by Freya Black
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Cursed
The Price of Magic Series Book One
Freya Black
Contents
Also by Freya Black
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Freya’s Enchanted News
About the Author
Also by Freya Black
THE PRICE OF MAGIC SERIES
Book 1: CURSED
Book 2: CLAIMED
Book 3: CHOSEN
Copyright © 2017 by Freya Black
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1
It started with a sharp pain gnawing its way into the base of my skull. Liquid seeped out from my nose, spilling onto my pillow. I woke in a pool of my own blood. Charred flesh and the strangest scent, like that of honey, burned my nostrils.
On the insides of my lids, the flames were real, a bright orange blaze that warmed my skin. My eyes fluttered open, and panic set in, revealing stained sheets that served as a reminder that they would come. That was the horror of seeing the future. And, for me, the future sucked.
Most mornings would start at six o’clock when Enchanted Books & Beans hummed to life, waking the residents of Arcadia. But as my visions worsened, I would find myself out of bed before the alarm. I stumbled down the hallway, and the pipes groaned as I turned on the shower. A gentle mist washed away the evidence, a puddle of blood escaping down the drain. My Aunt Kate couldn’t handle my condition. It reminded her too much of my mother and the curse that had sent my parents to their graves.
I tried to hide it from her, but most nights, I’d wake to Kate holding my hand, warding off the dreams with herbal remedies. She had a cure for every ailment, refused to accept my situation for what it was, and she never fully admitted that I was a lost cause. Like a good Herb Witch, she’d conjure up a new mixture of salt and magical plants. Every night, she’d line the perimeter of my room, prepare sachets for under my pillow, burn incense and candles. Nothing worked.
After I dried my hair, I applied a coat of concealer to the bags under my eyes. I had the haggard but still functional look down pat. The blood had come to the surface, giving me the appearance of a boxer who had fought and lost twelve rounds. Combined with my blonde hair, pale skin, and blue eyes, I looked two steps away from death.
I slipped into jeans and the purple work shirt Kate insisted I wear and ran downstairs. It had a gold swirly design and logo inspired by our Coven’s colors.
As the owner of Enchanted Books & Beans, Kate had three rules—show up fifteen minutes before each shift, rock the T-shirt she’d designed, and be presentable. Well, at least I fit the first two criteria. Given my lack of sleep, I couldn’t do much about the last one.
Kate waited at the bottom of the landing, her back against the front door, holding two travel mugs of coffee. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“Is it?” I glanced out the glass panes in the foyer and grunted. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”
Kate opened the door with a sigh. “You have never been a morning person. Even as a child, I had to peel you out from under the covers with a fight. One day I won’t be here, and then what will you do?”
The thought of Kate’s absence from my life sliced deep inside my chest.
I took a sip from my mug as we stepped outside, the instant jolt of stimulant working its way through my body.
“Don’t say things like that. You know you’re not allowed to leave me.”
Kate laughed. “Don’t be so dramatic, Fiona. One day you’ll have a family of your own, and you won’t want your aunt hanging around this old house with you. Besides, the Gods and Goddesses have other plans for me. You’ll see.”
My head still throbbed from the vision that had sent me shooting straight out of bed, as if the house were on fire. To some extent, my emotions were a source of untapped power. Because of that, on more than one occasion, I’d woken up to my bed engulfed in flames. Divine powers were tricky that way and, for me, almost impossible to control.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I shot back, irritated. “What plans do they have for you?”
“We all have a purpose in this life. Yours is to become the next Coven Leader and mine is to make sure I teach you how. You will do great things for our people, your powers will change the dynamic among the realms, and once you learn how to control your powers, you will be unstoppable. I can promise you that much.”
I rubbed the corner of my eye with the back of my hand and yawned. “I don’t know why everyone insists on pretending like I’m special. I’m a total train wreck. I can’t even do normal things without setting things on fire or doing something stupid that draws attention to myself.”
Kate flashed a reassuring grin, though her features didn’t match, and the worry behind her sad blue eyes was always there. “It will all work out. Trust me.”
“I do,” I said, deflated by her choice of words. Before my mother’s death, I had asked her why I had visions of the monsters that haunted my dreams, and she’d responded in the same fashion as Kate. It’s as if my mother had trained Kate in the art of deception, a skill my mother had mastered quite well.
“Didn’t sleep again?” Kate closed the front door behind us and started walking across our circular driveway.
The Cleary Estate, a massive brick Colonial with high pillars and white shutters, faded behind us. Since my parents’ deaths, the vaulted ceilings and countless rooms had a museum-esque vibe. Most of the doors stayed shut with furniture hidden under blankets. It was like living in a house from an old horror movie. Despite its age, the house was immaculate. Kate had remodeled each room from the floor up. But no amount of paint or crown molding could account for its lack of warmth.
I shrugged, my messenger bag almost falling off my shoulder. “Not really. Maybe a few hours. I had that dream
again.”
She glanced over at me, a hint of pain behind her wide blue eyes. Then, she inspected my arm, like she always did, searching for sigils. Somehow, I managed to get a reprieve, but I knew it wouldn’t last for more than one night. My skin was free of markings, and the effects of the fire had worn off faster than normal. Even my lungs were clear and full of air, unlike last time.
Kate nodded, but I could tell she was not satisfied.
“This has been going on for too long. Over a month now, and there’s no sign of them.”
She wanted to say Hexenjagers, but the thought of them chilled her skin to the bone. We both knew they were the reason for my visions.
I mirrored her discontent, wishing I could change the situation. Too tired to respond or maybe just too deflated to feel, I remained quiet.
Our family’s café, the old carriage house on the north side of our property, came into view within minutes. What had once housed horse-drawn carriages, back when the British colonized Pennsylvania, was now the most popular attraction in all of Arcadia.
I worked full-time as a barista, and although the pay was good, the tips were terrible. Not to mention, it was the most thankless job on the planet. No one ever acknowledged the person making their coffee. If I swapped out soy milk for whole milk or forgot to add extra caramel on top of their macchiato, then they would notice.
Fifteen minutes before we opened, Kate performed a spell to ignite the senses. It was a ritual every witch in my family had done for centuries. Our special blend of magic and Arabica beans, a delectable fog that clung to the air, wafted out the door.
Over the next few hours, customers flooded the store like a pack of wolves, hungry for their caffeine fix. My head was still buzzing from my nightmare, which made blending drinks an impossible task. From the din of the café to the ice clanging in the shaker cup, each sound made my head pound as if it had its own pulse.
The hours wound down without a single vision, not even the slightest hint that my luck was about to change—until an outsider strolled through the door.
Given my abilities, I should have been able to foresee such an occurrence. Most days though, I couldn’t predict the weather, let alone the future. With my psychic radar broken, the rest of my powers were on high alert, ready to swing into action at a moment’s notice.
He twitched his nose, admiring our enchantments. A Norm could never see the haze—a touch of magic that twinkled like stars in a perfect blue sky. With broad shoulders and a confident strut, he reminded me of a man much older than my seventeen years. My mother had warned me, said they would use tricks to lure me into their trap. Fate sure had a sense of humor and a sick one at that. But my fate, the curse of the Crescent bloodline, had brought him to me.
He sifted through the throng, unnoticed, not even a hint of suspicion on their faces. We exchanged a quick glance. My eyes, full of hatred and anger, could tear a hole through him. He held my gaze and slid a pair of aviator sunglasses through his short dark waves. Even at a distance, I sensed the electrical current of his powers. My heart raced as a mixture of fear and desire stirred in my chest. There was no denying the attraction. His presence upset the balance of magic as well as the contents of my stomach.
I tilted a mug to my lips, thinking if I were to die, it should be with a latte in my hand and a smile on my face.
That was what my mother would have done, if she’d had a choice. She’d spoken of death often, layered it on thick before the accident. We’d had the death conversation more times than I could count. And she’d given it with the same indifference as saying, Pass the bread, at dinner. In my family, death was inevitable, not something to run from.
“Fear is for the weak. Fear is a waste of an emotion. Fear will get you killed,” my mother had said, and she’d meant every word.
A line formed at the counter in front of me, wrapping around the black microfiber couches at the center of the store. I worried his charms were affecting me. If he could manipulate me, it would be easier to control the Norms. I focused on the blender as its teeth ground together, drowning out the idiotic thoughts in my head.
“No way, Sophie.” A blonde-haired girl pointed at the dessert case, snapping me out of my daze. “Chocolate drizzle is not the same as chocolate swirl.”
Sophie huffed at her friend’s harsh tone. “Drizzled, swirled—who cares? I’m getting the last one.”
It pained me not to roll my eyes. Like an itch I needed to scratch, my fingers tingled from my divine powers. I wondered what it would be like to live in their world—a life without magic, not shackled to a coven of witches and a bloodline cursed by death. The use of magic on Norms was illegal, except for in situations where the Imperium Council allowed it. But I wanted to use magic. I loved the feeling of its power.
I waved my hand over the case and winked at my friend, Celeste Franklin. We were stuck working what seemed like the longest shift of our lives. An invisible shimmer danced across the pastries, a spectrum of colors refracting like diamonds in sunlight. Although different, the brownies appeared to be the same, and as expected, the girls pressed their fingers to the glass like children.
Celeste reached across the bar, her chestnut hair creating a curtain, as she filled two mugs. “Norms are so weird.”
“Yeah”—I chuckled—“but they’re so much fun to play with.”
I looked over her shoulder, not surprised to see customers shifting their stances. Within seconds of noticing our mysterious guest didn’t belong, they erected an invisible barrier between themselves and the boy. Despite their curious stares, he remained calm, unaffected. I blamed it on the unusual heat wave rolling through town. I also blamed it on the concealment provided by the Arcadian mountains. The beautiful peaks created a claustrophobic cage around our small town. Endless patches of evergreen and desolation could drive a person mad, and the lack of cell service did not help.
I propped my elbow on the mahogany bar and leaned into it. “I don’t know what I want to do more—kiss him or kill him.”
“Uh-huh.” Celeste nodded and spun around on her stool. “My Gods and Goddesses, that boy is—”
Her hand smacked into a fresh cup of coffee, burning my fingers as it seeped into my skin. She pushed off the stool and lunged at the cauldron-shaped mug. Her rapid movements, rather clumsy and stiff, knocked a carafe onto the floor.
I frowned at the puddle at my feet, and when I lifted my head, steel-blue irises startled me. He was gorgeous, had the kind of face you could pick out of a police lineup. A second earlier, I had been ready to face him, but as our eyes met, everything melted away.
He handed the cup to Celeste, his jaw squaring off as it set.
To my surprise, she turned into a catatonic mute and looped her finger around the handle. Celeste jerked her head, a glazed look in her hazel eyes, and slapped a rag in front of me. She mopped the coffee with her hands, careful not to let it drip off the edge of the bar.
“Fee, I’m so sorry.” Her voice wavered, and she sucked in a shallow breath. “Are you okay?”
I squeezed a rag over the sink and tossed it into the laundry bin. My fingers throbbed, but I put on my best front to hide the pain, holding my hand out, as if flashing a diamond engagement ring. “It’s just skin. It will grow back.”
“Fiona?” the man said, as if asking a question. The modulated deep sound of his voice rang in my ears like a melody.
I took a step back, shocked by how easily my name had rolled off his tongue. He looked hurt by my reaction. As much as I wanted to hate him, his boyish grin broke me down. Starting with my face, he analyzed every feature, including my coffee-stained shirt, which made me uncomfortable. Of course, he knew my name. At least he’d had the decency to confront me head-on instead of stealing my powers from a distance.
A moment of awkward silence ensued before he said, “I’m Sloane.”
Torn between good and evil, I tried to suppress a smile, but the wickedness took over. Around him, the air was thicker, and the thought of kissi
ng him overwhelmed my desire to destroy him. I understood the risk. It was a fantasy, nothing more than a beautiful image implanted in my mind.
I straightened my apron and wiped the silly grin off my face because a Crescent Witch like me could not be afraid of a boy—even if he was there to kill me.
“Well, Sloane, since you’re the first newbie we’ve had in years, maybe ever, I guess I have to do the whole spiel for you. So, here it goes. Welcome to Enchanted Books and Beans. Our signature drink is the Magic Mocha. It’s a mocha latte served hot, cold, or blended.” I pointed to the oversize chalkboard on the wall behind me. “In addition to the house specialties, we offer everything you see here.”
His lips stretched into a straight line. “That was a mouthful.”
“You’re telling me. Try remembering all of it.”
He bent over the counter, and for some bizarre reason, I moved closer. Entranced by the honey scent of his tan skin and the warmth of his breath on my lips, I summoned every ounce of control not to kiss him.
“Other than the person making it, what’s so magical about the mocha?”
His forwardness caught me off guard, but I refused to let him see me sweat.
“Oh, you haven’t heard. We do magic tricks—or at least, that’s the rumor. I can make a drink appear out of thin air.” I snapped my fingers and smiled. “See? Just like that.”
Celeste sank into the barstool and giggled. “That’s the secret behind the beans.”
“I’m sold,” he said, his eyes lingering long enough to make me feel self-conscious. “I’ll try a hot mocha and a Pent-a-Graham cookie.”
