Fire Magic: Elemental Magic Series Book 1: Elemental Magic, #1

By Stacey Keystone

Lauren Cooper has a secret. A secret that puts her life at risk by its very existence. To survive, she needs to learn magic. Her very existence depends on it. To keep herself safe, she needs to blend in, not stand out at her new high school. However, with the conflict with her classmates, and Bron Delaney interfering, will she?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacey Keystone
• Release date: Oct 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215097724

Book preview

1

The egg sizzled on the pan, the white almost completely set, and the yolk a bright orange. The bread popped out of the toaster with an audible bang. I buttered it in the time it took for the white to set fully, enjoying the smell of fresh, melted butter. 

Once I placed the egg on the toast, I could enjoy a peaceful breakfast, dressed in my comfortable pajamas. 

Well, almost.

As I poured myself a cup of freshly brewed tea with milk (no sugar), I could hear Mom's frantic yelling from the other side of the house. 

Mark! Why haven't you put on your socks yet? And why does your shirt look like that? I just ironed it yesterday!

All three of us were having our first day in a new school, after moving to Danzey. 

My little sister Samantha, whom we all called Sam, was going to start tenth grade, my younger brother Mark was starting twelfth grade, and I was going to be a sophomore in Danzey Magical High School.

Danzey High was an easy ten-minute bike ride from home, so I was eating breakfast while Mom ran around, organizing everything, packing lunches for my siblings, ensuring Mark's uniform was ironed, and panicking.

I cut a piece of toast with a fork and knife. It would be more enjoyable if I could just grab it with my hands, but, I had to remind myself, I was soon going to be surrounded by more refined people than my family.

I expected they would be snobs, the lot of them.

My uniform, perfectly pressed, was hanging in my room. Considering how much it cost, I didn't want to get any stains on it. 

A wise decision.

Mark came into the kitchen, trying to close his backpack at the same time as he was trying to tie his shoelaces. He didn't succeed, lost his balance, and bumped into the table.

The fried egg I just placed on the toast fell onto my lap, staining my pajama pants, and worse, ruining my breakfast. 

Hey! I screamed, thankful for my forethought.

Sorry, Lauren, Mark said, placing his leg on the seat of a kitchen chair and tying his shoelaces. I would help you, but there's no time.

Mom came in with determined expression, Sam behind her.

Lauren! she exclaimed, examining both of us, but focusing on me. You're still not dressed?

She also darted a look at Mark, but he was by now dressed. His shirt didn't look that crumpled, and his bag was ready.

I wanted to have breakfast first, I said. And I knew somebody, I said, looking at Mark, who was trying to look completely innocent, would ruin my uniform. Don't worry, Mom. I can dress quickly.

Well, go dress now, Mom said. It wouldn't do to be late on your first day. You'll manage on your own, right? We already went there to test your magic level.

Danzey High was a school for mages and didn't accept anybody with a magic level below a hundred, even those that were in its catchment area. So I had to get my magical level tested before they let me go there.

Sure, Mom, I said.

There was no time to fry another egg, so I just grabbed some salami from the fridge and placed it on the now egg-less toast. I had to eat something before my first day of school.

My first day of school after a two-year break.

---

By the time I finished chewing the sandwich, washed my hands, and put on my uniform, Mom had taken Mark and Sam to school. I heard the car bumping on the step between the gravel on our driveway and the smooth asphalt of the main road.

With the driveway now clear, I took the bike out of the garage and hopped on. I wasn't in any hurry, but as Mom said, it was better not to be late on my first day.

My parents didn't tell me, but I knew how much it cost them to rent a house in this neighborhood. 

Which they only did to ensure I got a decent magical education. Private magical schools, and private tutors in magic, were really expensive. My parents had spent a fortune on my magical education after my unexpected growth in magic two years ago.

And they couldn't afford it, not without sacrifice. Mom went from being a socialite who organized parties for fun and charity to working as Dad's secretary at his one-man accounting firm. The beautiful house they owned in Hereford had to be sold. 

My family's comfortable existence was gone because of me, and I felt guilty.

In my darker days, I had hated myself. I had thought that maybe giving myself to the fire within, to become one with the element, wouldn't be such a bad thing.

After all, the call of the fire was nigh-irresistible. And it didn't seem I was bringing much joy to the people who loved me, only suffering.

With time, when the call of the element became easier to control, I realized that no, my family wouldn't have an easier life if I just burned and disappeared from their lives. That, hard as it was, living a human life was the best thing for me and those around me.

That took me a lot of practice, though.

Fire…

Called me.

I had to spend two years, two painful years, learning how to control it, how to coexist with it, how to remain human, not giving myself to the element. It had been a hard, painstaking, and very costly process, with very expensive tutors, healers, and learning materials.

Now I was just determined to earn back the money my parents had spent on me, to see Mom surrounded by friends again, smiling as she entertained all the people, to erase the lines of worry around Dad's eyes, see him retire early, as he wanted, and to pay for both my siblings' college education.

To do that, I had to fulfill my potential and become a mage. Good mages earn a ton of money.

If… Once I became a mage, I would earn back all the money my family lost. 

But to do that, I had to get a full magical education among the rich, aristocratic snobs that studied at Danzey High.

You might say I was prejudiced. I hadn't met them and already disliked them. You would be right.

The sudden increase in my magic happened because I encountered one such rich, entitled, aristocratic snob and let him almost destroy me.

While picking up the broken pieces of myself, I swore that I would never, ever, trust an aristocrat.

Inbred bastards that they were, the whole damn lot.

But most of the powerful mages either were part of the aristocracy or soon became part of it. There wasn't any place where I could get a decent magical education without having to interact with aristocrats.

Maybe the cadet school, but they didn't take girls there. And I couldn't imagine myself in the Army.

---

As I told Mom, Danzey High was an easy ride away from home. Its catchment area was quite small, a small neighborhood of Danzey. We lived on the outer rim of the neighborhood, and it was still really close to home.

Given that, all the cars with the toned windows dropping off the kids (most of the cars had a chauffeur, or why else would anyone wear white gloves for driving?) were an obvious exercise in wastefulness. I cycled past all the cars, hopped off, and walked inside the school, parking my bike beside another, much fancier version. I examined it, noticing the brand, a small company that made handmade bikes (why the extravaganza, you ask? Well, each part of the bike was full of spells, making the entire bike a very complex, very expensive artifact). I knew, without lifting it, that it was almost weightless, that the gears switched with a simple tap, that the front light was a powerful torch that lit everything in a radius of fifteen meters…

As much as I liked the bike, I reminded myself it was absolutely unnecessary for driving from point A to point B. My bike was perfectly fine. 

I noted the bike wasn't chained. The level of confidence implied by leaving such an expensive bike unlocked…

But then, it was probably full of bugs, with alarms that would alert its owner as to its location.

It could look déclassé to lock it when everybody else didn't. To imply I was so attached to my things as to care about them being stolen…

Well, that would be so middle class of me!

Not that aristocrats didn't take care of their property. Of course they did. But the security was for their homes, for the safes that contained the family heirlooms, valuable artifacts passed from generation to generation. Not for bikes casually bought with the money my father would earn in a year.

I wasn't going to pretend to be something I wasn't, so I locked my bike, adding a magical spell to the lock.

After another, last wistful look at that bike (it was really nice, let me tell you) I headed into class.

---

While making all the arrangements for my transfer, Mr. Haith, my classroom teacher, had shown me where my class would be, so I walked in that direction. It wasn't too hard to remember; Danzey High was a small school, with only a couple hundred students. 

They were all from the same neighborhood, and everybody knew everybody. So they certainly noticed me, the new girl. I noted a lot of stares, especially at my name tag.

A couple even observed my aura, as I noticed the slightly unfocused, seemingly distracted look in my direction. Future healers, probably.

Considering the size of the community and their finances, everybody who cared to know would find out everything there was to know about me by the end of the day.

Well, everything that was publicly available. Some information had been well hidden by very serious people with way more capabilities than simple high schoolers, even very rich, well-connected high schoolers.

I kept my facial expression neutral, neither too friendly nor hostile. These people would look down on me if I was too friendly; they would think I was trying to suck up to them. Hostility would make them dislike me even more. 

Nobody likes people who don't like them.

Once I was in front of my classroom door, I hesitated. I could see, behind the window on the door with the white letters 3A painted on the glass, that Mr. Haith wasn't there. My first encounter with the class was going to be by myself.

It didn't last long, though. Hesitance would be seen as weakness. I breathed, reached for the handle, and pushed my way inside.

I was met by a sea of curious glances in a silent room; nobody said anything. The desks were arranged in rows of two, the class almost full already. And that was despite me arriving ten minutes early. People here must be very punctual.

Good morning, I said, trying very hard not to swallow visibly. I'm Lauren Cooper, and I've been transferred to this class. How do you do?

Posh people said, 'How do you do?' instead of a simple 'Nice to meet you'. Never quite understood it until that day. 

It wasn't nice to meet them, no. Not the way they were looking at me.

I got no answer. Tough crowd. I scanned the class, trying to see if there were any empty desks. Mr. Haith had told me he added a desk for me, so I wouldn't feel awkward on my first day. There were two empty desks, one of them in the middle row, the other one in the last row.

I approached the first free desk. A blonde girl with perfectly coiffed waves and bright-pink nails (that were against school regulations) was lazily tapping her phone on the desk next to it.

Hi, I said, reading the name tag. Miss Madison. Could you tell me whether the desk next to you is taken?

She didn't look up or say anything, continuing to text on the phone. I turned around and looked at the guy in the parallel row.

Could you tell me, please, Mr. Thornell, whether this seat is taken? I asked the guy seated next to where I was standing, a brunet with a very bored face.

But before I got an answer (Mr. Thornell was not very keen on answering me, but he did look up at me) someone gently tapped me on the shoulder.

Excuse me, a brunette with the name tag Elle Marchant said. But that's my desk.

Of course, I said, stepping aside. Sorry, Miss Marchant. That was what I was trying to find.

You should have known your place, she said, rather rudely, scanning my name tag. Cooper. Which is in the back, in case you didn't realize.

No 'Miss', I noted.

While many in the school had a title, as Mr. Haith explained to me, the school had created rules to remove such distinctions. Thus, everybody, regardless of rank, would get called either 'Miss' or 'Mister', and by their surname. I thought it was kind of pointless since, if you're a duke, everybody will think 'Your Grace' while saying 'Mister', but the rules were the rules.

Miss Marchant was so rude she broke the rules. She could have called me Lauren, as would be suitable between friends. But Cooper without the 'Miss' was just rude.

A snicker. I didn't quite see, but somebody behind me just laughed.

I didn't smile. You shouldn't smile when they kick you.

Thank you for telling me, Elle, I said, and headed to the back.

Calling her by her first name was the best option I had. If I called her 'Miss Marchant', I would have allowed her to step on me with no consequences. If I called her just by her surname, as she did, I would jump above my position. Calling her by her first name indicated I thought we were on the same level.

In a different context, it would be a sign of friendship. But in this one, it wasn't.

As I took out the notebooks, the school agenda planner, and the writing utensils out of my backpack, the staring ended, and the general hubbub resumed. They were pointedly ignoring me, though, and not talking about me.

Were you invited to the Delaney's party last week, Claire? the girl in front of me asked her companion. I hadn't seen their nametags, so I didn't know their names. 

I was still on vacation, Claire said. We went to Canton. But I heard it was very nice. They invited everybody from the neighborhood. My parents had to decline the invitation.

Yes, it was like starting school early, the girl in front of me said. Everybody who mattered was there.

I wasn't sure whether it was a barb in my direction, but it felt like one. Especially considering they were talking in front of me. Even if I didn't want to hear their conversation, I would have.

I'll see everyone soon, anyway, Claire said. But I got to meet so many people in Hereford! We stopped there for a week when we returned from Canton.

I froze. Hereford?

If she'd been there, could she have heard the rumors about…

But before Claire started talking about all the people she met and the parties she attended, Mr. Haith, our classroom teacher, entered the room, and everybody stood up, with a polite curtsy from the girls, and a not particularly deep bow from the guys.

I also stood up, and curtsied, as the manners teacher Mom hired a month before school taught me. It probably wasn't particularly graceful or pretty. 

I was thankful to be in the back, where I wouldn't stand out that much.

2

Mr. Haith nodded at everybody. 

Good morning, class, he said. Welcome back. Be seated. 

Everybody sat, and I started to sit down, too.

Not you, Miss Cooper, Mr. Haith said. 

I bolted, my back perfectly straight, my face expressing the barest hint of a smile.

Class, let me introduce you to Miss Cooper, your new classmate. She has been transferred to Danzey High and will study with you until graduation. Miss Cooper, I won't overwhelm you by introducing everybody at the same time. You'll have time to meet everybody. Please be seated.

I sat back.

There were only nineteen of us, three rows by three columns of desks in pairs (plus mine). It wouldn't be that hard.

But the message was clear.

Mr. Haith wouldn't make the barest of efforts to accommodate me.

The girl in front of me, whose name I still didn't know, raised her hand.

Yes, Miss Mund? Mr. Haith asked.

Her surname was Mund, I noted.

Does our group still have the same standards, Mr. Haith? Miss Mund asked. Because I would like my cousin Joanne to come to this class, too.

Yes, Miss Mund, Mr. Haith said. You still need to have a level of magic above 200 to be in the A group.

I noticed some people turning to look at me. Miss Mund's expression wasn't particularly friendly.

I met their stares with the same neutral expression.

I had a level of magic of 220. Very high for a commoner, mildly impressive for aristocrats, quite a few of whom were mages in the nth generation with levels of magic above five hundred. 

I was past that threshold… just barely.

I had considered asking to be in the B or C group, where the levels of magic weren't that impressive, and neither were the lineages, but I was told the school rules were the school rules. I had to stay in the A group, with all the people who surpassed me in magical talent, lineage, and wealth.

It would be hard to fit in, that was for sure.

Especially considering I wasn't that good at magic.

I had only gained it two years ago.

Not that I had no magic at all before that; everybody has some magic, people with a level of 0 in magic never happen. But my magic had been in the low two figures, sufficient to use simple house artifacts and even perform some low-energy spells but not enough to bother measuring with any precision.

The sudden growth had meant that I had to learn to control it, first, so the magical fire inside me wouldn't burn me or my family. There were quite a few accidents along the way, small fires in the kitchen, the smell of burnt sheets in the morning, and other minor incidents. None of them covered by insurance, of course. 

Houses with underage mages are basically uninsurable.

I had learned to control my magic. 

That was the only thing I knew well, control. And fireproofing stuff, to avoid burning the house.

And the things that could be useful for control.

Drawing, for visualization (it was quite a limited skill, though; I only knew how to draw either fire or magical beings of fire). Calligraphy, to practice my patience. Physical exercise, to keep my body healthy, and dancing, to learn how to control my movements. Embroidery, because it helped to make stuff fireproof.

A very narrow, specific skillset, that, combined with my lack of knowledge on spells, nothing beyond the simplest housekeeping tasks and the basic, foundational spells, looked rather strange. I didn't know almost anything a proper mage would have learned since childhood.

I had studied the theory, of course, reading up on all the textbooks on magic Dad bought for me. And even understood some of them, thanks to the help of some quite expensive tutors that guided me through the questions I had.

But for the last two years, I had only focused on the aspects of theory that were relevant to my control. I hadn't learned any new spells, or how to combine them, or anything like that.

Catching up on an entire magical education in two years would have been impossible anyway. But I didn't even do much of that, focusing only on a very narrow part of everybody's skillset.

Only the very basics of magical theory and practice, drilled to perfection.

Now, since this is the beginning of the school year, we'll start with a test, Mr. Haith said.

The class groaned.

A practical test, Mr. Haith said.

No groans this time.

All of you, Mr. Haith said, make at least one composite spell.

Everybody started waving their hands, flicking fingers, and gesturing, creating shields, nets, making things dance in the air, and all kinds of other complicated things.

I sat there, feeling like an idiot.

Miss Cooper, Mr. Haith called, and everybody turned around, staring at me. Why aren't you doing anything?

Because I don't know any composite spell, sir, I said, feeling like an idiot.

Snickers all over the class, and a few expressions of contempt.

I don't have the time to teach you what you should have learned last year, Miss Cooper, Mr. Haith said. I'm not your private tutor. Please try to follow the class, or we might need to have a conversation about having you move back a year.

The expressions of gloating on some of my classmates as Mr. Haith publicly chastised me…

They were enjoying it. Especially Elle Marchant. 

Who, judging by the spell she created, was a water mage.

Fire and water don't get along well.

The first half a year after my magic grew, my fire becoming stronger, I refused to even shower, burning all the dirt on me instead. I smelt like fire and smoke for that entire time, until Sam, unable to stand it any longer, literally dragged me to the shower.

I still didn't like water. The sensation of water on my skin was deeply unpleasant, and I did everything I could to avoid it. I washed my face with creams and tissues, avoiding water. I still burnt the dirt off me, just quickly removing the dust with water, to minimize shower time. 

My hair was covered in dry shampoo, as I only washed it with water once per week.

So it was quite natural, I suppose, for a water mage to dislike a fire mage.

Yes, Mr. Haith, I said, with a neutral expression. Never smile when they're attacking you. It is not an expression of strength. Unless you can turn it into a joke. I'll try.

Make at least a simple spell, he said. A fireball or something.

I extended my hand out, creating a fireball — a perfectly round sphere of fire.

You don't have to take it so literally, Mr. Haith said. You can put in more effort and do something a tad more difficult than a first-year elementary spell.

More snickers. 

What was Mr. Haith's deal?

He was baiting my classmates to bully me.

As if they needed the encouragement.

After spending way too much time criticizing me, Mr. Haith quickly went through the spells everybody had made, offering constructive criticism.

Once he was done with the advice, he delivered a lecture — reminding everybody of the basics of composite spells.

I was learning everything anew — and I didn't understand almost any of it, merely scribbling down, in beautiful penmanship, everything Mr. Haith said. I would need to study some more later.

---

The next class in our schedule was Cantonian — and I at least had some idea of the language. Not much, mind you — it wasn't like I learned that much in elementary school — but I at least remembered what I was taught in elementary school. Mom, in order to help me, decided we'd spend the entire month of August talking exclusively Cantonian at home. While it wasn't enough to learn anything new, I at least remembered the basics I'd known.

But while my skills would have been sufficient at my school, it was obviously not in this school, where many had had private tutors and governesses that spoke the language, and had, as Claire-what's-her-surname, travelled to Canton.

Miss Harris, the Cantonian teacher, even remarked on it.

Excellent, Miss Tilden, she told Claire (Aha! So that's her surname). I notice your accent has improved. Have you been among native Cantonian speakers recently?

"Thank you, Miss