “Who spills his blood as a symbol of our commitment to one another and in the service and protection of the first?”

  “We, the Keepers of the Grave.”

  “Who vows, by his life or his death, by his silence or his words, in this and all incarnations henceforth, to protect the one true source?”

  “We, the Keepers of the Grave.”

  “We, the Keepers of the Grave,” Dr. Devane says reverently, holding my gaze for an eternity.

  “We, the Keepers of the Grave,” I repeat.

  Finally, he closes the book, puts it back in the case.

  Our ritual is complete, and the guys let out a collective sigh.

  “It’s official,” Ani says. “Welcome to the Brotherhood, Stevie.”

  “Thanks,” I say, a grin stretching across my lips. “Now, which one of my dashingly handsome brothers is buying dinner?”

  Stevie and her sexy, secret-keeping mages are safe for now, but the quest for the sacred objects—and for Stevie’s heart—is about to begin! Find out what happens next in Tarot Academy 2: Spells of Breath and Blade!

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  Shadow Kissed Excerpt

  Paranormal romance fans, do you know I’ve got another sexy reverse harem series ready to steam up your Kindle? The Witch’s Rebels is a complete series available FREE with Kindle Unlimited. Read on for a taste of book one, Shadow Kissed!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Survival instinct was a powerful thing.

  What horrors could we endure, could we accept, could we embrace in the name of staying alive?

  Hunger. Brutality. Desperation.

  Being alone.

  I’d been alone for so long I’d almost forgotten what it was like to love, to trust, to look into the eyes of another person and feel a spark of something other than fear.

  Then they came into my life.

  Each one as damaged and flawed as I was, yet somehow finding a way through the cracks in my walls, slowly breaking down the bricks I’d so carefully built around my heart.

  Despite their differences, they’d come together as my protectors and friends for reasons I still didn’t fully understand. And after everything we’d been through, I had no doubts about who they were to me now. To each other.

  Family.

  I didn’t know what the future held; I’d given up trying to predict it years ago. But I didn’t need my Tarot cards or my mother’s old crystal ball to know this:

  For me, there was no future without them. Without my rebels.

  “Gray?” His whisper floated to my ears.

  After several heartbeats, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.

  I heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing but the demon imprisoned before me, pale and shattered, fading from this realm.

  “Whatever you’re thinking,” he said, his head lolling forward, “don’t.”

  Looking at him chained to the chair, bruises covering his face, blood pouring from the gashes in his chest, I strengthened my resolve.

  His voice was faint, his body broken, his essence dimming. But the fire in his eyes blazed as bright as it had the day we’d met.

  “Whatever horrible things you’ve heard about me, Cupcake, they’re all true…”

  “Please,” he whispered, almost begging now. “I’m not worth…”

  His words trailed off into a cough, blood spraying his lips.

  I shook my head. He was wrong. He was more than worth it. Between the two of us, maybe only one would make it out of this room alive. If that were true, it had to be him; I couldn’t live in a world where he didn’t exist. Where any of them didn’t exist.

  This was my fate. My purpose. My gift.

  There was no going back.

  I held up my hands, indigo flames licking across my palms, surging bright in the darkness.

  The demon shuddered as I reached for him, and I closed my eyes, sealing away the memory of his ocean-blue gaze, knowing it could very well be the last time I saw it.

  2 Weeks Earlier…

  Don’t act like prey, and you won’t become it. Don’t act like prey…

  Whispering my usual mantra, I locked up the van and pushed my rusty hand truck down St. Vincent Avenue, scanning the shadows for trouble.

  It’d rained earlier, and mist still clung to the streets, rising into the dark autumn night like smoke. It made everything that much harder to see.

  Fortunately it was my last delivery of the night, and I’d brought along my favorite traveling companions—a sharp stake in my waistband and a big-ass hunting knife in my boot. Still, danger had a way of sneaking up on a girl in Blackmoon Bay’s warehouse district, which was why most people avoided it.

  If I hadn’t needed the money—and a boss who paid in cash and didn’t ask questions about my past—I would’ve avoided it, too.

  Alas…

  Snuggling deeper into my leather jacket, I banked left at the next alley and rolled to a stop in front of the unmarked service entrance to Black Ruby. My hand truck wobbled under the weight of its cargo—five refrigerated cases of O-positive and three AB-negative, fresh from a medical supplier in Vancouver.

  Yeah, Waldrich’s Imports dealt in some weird shit, but human cops didn’t bother with the warehouse district, and the Fae Council that governed supernaturals didn’t get involved with the Bay’s black market. The only time they cared was when a supernatural killed a human, and sometimes—depending on the human—not even then.

  Thumbing through my packing slips, I hoped the vampires weren’t too thirsty tonight. Half their order had gotten snagged by customs across the bay in Seattle.

  I also hoped someone other than Darius Beaumont would sign for this. I could hold my own with most vamps, but Black Ruby’s owner definitely struck me as the shoot-the-messenger type.

  No matter how sexy he is…

  Wrapping one hand discretely around my stake, I reached up to hit the buzzer, but a faint cry from the far end of the alley stopped me.

  “Don’t! Please!”

  “Settle down, sweetheart,” a man said, the menace in his voice a sick contrast to the terrified tremble in hers.

  My heart rate spiked.

  Abandoning my delivery, I scooted along the building’s brick exterior, edging closer to the struggle. I spotted the girl first—she couldn’t have been more than fifteen, sixteen at most, with lanky brown hair and the pale, haunted features of a blood slave.r />
  But it wasn’t a vampire that’d lured her out for a snack.

  The greasy dude who’d cornered her was a hundred percent human—just another pervert in dirty jeans and a sweat-stained henley who clearly thought runaway kids were an easy mark.

  “It’ll all be over soon,” he told her.

  Yeah, sooner than you think…

  Anger coiled in my belly, fizzing the edges of my vision. I couldn’t decide who deserved more of my ire—the asshole threatening her now, or the parents who’d abandoned her in the first place.

  Far as I was concerned, they were the same breed of evil.

  “Well now. Must be my lucky night.” The man barked out a wheezing laugh, and too late, I realized I’d been spotted. “Two for the price of one. Come on over here, Blondie. Don’t be shy.”

  Shit. I’d hesitated too long, let my emotions get the best of me when I should’ve been working that knife out of my boot.

  Fear leaked into my limbs, and for a brief instant, I felt my brain and body duking it out. Fight or flight, fight or flight…

  No. I couldn’t leave her. Not like that.

  “Let her go,” I said, brandishing my stake.

  He yanked the kid against his chest, one meaty hand fisting her blue unicorn hoodie, the other curling around her throat. Fresh urine soaked her jeans.

  “Drop your little stick and come over here,” the man said, “or I’ll break her neck.”

  My mind raced for an alternative, but there was no time. I couldn’t risk going for the knife. Couldn’t sneak up on him. And around here, screaming for help could attract a worse kind of attention.