Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set)

by Marsha A. Moore

  Lyra clutched the arms of her chair to steady herself while considering how Kon had been alive to trade with Elisabeth—eight hundred years ago.

  The Head Elder held the ancient book for Lyra to examine. Distressed brown leather covered the exterior of the thick book. The tanned surface had worn thin on the spine, the shabby hide exposing some page edges. Traces of tooled letters indented the face, which revealed parts of an ornate letter “D” and in a line below, the letter “E.”

  Lyra sucked in a ragged breath. Her fingers trembled as she touched the cover. A white hot flash of energy burned a path up her arm and toward her heart. Before she could react, it enveloped her heart, then seeped inside. Her next breath seemed deeper and fuller than any she had taken in her life. Her lungs filled to the lowest lobes, and her aura pulsed through every inch of her body. A portion of Elisabeth’s magic stored in those words now added to her own—she felt the combined power swell into the recesses of her mind and heart.

  If contact with the cover conveyed that much, she wondered what would happen when she actually read the first Scribe’s adventure. Sweat beaded along her hairline as she gently opened the cover and turned the yellowed end sheet.

  The text was hand-written in a neat cursive. Energy from the words held her eyes on the page as she absorbed the kaleidoscope of images. She longed to devour the story and the magic it contained. She had expected answers to questions in the text. The transmission of ancient scribal energy surprised her, even though her own Book of Dragonspeir contained magic in its words. She had read Brigid’s as a child and couldn’t remember how it affected her. Lyra’s own book stopped the Black Dragon from using the Red Moon last August to expand his power into the human world. What consequence did Elisabeth’s book cause?

  Cullen’s fingers winding in her hair brought Lyra back to the present moment. “Is it authentic?” he asked, passing his own hand above the open page. “I detect Dragonspeir magic.”

  Lyra exhaled slowly. “Yes. It’s real.”

  “What be your offer?” Kon prompted, taking the book away and tilting his head.

  Omin picked up the volume.

  Lyra’s eyes followed the ancient text. With considerable effort, she looked away, not wanting to seem desperate and disadvantaged in the dealing. From her shoulder pack, she pulled out the offer she and Cullen agreed upon before leaving. “Here’s a copy of the most recent Book of Dragonspeir.” Like Kon, she held it for his inspection, not trusting him enough to let the book rest freely in his hands.

  He ran a finger across the cover and read aloud, “The Fifth Book of Dragonspeir, written by Adalyra McCauley.” He glanced up at her. “Is this you, Lyra?”

  She nodded, but purposely didn’t offer any explanation.

  “You trade me a new book for a rare collectible? What value is that?”

  Cullen reached into the sack in his cloak pocket. Before he removed anything, Lyra formed a thought she hoped he would read. Wait! I have something from home he’ll go for. She rummaged in the compartments of her bag and pulled out a retractable ball point pen. “Here. Something from my world you’ll certainly enjoy.”

  Kon’s eyes lit, and he held out his hand. He turned it over and looked into the small hole at the end. “Does it move?”

  “Yes. Press the button at the other end. You can write with the end that comes out. Try it.”

  He found a scrap of parchment from the bottom shelf of the bookcase and penned his name.

  “Elder Kon, this ancient book feels of megma. It vibrates,” Omin said, placing Elisabeth’s volume on the shelf beside the stack of parchments. He turned to Lyra and asked, “May I please touch your book? I don’t need to hold it.”

  Lyra kneeled in front of Omin and held her volume for him to see.

  “Marvelous!” Kon declared. “A better trade. I will keep this…but I want more, and you have more to offer.”

  Lyra didn’t trust Kon. She glanced over her shoulder at Cullen. Without contact, she couldn’t send him a thought.

  His fingers that normally held the staff twitched, and he reached for it at the side of his chair. Before he could communicate with her, Kon began a loud speech.

  “I want your matan. Centuries ago, I commanded Terza by keeping matans. Our time has come again. I will rule all of Terza!”

  “Kon, her book owns the same megma. She be some sort of svendemon, like Mrinx said.” Omin waved a knobby-fingered hand in front of the Head Elder’s glassy eyes. “You’ve gone mad, wanting those days back when you had so much power no one would friend you.”

  He pushed his friend’s hand aside and grabbed for Noba, who let out a yelp and crawled under Cullen’s chair.

  “Kon, stop! Greed is taking you over,” Mrinx cried and grabbed his arm.

  “You won’t own Noba!” Cullen glared at the Head Elder, then pulled his familiar into one arm and headed toward the door. He attempted to work his wizard’s staff, but Noba’s wiggling undermined his efforts.

  “I will!” Kon waved at the smoke of his candles, forcing it over the wizard. He nodded to Angom to block the door.

  Cullen choked and froze stiff as a statue. Although his immobile arms still held the pseudodragon and staff tight to his sides, Noba squirmed and hissed as Kon approached.

  Kenzo flew up and scratched the elder’s back with his talons.

  Kon yanked the pseudodragon out and into his own clutch. “You’re mine! All of Terza will bow to me like before.” He turned to Lyra. “Good trade.” With his other hand, he tossed her Elisabeth’s book. “Be gone, if you can get out.” A peel of wicked laughter rattled from his throat.

  Lyra stuffed both books into her pack and clenched her hands into fists. “We aren’t leaving without Noba.”

  “Mrinx, Omin, I need your help to conjure the bonding potion so this matan will do for me.” He opened a door leading to a stairwell. Sulfurous odors told Lyra it led to his laboratory.

  “I won’t be a party to releasing your former greed, Kon.” Mrinx stood with her hands on her hips, pendants clambering up and down their chains.

  “Lady Lyra, help Noba!” the familiar squeaked, looking over Kon’s shoulder.

  Already stooping at the floor, Lyra easily noticed the bowl with Noba’s tea and grabbed it up. “Noba, cut him with your tail! Wave it all around!”

  Noba did as told and slashed his barbed tail with all his might.

  Kon dropped him to the floor and held the tiny dragon by the snout, avoiding the flick of his tail.

  Rakia gasped. “Elder Kon, you’ve been cut! Your neck!”

  He wiped a hand along the right side of his neck.

  “The other side!” she cried.

  From the left, his fingers came away covered with his blood. He spun around, frantically searching the room, and finally rested his gaze on Lyra. “Give me that!” He flipped his fingers in the direction of his candelabra, summoning their smoke toward her.

  Before his effluvial magic reached Lyra, she passed a hand over Noba’s tea and proclaimed, “Semoveo familiaris fluidus!” Then, acting by instinct or directed by some internal guidance, she lifted her hand up, and it blocked the influx of smoke. Not knowing what her aura could do against his black magic, her stomach tightened into a knot.

  “Kon, what be you doing? If she can put magic into words, she can undo your charm,” Mrinx pleaded. “Stop! She can harm us.”

  The Head Elder’s smoke pressed against Lyra’s palm but traveled no further. He let out a loud groan and rushed at her. “Give me that bowl!” He gasped for air and clutched his chest, already affected by Noba’s poison.

  “Noba, wave your tail at anyone who comes near you!” Lyra called out. Unsure whether her spell operated fully, she dropped the bowl, shattering the pottery and spilling the tea, which quickly soaked into the porous stone. A second later, Lyra’s aura reflexively caused her to push her hand against the smoke, forcing it into Kon’s face.

  He sputtered in a cloud of his own effluvium, clawed at the wound on his
neck, and dropped to the floor.

  Rakia and Sulye huddled in a corner behind a chair, but Omin stood more upright than before. “Angom, my son, let her pass. You want her as an ally after I pass to dust.”

  Lyra whisked Noba into her arm and moved her open hand in front of Cullen’s face. She jumped slightly when smoke exited his nose and hit her palm. She closed her fist, and when she reopened it, the effluvium had vanished. She stared at her empty palm in disbelief.

  Cullen’s eyes sparked, and he jerked to attention. He gave his staff a spin, and the sapphire at the apex shot blue light at the door.

  Angom dodged just before the light blasted it open.

  Cullen looked at Lyra. “Did you get it?”

  Kon moaned in pain, and Mrinx kneeled at his side. She looked up at Lyra with tears welling into her eyes, “Go. He got the deal that greed demands. A once-great leader felled by his own temptations.” When life left his body, she let out a loud wail.

  “We mourn the fair leader we knew after he had to work for his power when the Vizards took away much of our lives…not the young man he once was and seemed to turn to again today. He dreamed of having those days back—like a madness. Sad that he couldn’t see the difference.” Omin said as a tear trickled from the corner of one of his eyes. “Go in peace. No one gives you blame.”

  Lyra nodded and darted into the alley.

  Cullen and Kenzo followed close behind.

  The two elders remained with Kon, but the younger Malificates joined them.

  Upon reaching the third intersection, Lyra didn’t know which way to turn. Then, she heard Yasqu thunder a roar she had heard only once before, when he protected her against a stealth cimafa dragon. She ran down the alley, and Lesot caught her in his arms, preventing her from going farther. Out in the main tunnel, the fangs of the snake head of a scorpent dripped venom, coiled to bite.

  Chapter Twelve: Chase of the Mask

  Lyra strained against Lesot’s arm. Rising up on tip-toes, she peered over his shoulder. Her view of the main tunnel from the alley showed only snatches of the fight.

  The huge snake head of the scorpent loomed forward. From its open mouth, white fangs dripped with shimmering venom. Slit-shaped pupils pierced from the center of its green-gold irises. The creature’s neck lowered and thrust out of sight.

  Yasqu let out a sharp groan, then fell silent.

  The scorpent lifted its head, tongue flicking out beyond closed jaws. Blood seeped from the corners of its mouth.

  “Yasqu!” Lyra screamed and wiggled free of Lesot’s hold, his hand clamping only onto her cloak. She yanked and the jade brooch at her throat sprang open and fell away with the fabric. She glanced at the jadestone on the ground, hesitant to be without that powerful connection to Cullen. A pained moan from Yasqu sent her directly into the thoroughfare.

  “Lyra! No!” Cullen yelled.

  “Lady Lyra, go back!” the bronze dragon cried out.

  The magical eyes of the scorpent captured her gaze. Unable to turn away, she eased backward, plastering her body against the stone wall for support.

  The beast controlled her.

  Lyra used her aura to fight against it, but couldn’t break free.

  The creature hissed, coiling its neck lower as it approached her. She made a wrong choice, which endangered herself and left Yasqu without help. Her heart pounded against her rib cage.

  From beyond her sight, the dragon gave a low moan. His tone wavered and sputtered.

  Blue light from Cullen’s staff shot at the scorpent.

  The beast writhed and bit the air in front of Cullen. Bombarded with the torrent of lasers, it lowered a protective eyelid covering.

  The wizard’s sapphire beams reflected off the eyelids, denting the walls like machinegun fire.

  Again, the scorpent snaked down to Lyra’s level. It channeled Cullen’s magic straight at her.

  A stabbing pain shot through her head. She clamped her hands on either side of her skull. Although the beam lasted only a moment before Cullen dowsed his staff, the burning sensation continued. In too much pain to move far, Lyra slunk behind a metal waste can for cover.

  The wizard spun to face the tunnel and hurled a powerball from his hand at the scorpent’s head.

  Hit directly on one eye, the beast hissed and took a step back, waving its neck wildly.

  “Lyra!” Cullen ran to her and coursed his palms along her temples, lifting away the sharpest pains. Wisps of black magic wafted around them from the breath of the scorpent. “Are you all right? Tell me how you feel.”

  “I’m okay, but I can’t fight. I’ll try to self-heal.” She massaged her scalp. Sending aura deep inside, she gained more relief.

  Yasqu snarled and crawled into Lyra’s view as she peered from around the bin. He roared and struck the scorpent’s flailing neck. A wide swath of flame charred the tissue. Yasqu persevered and bit into the wound. He came away with black slime covering his lower jaw.

  Despite the serious injury, the scorpent attacked.

  The two long necks of the dragon and beast moved at all angles across the corridor, positioning and repositioning to gain advantage for a strike.

  The scorpent exhaled massive clouds of effluvium from its flared nostrils.

  Yasqu shot counters of flames that blocked the black vapor.

  Kenzo darted out from the alleyway and circled the base of the scorpent’s neck, biting the soft underside scales.

  “Kenzo! Watch out!” Cullen cried.

  The owl flew up, narrowly avoiding the deadly scorpion-like pinchers on the beast’s midsection. “No worries, Master.” He zipped in and out, biting and retreating.

  Cullen volleyed a round of powerballs at the scorpent’s head and successfully kept it on the defensive.

  Its neck twisted back and forth between the wizard and the dragon.

  With the pain in her head diminishing, Lyra stood beside Cullen and transferred a large portion of her aura into her hand, preparing to throw.

  The head of the creature moved in all directions.

  Her worst magic craft—powerball throwing. She feared her bad aim would injure Yasqu. The powers bouncing around the tunnel were far greater than she could conjure using incantations with her ring. She didn’t know how to help.

  “Look!” Lyra alerted the others. Down the tunnel, a group of Vizards approached.

  Lesot and Angom moved directly behind Lyra and Cullen, holding Noba between them. “Do you know how to command your matan?” Angom asked.

  Lyra shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “You may have to learn fast,” Lesot replied, his eyes wide.

  Cullen glanced over his shoulder and gave the pair of Malificates a questioning look before forming another powerball in his palm.

  The group of about twenty Vizards stopped close behind the scorpent. In unison, they removed their masks, exposing tendons and strips of muscle clinging in patches to bear bone. One Vizard, half a head taller than the others, took a step forward. “Come and serve your masters,” his voice rang clear and bold, accompanied by a long exhalation of dark effluvium.

  Whatever the lead Vizards intended, the battle continued as if nothing happened, with neither side gaining an advantage.

  After a couple minutes, a loud hissing sounded behind Yasqu. From side streets at the next intersection, two scorpents appeared. Their eyes glinted and tongues flicked, tasting the air. Their long serpent necks circled faster, and silvery drool hung from the corners of their mouths. Clearly the Vizards had called for these back-ups.

  “How do we use Noba?” Lyra asked, glancing down at him. If he could help, it was worth a try.

  The familiar’s small muscles bunched and released while the pupils of his black eyes were open wide, sending out more light than before.

  Lyra held a hand out to him. “Come here, Noba. We need your help.”

  After Lesot and Angom released him, the pseudodragon hugged both forearms around Lyra’s leg.

  “Go on.
They’ll be afraid of whatever you do,” she said, giving him a gentle push between his wings.

  He took a cautious step forward, brushing next to Cullen. Noba looked both ways along the main tunnel. His limbs twitched even more, his scales catching the light in ripples.

  All eyes locked on the pseudodragon, and the battle halted. The scorpents froze, all but their tongues, which flicked more actively.

  The Vizards hunched, and a few dropped lower, lying prostrated on their stomachs. Only the leader stood tall.

  “Master, what is Noba needed to do?” the familiar asked.

  “Use your instinct,” Cullen replied. “You will know what to do.”

  Noba shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  The head Vizard cackled. “You don’t know how to command your matan. We’ll show you—”

  Before the leader finished, Cullen shot a powerball squarely at his chest.

  Doubled in pain, the Vizard forced a skeletal arm upward, his wiry fingers twirling in the air as he sunk to the ground.

  From that cue, the scorpents lunged at Yasqu, biting hard on his tail.

  “Noba, wave your barb at them!” Lyra pleaded.

  Instead of following her guidance, the familiar clung with legs, arms, and wings wrapped tightly around the side of his master’s leg.

  Lyra shook her head, desperate to find of a way out of the situation. Surprisingly, her aura prickled in her fingertips without her command. Acting by instinct, she lifted her arms, and the electricity of her power crackled, jumping between her fingers like she’d never seen before. Vaporous threads of effluvial magic coursed toward her hands. Seeing the black magic channeling at her, Lyra jerked. Various shades of gray smoke, given off by different beings, comingled at the surface of her palm, as if fighting to enter.

  Seeing their effluvium vanish into her hands, the Vizards cowered, despite the haunting grins plastered on their mask faces. A moment later, they blew new clouds from their pipes as fast as they could breathe, and the scorpents puffed a thick screen from their nostrils.

  Lyra’s new ability matched their pace.

  During this confusion, Yasqu whipped around and hurled long flames at the two new scorpents, searing wide burns along their necks and flanks.