Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  “Now may Anuu give me the Radiance one last time to heal Matasa,” Finyaka muttered. He craned his head, seeking Matasa’s aura through the whiteness of his vision. Matasa, defined by a flickering yellow aura, lay nearby. He moaned incoherently.

  “Stay with me, cousin.” Finyaka thrust out his hand willing every ounce of his Radiance to heal Matasa, even if it meant dying for him.

  Someone slapped his protruding hand. “Put that away before you do yourself further harm.” Asho’s blue aura swept toward Matasa. She hummed the Song of Healing, lithe and reminiscent of springtide. The warmth from her Radiance spread over both the men. She appeared to Finyaka as a blue ghost, her hands glowing with vibrant blue light. The power merged with his own golden light, barely perceptible for his weakness.

  Finyaka’s strength flourished in small amounts, though he wondered that he should recover at all. His sensed uneven recovery within. There were places that his Radiance would never touch again, much like the vision he had given up for his gift. For what he did for Nahrem, it was a cost Finyaka was willing to pay.

  Asho sighed heavily. Her aura diminished to its ambient, faint glow. “That’s all I can do for now.” She helped Matasa’s enfeebled body to his feet. “Hmm,” she said, directing her attention to Finyaka. “Your eyes.”

  “I know. I have given them to Anuu.”

  “Yes, there’s that. But they’re gold now.”

  “They were white before,” added Matasa with a wince of discomfort. It would be days before he fully recovered. "You've gone upmarket."

  Finyaka chuckled, partly in relief. His cousin had returned to him.

  “You were right,” he said to Matasa, “together we will defeat the Darkness in the Golden City. I cannot do this without you.

  “Interesting,” Asho said as Matasa helped Finyaka from the ground. “Come. We must discuss your future over a cup of sekanjabin, a future that begins by getting your golden armband back from that jackal, Nahbas, the one who brought you to Onubaki. Anuu knows you’ve earned it. Let’s see how Nahbas feels about his coin purse miraculously being distributed down a fire ant’s hole as recompense for his efforts.”

  “What about the tents?” Matasa asked with genuine concern. “And the fire?”

  “Anuu works in mysterious ways, young man,” she said with a curious laugh. “Anuu works in mysterious ways.”

  With his arm around Matasa’s shoulders, Finyaka couldn’t agree more.

  Sinaya's cryptic message leads Finyaka and Matasa to the Golden City where they come face to face with the people and personalities that shape the Seven People. Will they be able to stop the Darkness from destroying everything that they have come to love? Find out in Forgotten Magic.

  About the Author

  Born at a very young age in a place just north of nowhere, William C. Cronk was raised in a small rustic village whose name had larger expectations than its inhabitants. Being so far from anything interesting, William soon discovered he had a great imagination and spent far more time building fantasy worlds than dealing with the real one.

  An agricultural wage-slave during the day, and an avid role-player, world builder, professional game master, cartographer, poet and day dreamer by evening, William is finally listening to his friends and is taking some of those worlds he has created and is putting them down on paper.

  Past short stories include “Linear Rotation,” published in the Anthology, Sylvermoon Chronicles Volume VII, and “Not the One,” soon-to-be-published in the anthology, Sylvermoon Chronicles Volume VIII. Currently William lives in the Greater Toronto Area with his very patient and understanding wife, and their four not-so-patient cats.

  Don't forget to grab your copy of next anthology Forgotten Magic!

  Spell of Bone & Ash

  Melinda Kucsera

  “Spell of Bone & Ash” is all about wayward magic. When the dark power Nulthir accidentally absorbed in “Spell of Wings & Glass,” part of the Hidden Magic anthology, starts taking him over, he’s in serious trouble. All because his magic has gone haywire. It won’t be bound by rules. Magic wants to do what it wants to do and damn the consequences. But what goes wrong must eventually be put right. Not even magic can stand against that because there must always be balance.

  Melinda Kucsera

  Nulthir thought he'd escaped the darkness that nearly destroyed his family, but he was wrong. That evil is now inside him, straining to break free. It's up to Thing, Amal, and their family of mind-talking creatures to stop the transformation set in motion by a magical attack before it changes their only human ally into an inhuman monster.

  Chapter One

  Her mate glanced at something in his hand. Amal couldn’t see what because His Orneriness kept his hand cupped around the object in question, hiding it from her prying eyes. Amal dug her claws into the wood of the headboard in frustration. What was Thing up to?

  “What's in your hand?” Amal hissed.

  Thing stared worriedly at his unconscious friend and brother-of-the-heart. He was no use in a crisis that didn't have a target for his ire, and this one didn't unless those strange glass shards counted. But they didn't have a safe way to deal with them yet. It was up to her, as usual, to sort everything out.

  “What aren't you telling me?” Amal poked her mate in the chest. When that didn't elicit a response, she sighed. Surely, this wasn't the first time Nulthir had fallen ill?

  "It is," Thing said finally. He was reading her mind again. Good. Amal hoped he'd just gotten an earful. He deserved it for being so secretive while their only human friend struggled for every breath.

  Nulthir lay on the narrow bed in his flat where the floating blanket had deposited him before it had completely unraveled. A shadow lay over him that was partly magical and had nothing to do with the orange crystals on the nearby dresser, suffusing the room with warm light.

  "We have to do something. We can't leave him like this." Amal gestured to Nulthir.

  "Of course not." Thing glared at her for even suggesting that.

  Amal tapped her finger claws on the headboard. She'd already cleaned and bound the wound in Nulthir's shoulder where her son, Crispin, had accidentally gored him. If only that was all that ailed Nulthir. Until he woke up, there was nothing else she could do except pry into her mate's secrets.

  Thing closed his hand around the object he'd just been studying, and his hand fully engulfed it. Damn.

  What are you hiding, heart of my heart? Amal aimed that thought at her mind-reading mate.

  Thing just mantled his wings, which forced her to move aside, or get clocked in the head by a wingtip. Great way to treat your mate. Amal suppressed some of her irritation, because letting it show wouldn’t win her any points. Thing had always been bull-headed, and he liked nothing more than a good argument.

  “You remember the last time you hid something from me?” Amal folded her arms over her feathered breast. Just below where her hands rested, her brown and cream feathers gave way to soft fur.

  Soft light filtered through Thing's fingers cast by the object he refused to let her see. So, it was a magical thingamabob. Amal had figured it was since her mate had removed that mysterious object from a pocket on Nulthir’s utility belt. Almost everything Nulthir carried around with him was enchanted in some way.

  But a search of said utility belt hadn't turned up any clues. Whatever her mate had taken, he’d replaced with an item that looked enough like it to fool her, and just thinking about that raised her hackles. What the hell are you up to? she asked again, but he didn't react to that mental barb either. Amal whistled to get his attention.

  “Let me remind you. The last time you kept secrets from me, it didn’t go well for you." Amal jabbed her index finger into his chest while he glared at her with those intimidating yellow eyes. "Secret-keeping never does. So, whatever you’re up to, you’d better spill it now before it blows up in your beak.” That cagey creature tended to forget his mistakes.

  But his plan could actually blow up since
Thing was holding a magical object of unknown purpose and power. Amal waited a moment for that to sink in. Her words had the effect she’d predicted, and she fought the urge to shake him.

  Thing puffed out his feathered breast in indignation, but before he could say anything, she rubbed his furry belly until he chortled with laughter. He playfully batted her away with the hand that wasn’t holding the object she wanted to see. Oh, he was a coy one, but so was she.

  Silly mate wants to play when serious things are afoot, Thing chided her.

  Amal relented long enough for him to nuzzle her cat ears. “What are you really up to, heart of mine? And don’t say you’ll ‘tell me when there’s something to tell.’ That didn’t work the last time you tried skulking around without me, and it won’t now. We’re a team.”

  But Thing wasn’t ready to spill yet. Amal rolled her hawk eyes ceilingward. He could be so difficult at times. Thing was one maddening creature. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Nothing to tell.” Thing looked down at Nulthir’s thin and drawn face. “Why doesn’t he wake? I call, but he doesn't answer.” Thing leaned into her, needing her strength. “It’s like when the demon took him. I almost couldn’t pull him back then either.”

  This was far more words than Thing usually strung together aloud. Mentally was another story. He could chew your ear off mind-to-mind, but he wasn’t a fan of speaking aloud, probably because mind-talking had been the easiest and best way to communicate with the human child who’d adopted him. Now, that child was grown and possibly dying. They needed a way to help him, not secrets.

  Amal shifted uncomfortably as a flash of red caught her eye. It was the remnants of that bespelled blanket. Over by the window, Mixie, Yarn, Dale, and Furball were winding those remnants into balls for later use. If only there was time to weave it back into something. That blanket had come in handy until it had caught on one of the flying buttresses and unraveled.

  While that little group worked by the pale light filtering in through the slit window, the rest of her family of owl-monkey-cat creatures was in another room keeping the grandkids busy. Maybe she ought to send one of them to fetch a healer.

  “No. No healers.” Thing clutched her more tightly to his side, and his wings draped over them like a feathered cloak.

  Amal rubbed her beak against his and held him while he called his friend telepathically again. What if this time Nulthir couldn’t bounce back? He'd never needed much beyond food, sleep, and companionship. What if his magical half had needed more than that?

  A bright flash dazzled her eyes, and a loud pop of displaced air startled Amal as Furball appeared. He squealed in alarm as he fell several feet onto Nulthir’s chest before Amal could grab him. Furball rolled to his fur-hidden feet, proving the kit was okay and crawled into the warm hollow of Nulthir’s breast pocket to sleep.

  Before he disappeared into it, Thing leaned down and put himself beak-to-beak with his wayward grandson.

  “He’s just a baby,” Amal reminded him. A very furry baby who kept disobeying orders.

  Thing ignored her. “No teleporting. You promised.”

  Furball squeaked something that might have been a confirmation, then scrunched down until only his little cat ears showed. Before Thing could say anything else, Nulthir opened his eyes. They were pitch black, and his face contorted in pain.

  Furball popped out of his pocket like his furry rump was on fire. Thank the Creator, it wasn't. Amal looped her prehensile tail around the bedpost to anchor her as she leaned down to collect the startled kit.

  "Shh, it's alright now. I've got you," she cooed as she stroked his quivering back between his stubby wings.

  Thing jumped onto the bed ready to engage in a psychic battle to get his friend back. Amal hoped that wouldn't be necessary. Black magic was insidious. It corrupted those who used it. What did it do to those it had infected?

  Amal glanced at her numb wing. Its feathers had blackened after that strange magical attack last night. Other than that, she felt fine. But for how long? That darkness was spreading through the rest of her. How long before she wasn't herself anymore?

  She shoved those fears to the back of her mind. Worrying wouldn't do anyone any good. Thing had enough on his mind right now. He didn't need to shoulder her troubles too, especially if he was plotting something. She glared at his back.

  Will he be okay? Furball asked so tentatively Amal almost didn’t hear him. He pricked his little cat ears up and listened for a response.

  Grumpy Gramps will fix this, Amal thought, deliberately using the nickname her mate hated. For all their sakes, she hoped she was right about that as she cuddled Furball close.

  Who're you calling grumpy? Thing turned his head one-hundred-and-eighty degrees so he could raise one tufted brow. But it had the intended effect. Furball chortled, and Thing switched his attention back to the young man he was trying to help. Come back to us, Friend Nulthir. Dark magic doesn’t become you.

  Amal hopped off the bed to clear the area of gawkers. Most of their extended family stared at the psychic confrontation on the bed until Amal shooed them into the next room—all except Crispin. As the oldest of her and Thing’s kits, he knew Nulthir almost as well as Amal did. She handed Furball off to his mother, Mixie, and shoved her daughter into the other room then touched the rune to swing the door closed.

  More runes sparkled on the door. They would protect the others if the worst happened.

  “What can I do?” Thistle poked her head out from under a chair.

  That explained how she’d had missed Thistle. Clever girl. Amal liked Crispin’s mate more and more. “Bring water and maybe some bread. It’s been hours since he’s taken either of those.”

  Thistle nodded and reached up with her prehensile tail to grab a rung on a ladder back chair piled high with armor. She swung up onto the pile and used that to boost herself up onto a dresser via its partially open drawers. Nulthir never closed them because they made a convenient staircase, and the little ones liked to jump into his sock drawer.

  Thistle poked her head into that drawer to check for grandkids and gave the all-clear sign before summiting the dresser. All the little ones were safe in the other room. Good.

  Three panes of silvered glass reflected a pitcher and a dark smudge around Nulthir. That smudge gathered itself into a grotesque mockery of a head as Thistle reached for the pitcher of water.

  “Thistle!” Amal shouted.

  Her adopted daughter turned and squawked at the disembodied head reflected in the glass. “What is that?”

  “Dark magic,” Thing said aloud, because his mind was engaged elsewhere. “It hides from our eyes, but the mirror reveals all. I asked Nulthir to put that spell on it after…” he trailed off.

  “The demon incident.” Crispin shuddered and hopped off the deep windowsill. Behind him, dawn paled the sky.

  Because dark magic was an inversion of light magic, it was difficult to see even with mage sight. But it couldn’t hide from a reveal all spell. Amal noted the rune painted on the looking glass. There was one in each corner of the three panes. How had she mistaken it for a decorative design? This place was making her soft.

  “What do we do now?” Thistle asked.

  “We get the dark magic out of him any way we can,” Thing said grimly. His beak was set and his mind too. He bent all his power on a telepathic call to his dearest friend.

  "How do you take magic from a warlock?" Amal paced. She needed something to do.

  "Nulthir is a channel." Crispin shrugged, as if that should solve all their problems.

  Did it? Amal considered that.

  “What does that mean exactly?" Thistle shifted the pitcher. "Where are the cups?"

  "In the other room probably. But to answer your other question, channels pull magic in and shape that magic into spells."

  "Might that be a possible solution?" Thistle gave Nulthir a speculative glance.

  “I don't think so. If he channels that black magic into
a spell, it might destroy us all.” Amal climbed onto the bed using her tail since one of her wings was still numb.

  “Then we should avoid that.” Crispin batted a red ball of formerly spelled thread with his hands. He kept his claws retracted, so they wouldn't catch on the thread.

  "I second that." Thistle looked worriedly at the face reflected in the mirror. The creature who was trying to take over Nulthir’s body was a grotesque misshapen thing made of shadow and probably evil too, judging by its reflection.

  Thing reached for his friend's mind again. His determination to break through whatever was preventing Nulthir from hearing his mental call bled through their bond.

  Amal extended a hand to stop him, but she was on the other side of the bed. "What if that dark magic infects you too?"

  Then you'll have to save us both. Thing winked at her.

  Only if you tell me what you're hiding from me, featherhead, Amal sent back then said aloud, "I hope you know what you're doing."

  Always, my sky-dancer, always. And there was that devilish twinkle in his eye again. Thing could be so maddening at times.

  You’re not invincible, you know. Even your mind has limits, Amal sent to him, but he wasn't listening to reason anymore. Tread with care, my heart.

  There were some places even his mind shouldn’t go. As Thing stiffened and his raptorial eyes glazed over, Amal feared this was one of them.

  Chapter Two

  Darkness lay heavily over everything, weighing Nulthir down, but he staggered on hopefully to somewhere. He had to get back to his friends. He just didn't know where they’d gone or where he was. But he had a nagging feeling, he wasn’t anywhere at all. “Thing? Amal? Crispin? Thistle? Furball?”