Veiled Shadows (The Age of Alandria: Book Two) (36 page)

The little clover pendant glittered in her hand. She stared at it, gaping. Something started clicking. It was a steady noise:
flick, flick, flick.

She gasped.

The flick sound came from the book, which was—well, it was—its pages were turning. The room was motionless, the air heavy and still again, but the pages flipped on their own, one after the other. After a minute or two, they finally stopped when a page drifted slowly to rest on its brothers.

“Holy...” she whispered. She sat on the edge of the immobile stone chair and peered at the open book while keeping as far a distance from it as she could.

A drawing covered both pages. The loose sketch showed a cliff overlooking a lake, a river, and a valley, and on top of the cliff was a lush forest. She squinted at a familiar sloping path up the cliff face and saw, hidden in the overhanging branches of the trees, the lichgate’s roof. And there, at the base of the path, was the marble door. Beside it, a man draped in a blue cloak lounged against the rock.

He peered up at her from beneath his hood, his face draped in shadow. One of his hands pointed to something off the page. She looked to where he was pointing and found the little note she’d brushed aside earlier. It still lay on the desk, somehow unaffected by the gale which had ripped books off their shelves.

She flipped to the next page, but before she could read more than a few words, the page shook itself free of her grip and settled once more on the landscape and the man.

She grumbled and turned the page again, but it once more wrenched itself free and turned back to the drawing of the cloaked man who pointed to the letter. She huffed and moved the book so that he was pointing at a bookshelf.

His arm moved against the motion of the book so that he still pointed to the letter.

Kara gasped and grabbed the loose parchment from the desk, taking the hint and leaning as far back into the chair as she could.

The letter had been gibberish before, but she caught a word she knew as she scanned the page. Then another. And another. Her hand covered her mouth as she read, horrified.

From the moment you read these words, you will be hunted. If you wish to survive what will come, you must pay attention.

Because you have found this Grimoire, you will come to know my world: Ourea. It’s a beautiful place, but its creatures are unforgiving and brutal. Ourea is a hidden pocket of the earth and has always been locked away, accessible only through the lichgates. Since you found this book, you have already discovered one of these portals. You can never return to the life you knew once you step through a lichgate.

Thousands of magical and non-magical species live here, but three are notable above all others: drenowith, isen, and yakona. Be wary of them all.

Drenowith are known in human lore as muses; they change form freely and don’t age. Isen are mostly evil, as their kind harvest souls to remain immortal and can don their prey’s appearance at will. But I believe that my people, the yakona, are far worse. We as a race have mastered magic, but we are divided and live in secluded, warring kingdoms. They will be the death of me, though all I ever wanted was peace.

To learn more, ask your Grimoire. It will always answer if you ask the right question.

You must be cautious. When you opened this Grimoire, you became its next master, and you will be known as the Vagabond. Only you can read these pages, and the vast knowledge held here is a coveted thing. I trust to you its secrets, its stories, and its fearful power. A daunting world awaits you, but I hope you discover the beauty hidden in even the most vile of things.

Tread carefully, Vagabond. Guard the Grimoire as you would your life because everything you hold dear will one day depend upon what it tells you.

The lines in Kara’s forehead deepened. She reread the short letter, holding her breath the whole time. A thought pulled on her mind, but her pulse raced too quickly for her to pay much attention to it at all. 

S.M. Boyce is a novelist who loves ghosts, magic, and spooky things. 
Lichgates
is a semifinalist in the Kindle Book Review’s Best Indie Books of 2012 and a Finalist in the Eric Hoffer Book Awards of 2013.

Buy your copy of
Lichgates
(Grimoire Saga #1) at your favorite online retailer. For more information on Boyce’s books, head over to
smboyce.com
or her
Amazon Author
page. 

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An Excerpt from Elfin

By Quinn Loftis

Chapter 1

“Halloween is here and once again I’m struggling to pick a costume. Once again I am trying desperately to ward off Elora’s attempts to turn me into some sort of gothic princess or dark fairy. If you happen to see me strutting down the street in a halter top with wings, glitter in my hair, and three inch heels, please shoot me on sight.” ~ Diary of Cassie Tate

“I’m not wearing that Elora. You might as well take that pattern and stuff it back into the bag of long lost costumes that should never see the light of day.” Cassie climbed into her best friends beat up Dodge Neon. The door creaked ominously as she opened it. Chipping red paint sloughed off, revealing a layer of blue beneath it.  Who knew what color lay beneath the blue. Elora’s car had been painted several times by her older brother, Oakley, when he had started working at the auto body shop his senior year and the original color was since long forgotten. Few little sisters would have voluntarily allowed their brothers to practice painting on their vehicle, but Elora didn’t have much of a say in the matter.  At least he had finally covered up the skull and crossbones he had jokingly, and quite poorly, painted on the hood.

“I’m telling you now, as your friend, if you try and wear a costume like you did last year, I will personally put you out of your own misery, not to mention my own,” Elora said in her signature dry voice. She rolled down the window, letting the crisp fall air blow through the car that had, despite the increasingly cool temperature, still grown hot from sitting in the asphalt parking lot that boasted absolutely no shade for the student parking. 

“Seriously?” Cassie’s jaw dropped open. “That costume was so creative.”

Elora rolled her eyes as she started the car. She shifted into drive and pressed the pedal to the metal, coaxing the sputtering little engine to deliver its maximum effort, which resulted in a loud squeal from the tires as the girls pulled out of the school lot. Cassie latched onto the door unconcerned about the loud noise; well acquainted with her friend’s maniacal driving skills. 

“You were an ant.” Elora’s face scrunched up in distaste.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t just an ant. I was an ant
on a picnic table
.” 

“Exactly,” Elora responded deadpan. “You were wearing a table. I’m sorry Cass but I draw the line at wearing furniture. We’re seniors this year; we have a responsibility to blow the minds of all the underclassmen peons.”

Cassie laughed. “What about Charlie’s Angels? They are some kick butt females.”

Elora raised a single pierced eyebrow at her best friend.

“Do you really see
this
,” she motioned to her face and then her body, “as Charlie’s Angels material?”

Cassie looked over at her friend. There was no doubt that Elora was beautiful, but not in a typical way. She was heavy into the Goth scene. Her hair was dyed jet black, with the exception of the bright red chunks she put in it. She wore it in long layers with bangs sweeping across her face intentionally creating a mysterious air. She had a stud resting in her left brow; four piercings in her left ear, five in her right, a stud in her right nostril, and, of course, a stud in her tongue. She wore dark eye shadow that gave her purple eyes, made possible by colored contacts, an enigmatic sparkle. She was naturally fair skinned, so she didn’t bother with any powder on her face and her skin was flawless anyways. She wore black, black, and more black and she rocked it. Black miniskirts with black fishnet tights drew attention to her insanely long legs on her five foot, seven inch frame, which was completed by black combat boots and an off the shoulder shirt revealing a black halter top. Around her neck dangled various crystals, all of which were, according to her mother, effective to promote healing, positive energy, or some other such nonsense. Various rings, ranging from skeletons to talons, adorned nearly every finger. 

Cassie’s mouth quirked up. “I see your point.”

“Just leave the costumes to me. I’m sure my Lisa can help me come up with something dark and sexy.” Elora turned onto Cassie’s street and her tires screeched to a halt in her driveway.

Lisa was Elora’s mom and that is what Elora had always called her. Elora wasn’t into titles that she claimed society put on people to set them apart, when, as she put it “
we are all human beings who picked their noses as children in front of people without shame and then in secret as adults
.”

“Who says I want to look dark and sexy?” Cassie asked.

“I do,” Elora answered giving Cassie a
what kind of question was that
glare. 

“Just remember that we are not standing on a corner trick or treating for the wrong kind of tricks and treats, okay?”

Elora rolled her eyes but then added, “That was actually a pretty good analogy.”

“So glad I meet your approval.”

“I’ll call you later tonight. No doubt you are going to need my help on our English project.” Elora began to back out of the driveway. Cassie motioned for her to roll down her window.

“I have to go up to my dad’s work remember?” Cassie yelled to her.

“Why do you have to go again?”

“His assistant is out for the week and he asked me to do some of the filing and whatever other meaningless tasks she does,” Cassie said in exasperation.

“Okay. We’ll work on the paper tomorrow. It’s not due until Friday anyway,” Elora waved as she continued out of the driveway and peeled and puttered off down the street. 

Cassie looked at her watch and realized that she was already late. She walked over to her less than impressive, not to mention ancient, Honda Civic, digging her keys from her backpack. Once she had them, she tossed her backpack into the back seat, slid into the driver’s seat, and started it up. She backed out of the driveway in a much more reasonable fashion than Elora just did, and headed towards her dad’s work in downtown Oklahoma City.

~

“Dad, I’m here.” Cassie hollered as she walked into the reception area of Woodland Oil Company, Inc. From what little she knew of her dad’s work, he handled the company’s financial stuff and had the words “President of,” in front of his name. She walked past the reception desk and down a long hallway passing office after office on either side. Her father’s office was the last one at the end of the hall.

She knocked and opened the door when she heard his voice. William Tate, III sat at his paper-covered desk, tie loosened around his neck, his salt and pepper hair rumpled from continually running his hands through it. 

“Come on in, Cass,” her father said and she noticed how tired he sounded. He always sounded tired, Cassie thought to herself. He worked way too much. Though he never complained about it, Cassie could tell the long hours were wearing him down.  She made a mental note to bug him later about taking her on a vacation.  It was for his own good.

“Hey,” she said with her brightest smile, hoping to bring a little energy into the stale room. She wanted to wrap him in a hug when he returned her smile and he immediately looked at least ten years younger.

“So what do I need to do?”

William stood and his six foot, three inch form seemed to make the large office shrink a bit. With a flat stomach, large muscular arms and powerful legs, William Tate was an avid athlete.  He tried his hardest to make time to do push-ups and sit-ups in his office throughout the day. Aside from his graying hair, he looked much younger than his forty-six years. He laid the papers that were in his hands down as he came around his desk and motioned for her to follow him back down the long hallway to the reception area. His assistant, an older, frumpy woman named Martha, kept her desk in meticulous order. He pulled a box of papers out from under the organized desk.