Outcast: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Warden of the West Book 1)
Table of Contents
Outcast: Warden of the West, Book 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Author’s Note
Also By Annabel Chase
Outcast: Warden of the West, Book 1
Spellslingers Academy of Magic
Annabel Chase
Red Palm Press LLC
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Author’s Note
Also By Annabel Chase
1
“More coffee, ma’am?” I asked, lifting the half empty pot in my hand.
“Oh, no thank you. Another cup and I’ll have the runs all night,” the older woman replied.
Her husband rolled his eyes. “Myrtle, nobody wants to hear about the inner workings of your digestive system.”
“It’s the outer workings I’m concerned with Henry, or weren’t you listening?” She winked at me. “Fifty years of marriage and he still never listens.”
Across the room, a baby squealed with delight. Henry’s eyes dimmed at the sight of the family. “Bit late for a night out with an infant and a toddler.”
“Now, Henry,” his wife scolded. “It’s not as though it’s a school night. You’ve forgotten what it’s like.”
“They’re celebrating,” I said. “The father just came home from a tour of duty.” While I generally tried to avoid tables with small children, I’d waited on the family of four, and their feelings of joy had been palpable. It seemed he’d missed the birth of the baby and the toddler’s birthday, and was eager to make up for lost time. I didn’t blame him.
Henry grunted in response. “We’ll take the check now, miss.” He paused for a beat. “And theirs, too, if they haven’t paid yet.”
I smiled. “They haven’t. Should I tell them who paid?”
Myrtle laughed lightly. “We’re basically the only ones left. I think they’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t know. I quite like the idea of being a mysterious benefactor,” Henry mused. “I’ve always been a fan of Dickens and—what was that fella’s name in Great Expectations, Myrtle?”
“Pip,” I interjected.
“Oh, a budding literary scholar, are we?” Myrtle queried, leaning forward with interest.
“No, ma’am,” I said. “I was homeschooled, but I read a lot. My mother loved books.” Medicine had been her passion, but books had been a worthy second.
“Homeschooled? Funny, you don’t look like a hippie,” Myrtle said, scrutinizing me. “I thought only hippies homeschooled their young.”
“And religious fanatics,” Henry added. “Don’t forget them.”
I maintained a neutral expression, despite my desire to laugh. “We were neither.” I didn’t offer any more than that. “I’ll be right back with your check. And theirs.”
I strode to the back of the restaurant so I could close out their tabs. The faster I moved, the faster I could get home. My feet were killing me, and I still had to walk across the bridge that straddled the Delaware River, separating New Hope, Pennsylvania from Lambertville, New Jersey. I would’ve been happy to live in New Hope, but the rent was cheaper on the Jersey side and I’d left Connecticut in a hurry. As long as I was near water, I’d make due. Some people preferred mountains or deserts, but I’d always been a water girl. It wasn’t just because I had special power over water—a power my mother and I discovered purely by accident when I’d nearly drowned in the neighborhood reservoir. I’d been four years old, chasing dragonflies on a sunny day while my mother unpacked a picnic. We’d just moved to Tennessee for the umpteenth time for my mother’s work as a locum tenens physician (basically a temporary doctor), and I’d run too close to the edge. I’d fallen into the reservoir, and, by the time my mother had reached me, I’d parted the reservoir like it was the Red Sea and skipped back onto dry land, my dark pigtails swinging in the breeze.
I dropped off the checks and returned to the family’s table to let them know the bill had been paid. It wasn’t the first act of kindness I’d witnessed as a waitress. When I waited tables in Maine, some wealthy yachtsman had footed the bill for the entire restaurant because someone had played his favorite song on the piano. People were often affected by the acts of others in unsuspecting ways.
Tears glimmered in the wife’s eyes when I delivered the good news. Tonight’s meal clearly had been a splurge, and gratitude rolled off of them in waves. When I turned to point out Myrtle and Henry, the elderly angels were already gone.
“See, children?” their mother said in a soothing voice. “The world can be a good place.” She met her husband’s weary gaze. “Isn’t that right, Daddy?”
He covered her hand with his. “Of course it can.”
I cleared their table and tried to get out of their way as quickly as possible. It wasn’t easy to pack up a baby and a toddler, especially when everyone was tired.
In the kitchen, I settled up, said goodnight to the skeleton crew, and slipped out the back door. The manager didn’t like us to use the front door. He was a little stuffy, but certainly not the worst I’d encountered in my four years of waitressing.
In the alley behind the restaurant, my familiar greeted me. The snowy owl perched on the edge of the dumpster, his feathers streaked with dirt. I didn’t want to know what he’d been up to while I was working.
“Icarus, you look a mess,” I said with a weary sigh.
Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like you’ve been trapped in a wind tunnel filled with grease, he replied.
I smoothed the front of my uniform. “I’m going home to take a shower and crawl into bed. I don’t need to look good now.”
It’s Saturday night, the owl said. You could always go out afterward. It’s good to be social, especially in a new place.
I gave him a skeptical look. “Since when are you concerned with my social life?” Icarus was perfectly content to hang out on the sofa. Like me, he was no frills.
You’re not getting any younger, the owl said.
“I’m twenty,” I shot back. “That’s plenty young.” I’d met Icarus when I was sixteen, in an alley not unlike this one. My mother had died earlier that year during an ice storm—an accident on her way to the hospital for a shift. I’d been struggling to find a way to survive without putting myself in the system. Icarus had found me sleeping next to a dumpster, wrapped in one of my mother’s coats. When he’d spoken to me, I thought I was hallucinating. That death was near. Then he’d brought me food and I rallied. Icarus had suggested I try waitressing because it offered the chance for me to keep a low profile and get paid in cash. We’d been inseparable ever since.
When I reached the corner, I noticed the family in their car waiting at the light fo
r the right turn arrow. They appeared to be heading my way, over the bridge, except I’d be walking on the pedestrian path. It was a balmy summer night, a little on the humid side, but I imagined it would be a tougher walk come winter. At this point, I had no way of knowing whether I’d still be here by then. Like my mother, I tried to move every six months to a year, just to be on the safe side. And, of course, no magic. Maybe a small burst here or there, but nothing that would put me on my father’s radar. I’d learned that lesson the hard way when I’d parted the reservoir. As thrilled as my mother had been to have her daughter alive, she’d been furious with me for using such a healthy dose of magic. She’d been aware that I’d inherited my father’s magic, she just hadn’t realized until that moment exactly how powerful I really was. From then on, she set out to teach me whatever she could find in the library about sorcery and magic, with the firm warning to keep my abilities under wraps. Using magic was a risk to both of us.
By the time I reached the bridge, the family’s car was ahead of me. I pictured the children fast asleep in the back, and the parents holding hands over the gearshift. Out of nowhere, I felt a pang of sorrow. It was the type of family moment I’d never experienced as a child. It had always been my mother and me, moving from place to place. I’d never even met my father—I only knew that he was an evil sorcerer. In a moment of weakness, my mother once revealed that she pitied me for basically having Lord Voldemort as a father. Although it wasn’t mentioned again, I never forgot the reference.
Icarus circled above me, offering a running commentary of the view below. Sometimes, I listened. Sometimes, I treated his diatribe as white noise. Tonight was a white noise night, mostly because I was exhausted and focused on my comfortable bed about a mile away.
Cats are so stupid, he complained.
Please don’t get started on cats, I said. Cats are perfectly fine animals and I’m not in the mood.
This one the bridge isn’t perfectly fine. It’s going to get itself killed.
I snapped to attention. There’s a cat on the bridge?
Black and white, he replied. Oh, I think its paw might be stuck in the…
Up ahead, the family’s car jerked hard in an effort to avoid the cat. Too hard. The father fought to regain control of the car, but he couldn’t manage it.
Oh no, Icarus cried, as the car went sailing over the barrier toward the river.
I didn’t—couldn’t—hesitate. I ran to the edge, my fingers gripping the barrier. As the car plunged toward the river, I called to the water. I felt the magic spark within me and knew that my call would be answered. Below me, I heard loud crunching as the water hardened. By the time the rubber hit the river, the surface was a smooth sheet of ice. The car glided across the river until it reached land on the New Jersey side, where it rolled to a safe stop against a row of hedges.
My heart hammered in my chest. As quickly as I could, I returned the river to its normal state and hoped that no one had witnessed my involvement. It was the height of summer, hardly the season for ice or miracles.
I ran across the bridge, silently berating myself for my lack of exercise as sweat dribbled between my boobs. I couldn’t dab it away without looking like I was feeling myself up.
Are they okay? I asked. I couldn’t risk stopping to check. I had to get to my apartment.
Yes, absolutely fine, Icarus reported, and I nearly burst into tears from relief.
Did anyone see? I asked, continuing to jog at a brisk pace.
I’m not sure. You’re lucky it’s dark, Icarus said.
Yes, very dark. The moon hid behind thick clouds. Hopefully, it was enough to shroud the evidence.
The thundering of my heart echoed in my head as I continued to run. There was no way I’d sleep well tonight, not that I ever did. Insomnia was my faithful companion. My mother used to say it was my fight or flight response—that the undercurrent of stress over my father carried through the day and into the night. Ultimately, I didn’t care why. I just cared that I never had a full night’s rest.
When I reached the door to the apartment building, I dared to glance behind me. Other than three drunken guys stumbling to the next bar, there was no one in sight. I unlocked the door and hurried inside.
Wait for me, Icarus yelled.
The window upstairs is open, I said. It had to be, because I had no air conditioning and the second floor apartment was like a sauna.
I could hardly breathe by the time I reached my apartment. I closed the door and leaned against it, my legs turning to jelly. I slid to the floor as Icarus landed on the arm of the couch.
Well, that was an unexpected turn of events, he said.
“You think?” I couldn’t tell whether my body was reacting to the fear, the burst of unusual physical activity, or the magic. Probably all three.
Icarus cocked his owl head. That was a serious dose of magic.
“I know.” But I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I knew I would. "I'm going to take a shower.” I’d already been desperate for one when I left the restaurant. After my run across the bridge, I felt downright disgusting.
I’ll do a sweep of the area, Icarus said. See if anyone witnessed the miracle.
"They’re lucky Jesus isn't the only one with power over water or they’d have been SOL,” I said.
Icarus flew out the open window, and I turned on the water. The shower always relaxed me. Maybe it was my affinity for water, I wasn't sure. I loved the feel of it on my skin, washing away the stress and worry of another day. No matter where I moved, I always tried to make sure I was as close to a body of water as possible. In Connecticut and Maine, I'd been near harbors. I chose Lambertville because of its proximity to the river. It was a source of strength for me. Although I discovered early on that it wasn't my only source of magic, it was the one that came most naturally to me.
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel, on the verge of feeling better, when Icarus returned.
I smelled trouble out there.
Fear tickled my spine. "What kind of trouble?"
The kind that you don't want finding you, he replied. Tall, dark, and scary.
I squinted at him. "You said you smelled trouble. It seems to me that you saw it."
Okay, Einstein. I saw them, and they’re headed this way.
I dried off as quickly as I could, and pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. "Why didn't you just say so?"
I didn't want to frighten you, he said. But I can see how I may have botched that.
He watched me as I ran around the room in a frenzy. There was no time for socks and sneakers. I glanced around the room, searching for any necessities. It was pointless, really. When you moved as much as I did, you learned that everything was expendable.
You need to go out the window, Icarus said. They’re heading down the street now. They don't seem to know which building is yours. I can see them sniffing the air.
I froze. "Sniffing?"
Icarus poked his head back in the room. Shifters.
I frowned. "As in werewolves?"
I can't tell from this distance, Icarus said. Whatever they are, they’re looking for you, and they are undoubtedly fast. You need to move. Now.
I ran to the back window where the fire escape was located. “I’ll head back across the bridge." New Hope was busier than this side of the river. I'd be safer with more people around. My mother had told me that sorcerers like my father tried to blend in when they visited the human world. If these three were werewolves, they wouldn’t want to draw attention to themselves.
I hoped.
I'll keep tabs from up here, Icarus said. I'll join you when the coast is clear.
I scrambled down the fire escape and cut between the buildings behind me to reach a parallel street. With my luck, I'd step on a piece of glass and leave a trail of blood all the way to my hiding spot. One drop of blood would be enough to confirm my father's identity. My mother had always made sure to treat me for illness and injury at home. Thankfully, I hadn
’t been a clumsy child, just an adventurous one.
I walked at a brisk pace, trying to merge with the shadows. If they really were shifters, though, I suspected they’d be able to track me easily. I'd never met a shifter before, although my mother had hinted at their existence. I didn't think she'd ever met one either. She only knew about them from my father, when he'd told her all about the paranormal world he came from. When he'd confessed his true nature. It had been that confession that led my mother to disappearing and not revealing her pregnancy. She'd decided right there and then that he was heartless and evil enough to kill us both, should the mood strike him. Even though she’d not told him about the pregnancy, she worried that he would find out. He was an evil sorcerer, after all.
My feet pounded the pavement as I rounded the corner, where the bridge came into view. The night was still calm for a Saturday at the height of summer. Too early for the bars to spit out their patrons.
I felt the tickle of a breeze and knew that Icarus was above me. I didn't even have a chance to look up before I heard him say —
Run!
My adrenaline catapulted me forward. I hastened a glance over my shoulder to see three large men picking up the pace behind me. They were trying to lay low. Kinda difficult with those menacing stares. They looked like three serial killers out on a bender.
I began to regret my choice to run back to a crowded area. What if someone got hurt because of me? I had no idea what the shifters were willing to do in order to capture me. Maybe my father had ordered them to do whatever was necessary, at any cost.
I thought of my mother and her oath to do no harm. Although I wasn't a doctor, she passed her moral and ethical code on to me through her words and deeds. We both hoped it would be enough to counteract whatever evil genes I may have inherited from my father. Even though my mother never said as much, I knew she worried about me. I suspected it was another reason she didn’t like me to use magic. That, somehow, I might eventually succumb to darker tendencies. To combat that possibility, she smothered me with goodness and a clear view of right from wrong. Not that it stopped me from petty theft after she died. I’d considered it a survival tool, and hoped, if she knew, that she forgave me.