by Sierra Cross
Rise
Spelldrift: Coven of Fire Book 1
Sierra Cross
Enigmatic / Elixir
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Glossary of Terms
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
Buy Ignite Now
Sneak Peak
Chapter One
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Want a free book?
Letter to readers
Published by Enigmatic Books
Copyright © 2017 by Sierra Cross
Editing By: Jaime’s Editing Service
Proofreading by Dana Proof Write
Cover art by Y. Nikolova at Ammonia Book Covers
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events, and people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Glossary of Terms
Amalgam (mal) - A magicborn individual born of a forbidden union, such as the offspring of a witch and a guardian. Historically hunted down as abominations, they are even now viewed as dangerous by modern Council Supremas.
Caedis - A highly intelligent, exceedingly strong class of demon able to take over a human bodies near the moment of its owner’s death.
Council Suprema - A legal body made up of representatives from every local type of magicborn. A city’s Council Suprema is judge, jury, and executioner for the magicborn within its jurisdiction.
Demongates - Places on the earth where the veil between the Earthly Realm and the Demon Realm is very thin. These sites must be warded to prevent the free passage of demons into the Earthly Realm.
Fidei - A secretive, Wont-led international organization that oversees the magicborn and keeps their doings hidden from the Wont world.
guardian - A magicborn race whose strongest male members are trained to serve as coven bodyguards and fighters. Their magic solely enhances their combat abilities.
magicborn - Referring to the wider community that encompasses witches, warlocks, guardians, vampires, shifters, fae, and even rarer creatures such as gargoyles.
mage - A Wont who studies magic and makes use of potions or magic-charged objects in place of wielding inborn magical gifts.
Nequam (Neq) - One of various forms of low-level demons who use glamours to conceal their hideous looks and who instantly reincarnate on the other side of the Demongate upon being killed.
runes - An ancient set of symbols that, when etched onto a blade, turns lower-level demons to dust upon death.
scry - To divine a living being’s location, using one’s own magic and the simple tools of an enchanted pendant.
shifter - A magicborn individual with the ability to shift into one particular species of animal, as determined by their bloodline.
skinsuit - A human body that is being commandeered by a Caedis demon.
spellbeads - Small, marble-sized beads of different shapes that come pre-charged with a particular spell. They activate when shattered.
The Spelldrift - a central Seattle neighborhood that has always been a magicborn hub, thanks to its unique subterranean current of free-flowing magical energy.
ward - A magical veil that serves as a security system, lock, or boundary. Stronger magic creates stronger wards.
wardsuit - The magical equivalent of a bulletproof vest; battle garb that absorbs much of the impact of a demon blast.
warlock - A magicborn male whose inborn magic allows him to cast spells, perform incantations, and do various other magical tasks. Traditionally, warlocks are tasked with hunting demons and policing the witch community.
witch - A magicborn female whose inborn magic allows her to cast spells, perform incantations, and do various other magical tasks. Traditionally, witches play many roles in the magicborn community, including building and maintaining wards, brewing potions, and controlling magical commerce.
Wont - An ordinary human with no magical gifts.
Chapter One
It was Friday night at Sanctum bar, and I, Alix Hill, was resident high priestess of mixology.
The illuminated glass shelves of brightly-colored liquor behind me threw an exotic light on the customers’ entranced faces. My practiced arm flipped the cocktail shaker into an arc—just enough torque for three complete spins. I caught it in the air with my other hand, oohs and ahhs filling my ears from the usual Seattle hipsters and young techies swarming the bar. But I hardly noticed the crowd. Too deep in the zone, as my waitress pal Emma put it. All I could feel was the icy, stainless steel shaker pressed to my fingertips. So cold it burned.
Bartending was one part science, one part art, and one part showmanship. In the two years since I’d graduated college, I’d gotten good enough to make it look—almost—like magic.
Or, the closest thing to magic that a Wont like me could manage.
With a loud smack, I brought the shaker to the bar, popped the lid off, and shut off the beer tap. Eight drinks on the serving tray in under three minutes.
“Order up!” I shouted over the thrum of the bass and bustle of bodies. Emma nodded to me from across the room where she was serving a rowdy eight-top. She looked a little off her game. To help her out, I slid a plate of chicken wings down three chairs, threading the glasses with ease, and looked up to see a regular sit down at the bar.
Long eyelashes hooded smoke-grey eyes on his statuesque face. My pulse quickened a little. Lanky metrosexuals weren’t my usual type, but Asher’s odd charisma shattered all my rules. Moving with a spring in my step, I flicked a highball glass off the shelf, caught it behind my back, and grabbed the bourbon.
“One mint julep.” The smell of muddled mint leaves wafted up as I walked it over to him with a grin.
“You read my mind,” Asher crooned with a refined British accent.
“Yes, I’m psychic,” I teased him. “Or, it’s the only thing you ever order.”
“Well, why stray from a classic?” He reached for the drink, revealing hands and wrists encased in long, black leather gloves. They looked more charmingly geeky than stylish like the rest of him. But I’d never seen him without those gloves. “You know.” He brought the highball to his lips. “If F. Scott Fitzgerald hadn’t immortalized this drink in the Great Gatsby—”
“—it would’ve been lost forever,” I playfully finished his sentence with a fake British accent to mimic his. As I was talking I saw Emma pick up the drink tray, shoulders a little slumped. Well, maybe not slumped exactly, but it wasn’t the queen of the bar attitude she usually sported. Huh.
“Am I repeating myself?” he asked in mock horror. “If you’d ever come to the bookstore I’d show you some things that would be real conversation starters.”
“Too bad I’m deathly allergic to books.”
Asher groaned and clutched his chest, as if my words wounded him.
“Don’t worry, the drink will heal you.” With a wink, I sidled back
to the other end of the bar, feeling grateful that this job let me live in my body. I was only half-joking about my book allergy. In college, my muscles turned to mush from all that sitting and studying, and my hands always felt cold.
The cut, crystal tip-jar was about as full as it could get, so I made a note to empty it after I filled the next round of drinks. The flaming coffee drinks always slowed me down, but on the bright side it boosted my tips when people saw the brandy burn off my finger as I lit the beverage. I pointed my flaming finger like a gun and blew it out.
Then it happened. Across the room I saw Emma jerk away from one of the guys at the eight-top, his hand still hovering at thigh height. My fingertips tingled with heat, itching to put these damn entitled tech bros in their place. I caught Emma’s eye and mouthed, Want me to get Tony? She rolled her eyes at me. The club was short a bouncer, and I could see the one we had left palming money from a giggling blonde. Making a little side deal of party favors. I shook my head. He was supposed to keep that mess outta here. You okay? I air asked. Emma nodded, more like blowing me off.
There was a new face in the empty barstool next to Asher. A pixie-cute redhead, her head thrown back, laughing in earnest at one of his jokes. And here I thought he only had eyes for me.
Not that I was actually jealous. Happily single here. My year-long friends-with-benefits arrangement with Brett, the other bartender, ended last month when he started getting clingy.
I dealt the redhead a coaster. It spun to a stop right at her twelve o’clock. “Whatcha drinking?” I asked, but I got this gut check like I should be calling her by name. Her sparkling blue eyes looked so familiar…
“Alix!” She said my name in four syllables with a hint of a southern accent. Suddenly I felt an ache in the pit of my stomach like a pebble, telling me I didn’t want to recognize her. Too late. “It’s me, Callie!” She threw her arm over the bar and drew me in for an awkward hug.
Callie. With that name came a flood of memories. Summer picnics at Caster’s Park. Me and my best friend Liv playing and exploring the park while little Callie tagged along. Our dads gathered around the grill. Our mothers laughing together, clutching their velvet bags full of charms, spellbeads, scrying pendants, and other magical objects. Objects that we kids were assured we would one day wield as coven witches. Of course now I knew that for me, that day would never come.
The pebble in my stomach now a full-sized stone, I pulled free from her squeeze and steadied myself. Blinking away the tears that blurred my vision.
“Oh, wow, Callie!” I had to fake a moderate amount of enthusiasm so as not to hurt her feelings. But I didn’t want to open any doors either. “Are you visiting from…where was it? Oklahoma?”
“Texas. That’s where my grandparents took me, after the accident.” She said that word as if it was just describing some ordinary day, and not the extinction level event it was to me. Her mother died that day too, but she talked about it like she’d moved on. “And I’m not just visiting, I’m back for good!”
“Awesome.” Not really. It meant I could run into her again, and every time I did I’d ache like this all over again.
“Soon as I got my degree in Ancient Languages, I got on the next bus here.”
I swallowed. “Wow, you took a bus here from Texas?” No force of nature could make me endure that.
“It was the only way I could afford to come. My grandparents are…less than supportive. But that’s okay!” Sheesh, her optimism wouldn’t be doused. Some things never changed. “What’s important is I’m here now. We can get back on track with what our mothers and grandmothers were doing.” She overemphasized the words like she was speaking in code I should understand.
I shook my head, pretending not to know what she was talking about, hoping she’d get the hint.
Instead, she whispered, “You know, magic. I’ve been reading the signs. The old protections are crumbling. The Sisterhood’s more important than ever.”
I turned my head both ways to check who was listening, like a paranoid spy in a bad movie. The Sisterhood was what witches called each other, in private. What was she thinking, bringing this up in a crowded bar?
Worse, to my horror Asher was suddenly leaning in, on the edge of his seat, looking amused and intrigued. I knew about the Spelldrift’s tourists—ordinary humans fascinated by our kind—but I didn’t think Asher would turn out to be one of those. “Geez, Callie. Way to be discreet.”
She shrugged me off. “Like any of the Wonts in here are listening.”
I motioned to Asher, who was grinning ear to ear. “Your friend’s asking you a question, Alix. Don’t change the subject.”
“Callie, it’s great to see you. Really.” I tried to make it sound heartfelt. But shit, she’d opened so many doors I thought I’d wedged shut. And it wrenched me to have to say this out loud, once again. “Sorry to break it to you, but I’m out. My aunt tried to train me for years. I just don’t have the gift. I’m a Wont.” I said the witches word for a nonmagical person with exaggerated disdain.
“No way! I don’t believe that’s possible.”
“It’s not just po—”
“All you need’s a proper witch to train you.” There was that stinking optimism bubbling up again. “Oh my gosh, we can train together!” That sweet smile I remembered. Oh, Callie…. “And then we can restart the coven…”
“Unfortunately, it’s a definitive diagnosis.” Why was Asher tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at me, as if I’d just proved myself a fascinating specimen of a butterfly? His focused eye contact made me shiver…till I saw Callie’s crestfallen face. She looked like a kicked puppy. But what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t help her. I had negligible amounts of magic in me…unless you counted making awesome cocktails. “Hey.” It hit me that Callie would be exactly twenty-one now. “If you want to stick around, I’ll buy you a drink. But it’s stacking up and I gotta get back to it.”
Callie bit her lower lip, and a memory surfaced of how hard she’d cried one year when Liv and I caught a leopard frog by the lake and put him in a jar to show our dads. The most sensitive of the three of us, Callie argued that it wasn’t right that we took the frog away from its family. She wailed nonstop until we let it go free. Which we were planning to do anyway. And then all three of us were taken away from our families, away from each other. My life hadn’t been the same since.
To my relief, she didn’t turn on the waterworks but grabbed a pen from her purse and scribbled on her coaster. “Here’s my number.” She handed it to me. “Text me if you want to hang out and catch up. I’m working at Strong Brew just over on Harvard. Come by. I’m there afternoons and weekends.” She said it in such a way that she knew I wouldn’t.
I pocketed the coaster to be polite and headed back down the bar, ready to slam out twenty drinks one after the other playing catch up.
But before I could start, I saw that dilweed at the bro table had his hand planted on Emma’s ass.
I turned to the front door. No Tony. My muscles twitched with adrenaline and my hands started to tingle. The guy squeezed Emma’s butt cheek hard. She was trying to back away, but it was so crowded she was penned in. Then he stood and slid up behind her.
Blood pounded in my ears and the tingling in my hands became a force I couldn’t resist. I rested my knuckles on the massive wooden bar and bounded my 5′4″ frame over it with ease, like it was the vault in gymnastics. Tight leather pants and high-heeled cowboy boots didn’t slow me down. I glided through the crowd like a driven knife. In the space of one breath, I slipped in between them and pressed my body up against his.
“Hey big boy, you looking for some action?”
Drunkenly, he smiled back…till he realized I had his left nut in the mother of all vice grips. My fingers knew the exact amount of pressure to apply to cause maximum pain without permanent damage. I felt his knees buckle, but he caught himself—perhaps when he sensed that if he fell, his ball would stay with me.
“You do anything like
that again in here and I keep one of these as a souvenir. Got it?”
He looked at me defiantly, “Come on guys, let’s get out of this rat hole. The drinks suck anyway.”
Every member of his crew looked a little shell shocked, but they got up and followed him out the door.
Emma pushed out a frustrated breath. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Hey, those guys can’t treat you like that.”
“Yeah, well they just walked out without paying.” Her hands trembled with anger. At the guy who grabbed her? Or…oh shit…at me, too, for interfering? “Now I have to cover their tab and I get stiffed on tips. You know how hard I’ve been trying to save.” She shook her head and stepped into the jostling crowd, getting swallowed up by it before I could say anything.
I needed to jump right back into the rhythm of making drinks, but my hands wouldn’t stop tingling—almost like an electric charge was caught beneath the skin. The feeling had a sickly familiarity about it. It was the same tingling I’d felt in the schoolyard before a fight, but back then it had only lasted for a couple of minutes. I’d always chalked it up to adrenaline. God, seeing Callie really must have poked at a hornet’s nest in my core. I refused to get all whiney about it. I had a decent childhood. Aunt Jenn, my mom’s sister, stepped in after my parent’s untimely exit. She wasn’t my mom, but she was as good a stand-in as you could ask for. I shook my hands, hoping to expel the tingling. Reaching up to grab a highball glass, I tipped one off the shelf and it slipped through my jittery fingers. As I tried to grab for it, I knocked three more off. They shattered into a million pieces. Could this night get any worse?
As I swept the last shard into the dust pan, I felt a shadow looming over me. Crap. It was Randy, the owner of Sanctum.
“Alix, my office.” Not a request. It never was with him.
“It’s really stacked up right now, can this wait a few?” I’m hoping my penny-pincher boss just wanted to bitch about product loss and the broken glass.
