Read Forbidden Wild Magic free: the opening chapter

Ember's Awakening

The scent of pine needles and damp earth clung to my cloak, a familiar comfort. Late autumn in the Whisperwood always smelled like letting go. Leaves, lives, secrets… they all drifted down and settled into the soft loam, becoming part of something else. I liked that idea. Becoming something else. Right now, I was just Lyra Everly, witch of the Everly coven, and my biggest problem was a stubborn root that refused to yield to my coaxing.

Old Man Tiber, the oldest tree in our clearing, needed a new binding charm. His roots were starting to creep into the herb garden, and Nana Willow would have my hide if another patch of moonpetal was crushed. It wasn’t glamorous work, tending to ancient trees and fussy plants, but it was ours. It was safe. It was quiet. And after everything, safe and quiet felt like a miracle.

I focused, channeling a sliver of my magic, Cinder Magic, they called it, though most witches preferred to just call it trouble. It wasn't the gentle green growth magic most of us wielded. Mine was… different. Ash and ember, smoke and heat. Beautiful, but volatile. Untamed.

A tiny wisp of grey smoke curled from my fingertips, dancing around the root. It softened, yielded slightly. Good. Just a little more…

“Lyra?” Elowen’s voice, warm and laced with concern, cut through the quiet.

I sighed, releasing the spell. The root settled back into its stubborn position. “It’s being difficult, that’s all.”

Elowen, my best friend since we were children, strolled into the clearing, a basket of foraged mushrooms swinging from her arm. She was everything I wasn’t: calm, practical, and blessed with a soothing healing touch. “It always is with Tiber. He’s got a mind of his own, that tree. Though, honestly, you’ve been staring at that root for an hour. Maybe a different approach?”

I managed a weak smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just avoiding Nana Willow.”

Elowen laughed, a bright, melodic sound. “Always the way. Speaking of which, she asked me to find you. Council meeting tonight. Something about increased magical disturbances near the outer edges of the wood.”

My stomach tightened. Disturbances. That never meant anything good. Usually, it was just overzealous sprites or misdirected fae magic. But lately… lately, there was a heavier feeling in the air, a discordant hum that vibrated in my bones. A sense of something wrong.

“Do you think it’s serious?” I asked, helping Elowen sort through her mushrooms.

“Old Man Hemlock is fussing, and you know how he gets. He probably saw a particularly bright firefly and thinks the world is ending.” Elowen shrugged, but her eyes held a flicker of worry. “Still, it's best to be prepared.”

---

The Council Chamber was carved directly into the heart of a massive oak, its walls lined with glowing moss and intricate carvings depicting the history of our coven. Nana Willow, her face etched with years of wisdom and worry, sat at the head of the long, wooden table. Around her were the other Elder Witches, their expressions grim.

“The reports are consistent,” Nana Willow began, her voice resonating with authority. “Unusual magical signatures, escalating in intensity. Not natural. Not fae. Something… darker.”

“Could it be the Blood Court?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.

A collective shudder ran through the chamber. The Blood Court. The vampires. We’d maintained a fragile peace with them for centuries, governed by the Obsidian Concord. But peace with vampires was always tenuous, a delicate balancing act between respect and fear.

“It’s possible,” Elder Moira said, her voice raspy. “But their activity usually centers around Veridia. This is… deeper in the wood. Closer to our borders.”

“We’ve sent scouts,” Elder Rowan added. “They haven’t returned.”

My gut clenched. Scouts not returning was never a good sign.

“I want Lyra to investigate,” Nana Willow announced, her gaze fixing on me.

My breath caught in my throat. “Me?”

“Your magic… it’s unique. You can sense shifts in energy that others miss. And, frankly, you’re the most skilled at dealing with…unconventional threats.” She paused, her expression softening. “It’s dangerous, child. But you’re strong. And we need to know what’s happening before it’s too late.”

I knew she was right. Cinder Magic, for all its volatility, allowed me to feel the pulse of magic, to sense the subtle currents of power. It was a gift, and a curse. And it was why, despite my desire for a quiet life, I always ended up on the front lines.

“I’ll go,” I said, forcing a nod. “When?”

“Tonight. Take Elowen with you. Two sets of eyes are better than one. And be careful, Lyra. This feels…different.”

---

The air grew colder as we ventured deeper into the Whisperwood, the trees looming like silent sentinels. Elowen, ever practical, had packed a satchel full of healing potions, protective charms, and enough dried berries to feed a small army.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice low. “I don't like the feeling of this. It's like... something's been disturbed. Something old."

“Me neither,” I admitted, my hand resting on the hilt of the small dagger strapped to my thigh. “But we don’t have a choice. Nana Willow is right. Something is wrong.”

We followed the faint trace of magical disturbance, a thread of darkness weaving through the trees. It led us to a clearing we’d never seen before, hidden deep within the wood. In the center stood a crumbling stone structure, overgrown with vines and moss. It looked… ancient. Older than anything I’d ever encountered.

“What is this place?” Elowen whispered, her eyes wide with apprehension.

As we cautiously approached, a wave of energy washed over us, making our skin prickle. The air crackled with power, and the scent of ozone filled our nostrils. I could feel my Cinder Magic humming, reacting to something…powerful. Something trapped.

Suddenly, the ground beneath us began to tremble. Cracks appeared in the stone structure, and a low, guttural growl echoed through the clearing.

“Lyra, look!” Elowen pointed, her voice trembling.

A section of the stone wall collapsed, revealing a dark, cavernous chamber. And within that chamber, bathed in an eerie, crimson glow, lay a figure. A man. Pale, unmoving, and radiating an aura of ancient power.

He was dressed in clothes that looked centuries old, rich velvet and dark leather. His hair, long and silver, spilled across the stone floor. And his eyes… even closed, they seemed to burn with an inner fire.

He was a vampire. An old one. And he was waking up.

Kaelen didn't waste time with questions. He was already issuing orders to the few guards stationed near the chamber, their faces etched with confusion at his urgency. “Seal the perimeter. No one enters, no one leaves. Prepare a carriage. We ride for Veridia.”

My head still throbbed, the woman’s fiery image flickering behind my eyelids. Veridia. The city was a swirl of rumors and warnings in the Whisperwood, a place where witches rarely ventured willingly. It was a city built by and for vampires, a glittering cage of stone and shadows.

“Veridia?” I asked, leaning against the cool stone wall for support. “What are you hoping to find there?”

Kaelen met my gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. “Information. The Council keeps meticulous records, even of things they deem ‘lost’ or ‘forgotten.’ If the Ember Stone still exists, they’ll have something about it. And if not… well, we need to understand what just happened in that clearing. That witch… her magic is unlike anything I’ve ever sensed.”

“And you think the Ember Stone is connected?”

He gave a curt nod. “It’s a legend, of course. A relic of immense power, said to amplify elemental magic. A dangerous tool in the wrong hands.” He turned away, studying the crumbling stone of the chamber. “I need answers. And I need them quickly.”

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the lingering dizziness. “What about the creature? The vampire?”

“He’s… contained. For now. But waking him has disrupted the ancient wards surrounding this place. It’s only a matter of time before he recovers his strength.” Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “This is more than just a magical disturbance, Lyra. This is a breach. And it could ignite a war.”

A war between witches and vampires. The thought sent a chill down my spine. It was a nightmare scenario we’d all feared for centuries. And now, it felt terrifyingly real. I ran a hand through my tangled hair, trying to gather my thoughts.

“I can help,” I said, my voice firm despite the fear gnawing at my insides. “I can sense the flow of magic. I can track the disturbances. And I can find out what, or who, awakened him.”

Kaelen regarded me for a long moment, his gaze assessing, calculating. I met his stare, refusing to flinch. I might be a solitary witch, burdened by a dangerous magic, but I wasn’t helpless. And I wasn’t afraid.

“Very well,” he said finally, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You will come with me to Veridia. But understand this, witch. You are walking into a viper’s nest. And trust no one.”

“And trust no one.” The weight of his final words settled upon me, heavier than the damp night air. It wasn’t just a warning; it was a statement of intent. Kaelen didn’t trust anyone, and I suspected he’d extend that lack of faith to me the moment it suited him.

The journey to Veridia was… unsettling. Not simply because of the destination, but because of the subtle shifts in the Whisperwood as we moved further from my cottage. The trees seemed to lean inward, their branches clawing at the carriage roof like skeletal fingers. The usual chorus of nocturnal creatures, the hooting owls, the chirping crickets, had fallen silent, replaced by an oppressive stillness. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Kaelen, predictably, offered little conversation. He sat opposite me, a brooding silhouette in the flickering lantern light, meticulously cleaning and reassembling a strange, silver weapon. It resembled a crossbow, but the bolts were tipped with what looked like obsidian, and intricate runes spiraled along its frame. A vampire hunter’s tool, no doubt. He’d barely glanced at me since agreeing to my assistance, treating me more like a necessary inconvenience than a potential ally.

“What exactly are the wards surrounding the Whisperwood?” I asked, attempting to break the silence. “You said waking the vampire disrupted them. What do they protect us from?”

He paused, his dark eyes finally meeting mine. “They’re ancient. Woven by the first witches and the original vampire lords, centuries ago. A fragile peace treaty, essentially. They prevent large-scale incursions, keep the vampires from overrunning the wood, and us from… straying too far into their territory.”

“And this vampire, the one we disturbed… was he beyond the wards?”

“He was within them, Lyra. An ancient one, locked away for centuries. The wards weren’t meant to hold him indefinitely, only to contain him long enough for him to fade into legend. Something awakened him. Something strong.” He returned to his weapon, his movements precise and economical. “And I suspect it wasn't accidental.”

The implications of his words hung heavy in the air. Someone had deliberately freed a centuries-old vampire. Someone with power, and a motive.

We traveled for two days and nights, the landscape gradually changing from the dense, verdant depths of the Whisperwood to the stark, grey plains surrounding Veridia. The city rose from the flatlands like a jagged crown of black stone, its towers piercing the perpetually overcast sky. Even from a distance, I could feel its oppressive energy, a cold, calculating power that sent a shiver down my spine.

Veridia was everything the rumors had promised, and more. The architecture was breathtakingly beautiful, but also undeniably menacing. Gargoyles leered from every rooftop, their stone eyes seemingly following our carriage as we passed. The streets were eerily clean, devoid of the usual bustle and chaos of a city. The few citizens we saw were pale and elegant, their movements fluid and graceful, their eyes… unsettlingly bright.

Kaelen had secured lodging in a small, unassuming inn on the outskirts of the city, far from the opulent palaces and glittering court. It was a deliberate choice, he explained, to avoid drawing unwanted attention. The innkeeper, a gaunt man with a perpetually anxious expression, barely acknowledged us as he handed over the key.

“Veridia doesn’t welcome outsiders,” Kaelen said, his voice low as he surveyed the dimly lit common room. “Especially not witches. Keep your magic concealed, Lyra. And do not wander off alone.”

My room was small but clean, with a narrow window overlooking a cobbled courtyard. I immediately began to run a diagnostic spell, a simple weave to detect any magical wards or surveillance within the room. My fingers tingled as I touched the stone walls, confirming my suspicions. The room was saturated with protective enchantments, layered and complex, designed to monitor and control anyone who entered.

“Clever,” I muttered, dismantling the wards one by one. They were expertly crafted, but ultimately, no match for my skill. It was a clear message: we were being watched.

Kaelen’s request for information from the Council was met with predictable resistance. The Council of Veridia, the ruling body of the city, was comprised of the oldest and most powerful vampire lords. They were arrogant, secretive, and deeply suspicious of outsiders. Kaelen, despite his own formidable reputation, was forced to navigate a labyrinth of political maneuvering and veiled threats to gain even a moment of their time.

I remained at the inn, practicing my grounding exercises and attempting to shield my own magic from detection. The city’s energy was a constant assault on my senses, a cacophony of cold ambition and ancient power. It felt… wrong. Like a beautiful predator, meticulously grooming itself while waiting to strike.

On the third day, Kaelen returned, his expression grim. “They’re playing games,” he said, throwing a sealed scroll onto the table. “They claim to have no record of the Ember Stone. They dismiss the awakening of the vampire as a minor disturbance. They’re lying.”

I unrolled the scroll. It was a formal rejection of his request, filled with polite but condescending language. The Council had offered him hospitality, a tour of the city’s “historical archives,” and a thinly veiled warning to leave Veridia immediately.

“They’re stalling,” I said, tracing the elegant script with my finger. “They want to see what we do next.”

“Precisely.” Kaelen’s eyes narrowed. “They think they can intimidate us, force us to back down. But they underestimate my patience.”

“And mine,” I added, meeting his gaze. “We need to find our own answers. There has to be someone in this city who knows something. Someone who isn’t loyal to the Council.”

Kaelen considered my suggestion for a moment. “There is one. An information broker. Old Man Tiber. He operates in the lower districts, a den of smugglers and outcasts. He’s notoriously difficult to reach, and even more difficult to trust. But he has ears everywhere.”

“Then let’s find him.”

The lower districts of Veridia were a stark contrast to the opulent grandeur of the upper city. The streets were narrow and winding, choked with refuse and shadow. The air was thick with the scent of decay and desperation. The inhabitants were a motley collection of rogues, criminals, and those who had fallen through the cracks of vampire society.

Kaelen, despite his aristocratic bearing, moved through the crowds with a practiced ease, his hand never far from the silver crossbow. I followed close behind, my senses on high alert, scanning for any sign of danger. The city’s magical wards were thinner here, allowing me to feel the undercurrent of dark energy that pulsed beneath the surface.

Finding Old Man Tiber proved to be a challenge. He wasn’t listed in any directory, and no one seemed willing to speak his name. After hours of searching, we finally tracked him down to a dilapidated gambling den hidden in a forgotten alleyway.

Tiber was exactly as Kaelen had described, ancient, wizened, and surrounded by an aura of shrewd calculation. He was a small man, barely five feet tall, with a network of wrinkles etched into his face and eyes that seemed to see everything.

“You seek knowledge,” he rasped, his voice like dry leaves rustling in the wind. “Knowledge comes at a price.”

Kaelen tossed a heavy pouch of silver coins onto the table. “We want information about the Ember Stone. And about the vampire who was awakened.”

Tiber’s eyes flickered over the coins, then back to us. “The Ember Stone… a dangerous relic. Said to amplify elemental magic. The Council has been searching for it for centuries. They believe it could be the key to unlocking a power they thought lost.”

“And the vampire?”

“Lord Valerius,” Tiber said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “An ancient one. A creature of immense power and cruelty. He was imprisoned for a reason. His release… is a bad omen.”

“Who released him?” Kaelen pressed, his hand tightening around the crossbow.

Tiber hesitated, his gaze darting around the gambling den. “I don’t know for certain. But I’ve heard whispers. Rumors of a secret society. A group of vampires who believe Lord Valerius is the key to restoring the old ways. They call themselves the Obsidian Covenant.”

The Obsidian Covenant. The name sent a jolt of recognition through me. I’d heard tales of them in the Whisperwood, whispered by the older witches. A radical sect, obsessed with reclaiming the ancient power of their ancestors, regardless of the cost.

“And the Ember Stone?” I asked. “Do they want it?”

Tiber nodded slowly. “They believe it will amplify Valerius’s power, allow him to break the ancient wards and unleash chaos upon the world.”

The pieces were falling into place. A secret society, a powerful vampire, a dangerous relic. It was a recipe for disaster.

Suddenly, the doors to the gambling den burst open, and a group of vampire guards flooded the room. Their eyes were fixed on us, their faces grim.

“Kaelen Vorlath,” their leader growled, his voice dripping with contempt. “You are under arrest for questioning the authority of the Council.”

Kaelen didn’t even flinch. He simply raised his silver crossbow, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. “It seems our conversation is over,” he said, his voice cold as ice. “Lyra, prepare yourself. This is going to be messy.”

The sample ends here.