Hidden Magic: A Ley Line World Urban Fantasy Adventure (Relic Guardians Book 2)
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Table of Contents
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Ancient Magic
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
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Cursed Magic (Relic Guardians 3): A Preview
About the Authors
Copyright
Contents
Claim a FREE book in the Relic Guardians series!
Ancient Magic
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Thanks for reading!
Remember to download your free book
Cursed Magic (Relic Guardians 3): A Preview
About the Authors
Copyright
FREE Book Offer
Get your free book now.
Meet Jamie Oxford, wizard and magical relic hunter.
How much is the power to kill the world worth?
Jamie is sure that a magical relic in the hands of non-magical Ordinaries is not going to end well. When Pandora’s Box is discovered, he takes it upon himself to make sure it is protected as it ought to be – with magic.
His plan backfires spectacularly and Jamie finds himself on the run from the law, without the box, and completely isolated.
Pandora’s Box is gone, and Jamie can no longer be sure who is friend or enemy as he hunts for it before it falls into the wrong hands… hands that could open the box, unleash the powers within upon the world, and end humanity.
Can one rogue really stop that?
Rogue Guardians is Book 2.5 in the Relic Guardians series - enjoy it before you read book 3, Cursed Magic!
Fans of Lara Croft and Indiana Jones will enjoy this fast-paced urban fantasy adventure series filled with magic, action and kick-ass characters.
Get your free book now.
Hidden
Magic
Relic Guardians Book Two
Victoria DeLuis
Meg Cowley
Fans of Lara Croft and Indiana Jones will enjoy this fast-paced urban fantasy adventure series filled with magic, action, and kick-ass characters.
One little stone holds the key to multiple realities... and their survival.
On secondment from the British Archaeological Museum, curator Hayley Bevan is in New York cataloguing the exciting discoveries from an ancient Buddhist temple. But beneath the ordinary exterior of the world, there’s a magical underground operating on the fringes of society, and Hayley is about to discover more than she bargained for.
One impulsive act catapults Hayley out of her ordinary world and into one full of danger, wish fulfilling stones, and doorways to alternate realities.
Can Hayley find her place is the world of magic, or will she fall victim to a ruthless killer hell bent on getting what he wants?
Enter the Ley Line World and join the Relic Guardians: Zoe Stark, the no nonsense witch and bounty hunter, and Hayley Bevan, the museum curator newly endowed with magical powers, as they race against time to recover magical artefacts, defeat their enemies, and save the world from impending doom.
Chapter One
I gripped the door handle as the cabbie tore around the corner and joined the thundering traffic on Grand Central Parkway. Blankets of dark cloud released a torrential load that pounded on the roof of the taxi and obscured my view through the window.
If I wiped away the condensation from my breath on the glass and squinted through the droplets, I could just make out the strobe lights of aircraft overhead. “How much longer?” I asked the driver.
“Twenty minutes, if we're lucky.” He smiled at me in the mirror before returning his attention to the road.
I looked at my phone. Twenty past five. Great. This day had barely started, but it kept getting better and better. First, no wake-up call, and then no pickup. Instead of experiencing the comfort of the museum’s Audi A4, I sat on a spongy seat, pinned by a seat belt that kept tightening itself around my chest, and endured the lingering stench of sweat, Thai food, and banana air freshener.
Stress tightened my chest. I fought the urge to nibble my fingers and glanced at the time again. Damn it! I smoothed the creases out of my forehead, took a deep breath and dialled Ben’s number for the umpteenth time.
For a heartbeat, I thought he might answer, but no; I went through to voicemail. “Hi, Ben,” I said. “It’s Hayley. Again. I’m not sure if you’re still asleep. I tried banging on your door, but couldn’t wait any longer. I’m on my way to meet the shipment. The museum car was a no show, so I grabbed a taxi. Hopefully, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Call me as soon as you get this message, okay?”
After an eternity, the rain eased and we left the densely-populated area of Queens, only to be greeted by the immense expanse of JFK.
“Which cargo area did you say again?” the cabbie asked.
“Area A.” I pulled the paperwork from my satchel to check the details. “Hanger 19b.” I delved in deeper and emerged a few seconds later with my temporary ID from the New York Museum of Life and Antiquities, along with my ID for the British Archaeological Museum, which enabled us to pass through the security checkpoint with the minimal of fuss.
Now that we had arrived, I was practically jumping out of my seat to see the cargo. I’d only just heard of the Kailash exhibition in Tibet — no surprise, it was kept under tight wraps given the sacred beliefs surrounding the site — but it was being heralded as a complete success; at least within the confines of the museum. My job was to catalogue the finds and manage their future preservation.
Hangar 19b stood secluded at the end of a quiet road. As soon as the car came to a stop, I thanked the cabbie, paid the fare, and scrambled outside. The smell of jet fuel mingled with the oil-slick stench of water from the surrounding Bergen Basin hit me like a wall.
The Taxi driver rolled down his window. “Hey, lady,” he shouted over the sound of an aeroplane taking off. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around. You sure this is the right place?”
I took another look at the paperwork in my bag, and then at the large building surrounded by a chain-link fence. “That’s what the paperwork says.”
The cabbie looked at me as though I was from another planet. Although, being a British woman in New York, that might not have been far from the truth. “I’ll stick around for a bit, make sure you get in safely,” he said after a moment.
I nodded my thanks, then proceeded towards the building. The gate was open, so I slipped inside, moving through the vast, empty courtyard and scanning the area for any sign of movement. The sound of aircraft overwhelmed any other noises, and the eerie darkness of the night was only punctuated by the glare from the taxi headlight reflecting on the rain-kissed tarmac.
; I pulled my jacket tighter around me, but was unable to block out the cold air and the incessant thought that somebody would jump out and shoot me at any moment.
Now that the rain had stopped, I looked to the sky and wondered if the clouds would part and let the stars shine. Given the light pollution over New York, I doubted if the stars ever shone on the city. I sighed, frustrated with man’s obtrusive impact on nature, but then I realised part of the sky-glow was emanating from the far side of the hangar.
Somewhat reassured, I glanced over my shoulder and waved to the cabbie, then edged around the immense metal structure to the main doors. As soon as I did, my viewpoint on the world changed. I was definitely in the right place.
The stark contrast of sights, sounds, and smells overwhelmed me. The wide hangar doors stood open and the scene resolved itself into a bustling landscape, where the crank of machinery and yelling of people unloading the cargo mingled in a deafening cacophony. Hundreds of LED battens lit the area with an otherworldly glow, reflecting on the pristine white aluminium of a Boeing 747 freighter.
Unchallenged, I edged inside, craning my head and scanning the area like a meerkat in the hope of spotting someone in charge. I passed a small dolly transporting a crate, stamped with the museum logo, from the nose cargo door to a large box truck.
“Excuse me,” I shouted to the driver. “Where can I find the person in charge?”
With a jerk of his head, he directed me to the other side of the aircraft. I moved around the hangar, staying close to the walls in order to avoid hindering the unloading process. There must have been around thirty guys scurrying around with purpose — way more than I expected.
Relief washed over me when I spotted Ben directing the unloading of more crates from the side cargo door. Ben was the conservation expert in the Eastern Arts division. Although we hadn't had much of an opportunity to work together before this project, Ben had been working at the British Archaeological Museum for over six months and was thrilled with our temporary secondment to New York. I must admit, his enthusiasm and cheery nature had made the trip more enjoyable than most.
As if on cue, he turned and noticed me. After a moment, a flicker of recognition flashed on his handsome face and he smiled, then ran over to greet me.
“I thought you’d never make it,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” I replied. “The car didn’t show.” Although, now I thought about it, that clearly hadn’t made a difference to Ben. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours. I was worried you were still asleep.”
“Yeah, sorry, my battery’s dead.” Ben ran his hand sheepishly through his blond mop. “I kinda got talking to a few of these guys last night. We got chatting and went to a bar. Not that we’ve been drinking, just a few light beers.”
He squirmed and avoided my eyes, as though I might reprimand him for drinking before work. “I’m sure you were sensible,” I said, laying my hand on his. “I mean, you weren’t driving so...”
Ben shook his head. “Nope, definitely not driving. I got a lift here with the guys. I haven’t managed any sleep, but I think I’m sustaining myself on adrenaline and coffee at the moment. I can’t wait to get these crates back to the museum.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Speaking of which, I’d better get back to helping with the unloading,” Ben said, then jogged back to the plane.
“Hey,” I called. “Have you seen the customs officer? I need to go through the paperwork.”
“I saw him when we first arrived, but not since,” Ben shouted. “Just look for a large, bald guy carrying a clipboard. Looks like he’s got a stick up his butt.”
I smiled. “Stick up his butt, got it.”
After being ushered from one side of the hangar to another, I felt ten years older when I finally found the customs officer in a small back room. The door was closed when I approached, so I knocked, then entered before waiting for a response. Inside, a large bald guy was talking to a man in a high-end suit.
“That’s everything,” the man said before they shook hands.
As it was obvious they hadn’t heard me knock, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. Both men turned to look at me with unwelcome eyes.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m from the museum. I need to go through the customs paperwork.”
The guy in the suit turned to the officer and nodded. “I’ll be leaving. I’m sure everything’s in order,” he said before exiting the room.
The bald man shot me a hostile glance and moved towards the fridge in the kitchen area of the office.
“Look, I’m sorry if I disturbed you. Are you the customs officer? I need to go through these papers.” I pulled the wad of forms from my bag and reached to hand them to him.
He ignored me, grabbed a soda from the fridge, pulled the tab, and took a large swig. “All done,” he said, as if it were a burden to acknowledge me.
“What do you mean—” I began, before he cut me off.
“Paperwork’s all done.”
“How can the paperwork be ‘all done’ when I have it in my hand?”
He took another swig from the can. “You telling me I don’t know how to do my job?”
“No, of course not,” I said, surprised at the tone of his voice. “There just must have been some mistake.”
“Calm down, sweetheart,” he said. “Everything’s complete. There’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.”
I plastered a fake smile on my face and patiently resisted the urge to thrust a stick of my own up his sexist butt. “I appreciate the paperwork may have been completed in my absence, but it’s my job to make sure everything is correct and accounted for. I’m sure you understand.”
“Look, lady, as far as I’m concerned, the job’s a good’un. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long night and I’m off shift.” With that, he flung his empty can into the trash, shouldered past me, and left.
I steadied my shaking hands and took a deep breath before following him into the main hangar area. “The job is not done until I see the paperwork,” I said, racing to catch up. “As far as I have seen, the crates are being taken from the plane and directly loaded onto a truck. Where’s the customs inspection? Where’s the evidence to prove the items stated as being in the crates are the actual items in the crates?” Something wasn’t right about this whole set up, and I’d be damned if I didn’t act on my suspicions.
He carried on walking. I stopped and almost growled in frustration, then pulled my phone from my bag. “I’d like the name of your superiors, please. We’ll see what they have to say about your shoddy work.”
He turned, squared his shoulders, and walked straight up to me. I hadn’t realised how large he was until I strained to look up at his face.
“Maybe, it’s your own boss you need to call, sweetheart?” A glob of spittle landed on my cheek, but I stood my ground, unwilling to bow down to his threatening behaviour.
“Take a look, your precious cargo has gone,” he said, “and the paperwork along with it.” With that, he laughed in my face and walked away.
It was then I realised the sound of machinery and voices had stilled. The cargo doors on the plane were closed, but the box truck still stood in the entranceway. Before I could reach it, the engine rumbled to life. I raced to catch it but was too late. The truck pulled off into the night, leaving me alone in the hangar.
Great!
Chapter Two
I was dog-tired by the time I finally arrived at the museum a little after opening time. The cab dropped me off at the steps of the monumental entrance overlooking Central Park. I glanced at the impressive archway and towering white columns of the building and shielded my eyes from the glaring morning sun.
With a sigh, I mounted the steps, raced past the happy day-trippers, and prayed the shipment had arrived and was all accounted for. I entered through the wide oak doors and headed to the security entrance.
“Good morning,” I said t
o the guard. “Can you tell me if the Kailash shipment has arrived from the airport yet, please?”
He turned to his computer and started typing in the details.
“Indeed, it has,” a voice said behind me.
I turned and my heart sank at the unexpected presence of the museum director. “Good morning, Doctor Naidoo.”
“Good morning, indeed, Ms Bevan,” Tanya Naidoo said. “I’ve just received word that our shipment has arrived at the loading bay.”
The tension I was holding in my shoulders released. Thank goodness, it was there.
“I must admit,” Naidoo continued. “I’m surprised to find you enquiring about the shipment’s arrival and not actually overseeing it.”
“Yes,” I said. “The museum car didn’t arrive, I’m afraid, and there just wasn’t room in the truck, so I took a cab.”
“I see. Then, I must apologize for any inconvenience caused.”
“Not at all. These things happen.”
“Well,” said Naidoo, clapping her hands together. Excitement danced in her eyes. “Shall we see what this fabulous find has delivered us?”
I smiled, nodded my thanks to the guard, and accompanied Doctor Naidoo through the museum.
Columns surrounded us as we bustled across the pristine marble floors. The reverent whispers of visitors and the excited voices of children echoed through the long hallway.
“Are you sure you’ll have everything prepared for the celebration gala?” Naidoo asked lightly, although the wrinkle in her brow spoke of her worry.
I was all too aware of the approaching gala in four days’ time. Not to mention, the pressure to ensure everything went perfectly. Who the hell planned a celebration for an exhibition when they didn’t know what they’d found yet?
“I must admit to being a little nervous myself,” Naidoo confessed, then continued as if she’d been reading my thoughts. “We wouldn’t normally force you to rush such a sensitive job as cataloguing a find, but a large investor in the expedition, and indeed, the museum itself, insisted.”