Magic Reborn: The Peacesmith Series: Book1, A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel Read online

  MAGIC

  REBORN

  THE PEACESMITH SERIES BOOK 1

  A NEW ADULT FANTASY NOVEL

  BY CARLY HANSEN

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Carly Hansen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Fortem Books

  Visit the author’s website to sign up for news of the next release and lots of other cool, free stuff: www.CarlyHansen.com.

  For Claret, Peter, and Paul

  CONTENTS

  Prologue | 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 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 |

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Prologue

  Outskirts of Birstall, Eastern Region

  7:46 P.M.

  The girl sat up in her tent, her heart pounding. With trembling fingers, she pushed straggly, auburn curls away from her ears and listened to the wind rushing through the leaves.

  She was sure she’d heard a crackle.

  She’d just begun to drift off to sleep when the sound jolted her into a state of panic.

  Was it that the wind had snapped off a tree branch?

  Or was it the sound of twigs being crushed under approaching footsteps?

  If she hadn’t had a fight three days earlier with Jake, her boyfriend of ten months, the nighttime sounds in the woods outside her small canvas tent wouldn’t have bothered her. Built like an ox, tattooed from head to toe, and always spoiling for a fight, Jake was not a man that anyone in the squatter community dared to tangle with.

  But now he was gone, and she was all alone.

  She reached back to feel among her clothes and books for a flashlight. In her early twenties and broke, she was just an ordinary girl who owned nothing worth stealing. Still, she was a female, so theft was not the only reason she might be under attack.

  Just as her fingers touched something smooth, cool, and cylindrical, another crackling sound made her jump.

  The flashlight rolled away, out of reach.

  Breathing heavily, she got on her knees and frantically patted the ground in the darkness, searching for the object. Where the hell is that light? she thought.

  Maybe whoever was out there would think twice if they saw she had a light on in the tent. They’d realize she could shine the flashlight in their faces and identify them.

  Or maybe she could save it for when they were close, and then suddenly shine the light in their eyes to blind them and give herself time to run.

  But run to where?

  Beyond the thin canvas of her tent, there was nothing but a narrow, lonely road up on a hill, and forest for miles around.

  There was certainly nothing resembling law enforcement anywhere nearby, which was the attraction of these woods for people down on their luck or on the run from the authorities who found their refuge from the world here.

  Tents and makeshift huts were spread out haphazardly among the trees and brush. For all she knew, she could run for an hour and not encounter a soul to help her. Or she could run for mere minutes and crash into the hovel of someone more dangerous than whoever was prowling outside.

  Her mind raced. Ex-cons, wanted men, and people on the lam would be bad enough. She knew there were plenty in these parts. Even Jake was fleeing warrants.

  But what worried her more were the things she’d only heard whispered about. She tried to push them out of her mind because thinking about them only made her more terrified.

  Men who turned into werewolves, panthers, or bears were only urban legends, right?

  Vampires, gargoyles, and dragons were just the stuff of scary bedtime stories and couldn’t really exist, could they?

  And those evil magicians who tortured people for fun, they’d all been rounded up and jailed or executed a long time ago, if they ever even existed, hadn’t they?

  “Where the hell is that damn light?” she muttered under her breath.

  In her mind, she cursed that blockhead she’d been stupid enough to have a relationship with. It’d been Jake’s idea to move out here a few months after they’d met. How could he have abandoned her in this place?

  She’d been used to hardship since she’d run away from foster care in her early teens. She’d scraped by on menial jobs, and she’d had plenty of experience sleeping on people’s bug-infested couches in cold basements. But living in a tent in a squatter settlement in the woods had been a new low.

  Three days earlier, they’d argued like cats and dogs over something trivial and stupid. She’d awoken the next morning to find him gone, along with the little money they’d saved up.

  She’d spent the last few days stunned and unsure what to do next.

  And now this!

  The sound of twigs snapping outside grew louder.

  It couldn’t be a good thing that someone approached her tent at this hour. What did they want with her?

  She couldn’t think of one good reason for someone to be out there.

  Goose bumps covered her flesh and she knew, instinctively, that whatever the reason, it had to be bad. Very bad.

  Her entire body shook uncontrollably as her fingers found the slim form of the small flashlight and curled around it.

  “This is the third and final one for the night,” a deep male voice said from outside.

  The girl froze on her hands and knees.

  The crackling of twigs, louder and more frequent now, was unmistakable as the footsteps—of more than one person—drew nearer.

  “Remember,” the voice, muffled but clear beyond the canvas that offered her no protection whatsoever, said, “I’m the only one who gets to enjoy her.”

  Her heart banged against her ribs, and she fell back on her butt. Digging her heels in, she scrambled backward. She nearly jumped out of her skin as her spine met the back of the tent.

  She wanted to scream. But when she opened her mouth, her throat was dry and no sound came out.

  It went quiet outside.

  Inside the tent, her breaths came loud and fast, and the noise filled up the small dome. Her head spun and her hand clutched the flashlight so tightly her knuckles ached.

  She couldn’t decide if the silence was a good thing. Did they leave? All she wanted was to be safe.

  Suddenly, a ripping sound sent a shiver down her spine. A sharp object had stabbed the tent, just inches from her left shoulder, dragging down in an attempt to open it.

  She finally found her voice. The scream was so forceful her lungs felt like they would burst.

  But her shrieks did nothing to stop her attackers.

  The canvas split apart violently. Something sharp dug into her shoulder, riveting her with pain as
her cries rang out…

  Chapter 1

  Tresmort, Eastern Region

  Same night

  “Fenix! Behind you,” Java shouted.

  “What?”

  Before Fenix could turn around, the blow to her back sent her down to her knees. Her flat cap flew off her head. She grabbed it and rammed it back as she scrambled over a mountain of rubbish in the dark alley.

  With a short shag haircut almost permanently hidden under the flat cap, and a uniform of jeans, T-shirts, a leather jacket, and combat boots, she’d succeeded in passing herself off as male these past few years. It helped that she fought like a warrior—and was flat chested.

  But even the best warriors got struck down sometimes, and this seemed to be her unlucky night.

  What had hit her hadn’t been solid. It’d been magic. But the blast of energy was just as painful as having a mallet slammed into her back.

  She curled into a ball and tried to push the agony out of her mind.

  “Ivan. Twain,” Java called out to the rest of the gang. “Fenix has been hit.”

  As Fenix struggled to right herself among the bags of garbage, she saw Java run down the alley. Suddenly, he leapt, shifted into a peregrine falcon, and soared into the night air.

  Sitting up on the cool concrete, Fenix reached to feel the back of her leather jacket. Much of the hem was gone, and the top of her jeans was smoldering.

  Footsteps pounded toward her. The tock-tock rhythm gave her comfort because she knew it was Twain.

  The sound stopped. A shadow swept above Fenix’s head, and Twain landed by her side, touching down in a silent crouch. He had leapt over the pile of rubbish, thanks to the wooden legs that Alda, the witch who hired them, had given him. Fashioned from charmed broomsticks, they gave him the ability to run fast and jump great heights.

  “Fenix, you okay?” Twain asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  She nodded, although she felt anything but. “Where’s Ivan?”

  “He ran toward the demon to get it.”

  “One of Carpetha’s?”

  “Looks like it,” Twain said as he raised himself above the rubbish to peep ahead.

  A shrill cry punctured the air.

  “Ivan,” Fenix and Twain called at the same time.

  At twenty-two, Ivan was the oldest among the lot. He was also the bravest—or most foolhardy. He had no special abilities that they knew about. The only thing he had that resembled a gift was his relentless fighting spirit. But that was good enough for him to save all their tails on many of the missions Alda sent them on.

  Since the Great Purge across the continent, magic was strictly regulated in Tresmort, making life as a witch both difficult and dangerous. But Alda refused to leave. According to her, powerful Ley lines converged here, and that made her magic more potent.

  Carpetha, a rival witch who was jealous of Alda’s reputation, had been trying for decades to have Alda arrested, to steal her magic, or to strike her dead. Alda, therefore, hardly ever left her base.

  Instead, she used underlings to fetch her ingredients, as well as to deliver the potions and charms she made for her clients. The gang of four was the latest in a string of helpers she’d hired. They’d come out this night to the most dangerous quarter of the city to pick up a vial of powered wyvern scales.

  They had faced many close calls before. On almost every occasion, the sheer force of Ivan’s unrelenting fighting spirit had seen them through.

  If he’d run toward the demon, then he would have been closer to it than Fenix had when she’d got hit. Fenix fully understood why he’d made that bloodcurdling cry.

  She got to her knees and rushed to Twain’s side, holding her nose as she peered over the smelly heap of garbage bags.

  Further down the alley, Ivan was sprawled on the ground. One of his arms lay twisted in an unnatural position. Fenix couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

  A demon towered over him.

  Twain was right—it did look like a minion sent by Carpetha. Like all Carpetha’s servants, this creature seemed almost human, except it was three times the size of an average man and had no neck. Huge, muscular shoulders seemed to sprout from the sides of its face. Its head was bald, and its bare torso bulged with muscles. From the waist down, the creature was covered in dark gray scales. At the end of its massive legs were hooves instead of feet.

  A leather pouch strapped to its waist glowed bright blue. The demon shoved its hand into the bag and pulled out a ball that blazed with blinding blue light.

  The creature looked down at Ivan and heaved the orb into the air.

  A direct hit like that would finish Ivan.

  Fenix tugged Twain’s shirtsleeve. “We’ve got to save him.”

  Pain shot through her palms, as if a million needles stabbed her all at once.

  “Damn, not now,” she mumbled under her breath. The familiar sensation threatened to burst into fiery magic. She’d fought hard to suppress it these past five years.

  It had flared up hundreds of times in the eighteen months she’d spent living on the streets of Tresmort, either on her own or as part of gangs. And it had been worse since Alda had scooped her off the streets and roped her into her ragtag band of helpers.

  Fenix had learned to shut down the tingling in her palms. She did it by gritting her teeth and swallowing hard to blank out her surroundings as she pictured herself floating on white, puffy clouds in a pale blue sky.

  Sure, it was cheesy, but it worked to keep away the magic that had ruined her life once before. And if she was sure of anything, it was that she would do whatever it took to keep that frightening magic from flowing through her again.

  Just as she sank into her reverie, a loud squawk pulled her back into the present.

  The sound caused the demon to look up, too.

  Without further warning, Java, in falcon form, came pelting down from above. His wings and legs were tucked in for the dive, and he sped like a bullet through the air.

  The demon had no time to react.

  As Java neared the creature, he extended his talons. At the last moment, he opened his wings and pulled up again. He swooped over it, his sharp claw slicing into the monster’s scalp.

  It roared.

  Thick gray smoke billowed out of the top of its head.

  The demon dropped the glowing globe and grabbed its skull.

  The orb crashed to the ground with a thunderclap. Sparks flew everywhere. Blinding blue light traveled up the demon’s body.

  It shrieked and flailed its arms, not seeming to enjoy the taste of its own magic.

  But Fenix knew it was powerful and would survive. When the spell from the orb extinguished, the demon would be livid.

  Fenix slapped Twain on the back. “Quick, land in front of it and distract it. I’ll get it from behind.”

  Twain hopped over the rubbish heap, taking off at a blistering pace toward the demon.

  Fenix stood and shook her shoulders to throw off any remnants of pain from the hit she’d taken. Reaching under her jacket, she retrieved the knife she kept hidden in a sheath in her waistband. Tucked into her boot was a smaller backup knife.

  They were gifts from Alda, and they were charmed.

  With a flick of the wrist, Fenix could change the knives into whatever blade or rudimentary tool she envisioned. At least it worked that way with the knife she carried at her waist. The backup was a little wonky.

  Its charm had been damaged decades before, when Carpetha had stolen it from Alda and given it to one of her demons. When Alda got it back, she rejigged the magic. Now, it would transform only in Fenix’s hands, but she had to contend with its unpredictable behavior.

  Fenix scooted over the rubbish heap and raced down the alley.

  Up ahead, Twain crouched in mid-sprint as he prepared to leap. He sank all his weight into his peg legs. Then, like a spring that had been pressed flat and then released, his body shot up into the air.

  He somersaulted as he soared over the demon
.

  In the wide gap between the giant creature’s legs, Fenix saw Twain touch down, just in front of Ivan, who lay motionless on the ground.

  The look on Twain’s face told her he was terrified to be so close to the demon.

  The beast roared as it realized Twain was before it. It lunged and swung its massive arms at him. Twain sprang out of reach, just in time.

  As Fenix ran toward the demon, she flicked her wrist. She envisioned a tomahawk with a long handle, broad head, and gleaming, sharp blade. She tightened her grip on the knife as the handle vibrated and grew hot. The knife disappeared in a quick burst of orange light, and was instantly replaced by the tomahawk.

  When she was five paces away from the demon, she lifted the tomahawk, swung it back, and released it. It went tumbling through the air and planted itself in the back of the demon’s right knee.

  The creature roared as its right leg collapsed.

  Fenix dashed out of the way as the demon tumbled down. The ground shook with the impact of the massive creature’s fall.

  It swung its right arm, aiming for Fenix. She scampered behind a tall garbage bin.

  Still on its back and growling, the creature brought its clenched fist down on the bin. The steel box crumpled like a soda can, just inches in front of Fenix.

  The demon flicked the bin away and reached for her. Its heavy fingers came down on Fenix’s legs and pinned her to the spot.

  Trying to yank her legs free would risk breaking a lot of bones, so Fenix rolled up to a sitting position. There was no way to reach under the demon’s fingers to get to her backup knife.

  As she frantically tried to lift the heavy hand off her legs, she noticed the creature move its left hand toward the pouch at its waist.

  This wasn’t good.

  The needles began to stab her palms again. No. She couldn’t let the magic rise in her.

  Without warning, a rush of wind swept over her head, and a small form torpedoed past her.