Academy of Magic Collection

by Angelique S Anderson et al.

  But I felt it all the same.

  When we arrived on the second terrace, I tossed my bag into one of the chairs then went to the rail. I gazed down at the field below. Spotting them, I turned to Lacey, who was staring at me, a peculiar but thoughtful expression on her face. I motioned for her to join me.

  She stepped beside me, closer than she should have. I could feel the warmth of her skin, and remembered the feel of her touch on my arm.

  I cleared my throat, pushing the thoughts away, then pointed. “There. Just at the edge of the forest.”

  Below, in the tall grass dotted with wildflowers, the herd of unicorns grazed.

  Lacey gasped then clutched my arm.

  I stared at her.

  She hadn’t even realized she’d done it. She stared at the unicorns, her eyes growing misty.

  “I came out here last night to get some quiet. That’s when I saw them. There is a colt. He’s sleeping now. There, by the red flowers. Last night, he was chasing fireflies,” I told her.

  She pulled her hand away, then gently held on to the rail. “I… This place…”

  “Yeah, this place.”

  Lacey turned to me, her eyes meeting mine. Such a deep mix of green and blue, those eyes pulled me in.

  And then, it happened.

  She smiled at me.

  A full, real smile.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  I opened my mouth to speak but choked.

  I had finally made her smile.

  At last.

  “I figured you’d like them. You know, the tattoo…”

  “They’re beautiful,” she said wistfully then turned back.

  So are you.

  So are you.

  My stomach fluttered nervously. I felt like a damned, silly schoolgirl. I rubbed the back of my neck. “So they are. I was going to study. I don’t think anyone would mind if you stayed. It’s a common area. Unless you have plans…”

  “No. Just lots to read.”

  I nodded, then snatched up my bag and settled into one of the seats.

  Lacey stood watching the unicorns. I could see her mind was a million miles away, but the smile still lingered on her lips.

  Opening my bag, I dug through until I found what I was after. I had watched Lacey long enough to know that she, like me, loved to eat junk. As it was my duty to protect her, I had bought along ammunition.

  “Ever find anything to eat?” I called. “I polished off my energy bars,”—thanks to your grandmother for those—“but I have a bag of something that I think is the Wonderland equivalent of chips.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me, smiling at me once more.

  “Thanks,” she said then joined me. “I made a cookie this morning that will turn you as thin as paper. Besides that, just the weird coffee.”

  “These are Plantato Chips,” I said, offering her the bag.

  She took a chip.

  As did I.

  But then, we paused and looked at one another, a daring expression on each of our faces.

  Lacey raised and lowered her brows. Then after a moment, she popped the chip into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, savoring the taste. “Am I turning blue? Translucent? Shrinking?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “How are they?”

  “They taste salty…and what I’d imagine butter to taste like if you could fry it solid.”

  I tossed back the chip. She was right. “Not bad.”

  As Lacey settled in, pulling out her books, I did the same. Pushing aside my little tin robot, I grabbed my Necromancy textbook.

  “What class is that?”

  “Necromancy.”

  “No shit?”

  I laughed. “No shit.”

  “Dark stuff. Suppose they were profiling?” she asked with a grin.

  “Profiling?”

  “Your ink… Maybe they took you for a dark magic rebel.”

  “And how do you know I’m not a dark magic rebel?”

  “Well, if I assumed that, I’d be profiling.”

  I chuckled. “And what’s that?” I asked, motioning to her book.

  “The Alchemy of Baking.”

  “Profiling.”

  “What, because I’m a girl?”

  “Of course.”

  “There are guys in the class.”

  I nodded slowly. “Sure.”

  “My family owns a bar and grill. I’m good with a cooking class.”

  I know. Your French fry salad is excellent. “Well, my family members are not morticians. Nonetheless…”

  “Profiling,” Lacey whispered again.

  “Shh, or I won’t let you have any more fried butter chips. Didn’t Professor Lorekin say there was something called a bread-and-butterfly? We’re eating dead butterflies.”

  “Now you’ve gone and ruined it. That’s just mean.”

  I shifted the bag of chips toward her once more. “More dead butterflies?”

  She grabbed a handful. “Yes, thank you.”

  A smile on her face, her hands cupping the chips, Lacey pulled up her legs lotus style and settled into the chair with her book.

  Sitting back into my seat, I exhaled deeply.

  I didn’t know what I had done to make this work.

  But it had worked.

  She was there.

  And she was safe.

  And most importantly, she was with me.

  My princess.

  The sun had just set when Lacey began to pack up to head back to Rose Chambers. She rose and went to the rail once more. She stood there for a long time, gazing down at the unicorns. The fading sunlight cast shades of rosy pink and fiery orange on her hair.

  After a while, she turned back to me. “Thank you for showing me,” she said, gesturing to the unicorns.

  I joined her. The unicorns were grazing, the wild little colt rolling in the wildflowers.

  “What do you have tomorrow?” I asked, trying to seem less like a stalker.

  She pulled a paper from her pocket. “History of Wonderland, Wildcrafting, and Magical Weapons.”

  “What time is your History of Wonderland?”

  “At one-thirty.”

  “Same.”

  “Cool. See you there, then.”

  “You know your way back?” I was about to offer to walk her home when she gestured to the pouch hanging from her belt.

  “Nope, but I have this,” she said, then took a pinch of dust from the pouch. “Rose Chambers,” she said, tossing it before her. At once, the glimmering flower vine twisted off into the distance. The green vine, dotted with red roses, shimmered iridescently.

  “Interesting.”

  “Fairy magic.”

  “All right, Tinkerbell, see you tomorrow then.”

  “Thanks for the view…and the dead butterflies.”

  I laughed softly then stuffed my hands into my pockets. I didn’t want her to leave. Not really. I liked the real Lacey, not just the girl I’d been watching. The real Lacey was quirky, bright, and funny. I hadn’t expected that.

  “Bye,” she said, then slung her backpack over her shoulder and headed toward the cave that led up once more.

  I watched her as she went.

  My princess.

  It was stupid to feel something for her, something real. But I couldn’t deny the ache that settled in on my heart. I did care for her. For the real her, not just some girl I’d been keeping out of trouble. I had worried about and protected the sad girl back in Overthere. But the Lacey here…well, much to my surprise, I wanted to keep that girl who was willing to share a bag of dead butterflies with me safe. Safe and close to me.

  She paused just before she left, looking down at the unicorns one last time.

  Get a grip on yourself, Corbin. She just met you. She isn’t thinking anything like that.

  But my heart felt differently.

  If she looks back, you’ll know.

  If she looks back, you’ll feel it too.

  She turned to go.

&
nbsp; But just before she entered the cave, she cast a glance over her shoulder at me.

  She smiled softly.

  My stomach flopped.

  My princess. I would do anything to keep you safe.

  I inclined my head to her.

  She gave me one last smile, then left.

  Alice Lacey Crane, how did you manage to steal my heart?

  But this was Wonderland, and anything could happen here.

  Ready for Lacey’s side of the story? Check out Wonderland Academy: Book One on Amazon.com!

  About the Author

  Melanie Karsak is the author of The Airship Racing Chronicles, The Harvesting Series, Steampunk Red Riding Hood, The Celtic Blood Series, and the Steampunk Fairy Tales Series. A steampunk connoisseur, zombie whisperer, and heir to the iron throne, the author currently lives in Florida with her husband and two children.

  Keep in touch with the author online.

  www.MelanieKarsak.com: http://www.melaniekarsak.com/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/melaniekarsak

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMelanieKarsak

  Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/melaniekarsak/

  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/karsakmelanie/

  Find all of Melanie’s books on AMAZON

  Poisoned Garden by Tracy Korn

  Prologue

  Poisoned Garden

  It started with a fight at school.

  The girl who attacked me burst into flames on the way to the hospital, and now, I'm starting to...change.

  In less than a week, my biggest problem has gone from trying to decide what to do after high school to navigating the front lines of a looming supernatural war.

  And you know what? I signed up for all the honors classes these past four years. None of them prepared me for this.

  Chapter One

  I didn't need the walking stick—at least not for walking. It was dumb I guess, but carrying it just made me feel better.

  I called this part of the woods the eye because everything seemed to stop down this stretch. No birds, no breeze, just the sound of my own breathing and footsteps.

  Mercy Creek flanked the right side of the path, though it was more like white water rapids than a creek, and a steep, banded rock wall rose up on the left. I’d have gone any other way to get to school, but given the rather inconvenient landscape on either side of the eye, it was the only way to get from my house to Portland Prep.

  Like I always did at the beginning of this path, I tried to focus on the sound of the birds and the breeze blowing through the leaves. I wanted to hear the exact moment everything stopped, but no matter how hard I focused, I could never pinpoint when it happened. It weirded me out to think about it, so I pushed the whole thing out of my mind and concentrated on the worn, dirt path before me.

  The air almost immediately felt different after just a few steps—heavier somehow like an invisible weighted blanket was sliding over me. It even felt like I was walking more slowly, though my pace was never quicker in any other part of these woods.

  “You want to live forever?” a man’s voice said, which stopped me in my tracks. In the years I’d been walking this path to and from school, there was never another soul on it coming or going. The man stepped into the shadows several yards ahead. “Time is money these days…” he added, and I nearly fell backward in shock before extending my walking stick out like a spear.

  “Leave me alone!” My voice was shaky thanks to the adrenaline hitting my bloodstream. He took a few steps toward me, into the light, and to my surprise, he didn’t seem much older than I was. His new-looking hoodie paired with the significant lack of grease and patches on his jeans made it pretty clear he wasn’t from The Grind, as we referred to everything here outside The Citadel wall.

  “They say legacy debt isn’t population control, but do you see the politicians with any?” the man said, pushing the hood off his head to reveal a mass of black, wavy hair. His eyes were dark and his skin was unnaturally pale, but it was his smile that was the most disturbing. It was too polished, like he’d somehow taken it straight off the face of one of those politicians he was just talking about.

  “Get out of my way.”

  He eyed my backpack. “Going to school? Trying to get Authorized?” he asked, his grin widening. “The Citadel will cost you twenty years,” he said, then raised a dark eyebrow at me. “Unless you’ve got the cash for tuition. You got the cash, sweetheart?”

  “I have to go,” I answered. “Get out of my way.” I brandished the walking stick as I took a few steps forward.

  “Red, blue, yellow… They’ll all make you immortal. You could go through The Citadel a hundred times,” he said, pulling three small vials out of his hoodie pocket and shaking them gently at his side. “All your legacy debt, gone—poof, just like if you were a politician. Don’t even have to shoot these anymore. Just pick a color and drink.”

  “I said leave me alone. Back up.” I took a few more steps toward him, keeping him at the end of my stick, but I pictured him grabbing it. If he did, I’d let go and run. I could tell he was stronger than I was, and I wouldn’t win a tug of war.

  That was the plan, then. Just let go and run.

  But he didn’t grab the end of the walking stick. He just pushed his smile to the corner of his mouth and held up his hands in mock surrender, folding his fingers over the three vials.

  “Run along to school then,” he said, his unblinking, dark eyes staring straight into mine. I didn’t want to turn my back on him, so I walked backward until I made it through the threshold of the woods.

  I almost stumbled as my feet turned over on the sloping hill that led down to the street. There was no sign of the man following me, but I was still hesitant to turn my back to the woods. Where had he even come from, especially this early in the morning? My heart drummed in my chest and my skin began to prickle—physiological responses, I told myself. Just like they said in psychology class. Fight or flight, then fear…

  I turned to face forward slowly, checking over my shoulder every few seconds just to be sure I wasn’t being followed. After confirming three or four times that I wasn’t, I started to relax.

  It was several more minutes before the rest of the adrenaline finally cleared out of my system, and I took a few deep breaths to settle my nerves once and for all. It was still too early for most people in The Grind to be on the streets, so I didn’t worry about slowing down as I made my way to the prison on earth that was Portland Prep. I’d never dream of doing that on the walk home, or I might not make it home, even carrying a big stick.

  There had been six Feral attacks in the last few months—people just becoming randomly violent and then disappearing, so it took weeks to connect the dots between the missing persons reports and the crime scenes. The Citadel Pathology Center kept telling everyone the Feral attacks were caused by a virus called Red Fever. They also kept saying the pathologists were close to a cure, but close didn’t mean anything in the meantime, and some people, like my Uncle Ray, didn’t even believe it was a real disease but rather the pent-up hostility from the oppression of people in The Grind finally coming to a boiling point. With any luck, next semester I’d be at The Citadel where there were no Feral attacks, regardless of the cause.

  The man in the woods had been right about one thing, though. I didn’t have the cash to go even if I did get in. It would cost me twenty years of my life in legacy credits. According to the census, my natural expiration date would be at eighty-seven years, four months, seventeen days…blah blah blah. Dying at sixty-seven years instead if I didn’t manage to land a career with social percentage? It would be worth it to live behind The Citadel wall until then.

  There was a hard pull on my backpack, but as I turned, I was pushed against one of the crumbling building walls. I started to maneuver my walking stick to hit whoever it was in the head, but then stopped myself when I heard familiar, idiotic laughing.

  “Max! You scud! I almost bashed your head
in!” I said, pushing him off me. He could barely catch his breath because he was laughing so hard. “You think it’s funny you almost got your brains splattered all over the sidewalk?” I tried to keep my stern expression in place, but it was hard not to laugh when he actually lay flat on the sidewalk with his arms over his eyes, still laughing.

  “Your face…” he sputtered.

  “Yeah, hilarious.”

  “OK, sorry…sorry…” He regained his composure just long enough to lose it again when he looked at me. I rolled my eyes and started walking the rest of the way to school. “Wait! OK, wait…” Max said, scrambling to his feet.

  He was just over six feet tall and a sprinter on the track team, so it wasn’t long before he caught up to me.

  “Don’t ever do that again. I thought you were some Feral,” I chided, watching him struggle to keep a straight face.

  “Sorry, you were just off in space or something,” he said, his blue eyes extra bright after laughing so much they’d become glassy. He scrubbed his hands over his face, then pushed them quickly through his blond, shaggy hair like he’d just come out of the water. “Gotta pay attention out here, you know? I was just keeping you on your toes,” he added.

  I glared at him and gestured to my walking stick. “Why do you think I carry this?”

  Max narrowed his eyes at me and pressed his lips into a hard line. “All right, what’s really wrong?” He crossed in front of me and slowed way down.

  “Move, Max.” I tried to dart around him, but he was too fast. We’d been best friends since elementary school, and I could never hide anything from him.

  “Tell me what happened?” he asked, all traces of levity gone now. “Was it Alice? Did she tell you you’re the salad antichrist or whatever again?”

  “No.” I pressed my lips together to keep back the imminent smile. My aunt Alice had, in fact, and not too long ago, accused me of being an actual-from-Hell demon when her garden was raided by animals a few days after I’d weeded it.