Reckless Magic
The Star-Crossed Series
By Rachel Higginson
Copyright@ Rachel Higginson 2012
This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give, copy, scan, distribute or sell this book to anyone else.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.
Any people or places are strictly fictional and not based on anything else, fictional or non-fictional.
Editing services provided by Jennifer Nunez.
Printed in paperback May 2012 and available in Kindle and E-book format as of May 2012 through Amazon, Create Space and Barnes & Noble.
To my Daddy, who instilled the confidence in me
To write long before this daydream took form
To Kylee, my first reader and critic, who made
This possible from start to finish
To Zach, who was the first ever to believe
My dream could also be my work
Prologue
Headlights lit up the dark living room as a black, unmarked sedan pulled into the driveway. A man sitting silently in the corner arm chair lifted his head from his fingertips and focused sharply on the late night visitor.
The man was used to hosting many guests, mostly dignitaries and officials sent on palace business. The guests would come and go with lots of pomp and circumstance, reminding the man that he was a servant. He was a servant, to the Monarchy, the palace, the King.
The guests would also come with lots of warning. The car parked out front came with no notice and it caused the man to focus. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t worried. He was just curious.
Standing up slowly, he felt the tingling of magic ignite in his blood. They couldn’t disguise themselves, those that were like him. He could feel their presence before they were too close. Their similar magic, like a warning flare, always reminding him of whom he was, of whom he belonged to.
He expected the worst, the end to a too long life. The house he had made his home in recent years would be perfect for this tragic finale. An empty tomb holding centuries of memories, most of which he would have loved to forget. The expensive but empty house would be perfect to bid good-bye to this life. It felt like his over-lived existence: too large, too old and too empty.
He half wondered who they would send. He wondered who would be strong enough to finish the job no one previously had been able to finish. This time he wouldn’t fight. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of victory. There was nothing left for him to win. The people he had believed in had let him down. The King he had expected the worst from hadn’t. It was time to give up. Time to throw in the towel and let them destroy him; along with the cause he alone was defending. He was ready.
Finally, he was ready.
But as the magic moved towards the door, he was surprised to find it not threatening, but familiar, like an old magic, from an old friend. A friend from a different time and one that he had hoped to never meet again because he knew she must be desperate to brave this visit.
“Hello, Angelica,” the man answered the door before the old woman could knock. Her long white hair glistened in the moonlight, and she returned his scowl with a gentle smile and sad violet eyes.
“Hello, Amory,” Angelica’s arms were full of something covered with blankets. She pushed past him; his tall, muscular frame took up most of the door way. The cold night of a winter turning into spring blew quietly into the house, but encouraged the man to shut the door quickly behind them.
Once the door was shut, Amory turned the lights on in the darkened house, planning to invite the woman in for the night. The house now lit, took on a different personality from before. What once felt like a stark and empty room was now warm and inviting with the soft glow of light. A simple burst of magic brought a roaring fire to life and warmed the room, as quickly as it was lit.
Angelica sat down on a large leather couch near the fire. Her arms were still full of blankets and her expression still sad.
“Let me take those from you,” Amory offered, realizing Angelica looked frail and tired under her packages.
“I would love that,” her face lit up just a little bit as Amory bent over to take the first bundle out of her right arm.
As his strong hands slipped underneath a blue blanket to lift the package from her, they stopped suddenly, paralyzed by the soft and warm body underneath. Pulling his hands away, he stared at her with fear in his eyes.
“What is this?” he asked, nearly choking on his words.
“Take a look for yourself,” she nodded her head and encouraged him with tender eyes.
“Who? What? It can’t be,” Amory fumbled through words afraid of what was in either arm.
Eventually he found enough courage to pull the blue blanket away from a sleeping infant, not more than a week old. The little boy was perfect, tiny and soft with chubby cheeks and a thick head of dark curly hair that seemed too much for his little head. He stared at the child for several seconds recognizing his parents without ever needing confirmation.
He looked back to the woman who smiled even sweeter, a tear escaping from one of her violet eyes, making their strange color stand out starkly against her pale and wrinkly skin. She nodded to the other bundle, one wrapped in a pink blanket. Amory shook his head and stepped back.
The baby boy had not scared the man; it was the second bundle that had concerned him so. Several seconds passed before Amory found the courage to pull the blanket away from the second sleeping child. Almost identical to her twin brother, with chubby cheeks, and dark, unruly hair, she was unmistakably a girl, but with almost an angelic quality and a sweet, small nose.
“It’s not possible,” Amory shook his head again, noticing the tiny buzzing of infant magic swirling around him for the first time.
“That’s what I said,” Angelica held out the baby girl and, shaking slightly, Amory took her into his arms, feeling like the smallest mistake would shatter the fragile child.
“How did they….? How did you….? How did they get here?” Amory stumbled through several half questions before settling on the most recent. Twins did not exist in their culture, or at least they hadn’t in thousands of years.
“Two days ago, Justice came to me in the middle of the night with these two. He stayed for only a couple minutes, just long enough to explain that these were their children, their first and only, that they were twins, and that Delia and he were fine.” She cuddled the little boy in her arms, pressing her cheek against his head gently. “And, Amory, he asked me to bring them to you. It was Delia’s idea.” She stared down at the sleeping child, afraid to look up into her dear friend’s eyes.
Although Amory was infinitely older than her, no one would have been able to tell. His black hair showed no signs of gray, and his matching black eyes were as sharp as ever. She was nearing the beginning of old age and looked it. Her face was wrinkled and hair perfectly white; her hands were gnarled and she showed a lifetime of hardship that she was unwilling to admit to.
“To me?” His voice betrayed the fear he felt and took on the sweet cooing of a gentle soul speaking to a baby. The little girl sighed heavily in his arms as if perfectly content to be there.
“Yes, to you. They are choosing to stay hidden. The children would not survive if they stayed with them.” Although she was the younger of the two, Angelica’s voice took on a stern maternal quality that showed her desire to protect the two infants fiercely.