Spark (Academy of Unpredictable Magic Book 1)

by Sadie Moss

  Spark

  Academy of Unpredictable Magic #1

  Sadie Moss

  Copyright © 2018 by Sadie Moss

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or had, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Also by Sadie Moss

  Chapter 1

  A sharp whistle makes me wince.

  It’s a busy night at The Den, and a group of loud-talking guys ogle me as I lean over to wipe down the bar top. I can feel their collective gazes crawling over me like ants. They’ve been staring at me all night, elbowing each other like they’ve never seen a pair of boobs before.

  I usually wear pretty low-cut tops when I bartend because, I’ll be honest, it makes a huge difference in tips. But the downside of my wardrobe choice is that it draws creeps out of the woodwork and makes them feel entitled to treat me like a piece of meat.

  For a second, I fantasize about leaping over the bar and slapping the wolfish grins off their faces, one by one. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten physical with a customer at The Den.

  But unfortunately, I can’t give them the lesson in manners they so richly deserve.

  I list all the reasons in my head like a mantra as I practically scrub a hole through the bar with the damp rag.

  One: you need this job. You’ve got to take care of your sister.

  Maddy and I are all alone in the world since our mom died of cancer four years ago. Our dad’s still alive, but he hasn’t been in the picture since I was little, which left me to take care of my younger sister all by myself. My tiny paycheck is the only thing standing between us and a homeless shelter.

  Two: you’re on your last strike, and Ajax will fire you eventually.

  Ajax owns The Den. He’s a massive earth elementalist with a gleaming bald head and a stoic temperament. I know he likes me—that’s why I still have a job here at all after the stunts I’ve pulled. But he had a long talk with me last week after I dumped beer on a guy who suggested I sit on his lap and “bounce around” like this was a strip club. During that conversation, he made it pretty clear I’m on my last warning. Ajax isn’t a bad guy, but he’s more interested in the bottom line than protecting his employees from dickish customers.

  Not that they’re all jerks. We get some interesting people in here sometimes. Portland’s crazy enough on its own, but add in the magic users in the hidden supernatural section of town, and you’ve got a recipe for some wild stories and personalities.

  But tonight, I am just so done.

  Today started off shitty and has only gotten worse. Dad sent Maddy a birthday card this year, which set her off crying for over an hour. I’ve made a private vow never to shed another tear over that bastard, but Maddy still holds out some hope that he’ll turn out not to be the self-centered asshole he’s proven himself to be time after time. And every time he lets her down, I have to pick up the pieces again.

  Congratulations, old man, you actually remembered your kid’s birthday for once. Gold fucking star for you. Sure, it doesn’t make up for skipping out on Mom and us when Maddy was just six years old, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?

  Like Maddy needs the stress. She’s already freaking out over her magic not manifesting. Mom and Dad both have—

  No. Had.

  Fuck. Sometimes I forget, even though it’s been four years, that Mom’s not around anymore.

  Both my parents had powerful magic. People always seem shocked when they learn how powerful my parents were and then hear that at age twenty-two, I still haven’t developed any magic.

  When I tell other magic users about my lack of powers, they look at me like I told them my puppy just died. But I don’t need their stupid pity for something that’s totally out of my hands, so I usually don’t bring it up.

  Maddy just turned eighteen, and most magic users start manifesting powers anywhere between fourteen and sixteen. It’s a puberty thing. Sometimes people show as early as age twelve—or in rare cases, even younger—but by sixteen, pretty much everyone from a magical family is manipulating air or earth or casting illusions or something. It’s been eating at Maddy that she hasn’t shown anything yet.

  Me? I’m used to it. My life’s fine without magic. I have a steady job, and I have my little sis—as long as Maddy’s taken care of, that’s all I need. But Maddy really cares.

  And then bam, Dad’s birthday card arrives, and all he fucking talks about is how he’s sure she’s such a powerful mage by now, how proud he is of her, and how he can’t wait to hear all about it when he visits.

  First of all, he’s not gonna fucking visit.

  Second of all, now Maddy’s moping around the house, devastated about her lack of magic all over again.

  Thanks a lot, Dad. How you manage to make my life hell without even being in it, I’ll never know.

  So now I’m stuck at work, trying to think of some way to cheer my sister up and figure out how I’m going to pay for her college classes—and what the hell I’m going to do with myself in a week once she’s at the state university all day—and on top of all that, I have to deal with a bunch of drunk idiots in front of me who think the height of philosophy is debating Fight Club.

  Newsflash: if you’re a straight male, I can guarantee you missed the point of Fight Club.

  It’s nothing I can’t handle, drinks-wise. I just don’t have the patience to deal with this, not today.

  “Hey, hey, girlie!” one of the guys calls across the loud bar.

  “Elliot,” I remind him for at least the third time. I kind of regret telling them my name in the first place, but I couldn’t take the damn pet names they kept calling me. I’m nobody’s “honey”, least of all theirs. “You want another round?”

  I’m mixing a couple cocktails while I ask—there’s a hell of a bachelorette party going on at one of the high tops and their order was to just keep sending all the Sex on the Beach they could handle.

  “Elliot!” Ajax calls. “Can I get a scotch, neat?”

  “Sure, gimme one sec.” I finish the cocktails and put them on a tray, then pass them over to the corner so Carla can grab them and bring them to the bachelorette party. I make the scotch and look back at the guy who got my attention. “What can I get you?”

  “Your number,” the guy replies, grinning
like he thinks this is some killer pickup line.

  “Yeah… I don’t give that out to customers.”

  It’s mostly the truth. Every once in a while I will, but I don’t advertise that. I’m a bartender—that means I’m here to work, and that means it takes a real damn hot guy to turn my head.

  Oh, shit.

  A real damn hot guy like those three that just walked in.

  My mouth goes a little dry, and I have to force myself not to stare as I watch the three newcomers find a corner table where it’s darker and people won’t bother them. They look about my age, maybe a little older, and they’re talking quietly amongst themselves, clearly not looking to be rowdy.

  Damn it, I wish it wasn’t so slammed or I’d go over and take their orders.

  They’re all tall, at least six-foot. Two of them have dark hair—brown and almost black, respectively—and the other has blond hair shot through with gold highlights, as though he’s spent a lot of time in the sun. The one with slightly shaggy brown hair has a lean body like a swimmer, and the other two are broad-shouldered, their shirts stretching unfairly over their chests and arms.

  Jesus. Our clientele is mostly people in their twenties and thirties, so it’s not like I don’t get a decent share of man candy to scope out while I work… but these three? They make me wish I wasn’t on the clock so I could go over and try out my extremely rusty flirting skills.

  But my shift isn’t ending anytime soon, the drunk guys in front of me are still loudly asking for my number, and I’ve got drink orders to fill. I sigh, shove the three walking wet dreams out of my mind, and get back to work. I have to earn those tips if I want Maddy and me to have a roof over our heads come next month.

  To say that it’s an exhausting shift is an understatement. Welcome to a Friday right before all the college students have to hit the books again. Everyone’s cramming in their last bit of fun. By the time I get off work, my feet are throbbing and my fingers are cramped from being curled around bottles and glasses.

  It’s so late it’s early, so when I tramp sluggishly up the steps to our apartment, I assume Maddy’s asleep. I catch sight of myself in the reflection from the glass door that leads into our building. Good lord, I look a fright. My hair tends to gain volume when I sweat, and I was definitely sweating tonight. It looks like a dark bush around my head. My eyes are red with circles under them. At least brown eyes go with everything, right?

  I punch in the code, yank open the door, and stumble in, then take the stairs. The elevator’s always on the fritz, and I don’t want to risk it—there’s a family on the fourth floor with fifteen-year-old triplets who are all enchanters, and they did something with their magic in that elevator a month ago. Ever since then, it’s been wonky. I don’t want to be the unlucky person stuck in it when it spontaneously combusts or fills with rocks or something.

  When I reach our apartment door and fumble the key into the lock, I’m surprised to hear noises on the other end.

  The hair stands up on the back of my neck. I sense… magic?

  I might not have magic myself, but when you grow up around it, you get a feel for it. Just like moms have a sixth sense for when a kid, any kid, is about to run with scissors. I open the door, my keys clenched between my fisted fingers like tiny daggers, ready to kick the shit out of whatever burglar—

  “Elliot!”

  Maddy’s voice rings out from the kitchen. She sounds… nervous, but not scared. Excited, maybe. Okay, so, not a burglar.

  I close the front door behind me, drop my purse and keys, kick off my shoes—thank God, finally—and walk into the kitchen. Then I stop dead.

  Holy shit.

  Maddy’s standing in the middle of the small galley kitchen, her hands out and fingers splayed. She’s got dark hair like me but with Dad’s blue eyes and Mom’s button nose. She’s cute as hell.

  But what’s stopping me in my tracks isn’t the fact that my sister’s adorable.

  It’s the snake of water flowing up out of the sink and around the room, like a ribbon my sister is somehow twirling.

  “I have it!” Maddy cries out. Her face splits into a wide smile. “Ellie, I have magic!”

  Maddy’s the only one allowed to get away with calling me Ellie.

  “You—you sure do!” I blurt, finally getting my feet to move forward again, even as my mind starts racing.

  Holy shit. This is huge. We have to make arrangements, change our whole plan. She can’t go to a regular non-magical school now. But all the magic academies will be filled up this close to the start of the school year, won’t they? I’ll have to make some phone calls in the morning, do some research, see who can take her as a last-minute slot.

  Something of my racing thoughts must show on my face, because Maddy falters. “Aren’t you excited?” she asks, her voice small.

  I smile. “Of course I’m excited! This is amazing! Look at you go!”

  Maddy screws up her face in concentration, moving her hands through the air. The ribbon of water slowly retreats back into the sink.

  Whew. Thank God for that. I didn’t want to end my evening mopping up the kitchen. And of course she’s already doing amazingly well with control. Maddy’s a smart kid, and super motivated; she picks shit up fast. A swell of pride washes over me, and I grin at her like an idiot.

  “I looked it up!” my little sis crows, rushing over to me and taking my hands. I let her spin me around in a goofy little dance. “I’m an elemental mage! Water, specifically.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I was just doing the dishes after dinner, and I was pissed at Dad because… well, you know. And next thing I knew—water was spraying everywhere! And it wouldn’t stop until I thought really hard and calmed myself down, and then the water calmed down too.”

  That sounds about right. Strong emotional response plus hormones equals a jump-start to spark your magic.

  I’ve heard tons of stories about people whose magic sparked while they were having sex for the first time. I might be annoyed at my own lack of magic, but I’m damn grateful that I haven’t had to deal with that, at least. Talk about embarrassing.

  Maddy still looks a little nervous, like she’s worried that I’m going to be jealous of her or upset. And I mean… I am a little sad. The magical schools are all farther away from Portland than the regular one she was planning to attend, so I won’t get to see her as much. It’ll be lonely without her. But that’s no reason for me to pull her down into the dumps. She’s been wanting this for ages, and she deserves it. I’ll never hold her back.

  I pull her in and hug her tight. “I’m so happy for you, Mads,” I whisper in her ear. “We’ll have to work on getting you packed and finding you a school. Gotta get you trained up!”

  Maddy hugs me back, her whole body quivering with excitement. “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Don’t you worry about me,” I promise. “I’ll be just fine. So long as you promise to call.”

  “I will.”

  She’s still practically bouncing off the walls, but I manage to get her into bed—you’d think she was five, not eighteen—and then grab my laptop and settle down on the couch. It’s a one-bedroom apartment, and I don’t want the light from my computer to keep her awake as I research schools.

  As I look into schools for elemental magic users, a heaviness settles into my chest.

  Depending on people’s type of magic, they go to different academies, since how each kind of magic is controlled and used can really vary. There are seven types of magic, and each has its own specific training system. Elemental magic accounts for four of those types; then there are the illusionists, enchanters, and potion brewers. It’s this whole new world, this whole new life, that Maddy’s about to become a part of.

  I’m okay without magic. Really. I am. When I turned seventeen and still hadn’t manifested any, Mom assured me I could still live a fulfilled life without it. I mean, look at all the normal humans who live great and exciting lives, no flying or wat
er bending necessary.

  But it also feels a little like I’m being left behind. Mom died, Dad skipped out on us, and now my sister has new magic and is going to go to a fun, elite school. And I’m just going to be here. Working as a bartender.

  Fuck.

  Scrubbing a hand down my face, I close the laptop. It’s late as hell, and looking at these school websites isn’t helping my mood. It’s just making me feel lonelier.

  I crawl into bed next to Maddy, holding her hand.

  If I don’t have a lot of time left with my sister, I should make the best of it.

  Chapter 2

  Three days later, I’m trying to clean under the damn couch when I hear a knock at the door.

  I ignore it. We aren’t expecting anybody, and I’m not going to open the door for yet another Jehovah’s Witness or Mormon missionary.

  But the knocking continues… and continues.

  “I’ll get it!” Maddy yells.

  “No, you won’t!” I shout back. If this is a creepy stranger, I don’t want Mads to have to deal with them. I get up and walk over to the front door, yanking it open.

  “What the hell?” I snarl. “You haven’t heard of going away when someone doesn’t answer the knock?”

  The person—it’s a woman, well dressed in a dark gray suit that flatters her tall figure, with her pale blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail—smiles at me. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I couldn’t get a contact number for you.”

 
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