Hidden Magic Trilogy Box Set Read online

  Copyright Jayne Hawke (2019) ©. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are purely from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is fictionalised and coincidental.

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Cover art by Deranged Doctor Design

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-EIGHT

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

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  ONE

  I stretched as I stepped out onto the street. That damn pixie had weighed far more than he looked like he should have, and of course the fact he’d put up a good fight hadn’t really helped my already-sore ribs. None of that mattered now. I had the rest of the night to myself, and there was a pint of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream with my name on it at home.

  The streets seemed particularly dark as I tucked my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket and started heading home. The old city changed when the sun went down. Most sensible people locked their doors and stayed inside until the sun rose again. Luckily for me, I was a bounty hunter. It was my job to hunt down those who went bump in the night. The pay was pretty abysmal, but it kept a roof over our heads. Mostly.

  The pale golden lights flickered slightly overhead, and I sighed. Those lights were fae made. They only flickered when some dick was screwing with the magic inherent in them. That meant that someone was playing around with big magic. I really hoped my ice cream wasn’t going to melt, I’d saved up for two weeks to be able to afford that little luxury.

  My own magic swelled within me. I reflexively pushed it back down. If anyone knew I had that, who my father was... well, that wasn’t worth thinking about. I needed to watch over Matt. He deserved a good life. Footsteps were closing in behind me. The lights overhead flickered again, and I drew my daggers. They were a gift from my father. To anyone else, they looked like a normal pair of silver daggers with a pretty engraving running down the middle. The engraving was swirling interconnected loops, or so Matt had told me. When I looked at them, I saw sharp-edged symbols that brought out my magic.

  Dad was a fallen god. One of war and destruction. That gave me an edge in a fight. Unfortunately, I couldn’t use it very often. There were too many people who could read and feel magic in this world. The blades hid the nature of my magic if I was careful, but there were limits.

  I could hear his breathing now. Turning a corner, I walked into the darkness of a narrow alley. It was a short cut home, and it would draw him out into making his move. The tingle of magic danced along my tongue just before I heard him grunt. I ducked down and felt the breeze of his fist flying through the air just above my head, followed a second later by a subdued snarl of pain as he caught the blades I thrust back underhand into what I presumed were his thighs. This was what I was made for. A grin spread across my face unbidden, my aches and pains from the day hunting the pixie slipping away. Spinning around, I threw my daggers in a wide arc, hoping for another lucky strike. No dice. I saw a man around my age with his face twisted into pure rage. Spittle ran down his stubble-coated chin as he narrowed his eyes at me.

  “I need more. You have it,” he snarled.

  I had no idea what he was talking about. I had no money. What else could he have been after?

  He lunged forward, his hands outstretched towards my neck. I sliced at his exposed wrist with a dagger, drawing dark purple blood from his vein as I stepped back. He was too enraged, too eager to get... well, something, for this fight to provide a challenge. The stench of rotting rubbish suddenly engulfed me, and I fought not to gag. That was not the challenge I’d had in mind.

  “Gods, please don’t let me have trodden in that. These are my only boots,” I muttered.

  The man moved erratically, swinging his fists towards my head. I ducked and twisted around him, keeping him moving while I decided what to do with him. Killing him seemed a little extreme, but then he was only going to do this to some
one else if I let him. They wouldn’t be able to look after themselves the way I could. The lawmen wouldn’t really give a damn. He hadn’t broken any laws that mattered to the fae. In truth, it was mostly bounty hunters and hounds that handled the criminals.

  He began gasping for air and shuddering before he turned towards me, wild eyed, teeth bared like a shifter about to bite.

  “You have it. I need it,” he roared before he threw himself at me.

  I had underestimated the speed he was capable of as I’d watched him stumble around like a slapstick zombie, and before I could correct my error and slip out of his grasp he was on me, a writhing weight driving me down to the filthy floor. Something wet and sticky splattered against my cheek. A putrid smell filled my nostrils, and I heaved. The man dug his fingers into my ribs, trying to tear the jacket from me. At first I thought he was going to try and grope me, but I quickly realized he was trying to claw his way through to my heart with nothing but soft human fingers. I was really glad none of the other bounty hunters could see me. The shame was real.

  No one was around. I had no choice. If the hounds felt it, I’d be screwed, but it was better than dying from this guy ripping me apart.

  My magic surged down my daggers, and my head cleared. I slashed his throat with one blade, his face with the other. His body tensed on top of mine as warm sticky blood dripped down my hands, but neither the viciousness of mutilating his face nor the precision deathblow to his throat seemed to be enough to penetrate the fog of desperation that drove him to heedless violence.

  “Need,” he gurgled as he became more frantic.

  His fingers clawed at my jeans. There’d be bruises there in the morning.

  I shifted my weight and managed to throw him half off me. It was enough for me to plunge a dagger into each of his eyes. He fell backwards with a soft wheeze, his mouth gaping.

  Standing, I tried to see what state I was in. I reeked of something revolting. Whatever it was, it was slowly dripping down my jeans onto my boots. He had better not have ruined my freaking jacket, I thought. I loved that jacket.

  TWO

  The rest of the walk home was miserable. I couldn’t shake the smell off, and one of my boots had sprung a leak. York was a beautiful city with a lot of history, which was usually an amazing thing, but in our neighbourhood that was just a pretty way of saying everything was old – old and feeling its age. In the nicer areas, the houses wore that history like a badge of honour. The stone was centuries old, every bit as vital and rugged as the day it was laid shining to the skies in pale cream. Interspersals of red brick showed off broad old beams in striking black. On my rare days off, I enjoyed wandering the narrow cobblestone streets and the old walls that had once defended the city.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t live in some pretty, quaint little house. My home was an old brick house in the rougher part of the city where red caps roamed, freely dipping their caps in innocents’ blood that would have stained the pretty cream stones – if we’d had any. Drugs exchanged hands in broad daylight, and people jumped those pixies fool enough to wander into the area for their pixie dust. Everyone wanted a little magic, an escape. Even if it was only for five minutes.

  I turned the corner and saw the home I’d grown up in. It wasn’t pretty, and it had seen better days, but it was home. The small garden in the front was a mix of tall yellowing grass, dandelions, and a slender bright blue flower that the witches swung by and stole every full moon. I opened the creaky old wrought-iron gate and looked through the windows for some glimpse of light. Matt shouldn’t have been home yet, but he could have left his shift at the bar early.

  Thankfully, there was no sign of life when I opened the old faded blue door. A large piece of paint peeled off and floated to the stone step as I opened the door. It was just another reminder of how much money we didn’t have. Every spare penny from what we made went into Matt’s college fund. He deserved a good life, and I was doing everything I could to ensure that he had that. It was never easy for fae part-breeds, but he was intelligent and determined.

  Slamming the door behind me, I slid the three locks into place and shrugged off my jacket and boots. I padded into the kitchen, turning on the light to check the damage. My beautiful oxblood jacket was covered in something rust orange the consistency of watery jello. The boots weren’t faring much better. There was now a hole in the toe and a sheen of something brilliant green with the smell of rotting carcass about it.

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I had a decision to make. There was only fifteen minutes worth of hot water available. We couldn’t afford to heat the water for more than thirty minutes a day, fifteen minutes each. I could enjoy a nice hot shower, or I could use the water to clean off my jacket and boots.

  I dropped the jacket in the sink and hoped that we still had some of that witch-made cleaner under the sink. After the day I’d had, I desperately needed a shower. I looked in the small mirror when I’d stripped down and saw the dark purple bruises starting to come up on my thighs and stomach. The bruises on my ribs were a bright mustard yellow. My face had splatters of something greyish that I was really hoping came off.

  “This is my life,” I muttered to myself.

  The water had run cold before I’d managed to finish scrubbing myself clean. Shivering, I’d changed into my second pair of jeans and a sort of clean shirt. It took me an hour to get my jacket back into a wearable condition. The boots were permanently stained and in need of replacement, though.

  After all of that, I finally remembered my ice cream, which was sitting in the top part of the fridge waiting for me. I opened the small fridge door and found a note where my ice cream should have been.

  Sorry! Needed something to eat before work. This was all I could find. I’ll repay you on pay day!

  My stomach rumbled in complaint. That ice cream was supposed to be my treat, and my dinner. I checked the cupboards in the kitchen and found nothing but dust bunnies. A glance at the clock told me that the shops were closed until 6:00 am. It looked like I was going hungry again.

  I needed a pick-me-up. Bars felt like a waste of precious money, so I pulled on my battered boots and headed out into the night. A little time sitting in my favourite spot on the city walls looking out over the fae-made forest would make me feel a bit better. It was somewhere I could go and relax and just let my mind wander. I’d never told anyone, but it was where I daydreamed about a better life.

  Matt would go to university and succeed, and I’d gather up enough money to move us both up to Scotland, where we’d live in an adorable cottage and be happy. It was ridiculous, but we all had something that helped us through the dark times. Little dreams that we didn’t share with anyone.

  THREE

  Walking the walls was a form of moving meditation. I didn’t know quite what it was, but there was a peace and tranquillity up on those walls. I ran my hand along the top of the smooth grey stone feeling the solidity of it. They’d stood for centuries against the gods only knew how many armies and attackers. Now they separated the wild fae from the rest of the city.

  The dense forest on my right was bustling with life. Soft growls came from startlingly close to my ear before the leaves shivered and it was gone again. No non-fae was fool enough to try and step foot in that forest. There were rumours that there was an elf stronghold hidden in there somewhere. No one survived straying into elf territory without permission, not even the sidhe.

  I’d heard that the fae and other supernatural beings were in hiding years ago. Then something changed and suddenly the fae had claimed their old stomping grounds, and the old gods had revealed themselves. It happened before I was born, and I wasn’t all that good at history. Dad had talked about it sometimes, but it was all vague. He’d lived through far more than I could imagine, and there was always a deep sadness to him when he talked about the time before.

  The walls turned a corner, and I paused with my hands flat on the stone. A quick look around showed I had the place to myself. Hopping up, I sat on the corne
r stone and dangled my legs over into the fae forest. The closest tree was five or six feet away, too far for me to reach out and touch. It was plenty close enough for some creature to jump and rip my throat out, though. There was a thrill to this act that came with the deep peace.

  My mind began wandering as I breathed in the crisp fresh air. What would Dad think of my becoming a bounty hunter? It had never been the plan, not really. We were supposed to have a nice, normal apple-pie life, but it just didn’t work out like that. Mom was killed when I was six, and then Dad disappeared one night when I was sixteen and Matt was just ten. Overnight, I became a single mom.

  I pulled my focus back to the present and tried to see through the darkness into the forest. It was better to focus on my curiosity. Maybe one day I’d get up the nerve to walk into that forest and see what hid in there. We all knew that it was various forms of fae, but what did they do in there? Why did they guard it so fiercely?

  One day I was going to travel all around Europe, maybe further. There was so much I wanted to see and experience. The aurora borealis was at the top of my list. I planned on visiting Iceland to see it. The beautiful stark landscape called to me. It was so different and almost alien. It was said that you could hear the Fenrir wolves howling up there sometimes. A shiver ran through me at the thought of bumping into a pack of those. They were wolf shifters, but they were far more predatory than other shifters. They belonged to the great Norse wolf Fenrir. People said that his shifters were wild feral wolves stuck in human skins.

  “You know, it’s not safe to tempt them with fresh meat like that,” a man said from behind me.

  I twisted to look at him with a reproachful glare. This was my spot, and I wasn’t in the mood to share it.

  To my surprise, a stunning man was standing there looking at me with amusement painted across his pretty face. The sharp cheek bones betrayed his fae heritage, but liquid amber eyes gave him a feral shifter edge that I found I appreciated. His tall muscular body was highlighted by a simple shirt, sleeves rolled up, and fitted dark blue jeans. My gaze travelled over the powerful forearms and down to his elegant hands, which were tucked in the pockets of his jeans. I could picture myself wrapping my legs around those slender hips and biting his broad shoulders. It would be so easy to dig my fingers into his inky black curls.