Rise of the Mage (Resurrecting Magic Book 1)

by Keary Taylor

  “Now, what the hell do I tell him we are?” I said, resting my chin on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what to call us.”

  Nathaniel leaned back and it was the most natural thing in the world when I curled up into his side and he slid his arm around my shoulders. I laid my head against his chest and he took my hand in his.

  “History has always called them witches,” Nathaniel said. “Whenever they hunted them, accused them, that’s what they called them.”

  “I don’t want to be burned as a witch at the stake,” I confessed the words easily, still influenced by Nathaniel’s coin of compulsion.

  “So, the title of witch is out,” he said without a fuss. “In fantasy they’ve been called warlocks. Wizards.”

  “Don’t those both sound ridiculous to you?” I asked with a snort.

  I felt it instead of saw it, Nathaniel’s smile. “Maybe a little bit.”

  Nathaniel raised his free hand from around my shoulder, his fingers doing a little flick in the air. I heard a soft sliding sound, and just a second later, a book floated through the air and landed gently in his hand.

  I laughed in delight, and the smile on Nathaniel’s face made everything in my chest flutter.

  It was a thesaurus. A fairly new edition I’d guess from the glossy cover and how straight all the pages still were. Nathaniel opened it toward the back and thumbed through pages until he got to a certain page in the W section.

  Witch.

  “Magician,” he read off.

  “Ta-da!” I said, pretending to pull a rabbit from a top hat. I shook my head.

  “Conjurer or enchanter?” he asked.

  I scrunched my nose and shook my head.

  “Necromancer?” he read off in disgust. “I don’t think either of us plans on raising the dead any time soon, if that’s actually even possible.”

  “Pass,” I said, nodding in creeped out agreement.

  “Occultist,” Nathaniel read off next.

  “That sounds satanic,” I said. “So far everything we’ve done feels more like scientific magic, not a deal with the devil in exchange for abilities.”

  “Occultist is out then,” Nathaniel agreed. “Sorcerer?”

  “Doesn’t that sound a bit dramatic?” I asked, looking up at him and raising an eyebrow.

  “You’re being very picky about this,” Nathaniel teased, but I could tell they were his honest thoughts.

  “We’re trying to resurrect magic here,” I said as I sat up, mocking offense. “If I’m going to be this supernatural thing, I want to at least like the name the townsfolk are going to scream at me when they want me to hang.”

  From his expression, I didn’t think Nathaniel liked what I said very much. But he didn’t say anything. I relaxed back against his chest, my eyes going to the listed words beneath witch.

  “What about mage?” I said when my eyes fixed on the word. They read it over and over again. I tried it out in my head. “It sounds more gender neutral. It’s not overly dramatic. It doesn’t sound like something the devil came up with.”

  “Mage,” Nathaniel said. It was a word he’d said to me before. But we were trying to get more official with this. “It does sound better than all the other titles.”

  “I like it,” I said. “You’re a mage, Nathaniel Nightingale.”

  “And you’re a mage, Margot Bell,” he said, looking down at me. We both considered it for a moment. And then our eyes met.

  “So, is that your official declaration for yourself?” Nathaniel asked.

  I nodded. “I declare thee a mage, Nathaniel.”

  He chuckled and hugged me tighter for a moment.

  Thunder cracked overhead just then. A little scream leapt from my lips, to my embarrassment. I’d been too in the moment. Enjoying Nathaniel’s touch too much. Shaking my head, I stood, needing to put some space between Nathaniel and me.

  He was right. Both of us wanted that kiss, but on a day like this, where anything could be said, where we could make each other be exceptionally honest, maybe it wasn’t the right day.

  “I think you should give me the telekinesis book,” I said as I walked around the couch to face his bookshelves. “You’ve had it for months, and like you said, you practically have it memorized. I need to read the whole thing.”

  “Of course,” Nathaniel said. He immediately stood and went to his bag that was hung on the coat tree by the door. He pulled the red book out of his bag and handed it over.

  I ran my fingers over the cover and looked up at him.

  Things felt different today. It felt like we were partners in this. We were equals.

  “I’m really glad it’s you,” I confessed. “That you were the one who found this book, that you’re the one who is like me. It could have been anyone. Most of us around here have roots back to the old settlers of the area. But I’m really glad it was you.”

  He stared at me, contemplating my words. I could tell he was fighting it again, the urge to kiss me. I wanted him to give in, but knew it was for the best that he didn’t. “I’m exceptionally grateful it was you too, Margot.”

  This was going to be so annoying for the next twenty-three hours.

  We needed a buffer.

  “Let’s go do it right now,” I said. “Tell my dad. I think it will…help…in making it through this period of honesty and revelation. I want to do it together.”

  He blinked at me, and I saw him considering. I knew he was scared. This had been his secret, completely alone, for months. This was big. It had gotten hundreds, thousands of people killed in the past.

  But I realized he trusted me.

  “Okay,” he said with a nod.

  I looked at the time on the clock on the wall. It was nearly three o’clock.

  “He’ll be getting out of class in fifteen minutes,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  If I thought too much about it, I might talk myself out of it. I might second-guess myself. And I wanted to do this.

  We left The Coins of Compulsion on Nathaniel’s coffee table. I slipped the telekinesis book into my bag. Nathaniel pulled an umbrella off the coat rack, and together, we stepped back outside into the rain.

  The garden was quickly turning into a muddy mess, but we stayed on the cobblestones that led to the opening in the fence. Out over the grass we set, and it wasn’t long before my shoes were soaked, reaching all the way to my socks.

  I hated wet feet almost more than anything.

  There were dozens of students pouring out of the building by the time we reached the front doors. There were a few evening classes at Alderidge, but the majority of classes wrapped up by mid-afternoon. We fought our way through the bodies to step inside.

  Nathaniel shook out the umbrella and closed it the second we stepped through the doors.

  “Are you a superstitious person?” I asked as we set off down the hall toward my father’s classroom.

  “Logically, I shouldn’t be,” he said. “I know it’s ridiculous, but yes, I am a superstitious person.”

  “So, no walking under ladders?” I probed, knowing he would answer me completely honestly.

  “Absolutely not,” he said, shaking his head.

  “No broken mirrors or black cats?” I teased.

  “I would never get a cat anyway,” he said, scrunching his nose. “I lived with a foster family once who had five cats. There was hair everywhere and the place smelled foul of urine.”

  “That’s disgusting,” I said. “What about dogs? Or are you just not a pet person?”

  “I’ve always wanted a dog,” he confessed. “A big one. I don’t really care what breed. So long as it’s as big as me when it stands on its hind legs.”

  I chuckled at his surprising answer. And I filed that information away for another time.

  We turned down the hall and my eyes fixed on my father’s classroom door.

  Suddenly, I was nervous. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure about this.

  I reached out and grabbed Nathaniel’s hand, l
acing my fingers through his. We stopped just to the side of his door and I turned into Nathaniel, my eyes falling to the floor.

  Gently, I felt Nathaniel’s index finger hook under my chin. He encouraged me to look up at him, but I didn’t.

  “You’re right, Margot,” he said instead. “If magic had anything to do with why your mother disappeared, your father has a right to know. Maybe him knowing will help him figure it out. If nothing else, it may help him get some closure.”

  Now I did finally look up at him. His green eyes were open and genuine and tender. I felt my soul latching onto his. He was like a song I couldn’t get out of my head. One I played over and over until the words were no longer words anymore. They were just a part of who I was.

  I reached up and placed my palm against the side of his jaw. I didn’t say anything. I just studied his eyes, one and then the other. And then I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around him.

  He rested his chin on the top of my head and wrapped his arms around me.

  He felt good.

  Warm. Peaceful.

  He was kind of starting to feel like home.

  The door to the classroom opened and students began to pour out. I regretted having to let Nathaniel go, but I stepped back, standing by his side. I kept one of his hands in mine.

  Nearly two dozen students filed out of the classroom. My father’s classes were popular. Arthur Bell was well liked in the school.

  Finally, when they were all out of the way, I stepped into the doorway. I felt Nathaniel letting go of my hand, but I needed him. I grabbed hold of him tighter and pulled him in through the door after me.

  Dad’s classroom was one of the few circular auditoriums. There was a great big chalkboard at the front and three rows of seats circled around it, rising up with stairs.

  He was inside, wiping writing off the chalkboard. I stood there with Nathaniel, staring at him, appreciating these last few moments before we changed his perception of his entire life.

  Dad turned around and put a hand over his heart. “Margot, you startled me. Nathaniel, how are you?”

  “Nervous,” he said, giving an honest answer.

  My father’s brows furrowed, and he looked from Nathaniel to me, noting our hands were held together.

  “Dad, we need to talk to you,” I said, feeling my heart rate pick up. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

  Instantly, his expression fell. Something grew dreadful and dark in his eyes. His shoulders even dropped.

  “You’re pregnant?” he said, and it bordered somewhere between a statement and a question. His expression grew angrier as his eyes slid from me to Nathaniel.

  “What? No!” I startled, shaking my head.

  “I swear, Arthur, we’ve never even kissed,” Nathaniel said, raising up a hand as my father took one step forward. Apparently, there were limits to how much Dad liked Nathaniel.

  My father stopped, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of us. They dropped to our hands held between the two of us. “But you’re together?”

  Nathaniel and I looked at each other, and a surge of dread came up in me, because whatever was about to come out of our mouths, it was going to be exceptionally honest.

  “We’ve certainly taken an interest in each other,” Nathaniel said. “But we’re trying to sort through some very heavy things first.”

  I kept my mouth closed somehow, but I looked back at my father and gave a nod.

  “You two are being awfully dramatic about telling me you want to date,” he said. He turned away from us and walked over to his desk next to the door that led to his actual office. “You’re both level-headed adults. I think it’s a good match, and I appreciate your concern for my approval, but if you want to be together, just do it.”

  I felt myself blushing, so I refused to look over at Nathaniel and get a read for how he was feeling. “Dad, that’s not…” I shook my head. “That’s not why we came to talk to you.”

  He stacked some papers on his desk before turning back to face us. There was still a look of doubt and questioning when he looked at us.

  “It’s about our ancestry,” I said. My palms were sweating with nerves. Nathaniel squeezed my hand in support. “And the library. And maybe why mom disappeared.”

  That got his attention.

  My dad sat up a little straighter. His eyes widened just a little bit. I saw his jaw clench tighter.

  I finally let Nathaniel’s hand go as I went to pull the telekinesis book from my bag. I held it delicately in my hands, looking at its worn, red cover.

  He deserves to know, I mentally told myself.

  I opened it to the middle of the book and took a step closer to him. “Can you read this book?” I asked.

  His eyes fell to the pages. He took a moment to consider. “I recognize it as Gaelic, but I’ve never learned it. That…languages…that was your mothers’ expertise.”

  I nodded, knowing everything he said already. I took another step toward him. “Touch the pages.”

  He looked at me with confusion at my strange request. But he trusted me. So, he reached up, and touched his fingers to the pages.

  I watched his face the entire time. It didn’t change. It only remained confused.

  “Nothing changed,” I said as a statement.

  Still confused, my father’s eyes rose back up to meet mine. He shook his head.

  I pulled the book back to myself, turning it so that the words faced me. They were all in perfect English, entirely readable.

  “Nathaniel found this book over the summer break,” I began. “And yes, when it lays flat on a table, it’s in Gaelic. But when either of us touches it, it’s entirely in English. And it tells some incredible things.”

  I took a deep breath and looked back at Nathaniel. He gave me one nod, understanding.

  He raised his right hand slightly. And then the paper on the top of the stack on my dad’s desk folded. At the sound, my father looked down.

  It began to fold itself into a complicated bird, different from the crane I’d seen him make.

  My father took a step back from his desk. His eyes fixed on the bird magically folding before his eyes.

  When it was finished, Nathaniel lifted his hands slightly, the air shimmering around it, and the bird took to the air. It flapped its wings and began to gently circle the classroom.

  My father swore and staggered back from it, crashing into his desk.

  “There’s something in our blood,” I said, my voice hoarse and scratchy. “I think it was in mom’s, because it’s in mine, too.”

  I focused on the dried flower in a vase on his desk, and I asked it to rise. It listened instantly. It rose into the air and it turned, end over end.

  My hand was extended toward it, and gold swirled around my hand.

  My father’s eyes flicked from the rose to me. There was shock there, and maybe even a little fear. And from his expression, I knew. He’d had no idea before.

  “I think that mom knew about this,” I said. “And I think that somehow it was the reason she disappeared.”

  I looked over at my father again as we walked across the wet grass. He stared down at the ground and he was so quiet. I barely even heard him breathing. His shoulders hardly moved as he walked. His hands were tucked into his front pockets. His brows were furrowed.

  We’d told him everything. Everything we knew, all the things we could do, and I realized then how little that was.

  We didn’t know much of anything.

  We didn’t know our story.

  We didn’t know our limits.

  But we’d told my father, and we’d told him that we thought it was the reason my mother had disappeared.

  He’d said almost nothing. He’d sat or stood there, listening intently. He’d watched as we’d showed him what we could do. He listened as we told him about the books from the library. And when we asked him if he’d known anything else, he’d blinked a lot, and I could see him wracking his brain.

 
He said he’d go through Mom’s family history more thoroughly. He said he’d have to look through his books and think about it, if there were any that were more than they seemed.

  Nathaniel and I looked at each other and we knew we’d pushed him as far as we’d dared. So, as the sky outside the windows grew dark, I’d put a hand on Dad’s back and told him we should go home and get him something to eat. He’d blankly nodded, and then we all walked for the doors.

  I’d said goodnight to Nathaniel and watched as he walked across the lawn back toward the solarium.

  Dad remained silent as we walked down the sidewalk and through the front door of the house. He sat in his usual chair in the living room, staring at his bookcases, while I set to making soup for dinner.

  I started chiding myself as I cooked. I shouldn’t have told him. This was too big. It broke his mind. I’d pushed him too far, because this involved my mother, who he loved more than anything in this world.

  I should have just kept it to myself.

  Why didn’t I protect my father?

  I was set to apologize to my father as I set his bowl down on the table. I determined to find some book that would teach me how to remove memories. I’d make him forget somehow. I’d make this right.

  But when my father sat down at the table, he stared across the room and I could see he was in deep thought. His eyes were slightly narrowed. His hands were curled into loose fists.

  I took a deep breath to apologize and somehow take it all back, when he suddenly launched into words.

  “In the six months leading up to your mother’s disappearance, she took trips up to Boston or Salem nearly every single weekend,” he said. His eyes shifted over to me. “And she always came home with stacks of books. I didn’t think anything about it at the time, because, well…” He gestured all around him, indicating the endless bookcases around our house, all filled with books. “But she never talked about them. She never shared them. What if…what if they weren’t just any ordinary books?”

  My heart thumped hard in my chest as I thought about it. Dad was right. We’d always taken a few trips a year up to Boston or somewhere else in the state, but in those last few months, she’d gone almost every weekend.

  “Maybe she was searching the Boston Public Library,” I said, realization dawning in my voice.