The Lost Magic, page 33
“What do you want from me?”
“Finally,” she muttered, “a question worth answering. I want to make a deal where I give you your magic back.”
My heart seized.
“What?”
She smiled, but it had no warmth in it. Flashes of eternal oceans and vast depths of water flashed through my mind. Cold came with it, as if she’d just submerged me into the heady darkness of her watery desert.
“Let’s just say that I’ve run into an issue with the demigods being in Alkarra, and I want it taken care of. You have an issue of lost magic. I restore your magic, you get rid of the demigods. Agreed?”
Prana held out a piece of seaweed, cut to the size of half my hand. I eyed it, then looked at her. Memories of Mabel and her unknown deal flashed through my mind. She’d controlled my life—and the lives of those I loved—for far too long. Would I take such a risk again?
No.
Not even for magic.
“Tell me why,” I said.
“No.”
“Then no deal.”
She grinned icily. “Nice try. I can hear your heart pounding. Can feel your desperate need to get the magic back. You can bargain all you want, but the terms of this deal are mine. Agree to get rid of the demigods and I will restore your magic.”
“The same magic?”
“Goddess magic is the same regardless of the sister of origin.” She gave me a bored look. “Maybe you should read up on your history more.”
I licked my lips as my mind raced. There had to be an angle. At the moment, I couldn’t see it. Until I could get my hands on some more information about goddesses, I wasn’t likely to see it.
Also unlikely I’d get a second chance at this.
“No. I’ve made deals like this before. I’d rather not have magic than be at the whim of a goddess.”
Prana snarled. “You’re a fool!”
So are you, I thought, but kept my lips sealed. Prana studied me with the deepest loathing. I could feel her hatred all the way to my bones. My answer had been the steepest kind of bargain. If she so desperately needed me to solve her problem, she’d have to be more honest.
Or find someone else.
“Fortunately,” she murmured with contempt, “I am in a mood to explain myself. Word of witches with lost magic in Alkarra may or may not have originated from something I said to the demigods in Alaysia.” Her chin tilted back so she had to peer at me through almost-closed eyes. “If a war breaks out between demigods and witches, my sisters will hold me accountable. It is not a tribunal I wish to face.”
“I see.”
She snarled. “Let me assure you—you don’t.”
What could another goddess do to her? Whatever the answer, it sounded bleak. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to feel compassion for her.
“If what you say is true, then you are the real reason I lost my magic,” I said, arms folded across my chest. “Why should I help you prevent punishment for something you did? The rest of us are certainly suffering from it now.”
“Because I will restore it and prevent worse from happening. We prevent the rise of the demigods, or war between gods and goddesses will follow. Don’t you see that? All of you would die. The gods and my sisters will gladly destroy each other and simply start over with new mortals or new witches again. It has been done before.”
My knees trembled at the thought, even though I couldn’t comprehend what it honestly meant.
Total annihilation.
Scarlett and Marten’s premonitions about our upcoming battles were certainly proving out.
“I will not guarantee anything.”
Prana hissed again. “Then you must agree to banish the demigods from Alkarra in exchange for your magic. If the demigods are not banished again—and before a war between gods and goddesses—your ability to do magic dies within you for the last time. Unless you have another method for communicating with a goddess?”
Five seconds passed while I hesitated. Could I get in touch with Deasylva on my own? Unlikely. Hiddleston had reported that she was rarely inclined to bother directly with witches. But she had communicated with Sanna and Isadora.
“You will deny me?” she screeched.
Water splashed around her waist, flying in droplets that landed back in the puddle below her with a strange frenzy. Prana’s eyes, unmistakably queer but I couldn’t figure out why, pierced mine.
Prana slipped back. Rage bubbled under the surface, revealing the depths of her desperation. For her to agree to something so vastly different than what she wanted meant that her hope must be very bleak, indeed.
“Fool. Just like Sanna!”
I stuck out my hand.
“I will agree to try to stop the rise of the demigods in exchange for my magic, and that is all that I can do.”
The building fury in her gaze calmed. She paused, studied me with continued disgust, and eased back. “I am also in the mood to accept your worthless sacrifice. We have a deal,” she hissed. “I will be in touch.”
The piece of seaweed she held crossed the distance and fell into my hand. It touched my palm. On instinct, I wrapped my fingers around it. A percussive explosion of light rippled through my body. Muscles. Bones. They filled with something slippery, cold, and writhing.
Darkness overcame me.
I awoke to a gentle song over my head, and the strange feeling of something bent over me. The song grew to a whisper, then an explosion of hundreds of voices. My eyes opened to see trees gathered over me and a whisper in my mind.
She always comes back.
THE END
Author’s Note
Returning to Bianca's world was a bit like coming home . . . to a messy house. I couldn't remember where I put anything, everyone is years older than when I last saw them, and I can't quite remember the name of that one guy sitting in the corner over there.
All the same . . . pretty magical.
Now that I'm back, I think I'll stay awhile. (Those of you waiting for more books in the Historical Collection, don’t worry! I’ve got your back with more books coming there too.)
It's been such a blast to be back with them again, even though writing Bianca and Leda without Camille absolutely stretched my heart strings.
You can expect more Bianca Monroe in the next installment, THE RISE OF THE DEMIGODS. It will be released early 2022, but you can preorder your copy by visiting www.katiecrossbooks.com. It's $4.99 direct from me, or $7.99 on the retailers.
In the meantime, I have an extra-special surprise for you.
While writing THE LOST MAGIC, I knew I needed a more in-depth picture of Ava and Baxter’s world over in Alaysia. I also wanted to intimately know Ava’s relationship with her world, her demigod counterparts, and her relationship with magic.
That's when I wrote THE LAMPLIGHTERS DAUGHTER, a short story about the moment Ava obtained the amulet that sent her to Alkarra.
Additionally, I realized that the scene when Merrick and Bianca parted was also imperative. How did they break up? What was Bianca’s response? How did the world look around them at that time?
That's when THE PARTING came to my head. I wrote out what happened when Merrick and Bianca had to part.
And I want you to read both of these short stories.
Get THE LAMPLIGHTERS DAUGHTER today by clicking the title. (Or keep reading—I provide a sneak peek).
Preorder THE PARTING so it arrives in your inbox at the end of October, when it will launch as an extra-special surprise.
Those links are the only place you'll be able to buy these short stories—you can't get them on the retailers. You'll still be able to read them on your device and ereader of choice.
If you love to support authors and small business, this is a fantastic way to do that. My kiddos and I thank you!
Now, I need to go back to Letum Wood. I have books to write.
* * *
—KC
The Lamplighter’s Daughter
Chapter One
It takes no skill to be a lamplighter.
That’s why Tama has been doing it for decades. His whole life, in fact. At forty-eight years old, he's lived to an age most mortals never see. Some call him ancient.
I call him cantankerous.
He moves from lamp post to lamp post with a fire stick that smells like sulfur and illuminates them every evening. The wind sighs off the ocean and stirs his salt-and-pepper hair while he shuffles through the watery, sandy roads. There aren’t a lot of lamps in our collection of islands but they’re all spread out. It takes him a few hours every day to row the dinghy from spot to spot, brightening the torches.
Christa and Shara, demigod sisters, rule our collection of islands. Shara, pays Tama in food. He returns home without saying a word because Tama has never loved to speak words. He just snuffles out the stick by shoving it in the sea, hands me some of the food, and goes to bed.
Tama never misses a night.
As a six-year-old girl, when I was afraid of the darkness and the water beneath our stilted home, I'd go with him. While he'd light the end of the lamp, I'd tilt my head back and think about magic. My fingers would curl into a fist as I imagined magical fireflies drifting out of my fingertips. They'd swirl to the lamp and fill it with a flare of bright orange light. Then it would settle into a calm flame.
They were just dreams.
Mortals can't do magic.
So, I'd hum to myself as we walked, because the music seemed to keep the darkness at bay.
“Stop,” Tama would snap. “Or I'll feed you to the mermaids.”
As if a mermaid would tolerate even that little of him. They have always sensed mortals better than most, and he'd scowl a mermaid back into the sea if they approached him. Of course, they wouldn't.
Not even Shara approaches Tama unless she has to. Only Daemon, a fishermen, endures Tama. He’s a man as thick as the trees that drop rind-grains. He has a wide face and a hairy chin, but clean cheeks. He used to frighten me as a little girl, the way he could sling around his scaling knives with impressive dexterity. Sometimes he still scares me when I see the burning light in his eyes. The light that craves revenge and wants to see the blood of the demigods spilled in the water.
But why kill demigods?
The gods would simply have more of them.
Instead of talking to Tama when I accompanied him, I learned to keep my lips sealed. Once we returned to our home, I'd retreat to the bird sanctuary made of hedges and whisper to my beloved manulele birds in the hedges. They'd coo and flutter their tiny wings, then settle in for a long night of restless sleep. They had always been my only friends.
Tama even lights the islands in the farthest reaches of our collection, where no demigod is watching. Not Shara, not Christa. Even though no one of importance lives there, Tama insists on lighting them anyway. He gets into his dinghy, rows along the ropes that keep our floating islands connected, and illuminates the lamps. For a mortal man that eats so little, it's a great deal of effort. Yet, he does it anyway. Without the lamps, Tama has no true work. No purpose.
Nothing to keep his mind alive.
One night, when I asked why he did it, he scowled and kept going. Tama never answered my questions. He's irascible. Brooding. I avoid him as much as possible, except for when he sings.
Lu Cantaray, the other mortals in our collection call him. The Singer. He hums as he works, even though he doesn't like for me to make noise. Sometimes, he sings a bolstering melody on certain islands—the shallowest ones. The ones where mortals hide in the shadows and don't make a single splash because they don’t want to be seen by the demigods. No mortal wants to be seen in Alaysia, except my Tama, apparently.
Tama's clothes are usually rumpled and plain, patched with mismatched fabric that Christa occasionally provides. Even with a demigod as my mother, we are so poor, we don’t even have scrap fabric. Christa may have birthed me, but any association stops there. Because, technically speaking, I shouldn’t be here.
Shouldn't be alive.
There are Testers in Alaysia again. “Testers haven't been around for decades,” Tama once said. Before he was born. But the gods are saying that the goddesses are stirring again, and the Testers returned the year of my birth. Unrest amongst the demigods is leading to uncertainty in Alaysia. So, the gods sent the Testers back out.
Because magic must be controlled.
Testers are lesser demigods who, with heartless regard, perform a series of tests on infants the hour they arrive. If the Tester can sense magical tolerance in the newborn that just came from the womb, it is given to the demigods to keep under control. If no magical tolerance is readily apparent, the mortal child is given back to the parents.
The Testers are not only the most hated demigods amongst mortals, but also other demigods. They are considered too weak to merit their own amulet, so demigods hold them as a lesser class. Tester work is busywork, and the demigods that fulfill it are usually bitter and churlish.
Although most mortals understand that being a Tester is a job assigned them by their fathers, or by more powerful demigods, their very art is a betrayal. First, the gods and demigods rape many of our women, then they take our children. We do not welcome the Testers, especially the most heartless of them all.
Bram.
He’s a stoic, quiet demigod. Young—he's only 75—but beyond the lifespan of any mortal we've heard of in our collection. Bram rarely speaks. I’ve seen him once, during the Festival of Markedius, the biggest celebration in all of Alaysia. He'd been cold and unfeeling.
Tama doesn’t want us to associate with Bram, even though Christa is a demigod and she still lives on our tiny island. Sometimes, demigods come to our manulele sanctuary to visit Christa, so Tama and I know more of them than most mortals.
Still, Bram betrayed Christa, in a way. When I was born, Bram did the most unexpected thing of all.
He lied.
Bram studied me, lifted me by an ankle, listened to me scream, and poked at my ribs. He said I had no magic, that I was the least gifted baby he had ever seen, and he never returned. It had been a lie. Christa had already known that I had enough magic that I could tolerate god magic near me, because she could feel it in me herself.
Most mortal children born of a demigod parent and a mortal parent didn't get the ability to tolerate magic, but some did.
“You ruined all our lives that day,” Tama said often, then dismissed me with a wave. “You’re probably the reason the Testers returned. Now leave me alone.”
The question haunted me all my life.
Why did Bram lie?
According to Tama, after Bram gave me back and disappeared with a puff of magic, Christa had turned pale, fallen into a minutes-long silence, then handed me back to Tama. She disappeared and didn't return for a year. When she came back, I was already walking, babbling, and Tama acted as if she'd never left. Christa created a place for her to live in our house, and we remained that way ten years later.
As a mortal, I don't carry magic with me, just the potential for it, no matter how little that might be. Mortals and demigods need amulets to do any magic. Even if I got my hands on an amulet, which is unlikely, I wouldn't know what to do with it. Nor do I want magic. Not in theory, because what good is borrowed magic?
No, I want my own power.
There are demigods who have so much magic it lingers around them, almost like a smell. The kind that makes your toes curl because the stench is so disgusting. Those demigods never hide their potency. Why would they? Magic is a gift.
A sign of superiority.
Because of that fateful day when Bram lied about my magical tolerance, we've lived on our collection, floating around Alaysia on an island that was more swamp than firm ground. I've cradled the feeling that would one day, everything would change.
Then it did.
When Bram came back.
Ready to dive into the world of Alaysia? Because I think you're going to love Ava.
Click here to buy THE LAMPLIGHTERS DAUGHTER for $1.99 USD.
* * *
(My independent bookstore is the only place these stories will be available, but the ebook will still be available to read on any device or e-reader. Instructions to get the book to your preferred device or app are included with delivery, and we always have customer support ready to help you out!)
Acknowledgments
First of all, we all need to thank Mike Thompson.
Sometime in 2020 (in the days of COVID), Mike sent me a Bianca fanfiction story that he had been writing. Seeing the characters on the page again got my brain spinning. The question of: What if I went back to Bianca? spun around my head for days.
No, weeks.
I couldn't get the idea out of my brain, even though I'd written the possibility off years ago. It plagued me until I finally gave into it.
Mike, this is all your fault!
So a huge thank you. :)
To the countless fans that have written in asking for more—also a big hug for you. Without your hope and emails, I may not have picked this back up when Mike inspired me. It’s your desire to see more of your favorite characters that have made this so compelling and exciting.
Now, I can't imagine my life if I hadn't.
Second, thank you to my team at KC Writing. McKenna, Samantha, Kristen, Gemma, Mike, Darcee, Evan, Jenny, and everyone that helps me produce these books. What would I do without you? You all pick up the pieces while I'm busy clacking away at the keys, and you give me hope when I'm convinced the manuscript is an abject failure.
Kate, Kirsten, and Sarah: every week day. 9:00. You are my anchor. Thank you.
To my family, who endured me while I juggled a new manuscript, running a business, selling a house, trying to buy another house, raising kids, silencing dogs, talking to mortgage lenders, dealing with storage units, and attempting to pull my life back together. I adore you all. Thank you for your love and support.
