“A Drop of Magic is a damned fun and original read, with sass, action, hot men, and a whole lot of magic.” —Diana Pharaoh Francis, author of the Diamond City Magic, Magicfall, and Horngate Witches series
Description:
Faerie Forged (#3)
New world, new rules
. . .
Alex is screwed. She’s due at the fae Court of Enchantment
in less than twenty-four hours, but she’s not even close to being ready. Her
job is hanging by a fraying thread. There’s a new vampire master in town. And
several of her werewolf friends have been captured by the Paranatural Task
Force.
She’s their best chance for release before the full moon
reveals their secret, but the Lord of Enchantment is not someone you keep
waiting—even when he happens to be your grandfather. All Alex can do is call in
a favor, hope to hell she can survive the plots of the fae court, and hightail
it home to salvage her life.
One mistake at court
could change everything . . . .
“Original and riveting.”—Book Likes Blog on A Drop of
Magic, Book One of The Magicsmith series
“Great plot. Lovable characters. Heart-pounding
action.”—Lauren Davis, Netgalley Reviewer on A Drop of Magic
Courting Darkness (#2)
“A great story of murder, mystery . . . and well-developed
characters.”—Margie Hager, Netgalley Reviewer on A Drop of Magic
“A Drop of Magic is a
damned fun and original read, with sass, action, hot men, and a whole lot of
magic.” —Diana Pharaoh Francis, author of the Diamond City Magic, Magicfall,
and Horngate Witches series
Deeper into the
shadows. . .
The paranatural
community isn’t done with Alex. She’s been summoned to the fae court, and she's
got her hands full trying to prepare.
But her date with the fae will have to wait. There’s been a death at the
gallery, and the man she hoped would be a part of her future is the prime
suspect.
Bitter enemies pull
her into the middle of a paranatural war for territory that has her dodging
police, swords, teeth, and claws—not to mention the truth. The deeper she digs,
the more secrets she uncovers, and the less certain she is about the innocence
of the one man she wanted to trust.
She thought she was done with murder and monsters, but she’ll have to
enter the belly of the beast if she hopes to save her friend.
A Drop of Magic (#1)
The war isn’t over .
. .
With the world clinging to a fragile peace forced on the Fae
by humanity after the Faerie Wars, metalsmith Alex Blackwood is plunged into
the world of the half-fae who traffick in illegal magical artifacts. Her best
friend’s murder and his cryptic last message place her in the crosshairs of a
scheme to reignite the decade-old war between humans and fae.
Worse, violent attacks against her and the arrival of a fae
knight on a mission force Alex to face a devastating revelation of who
and what she is. To catch a killer, retrieve a dangerous artifact,
and stop a war, Alex will have to accept that she’s an unregistered fae
“halfer” with a unique magical talent—a talent that would change everything she
believes about her past, her art, and her future.
Her world is crumbling around her, and Alex will have to
decide who to trust if she and the world are going to survive.
EXCERPT Faerie Forged (#3)
Chapter 1
BRONZE DUST AND red
buffing compound coated my work surface, my jeans, and my hands. Pulling down
my respirator mask so it hung over my collarbone like a necklace, I set the Dremel
aside and, fingers clasped, pressed my palms toward the ceiling until my back
popped. My stomach growled, and I glanced longingly at the dregs of coffee
staining my empty mug. Breakfast had been a long time ago. The air in the
studio smelled of warm metal and sulfur patina, and my nose twitched with the
warning of an oncoming sneeze.
Sniffing, and
brushing the back of my wrist over my upper lip, I snatched up a polishing
cloth to wipe out the residual red rouge caked in the corners of the bronze
queen chess piece. I was careful to keep my mind clear as I worked, blocking
off my emotions so they didn’t accidentally spill over into Uncle Sol’s
Christmas present due to my magical ability.
That would be a fine
gift. Here’s a fun game full of anxiety and stress
that makes you sick to your stomach when you touch the pieces.
When the queen shone
with a mirror finish, I set her besid e her king, ready to lead her army across
the cherrywood chess board.
On one side of the
battlefield, fractal-pattern pawns guarded a court of frozen snowflakes—all
sharp angles and hard lines—their shapes as bright and clear as their finish.
Across the no man’s land of checkered space, a second army sat, ready for war.
These pieces were dark, stained to an oilslick finish. In contrast to their
counterparts, the patinaed court swooped and curled with organic curves.
The set was done. One
more item checked off my to-do list, and not a moment too soon. I’d be on my
way to the fae Winter Festival in less than a day. My tutors, Kai and Hortense,
had been cramming almost every waking moment with fae etiquette lessons to help
me survive my debut at the Court of Enchantment. Most of the lessons boiled
down to “Don’t be yourself.”
Standing, I brushed
what metal dust I could off my jeans, then scrubbed my hands raw at the sink in
the corner.
I had a box all
prepared for Sol’s gift, kept safe from the studio’s mess in a cabinet off to
one side of my work space. The chess pieces each slipped into individual
pockets in two felt-lined drawers under the board.
Once the armies were
laid to rest, I set the board on a bed of bubble wrap, covered it, and tucked
it in. I secured the box with packing tape and scribbled the address for Uncle
Sol’s New York apartment—the closest thing he had to a home—across the top.
Then I cleaned my Dremel, placed it back on its peg on the wall, and swept up
the evidence of my work.
Straightening, I
turned a slow circle, making sure everything was tidy.
Thanks to the
time-dilation between realms, this would be the last time I set foot in my
studio for at least a week. Assuming I came back at all.
A colorful sheet hung
like a ghost in one corner of the room, suspended on the copper sculpture it
was keeping safe from my creation process. All the tools were in their places,
the kilns were off, the forge was cold.
Grabbing Sol’s
present, I turned out the lights and locked the studio door. The mid-morning
sky was clear but cold, tightening the skin across my cheeks. Tendrils of mist
still huddled in shadows, close to the ground where the sun couldn’t find them.
I breathed deep, and crossed the clearing to my house.
I set Sol’s package
on the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room, and
glanced at the clock on the wall.
Crap.
I only had thirty minutes until my shift at the bookstore.
I FLEW THROUGH the
back door to Magpie Books, purse dangling from one hand, keys clenched in the
other. I’d stripped off my dirty clothes, wiped the worst smudges off my face
with a damp rag, and pulled on a clean outfit in two minutes flat. I’d also
careened down the Boulder Canyon like a maniac, so I was only five minutes late
for my shift.
Shoving my belongings
into a locker in the back room, I pushed through the employee-only door to the
store proper and jogged up an aisle of bookcases toward the front.
Dozens of people were
perusing the shelves, arms piled high with popular titles, and the front door
jingled constantly with the flow of holiday traffic. The scent of pine and
cinnamon mixed with the smell of books and coffee. A row of over-stuffed
stockings hung on one wall, each embroidered with an employee’s name. Mine was
third from the end.
Kayla stood by the
register. Her platinum blond hair was pinned back from her face with two tiny
silver clips. She wore her usual high-collared, ankle-length dress to hide the
gossamer pixie wings she’d once shown me.
I licked my lips,
recalling the heady sensation caused by the magical dust that came off those
wings.
“Hey, Kayla. Sorry
I’m—” My apology stalled as my gaze shifted past Kayla to the café area and a
knot lodged in my throat.
Standing at the
counter was an agent of the Paranatural Task Force—PTF for short. He wore blue
jeans, brown boots, and a button-up shirt with a beige plaid pattern, nothing
to mark him as a PTF agent, but I’d recognize Benjamin O’Connell anywhere. Hard
to forget a man who’d sworn to ruin your life. Especially when he had the means
and authority to actually do it.
Clenching my fists, I
continued past the register, ignoring Kayla’s furrowed brow. I stepped up to
O’Connell. “What are you doing here?”
O’Connell raised one
eyebrow. “Getting a coffee.” I crossed my arms. “Why here?”
He shrugged. “Why
not?”
Emma, the barista,
pulled a lever on the copper machine behind the counter and a hiss of steam
poured out. She jingled as she worked, her many chains and piercings clicking
with each motion, but her usual perkiness was absent. Her shoulders sagged, and
when she turned I saw dark circles below her eyes.
Last month, Emma
took, and passed, the test to become a practitioner —a rare human who could use
magic. She’d also convinced a local healer named Luke to take her on as his
apprentice, which would explain her glazed expression. I knew from experience
that using magic was exhausting.
I inched closer to
O’Connell and pitched my voice lower. “What do you want?”
“I was worried you
might get lonely after I saw the list of potentials brought in this morning.”
My heart stuttered,
and my mouth went dry. Potentials were people reported for exhibiting magical
behavior. They were rounded up, dragged to the nearest PTF facility, and tested
for paranatural abilities. I’d seen firsthand how brutal PTF tests could be,
and the consequences of failing . . . I was just lucky my ability to handle
iron protected me from suspicion, since that was the main way they tested for
fae heritage. Not all my friends were so lucky. If he’d gotten his hands on any
of them. . . . I swallowed the sour taste in my mouth.
“Gonna take all day
to get them processed.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck—the picture
of an overworked employee just trying to get through the day. “Then there’s the
testing. Could be days. Weeks maybe, backed up as we are.” He leaned toward me
like a friend sharing a secret.
His nearness made my
skin itch. “We’ve been up to our eyeballs in suspicion reports since the
election results came in.”
Colorado’s
governor-to-be, Gary Anderson, had run a Purity campaign, aligning himself with
the extremist group that endorsed wholesale slaughter of anyone with a drop of
magic in their blood. I’d already noticed several disturbing changes around
town, like iron bead curtains hanging in doorways, anti-fae stickers in
storefronts, and a recent call for magical-segregation in schools.
News that the number
of reports had risen since the election wasn’t surprising, but it was disturbing. The same thing happened
right before the Faerie Wars broke out, when tension between the humans and fae
had been at its highest. I shuddered to think how much worse the situation was going
to get come January, when Anderson was officially sworn in.
“I guess between the
halfer,” O’Connell cut his eyes to Kayla, “and the witch,” he nodded toward
Emma, “you’ve got all the company you need.” He smiled. “For now.”
Emma set a to-go cup
on the counter and O’Connell stepped away from me to grab it. He lifted the
steaming container to his lips, hissing when the hot liquid hit his tongue.
Then he raised his drink in salute and walked out the door.
“Hey, Alex.” Emma
smiled. The steel ring in her lip glinted. “Want your usual?”
I set my hands on the
counter, leaving sweaty smudges on the glass.
“Was that guy
bothering you?”
She frowned. “No.
Why?”
I shook my head and
walked back the way I’d come. Passing Kayla, I said, “I need to make a phone
call,” and hustled back through the “employees only” door before either of my
coworkers could do more than blink.
Yanking open my
locker, I grabbed my cell phone and stood with my finger over the contacts
icon. Did O’Connell really have one or more of my friends? Or was he trying to trick
me into giving someone away?
Could he have bugged
my phone?
I frowned. The CSI
shows on TV always talked about cloning cell phones, but people had to steal
the phones first. And even the PTF needed a warrant for a legal phone tap . . .
I scrolled through
entries, wondering who was most exposed.
My first thought when
O’Connell hinted a friend had been taken was of Kai. But O’Connell wouldn’t
have called him a potential. Kai was a fully registered fae, living at my house
on a visa granted by the PTF. Plus, O’Connell had already dragged Kai in for extensive testing.
I shivered, recalling
the way Kai had screamed during those tests.
No. Kai was safe. As
safe as a fae could be, considering the growing influence of Purity.
But James—a vampire
hiding in plain sight—was definitely not safe.
O’Connell knew we
were friends, and potentially more. Our complicated relationship status had
come under close scrutiny when James was investigated for murder. I’d since
slammed the brakes on dating, but the jolt of dopamine and the way my body
tightened whenever he was around made it painfully clear that my heart and my
head weren’t on the same page.
I pressed the call
button. As soon as the line connected I asked, “Where are you?” “The nest.” The
sound of James’s voice loosened some of the ropes of tension squeezing my
chest.
I rubbed my forehead,
fighting back a headache. James had spent the better part of a week preparing
for the arrival of a new master vampire— some woman named Victoria—who’d
claimed ownership of the Denver area nearly as soon as we’d put the old master
down. How she’d known about the vacancy so fast was anybody’s guess, but she’d
come to town two nights ago.
“You’re all right?” I
asked. “No . . . problems?”
“I’m fine.” Worry
crept into his voice, stretching his syllables. “Has something happened?”
“It’s nothing. I’ll
see you at dinner tonight.” I disconnected before he could press me for more
information. If he wasn’t O’Connell’s prisoner I didn’t have time to waste
chatting with him, and the last thing he needed while dealing with a new,
powerful vampire was to be distracted.
I scanned through my
remaining contacts. Some names were missing, like Chase and Jynx, the shifter
siblings crashing at my house, and Hortense, the tutor sent by my grandfather
to fill the gaps in Kai’s lessons.
They were all full
fae, and I had no way to contact them except face-toface, but Chase had been a
snoring ball of gray fur at the end of my bed when I left for work, and Jynx
had been watching television. I bit my lip. I couldn’t imagine Hortense being
careless enough to get caught by the likes of O’Connell.
That left the wolves.
I knew several members of the local werewolf pack, thanks to my recent
exploits, but I didn’t have all their numbers. One number I did have was Marc’s. As the leader of the
pack, he was sure to know if any of his members had been picked up by the PTF.
The line rang . . .
and rang. No answer.
I took a deep breath.
No reason to panic yet. Maybe he was just in the shower. Scrolling further down
the list, I clicked the entry for Oz, a pack member I’d actually known before I
discovered, rather violently, that werewolves were real.
The line rang. I bit
my lower lip, my heart rate starting to climb. No answer there either.
I didn’t have a direct
line to Sarah Nazari, a werewolf detective with the Boulder police department.
And Sophie—my human friend turned werewolf the night we both learned they were
more than just stories—had her phone privileges revoked after sneaking out to
go clubbing and nearly shifting in a building packed tight with tasty mortals.
I thumped my cell
phone against my forehead. A couple missed calls was hardly conclusive, but my
gut told me O’Connell had gotten his hands on some or all of the werewolves.
Waves of dread rolled through me. I had to know for sure.
Lifting the phone one
more time, I called Maggie. A month ago, talking to Maggie would have been the
most natural thing in the world.
Now, the prospect
made my insides writhe. Maggie was one of my few remaining human friends, and
the only one I’d managed to keep completely out of the craziness my life had
become. But my secrets had driven a wedge between us, and I wasn’t sure how to
bridge that gap.
Before I’d walked
into the near-certain death of Merak’s nest, I’d written a letter to Maggie
explaining everything and apologizing for keeping her in the dark, just in
case. I hadn’t died. I also hadn’t given her the letter yet. I’d stuffed it in
my nightstand drawer, too afraid to face the fallout of laying my secrets bare,
especially as the gulf between us grew larger.
“Alex?” Maggie’s
voice was sharp. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just—”
“Are you at the
store?”
I looked at the
employee door, then at the exit. “Yeah, but I need to leave.”
“Bloody hell, Alex.
Your shift just started, and this is the last shift you’ve got before the two weeks you requested off
during the busiest shopping season of the year.”
Her voice rose as she spoke, her London
accent becoming more
pronounced.
“I know, but
something’s come up.”
A loud sigh came
through the phone. “Something always comes up with you these days, and you’ve
told me bugger all about it.”
“I know. I—”
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long do I need
to cover? The morning? The whole day?
Forever?”
I shuffled my feet
and looked up at the speckled ceiling tiles. “Better not count on me today.”
“I can’t ever count
on you anymore.”
Dead air filled the
line as I struggled to find something to say, something to make things right
between us, but she was right.
“I can’t take this
anymore, Alex. Not with . . .” A sharp exhale and a shaky breath. “You’re
sacked.”
The words dropped
like a bomb in my head, splintering my thoughts into a million shards of jagged
shrapnel. I opened my mouth to argue, to come clean about my heritage, to
explain why I’d missed all those shifts, but all that came out was a ringing
silence.
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
The line went dead.
Pressure built behind
my eyes.
I’d thought about
quitting the bookstore dozens of times—usually when I was fighting to get out
of my nice warm bed before the sun came up—but I’d never really considered it. Magpie Books had been
Maggie’s dream, but we’d built it together. I’d been there from the start, and
I’d always assumed I’d be there till the end. Magpie was supposed to be a place
I would always belong.
Dropping the phone in
my purse, I blinked until my tears were no longer in danger of falling.
Somehow, I had to repair my friendship with Maggie. I couldn’t afford to burn
any more bridges. But first, I needed to find out what, if anything, had happened
to the werewolves.
About the author:
Born and raised in Colorado, L. R. BRADEN makes her home in
the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her wonderful husband, precocious
daughter, and psychotic cat. With degrees in both English literature and
metalsmithing, she splits her time between writing and art.
Author's Giveaways
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Sounds like a great series.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful cover & great except, thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteThe book sounds great.
ReplyDeleteThe covers look real nice. Sounds like great read
ReplyDelete