Awakened Spells Box Set: The Complete Collection Books 1-5
Awakened Spells Complete Box Set
Books 1-5
Logan Byrne
Copyright 2018 by Logan Byrne
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances of characters to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. The author, Logan Byrne, holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Contents
Awakened Spells Book One
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
Awakened Powers Book Two
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
Awakened Dreams Book Three
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
Mailing List Offer
Awakened Guardians Book Four
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
Awakened Beasts Book Five
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
Mailing List Offer
About the Author
1
The bartender slid a shot of Dragon’s Breath whiskey towards me and pointed down the bar. “From that guy,” he said before going back to cleaning his glasses.
The sound of pool balls smacking together filled the background as I peered down the bar and saw a half ogre-half human hybrid glancing at me. Barf. I nodded, saying thanks for the drink, but he must have taken that as an invitation because he got up and walked towards me, drink in tow.
“What’s a pretty gal like you doing here all alone?” he asked, his breath drenched in the stench of cheap alcohol. He was grotesque, his skin peachy pale, with enough warts along his neck and nose to make even the slimiest creature gag and drop dead.
“Avoiding things like you,” I said, taking a swig of my new drink.
“Stupid pilt,” he yelled, lunging forward and slapping the drink out of my hand. I heard gasps around me as the shot glass shattered onto the bar top.
“Now, you take yourself outside if you can’t handle yourself,” the bartender warned him.
“You should be happy that I even gave you a second look,” he snarled, making gargling noises as he spoke like a true ogre. Guess his dog of a mother didn’t have a problem passing those genes along.
Pilt. It was a slur word for a person who was born to magical parents but wasn’t magical themselves. People in this realm could smell it on me, almost as if I had a giant neon sign hanging above me everywhere I went. I usually didn’t let it get to me, but tonight I was feeling extra spicy.
“I’d rather be a pilt than a filthy dog of a half-breed who smells worse than a goblin’s ass,” I said, standing up. I wasn’t afraid of this thing. He might be fat, but I was quick, and smart. That’s why I’m a thief, isn’t it?
“That’s it, it’s time to teach you a lesson on how to treat your superiors,” he growled, slamming down his drink.
Before his glass could clink against the wood, I kicked his shin, making him fall down as if he were bowing before me. I pulled my dagger out from its sheath, putting it to his neck as he gulped and began to sweat profusely. “If I ever see you again, Halfling, I won’t hesitate to finish this fight. Now get out of my sight before I get really angry,” I said.
Like a bat out of hell, he got up and ran out of the bar. The other patrons started to clap and holler. I smirked, sitting back down at the bar, before pulling out a wallet—his wallet. “Drinks are on him, boys,” I said, to bigger cheers.
Walking home through the rift was never easy. A magical portal the size of a shoebox, it sat somewhere in the East Village of New York City, where no mortal would ever be able to find it. I’d had my fix of the mortal realm many times, most recently last Tuesday when I stole a few chains from a Canal Street vendor who was preoccupied with another customer. I mostly dabbled in small goods, the types of things a person wouldn’t remember to miss. It wasn’t an easy life, but it was my life—the life of a pilt. We usually weren’t destined for great things.
The shadows seemed extra dark tonight. A werewolf shifter howled in the distance. My neighborhood was crummy, the kind of place death went to die, and my roach-ridden room in the Mirage Motel wasn’t exactly the stuff of legends. As I went to turn the corner onto my street I stopped, looking behind me. I had a glaring feeling I’d been followed ever since I’d left the bar, but seeing nobody behind me, I kept moving, my hands in my pockets and my head down.
I glanced up and saw the broken neon sign for the motel at the end of the block. Curious, I looked behind me again, this time seeing a shadow quickly exit my view. I took a more defensive stance, my right foot behind my left, as I bent my knees slightly. I knew that dirty Halfling was here, and I was going to end it if I had to.
“Come on, ogre, I’m ready for you,” I yelled, my breath billowing in front of me in the cold night air. He didn’t show. A rat ran across the cobblestones, but no ogre. Where would he even hide? There was nowhere on this street for him to conceal himself.
After waiting a few minutes I started walking again, my speed increasing. The motel was likely safer for me than the middle of the street. When I walked inside I nodded at Francis, the clerk, and ran up the stairs to room twenty-one, my room. I locked the door behind me before noticing my window was open and the drapes were blowing slightly in the wind. I hadn’t left my window open or unlocked.
I slowly pulled out my dagger, ready to do what needed to be done, as I looked around the room and tried to find a hint of where this person was. As I inched closer to the window, prepared to lock this person in the room with me, he appeared. It was a shadow mage. He was tall, maybe six feet, with dark skin and short hair. He had a trimmed white goatee and his wand was straight and smooth.
“Pacificate,” he said, and my body lost control. It felt like I was being drowned in concrete. I could only move my face, nothing else, and I dropped to the ground like a fallen tree in the middle of a forest. I tried to move towards my dagger on the floor next to me, but it was no use.
“What do you want with me?” I yelled.
“My name is Mirian. I saw what you did tonight back at the tavern,” he said, standing over me.
“And now you’re here to kill me?” I asked. “Go on then, get it over with.”
“Kill you? Oh, no, you’ve mistaken me for somebody else. I’m here to save you,” he said.
“Save me? Save me? You’re using magic against me and locking me down to save me?” I asked, feeling the anger brewing inside me.
All I could do was feel pissed off, his words quickly replaying in my mind, as I focused on the dagger on the floor next to me. I wanted it, I wanted him gone, and as my anger built, I felt my fingers move.
“Magnificent. The council was right, you are her,” he said, a look of astonishment on his face. “You’re going to save us.”
I stopped. My anger quickly turned into fear—fear that I was locked in my room with a crazy man who was already starting some weird
worship fetish that I definitely wasn’t into. Besides, I wasn’t really the cult type. I was more of a leave-me-alone-or-die type of girl.
He waved his wand and I gasped as the binds around me were lifted. I got onto my hands and knees, grabbing my dagger, before he flicked his wand again and shot it out of my hand, driving it into the door. “Thanks, there goes my deposit,” I said, annoyed.
“You must come with me at once,” he said, his face stern.
“Buddy, I’m not sure what you’re into, but—”
“You might think yourself a pilt, but you aren’t. Your ability to begin to break my pacificate spell shows that. A pilt wouldn’t stand the slightest chance against that spell, especially cast by a master such as myself. You’re destined for great things, Lexa,” he said.
“How do you know my name?” I asked, backing slowly towards the door.
“We have been tracking you for weeks, trying to find out if you are the one whom the prophecy speaks of,” he said.
“Who exactly is we?” I asked.
“The resistance,” he said.
I’d heard about them, the resistance. They were an underground group trying to topple Kiren Nightstorm, our lovely and esteemed dictator—I mean president—who rose to power last year. I thought they were more of a myth; most people were too afraid to speak about them in public for fear of retaliation by Nightstorm’s administration.
“Listen, I’m not some prophecy or whatever you think I am. I’m a girl, I’m a pilt, and I’m a thief—nothing more, nothing less,” I said.
“Haven’t you always wanted more, Lexa? To live a life better than this?” he asked, waving his arms to indicate the decrepit room. “You have a chance to live better, to train, to have whatever you need given to you so you don’t have to steal anymore.”
I had to admit that his offer sounded kind of tempting. I was barely getting by. The low-end goods I dabbled in were becoming harder to find with every job I took. This room was a joke, there was mold everywhere, and I was pretty certain a family of rats lived in the wall next to my bed. Everything here was shit.
“What if I want to leave?” I asked.
“If you truly want to leave our camp, then you are free to go. We aren’t an internment or work camp, Lexa. We are the future,” he said with a smile.
“And what will I do there? Guessing you don’t like thieves,” I said.
“We will talk about that later, once you’ve trained more,” he said.
“You really think I’m a witch?” I asked, my demeanor shifting.
“I do,” he said, and his tone seemed genuine. “But you’ll never find out if you stay here.”
I took a minute, looking at him, looking around the room, and looking inwards at myself. Nights like tonight convinced me that I wanted more, and maybe this nut was crazy enough to give it to me. “Okay,” I said, uncrossing my arms. “I’m in.”
2
A little bell rang above a pawnshop door on the other side of town as Mirian and I walked inside. Everything on the shelves and floor was covered in dust. A globe sat on the floor, looking like it hadn’t been spun in decades while an old cash register next to it was missing three buttons. Not exactly the finest establishment around. I saw a goblin come up from behind the counter. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” he asked, his eyebrows rising as he saw us.
“I am looking for something white,” Mirian said, grasping his hands behind his back as he walked around.
“Any particular era?” the goblin asked.
“The Renaissance, perhaps?” Mirian asked.
I slid my fingers across a shelf, trying my hardest not to pick up an old cracked wand sitting alone in the middle. I was going to need one if I really was a witch, though I supposed this wand was a bit old and likely not worth the scrap wood it was made of.
“I have just the thing, if you’ll follow me,” the goblin said. He pushed a button and a buzzer sounded. The door to his enclosed office opened. Mirian pushed it open further, extending his hand for me to go past. It smelled rank back here. Goblins weren’t known for their sense of sanitation. Mirian shut the door and we followed the goblin to the back.
“You’ll find your item in here,” he said, slowly opening a large cupboard.
“I’m not going in there,” I said, looking at Mirian and planting my feet.
“Have trust, young one. What we seek is inside,” he said with a small smile. He stepped inside, the goblin trying to nudge me along by moving his wide head in the direction of the cupboard. I stepped inside.
“Safe travels, mage,” the goblin whispered before shutting the door.
Mirian pulled out his wand, holding it parallel with his face, and purple writing appeared on the doors and spread around the cupboard. “What the hell?” I asked in shock.
The letters got brighter, as bright as the sun, before turning completely dark, as if with the flick of a switch. Mirian sheathed his wand and pushed open the door, letting in a bright light, before stepping out. “You coming?” he asked.
“Where…where are we?” I asked.
I looked around. We were now standing in some kind of camp, with tents and pop-up buildings surrounding us. People were walking around, some laughing, some serious, but all of them looked like they had some place to be. “We’re in the resistance—the camp, at least. You’re safe here. They can’t find you,” he said, smiling.
“Mirian is back!” an ogre yelled, drawing attention to us. Goblins, ogres, giants, shifters, mages, faeries—every type of creature was here. Whispers started to fill the streets, and people were looking at me, pointing at me. I looked behind myself to make sure nobody was there. Nobody was. They were talking about me.
“Follow me. We need to meet with the chancellor,” Mirian said, his robes floating in the wind behind him as he took off.
We came to a tent with guards posted outside, their pikes giving way as Mirian and I approached. “Chancellor Pote, I’ve arrived with the girl,” he said.
A woman turned around. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a warm smile that made me sort of uncomfortable. I wasn’t one for excessive smiling. “Welcome, Lexa, my name is Heta. We’ve been expecting and hoping for your arrival,” she said.
“Yeah, that’s what Mirian told me when he hunted me to my bedroom,” I said, drawing out the end of my sentence.
“And I’m sorry for that, but we felt we had no other way. We didn’t want to risk you being seen with us, for fear that it would cause problems later on. Besides, Mirian works for M.A.G.I.C., and it wouldn’t be good for him to be seen with you later. It looks like conspiracy,” she said.
“Because it is. Listen, I told this guy that I don’t know what he’s been talking about, but I’m not a witch. I’m a pilt,” I said.
“You’re not a pilt, you just believe yourself to be one,” she said.