Fatal Magic

By Emily Bybee

Someone wants Sydney dead. Only problem is, she has no idea who. Pushing her off a cliff, thinking the deadly ocean waves will finish their dirty-work, was their first mistake. The near-death experience opens channels of uncontrollable magic, which Sydney is told should have remained dormant.

As if finding out magic is real and hit-lists aren't enough, Sydney discovers her family lied to her. They were witches too. But they're all dead. And she's left to fend off the psychos after her blood with only Luke, her childhood crush turned steamy college student, on her side. Turns out being a witch isn't as awesome as you'd think, especially when your magic has fatal consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Dec 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781509229840

Book preview

Inc.

Recognition sent tingling warmth through my limbs. He squeezed his mother in a tight embrace. I jerked to attention, my mouth open.

Luke.

I drank in the changes over the past six years since I’d seen him at my parents’ funeral. He’d been a lanky kid of fourteen, gangly with feet too big for his height.

Luke had changed drastically, and oh my God, was it for the better. Assurance replaced awkwardness and there was no gangliness in sight. Lean muscle filled out his chest and back, and I couldn’t help but notice his toned biceps when he hugged his mom. His hair looked about the samerich, brown, and longish, just a bit above his shoulders.

Releasing his mother, he turned and noticed me standing in the entryway, likely with a not-so-bright look on my face. I snapped my gaping mouth shut and pasted on a smile.

My God, Syd, he gasped. His jaw tightened. What happened?

Sydney had an accident, Mrs. Kimball jumped in. Which I’m sure she doesn’t want to discuss.

I bit my tongue to stop a snide comment.

He sent his mom a look I couldn’t read before his gaze roamed over the roadmap of visible bruises on my arms, face, and neck.

I ran a hand through my hair, realizing I’d never brushed it after the bath. Sure enough, a frizzy cloud stood up from my scalp. I cleared my throat and tried for casual while I smoothed down the fabric of my ratty T-shirt and wished the floor would swallow me whole.

Praise for FRACTURED MAGIC

This book was fast paced and addictive, filled with magic and a lot of secrets to be uncovered. It also felt like a science-y and less dark version of the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina mixed with vibes from The Darkest Minds series.

~FirstBookLove Review

~*~

I didn’t look up from the moment I started and to be honest, I didn’t want to leave. Lush with rich detail, I felt like I was there for the epic adventure. This book hit everything that I love and more. Topped off with well rounded characters and a unique original plot, and you got yourself a top shelf read.

~Don’t Judge Read Review

Fatal Magic

by

Emily Bybee

Unstable Magic, Book 2

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Fatal Magic

COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Emily Bybee

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Kristian Norris

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2019

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2983-3

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2984-0

Unstable Magic, Book 2

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For my amazing husband, Craig,

who believes in me way more than I could

ever believe in myself. I love you most.

~

With a special thanks to Jodi and Jymn.

True friends who went above and beyond

with their time and help.

Chapter One

A noxious scent assaulted my nose the moment I stepped into my room. With a hand over my face, I dropped my swim bag by the bed and glared at my roommate, Rowan.

What did you put in it this time? I waved at the oil diffuser that continued to pump toxic vapor into the air.

She didn’t shift her attention from the chemistry textbook in her lap. It’ll help us remember everything for the test tomorrow. It’s eucalyptus, tea tree, patchouli, cypress, a couple of others, and peppermint of course.

Of course. I shook my head.

Rowan claimed peppermint would cure everything from headaches to zits. I flopped on my bed and looked at the poster tacked to the ceiling above me. Golden eyes stared back from the cheetahs, my favorite animal.

You’ll get used to the smell in a few minutes.

No more studying for me. I wrinkled my nose. I don’t need to remember more chemistry. I’ve got a C.

How can you be happy with a C? she gasped. Chemistry is like the key to life.

I will never need to remember anything in that book. I waved to the text and met her glare with raised eyebrows. Come on, let’s do something fun.

She rolled her eyes. Some of us have to keep our GPA up.

Rowan was on a scholarship. She had to keep her Grade Point Average above a three-point-seven five to stay in school. I groaned into my pillow at the thought of trying to cram more useless molecular knowledge into my unwilling brain. Hand me your book. I’ll quiz you.

Her face brightened like a puppy who’d been asked if she wanted to go for a walk. Really? You’re the best-est friend ever.

The music erupting from my cell phone stopped my response.

Rowan glanced at the display and stuck her tongue out. Uncle Pete.

I groaned, but a small seed of hope sprouted—like it always did when he called. I quashed the hope and denied the call before the inevitable disappointment set in. The token phone call.

You aren’t going to answer?

I got to my feet on legs that were already feeling two hours spent in the pool at swim and dive practice. No. Let’s go for a run.

It’s okay, you go ahead. Rowan hunched her back and smashed her face into the chemistry book. Her long dark hair fell forward and muffled her voice. I have to figure out these acid-base reactions.

Slipping on my running shoes, I grabbed her notecards. We can quiz each other while we run. It’ll be fun. I waved the cards just out of her grasp. I seem to remember some smart person telling me about a study saying you learn things better if you’re moving.

Fine. I guess getting the blood flow going might help. She stretched and grumbled. I can’t feel my feet.

An hour later, I sat at my desk, water bottle in hand. Running outside in the brisk air and brilliant fall leaves calmed my nerves like nothing else. Our boarding school sat on eight-hundred acres of Hudson River Valley heaven near New York City.

My cell phone, which I’d left in our dorm during our run, spouted its ringtone again.

It’s probably your uncle. You should answer, Rowan said.

I waved it off. I’ll call him tomorrow. You getting an A is more important.

Shaking her head, she grabbed the phone. Her brow wrinkled. It’s a weird number. She smirked and answered. Sydney’s House of Limp Noodles, how may I direct your call?

I stifled my laughter.

The smile faded from Rowan’s face.

With a tilt of my head, I mouthed, What?

May I ask who’s calling? she asked, in a tone I’d only ever heard her use with teachers.

Nausea tightened my stomach, and my left hand went to the ring on my right ring finger, my own personal nervous habit. Some people twirl their hair or bite their nails—I mess with my ring. It’s better than the first two or sucking on pens, if you ask me.

With her hand over the mouthpiece, she held the phone away from her face and screeched, You’re going to want to take this. It’s him.

I pushed away from my desk. What? Who?

She held out her arms and shook her head. Who have you been talking about for…like, years?

I threw my hands out in the air. Edward?

Seriously? She scrunched up her nose and blinked a few times. You think a vampire is on the phone? It’s Luke.

Every muscle in my body froze. I stared at the cell as if I could see the caller through the minuscule holes in the receiver. I’d decided Luke was the boy I wanted to marry at the age of six. I might have still been harboring a fantasy or three along those lines.

Rowan gave me an encouraging nod, made me take the phone, and busied herself with dumping something new in the oil diffuser. The toxic fumes mixed with a soothing lavender scent.

Hello? I squeaked. Rowan’s brow furrowed, and she motioned for me to breathe. I inhaled the fragrant mist. A calmness spread over me.

Sydney? It’s Luke. How are you doing? His voice had changed since we last talked. Deeper now, and more masculine in tone.

I’m great, awesome. I’m…I’m… I stammered and searched the room for something more exciting than studying. My gaze settled on the warmer on Rowan’s dresser. Waxing my armpits.

I bit my lips and pinched the bridge of my nose.

Ouch, he said.

Ripping out sweaty hair. Sexy. My heart thudded against my ribcage. Rowan smacked her own forehead and collapsed onto her bed like a silent movie star. I sent her a glare.

Syd, there’s something I need to tell you. My mom called you earlier on Pete’s phone. I’m not sure how to say this. His tone conveyed the message clearly. He definitely hadn’t called to profess his undying love for me.

My voice sounded hollow as I spoke, even to my own ears. Then just say it.

Your uncle had a heart attack this morning. I’m sorry, Syd. He’s gone.

I didn’t hear anything else he said. The phone dropped to the floor from my frozen fingers.

****

The red-eye from New York to California left me tired but hyped-up on sugar and caffeine. Due to a flight delay, I changed into my black silk dress at the airport, and then went straight to the house.

I walked into my family home for the first time in six years and faced a sea of unfamiliar people. Firming my jaw, I wove my way through the crowd, putting up with all the sad looks, pats on my shoulder, and whispered condolences. At a memorial service it seemingly became appropriate for complete strangers to hug you.

Big crowds were never my thing. One more fake conversation or someone calling me a poor girl and I’d flip out. Just when I’d had enough, I noticed a large man standing by the doors to the gardens and a real smile found my lips. Smits.

I sidled up next to my uncle’s head of security. He’d also been my personal bodyguard before my parents died, going everywhere with me. I always thought Smits was the strongest man on earth, besides my Martial Arts instructor, of course.

Any troublemakers in this group? I asked with a grin.

His eyes widened when recognition set in. I had changed a bit since I was twelve. Miss Sydney, he said and wrapped one arm around me in a side-hug. I barely recognized you. Your hair is shorter, and it looks lighter.

Yeah, shorter is easier with swimming. And chlorine makes it more blonde than red. I ran a hand over the shoulder-length waves. You haven’t changed at all, I said and leaned into his side. The fabric of his suit strained over his biceps and around the neck. Also the shirt stretched tight across his mid-section, more so than years before, but the bull-dog frown that permanently etched his intimidating face still hid a teddy bear’s heart. Some of the tension in my muscles relaxed. I’m glad you’re here. I promise not to cause too much trouble. In my younger years, I’d kept Smits on his toes.

You were never any trouble. He released me and stepped back. The smile faltered on his face.

My chest tightened. I knew that look.

I’m sorry about your uncle, he said, his deep voice even more gravelly. He shifted his weight away from me.

I bit my lip, knowing what was coming next. Thank you.

I’ve got to check on things. He took another step away and motioned to the hundred or so people filling the house. You should talk to your guests.

I nodded, and he hurried away while my insides shriveled into a tight ball. It was always the same. Even Smits, who’d known me my entire life couldn’t hold a conversation. No one knew what to say to the orphan. I scanned my guests, supposedly my uncle’s business partners, friends, employees, not a single familiar face among them.

The walls pressed in on me. I shouldn’t even have come. I should have stayed at school. Ready to scream, I walked out into the gardens and breathed in a huge lungful of salty air. Leaning against a railing, I contemplated the full house.

Forget that, I said aloud, shaking my head. I turned and headed toward the ocean.

A cliff lined the west side of our property, along with a secluded beach to the south. With several acres surrounding the house and beach, finding some privacy wasn’t a problem.

I stood, staring out over the waves. When I lost my parents in a car accident when I was twelve, Uncle Peter was all the family I had left. I waited for the crushing sadness that consumed me after my parents died but it didn’t come. I felt numb. Then green sticky guilt bubbled up. I should be sad, crying. I’d loved Pete, but I’d barely seen him in six years. More than anything a dry expanse of loneliness filled my soul.

A seagull soared through the air, and I looked down for the first time. The cliff edge jutted out over the water fifty or sixty feet below. The force of high-tide pounding onto the rocks sent spray twenty feet up the side of the cliff. A cold wind off the ocean sent goosebumps over my exposed skin.

I rubbed my hands over my bare arms while my brain spun out. Scenarios of my future flashed in a downward spiral. I wasn’t like Rowan. She had a plan—college, science, career, all laid out. With Pete’s weekly phone calls, although I’d resented them, I’d at least had to pretend to know where I was headed. Now, no one would be calling to make certain I was okay.

Behind me a twig snapped. I sighed and pasted a sad smile across my lips before I turned around to greet the would-be consoler—only to find no one there. I scanned the trees and the gardens in the distance. No one except me. I shook my head. Sleep-deprivation was getting the better of me. Frowning but relieved, I turned to face the water and slipped my cell phone from the pocket of my dress. The contact for Rowan was first on the list. I tapped the screen and put the phone to my ear. Her voicemail picked up.

Hey, I said. I’m going to book a flight for tomorrow to come home, there’s nothing left for me here. See you soon. I hung up. Calling my boarding school in New York home felt oddly right. Over the last six years, I’d only left school for a two-week vacation each summer, sometimes with Pete, sometimes on my own.

A powerful blow between my shoulder blades knocked me off balance. The cell phone flew from my hand. I teetered on the edge of the cliff, fighting to stay alive. Every muscle tightened, and my arms spun through the air. My heart seized, a quivering mass inside my chest. I battled with gravity to keep from going over the cliff’s edge. Gravity won.

Chapter Two

No. The strangled cry flew from my lips. I flailed, as if somehow, I could learn to fly or stop gravity, if I just tried hard enough. I couldn’t die this way.

I hurtled toward the rough water. My attention focused on the rocks rushing toward me. Way too fast.

Instinct, and years on the dive team, took over. With the forward momentum from the push, I twisted and got my feet under me.

I might as well have landed on cement. Sparks flew through my vision. Air burst from my lungs. The water swallowed me, but for one split second I swore I saw the outline of a figure leaning over the cliff.

A vise gripped my lower limbs. With a tendon-snapping jerk, the undertow yanked me down before I could break the surface for a breath of air. My fingers clawed at the water. The life-saving oxygen I needed retreated farther away. With what was left in my lungs, I couldn’t hold my breath for long.

My laboring heart slammed against my ribcage. I battled to stay calm, but tendrils of panic gripped me. My oxygen ran out, and my brain struggled to rectify going from safely standing on the cliff to drowning in a few seconds.

Jagged rock scraped my back. The last of my life-sustaining air exploded from my mouth, and I sucked in water. The salt burned my airways and flooded my lungs. I would die in this churning hell.

Instead of my life flashing before my eyes, all the things I’d never experienced ran through my mind. It was a long list. Too long. I couldn’t control my limbs. All I could do was drift. Darkness claimed my mind, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

As I let go, my heart stilled, and a searing pain ripped through my head. Burning acid raced through my brain.

The pain forced the blackness of death away, even as the undertow spit me out. I twisted and gave a feeble kick, extending my sluggish arms upward. I struggled through the water, my brain on fire.

At last, I broke the surface. I sputtered and gulped in the sweetest breath of air of my entire life—gobbling down oxygen in between bouts of coughing. My neurons sputtered and fired, struggling to connect.

I should be dead. Relief spread with each breath, and I twisted in the ocean to get my bearings. My exhausted limbs wouldn’t keep my head above water for long.

The vortex had flung me out hundreds of feet from the cliff. With the current along the coast, each wave moved me away from land, and safety. No way did I survive the damn cliff only to be dragged out to sea and drowned. I kicked and hacked at the water with protesting muscles.

In my mind, my swim coach shouted for me to finish the race. My strokes faltered, but I fought on, battling the current. Finally, the waves tumbled me onto the shore where I collapsed face first at the edge of the water and sank into darkness.

****

Pebbles dug into my cheek and invaded my consciousness. A mineral taste filled my mouth, and my stomach rolled, none too happy about the amount of water I’d swallowed.

I shivered as if my blood was transfused with liquid nitrogen. I needed to get moving. Pain permeated my entire body, not just my head. My frazzled mind could barely comprehend what happened.

Someone had definitely pushed me off the cliff. Half-formed questions tumbled through my thoughts. I didn’t know the why but I damn sure would find out the who. My jaw firmed. I squinted up at the empty cliff. Goosebumps ran up my arms that had nothing to do with the cold. I begin to crawl, and soon the wood of the stairs leading up from the beach bit into my hands and knees.

At a sound from above, I jerked my head up. A figure stood at the top of the steps, silhouetted in the afternoon light. My heart jumped into my nasal cavity and accelerated to a manic rhythm.

Sydney? called the frantic voice of my family’s housekeeper and Luke’s mom, Mrs. Kimball.

Yes, I croaked in a weak rasp. My heart sank down to its natural position, resuming a semi-normal pattern.

She pounded down the stairs. We’ve been looking everywhere for you. What happened?

The cliff, was all I got out before my chattering teeth stopped me.

She helped me stand, and we struggled up a few steps. More footsteps rattled the stairs. The wood squeaked with the formidable weight of Mr. Smits. He rushed toward me, focused as a bloodhound on a scent trail. Without a word he lifted me into his meaty arms and carried me toward the house.

Pain stabbed my torso as if a jagged blade tore through my ribs. I gasped and clutched my side.

We mustn’t let anyone see her in this state, Mrs. Kimball whispered to Smits.

I looked down at the dress I’d worn to the wake and tugged at a ragged tear that split the black silk up to my hip then shoved my hair out of my face. Gritty sand covered every inch of my skin and hair. Personally, I didn’t care if a houseful of people saw me. I had more important things on my mindfinding out who pushed me.

Smits carried me into a side entrance, away from guests, and up the back staircase. The only people we encountered were a few security guards and staff. The shocked expression that crossed each of their faces told me I looked about as good as I felt.

We paused in the doorway to my room, then Smits set me down on the edge of the bed. I clutched my side against the pain and glanced around. It was like a time-warp. Nothing had changed in six years. Still a twelve-year-old’s room. Although, there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere and someone had unpacked my bags.

Mrs. Kimball spoke in a low voice to Smits.

I’ll talk to my guys. He hurried from the room.

Mrs. Kimball turned to me. I shouldn’t have left you alone. She fussed, brushing sand off my face. I never thought you’d jump.

Jump? No. Someone pushed me, I croaked out, then coughed, my throat raw.

Her hand paused. Who would do such a thing, dear?

I thought about the empty path behind me on the cliff and the flash of a silhouette from the water. I’m not really sure. I didn’t see anyone.

Don’t worry now. You’re not alone. We’ll get you the help you need. She patted my shoulder, her tone telling me that help would include a psych visit and antidepressants.

Having your closest relatives die made adults think you were suddenly suicidal, as I’d found out when my parents died. My mouth opened but I couldn’t find the motivation, or the words, to argue.

We’ll get you out of these clothes. Then I’ll get Dr. Perry.

I nodded, sending bolts of lightning through my brain, and cradled my head.

She helped me to my feet. I limped to the bathroom, pain shooting through my torso with each step. Anguish still coursed through my head to the point of dizziness. I sank into the tub. Fresh chills swept over me in response to the warm water.

Will you be okay for a minute while I get the doctor?

I’m not going to jump off a cliff, if that’s what you’re worried about. I couldn’t help the edge in my voice. I hated when people treated me like I’d break.

Her mouth formed a firm line at my snark. With one last glance over her shoulder, she left. After she was gone, I realized she’d taken my razor. I didn’t have the energy to do more than roll my eyes.

I thought back to the cliff. There were three possibilities—I’d jumped, I’d tripped, or someone pushed me. I ran through the events in my mind. No way I’d tripped.

Someone pushed me. I could almost feel the pressure points in my shoulders from their fingers, plus I’d swear I’d seen a figure looking down before I went under. The glance was so quick, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. It could even have been bushes, or the shape of a rock. There was no sound of footsteps coming toward me before I went over. My brain struggled to rectify what I’d seen versus what I’d felt. Someone tried to kill me.

I glanced around the bathroom for anything that could pass for a weapon, wondering if a toothbrush up the nose would be fatal. I settled on a long wooden-handled scrubber. Hardly lethal, and not nearly as deadly as my nunchucks, but the firm weight felt reassuring in my palm. If anyone tried anything, they’d have a surprise coming.

I splashed water over my face and focused, wishing Rowan was there