Dearest readers,
Tom barely survived the last attack. Now, with his family in hiding and two rival schools pulling him in opposite directions, he transfers to Harding Academy full-time — determined to master his Blood Magick before the next assault.
But the enemy isn’t waiting for Tom to be ready.
When a friend is kidnapped and the trail leads to The Master’s hidden lair, Tom, Arturo, and Zaina have no choice but to act — no backup, no plan, just a Traveler’s Key, a reckless telekinetic, and a warrior witch with something to prove.
The only question is whether Tom can control his power long enough to save her.
Happy reading!
Marie-Hélène
👉Have you read it? I’d love a review on Amazon, Goodreads, Bookbub.
The blood on Tom’s hands sizzled and spat like butter in a hot pan. Tom felt the heat collect in his chest as his pounding heart pushed fire through his veins. Power pulsed to the tempo of his beating heart. It was frightening and invigorating. The air around him crackled with energy as though lightning was stored in his chest ready to explode. His senses sharpened.
He could hear the chanting outside. As he looked, the wards shimmered and wavered. The Master stood outside of the gate, his black robes billowing in the winds. His outstretched hands looked as though they were reaching for the gates. Three neat rows of ten disciples behind him mimicked their Master with outstretched arms. Their eyes were closed in concentration and their combined power was beginning to weaken the wards. The wards were failing, Tom feared.
Tom supposed he should have been terrified. After all, Harding Academy had sent Witches to the Callahan residence every day for a week to set and strengthen them, layer by layer. The dark magic The Master and his minions wove was stronger than the wards. They would gain entrance to the house soon enough.
Tom braced himself for a fight. He felt his body tremble. If it was from fear or from the power coursing through him, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps it didn’t matter. He planted his feet firmly and willed himself to calm down. The Warlocks attacking the wards weren’t teenagers. They were fully grown men and women, very likely trained by The Master himself. Each and every one of them was probably stronger than Tom was, in more ways than just brute force. They knew more spells, probably ones he had never heard of. Dark spells no one was supposed to use.
He spun in a slow circle, trying to work out how to set things to protect himself. The second-floor landing gave him a clear view of the front door and entranceway. What if they came through the bedrooms? They may have been minions of a dark Sorcerer, but surely, they could still scale the walls and enter through one of the bedroom. Tom raced down the hallway, opening every door he could find. They weren’t going to sneak up on him!
He might have thwarted their plans once before, but it was doubtful they were here to kill him. At least, Tom had hoped his powers were still too important to them. It would give him precious moments to fight back as they tried to take him alive. Every part of Tom’s body trembled. The Professor should have been back by now with reinforcements. Was the Master so powerful that he could stop Doors? The thought sent another wave of chills through Tom’s body.
He pulled himself back. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, couldn’t allow himself to panic. Tom looked around the landing for possible weapons or tools. Mirrors, paintings, knick-knacks all received his assessing gaze. He thought that he should have a plan, but none came to mind. He filed away the inventory for future reference. What else did he have?
Professor Montague had taught him a few defensive moves. The truth was, he hadn’t learned nearly enough. Certainly not enough to prepare him for such a confrontation. He mentally ran through the block and shield maneuvers. Taking a deep breath, he prayed that he could hold down the fort until help arrived.
Tom had spent weeks learning to control his emotions, while tamping down his anger so he could focus his Magick. He could hear the Headmaster advising caution in the back of his mind, but this was different. Tom allowed his blood to boil now. His family was at stake.
When his mother was shoved through the Door to safety, he willfully forgot all of that and allowed his blood to boil. Professor Thunderbolt had looked back at Tom and gave him a nod of encouragement. As soon as he stepped through to the relative safety of The Academy, the Door had vanished.
The weight of the Key Tom wore was reassuring. He was a Traveler, after all. Escaping this place would be as easy as summoning a Door from nothing and vanishing in an instant. But this was his home. His family’s home. His father’s home. Tom would not and could not give it up so easily. Not after everything his family had been put through. He was ready to fight but he needed a plan.
The chanting at the gate grew louder. Under the cadence, Tom heard the gate begin to creak open. He took another deep breath and tried to center himself. Looking out the window, he saw the house wards still held and took some comfort in that. Still, they were not as powerful as the ones at the gate, the ones The Master had already obliterated.
He had a wild thought. If his Blood Magick could be integrated into the wards, would that strengthen them enough to buy him time? Professor Thunderbolt had promised to return with reinforcements, Tom only needed to delay long enough for him to return. Tom was alone. He would never ask a friend to put themselves in harm’s way. The sheer number of robed Warlocks, not the least of which was The Master, made it far too dangerous. Tom felt that he had a chance to put an end to this before anyone else got hurt.
The part of his mind that was not concentrating on the wards raced with questions. How could The Master even see the house? The wards were supposed to hide the house from those not invited. That was what the Witches had promised, were they wrong? Was The Master just that strong, or was there someone at Harding Academy working against them? If so, who? He began going through the roster of people he had met at the new school and, to his horror, realized that he had lost focus and the wards were failing again.
He poured more energy into the wards and felt the house shake as the wards fought to stay put against dark forces. The house moved like it rode an earthquake, doors and windows rattling. Somewhere, glass shattered. The light from Tom’s energy poured into the ley lines from both sides, and it grew painfully bright. Tom’s eyes burned and itched, and a pinpoint of blinding pain exploded in the back of his head, growing to a searing pounding. He was too afraid to look away, lest he lose focus again but just then, the light flared, forcing him to automatically shield his eyes.
* * *
The chanting stopped. For a silent moment, Tom stood in utter darkness. His eyes were so used to the blinding light that no longer existed; they took their time adjusting to the relative gloom. He strained to hear any sounds while waiting to see again. But outside, the Warlocks had gone as silent as a tomb. The hair stood on the back of Tom’s neck and goosebumps chased themselves up and down his arms. As his eyes found their focus again, the only sounds were the tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock. He tried to look in every direction at once. There were no sounds. No chanting. Nothing. Tom realized that the eerie silence was more unnerving than the chanting.
He took a cautious step to the edge of the landing and looked down; his eyes locked on the door. He reached out tenuously with his mind and instantly recoiled. He could feel The Master on the other side of the door. They seemed to be waiting for him to make a move, but Tom was biding his time until the Professor’s return. Besides, he’d learned from playing chess that sometimes it was better to wait and allow your opponent to make his move and reveal his plan. His stomach churned and the acid caused by fear ate away at him. When the clock chimed, he yelped and nearly jumped off the landing.
As if that were a signal, the front door flexed, and a large BOOM ran through the house. The door shook on its hinges as the Warlocks slammed some sort of battering ram against it. Tom willed himself to wait, embracing his anger and rage. Another BOOM tore through the house, but this time, he could hear the wood splinter. Tom knew that the door could not withstand another such assault.
With one more BOOM, this one had a sour note, interrupting the dark symphony of chanting with a shatter. The front door burst inward, sending splinters into the floor.
Warlocks ran into the house like roaches fleeing the light, their robes flapping around them as they paused to assess the room. He knew they were looking for him. He fought the instinct to run and hide. Fear began to overwhelm the anger until he had to force himself to stay where he was. He concentrated his energy and reached out with his mind. He gathered the shredded pieces of the door and flung them at the robed intruders. Some fell, while still others tangled up in each other, struggling desperately to stay upright.
“He’s up there!” One of them pointed to where Tom was standing. Tom suddenly realized that his attack had only revealed his position. Maybe he shouldn’t have struck first. Am I going to hell for that? For a moment, he wondered if the Blood Magick was making him meaner. Am I evil? His powers always worked better when he was angry, after all…
He shook off that thought, time enough for pondering that, if he survived the day. He willed himself to remain calm. They had broken down the door and entered his home, but they had not yet tried to harm him.
The others clustered around the one who had spotted him, and all their faces turned up to look at where Tom stood. He could only see shadows under the hoods of their robes. For a long and surreal moment, no one moved, they only stared at each other. Tom wondered what they were waiting for, but the answer came soon enough when a gravelly voice called out, “Get him!” The words sounded more tired than angry, but the single phrase broke the tableau. The Warlocks threw themselves at the steps like the running of the bulls.
Tom reached out with his mind again to throw a console table down the stairwell. The front line of Warlocks fell like a row of bowling pins and Tom couldn’t help but laugh. The ones in the rear, however, continued unhindered and were definitely not amused. Tom heaved an enormous wardrobe in their path, but one of the Warlocks flicked his fingers and it spiraled over the railing, shattering on the floor below and doing no harm to those on the stairs.
Tom wished he could turn the steps into a ramp, hopefully a slippery one, and watch them all fall over each other. Short of that, he began throwing everything he’d noticed before: paintings, knick-knacks, vases. Nothing he threw stopped them, but his actions certainly slowed them down. Tom sent out a plea for Professor Thunderbolt to show, and quickly.
“Just grab him and be done with it!” that same gravelly voice called out, exasperated.
Tom couldn’t see the source of the voice, but every Warlock he’d set down jumped up again and renewed their advance. Clearly, throwing things at them wasn’t a winning strategy.
The memory of the blast that had saved him in the dungeon returned to him. Could he recreate that now? If he pushed out the shield and threw it at them, what would happen? The better question was, could he do it again if it wasn’t exactly a life-or-death situation?
An orange ball of energy made its way toward his head and Tom was almost relieved to see it. Well, they were shooting at him, so to speak. He whipped his arm up, the shield materializing to protect him. It must have been a test to see if he could use defensive magic because suddenly, it was raining fire and light. The Warlocks had just brought the attack to a new level. The gloves were off now.
The energy balls filled the air and Tom had to shift to ensure they didn’t make it past his shield. They’re using my own tactics against me. I’m busy fighting off these blasts while other Warlocks are getting past my defenses. Thirty against one. It hardly seemed fair. Surely there were rules for this kind of thing. He felt the anger return, warming him. He embraced it. Blood pooled in his hands and his face burned. His skin was ablaze with rage and his stomach churned molten fury.
While his left arm kept the shield in place to block the spells and fireballs, he reached his right arm back as though gathering air and pushed pure energy at the attackers. They flew back and down the stairs, landing in a pile at the bottom of the staircase.
This only seemed to anger them more. They renewed their assault, bombarding him with a new wave of fireballs and spells. Tom deflected them easily enough, but the cost was beginning to show. Keeping up the shield hadn’t required much energy, but his counterattack had wiped him out. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer. The breath he dragged into his burning lungs scorched his throat and he began to lose hope.
Meanwhile, The Master was losing patience.
“Enough of this nonsense!” The Master’s voice took on a new note of fury. Even the sheer volume of his exclamation did not disguise the rock-grinding sound of his voice. “This is taking far too long!”
Tom felt a chill run down his spine when he realized how close this voice was. The shout had come from inside the house.
The Master had arrived.
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