Singing Fire

by T. L. Martin

  She clumsily maneuvered her new fingers and grasped ahold of the worn, leather-bound book, flipping through its frayed pages with awe. Even after all these centuries, it managed to be completely intact. The ancestors had protected it well, she observed fondly. She traced the ink with an unpolished fingernail, following each curve of the calligraphy as though she were, once again, writing it on that fateful winter night.

  So many centuries had passed since she’d poured out her heart, her secrets, onto these pages. So many lost days and nights. Though seeing her words again, here and now...well, it seemed like only yesterday.

  Something crashed loudly from down the hall, and she clamped the book shut. She hugged it tightly against her chest. Finally, her journal was back in her arms, just as it was meant to be.

  And soon, the Opal would be, too.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Throughout my writing journey, my family has continued to amaze me with their love and support. Dad, as the first person who ever asked to actually read my extensive scribbles once you’d discovered my secret love for writing, I’ll always owe you more thanks than I could give. My husband and children, I thank you for your infinite love and belief in me; the force which keeps me going. Mom, Papa, sisters...thank you; you guys make football’s best cheerleading teams look like a bunch of pansies.

  To my wonderful editor and proofreader, I couldn’t have done this without you.

  Thank you to my beta readers, whose input was invaluable. Particularly fellow authors Samantha Armstrong, who quickly became a friend to me, and Meghan Bray, whose humorous take on romantic scenes broke up my sleep deprived nights by filling them with laughter.

  To my cover artists at The Killion Group Inc, Jennifer and Kim, thank you for listening to what I wanted and running with it, capturing thousands of words into a single image.

  And, of course, endless thanks to my readers, for taking a chance on someone like me, and swimming beside me in my fantastical sea of fictional worlds.

  Turn the page for an…

  Exclusive

  Raw & Unedited

  Sneak Peek

  RAINING FIRE

  BY

  T.L. Martin

  JOURNAL ENTRY 22

  December 1726

  Take thy life before God and the Devil will have his way with ye, Mama always said. No matter the troubles day by day we see, no lady could survive the evil that lie below.

  But that was then, and today no longer a lady am I.

  Fresh blisters and blood, they hide well beneath my Brunswick. One hundred singed corpses have I smelt whence my own fingers struck the flames.

  I will never know the demons who have seized my soul, but, God help me, do they know me.

  In this letter, my final letter, I seek not reprieve. I ask this only of Ye, my Lord: Forsake me to the fiery pits beneath my feet and bind me there henceforth.

  The trembling of my bones on this eve renders my words near illegible and, oh, how my heart aches. But fear is almost lost to me now, and I hold fast to my new covenant. Once this carriage bears me to the Sacred Grounds, Heaven and Hell both as my witness…

  I shall end the Opal. The Devil’s Stone. And it, in return, shall end me.

  Adella Aldridge

  CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME HOME

  Wheels rolled behind me, the toppling click-clack of my carry-on bag threatening to flip yet again. I scoured the clamoring crowd for my aunt’s strawberry blond hair while I walked. Everyone around me seemed to be proceeding toward Baggage Claim like a herd of sheep, and my chest was tightening already.

  How I’d ever talked myself into accepting my aunt’s proposal was a mystery. Yes, I knew it would mean a lot to her, and sure, it was a decent option, considering I was still undecided on anything college related. And I was certain it could have been a pretty cool experience for anyone else. But didn’t I know myself at all?

  There were baby steps one could take in traveling: weekend road trips, staying in local motels, even camping—none of which I had done in my life. Jumping straight into a summer-long study abroad program hadn’t exactly been my smartest move, even if it was to a neighboring, English speaking country.

  At least I was finally back home.

  The flock finally fanned out when I made it to my destination, and I scanned the baggage carousels for my flight number. Apparently I was the last person in the world to spot the thing. I dodged past distracted onlookers, maneuvering myself into an available pocket of space. Thanks to my aunt, the pair of magenta suitcases was easy to spot. I yanked them off the carousel with everything I had.

  “Damn. You’d think there’s a kickboxing heavy bag in there or something.”

  I grinned at the familiar voice, dropping the bags on the floor, and turning to face my aunt. My jaw fell at the sight of her distinctly auburn hair, which she’d had cut into a chic bob.

  “Hey!” I had to stretch farther up than usual to hug her due to the spiked, four-inch heels she wore.

  “Do you like it?” she asked, raising her voice a notch to be heard above the racket. She pulled away and did a twirl.

  “I love it,” I answered. “But what was wrong with your old look?”

  She shrugged a shoulder, turning toward the exit. “Sometimes it’s nice to shake things up a bit.”

  Collecting my bulky suitcases, I hobbled after her.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, finally pausing to relieve me of the smaller suitcase. “Let me give you a hand.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, amused.

  We made it outside and into the fresh air, where, to my disappointment, the buzz of commotion from people fumbling over each other had spilled onto the sidewalk. We only had to cross the street before Aunt Stacy was popping open the trunk to her blue Audi, and I let out an audible sigh. I was utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally, and felt ready to collapse.

  After loading the bags, we plopped into our seats and buckled up. Tired as I was, I didn’t dare let myself fall asleep. Not after how my nights had been treating me lately. Instead, I rolled down the passenger window in an attempt to stay awake, only to find my eyelids disobediently drooping within minutes. Ugh. I’d forgotten how soothing the Oregon coast’s cool breeze could be.

  “Hey,” Stacy’s voice rang. “Still not sleeping?”

  I groaned in response.

  “You should really see someone about that,” she continued. “You know, Joe was saying there are actually vitamins that can help.” She peered over at me with a raised brow. “You’re still following your exercise routine, right?”

  “Mm-hm,” I mumbled, pressing the button below my seat and closing my eyes as it smoothly lowered me back. “It’s not so much that I can’t sleep and more that I don’t want to.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and I knew she was trying to resist suggesting, again, that I see a professional. I listened to the soft, repetitive thump of her fingers against the steering wheel as she contemplated what to say—probably trying to think up a fresh approach on the matter.

  When the sound stopped and she still hadn’t spoken, I opened my left eye, glancing sideways at her.

  “So…” she eventually said, “anything new happen up in Ontario since my visit on your big 18th?”

  My entire body relaxed at the subject change. She knew me well.

  “Um...” Unfortunate as it was, my only news was the wretched nightmares—or daydreams...hallucinations...whatever the things were. And I certainly didn’t want to talk about them any more than the few times we already had. I shrugged a shoulder. “Not really. I mean, you know...pretty much just studied.”

  She was tapping the steering wheel again, her lips curving into a frown. “Those girls in the dorm across the hall from you seemed really nice. Katie and Megan, was it?”

  “Katie and Molly, yeah. They were nice.” I forced a smile, trying to be more social for her.

  She would never tell me so, but I knew she was disappointed after her visit, seeing my solidarity only continue
. I really did try, at first. Tried to be just like any other normal seventeen—or eighteen—year-old girl. But it didn’t take long for my panic attacks to creep up on me again...the shortness of breath, sweaty palms, racing heart… And the sudden nightmares forcing their way into my head didn’t help. Pretty much sealed my fate, in fact.

  “Uh, I did a few study sessions with them, down at the campus cafe,” I added. No need to mention the fact that it was a class assigned group, or that there were seven other people there too, or that I pretty much just sat with my nose buried in textbooks the entire time.

  “Oh, yeah?” Her eyes immediately brightened. “That’s great! I remember my first time leaving home for college back in Austin. I was so nervous… Oh hell, who am I kidding? I was practically jumping out of my skin, I was so excited.” She giggled at the memory, her voice only drifting further and further away as she continued. “But my point is, it can be hard for anyone at first. Trying to make new friends...figuring things out…”

  My eyelids closed again, and I shook my head, trying to gain an ounce of control. I couldn’t let them in. Not again.

  My entire summer, it seemed, had been weighed down by the haunting nightmares that had slowly clawed their way into my consciousness when I’d quit giving them opportunities to torment my sleep. Incessantly striking me down with scrambled but impossibly vivid, clipped visions of mystifying lights, unfamiliar faces, breaking bones, bloody teeth, and violet eyes...

  “Charlie, are you even listening to me?”

  “Hm?”

  “I said Ray’s house sold.”

  She instantly had my attention.

  Ray. His white, furrowed eyebrows and skeptical frown popped into my mind, and I tried to push it away temporarily, so I wouldn’t break down any more than I already had. Especially given the sleep deprived state I was in… What might ordinarily be a tear or two would likely turn into a miserable frenzy of a fit, like broken pipes spewing water in all directions.

  “Who bought it?” I finally asked.

  The idea of someone else moving into my lifelong neighbor and friend’s house, possibly repainting its chipped exterior or tearing down the terrible wallpaper he only ever put up with because his wife had picked it out, made my stomach twist into knots.

  “That’s the thing,” she replied, her eyes narrowed. “Apparently they bought it over a month ago. Even paid the full amount upfront. But I’ve yet to see anyone move in or even stop by to check the place out.”

  “Huh,” I muttered. “Maybe they changed their mind.”

  Not likely, but I could hope.

  “Right,” Stacy said with a chuckle. “‘Here, take all my money. Just kidding, give it back.’” I managed a slight smile, and she elbowed me lightly. “Oh, the librarian...what’s her name? Mrs. James? Well, she called to welcome you back and said she’s proud of you for doing the program, going abroad like that. So sweet, that lady, and you know—”

  Without warning, everything around me disappeared—her voice, the soft breeze teasing my hair, the bumpy feel of pavement beneath the tires. My world went pitch black as quickly as a light switch being shut off.

  God, no. Not again. Not now.

  I didn’t know where I was in this vision, but I was lying flat on my back. My arms were restricted and my breathing strained, like there wasn’t enough air to suck in no matter how deeply I inhaled. I tried to sit up but barely made it a few inches before my head smacked straight into something cold and solid. Panic immediately tightened my chest, knotting up my insides. Where the hell am I?

  It couldn’t have been more than a couple of moments before my attention shifted to the cool feel of water rising beneath me. It was spreading, taking its time as it rose above my arms, my chest, leaving only seconds before the water would be devouring me completely. My heart was pounding hard enough I could have sworn it was trying to break through my chest and get free.

  Waiting until the last possible instant, I breathed in as much air as I could, holding it fast as the water buried every inch of me. I kicked and pushed against the walls encasing me, but it was no use. They were as solid as reality, showing no mercy as my final exhale produced bubbles above my face. Chest closing up, mouth desperate for air but only filling up with more liquid, my body twitched violently until, suddenly, it was over. And I was gasping for all the air my lungs could hold.

  “Charlie! Charlie!” Aunt Stacy’s voice was there, in the distance, but I couldn’t make out the blurry lines of her face as it loomed over me.

  What was happening to me? The things had never been so vivid. So real.

  “Charlie, honey. Can you hear me?” Her hands were on my shoulders, and, after a second, I was able to see her clearly. She was here, still in the driver’s seat, but her seatbelt was unbuckled as she leaned across the center console, giving me a shake. I couldn’t recall ever having seen her so concerned for me in my life, and that was including the fainting spells and panic attacks she’d witnessed in the past.

  “I...yes. I-I can hear you.” It was hard to speak with the wave of shock still practically paralyzing my body, my senses, but I forced the words out.

  “Oh, thank the Lord.” She pulled me into an embrace, tight enough to make me stiffen, and froze there for a minute. When she finally pulled back, her green eyes were wide. “Is that what these things are like for you? These...nightmares? Or was that a panic attack? I’ve never seen one of your attacks happen like that, not even when you were younger, and they were at their worst. For heaven’s sake, Charlie, I—”

  “It wasn’t a panic attack,” I finally interrupted. Whenever she worried like this, she tended to ramble until she got her answer.

  “So...that’s what these new episodes are like?”

  “It’s not an ‘episode’,” I mumbled. “It’s nothing. I-I don’t know.”

  “Charlie. Something that has me pulling over on the side of the road and scared for your life is not ‘nothing’.” She was stern now, which was a tone I didn’t often get from her. “You need to see someone about this.”

  I shook my head. What I needed was a minute to think. To breathe. But she wasn’t going to let up easily. “Stacy, please. I know you’re just trying to help, and-and I appreciate it. But…you remember what happened last time. They didn’t know how to help me.”

  “Hun...that was a long time ago.”

  “Please.” My voice was soft, but I made sure she could sense the decisiveness behind it. “Just give me time to get settled back in. Maybe being back home will help.”

  She paused, and I knew she was considering my reasoning. “And if it doesn’t?”

  “If it doesn’t...” I shrugged a shoulder defeatedly. “Then we’ll talk.”

  She let out a sigh before eventually relaxing back into her seat. “Okay. All right.” She started up the engine and hit a button, her favorite local country station quietly filling the car. “Maybe you’re right. I’d imagine being back home could only help things.”

  I hoped I was right just as much as she seemed to. Really, I did. But something in my gut refused to let my nerves unwind.

  Something that told me this was only the beginning.

  ***

  Dust and lint flew into Pixie’s red curls as she pulled open yet another cardboard box’s worn flaps, wearily eyeing the remaining ones still piled up beside the library’s door.

  Pixie loved books. In fact, there weren’t many people in the world who loved them more than she did. And getting the opportunity to rummage through some of the oldest scriptures around today, supernatural or otherwise, would ordinarily have her feeling as excited as a puppy eyeing a room filled with bacon.

  But these circumstances were anything but ordinary.

  Over three months now... Three months since Priscilla had cast her life-altering spell, one which they still had far too little information about. Not that the spell was their focal point. Priscilla was as trustworthy as one could get, and Pixie didn’t have to be familiar with the spell to know
that whatever reasons the Primary witch had for casting it in the first place were sound. No, the spell was not her biggest concern—even if it was driving her crazy not having answers as to why she, of all people, seemed to be immune to it.

  At least, Pixie thought with a loud exhale, she had finally discovered she wasn’t alone in this. She was not the only one who appeared to be unaffected by the spell. The only one who remembered.

  “That’s the last of them.”

  She jumped slightly as Desmond Stone’s deep, no-nonsense voice cut through her wandering thoughts.

  She knew he couldn’t help sneaking up on her; he was, after all, a vampire. Of course, it didn’t help that her witch senses had been off lately due to all the distractions and exhaustion, and the impossibly fluent and soundless agility of his movements was ingrained in him like DNA.

  “Phew,” she exclaimed, clapping the dust from her hands. “That means there’s only,” she paused, counting on her fingers thoughtfully, “roughly five-hundred-and-sixty-thousand pages left to flip through.”

  The corner of Desmond’s lips hinted at a smile, though, despite her frequent and occasionally embarrassing attempts, Pixie still hadn’t managed to crack through the sorrow.

  Desmond had the kind of dark blue eyes that were penetrating and enchanting all at once. They could reach across the room and grab hold of a person with the intensity of their spark alone. But over this past week, ever since they’d reconnected, Pixie was having trouble spotting the spark at all. It was there if you looked hard enough, but it was certainly nestled deep, buried far beneath the desolation that prevailed. The heartache.

  With the ease of picking up a single sheet of paper, Desmond lifted the stack of boxes piled up on the ground, all filled to the rim with fat, heavy books, and glided toward a single table that sat in the center of his personal library; it was a long, rectangular table that matched the dark and gothic style of the rest of the furniture decorating his otherwise minimalistic house.