by K M Charron
Sydney strode over to the mahogany shelves, her gaze traced the spines of countless leather-bound books. One, covered in white with gold embossed lettering, stood out from the others. She slid it out and placed her palm above it. Concentrating, she tried to connect any of its energy to what she’d felt in front of the underground doorway. It was the most efficient way she could think of since she couldn’t flip through all these books page by page.
She felt no reverberation or energetic familiarity, so she re-shelved it, selecting another that she’d seen Khourtney’s grandmother reading once. Its cover was thick indigo-colored paper, the worn edges proved it was well-used. Her palm hovered over the cover. She closed her eyes, begging the universe for energy to rise from it into her palm, but it remained cool and still.
Deflated, she shoved it back into place with a huff.
She tried to meditate and clear her energy. It had been off since that fog made her sick. Maybe that was interfering with her recognition skills. Closing her eyes, she cleared her mind and chanted a cleansing. It wasn’t a spell, so she could administer it to herself.
The prickly heat that had been trapped in her body cooled. Her stomach settled a bit; the heavy weight on her chest lightened.
Defeat was not an option. Another tactic then. She held her palms out, passing them over the spines, willing something to register. She swept over the first shelf and was in the middle of the second when the library doors swung open.
"And just what do you think you’re doing?"
The icy, curt voice echoed through the marrow of her bones. Holding her head with confidence, she said, "Just looking for something to read. Thought I’d brush up a bit before class." She turned slowly to face her mother’s evaluating stare.
Sydney stepped away from the bookcase, crossing her arms behind her. "How are you, Mother?"
Andrea glided closer to her, her feet lifting off the ground ever so slightly. A crimson silk gown embroidered with gold thread floated around her as if a faint breeze had swept through the room.
"In the White magic section? That’s curious since you’re being tutored in Black magic." She licked her lips. "While I appreciate any effort on your part, I have business to attend to. Off you go." Her mother flicked her fingers in a gesture of dismissal. She made her way to the desk and lowered herself on the large leather wingback chair.
On any other day, Sydney would scurry as commanded, but she wanted to know something first.
"Did you hear about what happened in the woods? I was riding behind a middling when Phoenix flung her into a hole—"
"And you managed to fall down the same hole as the idiotic middling. Yes, I heard. It seems embarrassing news of my progeny travels fast." Her mother didn’t look up, arranging papers into three piles instead.
Syd focused on her mother’s blood-red fingernails, better suited as talons than things of beauty. "I didn’t fall in, Mother. I went in to rescue her. She’d been thrown from her horse. She could’ve broken her neck." Did her mother really not care at all?
"Is that so?" Her mother lifted her head, pinning her with a look of amusement and disbelief. "Tell me then, how did it come to be that you also needed to be rescued? Laurel told me of your misadventure and mentioned that a middling pulled you from the hole, too. Yet you stand here before me, boasting about your heroics. Tsk, tsk, darling. You know better than to lie to me."
"That’s not what happened."
"Then, by all means, enlighten me." Her mother clasped her hands and rested her chin on top. The corners of her mouth turned up.
If she told her the truth, she’d be exonerated, but Sydney couldn’t have her mother know what was there—or that she’d been the reason for Ainsley’s fall. She concentrated on fortifying the wall around her thoughts. "After she fell in, I climbed down. I found her on the ground and unconscious, so I did first aid and waited until she came to. I was about to help her climb out when Coach and the others showed up." The little white lie about Ainsley being unconscious was a nice touch.
"Did you have your phone?"
"Y-yes."
"Is there a reason you didn’t call for help instead of sitting in a hole?"
Her heart hammered so hard she was certain her mother could see the outline of it beneath her sweater. "The middling was embarrassed and asked me to help her out instead of calling."
Her mother resumed sorting the papers. "Catering to a middling? So unlike my daughter. I know it’s not your nature to think about consequences. You’re impulsive and naïve like your father, but your irresponsible choice could have cost the girl her life and put Ashcroft under investigation. Next time, consider what I would do, or what any of your fellow witches would do instead." She glanced up, locking her eyes on Sydney. "That’s all."
Sydney knew better than to argue. She smoothed her hair, turned and stormed out with her head held high. Her eyes burned, threatening to well up, but she inhaled slowly, staving off tears. She would not break. It didn’t matter what Andrea Lockwood thought, even if she was Sydney’s mother. At least it shouldn’t.
With fire punctuating every step, she barreled down the corridors. With no exact destination in mind, she just wanted to pace until she could think about what to do next.
"May I ask what you’re doing, Ms. Lockwood?” Oswald took a step out of the shadows, hands clasped behind his back. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you seem,” he wore a concerned expression, "distressed.” The furrow between his brows was similar to what she’d foolishly hoped to see on her mother’s face.
Sydney jolted to a stop, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Hi, Oswald. Everything’s fine, I was just thinking. Sometimes pacing helps me figure things out."
Oswald’s lined face read like a map of his life’s experiences and emotions. Her eyes followed the curve of his back. She wondered if it was painful.
"Anything I can do?"
"No, it’s fine. Magic related actually. A historical symbol."
His thin lips transformed from a line to a curl. "Well, then you’re in luck. I happen to know everything there is to know about the history of magic in these parts. I may not have the gifts, but I’ve been a student of it my whole life."
Sydney could feel his enthusiasm rising inside her. It radiated through her whole being. It would be cruel to turn him away. He’d spent his life dusting and washing this place without the slightest nod of appreciation. The least she could do was indulge him, besides there was the possibility he knew something. "Um, sure. That would be great."
He smiled so widely that a part of her heart splintered.
"How can I help?"
She closed the space between them and leaned in. "This is confidential. No one can know what I’m about to discuss with you. I need you to swear the Oath." The Oath, rarely used and only for the most serious matters, was a Wilde witch’s unbreakable promise.
"But the Oath is for Wilde witches. I cannot—"
Sydney held up her hand. "You are as much a member of the Wildes as any born witch. Now, will you swear it or not?"
He straightened the best he could, his smile meeting his eyes. "I swear with dignity, honor, and my blood, by the code of the Wildes ancestry, that I will not betray or endanger my fellow witch. For as long as I shall live." He bowed and struggled on the way back up.
"Can I escort you to my office?" he asked. "It’s where I keep all my materials. Something there may prove helpful."
She looked around and saw Máthair Anais Evans, Jax’s mother, and Athair Radley Lautner, Justin’s uncle, talking intently. Fellow apprentices, Cara Anders and Blake, Summer’s younger brother, were each buried in books by the fire in the Main Hall. No one was paying any attention to her at all. "Lead the way."
Oswald’s office was a glorified cleaning closet, but he somehow managed to fit in a ratty, musty old couch, an ancient desk and a dusty bookshelf. All the perks one could fit into a ten by ten-foot room. She’d never been there before, and she hadn’t missed anything. Three metal shelves stood on o
ne side of the cramped space, holding everything from old paint cans to modern cleaning solvents. Opposite the door was a small bathroom.
Two of the coven’s cats had made napping places on the back of the worn-out sofa. She could see the thick layer of black and gray hair matted into the fabric. She did her best to keep a neutral expression and not show how her disgust.
She approached the far wall. "Wow, some of these books look ancient," she said, pulling out a large brown, cracked leather volume. It had practically sung out to her as soon as she’d laid eyes in that direction.
"Be careful, child. Some of those are very old and extremely fragile." He stumbled over, removing the book from her hand, but not before she’d seen the symbol for a witch’s knot on the cover.
The air left her.
She didn’t think it exactly matched the ones carved in the walls or on the door, but it was close. Maybe if she could determine their meaning, she could get an idea of what purpose they’d served in that room.
"Please, Oswald I think there could be something in there I need. I can’t go into too much detail, but I’m looking for a symbol. I think it’s a very old one associated with the Wildes. It had a pentagram with a very distinct and intricate knot in the center. I think it’s a binding symbol." He seemed to be watching her lips as she spoke. It creeped her out slightly as if he’d never been more interested in anything before.
He clasped the book tightly in his grip, his knuckles white under the pressure. Sydney noticed how wrinkled and dry his hands were, their covering of brown spots that older middlings developed.
"Binding is usually a White magic proficiency. This, my dear, is a very dark Black magic book. Very dangerous." He said the words slowly, annunciating each syllable.
Sydney’s chest tightened. It was the first possible lead. "I understand, and I’ll be careful." She gave him her best puppy dog eyes. "Can I see it, please? I believe the symbol I’m seeking is inside." She’d felt the vibration move into her hands and up her arm when she’d touched it. “I felt something just now. What I need could be in that book." She tried to quell some of the urgency in her voice, not wanting him to ask questions or keep the book to himself.
Looking down his long, crooked nose at her, he held out the book.
"Thank you." She flipped the timeworn pages, discolored a yellowish hue. The calligraphy inside was beautiful. There were spells, drawings, ingredient lists—anything a Black witch needed to protect herself—some were in English, others in Latin, Gaelic, Greek, and even Arabic. Her elation waned. She prayed to the ancestors that what she needed had a translation written nearby.
About halfway through the book, a balmy tingling traipsed up Ainsley’s hand and into her arm. She looked to where her finger pointed and beneath it was an image—a symbol. It wasn't exact, but it was so close that it could be mistaken for it. “This…this is similar." She scanned the pages before and after, but only saw one phrase. Its translation: The Binding of the Damned. Her spine felt as though little bugs were running the length of it. "Oswald, do you know what this symbol means?" She couldn’t believe she had to ask a middling.
He peered over her shoulder to get a better look. "Ah, yes. It is an extremely strong binding spell meant to subdue its captive to the point of weakness or death." He said it matter-of-fact.
Sydney pictured the pile of bones that had been on the ground inside the room. "Was it used to hold middlings or witches?"
“Neither, my dear. This spell permanently binds unearthly beings. Demonic, spiritual, or energetic. Everything that lives beyond this veil." He shook his head, the lines around his brow deepened. "I hope that symbol is not the one you seek."
She swallowed hard, holding out the book as though it could possess her. "You’re saying some supernatural entity could be where I saw a symbol similar to this?" She didn’t want to let on how close it was.
"That is precisely what I’m saying, Ms. Lockwood."
"What if there were bones? That means it must’ve been human, right? And not one of those entities?" She stared deep into his amber eyes as if she could will his answer to match what she wanted to hear.
"Possibly, or it could have resided inside a human host at the time of its capture. Those bones would be left behind. The entity would’ve separated away from the flesh at some point after the body died."
Her vision blurred, and she gripped the back of the desk chair, her gaze focusing on one of the sleeping cats as she forced away the darkness seeping into her periphery.
Do not pass out.
"Hypothetically, if such an entity had been trapped by a similar symbol, would it remain confined—bound—for all eternity?"
"It would."
Sydney exhaled, her shoulders falling gently forward. “Well, thanks for your—"
“Unless,” he paused, “the binding was disturbed. If anything broke the perimeter, that which was bound inside it would," he stopped to meet her gaze, "theoretically, be released."
Sydney’s breath left her in a forceful rush. Her knees buckled.
The fog, the odor, her sickness.
A cold sweat broke out all over her.
What had they done?
The End
Thank you for reading Wilde Magic, book 1 in the Ashcroft Academy Series. Look for book 2, Wilde Intent, coming October 2019.
Author’s Note
I hope you enjoyed Wilde Magic!
If you’re in the mood for more in the Ashcroft Academy Series,
look for the next titles coming soon:
Wilde Intent
Wilde Abandon
Wilde Fury
Thank you so much for reading!
K.M. xo
Acknowledgments
I am a very lucky woman to have so many people to thank.
First off, thank you to my husband, Jason, who not only put up with me talking about witches and this story for years but consistently encouraged me. He helped me with research, story ideas, and talked plot and characterization with me for hours on end. I could’ve have written it without him.
Thank you to my parents, Chris and Laurie, for their belief that I could be anything I wanted to be and for listening to me complain, panic, and cheer through all the stages of this book.
Thank you to my sister, Kristin, my niece, Mckenna, and my nephew, Braeden, for supporting and inspiring me. Kiki, you are the best! Thank you for harassing people into buying my books.
Thank you to my entire family and all my friends for your unwavering support over the years and for sharing my books far and wide. It means so much.
Thank you to my critique partners and writing friends—Bee Wheatley (my unofficial twin), Deana Holmes, Tiana Warner, Lindsay Macgowan, Ashley Reiter, Deborah Pearce, and Cara Anderson for listening to rough chapters, reading early drafts, and letting me talk out plot problems with you. A special thank you to Sara Lunsford for helping me craft a great back cover blurb.
Thank you to my friend and writing partner, Eileen Cook, for being there for me over the years, listening to all my woes, helping me become a better writer, and just being a fantastic person.
Thank you to my friend and writing partner, Steena Holmes, for jumping into my life and becoming one of my biggest supporters, even designing my website and the Pretty Wicked covers. You are a rare gem.
I want to thank Deana (Dee J) Holmes for creating the most gorgeous cover ever for Wilde Magic. It takes my breath away every time I look at it. I can hardly wait to show my readers the next covers in the series!
Thank you to Crystal Stranaghan for fielding all my queries and being wonderfully supportive and generous with all your wisdom.
Thank you to my editor, Jamie Hillegonds, who is always up to the task of cleaning up my grammatical messes. You are patient, brilliant, and generous. Thank you for making this book better.
And finally, thank you, dear readers. You mean everything to me. I look forward to continuing to build worlds you like to get lost in.
About the Author
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br /> K.M. Charron is the author of horror and urban fantasy novels. She also writes thrillers under the name Kelly Charron. She lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, with her husband and their fat cat Moo Moo, who insists on sitting on the keyboard every time she tries to write on the sofa. For more information about what K.M. is up to—or to find out about her Pretty Wicked series—visit kellycharron.com.