Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  Anxiety usually kept her hunger at bay, but today she was ravenous. The power was eating at her reserves, like she was a flame burning down a candle, consuming all fuel. She ate ravenously, ignoring her father’s directed glares.

  "Your cook is careless, Lord Grey. May I suggest that she is becoming too old for employment? You should follow my lead. I never hire a woman over the age of eighteen. And I dispose of them by the time they turn twenty. Women grow more morose and troublesome with age. They are more pliable the younger you train them."

  Count Repugnian slurped the contents of his bowl, not bothering to use the spoon at his side. Soup ran down his white beard, staining it brown. He winked at Ariana over his bowl.

  Her father made to follow-up on the Count's unsolicited advice, but the Count spoke again, before her father could reply. "I won’t waste time pretending I don’t have a very clear interest in your daughter, Lord Grey. I would still like to offer to marry your lovely Ariana. I will, of course, be prepared to offer you a sizeable parcel of my land near your own quaint acreage as a sign of goodwill.”

  Ariana’s face flushed in rage. Her father sputtered incompetently, muttering something about having to discuss the matter with his daughter yet. Ariana knew that he was more disgusted by the Count’s lack of subtlety than by the offer, and her own outrage pushed her power to the edge. She had to use it or it would consume her entirely.

  Count Repugnian turned to her, smirked at her wide-eyed expression, tucked his hand under the table and lay it very high up on her leg. The impropriety of it would’ve normally sent her out of her seat, but all she could feel was rage. Rage that he felt he had the right to have her without negotiation, like a piece of land. Rage that his skinny, mottled fingers were squeezing her in an intimate, sickening way. Though his hand was light with brittle age, it felt as though it weighed a ton, felt as though it was made of molten metal, burning through the thick fabric of her dress.

  She imagined that his hand was hot iron, and felt the power in her body respond to her thoughts. Suddenly, his fingers grew stiff and leaden. His hand was as heavy as an iron weight, and it scalded her through the thick brocade of her evening dress. The Count screamed in panic. Ariana pushed his scalding, iron hand off her lap, and jumped away from the table.

  She swatted at the smoking fabric of her dress with her napkin, wishing she had water instead of wine with which to stifle the flames, when, suddenly, her napkin grew cold and fluid in her hand. It fell upon the embers of her dress with a sizzle and put them out, soaking into her dress as if it had never been a napkin, but was always icy water.

  The dress sported a perfectly hand-shaped hole, which revealed a red patch of burnt skin high up on her thigh. Count Repugnian pushed away from the table, still screaming. He stared, horrified, at his red-hot iron hand, now cooling in the drafty dining room.

  Lord Grey sat, pallid-faced, staring at the Count’s new appendage in shock. Finally, he sputtered, “Ariana, fix it.” He sounded as if he were reluctantly admitting that she could use a toy he’d tried to keep hidden.

  Ariana realized he was probably right. She could fix it. Count Repugnian held the heavy hand up to her, his beetle eyes frightened. “What kind of witchery is this?”

  Lord Grey stood. “Ariana, fix the Count’s hand, now.”

  Ariana’s mouth worked a moment before she replied, quite firmly, “I don’t know and I don’t want to.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed in anger, and he stood, regaining a little of his bravado. “Ariana, fix your mistake now and apologize to the Count.”

  He turned to the Count, attempting to explain the impossible. “She doesn’t know what she does, Count Repugnian. She was born with these...problems. It’s why I have been so hesitant to marry her to you. She has yet to train herself to deal with emotions and these spells come out in unpredictable ways. I wished to spare you that.”

  The Count cradled his cooled iron hand. “She will be hung for a witch. I’ll see to it!”

  Lord Grey’s face paled even further. Ariana could not believe it, but he looked afraid for her. As though he really cared whether or not she lived or died. She sighed then placed her hand on the iron hand the Count cradled. He winced as though she was going to hit him. That made her smile. The great Count was afraid of her, a thirteen-year-old girl.

  She thought of the way his mottled, skinny fingers and thin skin felt settling on her thigh, and, suddenly, the iron cracked and fell in clumps to the floor. Count Repugnian flexed and bent his liver-spotted hand tentatively. He stared at Ariana with terror and amazement. He made to speak, but Ariana cut him off.

  “No, I don’t want to hear your voice ever again. You will apologize for your rudeness to my father and you will go directly home, without spreading terrible lies about me or him, or I will turn you entirely to ash where you stand. And, from now on, keep your disgusting fingers to yourself.”

  She felt hatred surge inside her. The last bit of her power pushed to the surface, “If you touch another woman or child again, your fingers will turn to flame, and you will be consumed by fire like the women you have harmed have been consumed by your lust.”

  Glittering red smoke sprung from her fingertips and shot toward the Count. He lifted his hands to protect his face, yelping in fear. The smoke snaked around his hands and soaked into his skin, like rain into dry soil. The Count’s mouth fell open in silent horror. He turned from the room without another word and stagger-ran down the hall and out the door.

  “He forgot to apologize,” Ariana said, turning to her father.

  He ran his hand through his short beard. “Child, what did you do?”

  Now that that power had fled her, she felt tired and hungry. “He would have done terrible things to me, and you wouldn’t protect me. He would have found someone else and done terrible things to her, and no one would protect her. I think I fixed that. I can’t be sure, though.”

  She sat down at the table and finished off her soup, grabbing a roll from the bread bowl in the center of the table. She was famished. She soaked up the rest of the soup from her bowl with the roll, while her father stood for a long moment before taking the chair to her right.

  He lifted his head and called. “Ruth, bring Ariana and I the main course. I am aware you’ve been listening at the door.”

  Ruth stumbled out of the kitchen with a tray laden with whole Cornish game hens, beans in fish sauce, and salmon cooked over leaks. She looked to Ariana with wonder, her face a barely contained mask of awe.

  She set the tray down in front of Ariana, then lifted the girl’s hands to examine them. “Lass, are ya harmed? Did the power hurt ya?”

  Ariana shook her head. “Not really. I was slightly burned on my leg, where he put his hand, but it’s nothing, really. My dress has been badly scorched, though.”

  “Ruth, leave us and fetch Annabeth. It is time for that which we discussed to take place. Join Lady Grey and I in five minutes time.” Her father’s voice was stronger, but also heavy with an emotion she couldn’t place.

  “Yes, my Lord,” Ruth answered, barely suppressed anger in her reply.

  Ruth left the room. Ariana served herself and started eating as though she’d not had food for weeks. She was famished! She had a helping of the beans, salmon, and chicken. She ate while her father stared at her in quiet confusion.

  Finally, he spoke again. “Ariana, I am sorry. I did what I thought I should do by you, but I was wrong. I thought I could...stifle it. If we ignored it, or pushed it away, it would not be an issue. I thought I could raise you as a normal lady, hoped you would have a normal life with me. But I cannot lie to myself anymore. You are a danger to others and to yourself and I’m not capable of dealing with it. Count Repugnian will talk. The constable will be at our door. You will not be allowed to go on living with me, or to go on living period. People are afraid of things they cannot understand, of power they do not have. You cannot stay here any longer.”

  Lord Grey’s eyes were surprisingly soft, his fa
ce tired. “I did not want to be your father, but I did the best I could by you. When your mother left, I kept you in my home and raised you despite your strangeness. I promised your mother I would. You don’t break a promise to a being like that. But you are grown now, and you are past my ability to shelter you from the world’s judgements. Annabeth will pack your bags. Ruth will pack your food.”

  Ariana stopped shoveling Ruth’s delicious food into her mouth to stare, bewildered, at her father. “You would just abandon me?”

  Lord Grey shook his head. “Not abandon. It is time you found your way, and it is time I gave you the gift your mother left me all those years ago.”

  “My mother left me something? What do you mean? Why haven’t you ever told me?” Fear, hope, and betrayal warred inside her.

  “I can’t explain fully. There isn’t time. Men like Repugnian don’t wait for revenge.” Her father stood and turned briskly from her, heading for his study. She was too stunned to follow. She held her spoon in mid-air, her head spinning, fear growing in her breast.

  She had a mother who left her something. What had he said about her? “You don’t break a promise to a being like that?” What did that even mean? Why had he called her a being, not a woman?

  Before she could even run the past hour’s events through her head, Lord Grey was back with a rolled-up piece of parchment in his hand. “Your mother said that when you were of greatest need, a tool would present itself to you, and that your tool and this,” he thrust the parchment at her. She dropped her spoon with a clang and took the parchment with trembling hands. “...will show you where you ought to go. She also said you must use your power to guide you, or the tool and this parchment will not work in harmony.”

  Ariana unfolded the stiff, yellowing parchment. It felt waxy under her fingertips. Inside was...nothing. Blankness. She held the parchment up. “How is a spare bit of waxy parchment with nothing written on it supposed to help me, father?” Her voice trembled.

  Her father’s eyes were defeated. “I do not know, child. Did a tool not present itself to you?”

  Ariana folded the parchment roughly. “I have no idea about any tools, father. And I have rarely left the house. How am I supposed to make it out there, on my own, when you’ve never even let me walk to town? Or go to a public boarding school? How could you abandon me to this without preparing me?”

  She stood, slamming her hands down on the table. She felt her power surge as she did so, and, suddenly, her hands felt like heavy balls of iron. Her fists slammed through table, splintering it down the center.

  The table groaned under the pressure. The crack widened and the table began to fold in on itself. The platters of food slid towards the center of the table. The table split and crashed to the ground in a shatter of wood and china and a splatter of food.

  She stared down at the mess in fear and dismay, cowering before meeting her father’s eyes. But they were not furious, as she assumed they would be. They were, her heart broke to see it, frightened.

  His voice came out a harsh, trembling whisper. “I was afraid. I am afraid. Your mother was beautiful, kind, enchanting, but near the end of us she was terrifying. I would not fight for us. I would not marry a woman with nothing to her name, though she was pregnant. I have never been brave. I was afraid of her, then. And now you! You look so like her...and the powers. I had to be firm. I had to be hard on you.” His voice sounded far away, as though he was speaking to someone from the past.

  “Ya dinna have to be.” The harsh, clipped voice was not her own, though the words rang true to her. “Ya coulda been lovin’ and kind. Perhaps if ya had, ya woulda had no reason to feel her powers would backfire on ya.” Ruth placed a lunch basket near Ariana’s calves.

  “I, on the other hand, am not scared. I shall go with the lass as far as the edge of the glade, and take her to the Black Forest. No one will dare enter after her. No one with sense, anyways.”

  Ariana turned to Ruth, tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to go, Ruthie.” The Black Forest was haunted, some said, bespelled others said. How could she go into the forest? Why would Ruthie assume that’s where she needed to go?

  Ruth’s eyes filled, too. “Buck up, lass. Remember what we said. Yer a powerful one, more’n capable of fendin’ fer yerself. But I’ll walk with ya as far as I can.”

  Ariana turned to her father, who was staring at the broken table on the floor, his eyes glazed over. Annabeth walked in only a minute later, heaving a flowery carpet bag, full to bursting from the looks of it.

  “What in the world ya put in that bag, girl?” Ruthie admonished the maid.

  “Everything she will need. Clothes for various occasions, a blanket, brush, mirror, kerchiefs, and some other things I thought might come in handy. It’s heavy, though, my lady. I’ll come with you and Ruthie. I’m used to carrying heavy things, and I...well, I want to see you off.” Her eyes were misty and her voice was heavy with tears unshed.

  “I’d like that, Annabeth,” Ariana said. She realized that neither of the women had asked her father whether or not they were allowed to go. They could be let go for being so brazenly unconcerned about their master’s wishes, but they stood behind her anyway.

  “Let’s go then, ladies.” Ariana lifted her chin, refusing to look as afraid as she felt. “Goodbye, father.”

  She swooped past him. He said nothing, only buried his face in his hands. She thought she saw his shoulder’s shaking, but she spared him not another glance. He would have let Count Repugnian have her if she hadn’t saved herself. Now, he was throwing her out. Her heart felt split in two as she turned her back on the coward she couldn’t help but love.

  Ariana’s journey continues in “Ariana’s Gift,” the second novella in the Ariana Grey Chronicles. In “Ariana’s Gift,” Ariana learns more about her elusive past and about her often-unpredictable powers. Read more in her exciting tale of self-discovery here: www.amazon.com/dp/B08274LSJK.

  About the Author

  Washington state author H. M. Jones is an N.I.E.A finalist and B.R.A.G medallion honoree for her debut novel, Monochrome. She writes poetry, new adult, young adult, fantasy, sci-fi, and speculative fiction. In her spare time, she loves to cosplay with her two favorite geeklets, sing to her chickens, and dance haphazardly around the house while talking to characters she hasn’t written yet. Her dog worries for her.

  For more information about the author, please visit: www.hmjones.net. Don't forget to grab your copy of next anthology, Wayward Magic.

  The Runes of Valonde

  Toasha Jiordano

  “In Runes of Valonde,” James must hide his true identity from the inhabitants of this realm called Earth. In doing so, he must also hide the powers he and his family possess, along with the magical items that harness those powers. When he is forced to make the decision between saving an innocent man and keeping his abilities hidden, the two worlds collide. Someone he loves will not come out of it unharmed.

  Toasha Jiordano

  Dragons * Swords * Magic *

  Torn between his two loves, wife and country, James must decide whether to betray one to rescue the other. When he uses his magic in the real world to save an innocent man, the choice is made for him. It will mean the end of someone dear to him.

  Chapter One

  The ancient rune buzzed in James’s pocket. He slapped a hand over it to cover the noise, nearly burning his leg, and squirmed in the tiny uncomfortable chair. Mrs. Chadwick, his son's new teacher, stared at him with laser focus. Could she see the glow radiating from his pocket or hear its siren's call?

  His wife, Margaret, sure did. Her glare had been boring a hole through him since the conference began. She spent the entire morning getting the family ready for this day—perfect hair, perfect beard, and no dirt on little Jim’s face at all - and he was ruining it.

  The rune vibrated and the voices grew louder. He needed to get out of there, fast. The elders weren’t known for their patience.

  James couldn't believe he took the d
ay off work for this in the first place. He was the only father in the entire school right now. And who went to visit a teacher before classes even started? Where he came from, admittedly far from here, children who went to an actual school building went on their own. Parents never stepped foot on school property; there was too much hard work to be done.

  As a Valondian royal, James had grown up with tutors who lived in the palace with him. Still, his parents—if they were around, Odin bless them—couldn't pick nary a one out of a crowd. James believed it should be this way for his lad, his heir, but not the way his dear Margaret said it would be.

  Margaret had been raised closer to this realm, where children who were fortunate to have a school to go to, were driven there by a parent or now an awful yellow monstrosity called a bus. Buses were a new trend and at least he and Margaret agreed on one thing, their son would never ride in one.

  They may agree on the point, but certainly not the principal. James had to draw the line somewhere. He had moved to this wretched small town in the heart of nowhere and took on a failing farm to make her happy. But he'd be damned if his son would travel with the likes of the common folk.

  Margaret, on the other hand, wanted to drive Jim to the blasted school as another means of coddling, not letting the lad out of her sight until the last second. James envisioned many tears come next Monday, and none from Jim, who made it clear long before he learned to talk, that he refused to answer to “Jimmy.”

  His wife’s fears were founded, of course. Untold dangers awaited the lad as he aged. And with his mark, the local children would be undoubtedly cruel to him, now that the time had come for the lad to enter public school. The family birthmark, while revered and celebrated in Valonde, would be a curse for Jim in this land. One he and Margaret knowingly thrust upon the lad when they married.