Strange Magic

By Renee Joiner

A magical klutz, an ancient evil, one night to save the world…

Sawyer Key is considered a lost cause to everyone but the powerful great aunt who left her house and her treasure of arcane artifacts to the one person who can't use them.

Even her own mother doesn't think Sawyer can possibly be capable of running Key House, the seat of the great power and fortune that was long ago built on hallowed ground and intersecting ley lines. Taking care of something that valuable involves magical skill Sawyer just doesn't quite have down pat...yet. She still has hope, but it's fading fast.

She's botched spell after spell, rite after rite, and potion after potion until she's sure her aunt was as wrong as everyone says...and that she doesn't even deserve the wild magic she does have.

But when all the town's witches and wizards lose their magic on the eve of Samhain, the only magic left is her accident-prone, lawless, uncontrolled power.

And her strange stray cat's.

But will it be enough to take on an ancient evil and save the town's magic, or will she fail to live up to the legacy her aunt died to protect?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oshun Publications, LLC
• Release date: Aug 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781950378807

Renee Joiner

Renee Joiner has been in love with the supernatural for longer than she can remember, so it is no surprise that she is an author of paranormal urban fantasy. Although she discovered her passion for writing when she was only twelve years old, she didn’t make her writing debut until many years into the future. Adventurous and fun-loving, she enjoys traveling to new places, exploring new sights and meeting new people. Thus, she delights in creating fantastical worlds that are sure to give her readers an escape from the real world while simultaneously providing thrilling entertainment. Besides her special knack for writing, you'll also find a passion for metaphysics spirituality which she has been nurturing for over four decades. Renee hails from New York and currently resides with her husband in their empty nest—unless you count their three adorable fur babies—in Florida. She enjoys adding to her sea of knowledge and thus spends her free time learning new things.

Book preview

One

Dìon

I don’t know why my mother decided to name me after the first woman executed for witchcraft in New England, she said, dumping herbs into the bubbling cauldron in front of her. It sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy just waiting to happen.

The cat meowed inquisitively.

It’s Agnes, she replied, only feeling a little bit strange for talking to a cat. Agnes Sawyer Key. But you can call me Sawyer. She poured a carefully measured spoonful of bat’s blood into the cauldron. Agnes Waterhouse lived in England in the sixteenth century. She was hanged for allegedly bewitching somebody. I know people aren’t really murdered for witchcraft anymore, but it’s still awful to think about. Why couldn’t I have been named after a cool witch? Like Samantha or Rowena? I don’t really want to be hanged for being a witch like Agnes was.

The cat tipped its head.

I know they’re not real witches, but they’re still cool. The cauldron flashed bright green as Sawyer added a pinch of bone dust. Okay, I’m nearly done.

She added another pinch and gave it a big stir with the iron ladle. Sawyer sucked in a breath, closing her eyes. She allowed the air to fill her up. Focusing on the magic that flowed through her veins, on the warmth inside of her chest.

Dìon.

The world exploded with light. Sawyer cried out and reared back, arms flying up to protect her face as a bright red mushroom cloud flashed above the cauldron. A boom jolted the frame of the house and shook the foundation all around her, no doubt rattling the entire street. When her ears stopped ringing, Sawyer lowered her arms. She grimaced.

Well. That wasn’t right.

The cauldron looked a bit worse for wear. The bookcases that lined each of the attic walls stood half-empty now; books and boxes toppled to the wooden floors. The window on the far side of the room had a spider web of cracks running along the glass. The door barely clung to its hinges. The cat poked its head out from beneath one of the bookcases, green eyes glaring irritably in her direction. Sawyer sighed. I know, I know. I don’t know what I did wrong. Chirping like it agreed, the cat slunk out of its hiding space and began to groom its fur, dark brown like Sawyer’s own hair, but with a smattering of white and gray spots along its chest.

At her side, Sawyer’s phone began to trill. Her mother’s photo flashed across the screen. Another sigh. For Salem’s sake, she muttered but plucked up her phone anyway. Hi, Mom, she said, watching as the cat padded forward and started pawing at the potion ingredients she had lined up alongside the smoking cauldron. She quickly waved it away. She didn’t need any of them to get knocked over and cause another explosion. Just calling to say hello?

Agnes, her mom snapped, making Sawyer wince. She hadn’t been lying when she told the cat she hated her actual name. What have you done this time?

What makes you think it was me?

Because it is always you, was the reply, and even through the phone’s tinny speaker, Sawyer could hear her mother’s frustration. She had a point, though, didn’t she? Sawyer truly was the root of any magical disturbances in Northfalls. This was her fifth explosion. She had caused frogs to rain from the sky, a tornado made of rose thorns, and one time she had even made their neighbor Ms. Beck fall in love with a man who most definitely was not her husband. It wasn’t Sawyer’s finest moment. Nor was it Ms. Beck’s.

Remembering the phone clutched in her hand, Sawyer swallowed back a shuddering breath. I’m sorry, Mom, Sawyer said shakily, shoulders sinking as she hung her head. I’ll try harder. I promise.

See that you do.

The line clicked off, and Sawyer drowned in the silence that followed.

Sawyer wasn’t like the rest of her family. Her mother, Maisie Key, was strong and steadfast like prairie grass in a field withstanding the elements—her magic never faltered. Sawyer’s younger sister, Rebecca, was sharp as a whip and quick as one, too. The third Key daughter, Jemma, was soft and gentle with her magic, but she never made a single mistake.

And then there was Vivian Key.

Vivian was her aunt, and Sawyer was still reeling from the shock of her recent passing. It had been a freak accident—that was all she really knew. She left everything to Sawyer in her will, which made about as much sense as aconite in a love potion. No one understood why Sawyer had received the bulk of the inheritance, not even Sawyer herself. She had inherited cauldrons of all sizes, books of magic (including her aunt’s rare and ancient Book of Shadows), potion and ritual supplies such as herbs and candles, her aunt’s pendant necklace that she always wore, and Key House itself.

Key House was a mauve Victorian-era building with sharply arched roofs and a tower that jutted into the sky. The wrap-around porch was supported by a dozen ornately carved columns with intricate details snaking along the house, around windows, and along the roof-edges. Their family had owned it for almost two centuries; dozens of Key witches had lived and died within its walls, only adding to the power it held. Magic had long since ingrained itself into the wood. And now, for whatever reason, it belonged to her.

Sawyer fingered the necklace she wore that had also once belonged to Vivian. It was a lapis lazuli crystal, cerulean blue; it shimmered like the most beautiful ocean water and was connected to a gold chain. She drew comfort from it—the crystal promoted wisdom and strength through change, which was something she desperately needed this past month. She was pretty sure it was also supposed to help ground her magical abilities. Still, there was no personal evidence of that, if the carnage around her from her last botched spell was anything to go by.

Not to mention the carnage of, well, her life.

Magic had never been easy for Sawyer. The oldest of three sisters, the first-born of a new Key generation, should have been a successful and powerful witch. While her sisters perfected transformation spells and artfully crafted unique potions from a young age, Sawyer was left cleaning up after the messes she left in her wake. But disappointment permanently etched itself into her mother’s eyes when Sawyer reached her sixteenth birthday.

Most witches were born with a minuscule amount of magic that multiplied throughout their lives, growing alongside them. By the time they reached sixteen years of age, the magic stopped expanding. Some were left with just enough magic to boil a kettle without a stove, while others could crumble entire mountains if they wished. Sawyer’s sister Rebecca had demonstrated her power by changing the weather with a flick of her wrist. In contrast, her youngest sister, Jemma, had made flowers spring to life upon every surface in town. The scent of roses lingered in the air for days afterward.

And Sawyer, well… she had cracked the main road in two. Not on purpose, of course. She had actually been trying to form a birthday cake out of thin air, only for the pavement to shudder and split right beneath her feet. It had taken three witches to seal it back together again.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have magic. It was the fact she never seemed able to control it. Destruction clung to her like a shadow wherever she went until her mother decided that maybe it was best she didn’t attempt so many spells. But how else could Sawyer practice and master her powers? So, she took to reading. She studied every book on every shelf she could find. She memorized spells and potions and their uses, read up on the town’s history as well as her own family history. And when she did feel like she’d studied up on a spell enough, she would tuck herself away somewhere and give it a try. Sometimes the spells worked, and sometimes they didn’t, but every time she managed to get one right made it a good day for her.

It was the worst day of her life when Sawyer got the news.

No one knew exactly what happened. One day, Vivian was there, and the next, she was gone. She had simply crumpled into a heap in her vegetable garden, green eyes wide and unblinking at the sky, salt and pepper hair pooled around her head. Vivian’s neighbor had discovered her body not long after since the body was still warm. The entire street attempted every healing spell they knew to recover her life. Unfortunately, she was already gone. Necromancy was a magic