by Erin Johnson
“He said “very good” twice.” I squeezed her shoulder and squealed.
Take care and please write again. It brightened my day to hear from you.
-Wool
A couple hours later (during which time Maple seemed to float about the kitchen, a huge grin plastered on her face), I took my break. I left my apron on a peg by the door and jogged down the wide hallways of the palace to the nearest bathroom. I washed the smudges of flour off my cheeks and shook it out of my hair, returning it to its normal, vibrant red. I smoothed my bangs, tugged at my bun to make it more symmetrical, and straightened my dress. I took a deep breath and padded down the blue carpeted halls towards Hank’s quarters.
I’d never been there before, but I knew where they were from overhearing the maids and butlers. I rounded a corner, rehearsing what I planned to say, and slammed into someone. I stumbled back, already apologizing, and then spotted Hank.
“Oh. Sorry. I was looking for you.”
He swallowed and blinked. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting around, as if he were unsure where to look. “I was actually looking for you too.”
“Were you?” I grinned. “’Cause it seems like you’re looking everywhere but at me.”
He pressed his eyes shut and held them that way for a moment. When he opened them again, he looked straight at me. “Sorry.” He let out a breath. “I’m just—not sure how to say what I need to say.”
“Oh.” That sounded serious. We stood in silence for a few moments, waiting for the other to start. Rows of oil portraits lined the walls in huge gilded frames and far down the way, some maids walked and chatted together.
I scratched at my jaw. “So… any updates on the Horace situation?” That seemed like a good icebreaker. We hadn’t spoken since yesterday’s incident.
“No. No updates. We weren’t able to trace him.” Hank looked away again, distracted.
“Oh. ’Cause I thought people had to go to special ports to travel by magic—except for Francis of course, being a vampire and all.”
Hank nodded along with me. “Of course. We do, usually. But there are some old, powerful magic objects out there, spelled to create portals between them before such things were banned and regulated.” Hank scratched at the back of his head. “Horace probably had a twin mirror somewhere. The police tried to recreate the portal, but couldn’t. He’s probably destroyed the twin mirror already, to prevent being followed.”
I nodded. “Guess the good news is he can’t use it again, right?”
“Right.” Hank didn’t sound convinced.
“Um. I had another question.”
He lifted his blue eyes to mine.
“I spent time with him. We worked on revealing spells, showing the truth beneath illusions. Why didn’t my magic reveal his disguise?” I lifted my palms. “I mean with you, I kept getting glimpses of the true you beneath your mask during the baking competition. Why didn’t I suspect anything with Edw—” I stopped myself. He’d killed the real Edward. “With Horace?”
Hank took a deep breath. “He survives by concealing himself, so he’s a lot more practiced at keeping up a disguise. While I….” He trailed off, rubbing his thick wrist. “I get easily distracted by you. You tend to make me let my guard down.” He said this looking at his feet.
My heart thrummed in my chest. No, dumb heart, stay calm. Calm. You don’t care that you affect him, remember?
He looked up at me, his face serious. “Which is part of what I wanted to speak with you about. You know how you’ve been saying I shouldn’t work with you on magic because of our feelings for each other and how it’d be inappropriate considering I’m—engaged?”
I nodded and stepped closer, looking up into his face. “Right. Yeah. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, too. And you’ve been arguing it doesn’t matter, that it’s more important I learn to be able to defend myself, and that we can ignore whatever is between us?” I gestured back and forth from his chest to mine.
He nodded and a brief pause followed. Then we both blurted out at the same time, “You were right.”
We frowned at each other and both said, “Wait, what?”
I held up my palms. “Okay. You’re saying you don’t want to teach me? ’Cause my last tutor turned out to be a psychopath and tried to abduct me after I was almost sawed in half by someone else.”
The blood drained from Hank’s face. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
I shook my head. “Then why would you think it’s best not to teach me?”
His brows rose in the middle and he pleaded with me. “I— You do need to know how to defend yourself. But—but maybe we can track down another swallow to teach you.” He dug his fingers into his hair, mussing it up.
“You said yourself, you’d only met one other swallow before me.” I ticked off fingers. “Guess Horace makes three, but I’d rather not continue working with him. Plus we know he’s now after me, personally. He said he came here to meet me. I guess he wants another swallow for his army that bad, so this might not be my last encounter with him.”
He paced, looking sick to his stomach. “Snakes, I hope not. But what happened after—”
I shrugged, willing myself to believe my own words. “It was the heat of the moment—magic was flowing, heart rates rushing. And heck, nothing even happened.”
He shot me a dark look. “Because Bon showed up.”
I looked to the ornately carved ceiling. “Yeah. But still. That was the ultimate moment when something would’ve happened—and it didn’t.” I folded my arms and raised a brow. “I’m pretty sure we can handle being in the same room together. Don’t you? I mean, my life might depend on it.” I threw my hands in the air and my shoulders slumped. Heck, I knew it’d be hard. That was why I’d been trying to avoid him, but that hadn’t worked either. “I need to know how to defend myself, and we need to figure out how to be friends.”
He stopped pacing and gave me a long, sad look. Finally he nodded and his throat bobbed. “Yeah.” His voice came out choked, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess we do.” He took a heaving breath. “You’re absolutely right. You need to learn to use your power, and we’re—we’re adults. We’ll figure this out.”
I perked up a bit and shot him a grin. “Yeah. Totally.”
He gave me a little grin back. “All right, friend. When do you want to start?”
I turned my head. “Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”
He shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Sounds good. I’ll pick you up from the bakery?”
“Perfect. I’ll snag us some scones for snacks.”
He took a few steps away and pointed. “I’ll hold you to that.” He winked, and my stomach fluttered. No, stomach, no. Bad stomach. Oh geez, this was going to be harder than I thought. “See you tomorrow, Imogen.” He moved a few steps down the hall when I remembered one last thing I meant to ask him about.
“Hank?”
He turned, a thick brow cocked. “Yeah?” He backtracked closer.
“Uh—do you know what Horace meant by ‘Monsters Rise’?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve been thinking about that too. Maybe it’s a Badlands Army motto or something?”
“He told me to find it. Like it’s a place.”
Hank shrugged. “I’ve never heard of it, but we’ll practice in the library. In addition to our lessons, we can do some research, see if we can find it.”
I nodded. “Tomorrow.” As we headed opposite ways, with me going back to the bakery, I mulled over Horace’s last words to me.
Monsters Rise.
Did you enjoy Black Arts, Tarts & Gypsy Carts? If so, you can make a huge difference.
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3. Check out book 3- available November 2017! Read Mermaid Fins, Winds & Rolling Pins.
The next in the series is available
November 2017 on Amazon
Read on for a sneak peek at book three…
Mermaid Fins, Winds & Rolling Pins
Chapter 1: Magic Practice
The blue feathered quill lay on the solid wood table in front of me. The very, very distant quill, on the very long table. Hank placed a warm hand on my shoulder. Tingles danced up the back of my neck and flitted around my stomach.
His deep voice held a smile. "You're talented and powerful. You've got this."
I licked my lips and glared at the feather. Come hither, I willed it. It felt natural to stretch my open hand toward it. I spread my fingers wide. Right, cause my finger placement was the problem. I closed one eye. Come on, you stupid quill, fly into my hand already.
I huffed and let my arm drop. I glanced up at Hank and shrugged. "I'm hopeless." Concern flitted across his handsome face. I folded my arms and plunked my head down on them. Frustration burned in my chest. I needed to focus. But every time Hank came near, he was all I could think of. And he was the only other swallow I knew and could learn from… except for Horace, the guerilla leader of the Badlands Army who tried to kidnap me. No thanks. My shoulders sagged. I was such a mess.
Wooden chair legs scraped across the mosaic tiled floor as Hank slid closer to me. The sound echoed through the cavernous space of the royal library. A deep silence followed, reminding me of how alone I was with the handsome prince.
"Yeah, we have been trying a whole hour. If you haven't completely mastered your powers by now, it'll probably never happen."
I grinned, my forehead still heavy on my arms. "I know. I should be witch of the year by now."
Hank placed his hand on my back, just a light touch at first. Then he let it sit heavier—it nearly spanned my shoulder blades, rising and falling with my breaths. His warmth felt good in the dim, cool room.
"Look, I've seen you perform spells ten times this big and challenging. You've just got to fine tune it."
His thumb moved up and down, stroking my back. My breath hitched. I rolled my eyes at myself. That's all it took, huh?
"Come on."
Burying my head in my arms wasn't helping things, so why not? I stood, and Hank's hand fell from my back, leaving my skin where he'd touched me feeling cool and empty. Hank rose slowly beside me, and I focused on the quill to avoid looking at him. I blew my bangs out of my eyes.
"I'm sorry I'm being such a… such a brat." I rolled my head to the side and glanced up at him. He was so tall.
He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I babysit for my brother Stephen's kids sometimes. You should meet his four-year-old. He could give you some lessons. Compared to him, your brattiness is pathetic, frankly."
I grinned in spite of myself and turned fully toward him. "Is that so? Maybe I'll take you up on those lessons. If he gets what he wants from you, it might be worth it." The second the words left my lips, I wanted to swallow them up. I'd veered into the danger zone of flirting.
Candlelight sparkled in his eyes. "You don't need lessons for that. I'd do anything for you."
Heat flushed through me, from my cheeks to my chest to my core.
His grin froze, then his eyes opened wide and he leaned back, blinking. "I just meant"—he scratched the back of his neck and looked down to hide his blush—"in a normal, not awkward sort of way."
I pressed my lips together in a tight smile. I'd be replaying that moment later and savoring it. For now, though…. "Back to my futile attempts at magic?" I gave a dry chuckle. Smooth, Imogen, real smooth.
Hank darted a glance at me, then nodded and angled himself toward the table in front of us. "Try closing your eyes."
His voice came out gruffer than usual, as if speaking in a normal tone was an effort. It made every inch of me alive and aware of him. Closing my eyes heightened my other senses. He moved closer and his bare forearm brushed against mine. The hair on my arms and neck raised.
"Visualize it happening."
Oh, I was visualizing something happening.
"Focus on the feel of it, the feather against your hand, the cool of the metal."
My entire body buzzed as I focused instead on the tickle of Hank's arm against mine. I struggled to inhale in a normal way, every breath scented with his cinnamon-and-sugar smell— he always sneaking down to the bakery to work alongside us when he could.
"Pull it to you. You have to want it with everything you've got." He slid behind me. "And once you know what you want, you need to pull the energy to do it. For others it comes from within. For us swallows, we have to feel for an outside source. It could be the energy of these books, or the flames of the candles—something that makes you feel full of energy."
With my eyes closed, I couldn't see the energy of these things exactly, but something shifted. In the same way I knew where Hank stood, I thought I could sense the location of the candle flames. Maybe I was just imagining it? The sensation felt so new and strange it pulled my attention away from the handsome prince behind me. I emptied my mind of everything but the energy of the closest candle flame. The shape grew clearer in my mind. I could picture the long teardrop shape, burning clean and steady. But how to draw the energy to me?
As if reading my mind, Hank spoke. "Think of it like eating. You take in food as fuel to power yourself. Some foods make better fuel than others, some are more pleasurable to eat. Decide what fuel you want to take in and just—it's hard to explain—but you swallow it."
I kept my eyes closed but smiled. "Hank. Your words are helping, but I think I might need you to back up a bit. You're a little distracting." An understatement.
He cleared his throat. "Sorry."
He stepped away, his shoes clipping away on the tiled floor. The cool of the air around me helped to clear my head.
I sought out the candle again and found it more easily this time. I visualized eating it and a warm glow grew in my chest. But it didn't seem enough. I'd need to pull more energy. One by one, I sought out each of the two dozen candles in the room, visualizing them in my mind. The tingles came back, this time from the excitement of magic. I'd never been able to feel sources of power like this.
I kept my attention focused in front of me. I knew if I cast my mind behind me I'd find a very potent source of energy, but not the kind I needed for lifting the quill.
Holding all the bright candles in the darkness of my mind, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs, but also inhaling energetically. I pulled in the energy of the candles. A wind blew tendrils of hair across my collarbones and rustled my bangs. Heat danced up and down my arms and legs. Similar to the heat Hank inspired, this crackled and danced through my veins, itching to be released.
I reached out both hands and found the quill in my mind. As Hank had instructed, I visualized the stiff but soft fibers of the cobalt-blue feather in my hand. I lifted my arms and imagined the quill lifting as well. The wind picked up.
Hank gasped. "Imogen."
I opened my eyes and lurched backward, pressing my hands to my mouth. For another split second, twenty books hung suspended in the air, the quill hovered below them, and the massive wooden table floated above the ground. Icy fear replaced the heat in my veins and the items crashed to the ground, the books falling on their open pages.
"Oh no. I'm so sorry." I rushed forward and knelt to gather them before their pages creased. I clicked my tongue at myself. Too late.
Hank rushed up and crouched next to me. He snapped his fingers and the dozens of candles I'd extinguished relit themselves.
I didn't look up but kept fussing with the books, stacking them in my arms. "I've ruined them."
He lifted his palms and touched the books, till I handed them over to him. He set them as
ide. Then he took both of my hands in his large, warm ones. I lowered my eyes.
"Imogen? Hey."
I sighed and looked at him.
He dipped his head and held my gaze. His brows lifted in the middle and his mouth twitched towards a smile. "That was amazing."
I ducked my head again and stared at the colorful mosaic tiles of the floor.
"What's wrong?"
Embarrassment burned in my chest. I lifted my eyes to his face. "I don't know. I just—freaked out, I guess."
He pulled his lips to the side, never breaking eye contact with me. "I get that. Like, every time you allow yourself to go there and access your magic, you panic and shut it down because you're afraid it's going to get out of hand?"
How did he always say the right thing? I nodded.
His throat bobbed. "That's how I felt when I first started my lessons."
"Well… shouldn't I be scared?" I frowned. "It's like when I first learned to drive. I couldn't wait to, but then once I got behind the wheel and realized my adopted dad expected me to drive the thing on real streets with other people around, I was like, are you crazy? I shouldn't be allowed to do this, I have no idea what I'm doing! I feel the same way now. Like, what if I get out of control and pull energy from someone without meaning to and they get hurt… or worse? Or the spell gets out of control, like it just did. Or—"
Hank squeezed my hands. "Take a deep breath."
I tried to, but my chest clenched up tight.
Hank looked down. "You've been doing magic subconsciously probably your whole life."
I nodded, still struggling to inhale through my tight lungs.
He spoke again, maybe more to himself than to me. "But every time you try to access it on purpose, you panic—it's like you're censoring yourself."