Forgotten Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 3)

by Melinda Kucsera

  “He could send you back for a re-trial rather than kill you,” I countered. “How many grey robes died during the initiation trial in the time you were here?”

  “Four.” Tamrin’s voice was a whisper of wind. “But they were weak.”

  “And who’s to say we’re not weak?” I looked at my two friends—well, insofar as Tamrin wanted to be my friend since I had caught a glimpse of who she really was. “How many people survived the initiation ritual in the time since you’ve been here?”

  “One,” Reslyn replied.

  “I don’t know about you, but I for one am not very fond of those odds.” I crossed my arms. “How are you so sure that this is the Red God’s doing?”

  “What do you mean?” the half-Elf frowned at me. “Of course, it’s the Red God’s decision. He is the one who initiates the trials.”

  “But why would he kill half of his disciples? For what purpose?”

  “The Red God can only accept the strongest in his coven. That’s how it has always been,” Reslyn said, her frown deepening.

  Tamrin didn’t seem as convinced as the half-Elf. For the first time since I had seen her shift in front of me, she looked me straight in the eyes. “You don’t think it’s the Red God doing this?”

  I met her gaze, contemplating how much I should tell her. After all, I barely knew her. On the other hand, if either of their names were called the next time Altheia consulted her book of blood, then they deserved to know what they were getting into, and that it might very well have nothing to do with their God.

  “Something happened to Freya’s body,” I whispered, gesturing for them to come closer so no one else could overhear our conversation. “After everyone left for class, Cullyn and I heard a loud crack, like something breaking. Then, I looked into Freya’s coffin and…” I paused, focusing on Reslyn first, and then turning toward Tamrin. “Her body had decayed. All of the sudden, she looked as if she had been dead for months. She was nothing but a skull and bones, not a shred of flesh on her anymore.”

  Reslyn blinked, surprised. “I’m sure there is a logical explanation for all this. Perhaps it’s the Red God’s doing.”

  “I’ve seen something before that can do this,” I told her. “Magic.”

  “Magic?” Reslyn shook her head. “You’re wrong. No one here is capable of using magic. No one would dare to practice magic in the house of the God that forbade it in the first place.”

  “But suppose someone did,” I pressed her. “Suppose that someone is using magic for the Gods know what reason and is draining the energy of the acolytes in order to channel it into this magic.”

  “The Red God would never allow it. He would kill that person before he or she could even try it.” Reslyn seemed adamant the God she served would step up in her defense. “It’s not possible.”

  “I saw Freya’s ghost yesterday,” I revealed. I hadn’t intended to tell them, but if they didn’t want to believe me, then maybe they would believe the ghost of a girl they had known for months, a girl who hadn’t deserved to die. “After you all left last night, and Cullyn and I were the only ones left outside.”

  “What?” Tamrin’s eyes popped open and she gasped. “Did she say something to you?”

  “She said that whatever happened to her was not an initiation. She said she was sacrificed.” I shook my head softly. “Whether you believe me or not, it doesn’t matter. I just want you to be careful.”

  “We will.” Reslyn took my hand. “You don’t have to worry about us. I know you’re just saying this because you’re looking out for us, but Freya’s death was… Well, it was unfortunate, but it’s the will of the Red God, and we must obey him in all things. If it wasn’t his will, then he wouldn’t allow it.”

  I lowered my voice. “Reslyn… When was the last time you, or anyone in this forsaken place, even heard the Red God speak? And if he doesn’t bother to speak to you, why do you think he would protect you?”

  Chapter Nine

  Reslyn stared at me open-mouthed, obviously trying to come up with a response, when Cullyn appeared in the doorway and gestured for me to come to him.

  “Excuse me,” I said to my friends before I got up and walked over to the Red Priest. I hoped I hadn’t been too forward to them—Reslyn for one, looked as if she’d been shocked by a bolt of lightning—but I had to warn them, for their own sakes. If I didn’t, I never would’ve been able to forgive myself;

  Cullyn looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept in days, the circles under his eyes clearly pronounced.

  “What happened to you?” I asked him.

  “Long day,” he replied dismissively. “Anyway, I’m here to escort you back to your room. While I’m glad you managed to get through the day without any incidents, I don’t think our High Priestess would be very happy with me if I didn’t bring you back to your room for the night, and make sure you weren’t up to any mischief.”

  Sighing, I waved at Reslyn and Tamrin, and then followed after Cullyn. “You mean that you need to lock me up in my cell again, like a prisoner.”

  “You can call it whatever you want, but in a way it’s for your own good,” Cullyn said. “If something happened while you’re here, especially these first few days, everyone would blame you, but not if your door is safely locked every night and you have no way of getting out.”

  “And in case the castle is on fire, then I’m a pig roasting on the pit,” I said while we rounded the corner, passing by the main hall. “Remind me to thank you that at least my reputation will be safe while I burn to death.”

  “If a fire occurs, Saleyna, then I will rush to your room and save you.”

  “Like a knight in shining armor.” The words slipped out of my mouth, and immediately a blush crept on my cheeks. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  “I’m a Priest, not a knight, but a Priest of the Red God is a warrior in a way, so I suppose the comparison stands,” Cullyn joked as we stepped into the corridor leading to my room.

  I smiled at him and caught him smiling at me too. My palms became sweaty and my heart hammered against my ribcage. By the Gods, he was handsome, especially with the light of the torches on the walls reflecting on his features.

  The rational part of me knew I should stay away, but the irrational part of me wanted to finish what we had started last night, before the ghoul that had once been Freya turned up and shattered the moment with a piercing scream.

  I lifted my hand, reaching for Cullyn’s face. For a second, he gazed longingly at my hand lingering in the air, but then he stepped back, away from me.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.” He rushed toward my room and propped the door open.

  “Why?” I didn’t move, but tears clouded my eyes. In all my life, I had never felt a connection to anyone that was as pure, as strong, as this one. He seemed to feel the same thing, so why was he pushing me away now? When Cullyn laughed, I wanted to laugh. When he was upset, I felt upset. I had only known him for such a small amount of time, but it seemed as if I had known him all my life. As if my soul had known his long before we ever met in this lifetime. “Is it because I’m a mage?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  Cullyn shook his head but didn’t look at me. “No. I just… I can’t. Now, go to your room, please.”

  He didn’t sound mean, but him ordering me around only showed our difference in position. I was a novice, and he was a fully-fledged Red Priest, and maybe there were a thousand rules dictating why we shouldn’t be together, but all I knew was that everything I was, every part of my being, wanted to be with him.

  I stepped inside my room and Cullyn fled away, slamming the door shut behind him. The key turned in the lock, and I was a prisoner once more.

  I wiped my eyes, trying hard not to let anymore tears flow. By the Gods, I didn’t even know if these emotions were mine or his, or a mix of both.

  As I stumbled toward my bed, I noticed the book lying on top of the covers. Narrowing my eyes, I wondered what the item was doing here.

  Ethel
, I remembered. The meditation teacher had told me this morning while I was snooping around in the library that she would lend me one of her books to read.

  The Princess and the Crown was written in curly handwriting on the cover of the book, with underneath an image of a princess wearing a gorgeous pink gown.

  I leaned back against the wall and began browsing through the pages. The main character, Princess Darlene, was a spoiled brat who had the nasty habit of forgetting her crown or gambling it away.

  By the third page, Princess Darlene travelled to the underworld to retrieve her crown, which she had lost in a gambling bet with a demon lord. In the underworld, she came across horrible monsters with tentacles, or rocks instead of eyes, or bodies made of mirrors. She also met her companion, a demi-demon called Agalaus who offered to help her in exchange for her hand in marriage. Darlene agreed reluctantly, because Agalaus—a small, black creature barely reaching her waist and with a tail longer than his body—wasn’t exactly a handsome prince charming.

  The duo fought their way through hell, until eventually, they entered the last room in hell, where supposedly her crown was kept.

  Holding my breath, I turned the last page and immediately, all the air vanished from my lungs, as if I was punched in the gut.

  A cage surrounded by an eternal storm, dangling in a vast nothingness. The last room of hell.

  Veritas’ cage.

  It was strange looking at the cage from another direction. For once, I wasn’t inside the cage along with Veritas, but an outsider looking in. The scene was even more terrifying this way, with the thunder raging all around the infernal cage.

  I read the text accompanying the last page of the book.

  “What strange magic is keeping him prisoner?” Princess Darlene asked.

  “Forbidden magic,” Agalaus replied. “Magic you must never tamper with, Princess, for it will drive you mad and destroy your entire Kingdom.”

  “Whoever did this, must be very powerful,” Darlene said.

  “Not that powerful,” Agalaus said. “But when you collect the energy of a thousand souls, drain them and harness their power, then you can create an Eternal Prison such as this one.”

  “Who is locked up in this Eternal Prison?” Princess Darlene asked.

  “The Prince,” Agalaus replied.

  An Eternal Prison. I had never heard of it before, but the resemblance to Veritas’ cage was uncanny. Not just uncanny. It was Veritas’ cage; I was certain of that. Not to mention, the forbidden magic hinted at in the book, the harnessing of energy from a thousand souls…

  The Princess and the Crown was explaining to its readers exactly what was going on in the monastery of the Red God.

  “The Prince,” Agalaus replied. The last sentence of the book. What did this mean? Was Veritas the prince? The prince of what exactly?

  Ethel. She had suggested the book to me. Why? Did she know someone was harnessing the energy of innocent disciples to sustain the prison Veritas was being kept in? And why had someone locked Veritas up in the first place?

  My hands trembled as I closed the book.

  Ethel.

  Either she was trying to warn me by gifting me this book, giving me a hint about what was really going on here, or…

  This was a threat, and I could be the next person whose life energy got syphoned to uphold an Eternal Prison in a world beyond our own.

  On my eighteenth birthday, my demon-possessed mother told me I was invited to join the Academy for the Wicked.

  Hours later, the diner I worked at was overrun by creatures that shouldn't exist. Alec, a warlock, who appeared out of thin air and made a glass levitate - which is probably the least of his powers. A demon named Christian, the culprit behind my mother's zombie-like episode this morning. Damian, a vampire who promptly killed my manager; Tristan, a fearsome necromancer; and the most mysterious one of them all, a mesmer called Ronan.

  All of them swore they would protect me from the nightmare that has haunted me for years: the red room, the throne of blood, the Queen of Maggots, especially now the Queen of Maggots is no longer confined to the world of dreams...

  With five gorgeous guys eager to protect me, I should feel safe, but the Academy is a deadly trap. The teachers and students are all keeping secrets, and I'm not sure if I belong here.

  To survive my first semester at the Academy of the Wicked, I will need to figure out who and what I truly am, and why the Queen of Maggots wants me dead... Find out what happens next in the fourth installment of the Red God series, releasing in autumn 2020.

  About the Author

  Majanka Verstraete studied law and criminology, and now works as Legal Counsel. Ever since she learned how to read, she dreamt about writing books. She writes about all things supernatural, her books ranging from children’s picture books to young adult novels, all the way to new adult academy and reverse harem books.

  For more information about the author, please visit http://majankaverstraete.com

  The Fort and the Fair

  Leah W. Van Dinther

  In “The Fort and the Fair”, a year has passed since Carol met Freddie Archegon and Lorelei, and she has learned more about her ghostly perceptions. Now she meets with an old friend to find out what to do with the moonstone ring. Her journey leads her to a Renaissance Fair to take control of her fate through a time-honored game of Tarot... under both Lorelei’s, and Freddie’s, influences.

  Leah W. Van Dinther

  In Forgotten Magic, a year has passed since Carol met Freddie Archegon, and she has learned much. Now she must meet old friends to find out what to do with the moonstone ring. Along the way, she encounters prophecy, chance, luck, and loss. How will she finally take control of her fate? Read on in: “The Fort and the Fair.”

  The Fort and the Fair

  Carol gazed at the sprawling, Victorian home, outbuildings scattered like forgotten toys. Its walls rose three stories high, plus an attic-story, and were painted the soft, buttery yellow of Spring sunshine from days gone by. Carol had always liked the Wedgewood-blue, and grey, and cream Gingerbread-trim of this house: it elaborated right angles and odd corners all over the blonde facade. She walked carefully up the front steps, paint chipping at their edges and curling off of the bottom of the banister. She reached into her pocket and felt the ring there, tucked safely in its velvet sack.

  Carol had… liberated… this particular moonstone ring about a year ago. She had come across a man who made the spirits around her apoplectic with fear when he had simply touched it. She had known then that she had to keep it from him, and a quick twist of her fingers had switched the ring from his shopping bag to hers.

  She had ended up becoming friends with that man, Freddie Archegon, but had kept the moonstone ring from him for all of the past year. He knew she had it, of course, and it had become a kind of running joke between the two of them: would Carol ever admit that she had stolen the ring from him? Would he ever get it back? She liked Freddie, yes… but she planned on keeping that ring from him. She had been informed that the moonstone in the ring was very pure and so, very powerful; something about the way its matrix aligned made it able to channel more energy than a usual crystal. Freddie had an ability to lock or trap the spirits of the dead in gems like that, and Carol was not sure she wanted to know what kind of power could be channeled through it that way. She had worn the ring at home, and around Philadelphia, but could not keep it on for long: something about it just felt wrong, like her finger was coated in oil, so while the ring was not actually slipping off, it felt like it was. It was a disconcerting sensation, like leaving the coffee pot on, or forgetting a friend’s birthday. Carol took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

  An ancient, small woman with a cascade of curling, faintly purpled hair, opened the door and looked up at Carol. Her wise face cracked through the middle with a smile. “Carol, it’s good to see you! It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Come, come inside.” The old woman ushered her into the dim interior of the foyer.
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br />   “Oh, Trudy, it has been far too long…what, is it two years now? More?” Carol embraced her friend in a warm but gentle hug. Gertrude was older than she was and seemed to be more frail every time Carol visited. Her smile, however, never seemed to change. Carol decided she had better visit Trudy more often.

  “At least!” Gertrude replied, raising her eyebrows. “Come, let’s sit in the solarium. You told me you had something interesting to show me.”

  The two ladies made their way through the old rooms, large and small, odd and straight set, until they opened a door into an expansive area walled with glass. There were plants of every size and description, as well as some ornate, verdigrised, patio chairs. Gertrude and Carol each took a seat. A middle-aged woman with scars down one side of her face and neck entered the solarium.

  “Hannah, dear, how are you?” Carol asked as the woman came towards them. This was one of Gertrude’s daughters. Hannah had been badly burned some years ago, and lived with Gertrude, taking care of her mother and the house as best as she could manage by herself.

  “Hi, Aunt Carol. I’m alright. You know how it goes.” Hannah rolled her eyes skyward. “Would you like some tea? Mom, you want some?”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely, Hannah. Let’s have some nice chamomile and mint, eh? Thank you, dear.”

  Hannah left to prepare the tea, and Carol looked around.

  “Trudy, your fuchsias are gorgeous this year! How do you do it? They’re one of the only plants I don’t grow well.” Carol knew that Gertrude loved this indoor garden, with the beams of sunlight, filtering down through emerald leaves and richly hued blossoms like stained glass. The fuchsias truly were magnificent. The light pouring through their petals burnished areas on the floor with shades of magenta and purple.

  “It’s just been a good year, that’s all. Now quit the applesauce, mi’dear, and show me what you’ve got.” Gertrude always liked to get business over with first, and visit afterward, so Carol pulled the sack with the ring in it out of her pocket. She put it on the small, glass-topped table between them. Gertrude picked up the bag, opened it, and upended it into her hand. Out tumbled a silver ring, decorated with tiny ivy vines and oak leaves, and set with an oblong moonstone of an indistinct, milky translucency. Gertrude held the ring up to the light.