Ghostly Games Episode One

By Odette C. Bell

Winchester Stone is a wizard with power, privilege, and a problem. His half-brother is about to reveal Winchester’s greatest secret – he can speak to the dead. A forbidden skill, if the Magical Academy found out, he’d disappear into their dungeons forever.
When he runs into a bumbling witch who discovers his dark powers, he only has one option – Winchester must indenture her so she can never reveal the truth. But she’ll never be able to leave his side either. A problem, because Lisbeth McQuarrie has her own secret. She can also speak to the dead and – critically – carry out their wishes.
Will they find out each other’s secrets, or will the Academy hunt them down and pick them off one by one? They’ll have to do it quickly – for darker forces align against Lisbeth. And an ancient prophecy soon rises. With the power to blot out the sun and raise the dead, Lisbeth will have her work cut out for her – and her heart, if she isn’t lucky.
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A light-romance historical-fantasy, Ghostly Games follows a pompous wizard and his rare witch as they’re thrust into a battle to find out each other’s secrets. If you love your fiction with magic, heart, wit, and a smattering of romance, grab Ghostly Games Episode One today and soar free with an Odette C. Bell series.

Ghostly Games is the third Trapped by Your Side series. In this world, witches can be indentured by strong wizards - if the wizards are stupid enough to try. Witty, fun, and fast, they'll appeal to fans of light historical fantasy and cozy mysteries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Odette C. Bell
• Release date: Oct 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005345686

Book preview

Prologue

Winchester Stone

I slowly rolled up my sleeves, walked into the center of the glowing mandala, closed my eyes, and breathed in. As the deep inhalation pushed my waistcoat out, magic filled the room. And right there, constantly crackling at the edge of my awareness, echoed the whispers of the dead. If any soul knew I could hear them, my reign at the top of the Magical Academy of this kingdom would end. I would be kidnapped and thrown into the deep dungeons of the school forevermore.

If they found out. They never would. For there had never been born a man cleverer or more careful than I.

Taking another deep inhalation and locking it in my lungs, I soon rattled off a magical word. Forbidden, you wouldn’t find it in the tan leather tomes that filled the library several stories above. You had to be taught by the dead themselves, and to do that, you had to be on their good side. Was I on the good side of the dead of this cursed kingdom? Hardly. But they did have a begrudging respect for me. For I, Winchester Stone, suffered no fools.

Come, I bellowed. I’d set a special candle down in front of my feet, precisely 63 centimeters away. As my bellows struck the air, the candle flame almost extinguished itself. It bent like a young sapling under torrential rain. Then slowly, like a hand pushing up from a fresh grave, it straightened. My heart caught in my chest, skipping a beat, shaking wildly as the sense in the air changed. A cold wind, as if sent by Tartarus himself, whipped up through the cracks in the rock floor and moaned against the high carved ceiling. It pushed back clumps of cobwebs like somebody fondly stroking tangled hair.

Then the hiss that was always there, just at the edge of my awareness, grew louder. Sharper and ever-present, I felt energy manifest right behind my shoulder. I spun, my expensive shoes crushing some of the chalk runes I’d drawn over the floor but not many. I stood inside a protection circle and would never step beyond it. Not when the dead were concerned.

Not only did I not suffer fools, but I, Winchester Stone, never made mistakes.

A dour, gaunt man appeared before me. Ghosts are not necessarily wispy folk who look as if they’ve inadvisably thrown a wet sheet over their heads. They resemble their old selves, albeit pale, washed-out versions of themselves as if someone had painted them in shades of stark gray then thrown alcohol over the canvas.

Powerful wizard, the man hissed, let me rest in peace.

I have a favor to ask of you. On the word favor, I drew a strap of leather, three and a half centimeters across and 20 centimeters in length, out of my pocket. In a practiced move, I wrapped it around one hand without having to use my other fingers. As the leather scrunched over my knuckles, it was as if I was getting ready for a boxing match. In many ways, I was. A fact this ghost well knew. He’d been a constable in his previous life, and if my reading of his ethereal energy was anything to go by, he had only ended that life recently. Fresh wisps of ghostly force still curled around his legs, hugged his kneecaps underneath his britches, and reached the ends of his limp mustache.

I was warned about you, he hissed. The others in the morgue said there is a wizard who manipulates us. And he is you, then?

He momentarily closed his eyes. His eyeballs pushed against his eyelids, jerking left and right, left and right like an overactive pendulum in a clock. I could tell what he was doing. Accessing his old memories. Soon one eye slid open, then his lips followed as he hissed, Winchester Stone. I remember you from my old life. You’re meant to be a man of dignity. The best the Magical Academy has. A wizard of promise. Yet you manipulate the dead for your benefit. All who fall into the dark will be strangled by it, he warned ominously.

I finished wrapping the leather strap around my knuckles. Then I pushed them forward slowly. I wasn’t about to punch him – for I would need far more than leather to achieve that. To fight a ghost, one must call on their own spirit and transform it into ethereal power.

That would be a waste of one’s soul. And it would be an invitation for them to slip even further into the darkness.

I had never met someone who could do it. Or rather, in all my readings, I had never encountered someone who had successfully done it while remaining alive. I had never met anyone else in this kingdom who could speak to the dead, for our skill set was banned – and consequently, hunted.

I eased myself forward on my shoes. The tips of them almost breached my protection circle, and I watched the old constable’s eyes dart down. Licks of flame scratched their way around the leather, looking for a way in. All I had to do was bring up my left leg and stamp it down hard to chase them back. He hissed. What do you seek? he finally asked, perhaps reading the writing on the wall. Not the literal writing that covered this ceremonial room – a place I had painstakingly built and hidden over the past 10 years since entering the Academy. He cared more about the figurative writing on the wall. I had him where I needed him. And I could not lose.

I tipped my head back, anchoring my power, wanting to prove to this ghost I was in control and there was nothing he could do but cave to my request. I need the location of more spirit stones, I hissed.

The fellows at the morgue warned me about this, too. Tell me, Winchester Stone, what is it you need spirit stones for?

I do not need to explain myself to you. Your time as a police officer is over. When you have completed my mission, I will assist you in ascending.

His lips cracked open. How kind. But you won’t be doing this for me. You’ll do it to hide your own tracks.

My teeth clenched together, and, jaw locked like a vice, I pushed my tongue against my palate, opening my lips a fraction to hiss, Policemen are always the worst. But as I already told you—

I’m dead and buried. Or at least I’ll be buried soon. He lifted his palm, pushing one gaunt finger upward. Something is after you, isn’t it, Winchester? You’d only need spirit stones to hide your power. A word of warning.

I need no warning from a ghost.

The man’s chin suddenly tucked down against his old gray uniform. He closed his eyes. The ethereal power in the room only grew. Even a trainee in the dark arts would know he was contacting the greater realm. Eventually, one eye slid open again. It crackled with a spiritual fire you rarely saw. One cannot dabble with the dead and control them forever. The laws of give and take will catch up to them.

No such law applies to me. For the laws can only be applied to those without power. I opened my palm. Force shot around my fingers. It was a display not for the man, but for me. To calm the nerves that had dared climb my chest, snag hold of my heart, and play with my lungs. A tingle of adrenaline shot through my stomach, reached my back, and raced across it with alacrity.

A perfectly formed ball of fire appeared half a centimeter over my palm, crackling wildly. The exact power of the flames could chase back even a thousand candles.

Yet my display didn’t impress this man in the least. His graying lips slid over his equally gray, only partially visible teeth. Some things cannot be fought, Wizard. They can only be surrendered to. I wager such things will come to you soon. Now, I know the location of what you seek. Head to the Eastside Cemetery. Spiritual stones have just appeared next to old man Wintersmith’s crypt. Another word of warning, however.

I need no such warning. You have done as you were requested to do. I will now liberate you from this earthly realm. I lifted my left hand, my wrist peeking out from underneath my sleeve. I wore a gold band, specially crafted by me, the inside specially engraved by me, too. It had taken me years to get the symbols correct. Now, even if someone who knew what they were doing found the bracelet and flipped it over, they would have no clue of its force.

It anchored me further, giving me the power I would require to exorcise this ghost from the living realm for good.

Once more, just before I could raise my voice in command, he opened his hand wide. Before this is over, Wizard, he growled with power not entirely his own, you will need to figure out where you stand.

Here, behind a wall of power no one else can break.

You stand there for now. Trust me, you will not stand there forever.

I ignored his last growled words as I picked my hands up and flourished them wide. Specialized force pumped out of my mandala, spinning more ferociously around my body. It arced up high, cracked like lightning directly overhead, then shot into the man. No, the ghost. I’d spent too much time with the dead, clearly, and I was starting to equate them with the living. But the living they were not, and that was the point. They were a resource that could only be called on by me, a gift that came hand-in-hand with this curse. And one I would use to my dying day.

With a great boom that could not be heard by anyone else, the man finally sank beneath the cracked stones of this room. I thought I heard him whisper one last word before he disappeared, though that ought to be impossible, considering his mouth had already erased itself from reality.

Soon.

My back straightened. The only thing that will happen soon is I will finally have enough spirit stones to ensure my anonymity for good.

Only when I was sure he had disappeared entirely did I reach forward, crush the edge of my mandala, and walk out.

I heard the whispers of the dead just at the furthest reaches of hearing. And I ignored them.

Smiling to myself, I reminded myself of the next location. And soon enough, the power I would claim.

For nothing could get in my way for long. Or at least, that was the promise. If I had taken heed of that ghost’s warning, I would’ve turned, run away, and thrown my head under the covers of reality for good. For he had been correct. Something was rising. And before this month was done, that thing would make me decide whether I stood before it or kneeled at its feet.

Chapter 1

Lisbeth McQuarrie

Look, I have to get back to work. The Magical Academy is very strict. I wrung my hands together, then, when I couldn’t chase away the sweat, I dabbed them on my apron. I’d have to clean it with a little magic before I reached the Academy. I didn’t need them knowing I could practice too.

Fancies herself a powerful witch then, does she? The old maid shoved a hand on her own apron, laughed around her voluminous belly, and shot me the kind of