Stone Legacy: A series of modern world Mayan heroes & more

Stone Legacy Series #1-3 by Theresa DaLayne

Published by: Limitless Publishing

Genres: Paranormal, Romance, Young Adult

Synopsis book 1 - Mayan Blood

Their empires have fallen, but their mythology lives on…

Zanya Coreandero is a seventeen-year-old orphan with only a single friend and no hope for a normal life. Diagnosed with anxiety and night terrors, no one believes her cuts and bruises are a result of an evil entity, and not a brutal case of self-harm.

With the only home she’s ever known being the isolated institution—where breakfast is a handful of medications, the psychiatry sessions are mandatory, and her every move is watched—the only relief is her red-haired roommate named Tara, who’s more like a little sister than her best friend. 

Free will is strong, but destiny is stronger.

When Zanya is kidnapped, she meets a group of gifted Mayan descendants, each with a unique ability. Gone from a nameless castaway to the only hope of mankind, Zanya is forced to make a grueling decision: bond with an enchanted stone and save humanity from raising underworld forces, or watch helplessly as Earth falls victim to a familiar dark deity from her dreams. This time, he’s playing for keeps.

A wicked secret hides behind a handsome face…

When Arwan, a dark-eyed timebender, takes interest in Zanya’s mission, it’s unclear if his intention is to help, or if he’s on a hell-bent mission for revenge. Wary of falling for another guy with major secrets and a tainted past, Zanya fights to keep her distance. If only her heart gave her a choice.

Synopsis book 2 - Interlude

Tara may have spent years in an asylum, but that doesn’t make her crazy–just fearless.

Dropped in Moscow with a the group of enchanted Mayan descendants, seventeen-year-old Tara is forced to wait on the sideline while her best friend—the Stone Guardian— battles to reclaim a friend’s soul trapped in the underworld.

It sucks being ordinary when everyone else is superhuman…

A mortal girl with a tainted past, Tara is left to deal with an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. Her boyfriend, Peter, is a healer. Her best friend is The Guardian, and everyone else is a powerhouse of awesome strengths. Meanwhile, she struggles to leave her childhood of abuse in the past, and while Peter picks her up every time she falls, it becomes clear he deserves better.

When they opened Pandora’s Box, hell came pouring out…

When she’s given a chance to aid in the group’s mission, Tara is eager to pull her own weight, even if it means uncovering buried memories of being held prisoner by the underworld general. Now haunted with flashbacks of torture, Tara wanders from the safety of Peter’s arms into a city of depravity and corruption. And amidst all this evil is a young man with an agenda of his own, who leads her down a road that will either prove she is a hero at heart, or drag her into a world she’s always feared.

He wants revenge, she wants redemption. And in an underground ring of missing girls and bloody sacrifices, only the fearless can survive…

Synopsis book 3 - Lights of Aurora

After living her entire life in an orphan asylum, Zanya fears she may actually be losing her mind.

Following the discovery of her ancient Maya bloodlines, eighteen-year-old Zanya Coreandero is faced with a daunting responsibility. She must protect the relic stone while Sarian, the underworld general, ceaselessly drives her to the brink of insanity.

With the approach of an ancient bonding ceremony, Zanya struggles to control her abilities—and her desires…

As the winter solstice approaches, it brings an onslaught of unexpected side effects. While Zanya struggles to seize control over her supercharged powers, she must also face an overwhelming suspicion that her boyfriend, Arwan, is hiding a secret so dark it could destroy them both. And with her powers finally taking root, the struggle to pace their relationship takes on a life of its own.

Just when she thought life couldn’t get more complicated…

With the arrival of a surprise houseguest, Zanya’s deepest fears about Arwan are confirmed. And when middleworld deities intercede, the group of gifted Maya descendants are confronted with hardships they never saw coming—including an enemy more deadly than they have ever faced.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And when that woman has no soul and a taste for revenge, they will need the powers of every surviving ancestor simply to stay alive.

Add the book to your Goodreads' to-read list: https://www.goodreads.com/series/158487-stone-legacy

Check out the trailer of Stone Legacy here. https://youtu.be/I_6PC-AjhxA

A quick author interview about writing and the author's works in progress

Did you always want to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

Theresa DaLayne: No, not even close. In fact, in grade school I was a terrible reader and had very bad grades. I had to go through additional tutoring in order to read simple stories and struggled for years with literacy. Only when I was in high school did I fall in love with writing. It started in journalism and branched out from there.

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

Theresa DaLayne: When I read an article—can’t remember which one—that said, “If you love to write, you’re a writer. You have something important to say. Something others want to hear. Don’t ever forget that.” I had to believe that or I wouldn’t have made it through some of the struggles I faced as a self-taught writer. And you know what they say: If you think you can, or you think you can’t, you’re right.

Do you do another job except for writing and can you tell us more about it?

Theresa DaLayne: Yes. In addition to writing, I also manage an online Amazon store, and I also write the official book blurbs for Limitless Publishing. It’s a fun mix and I love it.

Who is your publisher? Or do you self-publish?

Theresa DaLayne: I have two fantastic publishers. Bloomsbury Spark who published my new adult contemporary romance, The Edge of You.

Limitless Publishing has both of my series—The Stone Legacy series and a new young adult inspirational series, The Five Pillar series.

What can we expect from you in the future? i.e. More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

Theresa DaLayne: I have a ton of releases coming up, which is SO exciting!

·        Book 1, Mayan Blood releases 29/12

·        Book 2, Interlude, releases 12/1

·        Book 3, Lights of Aurora, releases 26/1

·        Book 4, Anarchy, releases 23/2

·        Book 5, Birthright, releases 19/5

Also, in February, I have another release of a young adult inspirational under my pen name, Theresa Mae—If All Else Fails. There will be two more books to follow.

What genre would you place your books into?

Theresa DaLayne: Mature young adult paranormal romance.

There is also a quick character interview with Thresa DaLayne about one of the main characters of the novel, Arwan.

Character Name: Arwan

Character Bio:

Orphan and gifted Riyata, Arwan grew up at Renato’s estate in Belize after his mother was murdered by an underworld enemy. For years he has denied his Mayan ancestry and shunned his bloodline. Now that Zanya—the Stone Guardian—is back and bonded with her stone, he must face the darkest part of his soul in order to find the revenge he continues to seek.

I don’t have a photo of Arwan, nor do I want to assign one. He is a unique looking twenty-something year old with tan skin, dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, long-ish dark hair, and a keen talent for martial arts. He also has a very rare ability called timebending, which he does not often use in fear of changing the course of history and affecting the future in negative ways that he cannot undo.

Describe yourself what is your worst and best quality?

Arwan: Focus. Normally that would be a good quality, but I tend to be overly focused on a goal and do not stop perusing it until I’ve accomplished it.  Maybe that’s how I earned Zanya’s affections. Once I knew I wanted her, I couldn’t stop until I made my best effort to earn her trust.

Have you earned her trust?

Arwan: It’s a work in process.

Do you think you deserve her trust?

Arwan: No. Not in the least.

What about your best quality?

Arwan: I would say patience. I need patience while training—especially with Peter due to is lack of practice. He spends far too much time with Tara and not enough time in the dojo.

It sounds like you’re angry with him.

Arwan: Angry? No, I’m not angry. Just…concerned. I don’t want him to fall behind. But knowing Zanya now, I can’t blame him for being hesitant to leave Tara. It’s hard to be away from the person you care about.

What are you most afraid of?

Arwan: Failure. I’ve worked my entire life to prepare for the moment I can finally avenge my mother’s death. Plus, now I have more than just myself to protect. There’s no one else to lead the rest of the group, and I have to be there. It’s my job, and I can’t fail.

What do you want more than anything?

Arwan. Peace.

GIVEAWAY

Courtesy of the author and as part of the blitz, there is a blitz-wide giveaway for several items: two $5 Amazon GC (open internationally), 4x Mayan Pendants (US only), two FREE e-book copies of Mayan Blood and a FREE e-book of LORE anthology.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Purchase links:

Book 1, Book 2, Book 3.

About the Author:

A long-time enthusiast of things that go bump in the night, Theresa began her writing career as a journalism intern—possibly the least creative writing field out there. After her first semester at a local newspaper, she washed her hands of press releases and feature articles to delve into the whimsical world of fiction.

Since then, Theresa has been married, had three terrific kids, moved to central Ohio, and has been repeatedly guilt-tripped into adopting a menagerie of animals that are now members of the family. But don’t be fooled by her domesticated appearance. Her greatest love is travel. Having traveled to over a dozen countries—not to mention an extended seven-year stay in Kodiak, Alaska—she is anything but settled down. Wherever life brings her, Theresa will continue to weave tales of adventure and love with the hope her stories will bring joy and inspiration to her readers.

Author links:

http://www.theresadalayne.com/

https://www.instagram.com/authortheresadalayne/

https://twitter.com/theresadalayne

https://www.facebook.com/theresa.dalayne/?fref=ts

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7847410.Theresa_DaLayne

Alexander Patterson explains the history of the Norge with notes on pronunciation in his novel CHOICES

Choices by Alexander Patterson

Publication date: December 8th 2015

Genres: Fantasy, Historical, Young Adult

Synopsis:

Richard Örlendr died over a thousand years ago. He lived in Norway during the Germanic Iron Age and trusted in the judgement of the gods. That is not to say he did not question them when they gave him a dragon, nor did he blindly follow their orders when they told him to go to war. But, when one god told him to kill another, Richard was unable to rely on their wisdom. He had to turn to the Norns.

The Norns guide fate. They shape it past, present, and future; however, it is not set in stone. A hero can change his fate. A hero can chose his destiny. The Norns can weave a new life, but what happens if the Norns are dead? Do heroes have greater freedom? Or are they locked into their destiny since there is no one left to weave?

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27790033-choices

History of Norge by Alexander Patterson

While the veracity of dragons and magic is still up for debate amongst the historical community, many common falsehoods about Scandinavian history have already been disproven. The word Viking, for starters, which has become a catch all name for the Scandinavian and Minnesotan population was once reserved for the event of going on a sea-based raid. Leaving the base definition behind, we come across more misconceptions. The term Viking brings to mind horned helmets and longships, but the simple truth is Scandinavia has so much more to offer than one History Channel show. While myths and tales of raids are exciting, the best facts and most interesting tidbits lay behind the glamour. The role of women in their society, for example, is fascinating. The powerful women were not all shield-maidens, as much as I love that depiction it is simply not completely accurate. Powerful women were traders, wealthy merchants, and yes occasionally fighters, but they could not be leaders. They could not attain the rank of jarl and most likely did not fight in the shield wall.

            I tried to make Choices at least historically inclined. It is an alternate history after all. So, I set Choices in the year 672 CE. Why this date in particular? You ask. The answer has nothing to do with Scandinavia actually. I chose 672 CE because that is the year Greek Fire was invented by the Byzantines. I thought it was fitting since one of the main characters is a dragon. And while the time period I have for my alternate history is grounded in real history many of the details in Choices are false. My idea for Choices is that it is set in a world in which the Norse Gods not only existed, but one in which they also behaved as their Greek counterparts did.

            This means many things in Choices are less than historically accurate. There are a few large picture things such as the main kingdoms Ager and Threkeld existed, but their interactions were not quite as depicted. There are also a few smaller details. The creation of marble walls did not happen. Instead, many Scandinavian people built ring forts and used wood or dirt as their primary building materials. Even the geography is not entirely accurate. I hope that will be a heads up to anyone who does not read my little **THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION** disclaimer. 

I could go on for about nineteen pages on all of the things I wrote that are falsehoods, but there is not space here for that. Instead, I hope you will read this –or Choices—and decide to look into the rich heritage of Scandinavia for yourself. I promise there is so much more than our network television tells us. I highly recommend Viking Answer Lady, Hurstwic, or “A History of the Vikings” by: Gwyn Jones if you would like to know more. That recommendation is the only thing you should place one-hundred percent faith in as fact. The rest of my writings are only mostly accurate. I did not do nearly enough research to honestly call either myself a historian or this post a credible source.

On pronunciations:

I recently learned J.K. Rowling does not pronounce the T in Voldemort. I found this to be fascinating as I remember they pronounced it with a T in the movie adaptations, and as far as I have heard most everyone I know says the T as well. This got me thinking about my decision to not include a pronunciation guide anywhere in Choices. The way I see it, there are only two options in regards to a pronunciation guide. You have one or you don’t. There is not really room for a middle ground aside from having all characters talk in perfect IPA format, but this would get tedious quickly. The pro for having a guide are simple. With a guide, everyone has a set, official way of speaking. Whether or not they chose to abide by your ruling is not up to you. Just look at the GIF problem for an example of people not listening to the creator. The con for having a guide is just as simple. If in your head you always pronounce GIF like the peanut butter, then you will be disappointed to find out you are –according to the creator –incorrect.

The pro and con for including a guide are about as simple. Not having a guide offers freedom for the readers’ imagination, but it also leaves the door open for discussion and those who want a specific answer will not be able to find an official one unless the author takes her time to make a statement.

 Personally, I believe the pro of not having a pronunciation guide is enough to make a decision. Books are written for the primary purpose of entertainment. There are some books with moralizing messages and some others who have education as their target, but for the most part works of fiction aim to amuse. So, with that in mind –as Choices is a work of entertainment foremost, and a hopefully starting dip into the pool of Scandinavian culture second –I leave it to my readers to pronounce the characters and places however they see fit. It is their own head after all. Please, ignore anyone who insists on a proper way to pronounce a name, and be happy with what you say.

GIVEAWAY TIME!

As part of the book blitz, there are two giveaways, the first is exclusive to Nadaness In Motion and is for ONE ebook copy of Choices by Alexander Patterson. Open internationally.

The winner will receive their copy after 17 December.

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There is also a blitz-wide giveaway for a $25 Amazon Gift Card + a signed poster of the book cover

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Purchase via Amazon & Barnes and Noble.

Rebecca Chastain brings you Gargoyles: Excerpt & Giveaway

Once again, I'd like to host author Rebecca Chastain and this time with her elemental novella MAGIC OF THE GARGOYLES.

Rebecca is kindly giving away two ebook copies of her book in celebration of both Halloween and the first anniversary of the book.

Magic of the Gargoyles (novella)

By: Rebecca Chastain

Publication date: 20 October 2014

Genres: Young Adult, Fantasy

Blurb:

Someone has kidnapped a nest of helpless baby gargoyles and is using them as pentagram focuses, devouring their magic—and their lives—for a horrific, illegal power boost. Swept into the dangerous underworld of black magic, earth elemental Mika Stillwater must cobble together her limited resources and skills to have a chance at being the hero the baby gargoyles desperately need. If she fails, the city will be at the mercy of the gargoyles’ murderers and their overwhelming destructive magic.

But pitting herself against powerful black-magic villains is proving just as deadly for Mika as for the gargoyles.

Here are the first two chapters of Magic of the Gargoyles:

1

With one last twist of a filament of earth magic, I fused together the delicate seams of the quartz tube. Slumping forward, I braced my elbows on the table and rested my cheekbones on my palms, cupping my weary eyes in darkness. Six down, six finicky tubes to go. The specifications of this project taxed my substantial skills with quartz magic, which was the point. This project would launch my business and prove that even though I was only a mid-level earth elemental, my quartz skills were equal to or better than more powerful full-spectrum elementals. These fussy tubes would fund the down payment on the lease for the shop I coveted in the Pinnacle Pentagon Center. I could finally quit my demeaning job at Jones and Sons Quarry, be my own boss, and begin a career creating one-of-a-kind quartz masterpieces I could take pride in.

            My entire future rested on these fragile vials, and they were due tomorrow at four.

            Dull pain pounded my back muscles. Night had crept over the city while I worked, and my jerky movements as I stood and stretched were reflected in the semicircle of bay windows in front of my worktable. Purple smears of exhaustion beneath my green eyes were exaggerated in the dark windows, and my pale face floated above a dirt-smeared navy shirt. I checked the clock: almost midnight. Sixteen hours until my deadline, and eight of those would be taken up by my Jones and Sons workday. There was no time for a break. If anything, I needed to work faster.

            Groaning, I redid my ponytail, tucking shorter wisps of strawberry blond hair behind my ears before giving my hard wooden chair the stink eye. Mentally chanting Pinnacle Pentagon to motivate myself, I reached for another seed crystal.

            Frantic tapping shook the glass in the balcony door. I pulled the door open, knowing it was Kylie, my best friend and the tenant who shared my second-floor apartment balcony. “I really can’t talk. I need to finish—”

            “Help! Help! They’ve got—”

            Something small and hard slammed into my stomach. I staggered backward into my chair and crashed to the floor. A small boulder skipped across the wooden floor and smashed into the wall. I gaped at the open doorway, stunned.

            “You’re a human!”

            I shrieked. The voice came from inside my room. I twisted, scrambling onto my bed.

            Against the wall, the rock moved.

            Beautiful blue dumortierite quartz veined with green aventurine twisted into a winged panther no bigger than a house cat. A pissed-off, solid-stone, magical, winged house cat. A gargoyle—no, a baby gargoyle. A hatchling.

            Her eyes glowed feverishly. Long polished blue claws gouged into the floor when she launched into the air. Her agile stone wings unfolded with a soft gritty sound.

            I lurched backward across the bed until I pressed into the wall. The mattress shook when the hatchling pounced on the space I’d just vacated. Sharp claws bunched in my yellow bedspread. She raised her muzzle, mouth open, and sniffed the air.

            I eased toward the foot of the bed, readying my escape into the hallway.

            “It’s you! Your magic smells so good. I thought—”

            My magic has a smell?

            The gargoyle’s eyes darted to the open door, then back to me. She arched her stone back and hissed at me, the sound dying to a hair-raising growl. The tip of her stone tail slashed back and forth, gouging my wooden headboard.

            “I need help.”

            “My help?” Gargoyles—even baby gargoyles—didn’t interact with mid-level elementals like me, and they certainly didn’t ask for our help. “There’s a full-spectrum just—” I started to point up the street but froze when she snarled at me.

            “No other humans! Before it’s too late.” The gargoyle’s words were smooth coming out of her rock throat, with just a hint of a lisp from her tongue working around enormous teeth.

            I stared into her glowing blue eyes, seeing past the bared fangs and agitated movements, reading her fear for the first time. I reached for her, then pulled my hand back when she shied from me.

            “Too late for what?”

            “You can save him. Hurry!”

            “Save him? Save who? If someone is hurt, I can send for a healer.” Where were this gargoyle’s parents?

            “No. I need you.” Large blue eyes implored me. “Please!”

            A thousand reasons I should find someone else to help the gargoyle crowded my mind, but the hatchling’s urgency was contagious. Someone was injured. I didn’t want to waste time arguing with her, but was I really the best choice? I could work earth, but healing usually took someone talented with all five elements.

            “Are you sure you don’t want me to get—” someone stronger? I started to ask, but she cut me off with another sharp “Please!”

            Gargoyles were creatures without guile, and this baby was obviously terrified for someone’s life. If she thought I could help, I had to try. I took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”

            The gargoyle whirled and launched for the open doorway, moving with the silent fluidity of a flesh-and-blood panther.

            “I’ll take the stairs,” I said. I snatched up my shoes and coat and raced to the door.

            My studio apartment was one of four on the upper floor of a converted Victorian house. At midnight, everyone else in the house was asleep, just the way my landlady Ms. Josephine Zuberrie liked it.

            As I sprinted down the stairs as quietly as possible, shoes in hand, I reviewed everything I knew about gargoyles. It wasn’t much. Gargoyles favored those strongest in magic—full-spectrum pentacle potential, or FSPP, elementals. When they chose, they could enhance a person’s magic, but I’d only heard of them doing so during large-scale rituals conducted by a full five of FSPPs. Despite being creatures of earth, they were not partial to any particular elemental magic; instead, they were attracted to a person’s strength of earth, wood, air, water, or fire magic.

            Which is why, as a mid-level earth elemental, this was the first time I’d spoken with a gargoyle.

            I eased the front door shut and dropped my shoes to the porch, wiggled my feet into them, and yanked the laces tight. When I spun around, the gargoyle dropped from the roof to the porch railing, almost clipping my head with a heavy rock wing. I swallowed a startled scream.

            “Hurry,” she trilled. With a squeal of protesting wood, followed by the crack of stone smashing into stone, the gargoyle leapt from the balcony to the sidewalk ten feet below. Wincing, I raced down the porch steps after her, praying to be out of sight before Ms. Zuberrie investigated the racket.

            By the time I reached the sidewalk, the gargoyle had almost a block lead on me, moving unexpectedly fast for such a small creature made of stone. In wing-assisted leaps, she bounded into the darkness. I sprinted headlong down the center of the deserted street, chasing the sporadic glimpses of panther-shaped dumortierite in the puddles of lamplight. The baby gargoyle kept me in sight, but only just. My lungs and legs burned after the first five blocks. My vision tunneled to the broken asphalt and gargoyle in front of me. I didn’t notice when the lamps ended, only that the dark blue gargoyle was harder to see, and by the time I did take in my surroundings, we were deep in the blight and I was lost.

2

The blight was the oldest part of the city long since abandoned by the wealthy and middle class, left to crumble and rot, and with it its impoverished residents. It was a seedbed for crime and a haven for the immoral. Doorways glowed with protection spells and menacing traps. Unseen eyes tracked me from the shadows.

            Alarm skittered through my body, giving me fresh energy. Ms. Zuberrie’s neighborhood was on the fringes of the blight—holding it at bay, according to my landlady—and her endless repertoire of blight tales gave me nightmares. To be here, at night, alone, was sheer insanity.

            A high-pitched sound, like an animal being gutted alive, echoed through the hulking shadows of old warehouse buildings, setting my neck hair on end. I slowed, having lost sight of the gargoyle. Menacing shapes loomed in the darkness to either side of the desolate road. I identified each item as I jogged past—empty trailer, rubble of a collapsed wall, enormous splintered wooden ward—trying to reassure myself.

            Someone rounded the far corner of the warehouse at a sprint, coming right for me. There wasn’t time to hide. I crouched, heart in throat. Before I could gather my magic, the wide-eyed, scrawny boy tore past me. He glanced once over his shoulder, but it wasn’t at me. I watched until the darkness swallowed him, then turned with new dread back in the direction he had come—and the direction the gargoyle had disappeared.

            Voices bounced and echoed from the warehouse walls, footsteps following. I sprinted for a pile of rusty barrels and crouched behind their bulk. Seconds later a horse-size fireball blazed down the street, scorching the pavement and casting sinister light on the graffiti-crusted buildings. I tucked into a tight ball, shielding my face from the heat and my body from visibility.

            The fire hit a stone wall at the end of the street and burned out. I blinked to clear the flaming afterimage, blinded. Whooping and shouting echoed against the metal walls.

            “Enough! Save it for the splinter-heads.”

            I peeked between the barrels. Five guys rounded the corner, a dozen fist-size glowballs darting chaotically around their heads. Three men followed. No, more. A whole gang. They milled together less than ten feet from where I hid, body-slamming each other and loosing war cries, all caught up in the same high. In the dizzying, erratic light, I could make out two important details: Every single one of them was dressed in bright orange Fire Eater gang colors, and all of them were linked with a potent amplification spell.

            Easing back to my heels, I curled into the tightest ball possible. Fire Eaters ruled half of the blight, and updates of the city guard’s ongoing attempts to contain their violent tactics featured prominently in the headlines of the Terra Haven Chronicle. From the size of that fireball and the amount of magic resonating among the men, I could predict tomorrow’s feature story.

            I didn’t even think about touching my magic, fearing they would sense it. I didn’t breathe. I maintained my cramped huddle until the men rounded the far bend in the street. Only then did I let out my breath and suck in a new one. I waited until I could no longer hear even an echo of their voices before I uncurled.

            “Hurry!”

            I jumped and clutched my heart. The gargoyle leapt from the rooftop above me and raced around the warehouse wall where the Fire Eaters had emerged. I shouldn’t be here, I told myself. This is a horrible, horrible mistake. But I’d promised the baby gargoyle I’d help. I couldn’t turn back now.

            I rounded the corner and froze.

            Moonlight bathed the expansive loading dock, illuminating an elaborate chalk pentagram the likes of which I’d never seen before. Someone had drawn five pentagrams, one atop the other, each skewed a few degrees so that every point had five points. In the center was a small lump of rock. The dock was empty of people. The tiny gargoyle paced the edge of the mutated pentagram’s circle.

            I edged forward, squinting at the focal lump in the center of the pentagram. My toes kicked something small, sending it clanging into the warehouse’s collapsed metal roof. I spun, checking my surroundings. I was still alone. I scanned the shadowed ground. Focus talismans—candles, rocks, glass, wooden carvings, crude fans—were scattered in every direction. There were enough for fifteen people, not the traditional five. If I hadn’t just seen a mob of Fire Eaters with the power of linked FSPPs, I wouldn’t have believed this mutated pentagram was anything other than graffiti.

            I wove a standard five-element test sphere. It popped into existence in front of me, then flattened to a pentagram the size of my palm, each side glowing with the magic of its specific element. If any harmful magic remained, especially a trap, it would alert me before I blundered into it.

            I floated the glowing pentagram safely across the chalk twice before I let the small star dissipate. I crept toward the lump. In the moonlight, it was impossible to make out its form. Kneeling, I grabbed fire, forming a ball of light. A small sun burst into existence above my head. I gawked.

            Light was the most basic fire spell, one I used every day. My glowballs were never larger than my cupped hands—any bigger and they were too weak to produce light. Yet the sun above me was larger than my head, and I could see molten flames arc within it, twisting and turning hypnotically. It was like I’d jumped from mildly talented to FSPP.

            “Impossible,” I breathed. The chalk pentagram was bathed in daylight. Was this strange design the reason for my enhanced powers? Had the Fire Eaters’ spell left charged fire elemental magic I couldn’t detect within the circle?

            The lump of rock moved. I stumbled backward, tripping and landing on my butt. The sun cast sharp shadows across the rock, the flickering fire within it making the rock look like it quivered. Slowing my breathing, I extinguished the sun and replaced it with a manageable ball of soft light, keeping an eye on the rock. When I realized what I was seeing, I scrambled forward again.

            The rock opened his toucan-shaped mouth and released a high-pitched cry that wrenched my heart. The baby gargoyle didn’t look to have the strength to lift his thick neck, and his long, spindly tail lay lifeless. 

            “Can you save him?”

            I jumped, having forgotten all about the gargoyle panther. She pawed at the chalk circle, careful not to cross it.

            My caution morphed to horror when I realized the significance of the hatchling’s placement. Using a magical creature as a pentagram focus drained the creature of its own magic and its life. Rumors said the average magical creature doubled a person’s power when used as a focus, but gargoyles were natural elemental enhancers when they chose; a scumbag who used a gargoyle as a focus would get a far greater boost. The idea was repulsive in theory, enraging in reality. It was black magic, punishable by nullification.

            I examined the injured gargoyle closer. Unlike the panther-shaped hatchling, this one’s body was mostly rose quartz, with sporadic coils of blue dumortierite. Jagged patches marred his otherwise smooth sides, and his entire stomach looked like raw, unpolished crystal. Acting on instinct, I reached for earth energy, refined it to resonate with quartz, and probed the baby gargoyle as if I planned to work the quartz. The sensation was like trying to capture an echo. The gargoyle was quartz, but he was also so much more: He was alive. I twined fire around the earth magic and trickled wood, air, and water into the mix until I had the right magical resonance. I pressed the mixture into the hatchling. A backlash of pain and fear ricocheted through the magic—not from my actions, but from the horror the gargoyle had already endured. The gargoyle’s feet and wings ended in acid-eaten, eroded lumps. Gasping for breath, I eased my magic out of the hatchling. My stomach heaved, but there was nothing to vomit up.

            When I glanced up, I met the healthy gargoyle’s eyes, seeing her anguish and anger. “I don’t know what to do,” I said, swiping at wet cheeks.

            “You have to help him.”

            “I don’t know how.” Helplessly, I stared at the suffering gargoyle. His movements were weak. He was dying, drained of magic and in so much pain. 

  

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Rebecca is also the author of the Illuminant Enforcer series: A Fistful of Evil and the newly-released A Fistful of Fire. Check out my five-star review of A Fistful of Evil and my author interview with Rebecca (it's a bit old but still cool).



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