HAUNTED BY MAGIC -Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Boxset Sampler

FRAGILE MAGICK - HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

Chapter One

Somebody once remarked that "with great power comes great responsibility." No researchers can pinpoint exactly where this quote came from, but one thing is certain: It's fucking dumb. Not because it's wrong.

Because it's right.

What young witch wants to admit her power is cause for abuse? Targeting. But not physically, no. Never that simple.

Metaphysically.

With great power comes the darkest of curses. In a tradition ripe with guidelines made to be broken, and strong magickians with even stronger opinions on the imagined line between good and evil, magickal practitioners with the most power are the ones targeted. They're the wild cards — the men and women who challenge the status quo and set the international council aquiver with fear.

What's that other great saying... Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?

Heh.

My father taught me everything about being a witch. Mikhail Holtzer was the strongest witch of his generation. He could manipulate all four elements, bring the wounded back from the brink of death, and vanquish his enemies with an irritated flick of his wrist. First year magickal students wrote papers about my father, espousing his great leadership qualities and the immense power he contained in such a – reportedly – handsome package.

Despite, or maybe because of, his great power, he maintained a gentle demeanor with me in our lessons throughout my childhood. Don't get me wrong; he could be tough. He expected nothing but the best from his only child. But after lessons, in the free time we had together between school and work and sleep, he and I would cuddle on the couch beneath my favorite flannel blanket, munching popcorn and drinking Big Red as we laughed at the movie of the week.

I grew older, and his lessons intensified. I grew stronger, worlds ahead of the kids in my class. It became obvious I'd follow in his footsteps as the greatest witch of my generation.

What they don't teach you in magickal studies is that great power comes at great cost.

*

The morning of my twenty-first birthday dawned to a bleak, rainy sky and an alarm clock that hadn't sounded at its pre-determined time. Green numbers glowed 8:21, which meant I was twenty-one minutes late for work. As ironic as I found it that I was exactly twenty-one minutes late for work on my twenty-first birthday, that had no bearing on the fact I was late. My boss had threatened bodily harm on the next instance of my tardiness, and quite frankly, I believed her.

I hit the ground at a full sprint, stumbling over my familiar where he dozed on the floor beside my bed. Hermod was a six-thousand-year-old spirit currently housed in a ninety-eight pound gray pit bull, assigned to look after my health and well-being. That had less to do with my actual health and well-being, and more to do with keeping me from blowing myself up on accident or abusing my powers. I vaguely recalled kicking him off the bed in the middle of the night because he drooled on my pillow.

Hermod opened one green eye and snuffed at me.

"I specifically told you not to awaken," Herm grumbled in his gruff, accented voice. The sound didn't come from his mouth or throat, nor was it telepathic. It emanated from him as if he were a loudspeaker, tinged with something I couldn't pinpoint: neither English nor Dutch nor German.

"I have to work. You wanna be locked up all day?" I jerked a dress off the hanger with one hand and tugged my nightshirt off with the other.

"Mikhail can let me out for a romp." Hermod rolled on his back, exposing his pale fleshy underside as he gave me sad eyes.