Seacursed: The Mage Circle Trilogy: 1

by L. A. McGinnis

  SEACURSED

  MAGE CIRCLE TRILOGY: 1

  L.A. MCGINNIS

  Copyright L.A. McGinnis 2020

  All rights reserved

  Editor: Arran at Editing720

  Cover Design: Janus Designs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form or by any means, without express permission from the author or publisher. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  Please contact the author for any use in a review.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, including businesses, companies, events or locales is purely coincidental. This author acknowledges the trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-970112-20-7

  ISBN-13: 978-1-970112-21-4

  Published in the United States of America by Fools Journey Press, 2020

  Please visit my website at www.lamcginnis.com

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Also By L.A. Mcginnis:

  1

  Aquae Nympha

  Victoria rubbed her aching wrists, not daring a backward glance at the uniformed soldiers looming behind her.

  The Mage Circle wanted something. From the tinge of desperation in the air, it had to do with her gift—another dirty job they wanted handled, most likely. Judging from the rapacious gleam in their half-lidded eyes, the job was a difficult one, but then…weren’t they all?

  While she watched, an evil smile slowly curled the edges of the High Mage’s mouth, which she was quite sure was meant to be reassuring.

  An hour ago, a trio of Circle guardsmen had yanked her off the street and “escorted” her to Obsidian Hall, the bastion of the Mage Circle’s council of twelve. No warning, no explanation, no alternative but to obey. Once she realized they’d assembled the entire council for this little meeting, her best option was to feign indifference. Showing even the slightest hint of fear in front of such powerful sorcerers would shift her from a valuable asset to a dispensable loose end in the blink of an eye.

  Which was why she let her bored gaze drift slowly across the cruel faces of the twelve council members and waited for them to tell her why they’d dragged her in here.

  “You’re a hard one to find, Monroe.”

  She met the High Mage’s gaze unwaveringly and smiled. “I was out in the open at the edge of St. James Park. Not too difficult to find, since obviously, I’m here.” Inwardly, she winced at her flippant tone. They’d make her pay for that later, but for now, they required her expertise.

  “Do you know why we called you, Monroe?” His voice was rock hard, and his glare promised retaliation.

  She shrugged. “If I did, then I guess I’d be on your side of the table, and not this one.” Her smug smile vanished as his thin face shuttered. Yup, she was definitely going to pay for her cheeky remarks. Even so, Victoria fought the urge to scoff at their puffed-up importance. What a travesty this was. The Mage Circle and their all-seeing rubbish. But it was the reason why they were so powerful. Knowing the future had its advantages, since that was what had landed her here, in front of this table of death-dealing arseholes.

  Her problem was that they held the leash around her neck. Always had and always would. Which meant she had to do their bidding.

  The High Mage—Worton—leaned forward. “The only reason you are here is to track down an escaped prisoner. Quickly and without any outside assistance.” He shoved a file across the table, and Victoria caught it before it hit the floor. “You will collect your gear and begin your pursuit no later than nightfall. Because of the importance of this target, you’ve been given a time extension—double your usual allotment. You will report back to me within the forty-eight-hour window, and me alone. Do you have any questions?”

  Of course she did, but to ask them would seal her death. As would failure, or any number of actions that translated into vulnerability, so she kept her mouth shut, took the damn file and met the sorcerer’s eyes with a gaze every bit as black as his.

  “Understood, Worton.”

  “That’s First High Mage Worton to you, you bloody Tracker.”

  Victoria smiled easily. “My mistake, First High Mage. I’ll report back when I’ve located my prey.” The man…sorcerer…was a total bastard. But a powerful one. Besides, he was right. She was nothing but a Tracker. Worse yet, she was a slave. Only a tool to be used by people more powerful than her. Still, Victoria swaggered as she left the cold, bleak council chamber. Held her head high, her shoulders thrown back, the file hanging loosely from two fingers as if she didn’t care if she dropped it on the floor. It was only when she was through the doors, down the hall and emerged onto London’s Vandon Street that she breathed. And not until the gravel crunched underneath her feet in St. James Park did her shoulders truly relax.

  She cut through the verdant public park, Buckingham Palace looming dark and grey to her right. The cool surface of the lake called to her as she wove through the labyrinth of streets that made up Central London, but she ignored even that. She was on the clock and couldn’t afford to waste even a moment. Once she lost the two incompetents following her, Victoria climbed the steps to her flat and laid her hand against the metal door. With a thought, it sprang open, and she locked it behind her with the same spell.

  A cuppa tea, her hair into a messy bun, her favorite comfortable clothes, and she was ready to find out just what was so important the Mages had dragged her into Obsidian Hall for today’s meeting. Procrastinating, she spun the thin iron band welded on her right wrist, a twin to the one on her left. She’d say she did it for luck. But touching them reminded her just how fragile her own existence was.

  Only then did she open the file, her gaze still focused outside, on the hazy gleam of light shining through her dirty window. Her hand went unconsciously to the thick chain around her neck, heavy with metal trinkets.

  Whoever was inside this file would be dead soon. The moment she looked down at the picture, the moment she saw their face. That single glance would be this person’s death sentence. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. If she failed to bring them in, it would be her head in the guillotine gulley.

  Except it wouldn’t.

  Because she always found her prey.

  It was what she did, and she’d never failed the Mages, not even once. Those sorcerers who’d bought her as child and fo
rced her into this life of slavery might look down at her and despise her all they wanted, but damn it, she was the best. And they needed her skills. Someday, she’d turn it all around on them, and when that day came, they’d regret every vile task they’d ever made her do.

  But until then, she’d do their bidding.

  Because the cost of failure was too high a price to pay.

  2

  wildfire

  “Lucas Grey, you truly are a bastard.”

  In answer, Luc grinned down at the woman pinned beneath him and nipped the end of her nose as her body went loose and languid beneath him. “But I do love what you do with your tongue.” Alexis sighed.

  “And my fingers, if I remember correctly.” Lucas breathed in her ear, feeling her shiver against him as he thrust into her again. Alexis was his go-to, his weekly fuck without strings, without questions, without any kind of complications. In other words, absolutely the best kind of partner there was. They worked together, played together and fought together on the streets of New York as part of a legion of unearthly beings who protected the city from demons.

  “More.” Alexis hissed. “Harder, Lucas.” Fingernails as sharp as knives dug into his back as he complied. And then he watched, detached, as she climaxed, before bowing his head and allowing himself to release into her. Ladies first, as they said. And he was, if not anything else, a gentleman. Sated, he rolled off her, feeling a small amount of the restless energy inside him uncoil.

  “Jesus, Lucas. That was amazing.” Alexis stretched out alongside him, her body muscular and lean, hair a dark veil across his pillow. “What time are we heading out into the city tonight?”

  “I think seven.” He snagged his phone from the nightstand. “Eight,” he corrected himself. “Get a couple hours of sleep and I’ll swing back by and pick you up. I’m heading down to check and make sure everything’s ready.” She rolled over, and he threw a sheet on top of her before yanking on his pants and a long-sleeved hoodie and shoved his feet shoved into combat boots. “Be back in a few hours,” he murmured to her unmoving back, gathering his hair back into a tight ponytail. He closed the door gently behind him, a sense of relief coming over him the second he reached the empty hallway outside.

  It wasn’t that Alexis made demands. It wasn’t that she asked anything of him. It was more they’d been doing this for months now, and sex felt…routine. Like he was trapped in a groove from which he couldn’t escape. Not that it wasn’t a very, very nice groove. Disgusted, Lucas scrubbed at his stubbled face and pushed off the wall. His headfuck wasn’t Alexis’s fault; it was his.

  It’s not you, it’s me.

  With a loud snort, he shoved through the door to the echoing stairwell that led to the armory. What a fucking sorry excuse that was. Except it was him. He felt trapped. And it sure wasn’t because of Alexis.

  No, he felt caged in because of these endless missions, this life of ceaselessly fighting a war they never won. Hel’s demons didn’t stop coming, and Lucas had the sense that they never would. Surely there was more to life than this? There had to be more out there. There had to be something bigger waiting for him.

  Something life-changing.

  “Hey, lover boy. Ready to get back to work?”

  Lucas grinned at Kieran. His twin might be a total pain in the ass, but they’d been together for a hundred years and, with a bit of luck, would be for a hundred more. “That I am,” Lucas said, his gaze immediately going to the ugly scar creasing his brother’s left cheek.

  Where Lucas’s hair was long—past his shoulders—Kieran’s was kept short. Lucas’s eyes were dark, Kieran’s were pale grey, and once, they’d been identical in every other way. Not anymore, Lucas thought as he tore his gaze away from Kieran’s scar.

  “Don’t worry about it, Luc,” Kieran said, his eyes steady, his voice even as he filled a clip with rounds. He tossed it onto a pile, then began filling another. “It’s been far too long for you to keep going back over what happened.”

  “Yeah, I know, it’s just…”

  “Well, looky here. My two favorite brothers.” Rhiannon’s voice was husky, almost a low growl, which was fitting, since she was, every inch, a feral creature. Her long red hair hid her elongated ears; her wide, generous lips hid sharp canines as she strolled in, her gait smooth and measured. Once Queen of the Fae, she now ruled over their little New York hodgepodge of otherworldly beings, and Lucas didn’t take his eyes off her for a moment as she circled the two of them. She scented the air. “Mmm, Lucas, you smell…tasty.”

  “Hey, Rhiannon. Making sure we’re prepared for tonight’s mission.” The Warehouse’s armory sprawled out around them, table upon table filled with automatic weapons, maps, knives, equipment, both archaic and brand new, most of it innovative, thanks to Kieran. Besides, it was best to ignore Rhiannon’s not-so-subtle gibes, especially when it came to sexual innuendo. Luc had had his share of tumbles with her, and they were memorable. But over.

  Oh, so over—for both of them.

  “Good man,” she purred. “I want the two of you together tonight. Downtown, Lower East Side. There’s been a rash of mortal disappearances in the past week from that section. Check it out, kill any demons you come across, give me a final head count, along with any human casualties. Yada, yada, yada. The usual.”

  Rhiannon turned her attention to Kieran, whose imperturbable grey eyes took her in so completely that even the Phantom Queen shifted her feet uncomfortably. But all he did was incline his head in a half a bow and tell her, “As you wish, Rhiannon.”

  3

  It was raining when she left London, and Vic was glad to leave both behind. The streets might be dark, but the face of the man she was tasked to locate was etched brightly in her mind.

  He was a handsome one, she mused, half wondering how he’d ever escaped the Circle in the first place. Worton was awfully eager to get him back, giving her a generous time extension and everything. But the bloke’s problems were hardly her concern. The guards tailing her fell in behind her halfway to St. James Park, which was fine—at least they’d see she was doing her damn job. Hopefully they’d report the same back to the powers that be. Victoria cut across the park, ignoring the lure of the water, and hung a left, making for the palace, then following Constitution Hill all the way west until it terminated at the white marble arch.

  One deep breath and she stepped in, clutching one of the trinkets around her neck. She had a full collection of the Circle’s enchanted tokens, ensuring her passage to anywhere in the world, through any portal. A freezing sensation washed through her as the dark shadow of the arch enfolded her.

  Another deep breath and she stepped out, blinking in the first rays of an early morning. She rubbed her arms, the friction making the coldness fade.

  Assaulted by diesel fumes and the slightly musty odor of nearby water, Victoria swayed in New York’s Central Park beneath the shadowed arch of an old, gothic bridge, its graceful curves practically embracing her. Her head fogged with lethargy from the jump, Victoria drifted helplessly toward that boggy smell, the familiar scent drawing her closer, until she stood thigh-deep in it, the thick mud encasing her ankles in a cold, familiar embrace. Her head finally clearing, she backed out of the edge of the lake, shuddering at the close call. Another moment and she might have dived straight down and allowed herself to be swallowed up in those cool, quiet depths.

  The murky depths were the only place she ever felt safe. Her magic was tied to water, and once she sank beneath the surface, her gift fully came to life. From enhanced eyesight and the ability to transform oxygen in the water to air, she turned from a clumsy land creature to something sleek and terrible. But her target wasn’t beneath the lake. He was on land.

  Besides, she was on a tight schedule. Striding away from the reservoir, Victoria knew she had to put as much distance between her and the damn water as possible, if she wanted to make this trip successful.

  “And I’d better be successful, or it will be my damn head on the chopping
block,” she muttered to herself. Two days was how much time Worton had given her, and the clock was ticking. By her count, she had thirty-eight hours to appear before the collected Mage Circle, her quarry on his knees in front of them, and then she could go her merry way. Until they called her services into use again.

  Maybe she would spend a week at the bottom of a lake somewhere, cut off from the smells of this place. From the gods-awful stench of the poisons the humans were leaching into this world of theirs. Not that she ever fully escaped the stench of diesel, or plastic, or pesticides, it was just…

  Beneath the water, she could forget. She could forget she was a slave. Forget there was nothing in this world that was hers. Pretend she had a shot at freedom. And bask in the utter silence of the water.

  Following various paths, it took her an hour to emerge from the south end of Central Park, and from there, it was a small matter for her to pick up the scent of her prey.

  He smelled old. And complacent. Which was good; perhaps he’d not give her trouble when she hauled him in. She hated it when they put up a fight—so much easier when they went along without a fuss.

  Then she hardly even felt bad about delivering them to their death.