Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

  “Checking if the bow isn’t too big. It needs to be a good ratio compared to your height.” He swayed the bow to the left and right, narrowing his eyes.

  A hot blush crept on my cheeks from being stared at like that. Not that he was looking at me for any reason but trying to gauge if the bow was the right size or not. Cullyn had made it adamantly clear that he hated me simply because of the species I belonged to. Still, no one had stared at me for this long and this intently ever before.

  “Should work.” Cullyn shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but the other ones are even larger, and you’re remarkably short.” He handed me the bow.

  I took it with one hand, instantly regretting it. The bow was a lot heavier than I expected.

  “To answer your question about why archery is such a viable skill for us,” Cullyn said while he picked out his own bow, not hesitating for a second as he grabbed the weapon, “is because once it’s time for your initiation ritual from a white robe to a black robe, you will need to make an offering to the Blood God. An offering you have hunted yourself. Look there.”

  He pointed behind me and I turned around. At the back of the Red Keep lay an enormous stretch of woodland, reaching almost to the horizon. Lush, green trees as far as the eye could see. “Those woods are ancient, dating back to the Era of the Gods. They have seen wars, hardship, love, forgiveness, everything. In those woods, you must go hunt for a prey the Red God will accept. When you capture it, you may not kill it, because it needs to be sacrificed in the Holy Halls of the Red God, in the dungeons of the Keep.”

  I swallowed hard. Killing a living being? Sacrificing it? I had skinned rabbits before, eaten cow meat, but that was for food, for survival. Not to appease a bloodthirsty God. And I never had to go hunting for it myself.

  “Now, come on.” Cullyn waved for me to come closer. He moved his right foot back and lifted the bow and arrow. Concentrating, his eyes narrowed, he pulled back the arrow, and took a deep breath. Then, he breathed out and released the arrow.

  It hit the bulls’ eye.

  The target was not that far, and I was sure trained archers could reach a target much farther away, but Cullyn smiled smugly and handed me an arrow. “Your turn, mage.”

  “Again, not a mage.” I lifted my bow and tried to position the arrow properly. My arms trembled from effort when I pulled the arrow backward. This was a lot harder than it looked. Concentrating on the target was almost impossible; I was too busy trying not to drop the arrow. Gritting my teeth, I pulled back the string as far as I could, and then released the arrow.

  It sizzled downwards almost immediately, hitting the ground little more than a meter in front of me.

  Deflated, I stared at the arrow as if it had personally betrayed me.

  “As I suspected, you’re not strong enough.” Cullyn leaned on his bow, looking as happy as a cat who had just had milk. “You’ll need to get stronger first, mage, or you’ll never be able to shoot properly.”

  By the Gods, I wanted to punch that arrogant smirk from his face.

  “I thought you were here to train me,” I shot back. “So far, I’ve heard a lot of nagging, not seen a lot of training.”

  Cullyn scoffed. “Fine, but until you get more strength in those scrawny arms, I can train you from sunrise until sunset and you still won’t be able to hit the target. Now, stand like this.” Without warning, he had his hands on my waist, twisting my hips until I stood in the proper position.

  I froze on the spot. My heart hammered so loud in my chest that I feared he would hear it too. Why was he touching me like this?

  No one had ever touched me like that.

  Still, he was an idiot who hated me, so I ignored the tingling residue of his warm touch, and focused.

  Focus on the bow and arrow, on the target.

  Cullyn touched my elbow, urging me to lift my arms. “Now, pull back the arrow,” he said.

  I followed his command, but the moment my arm pulled the arrow backward, my muscles tensed and trembled.

  Cullyn groaned and put his arm forward, his hand resting on top of mine. Together, we pulled the arrow back, with surprising ease. I was still the one holding back the arrow, the one in control, but if Cullyn let go, the object would go flying.

  He was right; I wasn’t strong enough.

  “Take a deep breath.” His voice was close to my ear, and my heart smashed against my ribcage so hard I worried one of my ribs could crack.

  I breathed in deep, collecting as much air in my lungs as I could.

  “And…let go.”

  We both let go at the same time, and I breathed out the moment the arrow was released.

  The arrow hit the target. Not in the bulls’ eye but on the outer corners, but it still hit the target, whereas my own feeble attempt had ended with the arrow landing in front of my feet on the grass.

  Cullyn stepped backward, away from me.

  The moment he was gone, I missed his presence, the warmth of his body pressing against mine, of his arm encircling mine.

  Oh Gods, what was wrong with me? Why did I feel this way towards a brute who had zero respect for me?

  “As I said, once you have enough strength, you should be able to at least make a somewhat decent shot.” Cullyn reached for his own bow and arrow, and fired off another shot at the target, calm and in control, totally unlike me.

  “Keep on training,” he said when I didn’t move. “Pull back the arrow as far as you can and hold it for as long as you can.”

  Reluctantly, I walked toward the target, grabbed the arrow and pulled it free.

  While I did as Cullyn had told me to, trying to pull back the arrow as far as I could for as long as I could, I kept on glancing at him every now and then.

  He was handsome, in a way, I had to admit. But he was also brutish, arrogant, had made it clear he hated my guts, and there was no reason at all why I should’ve been attracted to him.

  But Gods help me, I was.

  Chapter Nine

  After spending a few more hours with Cullyn training archery, he led me back inside the Red Keep.

  “At this time each day, we meditate, try to connect with the Red God,” he explained. “Your next class is meditation.”

  I frowned. Meditating wasn’t completely new to me—my mother had done it often when trying to channel as much magic as possible, before it was banned—but I had never considered using it to connect with a God. How would one even go about that?

  “So, then you… hear the Red God?” I hoped the skeptical tone in my voice hadn’t given me away. Maybe it was common for acolytes who had a real calling to hear the Red God all the time.

  “Not often, no. But on a rare occasion, someone does. Even if you don’t hear the Red God, if you open your mind to him, he can influence you in your choices and in your life.”

  I was surprised by Cullyn’s honesty, and he seemed equally surprised, because he scratched his neck, uncomfortable for the first time since I met him.

  “Anyway, Ethel will teach you how to meditate. Second door on the left.”

  “You’re leaving?” This morning, he had escorted me all the way into the greenhouse, and it seemed strange he was leaving me to my own devices now. If I was so untrustworthy, who was to say I wouldn’t go snooping around instead of heading straight towards Ethel’s class?

  “You’ll manage.”

  He left abruptly, and I wondered what had spooked him to the point he practically fled from me.

  While snooping around sounded infinitely more exciting than trying to meditate and connect with a God I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to, given he could’ve probably sniffed out my real intentions from miles away, I had to pretend to be a good student. If Altheia kicked me out—or worse—it would be up to Sebastian to fulfill my mission here, and I couldn’t expose my brother to that risk.

  To my surprise, class had already started, and the moment I walked in, the Priestess at the front gestured for me to sit down on one of the mats rolled out on the floor. The spot ne
xt to the boy who I suspected was a half-dwarf and who had sat next to me at lunch, was still free, so I chose that spot and sat down.

  “Cross your legs,” the Priestess—Ethel, I supposed—said, obviously reciting it for my sake since everyone else had their legs crossed already. “Put your hands like this.” She held up her arms, showing me her index touching her thumb.

  I followed her example.

  “Straighten your back,” she ordered. “Close your eyes. Take a deep breath.”

  Closing my eyes while surrounded by strangers felt awkward, but I did so anyway. While Ethel’s voice droned on, I tried to clear my mind. Connecting with the Red God ranked about the lowest item on my wish-list, but if everyone was opening their minds, I could try to get a feel for them with my powers.

  It was dangerous to use my powers while surrounded by my enemies, but the only one who might’ve picked up on something was Tamrin, and she was so desperate to hide her true self that I doubted she would rat on me. Still, I focused on the others’ thoughts, not hers.

  Opening my own mind, I tried to reach out to the acolytes and connect with them, but subtle enough that they wouldn’t realize it.

  The half-Elven girl’s mind was blocked. The wall wasn’t that strong, but tearing it down would raise her defenses, so I decided to stay away from her as well. I had no idea if the girl even knew she possessed a mental barrier, or if it was a side effect of her Elf heritage.

  The boy next to me was easy to connect to. His mind was so easy to read it was laughable. Rather than trying to reach out to the Red God, he seemed more occupied with what we would have for dinner.

  One by one, I pried the students’ minds, just to get an inkling of an idea of what occupied their thoughts. The majority of them were indeed trying to connect with the Blood God. Sometimes quite desperately, case in point being the girl with the braided brown hair. She practically screamed at the Red God to answer her. Some of the acolytes were more occupied with thoughts of dinner, or mulling their attraction toward one of the other Red Priests, although I couldn’t pry deep enough into their thoughts to figure out which Priest or Priestess was the object of their affection.

  Empaths had once been considered the most dangerous of mages, because of the erratic, uncontrollable nature of their powers. When I saw what my magic could do even in its latent, barely-even-there form, I understood why. The most powerful empaths, back in magic’s golden times, could twist someone’s mind until the person barely recognized themselves anymore.

  I retracted my magic and focused on slowing down my breathing for the rest of the class’s duration. So much had happened in the past few days. Traveling here. The icy welcome by Altheia and Cullyn. Classes. Archery. My dream about Veritas…

  The dream seemed like ages ago now, as if it had happened in another life. This morning, I had been so certain that my dream about a man locked up in an infernal cage had been real, and not a figment of my imagination. Now, in the light of day, I wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

  The class dragged on, and I was glad when Ethel said we could open our eyes and get up. My legs were stiff, my arms hurt, and my back cracked when I stood up straight.

  “Did anyone make a connection?” Ethel gave a hopeful smile, which quickly deflated as everyone shook their heads. “Better luck next time.”

  The teacher reminded me of a mouse. She was small, her hair almost white, her face a map of wrinkles, and she stood slightly hunched over. Of all the Red Priests I had encountered so far; she was no doubt the oldest.

  “You can now head to the common room for a break before dinner,” the old woman said. “And don’t despair. One day, you will be able to connect with the Red God. Once he deems you worthy.”

  I shivered when she said that. The God of bloodshed and pain didn’t need to deem me worthy for anything, thank you very much.

  With those words, Ethel ushered us outside. The other acolytes started heading further down the hallway, and I followed them, presuming they were going to the common room Ethel had spoken about.

  After a small trek, we entered the common room, existing of a cozy sitting area with a large fireplace, comfortable couches, and a game area occupied by a chess table and a table for playing cards. While everyone spread out, I was left standing in the entrance. No one bothered to talk to me, no one asked if I wanted to join them. I had never felt so cast out before in my life.

  Eventually, the half-Elven girl waved at me, gesturing for me to join her on the couch. Now I could take a closer look at more than her hair, I spotted her slightly pointy ears, heart-shaped face, pale blue eyes resembling a frozen lake in winter.

  “Reslyn,” she introduced herself. “I’d shake your hand, but Tamrin warned me not to. You’re a mage.” She pointed at the rune on my forehead. “I knew quite a few mages back in Kilgon, where I grew up. You heard of it?”

  Kilgon was one of the largest cities in the Western Kingdom, and I doubted there was anyone in the Seven Kingdoms who had not heard of it.

  “Yes, I heard of it.”

  Reslyn raised an eyebrow. “You’re wondering why I grew up in Kilgon, and not in the Elven Kingdoms.”

  Could she read minds, or was the question just so obviously reflected on my features? “Well, yes,” I had no choice but to admit.

  “Because my mother was a strong supporter of the Elven Queen, and the usurper threatened to kill my entire family. We had no choice but to flee.” Reslyn said it matter-of-factly, but the shadow passing over her pale blue eyes betrayed she was still scarred by the past. “My father had lived in Kilgon his entire life, so it seemed like a good option.”

  An Elf, even a halfling, growing up in a crowded city, far away from the ancient trees circled by spiraling staircases, canopies of leaves and seas of grass that they called home. I felt her grief over that; it wrapped around her like a second skin, covering her like a blanket.

  “And what brought you here?” I asked, stretching my legs. I was still stiff from the hours perched on the floor trying to meditate and failing horrendously.

  Reslyn licked her lips. “I got attacked.” She didn’t offer anything else, and I was too shocked to pry.

  The poor girl looked down at her sleeve, tugging it nervously. “Anyway, what about you? What brings a mage to the keep of the Red Priests?”

  It felt wrong to lie to her, but I had no choice. I couldn’t risk blowing my cover. “A calling. Not that I can really explain it. I just knew I needed to go here.”

  Reslyn nodded, as if my explanation made sense. “Most of the others here avoid me.” She glanced over her shoulder at six of the acolytes huddled around the chess table. The girl with the braided brown hair was playing against a guy whom I guessed to be in his early twenties, with straight black hair and shiny white teeth. “Because I’m a half-Elf. But it’s all right because I’ve got Tamrin.”

  I looked around, wondering where the shapeshifter was, but I didn’t catch her anywhere. “Where is she, by the way?”

  “Oh, she’s around.” Reslyn waved dismissively. “Anyway, you should be wary of the others. They don’t like anyone who’s not entirely like them. And that rune on your forehead works like a red cloth on a bull.”

  “Unfortunately.” I sighed. “I feel like a fish out on dry land, to be honest.”

  “You’ll feel better soon. The days are quite monotone here. Every night, we have the binding ritual, which is a fancy name but doesn’t mean that much. The High Priestess takes a drop of your blood, drops it on the Book of Blood, and then the Red God answers.”

  “He answers?” I grimaced, already imagining a thundering voice roaring above our heads and shouting my betrayal for everyone to hear.

  “He writes in the Book of Blood,” Reslyn replied, which sounded less threatening and somehow more ominous at the same time. “Usually it’s just to confirm what we all think, namely that we’re not ready. Every once in a while, he writes something else, says person X or Y is ready, or demands an audience with whoever he deems is
ready.”

  “So, he judges by our blood whether we’re ready or not?”

  “Yes,” Reslyn said. “Something like that. I don’t pretend to know how exactly the Red God makes his choice, but that’s about the jest of it.”

  “And then what happens?” I shoved in my seat, trying to find a position in which my legs didn’t hurt that much.

  “Then, if he deems you worthy, there’s an initiation ritual. I have zero clues what happens during that, but afterwards, you get to shed the grey robe and put on a white robe, and your time of servitude begins. You have to cleanse yourself of your previous life, learn to serve the Red God’s demands, follow all his commands.”

  “So, the Red God actually talks to the white robes?”

  “Not exactly.” Reslyn shrugged. “He speaks through the High Priestess most of the time.”

  “Ah.” I bit my lip. The next stage in this journey to becoming a Red Priest sounded more harrowing than the first. Having to obey Altheia’s every command when she obviously despised me? I shivered just thinking about it.

  “I don’t know much about the stages beyond that. White is all about becoming pure, shedding your past life and sins. Black is all about embracing your own darkest desires. It’s a juxtaposition, if you ask me. Red is when you’ve managed to combine these parts of yourself.”

  “That sounds complicated.” My frown deepened, and I worried how I would ever get past any of those stages, let alone become a fully-fledged Red Priest. But how could I uncover the order’s secrets if I didn’t get to join their ranks as a full member? Even now, they had already banned me from studying runecraft because they feared how I could use it against them.

  “It takes years, sometimes decades,” Reslyn admitted.

  Her answer prompted me to ask, “How long have you been here?”

  The half-dwarven boy passed us by and took a seat in the lounge chair opposite of the couch we were sitting on. Behind him, dark purple carpets decorated the wood-framed walls. He put his feet on a stool and crossed his arms behind his neck.

  “That’s Thor,” Reslyn whispered when she caught my gaze. “Not very bright nor friendly, I’m afraid.”