Burnt Magic, page 1
BURNT MAGIC
PAGAN ALEXANDRIA
CONTENTS
Part I
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
Part II
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Part III
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Midnight Curses
Copyright © 2026 Pagan Malcolm
Printed by P. S. Malcolm
Burnt Magic
Cover design by Bianca Bordianu
ISBN: 978-0-9756203-8-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online on Instagram: @PaganAlexandriaCreative
To Gabby
Fourteen Years Before
I had a terrible feeling.
The rickety walls around me creaked gently—a sound I’d grown so used to, I barely noticed it anymore. The wooden beams were weathered, the paint chipping in multiple places, exposing the panels and rot beneath. A single candle flickered with flame in the center of the dining table, casting deep shadows across the small room. My father had been meaning to replace the light bulb, which had blown a few days prior, and we’d already burned through all the pinewood for the fireplace that he’d chopped last week.
I poked at my mushroom risotto. The saucepan sitting atop the stove behind me held the remaining portion—which I’d reheated carefully with the lighter, the way my father had taught me—but it had since gone cold.
The terrible feeling made my stomach churn. I felt too sick to eat and pushed the remainder of my pasta aside, my gaze sliding to the front door, which was only just visible from here.
He had been gone too long. He was never gone this long.
My eyes began to droop, but I refused to drag myself to bed. I didn’t want to move from this spot until I saw the front door open—until I saw my father walk through the door with his bright smile and his warm laugh.
The next thing I knew, my head was resting on my folded arms, an urgent knocking sound jolting me awake. I blinked slowly, drowsy and confused, trying to remember where I was. The candle had burned to a stump, a pool of wax dangerously close to overflowing in its hold. I quickly blew it out, the faint scent of smoke filling my nose.
The knocking sounded again, loud and abrupt, and my stomach seized up as my head whipped toward the front door. Breath caught in my throat, I slipped off the dining room chair and crept slowly toward it, wincing every time the floorboards creaked beneath my feet. My heart pounded in my chest as I strained to listen for clues, but all I could hear was the wind whistling past the eaves outside.
As I passed the lacquered, wooden bookshelf in the hallway, I snatched a dagger from one of the higher shelves, gripping it tightly in my hand.
“Hello?” A higher pitched voice drifted from outside. The kind I’d only ever heard on television, or in audiobooks, but never in real life.
A stranger.
I’d never encountered a stranger before, and from the sound of it, the voice belonged to a woman. My father had once said never to let anybody in who wasn’t him, so I kept quiet. Clenching my free hand, I did my best to steel my nerves as I reached the front door, peeking through the narrow, stained-glass windows. The woman was old, with graying hair cut in a short bob, framing a face lined with age. She wore a blue coat and a scarf, gazing at the door, oblivious to my peeping eyes.
“I’m a friend of your father,” she called out again, her brow furrowed. Despite not noticing me, she clearly knew somebody was here. “Please, open the door. It’s important.”
That terrible feeling hadn’t left my gut. Still, my father wasn’t here, and I didn’t know when he’d be back. I could go hide somewhere in the house and wait for the woman to leave. But what if she broke in? And how had she even known I was here?
No... nobody ever came here. It was too unusual for her to show up. I was a big girl, and this was my home. I could handle this older woman. And besides, my father had been training me in self-defense since I was old enough to hold a dagger...
Gingerly, I unlocked the door, hearing the brass click as the dead bolt released, and revealed myself to the women standing in the shadowy night. Her gaze raked over me, from head to toe, as she took me in.
“Look at you,” she breathed, her eyes widening. Her mouth pulled into a thin line as she kneeled down so that she was eye level with me, wincing as if the action took more effort than she’d expected. “My name is Margot,” she introduced gently, resting her elbow on her knee. “Your father mentioned he had a daughter... but he never told me your name.”
“How do you know my father?” I questioned, eyeing her warily and holding the dagger between us. She didn’t seem like a vampire—there were no signs of red in her eyes, and she was dressed according to temperature.
“We hunt together,” she informed me, pulling her coat open to reveal a familiar, glinting dagger sheathed within. It belonged to my father. “Or, at least, we did.”
Did?
I bit my lip, waiting for her to go on. She let out a weary sigh, as if this conversation had already exhausted her.
“I came to find you because... earlier today... I’m afraid something happened to your father.”
No.
That terrible feeling in my gut sank deeper, and I began to shake my head, taking a step back. She quickly reached for me, her hand landing on my shoulder and holding me there with surprising strength.
“Cherie, I’m so sorry to be the one to give you this news. Your father... was killed by a vampire on our hunt.”
My breaths were coming out ragged now. I turned away from Margot, still gripping the dagger, sinking to the ground onto my knees. A sob I didn’t recognize escaped me.
Margot said nothing, simply waiting as hot tears welled in my eyes. The dagger finally clattered to the ground. I buried my head in my hands, unable to control my sobs or the heaving breaths that escaped me.
My mind went numb.
He was gone.
He wasn’t coming back.
He was never coming back.
“Cherie...” Margot said gently, after a few minutes. I turned back to face her, my face stained with tears, my breaths still heaving. She outstretched her hand toward me, offering it to me. “Come and live with me. I’ll take care of you. And besides, you can’t stay here alone.”
“No,” I gasped. This was all happening so fast. I shook my head at her, wary of the stranger. “But... this is my home.”
This was our home. Me and my dad... this was the only place I’d ever known. I didn’t want to leave.
“How are you going to take care of yourself all on your own?” Margot prompted gently, and I continued shaking my head.
“I don’t know...” I whispered. I didn’t know what to do. With my father gone, who was I supposed to turn to when things went wrong? I wasn’t strong enough yet to chop the firewood outside. I didn’t know where to find a replacement light bulb or how to change one... and I knew I wasn’t tall enough to reach the ceiling, even standing on a chair, since I’d tried it when the bulb had originally blown.
These were all things my father had promised he’d take care of. And now, he was gone. I wanted to believe I could take care of myself, but... I was already stumped at just those two small things I’d been waiting on.
A small part of me still couldn’t accept it... he couldn’t be gone. I couldn’t leave here when, surely, he’d be back any moment. But the reality had sunk in hours ago, though—when he hadn’t returned at his usual time and a deeper part of me had known something was wrong.
A kind smile appeared on Margot’s face, creating crinkle lines under her eyes.
“Your father meant a lot to me. It’s the least I could do, to make sure his daughter is taken care of.”
She waited patiently as I considered her words. I didn’t have anyone else. Or know anyone else. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I glanced back at the empty, dark house. I didn’t know where my father got food and supplies from. I knew I would run out of food within the week.
Waves of grief still coursed through me, threatening to send new tears spilling. My mind kept coming back to one question: why?
Why did he have to leave me so soon?
Why him?
Still, despite my hesitance... despite wanting to stay... I didn’t want to be alone. The thought was too scary.
“Okay,” I agreed finally, not sure what else to do. Her hand was still outstretched, so I placed my hand in hers, and together, we helped each other to our feet. “I’m Fleur,” I told her, reaching to steady her as her knees wobbled, though she quickly regained her balance.
“It’s nice to meet you, Fleur,” she replied, then gestured into the house. “Why don’t you go pack a bag? I’m afraid we can’t take everything, but some clothes will do for now.”
I nodded slowly. My entire body felt hollow as I made my way back into the house—the place I’d called home my whole life. The place that felt familiar and safe.
Now, without my father... it already didn’t feel the same.
I felt as if I were floating as I absentmindedly drifted around my bedroom, pulling items of clothing into a bag. I packed a few books that I didn’t want to leave behind and my favorite dagger.
Then I found myself headed for my father’s room and slowly pushed the door open. The room smelled like him, and hot tears welled again.
A dark-green sweater lay on the bed in the darkness, as if discarded at some point. I picked it up and clutched it close, inhaling the scent.
Fresh sobs began, and I crawled onto the bed, curling up into a ball and hugging the sweater. Exhaustion came over me quickly as I cried quietly, and I must have passed out there.
I heard the faint sounds of shuffling, my extreme exhaustion keeping me locked in a deep sleep. After some time, I felt as if I were being lifted and carried, the rocking motion steady and soothing. I drifted in and out of sleep, never fully waking, even when my awareness told me I’d been placed down somewhere soft and warm.
It wasn’t until late morning that my eyes opened in an unfamiliar room, with faint sunlight streaming in a nearby window. I sat up, looking down at the single bed I’d been placed in, and took in the room around me. It was scarce, with a mirror on the far wall and an empty, antique desk beside my bed.
It smelled wrong. Like something floral and earthy and... all the things that weren’t familiar. That weren’t home. A lump formed in my throat.
I swung my legs over and tentatively placed my feet to the ground, noticing how much colder the floorboards felt here as I crept toward a closed door. When I tried it, it opened, revealing a floral wallpapered hallway. I continued on until I reached a cozy kitchen, where I found Margot chopping crisp, fresh lettuce at a bench. She looked up when she saw me.
“Ah, you’re awake,” she noted, placing the kitchen knife down. It glinted dangerously in the sunlight.
“Where are we?” I asked, looking around. Through a nearby window, I noticed a small greenhouse full of vegetables and herbs. And farther beyond, a neighborhood of quaint little houses. I’d never seen so many houses before. Why were they so close together?
“I brought you to my home,” she informed me, coming around the bench to stand closer to me. “You were exhausted, and I didn’t want to wake you. I put your bag in your room.”
Panic seized me as I realized what she’d done—she’d taken me away from my home and everything I’d left behind. My breaths began coming out shorter again.
“What about my father’s sweater?”
“Relax, Cherie—I brought that too. It’s packed in your bag,” she promised. I blinked back fresh tears, thankful for that small relief. But it wasn’t enough. My hands circled my waist, digging into the hem of my shirt.
“How far away from home are we?”
Maybe I could go back and get more of his things. I hadn’t really had a chance to decide what I wanted to keep.
“We’re a long way away—and I’m afraid that’s not your home anymore. This is your new home,” she told me carefully, her tone soothing. I swallowed hard, shaking my head. She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder to soothe me. “Listen, everything is going to be okay. I know this is hard, but I’m going to take good care of you.”
I felt uneasy and shrugged her hand off my shoulder, taking a few steps back. I didn’t know this woman. But I didn’t know anyone else, either. I had no options, nowhere else to go.
I was trapped.
Her expression revealed nothing but patience and understanding.
“How about you have something to eat? I’m making a creamy lettuce soup for lunch. And then, after lunch, I have some friends I’d like you to meet, at the guild your father was part of.”
I froze, my eyes widening.
“Guild?” I asked. He had never told me about any guild. Suddenly, I was curious. I wanted to hear more about my father—anything to distract me and ease this persistent ache in my chest that grew stronger whenever I remembered he was gone forever.
She waved me toward the kitchen, gesturing to a dining table where I could sit down, before returning to her cooking.
“It’s called Guildwood—original, I know,” she informed me, with the hint of a smile, as she resumed chopping lettuce. She waved the knife around almost carelessly—confidently.
My father, despite his skill, never would have done such a thing.
“And your father was a legendary hunter in his time. I’m sure he would want you to carry on his work... if you’re interested?”
My father had taught me everything I knew about defending myself from vampires... but never about hunting them. He had said maybe when I was older, he would consider it.
“I don’t know how to hunt vampires,” I confessed, my shoulders dropping. She let out a chuckle.
“Not to worry—I can teach you,” she promised, lighting the stovetop behind her before scraping the lettuce across the chopping board into a cast-iron pot, then setting the pot on the stovetop. “And if you get really good at it, you might even be able to track down the vampire that killed your father someday. How about that?”
“You think I could do that?” I murmured, my mind wandering at the new thought.
“Well, of course. You are your father’s daughter.” She smiled gently at me. “I wish I knew more about the vampire that got away—he slipped through our fingers, unfortunately. But there are records in our guild’s archives from previous hunts... maybe there’s a clue that can help you once you’re finally really to access them.”
It hadn’t even occurred to me while I’d been grieving that I could track down the vampire that had done this. But as I considered her words, a new emotion found me.
Anger.
Hatred, at the thought of someone taking my father away from me.
How dare they take his life? How dare they take away the one person I had left, the one person I loved more than anything in this world?
If Margot was serious about teaching me... if she could help me find the monster who did this... would some of this grief finally cease? Would this never-ending pain feel less prominent?
All I knew was that I needed something to hold on to. Something to ease the ache in my chest. And the thought of finding this vampire and inflicting the hurt upon it that it had inflicted on me? On my father?
It gave me hope—hope that one day, things would feel different.
For the first time since last night, I wiped away my tears, and no more fell. A new resolve had settled in me, and I could have sworn I noticed a smug, approving twinkle in Margot’s eye as she watched on.
