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

by Melinda Kucsera

  Please send me to my friends. Alone, I can't solve this magical puzzle. But with them, anything is possible. Especially if Thing poked nosy his mind into this problem. His friend would if Nulthir asked him, and he fully intended to when the light faded.

  Chapter Twelve

  Amal blinked to clear her eyes of the afterimages twirling about the space between her and the silver leaf overflowing Iraine’s hand. It exerted a magnetic pull on her thoughts. There was something about it—a promise maybe? Whatever was niggling at the back of her mind would have to stay there while she sorted a few things out.

  “What just happened?” the Guardswoman rubbed her temples with her free hand, then she shot Dale an aggrieved look. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t mess with my head.”

  “Why are you looking at me? I didn’t do anything.” Dale pointed to Iraine’s hand. “You and Mom took one look at that leaf then tranced out.”

  “He’s right,” Thistle lumbered up beside him.

  “My baby!” Mixie shouldered past them. “Where did you find him?”

  Amal looked down at the blinking kit in her arms. Where had she found him? She furrowed her brow in thought, but there was only one logical conclusion. “Did you teleport back?”

  Furball just gave her a blank look. “Neep?”

  Not helpful, but Furball was a baby, so she might have been expecting too much from him. Amal shifted him, so she could pat his back.

  “Here, let me take him. He and I need to have a talk about all this teleporting business. Our last lecture was interrupted.” Mixie held out her arms for her son, and Amal handed him off to her. That talk was overdue. Maybe it would make an impression this time.

  “Good luck with that, sis,” Dale patted Mixie’s shoulder as she passed him on her way over to collect her mate.

  Thistle nudged Amal. “When you tranced out, did you learn anything about Nulthir?”

  Had she? Amal considered that until a mental shout nearly deafened her.

  Amal? Warn Nulthir. A summoning's in progress.

  Thing? Amal called. Did your plan blow up in your beak?

  Her mate didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes.

  I told you it would, Amal sent, but she doubted Thing would hear that. He had selective hearing where his plans were concerned. Well, he had an ‘I told you so’ coming when they were reunited.

  Gramps! Furball shouted in her mind.

  Amal whipped around just in time to see a bright flash light up Mixie’s enraged face as Furball teleported right out of her arms again.

  “Furball!” Mixie balled her hands into fists. Yarn tried to pull her into his arms, but she pushed her mate away. “We must find him.”

  “We will. In the meantime, your father will keep him safe.” If that’s where Furball had ended up. Amal held her daughter’s gaze for a moment and sent calming vibes to soothe her ruffled nerves.

  “And my mate. Don’t forget Crispin’s with him.” Thistle planted her fists on her hips.

  “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get them.” Iraine pushed to a stand and dusted her backside off. “I didn’t save that adorable mound of fur earlier just to lose him again.”

  “It might be dangerous.” Dale used his tail to climb up the dresser.

  “Danger doesn’t scare me.”

  “What does?”

  “Boredom, but with you lot around, I doubt that’ll be a problem.” Iraine squared her shoulders then threw open the door to the hallway. She was ready to take on any foe. “Lead the way.”

  Amal admired the Guardswoman’s gumption as she flapped her wings and took to the air. “Is the hallway clear?”

  “Quite. At this hour, all the sensible folk are at work. If you’re quick about it, no one will see you leave. And if anyone does, I’ll convince them otherwise.” Iraine pulled a badge out of her pocket and pinned it to her breast. It was a silver five-pointed star in a circle.

  “There’s an inscription around the star.” Amal hovered for a moment, trying to read it. “What does it say?”

  “To serve and protect all people, I search for truth, deliver justice, and keep the peace.” And those weren’t just empty words to Iraine. Each one was a separate promise, a sacred contract.

  “Then we’d best be on our way.” Amal turned to go, but instinct made her stop and turn in time to see Thistle exit the flat. Oh, hell no, Thistle wasn't accompanying them. “You should stay here.” Amal blocked her pregnant adopted daughter’s flightpath.

  “Get out of my way. My mate’s in trouble. I’m not sitting at home waiting for him.” Thistle tried to dodge her, but Amal was the better flyer.

  Iraine stepped between them. “Let her come. I’ll look after her. Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m tougher than I look, and I might be carrying some extra ammunition.” Iraine patted the utility belt slung over her shoulder. The Guardswoman already had one around her waist so where did she—oh.

  “That’s Nulthir’s, isn’t it?” Thistle touched it.

  “Yes, I thought it might have a few things we could use since he lives with magical creatures and all.” Iraine let that sentence hang.

  But her implication was quite clear. She suspected Nulthir had some magic of his own. He did but no one was supposed to know; no one human that is for fear they’d report him.

  Iraine read her worry. “I won’t tell anyone. You have my word on that.”

  Strangely enough, that was all Amal needed. Maybe she shouldn’t, but she trusted Iraine. The Guardswoman had proven herself in their short acquaintanceship to be a formidable ally, and Amal wasn’t foolish enough to think her family could get along with having only one human friend, not when they dwelt in a city of ten thousand souls. “Alright, let’s go before something else happens.”

  “Do you know where to go?” Iraine shut the door and jiggled the knob, checking it was locked.

  That was something Amal should have checked. She also should have told the others what was going on, but that could wait until later when she had answers. Right now, Amal had more questions than anything else.

  “I have this strange feeling I can't shake that if we head back to where this all started, we’ll bump into the problem.”

  “That’s as good a place to start as any.” Iraine checked the knob one last time then turned toward the stairwell at the other end of this corridor. “And I have the same feeling.”

  That made Amal feel a bit better as she flapped her wings and quickly caught up to her kits. They gave her started looks as she passed them. As if any lead they could muster would be enough to outpace her. Not a chance. She was built for speed, and she felt the need to stretch her wings and fly as fast as her aerodynamic body could.

  Every moment might count, and she planned to make the most of them. If you can hear me, Honey, I'm coming. Tell our son, Momma’s on her way, and she’s bringing reinforcements.

  To be continued in a Spell of Shadow & Light. sign up at mkucsera.com/welcomecharacters to be notified when it’s released. Check out http://melindakucsera.com/hanging-out-with-friends/ for more books starring Thing and Nulthir.

  Amal must save her mate from his latest folly when Thing and his son run afoul of a coven of warlocks and get caught in their spell. Oh, and someone should save Furball before he becomes the spark the spell needs to summon a demon from hell. One mage boy who barely has any control over his magic might not be enough to protect Nulthir from possession, especially since Sarn needs rescuing himself. Find out if they prevail in Spell of Shadow & Light. For more books featuring Thing and Nulthir, visit http://melindakucsera.com/hanging-out-with-friends.

  About the Author

  Melinda Kucsera writes fantastic short stories and books when dragons aren't trying to kidnap her. (Sometimes, her characters rescue her, especially when evil corporations are involved.) Check out all Melinda’s books on melindakucsera.com and meet her characters. They're lining up to meet you.

  Melinda leaves the running of her newsletter to a cast of
lovable characters who hog her inbox. They might also star in several of her books. Enough about her, it’s them you’re really interested in, her cast of characters. Join them every week for a new adventure: at mkucsera.com/welcomecharacters. They make house calls.

  For more information about Melinda Kucsera and the characters in her story, please visit: http://melindakucsera.com/hanging-out-with-friends/

  Don’t forget to sign up to her newsletter at mkucsera.com/welcomecharacters for more character shenanigans. Every week is a new adventure. Seriously. Check out her blog if you don’t believe us, melindakucsera.com/blog, for a reverse chronological listing of back issues.

  Through a Valley of White Mist

  Anela Deen

  I find the final stretch of a story to be the hardest to finish. This isn’t because of the complicated matter of pulling together all the plot details from earlier (although, that is really hard!). Rather, it’s knowing my time with these characters is coming to a close, and seeing the way they’ve both changed and stayed the same, almost without my realizing it. If that sounds strange to a reader, it’s doubly strange for the writer since technically they only existed in the imagination before all these words made them real—and then, only if someone reads them. So, thank you, Reader, for going on this journey with Simith and Jessa, and making them real to you too.

  Anela Deen

  The only hope of defeating the fairies lies at the heart of the Forgotten Vale. To reach it, Simith and Jessa will have to bargain with the lich who dwells there, a terrifying wraith that feeds on reason and sanity. If they don’t find a way to outsmart its traps and obtain the magic they need, not only will the war be lost, but their lives as well.

  Chapter One

  Simith emerged from dreams to the song of skylarks, and the scent of cornflowers and gooseberry bread. His childhood home. He willed his mind believe the self-deception, if only for a moment, but couldn’t manage it. His childhood home was ash, and the long years since had taught him that no amount of wishing would usher its return.

  Simith opened his eyes. He lay on his back upon a straw-filled mattress covered in wool blankets. The room was chilly, and a stone ceiling of slate stretched above him the color of mountain pine. He blinked up at it, wondering how he got here. Then he recalled Hollow Hill. The look of furious dismay on his father’s face. The archers shooting their arrows into the ground.

  Jessa. Where was she?

  Simith bolted upright—and discovered a weight pinning the covers. A crown of dark hair greeted him when he looked beside him. Swaddled in blankets, the top half of Jessa’s face peeked above the covers. She slept, her breath calm, her heartbeat even when he pressed his palm to it. Relief brought a smile to his mouth, his gaze lingering on the spray of freckles high on her cheekbones. The urge to smooth his thumb over them wound through his thoughts, but he refrained. That was a privilege she hadn’t offered him.

  Simith examined their surroundings more closely. To one side streamers of sunlight pushed through a shuttered window in the stone wall. To the other, the lip of a knee-high balcony revealed he was in a loft, though it was dark that direction and no sounds came from below.

  A dwelling carved into the stone.

  He’d heard his people had moved from the lower moorlands to the Petal Bluffs, a far more defensible position than among the open heather fields, but seeing it for himself evoked a loss of equilibrium. Perhaps his mind had succeeded in deceiving him after all if he believed his home hadn’t undergone great change in his absence.

  At least they hadn’t imprisoned him, something he’d been uncertain about when the archers appeared in Hollow Hill. Simith had barely had time to catch Jessa as the cloud of sleep spell rolled over them, potent enough that he’d almost passed out immediately. He’d clutched her to him as he crumpled, and managed to croak a slurred, “Don’t take her from me,” before succumbing. Why had his father done that? Did Simith’s own people see him as an enemy too?

  Jessa murmured in her sleep, pulling his gaze to her again. The dreams. Simith didn’t understand her lack of scorn for the burden of witnessing the ugly things he’d done. He hadn’t intended to forge a link between them when he’d healed her, but did that matter? He hadn’t intended so many things that came to pass. His mind still couldn’t fully absorb the magnitude of the truth behind the war, that he had spent ten years of his life killing trolls for a crime they’d never committed…

  Jessa’s eyes moved behind her closed lids. What did she see this time?

  He touched her shoulder. “Jessa.”

  She stirred, blinking. Her dark eyes found his. The sadness he saw there had him turning fully toward her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “She’s dead.”

  He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but Jessa struggled out of the covers and wrapped warm arms around him. The words vanished from his head, as did most of his thoughts.

  “I’m sorry.” She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “You must’ve felt so alone without her.”

  Rimthea. Simith fought against the urge to push away from her embrace. While he appreciated her comfort, and he couldn’t bear it. The old pain felt all the closer for Jessa’s soft touch. Fortunately, she pulled back after a moment, perhaps sensing his turmoil.

  “That explains why I couldn’t find her at the arena,” she said.

  “You were looking for her?”

  “I figured if anyone was bold enough to help us talk to the trolls, it was her.”

  Simith nodded, unable to summon his voice. Jessa spoke with a fondness that implied she knew Rim. He wondered what his best friend would think of that, to have gained a friendship even after death.

  He cleared his throat. “I wish I had better memories for you to dream than the nightmares of my life.”

  “Mine probably aren’t much better.”

  A flash of them moved across Simith’s mind.

  Jessa, weeping. Jessa curled on a tiled floor in an empty house. Hoarse sobs and endless tears that tore at his heart and made him ache to reach through the memory and draw her near. He’d crouched beside her watching as her tears dried and her spirit withdrew into numbness. Death had taken everyone she loved.

  Jessa rubbed at her brow. “What happened to us? I feel really groggy.”

  Simith swallowed, pushing the memory away. “It was a sleep spell cast by the archers’ bows.”

  Jessa’s head came up. “Relle and Katie. Where are they?” She pushed the blankets off and stood rapidly. The sudden movement made her legs wobble.

  Simith rushed to his feet to steady her, but she’d already caught herself. “Go easy. The effects of the spell can linger after waking.” He shouldn’t have sprung up so fast himself. His head throbbed in warning.

  “Good advice for us both, eh?” she said ruefully. “Where exactly are we?

  “Let’s find out.”

  Simith went at a gentler pace to the window.

  “What have you seen so far? In the dreams, I mean.” A wary tone entered her voice.

  She wouldn’t want him to mention any from last night. He chose something else as he unlatched the shutters. “I saw you reading your Emily Dickinson while your family watched an odd device of glowing pictures.” He paused. “Tel…Television? They called it a reality. No, a reality show.”

  She snorted. “They were crazy about those.”

  “And you were not.” He laughed softly. “You were young there. They teased you a bit. ‘Bookworm,’ they said.”

  “They thought I was odd.”

  “Ah, but they were proud of you. That was clear to see.”

  “Was it?”

  Simith pushed the shutters open. “For a certainty.”

  Afternoon sun blazed in along with a cool, steady breeze. Squinting against the dazzling light, he discerned a steep incline jutting up from the window toward the cliff’s top. An easy exit for a pixie, but Jessa would find the climb arduous. It pleased him to discover they hadn’t been lo
cked in. Why had his people separated him and Jessa from the others?

  “I don’t see anyone this way,” he said, turning back. “We’ll try the door below.”

  “Sounds good.” Jessa stood in profile to him, her gaze firmly averted, the cheek facing him rosy.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Before we go out, you should probably, er, wear more than capris.” She pointed. “I think those are for you.”

  Next to a folded pile of clothing, he spied his boots, free of mud, set neatly against the far wall. Glancing down at himself, he realized the source of her blush. Someone had removed his torn, bloodied leathers, leaving him barefoot in naught but his braies—or capris, as Jessa called them. The knot at his waistband had loosened, causing them to sag low on his hips.

  Heat rushed to his face and he hastened to the stack of garments. “It’s possible my kin misunderstood our…connection when I asked them not to part you from me.” At least Jessa was still fully dressed in her own clothing. If she’d been wearing only her shift when that sunlight came in—

  He missed the pant leg of his trousers and nearly toppled over. He flexed his wings to steady himself. “I will explain our circumstances as soon as possible, and I apologize for this,” he added, gesturing at the bed.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I would never have presumed to sleep alongside you in this state of undress.”

  “Oh? You’re a pajamas guy?”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind.” She sounded amused. He wondered if it was at his expense. Then he wondered why the idea didn’t bother him. “Maybe it’s better if we let them misunderstand.”

  Tugging on his boots, he came close to toppling over again. “Pardon?”

  Her cheek turned scarlet, pinking the curve of her ear. “It would be easier than explaining our situation.”