Frivolous Magic

by Kimbra Swain

  Frivolous Magic

  Chantilly Lace, Book One

  Kimbra Swain

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Kimbra Swain

  Frivolous Magic, Book One, Chantilly Lace Series

  ©2019, Kimbra Swain / Crimson Sun Press, LLC

  kimbraswain@gmail.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Book Cover by: Loraine Von Tonder, Ryn Kathryn Digital Art

  Formatting by Serendipity Formats: https://serendipityformats.wixsite.com/formats

  Editing by Carol Tietsworth: https://www.facebook.com/Editing-by-Carol-Tietsworth-328303247526664/

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  “Bitch!”

  My friends at the table snickered with hand-covered mouths. Sometimes, well, most of the time, Shawnna was her own worst enemy. I might have laughed the loudest when her gourmet water spilled all over her new cashmere sweater that she had mentioned no less than twenty times in the last ten minutes.

  I may have also used a small puff of wind spell that I had learned yesterday to knock the water into her lap. Not that anyone here would ever know that fact. To them, magic wasn’t real. Hell, I wasn’t even sure what it was.

  “I prefer witch. The words are synonymous, but not mutually exclusive,” I replied. I could joke about it because no one would believe it if I told them.

  “Lacey, you have to be the meanest person ever! My new sweater! Gah!” Shawnna exclaimed while dabbing at the hopeless mess.

  The noisy student union didn’t take notice of her caterwauling. Obnoxious behavior was the norm in a bustling place on a college campus. There was a knock-off Starbucks and a cafeteria on this floor, then a computer lab and bookstore on the bottom level. We sat outside the coffee shop around a small table.

  Shawnna’s boyfriend, Braxton Stanwick of the Atlanta Stanwick’s, handed her napkins as she soaked each one. He refused to look at her as long as his face was twisted up with what she would certainly deem as inappropriate laughter. The Stanwick’s owned a printing operation that supplied rest areas along the interstate with brochures about the different attractions in their state. I wondered sometimes how Braxton and Shawnna came from the same stock.

  Shawnna Maydestone and her family hailed from Savannah. She was here on scholarship. The Maydestone scholarship was created in honor of her great grandfather who was the president of Stonehill Community College in Stonehill, Georgia. Everyone here knew who she was and what family she came from. She wouldn’t fail, that was for sure. Her ancestors founded the town and the college. They were masons. Like bricklayers, not the super-secret society.

  She continued to whine, and we ignored her as we always did. Especially, Harper, who usually kept to herself. She barely looked over her Biomechanical Engineering book to notice any of us. She was a quiet soul, but part of the group. We wouldn’t be complete without her. All she needed was a little liquor to loosen up. The last time we went out, she got sloshed. It was hilarious because I’d never seen her so lively. She was embarrassed, but I loved both sides of her personality.

  Harper Petley, daughter of Hiram Petley, belonged to the group as the heir to a large engineering conglomerate in Kent, England. She currently worked with her father’s partner, Joseph Radley, in Atlanta. Petley Enterprises specialized in skyscrapers and other municipal buildings. They employed designers, architects, and many other engineering types.

  “How was Mr. Culpepper today?” I asked Marlow, better known to us as Marley.

  “Oh. My. God. That man is so hot. I can’t concentrate on World History when he starts talking,” Marley replied. “He wore those tight khakis. Bulge city.” She fanned herself with her hand.

  Marlow Vernon had moved to Stonehill from somewhere in South Carolina. She, like me, didn’t have a huge inheritance, but we fit into the group somehow. She wanted to be a school teacher which made absolutely no sense considering her personality. Seemed like a lot of work with very little pay. There was definitely a sacrifice to being a teacher. However, her heart was in it. I supposed her urge to sleep with all of her professors would subside once she started to teach. At least, I hoped it would.

  “Were you listening to the lesson or looking at his crotch?” I asked with a grin. When Marley walked into her World History 101 class back at the beginning of the semester, she swore what he had in his pants was the equivalent of an anaconda. To be honest, if any man whipped an anaconda out of his pants with me, I’d probably make it bite him. Obscure spells. My favorite.

  Witch. Mage. Wizard. I didn’t know what I was exactly. I picked up an arcane magic book out of my parents’ attic after they died. Ever since, I can do the least helpful spells ever.

  My parents were book nerds. We owned a local bookstore in Stonehill. Our house smelled like a library which I hated to admit that I loved. All the books from the store were boxed up after they died, and I got to keep the ones at the house. In the attic, my father concealed a musty trunk full of old books. I’d found the spell book in there plus one other that seemed to be spells in a foreign language.

  The book in English talked about magic like it was real. I decided to test the theory. At the ripe young age of 15, I picked a spell and cast it. Unfortunately, it turned my neighbor’s cat blue. I called him Smurf. This was the first lesson I learned. Understand the consequences for a spell before you cast it. My neighbor took Smurf to the vet who diagnosed it with an incurable disease, so they put the poor thing to sleep. I felt terrible. From that point on, I didn’t cast a spell on any living things, and to this day, I still don’t. A bottle of water spilled in someone’s lap is harmless compared to my actions resulting in the death of something living.

  After my parents died, I moved in with my Aunt Clarabelle. As my father’s older sister and my only living relative, she’d graciously taken me in. When I reached eighteen, I inherited my parent’s money which wasn’t much, but it was enough to send myself through college. Aunt Clara loved the fact that I was going to “better myself” as opposed to spending the money frivolously.

  Aunt Clara lived in a restored Victorian home in downtown Stonehill. She couldn’t move up and down the stairs, so the whole second floor and attic belonged to me. I kept it clean and helped with the rest of the house. She was kind, but eccentric. She’d recently dyed her hair lavender, because she saw on television all the young people were doing it. I had a good snicker at it, but the more I looked
at it, I realized that it fit her perfectly.

  “Both,” Marley answered with a grin. “Don’t judge. You would have been doing the same thing. I’m thinking I might need one on one instruction with him. I’m going to go see what his office hours are like today.”

  “Good luck,” I called out to her as she trotted off with her book bag.

  Culpepper would be just one in a long string of professors that Marley had tried to take to bed. Sometimes she succeeded. Sometimes she didn’t. It was all good fun for her.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” Dakota said as he sat down with a cup of coffee.

  “Did you oversleep again, Fane?” I asked.

  Dakota lifted his head from the steaming cup of coffee. His dark eyebrows bunched over his deep brown eyes. “I had a rough night,” he grumbled.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I’m good, Lacey. I missed Econ. Mind if I borrow your notes?” he asked, then sipped his coffee.

  “Sure. No prob, Bob,” I said.

  “You are so weird,” he said. He didn’t smile, but I saw the hint of humor in his eyes. Bloodshot eyes. I clipped the notes out of my book and sat them on the table. His hand brushed mine as he took them. I looked up into those dark brown eyes. Breaking off the gaze, I pretended to listen to Shawnna talk about the other cashmere sweaters that she owned.

  Dakota Fane hailed from the great state of Montana. His family were cattle ranchers, and he had no interest in the family business. When he chose to move to Georgia for college, his parents weren’t happy. He’d ended up paying for it himself. He have picked up another job since he looked so tired. But even tired, he looked completely fuckable.

  Looking down at my watch, I realized I only had a few minutes before I had to get to my Art Appreciation class.

  “I gotta run. Catch you guys later tonight?” I asked.

  “Of course!” Braxton said, as Shawnna pouted. He patted her on the hand, but I could tell that his compassion was waning.

  “See ya later, Lacey,” Dakota said, drawing my gaze back to him. I pursed my lips and forced myself to look away again.

  Dakota knew my full name, and I was thankful that he didn’t bust out with a “Chantilly Lace Ashcraft.” I cringed just thinking about it. What was my mother thinking? I grabbed my backpack, waved to them, then trotted to my class. It wasn’t far away, but I knew I had to hustle. Art wasn’t my favorite class, but it was better than Geology, which was later on this afternoon with Dakota.

  This was my simple life, and I loved it that way. Good friends, the mundane college grind, and an attic full of magical tomes. Apparently, simple wasn’t enough for fate when it came to hand me my plate of problems, because this was just the beginning of a buffet of magical grief.

  My class was on the second floor of the art building, so I took the stairs. When I hit the mid-point landing, the lights went out. I backed against the wall, so I wouldn’t tumble down the stairs.

  “Great. I’m going to fall and break my neck,” I muttered in the darkness.

  A couple of days ago, I managed to conjure an arcane circle. It glowed in purple light with floating ancient symbols that I didn’t understand. I didn’t have a clue what to do with it, but I could use it now for light. A warning flashed through my memory of a man I met in a dark alley last year. He offered to teach me to use magic, but I refused. I didn’t know the man, nor did I like the sound of his rules. He warned me that others would come, but I didn’t understand what he meant.

  I lifted my hand, but before I could recite the chant, a dark figure moved down the steps to my position.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the hooded figure said.

  “Do what?” I asked.

  “At least you are smart enough to deny it,” he said. It was definitely a male voice.

  He stopped two steps above me. My hand shook in fear. Getting caught in a dark stairwell alone wasn’t safe for a young woman.

  “Leave me alone. I’ll scream,” I said, moving back toward the steps that descended to the main floor.

  “You could scream, but no one would hear you. But I am not here to harm you, Chantilly Lace Ashcraft. I am only here to warn you,” he said.

  “Lower your hood. Show yourself,” I demanded.

  He shook his head but lifted his hand. A bright blue arcane circle appeared above his hand. It looked identical to mine except for color. The light did not illuminate his face which remained in the shadow of his hood.

  “You are free to go. However, heed my words. They are coming for you. The more you use magic, the more they feel you. If you want to live, you will stop using,” he warned.

  “You are too creepy for words, Mister. Now go away. I’m going to be late!” I said with a shaky voice.

  His tone softened. “Miss Ashcraft, your bravado is not required, but it is admired. If you ever get into trouble, you can contact me. Call forth this symbol.” He lifted his circle to me. One of the symbols pulsed with power. I didn’t know what the rune meant, but I could remember it. The symbol looked like an artistic pi with two dots.

  “I don’t know how to call it forth,” I mumbled. “I just dabble. This isn’t for real.”

  He stepped closer to me causing me to tremble. “It is for real, Miss Ashcraft. It’s time you realized your own potential, or it will be taken from you. Show me your circle.”

  Lifting my hand, I recalled the spell from the book. Focusing on the six elements listed in my magic book, I recited, “Circulus elementum.”

  My purple circle appeared, but it wasn’t as vibrant as his.

  “Good. Focus on my symbol. It represents earth. When you have the symbol clearly in your mind, simply request for it to pulse,” he said.

  I did as he instructed. The earth symbol pulsed faintly in my circle, while the symbol that resembled a lower case ‘h’ with a swirl through it pulsed in his. “Is that me?” I asked.

  “Yes, well done. I will try to respond as soon as possible if you call,” he said. “But I wish you would allow me to provide you with additional protection.”

  “I don’t need it. No one is going to come looking for me,” I said, watching as our two circles illuminated the stairwell . I was mesmerized by the simple magic. Maybe it was real. Maybe I needed to admit to myself that there was something bigger going on besides getting to art class on time.

  He simply grunted, then closed his hand. His circle winked out, leaving us standing in my purple light.

  “For your sake, I hope not,” he said.

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  “I am called Ajax, Miss Ashcraft. Please be safe,” he said, then walked through the wall as if it were a doorway.

  I ran my free hand along the wall but felt nothing. I thought there would be some sort of residual for the magic, but there wasn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t even here. I looked back to the floating circle above my hand. He was right. I needed to stop. No more wind spells. No more shiny purple circle.

  Closing my hand, I bathed myself in the darkness. Feeling along the wall, I climbed the steps slowly to the second floor. When I stepped into the hallway, the lights turned back on, and I ran to class.

  The door was shut, but I slowly opened it hoping to sneak in.

  “Miss Ashcraft, you are late,” Professor Fleming said. Myra Fleming had taught at the college for years and had a reputation of being a stickler about attendance. Some professors cared about attendance while others operated on the thought that as long as you were paying for it, who cared if you applied yourself or not.

  “I apologize. I was in the stairs when the lights went out. It was just a bit scary,” I explained.

  She narrowed her eyes at me, then said, “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered.

  Slipping into my chair, I looked up to the whiteboard where she had been drawing symbols. Arcane symbols. Of course, why would it be anything else?! It was as if the cosmic universe was nudging me to pay attention.

  “Throughout the years, symbo
lism has been considered an art form. From symbols like these arcane magic icons to hieroglyphics, art has been formed and inspired by symbolism. Your assignment for this week is to produce an original art piece featuring any symbol set you choose. Emojis are not allowed,” she instructed. The class groaned. I think they all had plans of poop emoji art. I know it was the first thing that popped into my head.

  I focused on the symbols. The fancy ‘h’ symbol stood out to me. It was how I was represented in Ajax’s circle.

  Under the symbol there was one word.

  Air.

  After class, I decide to crash. I had been feeling more fatigued lately. More than usual. I hoped I wasn’t coming down with something. Being sick put an end to many college semesters, making it nearly impossible for a student to make up the missed time in classes. Sprinting to the bus stop, I hoped to make it home before it started to rain. Dark clouds gathered overhead, taunting me with doom. I couldn’t concentrate on the art lesson. The symbol stuck in my head. Why was I represented with Air?

  I had used the puff of air with Shawnna, but I didn’t feel any proclivity to air in general. It was time for more research. If I dug through my father’s books, perhaps I could find an answer. I hadn’t read the boring ones. I just focused on the spells once I realized I could do them, and that magic even in small forms was real.

  Ajax walking through the wall had been the largest display of magic I’d ever seen. Even so, I still had a hard time wrapping my head around the concept. What did he do? Move molecules so that he could pass through it? Perhaps he changed his own molecules to join with the wall. There had to be a science to it, right?