Hidden Magic Trilogy Box Set

by Jayne Hawke

  “It’s her winter thing,” Dean said as he nodded at Kerry.

  She looked almost fragile with her pale yellow pyjamas featuring white kittens in little ballerina outfits.

  “At least I don’t just rotate through three different plaid shirts,” Kerry said without looking up from her laptop.

  “There’s nothing wrong with plaid,” Dean said.

  “Sure, sweetheart,” Kerry said.

  “It’s practical, comfortable, and goes with anything,” Dean said.

  “You mean it goes with the pale blue jeans you wear every day,” Kerry said.

  I covered my mouth trying not to laugh.

  Dean sighed wearily.

  “Just because I don’t want to spend three hours making sure my outfit is fabulous darling for whatever fight I’m strolling into,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

  “You have to admit that I do look fabulous when I fight,” Kerry said with a grin.

  Dean shook his head.

  “Coffee?” he asked me.

  “Please.”

  “I heard you threw a book at an assassin,” he said casually over his shoulder as he left for the kitchen.

  “You might be onto something there... I mean, who needs a dagger or magic when you can use a book? If you aim it just right you might take their eye out. Or give them a headache,” Kerry teased.

  Ethan handed me a couple of books.

  “I have some business to take care of, but I found these for you,” he said with a smile.

  I took the books from him and was surprised to find that one was on god magic, and the other on witch magic. I hadn’t thought books had been printed on those topics.

  “How did you...!?”

  He grinned at me and leaned in to kiss my cheek.

  “He’d do anything for you,” Kerry said.

  “Is the poor cat grumpy because her boyfriend’s working late?” Ethan teased.

  Kerry shot him a death glare.

  “You’ve been apart for a few hours, you’ll last a few more,” Ethan said with a grin.

  “Says the man who’s trying to convince his girlfriend to move in here. You’ll be looking into connective surgery next so you can literally be joined at the hip,” Kerry said.

  Ethan and I laughed.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, then we can do some more work with your magic,” Ethan said.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  A warmth had spread through me. He must have gone to a ridiculous amount of effort to secure those books. It was such a sweet gesture, and I wasn’t quite sure how to really thank him for it.

  Dean had plied me with coffee and cakes before he and Cade went to spar. I settled into the comfy couch and started with the book on witch magic. That one still felt far more alien to me and difficult to grasp.

  The book opened with a statement that every witch has a grimoire to record the knowledge they gain over the course of their life. It’s common for a mother to pass her grimoire down to her daughter so that the daughter can continue where the mother left off. My heart ached for my mother. I missed her every day, but now there was a deep sadness formed by the knowledge that she had hidden something huge from me.

  I re-read the passage and wondered if my mother had a grimoire somewhere. She hadn’t practised any magic in the house that I’d ever felt. Could she have a workspace somewhere? The images of her killing beings for their blood flashed in my mind. I didn’t want to think of her that way. She had always been the kindest woman with a warm smile on her face. She always gave the impression that she loved me with every fibre of her being.

  The book continued into the broad strokes of witch magic. I already knew that witch magic was external. Witches have the ability to take magic from things outside of themselves and manipulate it so that they can impact their surroundings and themselves. In my case, that meant that I could pull magic from blood and use it to make myself stronger, faster, and heal from wounds.

  There was far more there, though. I could feel the threads of magic in everything around me: the plants, trees, stars. Everything. I knew that a good talented witch could take magic from anything with even the smallest spark. I’d heard once that there was a bloodline of witches that had been formed by a primordial goddess. They were said to have been able to take magic from planes other than our own. They were exterminated for being too dangerous.

  The book went on to discuss god-chosen witches, those who bowed down to a god and that god granted them a different, more powerful form of magic. The author was very against that path. They stated that to bow to a god was to walk into slavery. I had to admit that it sounded pretty miserable. The god owned your very life essence and could screw with you in any way they could imagine. Gaining some new form of magic didn’t seem even remotely worth it.

  “Do you know much about god chosen witches?” I asked Kerry.

  “Oh yea, they’re born weak and desperate. They throw themselves at any god that’ll take them in the hopes of gaining some real magic. Don’t trust them. They’re always really power hungry and will do whatever it takes to achieve power and status,” she said.

  I made a mental note to never try and go down the god-chosen route. I doubted any god would touch me, though, given the god magic running through my veins. A shiver ran through me. If the hounds were to be believed, the gods would have me drained of my magic and take it as their own.

  TEN

  The book hadn’t been as insightful as I’d hoped. There was a lot of generalisations in there that I already knew. My main takeaway was that I needed to look for Mom’s grimoire. That would be able to tell me everything I needed to know about my weird blood magic and the rest of my witch magic.

  Kerry and I wandered into the kitchen, as Kerry had declared that it was lunch time. Cade and Dean had headed out on a run after their sparring match. I paused when I saw a huge black hound fast asleep in the middle of the kitchen floor. Its shadowy black fur sat in rough loose curls against its lean and muscular build. A long wolfhound-type muzzle hung open and the hound snored, very loudly.

  I wasn’t really sure what the etiquette was there. Dean walked up behind me and rolled his eyes at the hound on the floor.

  “Poke him in the ribs with your toe,” Dean said.

  I frowned. I couldn’t do that to Cade.

  Kerry strolled over to the sleeping hound and crouched down in front of him. She reached out and rubbed his ears, speaking in baby talk.

  “Who’s such a good boy? Yes, you are, you’re such a handsome hound. The biggest meanest hound in all the territories,” she said.

  She went to rub his belly and suddenly Cade had his jaws clamped down on Kerry’s arm. The cait sidhe laughed in absolute delight. Cade huffed before he stood up and was enveloped in a thick inky shadow. When the shadow cleared, Cade was standing there in nothing but his boxers.

  I looked away. Cade didn’t seem to care, but it felt wrong. I quickly began to wonder what Ethan looked like in just his boxers. Images of tight taut muscles popped into my mind.

  “Squash soup for the starter,” Dean said.

  “The starter?” I asked.

  He looked at me with a crease between his brows.

  “We’ve worked hard. We’ll need multiple courses.”

  “Let me know when the main course is served?” I asked.

  A smile slowly spread across Dean’s face.

  “You’ll be eating just as much as us when you have your magic figured out,” he said.

  I had to admit, there were worse things than enjoying many courses of their incredible food every day.

  “I’m cooking duck breasts for the main, we’ll give you a shout,” he said.

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’d offer to cook, but I’m pretty sure I’d poison you without meaning to,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about it. You’ll settle into your place in the pack; just let it happen,” Cade said as he casually wandered by.

  I kept my eyes averted.
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  “You will have to get used to that, though. When you move in, I mean,” Dean said as he pulled out a large container of soup from the fridge.

  “Ethan won’t mind,” Kerry said as she hopped up onto the kitchen counter.

  “It’s a normal thing for shifters. It’s weirder that you won’t look,” Dean said.

  “So... it’s weird to pet you in your hound form, right?” I asked.

  “Very,” Dean said.

  “Ethan might be into that,” Kerry said with a waggle of her eyebrows.

  “Don’t creep her out,” Dean said.

  Kerry sighed melodramatically.

  “Any news on the bloodletter?” I asked.

  “You mean the vampire,” Kerry said with a mischievous grin.

  “Vampires aren’t real,” I said as I took up my usual seat at the kitchen table.

  Dean had begun heating the soup and had his back to us.

  “They might be. Just think about all of the brooding dangerous men in frilly silk shirts and smooth porcelain skin. They’d be tortured souls fighting with their inner beast, and insanely rich,” Kerry said.

  “And watch you sleep,” Dean added.

  “No, definitely not. They’d be sexy, not creepy,” Kerry said.

  “What if they’re more nosferatu? Ancient, leathery, and kind of bat like?” I said.

  Kerry’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “No! You can’t ruin this for me!”

  Dean and I laughed.

  “I can picture it now. Cold, rough leathery skin with sunken eyes and thin straggly hair. A weird rasping voice and an accent that doesn’t quite fit anywhere. Long bony fingers and a haggard body. They might live in caves and feed on whatever poor being wanders too close. They could be somewhere between a feral Fenrir shifter and a vampire bat,” Dean said with a grin.

  Kerry narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Are you telling me all of those romance novels are wrong?” she said with a huff.

  We laughed again. Kerry couldn’t maintain her faux grumpiness.

  “What did I miss?” Ethan asked as he walked into the kitchen.

  “Kerry was trying to convince us that not only are vampires real, but they wear frilly silk shirts,” I said.

  Ethan shook his head solemnly.

  “It’s too difficult to get blood out of silk. They’d have to wear polyester blends,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “You just couldn’t let me be happy, could you?” Kerry said.

  Ethan grinned at her.

  “It wouldn’t be right for a hound to let a cat be happy,” he said.

  “I’m dropping a dead mouse on your pillow,” Kerry said sulkily.

  Ethan laughed and took the seat next to mine.

  The atmosphere was so relaxed and natural. It was easy being around the pack, being part of it. There’d been a time when I thought I’d never have a real home, and yet there it was. I just had to say yes.

  ELEVEN

  I wasn’t fast enough to run with the hounds, but I did need to keep myself fit. The gym at the merc headquarters was off limits since Ethan had taken me into his business, and I felt weird using that gym. It was full of ridiculously fit cu sith and shifters.

  There was no new information on the blood thieves, and I needed to stretch my legs. Ethan had dropped me back in the city on his way back to his main office. There was some complicated paperwork that was bugging him. I rolled my shoulders and breathed in the crisp fresh air of the coming winter. Frost glittered along the shaded boughs of the trees and dark corners near the walls.

  I hadn’t dared go down to the river since I’d killed the hag. I didn’t want to know what I’d find down there. That meant that I needed to change my route. I was walking over towards the park when I felt something. Frowning, I slowed my pace a little and tried to focus. My witch magic was still so new that I couldn’t really work with it without giving it my all.

  The weird magic with the sparks in the blood was nearby. I ran my hand over my sheathed daggers and prepared to pull one out if I needed to. We were in one of the nicer parts of the city, and I didn’t want to cause a scene by wandering around with them in my hands. The old buildings were all brilliant white with heavy black beams exposed along their frontages. Smaller windows were set back into thick heavy walls. The pale sun fell along the broad cobblestones that marked the age of this part of this city.

  The street was narrower than in the newer areas, but that somehow added to the quaintness. I enjoyed wandering through the old parts of the city, it was somehow calming and soothing. There was a long history there, and that somehow gave me a feeling of security and peace.

  There wasn’t a single soul wandering through that particular area. I assumed they were all away in work, which suited me just fine. Of course, it also made for a great ambush. The weird magic suddenly moved. I could feel it in my mind, but it was difficult to track.

  An elf dropped off the rooftop down in front of me. His dark golden-blond hair had been cut into a short, fashionable messy cut which caught me off guard. I’d thought that elves all wore their hair long. His eyes were the colour of new leaves at the beginning of spring. They watched me with merriment dancing within them. He stood still with a playful grin on his face.

  I stopped and looked him up and down, trying to decide what exactly I should do next. His light woollen coat hung to the middle of his thigh and looked as though it would restrict his movements some, and I didn’t see any weapons. It would be a shame to damage his delicate and beautifully fine bone structure, or to mar his flawless skin. Still, he was an elf and very likely an assassin. Elves were widely considered to be the most dangerous of the fae. They were incredible fighters.

  I wasn’t going to be intimidated.

  He moved towards me purposefully, each step measured, each movement played to a purpose. He was baiting me, trying to get me to make a move he could exploit. Was he trained in a fighting style that relied on counters, or did he just want to see what I’d do? Either way, I left my hands by my sides. I’d know when he was going to strike. No one was too good to read. Until he made his move, I could play his game.

  I watched his footwork. His balance was perfect, but he wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t made for an arena, let alone a battlefield. He was a killer, but not a warrior. He was a murderer. He killed when it was convenient, when it suited his purposes. His steps continued to slip towards me. He was slowing down, not ready to reach me, still hoping I’d give something away.

  I stood stock still, flat footed but ready to fall into a defensive posture. I knew he could see it, knew he was too good to really buy my bluff, but if he was waiting for my first move he wouldn’t be looking for my sixth. I could feel the war god magic slipping into my mind. It was subtle, almost undetectable even to me, like the very first strains of a sonata but without the build-up.

  He was close, now, close enough that I could have kicked him if I’d tried, if he’d let me. I saw the blow in my mind’s eye, saw it slide over his head, felt his follow up to my ribs. Another low kick swept into my mind, and he leapt back from it. No follow up that time. Still not worth wasting the energy or the initiative. Two steps back would put him out of step and let me fall into stance if I needed to.

  I took them.

  A triumphant gleam came to his face and he made a long step forward. It would have put him inside my reach, but I threw myself back, my instincts wanting to stay clean and clear. I’d been fighting with blades too long. Taking him off his feet there would have put me in a dominant position. He must’ve known what I would do, otherwise he’d have been a fool to make the attempt.

  I didn’t have to settle my mind. The magic had already done it. There was plenty of game yet to play. If he thought this Olympic hugbox fighting was going to settle things, he was mistaken.

  He was approaching again, watching my posture. He sidestepped around me, and I stood stock still, feeling him move with my magic, the sparking sensation fading into the background. He wou
ldn’t be here if he didn’t know what I was. There was no reason not to take the opportunity to stretch the muscles my mother’s lineage had given me. I focused on the magic. I let my normal senses shut down. I set aside my fight with the war magic and gave it rein to show me what it knew. I watched in blind stereoscopic clarity as the elf’s body moved around mine.

  I could see the curious tilt of his head, the shift forward in his balance that came from restrained overconfidence. I could see his foot movements becoming automatic, repeating in order instead of being chosen one by one. He didn’t know what I was doing. He didn’t know what I could do, could be. I chose my moment.

  I swung around faster than I could have dreamt possible before I gave my magic its chance, feigned a high wheel kick to his chin with my left boot. He leaned to his right, letting the kick sweep over his head. That was as I’d planned. I tossed an ugly body blow towards his right lateral and hit air. I’d planned for his guard to be too high to come down to stop the blow. I didn’t begin to imagine he could move away from it entirely.

  I met his eyes and felt the blow before it landed. Three quick, pretty strikes to my solar plexus took the air out of me, but his follow-up kick whiffed in front of my face. Either he’d expected me to bend forwards clutching my gut, or he was playing games. Either way, it was going to be a painful mistake for the pretty elf.

  Before his foot was back on the ground, I made a quick leg kick I was certain couldn’t miss. I heard a sharp exhale as he dropped backwards, my foot swinging centimetres over his shin as he fell into a comic-book-perfect ninja pose with the leg I’d been striking at fully extended and the other tucked under him. I was getting closer, but it shouldn’t have been this easy for him. I jumped forward and stomped at his knee, but even as I did I could feel my war magic chastising me for my playground antics. His leg was gone before I even finished telegraphing the attack.