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  Table of Contents

  Cursed With Power

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  Cursed With Power

  book one of the Magicians series

  Lindsey Richardson

  Copyright © 2017 by Lindsey Richardson

  Second edition

  Printed in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended solely to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Cover design by Lori Follett of Wicked Book Covers

  Formatting by Allyson Gottlieb of Athena Interior Book Design

  To Ahri

  and

  To you.

  Some say the world will end in fire

  Some say in ice.

  From what I’ve tasted of desire

  I hold with those who favor fire.

  But if it had to perish twice,

  I think I know enough of hate

  To say that for destruction ice

  Is also great

  And would suffice.

  – “Fire and Ice”

  by Robert Frost

  Prologue

  Transylvania, 1570

  I entered the Cathedral. My shoes crunched colored shards once belonging to stained glass window murals of Saints and Angels.

  A dark cloud of smoke struck me in the face, and I felt my lungs protest as I inadvertently inhaled deeply. I wrapped my scarf tightly around my nose and mouth, but my lungs were already constricting.

  My skirt caught on some unseen claw from a tumble of wood on the floor and I tripped, struggling to find sure footing in the debris that had already begun to fall from the arched ceiling.

  I gathered my skirt in my free hand and took a step toward the nave, but I couldn’t see any sign of the boy.

  The flames nearly covered the chancel at the front of the church, melting the gold faces of the statues into sad expressions.

  Debris dropped from above my head, nearly hitting me, and I flinched as sparks touched my bare skin. The fire had spread to the roof.

  I struggled to peer down the aisle through the thickening smoke.

  A carved pine cross behind the altar burst into a fireball, sending splinters of flying shrapnel as the sap inside vaporized.

  “Hello?” I cried out, coughing and wiping stinging tears out of my eyes.

  I heard a cough and a faint voice calling hoarsely, “Help.”

  “Keep calling so I can find you,” and I closed my eyes to concentrate on the direction the voice was coming from.

  Just as I determined the direction the voice came from, I heard a loud crack. One of the giant curved beams from the apex of the vaulted ceiling crashed to the floor a few yards in front of me. The force shuddered the framework of the wooden building and the shock wave crumpled me to the floor. I lay there stunned.

  Something toppled over me, and I let out a cry of pain and surprise.

  I heard a man’s voice say, “Celestria… God, have mercy on me.”

  A moment later, I felt a pair of strong hands helping me from the floor. I found myself looking into the eyes of Alaire. He frowned as he looked me over to see if I was hurt.

  Satisfied I was in one piece, he forced me to face him, “Have you gone mad? I won’t allow you to risk your own life to save this child.”

  He won’t allow me? How dare he!? But those were thoughts and comments for another time. I shouted over the increasing fire’s roar. “Either help me or get out of my way! I need to do this!” Alaire opened his mouth as if to argue, and then apparently changed his mind.

  I adjusted my scarf again around my nose and face and pointed toward the terrified boy in the corner. Alaire quickly led us in the direction, guiding us through smoking wooden benches and weaving a path through burning debris. We finally reached the boy. He was nearly covered in soot. Sweaty rivulets ran down his face, and I could see that part of his left arm was badly burned.

  He tried to speak, but only a faint croak escaped his lips. I bent down, wrapped my arms around him, and lifted him up. As he threw his arms around my neck, I told him to hang on tight, close his eyes, turn his face into my shoulder and try to breathe through the fabric of my dress.

  My eyes were so dry, I could open them only a slit but Alaire somehow led us back to the entrance. I didn’t ask him to carry the boy and he made no offer. As we reached the entrance, we were horrified to realize that debris was now blocking the outward swing of the massive doors. Alaire grabbed the wooden lever and pushed into the closest door with all his strength, willing the door to open and displace the obstruction. The door opened a crack and he launched his body to move the door outward again. He finally produced a crack wide enough for us to slip through. He motioned me forward with his arm and coughed the words, “Go ahead, I’m right behind you.”

  Finally, we stepped into the cool, moist air outside the church, coughing and gagging on the sooty bile in our throats. The boy’s mother shrieked and ran toward us. I gently laid the boy in her arms, and smiled faintly as she sobbed and rocked the child close to her breast.

  “Thank you, mistress. Oh, bless you for your bravery,” she said.

  Turning around, I was shocked to find that Alaire was not standing beside me as I had expected. I shouted his name and some onlookers seeing my confusion pointed back toward the burning church.

  “Alaire?” I stammered, why would he reenter the church? Then, I heard Alaire’s voice calling from inside the church, and I realized he had never followed me out. Something must have stopped him from following me through the small opening he created for us. Maybe he knew he would never fit through and that’s why he wanted me to go first? “Alaire!” I stumbled toward the doors. My blood pounded whoosh-whoosh-whoosh in my ears.

  Before I could move more than a few yards, a man in a red uniform stepped into my path. The red uniform told me that he was one of the Constable’s men. I struggled to get around and away from him. I was desperate but was weak against the man’s iron grip. He shook his head toward me to indicate that no one could get close enough to help Alaire now. The fire was too hot, the building was too unstable.

  “Let me go!” I coughed the words as I struggled to get my lungs to relax and once again tak
e in a full measure of air. The Constable’s men who were in a cordon around the church had not been breathing smoke and soot filled air for the last thirty minutes. They were not nauseous and their legs didn’t feel like rubber. I was too weak, and I could no longer hear Alaire’s voice.

  In moments, the remaining roof crashed down in a hail of burning splinters and a huge billow of smoke.

  “Alaire!” I moaned in desperation, but there was no answer. My knees could no longer hold the weight of my body. I crumpled to the ground, and the soldier tried to ease my fall. The noise from the fire and the crowd was turning into a buzz in my brain. I struggled to remain conscious.

  Then the crowd gave an audible hum of surprise. I looked up and I could make out a silhouette emerging from the smoke. The flames from the still burning church danced behind the figure, giving him an otherworldly appearance. I gasped, and the Constable and his men froze in disbelief as Alaire staggered out of the still burning church.

  Chapter One

  Great Evils

  I leaned against the sturdy tree as I watched the little girl run in the field. She was young and cute with an expression full of happiness. A part of me envied her contentment and innocence. Her long red hair fell past her shoulders, and a sense of desire filled her jaded eyes. Before long, I realized she was chasing after a butterfly. The white creature was barely visible from where I stood, and though I considered helping the girl, I kept my distance.

  The girl continued chasing the creature as it flew about. Butterflies are smart creatures; they always seem to sense a human's presence. Nonetheless, the girl did not grow weary while she followed the fluttering, white blur in every direction it moved. There appeared to be more space in the field than there was energy for the game to carry on. Though I looked around for her parents, there was no one else in the nearby area. In the far background I could make out the outlines of a small hovel, yet only the sound of the tree's whispers filled the air.

  The child's hair swayed in the wind as she went after the butterfly once again. Abruptly she fell on the ground, giggling at her own clumsiness. Her dress flattened into the ground, and momentarily I was concerned. Then, as if nothing had happened, she jumped up and began running after the butterfly. While I wondered how she had so much energy, she surprised me by stopping at last and staring ahead of her. The insect landed on a small daisy in the middle of the field. Her face was full of pleasure and delight, as if she would receive an award for capturing the butterfly.

  Gradually, the girl bent over. She knew as well as I that the butterfly would fly away unless she was very quiet and patient. For a moment she hesitated, and then she carefully cupped her hands around the flower. The girl glanced at me when she stood up, but her full attention was on her prisoner. It did not matter to her who I was and why I was there. I moved closer to watch her as she opened her hands, but I was cautious of standing too close.

  She opened her hands and looked down at her palms. She had expected to see a white butterfly. I had half expected the creature to be there. However, what was in her palms was far from being an insect of any kind. She held a pile of black ash.

  I listened to the piercing scream that rang through the field. I winced, feeling her pain as if it were my own. I backed away, but the deafening shrieks echoed loudly. Though it offered no protection, I held onto my staff. Her face had changed entirely. What had once been a beautiful, happy girl was now a confused and whimpering child. I wanted to comfort her; really, I did. What comfort could I offer to her? How could I give her any reassurance when she faced a doomed fate?

  You are a Dark magician. I whispered in the wind, though the girl could not hear what I said. My mouth hung open and yet no words came out. In her eyes I was perhaps the tree to the right or the dirt in the field. I was not a real person in this world of hers. I almost cried looking at that little girl, that little girl who I so painfully recognized to be me.

  ***

  I awoke from the dream drenched in my own sweat. The room was hot, and my hands felt clammy against my face. It was the fourth night I had dreamed about my childhood. The dreams baffled me, but there was no significance to them. They were, after all, memories of my past and nothing more.

  Rain trickled off of the roof as I climbed out of bed and knelt down. I placed my hands together and bowed my head. Though I only remembered a few lessons from Dyanna about religion, I would pray as if I could be guided away from the sins that followed me.

  “Lord, please forgive me for the deaths I have caused. Find a way to forgive me for the men and woman I have killed because of their magic, and the innocent children who have lost their parents because of the battles. This world does not openly accept my kind, for we are blamed for everything from the Black Plague to the cause of bloodshed. If only you could find it in your heart to lead me away from this,” I said, keeping my head lowered for a moment longer.

  Even while I prayed to a god I had lost faith in, I could feel an uncomfortable presence in the hovel. The presence had roamed the walls of our hovel for years; in a word: Ilena.

  My eyes glanced over to the bed across the room, the one that had once belonged to Ilena. A white robe was draped over the frame of the bed, and a thin cloak covered the pillows. Silence echoed through the hovel, as if no one lived inside its four walls.

  Standing up, I forced my feet to move toward the bed. It belonged to Dyanna now, but I was surprised to see her cloak by the pillow. As I contemplated why she hadn’t announced her return, I reached out for the cloak and lifted it to my face. The smell of lavender perfume lifted up my nostrils; I buried my face in it, smothering myself with the scent.

  “Dyanna?” I called out with a grin. My voice carried through the rooms like a song, but there was no response.

  I was alone.

  “Dyanna?” I whispered. Again, there was silence.

  As I turned my head toward the dining table, my eyes focused on the cabinet. The top drawer, where Aunt Ilena hid her dagger, was open. Dyanna and I were the only people with a key to that drawer, but before I could consider it there was a knock at the door.

  I sneaked over to the entrance and felt the cold doorknob. The knock came again, and cautiously I asked who it was before opening the door.

  “It’s me,” Dyanna’s voice answered.

  Quietly, I lit a candle and opened the door. Dyanna stood outside in the rain with her long, golden hair dripping down her ivory dress. Her sapphire eyes stared at the ground while her hands were grasped around something.

  “You’ve worried me sick! Come inside already before you catch a cold,” I scolded.

  Dyanna shook her head.

  “No, I won’t enter and risk your safety,” she said.

  “My safety?” I laughed. “Come now, you must be tired after your mission. You can tell me all about it once we’re inside.”

  She started to sob, and then she placed an object in my hands.

  A thick liquid leaked through my fingers, and glancing down I realized it was Aunt Ilena’s dagger covered with red stains. It was unmistakable with its engraved depiction of fire on the black handle. I looked up to beg Dyanna, to question her, but she was gone. I stepped outside, calling her name, but I could hear her footsteps retreating hurriedly.

  I could barely see her, and the rain put out the candlelight.

  Why would she leave me? I wondered. The question repeated in my mind, but I went running after her. I shivered, feeling the rain drip down my shoulders, and in the familiar darkness I searched for her.

  “If something happened we can work it out,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice low so that no one else in town would stir. No one but I knew that Dyanna left town to battle a magician, and they certainly couldn’t know that we were Dark magicians. It was a secret we carried with us so that we were able to live seemingly ordinary lives.

  It would be too dangerous to use my magic to help me in the search. All I could assume was that something terribly wrong happened to Dyanna, and for some reason
she didn’t want to confide in me.

  Pushing away bushes, I realized we were entering into the woods behind my house. I swore I could hear Dyanna’s heavy breathing, but no matter the direction I turned my head she was out of sight. My pulse seemed to be echoing through my head: thump, thump, thump. I couldn’t have lost track of her this easily when she sounded nearby.

  A thorn bush scrapped my legs, but I kept running. No matter what, I had to find her and explain that whatever upset her we could deal with.

  “Dyanna? If you think I’m angry with you about the dagger, I’m not. Come here, let’s talk about it,” I called out, trying to remain calm. I still held the bloody dagger in my hands, and I didn’t want to imagine what horrible things my dear sister could be capable of. We had sworn not to use the dagger unless our lives depended on it. Had someone threatened her?

  I stopped for a minute, placing my hands on my knees and panting like a dog. The woods were quiet, save for the sound of rain trickling off the trees. The animals were dormant, safe and sound in their homes.

  Then there came a blood-curdling scream. A young girl screamed, and then the silence returned.

  Gasping, I ran as fast as my feet would take me. I did not know where to look or how I would see anything, but I shook my head the entire time, thinking that it couldn’t be Dyanna. She was a magician; nothing could have threatened her out here in the forest or she would have used her magic.

  All of a sudden I hit something and landed on the ground. I wiped away the dirt on my face, and then I sat up to see what it was. Closing my eyes, I murmured a spell and a small ember of fire lit up above the palm of my hand.

  It was a young girl. Her golden hair was drenched from the rain, her face lay sunken into the mucky ground, and her ivory dress was covered in mud. I held my breath, knowing there was one way to be certain it was Dyanna. Lifting back her arm sleeve, I uncovered her shoulder. The triquetra mark was there, the branding sign every Dark magician was given after birth. It was branded with magic so that Dark magicians could identify themselves, though it also gave our enemies, the White magicians, an advantage.