Stray Magic

by Jenny Schwartz

  Stray Magic

  Faerene Apocalypse

  Book 1

  Jenny Schwartz

  When magic crashes through the Rift, Earth devolves into an apocalyptic nightmare. Survival becomes the only game in town, and college girl, Amy Carlton, learns she’s a more ruthless player than she ever imagined.

  Magistrate Istvan signed up for the Faerene Migration knowing that the price of Earth’s future would be paid for in hellfire and blood. But the black griffin hadn’t anticipated humans accessing magic.

  Now, a new and impossible bond must be forged between a Faerene invader and a human familiar. But first Istvan and Amy must survive to form the bond.

  ***

  Note: “Faerene” refers to the many peoples of another world: the griffins, dragons, unicorns, werewolves, elves and ogres who've crossed to Earth. No prepper or survivalist could have been prepared for their arrival.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Want More?

  Prologue

  The pre-Faerene governments collapsed the day the Red Drake ate the failed Fukushima nuclear power plant. Three days after that, the internet went down. Television died a day later. Radio lasted three weeks and four days from the opening of the Rift. Within a month, communities across the globe were on their own. As technology failed, epidemics spread. After a nightmare six months, Earth’s human population had been reduced to one billion people. Survivors learned the statistic via a proclamation from their new overlord, Fae King Harold. “We can now begin rebuilding.” To a traumatized humanity, his words sounded like mockery. Humanity was wrong. Harold’s intentions were honest.

  The Faerene who came through the Rift had a plan. Earth wasn’t the first world to be claimed after the shield that protected a healthy world tore. The Faerene knew what had to be done for a new society of mixed beings to be born and to flourish. What they hadn’t anticipated was for mages to begin appearing in the human population. That changed everything.

  Amy Carlton would be one of those mages, but first she had to survive the Faerene Apocalypse.

  Chapter 1

  Changing pee-soaked sheets is no one’s idea of a good time, but I’d be spending the whole summer at the camp, and winning the permanent staff’s approval by tackling a dirty job proficiently was a no-brainer. So, while the other volunteers for the first week’s camp were outside introducing city kids to the petting zoo that the camp manager had rounded up from neighboring farms, I stripped beds, disinfected plastic sheets, and carried my smelly basket-load to the laundry to set a couple of giant washing machines running. At the end of the summer I wanted a solid recommendation from the camp’s manager. With two years of college behind me, I was building my CV for my application to medical school. Volunteering at a camp for sick children would look good on it. As a bonus, I actually liked kids.

  “Coffee?” Patti Gutenberg, the camp cook, called as I exited the laundry, which was opposite the kitchen.

  “You’re an angel.” I shut the laundry door to muffle some of the machine noise. I took my coffee black and strong, which was just how Patti offered it. I swallowed some and sighed. “I’ve earned this coffee.”

  “Six a.m. starts take some getting used to.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not the hour. I’m used to hitting the gym early. It’s the kids. One of them tried to flush a rubber ducky. Who would try to do that? I won’t give you the details on the rescue effort.”

  Patti smiled. “Please don’t.” She was about twenty years older than me, carrying a bit of extra weight, but fit and active. She wore her blonde hair in a short, no-nonsense cut.

  My hair was one of the few impracticalities I allowed in my life. It would be easier to manage if I cut it short, but I liked the weight of my long, black braid. When life got confusing, twisting my braid helped me think.

  “Was it you shooting the bow and arrow, last night?” Patti asked. She had sandwiches, fruit and crackers assembled on trays ready to go when the kids tired of the petting zoo—or the animals tired of them. This seemed to be a downtime in her morning. She ate a broken cracker.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry. My crossbow is safely locked away in Ramona’s office. The kids can run wild with those plastic bows and the foam-tipped arrows later.”

  Patti waved aside my safety report. “That was some fine shooting. I’ve seen a few hunters who aren’t that skilled.”

  I blushed at her praise. “A stationary target is easy.”

  She nodded. “Still. It’s not the sort of skill I’d expect in a city girl.” The corners of her eyes crinkled. She was teasing me.

  I finished my coffee in two big gulps and crossed to the sink to rinse out my mug. “City girls are deadly. You should see us at the Black Friday sales. We take no prisoners.” I stuck the mug in the industrial dishwasher. We both looked toward the sudden sound of excited shrieks and running footsteps. The kids were stampeding into the bathrooms to wash their hands. “I’ll help you carry the trays through to the dining room.” Then I’d finish making up the beds.

  I was grateful to avoid the implied question of where I’d learned to use a crossbow. This might have been my first year as a camp volunteer, but during my childhood I’d spent every summer at a camp of some kind. After the age of nine, I’d chosen those camps with an eye to building my skills. Pro tip: if you’re going to be born to reluctant parents, choose wealthy ones. My parents were divorced, occasionally repartnered, and completely uninterested in parenting; but they raked in money as a technology firm CEO (Mom) and as a lawyer (Dad), and they were willing to spend that money on anything that got me out of their hair. I had a black belt in karate, possessed first aid training, and had benefited from classes in everything from swimming to cooking with a few random forays into weird things like alchemy and survivalist prepping.

  I could have spent summer break volunteering overseas or pretending to acquire culture on a wander through Europe, but Pennsylvania had its own charm. Forest and farms. College was busy both academically and socially, and some alone-time hiking in the woods suited me just fine.

  After morning break, the kids settled in for craft time, making paper kites that they could fly tomorrow. Discreetly, those who required physical treatments, received them now. After lunch, Ramona insisted on a quiet hour. That meant the children had to stay on their beds. They didn’t have to nap. They could read if they wanted. But the rule was “no talking”.

  Us adults crept away so that we didn’t have to hear the rule breaking.

  I used the hour to help set up a treasure hunt with two of the other volunteers. It was fun. We had clues and copies of a map, and there were minor prizes for everyone and a grand prize of an idiotic bleating sheep that looked a lot like the lambs the kids had petted that morning. The prize didn’t matter half as much as the game.

  By dinnertime everyone was happily tired and I was a hundred percent convinced of my genius in volunteering at summer camp. I helped Patti tidy the kitchen after dinner, leaving Ramona and the others to settle the kids to watch a movie. I winced at a particularly loud screech from the living room, glad that I wasn’t the one refereeing the debate as to which movie to watch.

  Patti turned up the volume on the small television that sat on a corner of the kitchen counter.

  The journalist’s weird reporting caught my attention. “…whi
le a dragon was filmed climbing the Eiffel Tower.”

  I swiveled to gawk at the television. Sure enough, a green dragon was onscreen clambering up the Eiffel Tower in Paris. The City of Romance’s lovely lighting turned the dragon a stunning shade of emerald. I whistled. “Expensive special effects.”

  “Uh huh,” Patti responded uncertainly.

  The news reported other unlikely happenings. There was an ogre on the march in Tokyo, a griffin flying above Sydney, and a unicorn ran through London. A red dragon landed in Times Square, New York, looked around, yawned, then flew away; launching into the air with a colossal downdraft as it flapped massive, leathery wings.

  “It can’t be real,” I said. “None of those things are possible.”

  Patti had been drying her hands on a red-checked tea towel. Now, she draped it deliberately over the edge of the sink. “I don’t know about that, but I think it’s time I was heading home.” She lived locally, and it had been a long day, so there was nothing odd about her statement; only her tone. She sounded awkward and worried. “Goodnight, Amy.”

  “’Night, Patti.”

  One of the volunteers sidled in from the living room. She gripped a phone tightly, waving it in my direction. “Did you see the dragon? It can’t be real.”

  The outside door closed behind Patti, its automatic lock engaging with a loud click.

  “Of course it can’t be real,” I said.

  Ramona walked in. “It’s a stupid prank, but I’ve already gotten the first phone call from a worried parent. They’re driving up to collect their girl, tonight.”

  “Emma’s parents,” I guessed. The mother had clung, not wanting to leave her little girl, although Emma had been thrilled to be at camp.

  “They’ll just be the beginning,” Ramona said. Injured in the line of duty, she’d taken early retirement from the Baltimore police force. Her years as a cop had given her a cynical, realistic view of people. “It takes less than you’d think for people to freak out and behave irrationally.” She ignored her ringing phone for another few seconds. “Thank goodness we locked away the kids’ phones or their parents would be ringing and scaring them. But prepare for a difficult night.”

  I nodded, unsure what I could actually do to prepare.

  The other volunteer didn’t respond at all. She was glued to her phone.

  Ramona grinned wryly at me. “Can’t confiscate an adult’s phone. Hello?” She finally answered her phone as she headed for her office.

  I grabbed my own phone from the pocket of my shorts and flicked through messages. Nothing from my parents, but my friends were peppering me with their exclamations of shock and amusement. I glanced toward the living room. I was partly responsible for the children in there innocently watching a movie. Instead of amusing myself with the sightings of fantastic beasts, I called up a reliable news feed. Ramona had opened my eyes. No matter what the perpetrators of this elaborate prank had intended, the consequences were what mattered.

  Emma’s parents arrived first. An hour after they departed, the news reported a riot in Los Angeles. There was looting. In fact, judging by the determined, organized behavior of the looters, the looting was the point of the riot. A firebird observed everything from the roof of an office tower. Its glowing wings were a fiery point of light that matched cars set on fire on the street.

  How were the pranksters covering the globe with their realistic creations?

  There were vampires sighted dancing in Rio and turning into bats, a sphinx toured the pyramids of Giza, more ogres tramped through Japan, and a kraken flopped a long-tentacled limb onto the streets of Hong Kong.

  More riots broke out, not just in America, and not all with looting as their intent. People demanded government action. Politicians demanded the pranksters reveal themselves and confess and, most of all, stop their criminal stupidity.

  The night lived down to Ramona’s expectations. Parents arrived at all hours to collect their children; waking those who’d managed to fall asleep despite being baffled by why parents of other children were arriving in a flurry of panic and tears.

  By midday the next day the camp was empty of children. All the other volunteers had fled, as well, returning to their homes in various cities.

  I couldn’t comprehend their illogical behavior. I sat on the porch steps of the main house as the last of the volunteers drove away. “The cities are where the trouble is.”

  “And their families and familiar things.” Ramona walked heavily up the steps and collapsed onto the porch swing.

  I swiveled on my butt to face her. Dusty jeans didn’t even rate as a problem. Like Ramona, I’d been awake all night. “They’d be better off waiting here for things to settle down.”

  Patti leaned against a railing. “What if they don’t settle down? What if those things are real?”

  My mouth dropped open. I’d considered her a sensible person. “They can’t be. Magic isn’t real.”

  She looked across the valley, across the open field mowed short for children to play on, to the apple orchard on the far side of the snaking road. “There was a video of that dragon eating a missile. The air force scrambled three jets to take out the dragon. Instead, it ate a missile, then vanished.”

  I wanted to say that the video had to be faked, except that lots of people had recorded the action over Washington DC, including television reporters.

  “The children are sick.” Ramona stayed on topic, focused on what mattered to her heart. “It makes sense that their parents want them near trusted medical care. Dr. Fayed is good, but he’s a GP. He and his office aren’t set up for long term, specialized treatment.” She put her hands on her knees and pushed herself up. “I’ll cancel next week’s camp. Maybe the one after, just to be safe.”

  “The Summer of the Dragons,” I muttered.

  “And everything else,” Patti said. “It makes me worry about the creatures we haven’t seen yet.”

  Her taking this so seriously, as if the impossible was real, worried me. However, I was more concerned with securing my immediate future. According to one of my history teachers back in high school there’s a tipping point at which time anarchy becomes easier than restoring order. I didn’t think we were teetering there yet, not with police holding the line in the cities and National Guards backing them up. But it seemed prudent to stay somewhere safe, like right here.

  What I realized, though, was that I had no allies here. I was an unknown, my purpose in town vanishing with the exodus of the children back to their homes. If things did get bad, I needed to have an established place, a reason for being here and a reason to be accepted.

  Five years ago, one of my camp counsellors had been a prepper. He’d also been an ex-soldier. It had been a boot camp style of thing; one where I’d widened my fighting style from karate to brawling. Vance had told us that in a disaster situation we shouldn’t trust anyone and that we had to accept that no one would trust us. “You’ll have to prove yourselves. Prove that you’re worth saving, prove that you’re worth feeding. Work out the skills you have and the allies you need. Then act to survive.”

  I rubbed my hands down my jeans. Vance had been clear. Resources got used up, but the skills you brought to the table remained. I was young, healthy, and ready to work. “Patti, I’d like to hang around here for the summer even if the camp remains closed. Is there anyone who’d take me on? I’m a hard worker. I just need somewhere to stay and three meals a day. I can garden, wait tables, clean.”

  My request brought her attention back from her study of the valley. She frowned as she focused on me. “Don’t you have family you want to—” She flinched at whatever she read in my expression.

  I had phoned Mom and Dad. Each call had gone through to voice mail. Neither had returned my calls, but my bank balance had increased. Apparently, dragon sightings didn’t change their default response of silencing me—or their parental guilt—with money.

  Patti spoke slowly, perhaps considering possibilities and consequences. “My Aunt Stel
la could do with some help. Not that she’d ever admit it, although she saw seventy several years ago. She’s a courtesy aunt. Has a house on the edge of town. It could do with some tidying up, and the garden has gotten away from her since Uncle Bud passed on.” Surprisingly, she smiled. “Actually, I think you and Aunt Stella would get along. She doesn’t believe in all this ‘dragon rubbish’ either.”

  I bit back my comment that no one sensible did.

  “All right.” Patti straightened and tugged the back of her shirt down from where it had ridden up. Her t-shirt in the camp colors was a size too small. “Follow me into town and I’ll introduce you to Aunt Stella. Stella Thornton.”

  I had my gear, crossbow included, in my SUV. The rugged vehicle wasn’t exactly environmentally friendly, but it was great for transporting loads of friends, coping with icy streets, and generally making me feel safe. I climbed into it and followed Patti’s red sedan through the small town of Apfall Hill. I already knew that the town didn’t hold much. The library had closed some time ago judging by the weeds growing up around the old brick building. A drug store remained open adjacent to the doctor’s surgery, a convenience store looked like it would close any day, but the diner was freshly painted and had customers pulling in for lunch as I drove past.

  A garage specializing in muscle cars and a beauty salon that advertised cheap cuts for men, women and children and “pet grooming by arrangement” completed the businesses on Main Street. Apfall Hill wasn’t a dying town. It had an elementary school and an Episcopalian Church that actually had a resident priest. However, the town wasn’t thriving, either. It simply held its own.

  Patti’s red sedan slowed. She turned into a graveled driveway, belatedly switching on her indicator. We drove on past the house and parked out back in front of a red barn that had a collection of sheds huddling either side of it.

  With the car engines off, the silence was loud. I got out and studied the house. It was larger than I’d expected, with two stories plus an attic.