Igniting the witch, p.1
Igniting the Witch, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Newsletter & Book Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
BLACK MAGIC RISING
Books by Erin Richards
About the Author
Copyright
Newsletter
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IGNITING THE WITCH
Sage Wilde's gotta kiss her wild days goodbye and embrace her role as witch leader. The Solstice festival is her chance to prove she's fit to rule the Western witchworld, once she bonds a warlock, that is. Enter handsome Rafael Reyes, a mysterious and unbonded warlock who draws Sage in with his powerful aura and irresistible charm.
There's a catch: Rafael doesn't know he's a warlock, and Sage’s nemesis, Zelda Helwig, has already claimed him. Bewitched by Sage’s beauty, her power, her all, Rafael’s helpless to curb his attraction to her. Does he even get a choice in this strange witchworld, or is he already sunk?
As tensions soar between Sage and Zelda, Sage’s rare aether magic spirals out of control, putting everyone at risk. Zelda will stop at nothing to get what she wants, and Sage fears everything she’s fought for will crumble before her eyes. Can Sage capture Rafael’s heart and defeat Zelda before Zelda wreaks havoc on the witchworld?
Chapter 1
The back of Sage’s neck prickled as she stumbled through the covenstead woods. Her slippery ankle boots skid on the dew-covered path, and she slowed down before she face-planted herself. Dim and misty pre-dawn light shrouded the forest, giving nothing away, but she could feel the eyes of something watching her. Low landscape lights and her phone flashlight guided her toward the house, and she couldn’t walk fast enough to reach it.
Owls hooting in the towering evergreens abruptly stopped. In response, her owl familiars churned over her skin beneath her blouse. The ink of their tattoo forms tickled her already prickling flesh. More than the hushed forest owls gave her familiars the heebie-jeebies. An ethereal purple glow filtered through the trees and muted the stars overhead, creating an eerie environment that didn’t help.
Powerful magic hit her senses. Elemental fire and air. Out of place on the off-limits walkway, but not threatening. Yet. Her familiars caught wind of the crackling magic and tiny flying embers. They swooshed over her skin, preparing to launch off her in protection mode. Sage halted on the path she’d traveled since she’d learned to walk. Wood smoke filtered through the early summer air. The faint brackish scent of the Pacific Ocean also tinged the air, destined to drive the smoke away.
“Gwyneira,” she berated her main familiar, trying to halt their roaming over her already sensitive chest. Fat chance. Their apprehensive roving continued driving her nuts. She didn’t need crazy on top of her thundering headache. One too many tequila shots on the first night of the California covens’ Summer Solstice festival. Thank the goddess, she’d only sexed it up with one warlock, though eight had vied for her attention. More than one would’ve ruined her for the day, for sure.
The warlock she’d chosen to spend the night with had fallen asleep the minute he came inside her, and she’d slipped from his tent without waking him. Joshua’s single-minded focus did nothing for her in the arousal department. Maybe the reason he was an unattached warlock. Damn, she needed a good lay with a man who knew how to please a woman. Maybe she’d have better luck tonight.
And her brain had a mind of its own when she needed to concentrate on the magic surrounding her. Focus, Sage!
The foreign magic didn’t hurt or impede her, but it raised red flags. A hollow, sparking fireball rolled off her fingers and danced on her open right palm. She used her left hand to draw a ring of witch-air to splinter the magic surrounding her. The unknown fire magic scattered into embers and reformed, also killing the landscape lights.
“Crap on a cracker.” Sage flashed her phone light around her to illuminate the nearby trees and pea gravel path. “Who’s there?” She spun in a circle, drilling her sight into the gray dawn, made darker by the woods. “Show yourself. Now,” she demanded. After all, she owned the land. She ruled the California region and the coven members who’d arrived on the covenstead yesterday. By tomorrow, she’d become the youngest High Priestess of the entire western witchworld, following in her deceased mother’s footsteps. A position held by a Wilde witch for over a century. Threats to her were a witch-style jail sentence!
Ire trekked up her spine in a cold ripple. “Either reveal yourself or take a hike off my land. You’re no longer welcome at the solstice gathering.”
The unknown witch-fire sizzled around her fireball, hovering over her palm. She sniffed the foreign fire to discern the source. No dice in the familiarity department. It touched her hand for a second before her witch-water doused and iced the burn.
Freaking Zelda Helwig. The bane of my coven’s existence. “Zelda. I know it’s you. What do you want? If you’re trying to scare me, you’re shit out of luck. Don’t forget who you’re screwing with. We’ve crawled this road before. Didn’t end well for the Helwigs.” The High Priestess of the Scotts Valley coven held a distinct edge to her witch-fire, and her fire always shifted to teal blue when it touched skin. Zelda knew how to disguise her magic, the reason Sage let it touch her, despite the burn to her hand. Zelda also possessed a rare double element with witch-air, and both elements dangled in the air. Silence greeted her.
“You’re on report to the Council. See you on the flipside, Zelda.” Sage slogged down the path toward the house, increasing her pace, the sky lightening to a paler gray through the treetops. Passing by several dead landscape lights, she tripped in a rut and collapsed on her butt.
“Goddess, save me.” She massaged her rear, rubbed her aching head. Hangover cotton stuffed her mouth. She’d kill for a toothbrush and a bottle of aspirin. And a long, hot shower.
Her familiars stopped moving, their tattoo bodies quivering in awareness on her skin. Crashes through the bushes to her right stilled her movements. Her familiars scurried up to Sage’s shoulder and launched off her. They shifted into their natural form, and threads of glowing magic dangled from their talons.
Ignoring the literal pain in her ass, Sage vaulted up to her feet. Fireballs formed on both palms. A low-throated snarling joined the rustling in the brush. Too dark and too hungover to find her way home by walking backward to watch her back, Sage stood her ground. The shuffling moved from her left to her right, then crashed through the underbrush toward her. She tossed fireballs toward the sounds, and the balls hit the drought-stricken forest floor. Flames flared up, and she sprinkled witch-water to douse the fire before she ignited the entire mountainside. Gwyneira flew in a circle to encapsulate whatever threatened her in threads of witch-air. No such luck. The invisible animals escaped her familiar’s magic. Growling and snarling arose to her other side, then behind her, circling her, but not approaching. Near enough to drive more chills up her spine.
Peering into the dim forest, she let her eyes adjust to search for any signs of wildlife or other life. The Wilde property was crawling with people in tents and cabins for the solstice festival. The presence of the witches and their entourages should’ve driven all the natural wildlife farther into the depths of the mountains. Which meant these little shits were no ordinary animals.
“Your ass is grass now,” Sage yelled and tossed three more fireballs, chased them with a sprinkle of witch-water. No need to add forest fire to the overflowing Blame-it-on-Sage card.
“Who’s there?” She strengthened her wobbly voice to hide her fear. “I swear to the goddess, if you don’t call off your familiars, I’m gonna go loco on you. And you don’t want to experience my kind of crazy.” Was it a witch or a warlock she’d shunned last night? Plenty of enemies or naysayers had a bull’s-eye on Sage’s forehead, jealous of her position, her power, her standing in the witchworld at only twenty-four years old. Well, hell, it’s not like I offed my mother just to steal her crown.
A growling and snarling animal approached, soon joined by several more, glamoured by an invisibility spell. The air wavered and the forest floor debris ruffled. They snarled and snapped as if they wanted to eat her alive. Sage spun her left fingers in the air, invoking a protection bubble of witch-air. Hard to tell if they were foxes or bobcats, or something equally frightening. Not like she knew the sounds the forest animals or all the familiars in the world made.
She wracked her hungover brain to recall Zelda’s familiar. A bobcat? Gray fox? Both remained prevalent in the hills of the Helwig covenstead in Scotts Valley up the highway, which shared the same mountain range as the Wilde coven.
“Sage Wilde,” a hoarse, unrecognizable voice floated out on a gust of wind. Definitely female.
“What do you want?” she demanded, safe in her warded bubble. The beasts on the ground held their positions, which meant they definitely were familiars. A real animal could infiltrate a protection circle. Not so much a familiar.
“You don’t deserve the High Priestess role of California, let alone the entire western region.”
“Stop the world so I can jump off.” Sage tipped her head back to face the pinkening sky. Same old, same o ld. “Why? Because every horny warlock under the sun wants me? Or ’cause I can drink myself to oblivion and live to tell about it? Because I’m wild, loose, inexperienced, and young.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone. She’d heard the ridiculous litany of complaints from a myriad of sources since her mother and father wound up dead at the bottom of a canyon in the Lake Tahoe Mountains. A drunk driver had forced their car to careen over a cliff last year. Big freaking deal if she wanted to enjoy her twenties before real life took a spin at her.
A flaming arrow pierced her protective bubble, missing her right shoulder by a skosh. A real flaming arrow, not magical. Rubbing her shoulder, she ducked to the ground, scrambled off the path into a thicket of bushes amid a cedar grove. Shit just got real. She lugged her protection circle with her, and the gaggle of snarling invisible animals followed, keeping their three-foot distance. Once they fenced her in again, their tails swished dead leaves, twigs, and evergreen needles on the forest floor, which eclipsed the taut silence.
Sage eased her cell phone out of the back pocket of her skin-tight denim skirt and tapped her nine-one-one.
Her sole bonded warlock answered. “Ready for me to come get you?” He yawned loud enough to wake the dead.
“Ricky. Listen. I’m on the north path leading from the meadow. Someone’s attacking me. Real arrows, actual threats. A witch.”
Rustling sounds accompanied Ricky’s stern voice. “On my way. Keep the line open. Can’t you use magic?”
“I’m in a protective circle, but magic won’t do spit against flaming arrows. I’d rather not use wind magic to force them away and risk setting the forest on fire. Can’t see the glamoured familiars, and they’ve surrounded me.”
“Move closer to the house in the protective ward.”
“Too dangerous with all the people here for the festival. I need to ground my circle here. Any hole in my ward can trigger these gremlins to attack.”
“I knew this was a bad idea,” he groused. “I’m snagging the first witches I see. On the way. Here, talk to your sister.”
“Hey,” her middle sister, Aspen, chirped into the phone.
“I’ve had enough of today already. We’re in a no-magic period. Festivals are supposed to be safe zones for everyone to set aside their beefs for three days.” She spoke louder for her stalker to hear her ranting.
“Did a stupid rock hit you on the way to your orgy?” Aspen chortled. “Ya think the Helwigs and their minions care one wit about rules?”
A flush of annoyance stole up Sage’s chest. “Shut up.” She knew better. But alcohol and sex spoke a unique language.
“Sage, honey.” Concern rode her aunt Jessica’s voice. “Are you safe?”
“Safe as can be.” Another flaming arrow hit the ground at her feet, and she scurried behind a cedar tree. She swished her hand like a hose nozzle and doused the fire.
A telltale ache formed behind her eyes. Gritty eyeballs and blurry vision chased the pain. What the holy goddess? Her buried aether magic hadn’t surfaced in years. Such powerful magic, she never used it, nor ever controlled it. Why now?
“Son of a witch’s tit. Gotta jam.” She hung up and wedged the phone in her pocket. Spine stiff, she stood and readied fireballs on her palms. Using her witch-air, she tossed the fireballs at the ground where her four-legged stalkers waited. Witch-water followed to extinguish any flames.
She uttered a silent spell to control the flames and launched more balls of fire. They sizzled to the ground, and embers showered the air. Dirt, dried leaves, and twigs pinged her shield. Flames threatened to engulf the creatures, and they yelped an ear-piercing sound. They fled, their screeches fading into the depths of the woods. A fire spread across the dry forest floor, consuming a small ribbon of land, the heat exacerbating the natural heat of her body. She raised her hands, ready to use her witch-water to extinguish the flames. But to her surprise and joy, the fire died down on its own, leaving nothing but ash and smoke. Her silent incantation to douse the flames reverberated in the air. A spell always just out of her reach. Knots untied in her shoulders, and she returned to the path. Why now had her rare aether magic emerged and aided her witch-fire?
The unseen witch uttered her final say, “You won't see me coming next time. I won’t hold back either.” The words dissipated in the misty morning air, floating toward the Pacific Ocean.
The threat drove shivers down Sage’s spine. She hiked through a puff of smoke and raised witch-air to dispel it. Fear and uncertainty lingered in her mind. She’d taken her security for granted. Took life for granted. The incident was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. The time had arrived to prove to the witchworld that she was a smart, capable adult, not a silly, irresponsible party animal. Maybe then they’d respect her magic. Respect her, period.
Chapter 2
Footsteps approached from the direction of the house. Sage readied her witch-fire for blast off, but the gloomy dawn revealed Ricky, Aspen, and Jessica. Cell phone flashlights lit the gravel pathway and bounced up. Their eyes glommed onto her, radiating a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“Are you okay?” asked Jessica, her mother’s twin sister. They weren’t identical twins, which helped smother her grief every time she looked at Jessica. Jessica had already donned her ubiquitous fashionable jeans and a loose, shimmery silk blouse. A light layer of makeup on her youthful face accented her short-layered brunette hair, styled for the day. Way too early for Sage.
The sun emerged above the distant horizon, and the forest eased to life, bathing the foliage in a soft, warm light. The trio cut their flashlights and the forest murk settled in again.
“I'm fine,” Sage replied, her pulse not quite steady. The threat hammered the last remaining nail into her fate.
“We saw a fire. Do I need to do anything?” Ricky asked. With his shaved head, he stood warrior-like, ready to slay her foes. Jessica had assigned the forty-year-old warlock to Sage under duress. Sage’s duress. She wasn’t ready for the three warlocks a High Priestess required. Ricky was enough. Though not a warlock she ever wanted to sex it up with. Too old, too much in love with another coven witch. The way she wanted it. She didn’t want biases disrupting his split duties. And he wielded her witch-fire well. Her bonding familiar, Ice, flitted on his neck, speckled-white feathers against the collar of his black T-shirt.
“No. I doused the fire,” she replied, trying to process the freaky situation.
He led the procession to the house, Jessica taking up the tail.
“What happened?” Aspen clutched Sage’s arm to her side. “You shouldn’t be alone with the circus in town. Why didn’t you call Ricky to escort you home?” Tendrils of Aspen’s long red hair escaped the ponytail she wore when working in her lab. She already wore a purple work apron, and rosemary and echinacea wafted off the coven’s young healer and alchemist.
Sage invoked an air mask over her nose to filter the herbs aggravating her sinuses. “I’ve walked this path a million times.” Sage plodded forward, the aether ache receding into the alcohol-induced implosion of her entire head. The eye grit cleared, but her inner turmoil refused to abate. “I don't know what happened. Some douchebag attacked me, and I defended myself against a few familiars.” She knocked her head against Aspen’s head. “My aether magic surfaced,” she whispered.
Aspen ground to a standstill. “Wait, what?” Sage pushed at her to move, not wanting Jessica to freak out.
“This incident is why you need another warlock. Rules dictate it, Sage,” Jessica admonished. “Too many witches and warlocks are on the property for the festival. It’s too risky to wander alone.”
Sage tossed up her arms. “Okay. I get it. Sheesh. Can I go take a shower?” She stretched her arms, feeling the ache of fatigue in her bones, as she mentally prepped for the day ahead and the need for peak performance. Now more than ever. The foursome trooped forward, silent, lost in thought.
Aspen fractured the peace for Sage’s ears only. “Long time since your aether’s popped up. What triggered it?”
Sage gnawed on her bottom lip. “I guess the threat to me.” But it was more. Way more. Way too much magic on the property confused her senses.
“You’ve had plenty of threats without your aether interfering. Your magic bonked you on the head for a reason.”
