Lost Magic (The Swift Codex Book 3)

• Title Page
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-One
  
• Chapter Twenty-Two
  
• Chapter Twenty-Three
  
• Chapter Twenty-Four
  
• Chapter Twenty-Five
  
• Chapter Twenty-Six
  
• Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
• Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
• Chapter Twenty-Nine
  
• Chapter Thirty
  
• Chapter Thirty-One
  
• Chapter Thirty-Two
  
• Chapter Thirty-Three
  
• Chapter Thirty-Four
  
• Chapter Thirty-Five
  
• Chapter Thirty-Six
  
• Chapter Thirty-Seven
  
• Chapter Thirty-Eight
  
• Chapter Thirty-Nine
  
• Chapter Forty
  

Lost Magic

Book 3 of Swift Codex

by

Nicolette Jinks

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2016 by NICOLETTE JINKS

NICOLETTE JINKS asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

You may contact the author via email: [email protected] or check in at
Twitter
,
Facebook
,
Google+
,
GoodReads
. To follow the author, her blog is:
www.nicolettejinks.wordpress.com
, where she writes about writing and life.

Independently Published by author

doing business as Standal Publications

Short Description:

Feraline Swift, a novice agent for Death currently floundering with the rediscovery of her magic, finds something unusual: A woman running from Death's enemy who entrusts Fera with her child—right before bursting into flames.
Fera seeks answers no one wants to give. Who was the woman, where did she come from? Why did she self-incinerate, was it a curse, or was she a Creature? And why do the dark sorcerers want the child so badly?

Rain and wind raged on the glass roof above the old biplane swaying over the books I was reshelving following a recent incident with a storage ghost. It was the sort of day that called for a mug of hot cocoa and a roaring fire to take the cold, wet feel out of the air. Not that I wanted any sugar in that mug, mind. Just straight cocoa and milk would be perfect. Ever since I had an encounter with Death which, I supposed, had triggered my father's shifting ability to become active in me I haven't been able to stomach sweet things.

Mordon Meadows was a few rows over, doing something with the Roman pithos-jar-thing. It hadn't been physically broken, but the ghost had animated it. If it was left to its own devices, it would roll around the floor seemingly with the intention of smashing anything in its path. Mordon's reddish hair had suffered badly from the storage ghost, but so far he hadn't noticed. I anticipated that once he did realize the tangles, he'd want my smoothing comb from upstairs. Aside from the dust coating his black shirt and the smudges on his knees and hair which looked like a mouse had braided it, Mordon wasn't looking too shabby. Not that I was staring at him, exactly.

“I think I'll go make up some Drake's Brew. Maybe enough for myself, too,” Mordon said, standing up and brushing the dust off his knees. Drake's Brew was nothing at all like hot cocoa, but I liked it so well I wondered if I had an addiction to the colony's recipe. He'd been feeding me constantly ever since we got back from the Wildwoods two weeks ago, apparently under the impression that the fight I'd had with my parents prior to leaving the woods could be soothed through the stomach.

Mordon owned the shop and was the principal force behind forming our motley crew into a formal coven. Unlike me, his heritage hadn't been formed through the melting pot; he was all-drake and found my parentage intriguing rather than threatening. He was also biding his time before stepping up the ranks into the Kragdomen Colony's rulership, performing an occupation he called a Watcher. I thought it was a clever ruse by the Colony elders to keep their up-and-coming lord just far enough away from the roost so he didn't get impatient enough to snatch the title for himself a little early, or otherwise butt heads with his superiors. Perhaps it even served as a 'get out and see the world' function. Now that I thought of it the Colony didn't have many people about my age lurking in their hallways, though the rest of the Colony talked about their adventures.

“Sure,” I said. “When do you think the trio will be home? I'm wondering if it's worth it to slap dinner together.”

“The two of us can cook when we're hungry. Leif and Lilly will eat at the celebrations, but Barnes will stick around until late to see all the drunks home. Want me to close up the shop? I doubt anyone will come by now.” Mordon stroked his nonexistant beard in thought. “We could still go, if you'd like to?”

For once I didn't tell him I wanted to be left alone. I smiled. “You asking me on a date?”

His fingers froze in place and his brow knitted in confusion. “Yes,” he said, “I think I am. What a strange concept.”

“It's approaching evening on Midsummer Day. Are you sure you want to ask me to that?”

“Why? What have you heard? That we're to dance naked around a tree and drink freely of wine to encourage good crops and animals?”

“Mmm, I hadn't heard that bit. No, Lilly mentioned something about jumping over bonfires and tossing wreaths of flowers into the duck pond.”

“Lilly's doing the kiddie activities.” Mordon grinned mischievously. “Want to take a guess of what the adults do? The fairies are taking charge.”

I had a feeling that I knew what some of those activities included, if the way he was looking at me was any indication. “Whatever, I'll give it a shot. Just know I draw the line at anything that'll get me knocked up.” This was one of those times when the filter between brain and mouth failed, and I regretted the lapse. So I tried to fix it. “Spring is way too early for me to be ready to even hold a child, nevermind raise one.”

“Oh, I don't know. You held my nephew pretty well.”

“You have no clue how lucky he was.”

“I think it is you who has no clue how lucky he was,” Mordon said, knowing that I'd embarrassed myself already, the gleam in his expression telling me he found it adorable to see me flustered. “Are you trying to find a way to tell me no? You could just say it, unless you like teasing me.”

“I accept, before you change your mind and don't take me out at all. Close up shop, go sear some steaks, I'll tidy up here and meet you upstairs in five.”

He hooked a thumb in the pocket of his black silk trousers, still taking in my doubtless red cheeks. “Will I be escorting you to the kiddie pool, or do you think you're big enough for the deep end?”

I laughed. “Where on earth did you learn that turn of phrase? You haven't been to a swimming pool in your life.”

“From you. And you're deflecting the question.”

“Depends what I'm in the mood for and if you are going to be a rogue or a gentleman.”

“Which one leads to jumping in the deep end?”

I looked for something to toss at him, found nothing that would not be damaged, and formed a burst of compressed air instead. He tried to catch it and ended up ruffling through his red hair. He laughed and moved away, humming a jaunty tune. I shook my head, my cheeks still hot, and tried to return my attention back to the books, but I kept wondering...I'd only ever seen him shirtless twice before...and even then, only had one decent look at him. Not that I was willing to be reckless to see more. Definitely not. I planned to stay well away from the free-flowing wine.

I hardly heard the locks slide, grind, and groan their way to security, but I knew from the contented purr through the floorboards that not only was the shop itself happy, Mordon was, as well. They'd been worried about me—everyone had been. The day that a letter had formed itself out of a curl of smoke and a tendril of flame, I may have seen my father's handwriting on it and fallen into an angry rant and refused to open it. On top of my frantic panic at having the man I'd killed reappear mysteriously from the dead, I hadn't exactly been faring too well in the steady nerves department.

He'd spoken out publicly addressing my statements. I'd read the speech in the next day's
Thaumaturgical Tribune
.

Cole Addresses Swift's Allegations, Expresses Sympathy

TRANSCRIBED BY SIMONA ECCLES / AMERICAN SORCERERING TODAY

Upon my safe return to my family, I was made aware of the trial and hardships Miss Swift has endured as a result of my carelessness.

First, I feel it is my civic duty to apologize for all she has had to endure. Although some would say I owe her no such apology, I feel one is required.

As to Miss Swift's allegations, I am as surprised as anyone else—however, I do understand the cause behind it and I know the reason for her conviction.

As with many sorcerers, I protect my family and home. Miss Swift's story goes to a time when my beloved wife, without my knowledge, contracted Miss Swift for housework. As I was not aware of the arrangement, I did not release the protective wards within my house. These wards are of a delusional, persuasive nature, intended to frighten by employing the target's own imagination. I use this rather than lethal force, but it is said to be the most frightening thing to ever endure.

Miss Swift did witness as she said she did, but it was an illusion. Not knowing this, she returned at a later date and confronted me. Being in a state of agitation myself, I reacted unwisely. Though misinformed, Miss Swift behaved bravely and in the belief she was doing good. It was an unfortunate turn of events and I am sorry for the disgrace and discomfort she has had to endure on my behalf. The courts must release her at once from any and all culpability.

It was an accident and an illusion. It was not real. I furthermore expect and anticipate apologies to be given to her from those who have maligned her good name and brave nature during my weeks of absence.