by Cali Mann
Cali Mann
Dark Magic
First published by Thornfire Publishing Co. 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Cali Mann
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
Cover art by Paradise Cover Design
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Contents
Greer
Seb
Greer
Seb
Greer
Greer
Bash
Greer
Seb
Greer
Bash
Greer
Bash
Seb
Greer
Seb
Greer
Bash
Greer
Greer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY CALI MANN
Greer
Three weeks on campus and already I was in trouble. I gazed at the office hours printed on Professor Cantrell’s door and willed them to change, but I didn’t put any magic behind the thought. My dads had insisted, if they let me come all the way across the country to this northeastern college, there was one rule: no magicking mortals. I grimaced. If I hadn’t made that agreement, I’d have just wished my bad grades away.
Instead, I slid down the cement wall and winced as I sat on the cold linoleum floor. Maybe a miniskirt and thin tights hadn’t been the best idea this far into the cool autumn. I slid my finger into my coffee and murmured the magic word that would make it heat up. All the warmth in the world wouldn’t make the bitter stuff taste better.
The professor‘s office hours were from one to four, so here I sat at 12:57 waiting for the door to open. I didn’t know why I’d signed up for History of the Celts anyway. It wasn’t on the required list and I’d promised my dads that I’d take a break my first semester and take some time to get to know the school. Instead, like an idiot, I’d signed up for five classes instead of the required four and chose some of the toughest.
Someone turned the corner and walked toward me, his head down and his hands full of coffee cups. He dressed like a professor, in his button-up shirt and pants, but he was young enough to be a student. For a bit of a nerd—hey, I admit my snap judgments—he had broad shoulders and the hint of solid muscles beneath the fabric. A generous package rested between his—well, can’t blame a girl for looking. His black hair was a little long as if he hadn’t had time to get it cut.
As he got closer, he glanced up and I met those eyes. They were a startling cobalt blue, deep enough to drown in. I had to fan myself a little as I stumbled to my feet.
“Office hours don’t start until one,” he barked, trying to balance two coffees and dig for his keys at the same time.
My hands went out immediately. “Can I hold those for you?”
“No,” he muttered. He shoved the key in the lock and opened the door.
My instant attraction was fading the more he spoke. How could someone so freaking hot be such a jerk? “I need to talk to Professor Cantrell—”
“Well, he’s not here, is he?” He set the coffees on the large wooden desk. Overflowing with papers and books, there wasn’t much room for the drinks.
I blinked. “No, but I’m just waiting.”
He set his backpack on the floor. Then his arm came up and he pointed toward the hall. “Wait out there.”
The office was comfortable, with two plush chairs in addition to the professor’s desk chair. Why would he want me to wait outside? I dropped down into one of the armchairs, flipping my green hair back. “I don’t think so.”
He growled at me—literally growled. I peered at him more closely. Was I dealing with a werewolf? I hadn’t expected to run into too many other magical folks at a human college, but it was possible. I took a whiff, trying to make out his fragrance over the dusty smell of books, papers, and coffee. But I wasn’t close enough to get a read on him. Werewolves usually had a kind of mangy dog smell even when they were cleaned up. I stood up and moved toward him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, backing away.
“Trying to smell you.”
He backed away, and his freaked-out look was pure gold. No one could act that well. He wasn’t a shifter. I shrugged and returned to my seat. Guess I was wrong.
“Leave,” he ordered again as if he expected this was going to be the time I chose to listen to him.
“I don’t think so,” I said, leaning back and crossing my legs.
He took a gulp of his coffee, squeezing the cup so hard that it buckled.
“I’m Greer, by the way,” I said.
“I know,” he muttered.
I sat up, studying him. “You know?”
“Yeah,” he said, flipping through a pile of papers. “Tuesday and Thursday you sit in the third row near the back.”
Had he been watching me? That gave me a little thrill despite his attitude. He was nice to look at even if he was a brat. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed him. “Where do you sit?”
He rolled his eyes like he was twelve years old instead of twenty-one, maybe twenty-two.
Dork. I snorted.
“I’m Professor Cantrell’s teaching assistant. He introduced me on the first day.” He sorted the papers, stacking up some on one side and some on the other.
“Must have missed it,” I said, taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee.
“Well, you’ve been missing a lot, Greer. You’re gonna have to work a lot harder if you want to pass this class.”
I twirled one of my green curls around my fingers. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”
The office door opened and Professor Cantrell bustled in, his gray head bent and his arms full of paperwork. He nodded to me and handed the pile to his TA. “Thanks, Seb. Make sure you get those graded today.”
Seb nodded.
I stood, folding my hands in front of me, trying to look contrite.
The professor glanced over at me. “Hello, young lady, … um… “
“Greer Rivers,” Seb supplied helpfully.
“Yes, Miss Rivers,” the professor said. He had a soft face, piled with little wrinkles and a grey beard. “How can I help you?”
“I’m in your History of Celts class, professor,” I said, wringing my hands. “And I’m afraid I’m not doing very well.”
“I see,” he said, gesturing to Seb, who passed him some papers. He looked them over and grimaced. “Not well at all, my dear. In fact, you’re failing.”
“Yes, I seemed to have overbooked myself. See, I was just so excited about all the different classes and I didn’t realize, well, exactly how much work would be involved.” I’d felt like I’d made the same speech so many times. Dad used to tease that I should have “I just didn’t realize . . .” tattooed across my forehead.
Professor Cantrell tapped a pencil against his chin. “Is the drop period still open, Seb?”
“No, sir.”
Shoot. I was hoping I was in time. That’d been my backup plan. Just drop the classes that I wasn’t keeping up with. But that deadline had passed, and I hadn’t known.
“Well, there’s nothing for it,” Professor Cantrell said.
I swallowed. “Nothing?”
First year of college and I was already getting an ‘F’. I chewed on my lip. A little bit of magic and I could make it all better, but I’d promised. Papa would be furious if I cheated. Even more than Dad, he insisted that using magic to get ahead in the mortal world was wrong.
Professor Cantrell nodded. “Seb will just have to tutor you until you’re up to speed.”
My jaw dropped, my eyes darting to his surly assistant. “Seb?”
The professor smiled. “Yes, he’s an excellent tutor and I know for a fact that he has a couple of spots open this term. Don’t you?”
Seb looked as uncomfortable as I felt, but he said, “Of course, Professor.”
“Excellent. It’s settled then,” Professor Cantrell said, sitting down and looking through the two piles Seb had made earlier. Glancing up, he waved at Seb. “Go on and make your arrangements.”
Seb pulled a paperback planner out of his backpack and marched over to me. He flipped it open, looking at me expectantly.
I stared. Bad enough I had to be tutored by this jerk, but I was dumbfounded at someone our age using a paper planner. I couldn’t process what he wanted. Didn’t he have a cell phone?
He sighed. “When are your free periods? I only do tutoring between eight and five.”
“Eight P.M.?” I asked. I wasn’t giving up my evenings to hang out with Seb, even if he smelled really good. What kind of aftershave was that? I tried to pick out the pieces so I could tell Dad about it. Kind of an autumn spice—cinnamon or was that nutmeg? Dad loved scents and he’d love this one.
“No, between eight A.M. and five P.M. When are you free between classes?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have much time during the day. Evening would work better for me.”
“Well, beggars don’t get to be choosers,” he muttered, tapping his pencil against the page. “What’s your first class Monday, Wednesday, and Friday?”
“Three days?” My voice was full of surprise.
“Yes, you’re going to need a lot of work to catch up. Didn’t you hear the professor? You’re failing.”
“Not ‘til ten,” I said. “But I’m not really good before nine.” I was the very definition of a night owl.
“So eight A.M. then?” Seb said with a nod. “I’ll put you down. We’ll meet at the library, third-floor study room four. You know where it is?”
“Yeah, but—” He turned away before I finished my sentence. I was left gaping at him and the professor both bent over their work.
I clenched my hands, staring at them. I didn’t even get a say? With a grimace, I turned and left the office, marching out into the hall. I did want to pass, and the professor was giving me a way to do it, but I didn’t know if I’d survive in the same room with Seb for any amount of time. I was just going to have to catch up fast and get this over with.
Seb
Greer was late. My irritation grew as I glanced at my watch.
Everyone thought I was a dork for wearing something as old-fashioned as a watch and carrying a paper planner, but even though I had a phone, I rarely looked at it. It’d be filled with messages from my ex. Fiona and I had dated for two years, and she’d seemed normal the whole time. That was the important word: seemed. Fiona was a business major—calm, cool, and collected was her motto, and our relationship was the same. Normal. Comfortable. Easy.
Then one day she just lost it. She broke up with me and ran off with some crazy rich guy. Last I heard she’d quit school and moved into his party house outside of town. Fiona Johnson, solid student on the fast track to the business world, was now party girl extraordinaire— hosting orgies and who knows what else? I worried about her—we’d been close—but I was also tired of the drama. Besides, I had more than enough on my plate.
I checked my watch again: 8:15. Did this chick want to be tutored or what? She’d seemed to be a bit of a mess, honestly. Who signs up for classes they can’t handle and then forgets to drop? I’d planned out my schedule weeks before the semester started, and I always knew what I could manage. While my ex had been on the fast-track to the business world, I was on the slow track to the ivy tower. Professor of History was my goal and I meant to achieve it.
I flipped through the papers I’d brought. I might as well pack up and head out.
The door to the study room slammed open and Greer stumbled in, coffee in one hand and a pastry bag clutched in the other. Her dark green hair was a mess like she’d just rolled out of bed. No coat, she wore a filmy black dress and those ridiculous black and white striped tights. Still, I couldn’t help admiring the curve of her thigh and the glimpse of cleavage as she dropped her things on the table. She was hot, even if she was a ditz, but after Fiona, I wasn’t interested. I needed to focus on my studies and that was it.
“Hey,” she said, dropping into the chair next to me. “Eight am is so early!”
“Well,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Since it’s 8:20 now, you must be set to go.” I couldn’t keep the snark out of my voice. I’d always had trouble sleeping, but I managed to be on time for all my commitments.
She sighed, pushing a long lock back from her face.
Fiona had been a classic beauty: tall, slim, with blonde hair, and sharp cheekbones. Greer was short and curvy and weird. Who in their right mind dyes their hair green? I’d have expected her in the art department, not in Professor Cantrell’s History of the Celts. “Why are you in this class?”
My voice came out gruffer than I intended but she smiled brightly anyway. It transformed her face. Yeah, I know everyone says that, but it did. Her steel gray eyes brightened and the darkness that haunted her seemed to fade.
“Well, Granny Ciara comes from Ireland and I always thought it’d be fun to know about her heritage, well, my heritage.”
“You do know the Celts were all over Europe, not just in Ireland.”
“Sure,” she said, rubbing her arms. Goosebumps had risen along the skin. “But Granny made the best tea. She said it had been passed down in her family for generations.”
“Why don’t you have a coat?” I asked, pulling my jacket from the chair behind me and handing it to her. Raised by a single mom, chivalry had been burned into my brain from a young age.
Without protest, she donned it, laughing. “I guess I don’t always think of it, you know. I grew up in sunny California.”
“How’d you end up here?” I asked and then bit my tongue. We were here to study, not gossip about her childhood. What was I doing?
“This is my mother’s alma mater.” She nibbled on the corner of her lip.
“Ah, so you came to follow in her footsteps,” I said, pulling over my notes from Professor Cantrell’s class.
“No,” Greer said, shaking her head. Her green locks bounced, showing off a bit of curl.
My eyes snapped back to her. There was pain etched across her face and it was one that I recognized. “My dad’s an asshole too.”
“She’s not an asshole. In fact, if you met her, you’d say she’s quite sweet—” Greer sighed. A shadow passed through her gray eyes. “But she’s really evil underneath.”
I coughed. “Evil?” That was a strong statement to say about one’s mother.
“Pretty much,” she said with a shrug.
“I don’t really think people are evil,” I said. My dad had run off, leaving my mom broke with a newborn, but it wasn’t evil. It was thoughtless, heartless, and mean, but evil was reserved in my mind for something far greater than lousy human beings.
She arched an eyebrow at me. “You don’t?”
I shook my head.
“I thought you were a student of history. What about Stalin? Hitler? Vlad the Impaler?”
“Well, yeah.” I shrugged. “But I mean people nowadays, in our real lives.”
She laughed. “You haven’t met my mother.”
I couldn’t help smiling. Greer certainly had an interesting life, but we’d come here to study and had already wasted half an hour. I pulled over my notes. “Let’s go over
the Celt migration pattern.”
Greer leaned closer, peering at my notebook, and I smelled her fresh apple scent. I liked when girls had natural scents, not those bottled perfumes.
I shook myself. She was here to be tutored, nothing else. I hadn’t felt the need to chase down another girlfriend after Fiona left. I’d actually been grateful to have more time to devote to my work. I’d been so tired lately, no matter what time I went to bed, so I had to make the most out of every hour I was awake. I certainly didn’t need to start fooling around with a wild girl like Greer.
She reached over and picked something off my shirt.
“What are you doing?” I snapped.
“You had some magic fuzzies,” she said, scowling at me. “Have you been around someone doing spells?”
I blinked at her. Okay, revised statement, she was as insane as my ex-girlfriend. “Spells?”
She nodded. “You know—magic.”
“You’re nuts,” I muttered. Best to ignore the crazy and just get on with our work. I turned the page and pointed out the major points we’d gone over.
Greer only seemed to be half-listening. She tapped her pencil against her lip and a little divot of confusion marked her brow.
“If you’re not going to pay attention we might as well not bother.”
“I am paying attention,” she said, rattling off the last three statements I’d made.
Fine. I pointed to the next chapter. We continued to work through the material for another half hour before I sent Greer on her way. This was going to be a long quarter if I had to spend the whole time managing crazy. I sighed.
Greer
After my morning tutoring session, the day just seemed to drag on. Seb had definitely had some leftover magic on him. How could he not know it was there? I wondered who’d want to spell a grump like him. It certainly wasn’t a love charm. It was dark magic. I knew the signs better than I’d have liked.
I tried to forget about it, but I couldn’t. My parents had divorced when Dad fell for Papa, but it had been amicable. They’d been growing apart for years before then. But more recently Mom had fallen in with a bad crowd and she’d started using dark magic. That type of magic had a way of corrupting you very quickly. Every time you used it, a little more of your soul got eaten away until there wasn’t any of you left. My dads were worried that Mom had lost herself. They said dark magic was an addiction for our kind, and one our family was particularly prone to.