Contents
TITLE PAGE
Dedication
Copyright
Author's Note
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
What's next?
MIDNIGHT MAGICK
Amber Lee Series
Book 1
By Katerina Martinez
DEDICATION
Thank you for taking a chance on me, for your support, and for your care. I couldn’t do this without you.
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MIDNIGHT MAGICK
Amber Lee Series
Book 1
Copyright © 2014 by Katerina Martinez. All rights reserved Cover uses images © 2014 Shutterstock.
Published by Katerina Martinez.
Visit: www.katerinamartinez.com
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WARNING: This book is intended for mature audiences since it features mature language and some explicit sex scenes.
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Reproduction in whole or in part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. I greatly appreciate you taking the time to read my work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or tell your friends about this serial to help spread the word!
Thank you for supporting my work.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: KATERINA MARTINEZ
I have always wanted to be a writer of fiction. I can’t recall a time in my life where fiction and fantasy haven’t played an important role. From my development to my entertainment, to my favorite pastimes, reading books and watching TV have always been a great way for me to escape the regular life we’re all subjected to.
By the time of writing this, Midnight Magick has been out for about a month or so. I’ve had reviews and feedback, I’ve gone through the ups and downs of being an Indie Author looking to make a name for herself. I have to say, I’ve had a fantastic time so far and I’ve learned so much.
Midnight Magick is my first attempt at breaking out into the world of Indie Publishing, and while I’m still new at this I now know that my first attempt wasn’t half bad; and things can only get better from here. All I’ll ask from you is, if you like this book, drop me a review on my Amazon Page. Don’t worry, I’ve placed the links at the back of the book so that you can make up your mind when you get there.
I realize it’s a little forward to ask for a review when you’ve gone through the trouble of buying my book (unless you got it for free – in which case shame on you if you don’t drop a review!), but as an Indie, reviews are like my lifeblood.
I hope you can appreciate the honesty.
Thanks for giving Midnight Magick a shot. I will be producing a sequel; a much sharper, sleeker sequel. I’m honored and humbled to have you with me on my journey.
CHAPTER 1
I was sitting cross-legged on the main counter of a bookstore on Rosella Avenue one cool autumn afternoon. As blades of orange light from the setting sun cut through the gaps in buildings across the street I somberly thumbed a silver Triquetra—a three cornered trefoil knot with a circle around it—not much bigger than a quarter.
Angular shadows crept across the floor growing larger and more predominant with each passing minute. Copper dust motes hung in the air, twinkling without a care in the world. Even though I’d been fiddling with my mom’s old charm for a good half hour, the metal was still cool on my fingers. After years of having it hanging around my neck I couldn’t believe I’d just broken it.
“—don’t you think?” asked Eliza.
“Huh?” I pocketed the pendant and came back down from my thoughts.
“Are you even listening to me, Amber?”
“Totally… what did you say?”
Eliza sighed. “That girl? The one who drowned in her pool?”
“What about her?”
“They closed the case today. They say it isn’t suspicious anymore, writing it off as an accident.”
“Accidental? I thought they had a suspect and everything.”
“They did, but they didn’t have enough evidence to convict. Don’t you think it’s all a bit weird?”
I shrugged and feigned disinterest, but the grim topic gave me jitters. People didn’t normally die suspiciously in my neck of the woods, but this was the second one this year. The first was another girl. She hung herself from a withered birch at the heart of the forest. I saw the pictures. God how I wish I hadn’t.
“Can we talk about something else?” I asked, “How’d that fight with Evan go last night?”
“The fight?” Eliza planted a copy of Jules Verne’s ‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea’ on my lap. I wasn’t expecting it. “Go put this on the shelf, will you?”
“Yes, master,” I said. I hopped off the counter and wiped my hand on my grey dress as I searched for the book’s proper home among the shelves. “So? What happened with Evan?” I asked through the aisles.
Eliza grunted. “It’s this thing with Mordecai.” Mordecai was her tabby cat. “He’s been wheezing a lot. I asked Evan to take him to the vet yesterday for a check-up and he didn’t do it, so we had a big stupid fight.”
“How does that turn into an argument?” I slotted the book between a pristine copy of Moby Dick—a personal favorite—and A Journey to the Center of the Earth.
“Because! It just does,” said Eliza.
I walked around the aisle and caught her stacking books from a box marked “OLD” on a high shelf. Her tank top crept up her stomach exposing her flat belly as she stretched. No bump yet. Evan and Eliza always fought over silly things but it’d gotten worse ever since she found out she was pregnant. I could never say that to her face, though; she might charge at me with a step ladder!
“You guys will be fine,” I said, “You’re fighting because of the baby. Babies bring stress.”
Eliza shot me a scowl. “When did you become Doctor Phil?”
I smiled. “I’m just saying, you guys never used to fight about stuff and now you are. What’s changed? You’re pregnant.”
Eliza closed the box. A puff of dust exploded forth in defiance. “And he’s still a jackass sometimes,” she said.
“Oh come on, a little ice cream and a kiss in just the right spot and the fight will be history.”
Eliza moved the box into a small closet nearby and smiled to herself. “Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that. Anyway, let’s get finished up so we can get out of here.”
The doorbell tinkled. Evan’s silhouette broke the faint sunlight and crept into the store as quiet as a mouse, eyes to the fl
oor. I smiled as he arrived and gave him a light peck on the cheek.
“Hey Evan,” I said, “How’s the cat?”
“On meds,” he replied, though he wasn’t looking at me, but rather at the visage of annoyance itself glaring from; behind me. “But he’ll be okay.”
Eliza had black, poker-straight hair which fell to about the small of her back. Her pale skin and cobalt eyes gave her an Ice Queen kind of air, but her round face and button nose gave away her heart of gold. Evan, meanwhile, was tall—taller than Eliza—and nicely put together. She’d get on her tiptoes to kiss him. It was cute.
“That’s great! Eliza was just telling me. I hope he gets better soon.” I gave the pair a winning smile. “Eliza, I’m gonna go through the new stock and whatnot. I’ll be in the back. Let me know when you’re ready to lock up,” I said.
Eliza nodded at me and then glanced at her man. He approached her like someone would advance on a stray cat they wanted to pet; slowly and cautiously. They started to speak as I disappeared into the back room.
We didn’t get any new stock today; I simply figured they needed to talk. Besides, I knew she’d appreciate the space. Luckily I wasn’t stuck in a tiny room entirely without purpose. Inside my backpack I had a bunch of brand new textbooks and more stationary than a girl knew what to do with, ready for my first day back at the Raven Hall University.
Lost in the plethora of pens and notepads my back to school kit comprised of, I almost didn’t notice the sore thumb on the oaken desk. I had to double-take before the words written on its spine, and the image on the front, struck a chilling chord.
The giant squid on the cover of Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues stared back at me from atop the table. An old copy, just like the one I’d placed on the shelves moments ago. Why did we own two of them?
I plucked the book from the desk and advanced toward the door to the main room. Evan and Eliza were still there. Their muffled voices told me the discussion still hadn’t finished. At least they weren’t shouting. No one wants to be caught in between these two when they shout. It’s like watching cats fight. I’d know.
I slid out of the back room and snaked my way silently down the closest aisle. The lovebirds went quiet as I approached my destination. I’d slip the book in next to its sister so they can spend time together before someone buys one and separates them again. When I found the nook where I’d placed the original copy, I froze. The two books flanking Mr. Verne were still there, but the absence of a book between them made them slant into each other like tired lovers.
“Dammit,” I said, under my breath. I wish I could’ve dismissed the strange event, pretended like I’d imagined the whole thing, but in truth this kind of thing had happened before.
With the delicacy of someone trying not to disturb sleeping children, I slotted Jules Verne into its rightful place and decided that this time I would be cleverer than whatever specter enjoyed playing tricks on me. I snapped a shot of the books with my smartphone and double checked the image to confirm, smiling smugly at the triumph of technology.
Making my way back, I wondered if our repository of books was haunted. It’s an old building built on an old street in an old town. And I’m sure a lot of old people live in the apartment block above. I could ask Mrs. Peters on the second floor. She’s probably as old as the building itself, or at least that’s what her musky perfume suggests.
A sudden pleasurable moan made me dart back into the aisle just as I was about to waltz into the open. I peered around the corner and was met with a scene like something out of a fantasy. My heart raced. Eliza would’ve easily spotted me if I hadn’t any wits about me.
Eliza sat on the counter, her legs wrapped around Evan’s waist. Their lips locked in a passionate kiss. I glanced toward the front door, which they were in full view of, and hoped for their sake no one would come in.
Evan picked Eliza up by her thighs and carried her out of sight, to the back of the historical section which accumulated the most dust. The bookstore already smelt of lust, and listening to Eliza’s giggles brought a flush of warmth to my cheeks. I thought about that night a few months ago when the three of us called down the Moon Goddess and experienced each other intimately. It was my first time with two other partners, but I was glad they were my best friends.
The door to the office was only a few feet from where I stood, backed up against an aisle. The store had been quieter when they were talking. Now that Eliza’s moans rang off the walls I entered the safety of the back room without being spotted. I emerged a few moments later into the middle of a warm embrace between true soul mates.
“Look guys, why don’t you go home?” I asked, “I can lock up.”
“Are you sure?” asked Eliza.
“Absolutely. Get out of here.”
I’d grown used to hiding my green eyes from them. They had something I’d always wanted to share with someone else; a connection. Happy for them though I was, lonely people will yearn, and lonely Witches will get up to no good; ask my ex-boyfriend.
CHAPTER 2
I graduated from University two years ago with a degree in English Literature. My dad offered to pay for me to take a gap year after I was done, so I took him up on the money and spent a few months in Europe.
Barcelona, Rome, Munich, Berlin, even Moscow, Europe was everything I thought it would be and more. The architecture, the history and the people; hell, even the languages were something to marvel at! “Where’s the nearest bathroom?” is a phrase I learned in as many languages as possible—forget greetings and niceties. That phrase spared me from having to pee in awkward places, although I wished I’d learned it in Russian before I reached Moscow. I’d never run so fast in my entire life.
The last stop before my return flight from London was Barcelona. Standing before the gothic wonder that is the Catedrál de la Santa Cruz y Santa Eulália in Barcelona, something inside of me clicked. While touring its wide, hollow halls I rediscovered a burning hunger for knowledge, for mysteries, and for all things occult.
My dad didn’t believe me when I told him I wanted to go back to school a soon as I got home, and when I told him what I wanted to study he damn near flipped out on me. He thought I wanted to be a teacher, but that didn’t make sense to me anymore. What I hungered for was a study in the esoteric, in Religion and Mythology. I had this vision of becoming some kind of expert whom priests and academics called on for help and advice, and my atheist father wasn’t about to stop me.
Now, though heavily in debt, the time came for me to start on my journey of knowledge.
At 7am the alarm went off. I shambled out of bed, stumbled into my shower, and helped myself to wake with a little stretching. Not that I was in to yoga or anything, I just found a little quiet stretching helped me liven up in the mornings. Then I went to find something to eat, but no butter and no milk meant no toast or cereal. Damn. I picked up an apple and sat down at the kitchen table with my dream diary.
I don’t know a lot of people who keep a dream journal, but I’ve had mine since the vivid dreams started to come almost nightly. They’re usually different—some good, some terrifying, some totally bizarre—but I’m trying to figure them out, and I’ve developed a taste for turning them into short stories.
Last night’s dream fell into the third category. I was in a hazy forest not unlike the one surrounding our town, but like with most dreams I couldn’t totally be sure of where I was. I sat among trees in a shady glen as a pack of wolves scurried past me toward an unknown destination. One of them slowed to a trot, turned to me, and approached.
The wolf kept its nose to the ground during its advance. The beast halted before me and curiously sniffed in my direction. I raised my hand to the wolf and allowed it to take in my scent. I tasted ash in my mouth, and smelt the wolf’s fear; or maybe it was my own.
After taking in my scent the wolf lowered its head, turned its eyes up to me and dashed away in pursuit of its pack. That’s when my alarm snapped me into the waking lands. The
best dreams usually ended right when they’re getting interesting.
I spent a while after breakfast snipping and preparing the right leather throng which would be the new home for my favorite charm before getting ready for my first day of college. I picked out a floor length, long sleeved black dress to wear on top of a pair of Doctor Marten boots and clipped up my copper hair allowing a few loose strands to fall messily over my pale face and neck. I finished my appearance with dark brown eyeliner to emphasize my green eyes and a black cardigan that was a few sizes too big—to deal with the cold.
With my backpack over my shoulder and a few too many nerves, I headed out into the morning streets and made my way to campus while swallows still sang. I hadn’t been to college in so long. Walking up the stone footpath which cut a straight line between two rows of shady Maple Sycamores was like taking a stroll through time.
The familiar scent of freshly mowed grass rode piggy back on the same gentle breeze I recalled accompanying me on the walk through the grounds years ago. The caretaker, Mister Dickens, eyed me from behind the grumbling mower he operated with inquisitive eyes. Did he recognize me? Seemed to me he hadn’t aged a day, then again once you reach his age the years don’t seem to change one much.
My steady pace slowed as the hustle and bustle surrounding the main building reached my ears. The structure stood in the shadow of the trees, a pristine work of architecture like few others of its kind. The stony grey building cut a rigid crescent in the green grounds. Marble arches situated beneath Victorian windows offered a classical appeal to a modernized culture. As the statue of a seated George P Raven—the once-upon-a-time owner of the sprawling estate—burned you with his cold, dead eyes, you knew to obey the laws of common decency and camaraderie in his Hall. Raven’s Hall.
I brushed stray wisps of auburn hair over my right shoulder and stepped through the marble arches without so much as a “hi, how are ya?” to any of the other students. I couldn’t hear them over the “Smashing Pumpkins” blasting out of my earbuds anyway, so I made my way to the room where my first lecture was being held and pushed open the large brown door. Empty.