Excerpt Lost Volumes
From Chapter One: An Urgent
Message
Lyra almost deleted the email marked
urgent, suspecting some virus that might take control of her computer, but
stopped when she realized the sender was her lover—a 220-year-old wizard, who
rarely used a computer. She couldn’t open the message fast enough.
Lyra,
Alliance
mortals and lower magicals are taking violently ill. I’m leaving the bookstore
for a while to offer aid. DO NOT come to Dragonspeir. Stay safe in your world.
Love
always,
Cullen
She stared at the screen, twisting a strand
of her long hair. Leaning forward, she gripped the armrests of the chair. Her
breath caught when she noticed how the dragon’s sapphire eyes on her new
bloodswear ring sparked from the energy of her concern. His message left her
undecided, reading between the lines and weighing the choices.
Those affected—mortals and lower
magicals—seemed to place her in the risk group, obviously Cullen’s concern.
However, those mortals were all born in Dragonspeir, while she originally came
from Tampa. Lower magicals did include members of both worlds. But as the
current Scribe, Lyra possessed inherited power at least as great as high-order
wizards. She just didn’t fully grasp how to command her magic yet.
She did want to help. Since her parents and
dear Aunt Jean died, the Guardians, wizards, dragons, and other residents of
the Alliance were her only family. Lyra’s unique powers might be useful,
especially since they now lacked an alchemist.
Eburscon disappeared after he attempted to
steal her scribal aura, and she’d heard no reports of him since, so he was
presumed dead by many. According to Cullen, no one wanted him back. However,
living without a person capable of creating remedies for a plague or widespread
illness had left many residents uneasy. Some talked about trying to persuade
Tarom, the Dark Realm’s alchemist, to switch his allegiance. Two centuries ago,
he served the Imperial Dragon, leaving only when he couldn’t tolerate working
under Eburscon any longer.
Despite ranking as the top wizard, the
Imperial Sorcerer in the Alliance High Council, Cullen lacked alchemical
skills. Even though untrained, Lyra possessed a keen intuitive sense in the
craft. She could help him. Aries guided the fire in her scribal powers and also
fueled her impatience.
Lyra checked and secured Aunt Jean’s
cottage since the last gasps of late winter storms in the upper peninsula of
Michigan could be brutal.
Dashing off a few emails to her college
students in Florida, she gave them feedback on their independent study in the
Fantasy Lit course. She was glad her leave from on-campus teaching
responsibilities continued until the next fall term.
Lyra saved and printed the chronicle draft
of her bloodswear quest, completed at the end of last year. It was mid-March, and
she’d almost finished the written account, storing magic in her words that
would empower the Alliance—her role as a Scribe. The hard copy she stuffed into
a commuter bag to work on later with the Imperial Dragon and the other three
Guardians. She needed to sort through their research details that had helped
her kill the heir to the Black Dragon. Additional supplies could be conjured
from memory.
Outside, the dock in the backyard looked
weather-beaten but sound. Waves from Lake Huron lapped at its old boards. In
the flower bed, the first spring perennials peeked through the packed ground
and would require plenty of care soon. Lyra hoped to be back in time to
maintain what her aunt had loved so much. Crocuses stood bravely against the
melting snowpack—a reminder.
As she turned from the garden, a large
black butterfly flitted around her head. It was the same type that had spied on
her before and been in her aunt’s room when she was killed—purple spots like
eyes on its wings. Suspecting it was a transformed magical from Dragonspeir’s
Dark Realm, Lyra swatted at the insect. Thinking that someone watched her leave
caused a chill to run down her spine.
Finally shooing it to the nearby bushes,
she lifted her head high, put her bag inside her silver Subaru sport wagon, and
drove straight to Drake’s Bookstore.
After parking in back, she twisted her
dragon ring to unlock the back door of Cullen’s shop, no longer needing the
magical skeleton key. “Sheridan, I’m using your portal,” she called out.
From his cage on the showroom counter, the
cicada chirped, “I already knew it was you, sweetheart. Nice perfume.”
Lyra shook her head. Darned bug never
stopped flirting.
“By the way, Sire Drake told me to not let
you pass. Something about an illness in the Alliance. Don’t make me use my
magic on you.”
“I’m going anyway,” she replied as she
prepared herself in the storage room.
“Like I knew you would,” he snapped.
She gave her ring another twist and stated,
“Pateo porta!” In response, two metal
bookcases moved apart. Between them lay the connector to Dragonspeir. She
stepped across. The familiar tingling sensation now felt invigorating, when
last summer it had frightened her. Her jeans, t-shirt, and jacket transformed
into a full-skirted gown of light blue cotton under a navy cloak.
It was her first time back since being
publically honored for completing her bloodswear quest and sorcery studies.
She’d have to wait to find out if her new abilities could alter the clothing
she acquired at the portal.
Lifting one side of the long garments, Lyra
ran the short distance along the wooded trail to the location of the old,
sentry tree, Gatekeeper Cranewort. Reminding her of the shape of grand live
oaks in Florida, his branches spread wide and high, taller than any nearby. His
large, flat leathery leaves were turned to collect the warm morning rays.
“Hello, Cranewort,” she called ahead. “I
don’t mean to disturb your sunbathing, but I need to pass to the Imperial
Dragon’s lair, or to the Meadow—whichever place I can help most with those who
are sick.”
“Not sunbathing, child, merely enhancing my
immune functioning to bolster my health after the harsh winter. Sire Drake
instructed me to not permit your passage. He and all of us fear you will fall
ill.” He lifted extensions of his roots into a spiky barricade, one of his
gate-keeping defenses.
“Perhaps I can help,” she maintained, hands
on her hips.
“It looks to be a horrible disease—elevated
fever, chills, vomiting blood. Some are dying. Please stay here, Adalyra.”
“I’m not like any from Dragonspeir. I won’t
get it.” Lyra hoped what she said was true but couldn’t turn her back on
thousands who were ill.
“Well…you most certainly are unique.” He
folded his leaves and tipped his trunk forward to look at her directly. “The
Alliance relies on your special scribal abilities to battle the Dark Realm.
Losing you to illness would risk too much. Be wise and stay back.” He smoothed
down his bark and held out a twigged hand to her.
She stepped beyond his touch. “The entire
Alliance is my family, and I need to help them.”
The gnarled tree let out a sigh and lowered
his roots. “Very well. You have your own mind, and it is one of a leader. That
is your inheritance from the four female Scribes in your family. But, I expect
you to use every caution available. Sire Drake is in the Meadow. Stay with
him.”
“I promise.” Lyra hurried toward the
crossroads, which connected dozens of trails. There she selected the short path
leading to the Meadow.
Pluch trees lined the trail. Their weeping
branches, active with new sap, swept after Lyra in attempt to caress her golden
hair, now grown almost to her waist. Flower buds on the bell flowers peaked
out. The air held gentle notes of fragrant jasmine from the vine’s first purple
flowers. She took a deep breath as she sped down the familiar walk. She had
missed Dragonspeir.
Along the way, Lyra thought about her
action, entering the land without permission. Although she recently passed
sorcery training for all crafts except powerthrowing, Lyra only elevated her
immortal status. In Dragonspeir, they used the term afflation—having received divine impartment of
knowledge and strength to
endure more physical hardship than a non-magical. Until gaining enough
afflation to become fully immortal, she needed to be invited by the Imperial Dragon
to be his guest in Dragonspeir.
As a new Alliance sorceress, the Imperial
Dragon decided when he needed her. Lyra clearly broke his established protocol.
But she often bent Alliance customs to suit her needs while working for the
greater good. So far, she had only raised eyebrows, and no one troubled her.
She hoped this time would be the same, but entering a plague-ridden land
against orders was a bit different than wearing jeans or hugging dragons.
GIVEAWAY
The prizes in this giveaway that is in conjunction with
Bewitching Blog Tours
are
3 Sets of the Three Released Enchanted Bookstore Legends
which consist of
Seeking A Scribe Bk#1
Heritage Avenged Bk#2
Lost Volumes Bk#3
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