Sorceress Rising (A Gargoyle and Sorceress Tale Book 2)
Read Sorceress Rising (A Gargoyle and Sorceress Tale Book 2) Online
Authors: Lisa Blackwood
Back Cover
Ignorance nearly
killed Lillian once.
That time, she’d
known nothing of magic until Gregory, her Gargoyle Protector, awoke from his
stone sleep and saved her from demons escaped from the Magic Realm. They
defeated the demonic Riven at great personal cost, one which forced them both
to hibernate for months while they mended.
Healed, Lillian
wakes to a world greatly changed, one where her sleepy northern town has been
overrun by military, scientists, and paparazzi. Apparently her battle with the
Riven didn’t go completely unnoticed and her actions put her Coven family at
risk of exposure.
These new
tensions unearth another concern. Lillian and Gregory may be one being in the
Spirit Realm, soulmates in the most literal sense, but it doesn’t guarantee a
perfect accord here on earth, especially when Gregory’s clearly defined sense
of good and evil urge him to eradicate anyone he deems as evil—which, to her
dismay, includes a good chunk of humanity.
But their
troubles are not limited to humans; not when another, older power rises from
the ocean’s depths. Tethys, a siren of the ancient world, has her own plans for
Gregory. For the first time in their many lives, Lillian finds herself at odds
with her other half.
And if she
doesn’t master her own magic, this battle will become her greatest defeat.
Sorceress Rising
Copyright
©
2016 by Lisa Smeaton
Previously
Published as Stone’s Song
©
2014
All
rights reserved.
****
This is a work of fiction. Names, places,
and characters are the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced,
scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form without the author's
permission. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in
or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's
rights is appreciated.
COVER ART BY: Heather
Senter
EDITED BY: Laura
Kingsley
https://laurakingsley.wordpress.com/
A tremor shook
the silent underwater world. Fish darted into the safety of vast schools as
other marine life took shelter in the deep crevices of the living reef. A
moment later, the ocean floor bucked and shivered in the grip of an earthquake.
Fierce shockwaves rolled out from the underwater epicenter, displacing vast
quantities of water. As the pressure built, water rushed toward the distant
landmass—a series of great waves building in height and power.
Deep in the
heart of the coral reef, the siren shifted and turned in her sleep. Chunks of
calcified reef broke away. The tiny bodies of coral from centuries past
crumbled, sprinkling her with sediment.
The earthquake,
and the destructive monster it had unleashed, registered on Tethys’
consciousness. The great surge of waves were within her power to control, yet
they were a normal part of the balance between life and death. Great destruction
would come this day and new life would arise from the old. All was as it should
be. She shifted again, content to return to sleep, for the Mortal Realm would
continue as it had for all the ages of her long life.
She drifted
closer to sleep. But the ocean currents, disturbed by the earthquake, filled
her living tomb with fresh water and new scents. An unknown flavor coated her
tongue and tingled along the scales of her lower body. Her gills burned with
it.
Heavy. Oily. A
smothering chemical taste.
Like, and yet
not alike, to what the vents on the ocean floor spat up.
The siren opened
her eyes for the first time in well over a thousand years. Even while she
slept, Tethys was aware of the passing of time, the earth’s cycles of renewal
and destruction, but this was not nature’s work. It did not belong in her
world. A foreign taint. Unnatural. This was nothing the earth would spawn—but
there was one creature upon the land capable of such a depravity.
With a spark of
rage, her magic expanded outward. The coral reef trapping her body burst apart,
and she thrashed free of her resting place. Fish and other reef dwellers darted
away or sought fissures to hide in. Free at last, she hovered in the water,
surveying her surroundings. Near at hand, a sleek, agile predator sliced
through the water, drawing closer with each flick of its tail. She sensed its
cold frustration at having its hunt disrupted first by the earth’s trembling
and now by her rising.
Unable to give
voice to a song of enchantment while underwater, the siren hummed instead. The
deep sound carried far out into the surrounding ocean.
Currents swirled
at her command, coiling and dragging the shark closer. It fought water made
solid by her magic. She swam a circle around her prey, coming ever closer with
each revolution. Even helpless in her power, the shark still struggled.
Reaching out, she slid her fingers along his smooth, sleek skin.
The male’s
thoughts were clouded with panic and base instinct. Through all the chaos,
memories flickered across her mind, slippery and hard to hold. After focusing
her magic, only one image came clear to her. Tethys frowned. She would get
nothing useful from this one. She must try something else, locate one of the
other sea creatures capable of understanding her.
With a gentle
pat, she released the shark. Her rage wasn’t directed at him, after all. Her
effort wasn’t completely without benefit. She’d gotten one clear image from the
shark, that of a strange two-legged creature peering at it from within a great
metal cage. Accompanying it was the familiar oily scent. Though much weaker
than what tainted the ocean, it was alike enough to confirm her earlier
assumption. Humans were behind this catastrophe.
She’d hoped the
passage of time would grant the young species wisdom.
Apparently, it
had not.
It was time for
another lesson.
hapter One
Gran bustled
around the kitchen in a whirlwind of activity, shifting dirty bowls into the
sink, snatching clean ones out of a cupboard, and then gliding over to the
stove to pull a tray of muffins out with one hand while sliding a sheet of
cookies in with the other. Before the oven door had fully closed, she was
already halfway across the room, attending to what Lillian could only assume
was the beginnings of French toast. Gran possessed a culinary efficiency
Lillian—and most everyone else—lacked, but at this exact moment it was Gran’s
ability to compartmentalize emotions that she truly envied.
She currently
would have benefited from a large dose of Gran’s stoicism too. It might help
numb some of the environmental ‘noise’ rubbing her newly heightened senses raw.
Even watching her grandmother work almost caused Lillian vertigo. Sounds came
too clear and sharp. What were once subtle scents like the salty warm scent of
butter melting in a pot, the hot metal smell of the oven, or maple syrup and
brown sugar—she now found overpowering to the point of inducing nausea.
In a desperate
attempt to tune out some of the other senses, Lillian fixated on the heavy
earthenware mug between her palms with its rich, dark coffee. A small chip
marred the rim, but she couldn’t bring herself to toss out her favorite mug
over so small a blemish.
Tiny drops of
coffee slowly slid down the side of the mug where her trembling hands spilled
it over the edge. Her vision swam and her head took up a steady pounding.
She closed her
eyes for a moment, but snapped them back open as a sharp tearing sound
assaulted her ears. Her focus zoned in on Gran where she stood at the sink,
innocently pulling labels from jars destined for recycling. Lillian’s ears
twitched in time with each and every auditory detail.
Focus on the
coffee, damn it. Just one thing at a time.
Strange how the
scent of coffee and the sight of rich cream clouding the dark liquid had
suddenly lost their usual comforting effect. Lillian gave her mug an idle swirl
before raising it to her lips and inhaling a deep breath of the warm steam.
Nope,
nothing.
She sipped at
the coffee and grimaced.
Nope, not nothing...downright nasty.
Just three
months before, she’d been a certifiable caffeine addict.
Who would have
thought a three month sleep inside a tree could cure addictions? Or heighten
her senses to the point of pain?
And just what
other changes, besides the ones I’ve already experienced, has my meddling
hamadryad inflicted upon me while I lay senseless?
Truthfully, she
knew without her hamadryad tree’s aid, she would have died, and Gregory, noble
loving being that he was, would have followed her into death.
Just thinking of
the gargoyle, her soul mate in the most literal sense of the word, had her
turning toward the door leading to the living room. Presently, the other half
of her soul was showering in the upstairs master bathroom. It was the only one
in the house big enough to accommodate a gargoyle’s massive wingspan.
She’d finished
her own shower a half an hour ago, a long arduous affair of scouring and
scrubbing to rid herself of her tree’s pitchy afterbirth—a somewhat disgusting
side effect from hamadryad healing, apparently.
If only the
other magical side effects were as easily washed away.
Magic had saved
her life—probably even saved her soul. After Gregory had woken to her call,
he’d examined her hamadryad and informed her the tree had also trapped the
demon seed Lillian had been unwillingly incubating. Without it, she now felt
lighter and cleaner—not so strange, she supposed, since the demon seed had been
feeding on her spirit and magic.
So she thanked
her hamadryad tree for its many gifts, but it didn’t lessen the slow, creeping
fear from invading her mind. Honestly, the fear wasn’t so much about how deeply
magic had interwoven itself into her life, it was the fact that what she
did
know about magic was so very slight.
Frowning, she
acknowledged she could probably write everything she knew about magic on a sticky
note and still have room to spare. After she’d awoken from her tree, she hadn’t
had much time to talk to Gregory before the rest of the family had descended
upon them with hugs, laughter and tears.
The snippets of
what she’d been told only added to her uncertainty. Then Gran had chased
everyone away—to give Lillian and Gregory a chance to clean up, she’d claimed.
But Lillian would bet it was more a chance to collect their thoughts, for which
she was grateful.
She was
confident Gregory would be able to answer her questions. Now, if he’d finish up
with his shower and get his big gargoyle backside down to the kitchen, she’d
start asking those questions.
Warm amusement
brushed against her mind, and she choked back a gasp of surprise at the
intimate contact. Apparently, she had been more distracted than she knew.
“Easy,
beloved.”
Gregory’s calming influence washed over
her mind and flowed out to every corner of her body.
“I am with you always.
We will get through this new complication together.”
“What’s
happening to me? My skull feels like it is being inflated by an air
compressor.”
There was a long
pause, which usually meant Gregory was hung up on a modern term. He rumbled to
himself and then answered.
“I believe your gargoyle father’s bloodline is
asserting itself over your dryad mother’s.”
“Am I about
to sprout a pair of leathery wings?”
“Yes. If you
don’t get your cascading magic under control, you will shift.”
The pounding in
her head made it difficult to think. Lillian fought for focus to make sense of
Gregory’s words and the warning behind them. She’d shifted once before, back
when the demon soul had full control of her. It was how she knew she possessed
the ability. Thanks to the strength of her hamadryad, she was now free of the
demon’s dark menace.
Oh, but during
that time, she’d been all instinct, base urges, and raw emotions. She’d blamed
it on the demon soul, but what if that was what being a gargoyle was? Gregory
hadn’t alluded to such, but she hadn’t asked him either. Cold uncertainty
dispelled some of the heady magic rising up within her. Her skin still felt too
tight and her body overly hot; feverish to the point she wouldn’t be surprised
to see steam curling up from her body.
She clutched the
edge of the table and told herself she wouldn’t shift. There was no more demon
soul to coerce or control her. “I’m in control. Of myself, my magic, and my
fate,” she mumbled under her breath.
It helped a
little. Then the scent of forest, male, and what she’d come to think of as the
distinct scent of warm stone surrounded her, seeping into her lungs, the pores
of her skin and maybe even her soul. A moment later, the warm weight of large
hands settled on her shoulders. Eyes still closed, she turned her head and
inhaled a deep breath of Gregory’s scent. It calmed her as it always did, and
the pounding in her head subsided enough she could think.
The hands
squeezed gently as Gregory’s voice washed over her. Calming, soothing,
peaceful. “I’m here. My strength is yours. Think of your tree growing tall,
casting her gentle lacy shade throughout your glade. Your escape from the
world. A place to rest and heal. A dryad’s haven. Remember what it is to be a
dryad.”
Even if he had
spoken in a language she didn’t understand, she would still take comfort in his
voice. The tension in her shoulders and belly eased.
In truth, she
knew no more about being a dryad than she did about being a gargoyle. But
forests and glades, the scent of loam, the sharp sweetness of sap, and the
ability to feel the land—all those things were a natural part of her existence.
When she opened her eyes, her vision came into focus. Lights and sounds
returned to their normal levels. She released a ragged sigh and tilted her head
up toward Gregory.
Muscular and
towering to a lofty eight and a half feet, he dwarfed her smaller frame like a
great hulking shadow. His wings, even folded against his back, arched high
above his shoulders, framing his horns where they brushed the ceiling in two
long, elegant spirals. His fearsome exterior housed a gentle heart, as well as
the other half of her soul. When he’d first explained they shared one soul
between them, that they were the mortal Avatars of the Divine Ones, she’d been
doubtful, but no longer.
Her heart still
pumped with fear, but whatever was happening to her, she knew they would face
it together for they were one being in two bodies, far stronger together than
alone. She loved him unequivocally. There was no questioning it. She only
wished fate had not been so cruel to ban them from a more physical side of their
love, but it was impossible for many reasons, not the least of which was their
difference in forms.
“Hmm.” Gregory
leaned forward and sniffed along her shoulder. “Entirely too close. The tight,
narrow confines of the kitchen is no place to learn to shape shift.” His
nostrils flared as he inhaled a second, deeper breath. With a snort, he shook
himself, his thick black mane flying in all directions. The shiver continued
down his body, morphing into a full body stretch as it worked its way to the
tip of his tail.
“Yes, don’t
break the china,” Gran injected with a chuckle. “You know how much I hate
shopping.”
Gran’s
lighthearted banter dispelled some of the nervous tension, and Lillian was able
to slow her breathing into something resembling a normal pace. Sweat trickled
down her back and along her temples, but otherwise she was unharmed. However,
something in Gregory’s comment about the narrow confines of the kitchen made
her think he downplayed the danger. She doubted he was worried about the
kitchen, more likely he was concerned about the other people in the house.
As if Gregory
knew her thoughts, which he probably did, he leaned closer until his muzzle
brushed her hair and whispered, “Later, we’ll go into the forest and I’ll
assess your abilities and teach you control.”
Lillian only
hoped it was half as easy as he made it sound.
With a rattle of
dishes, Gran brought over a steaming plate of French toast and warmed maple
syrup. Next came a plateful of steaming muffins slathered thickly with butter
and an assortment of jams and jellies to pick from.
“Let me help.”
Lillian stood and skirted the table. Guilt pricked her consciousness, if a tad
bit belatedly. She’d sat staring at her cooling coffee, oblivious to everything
going on around her when she could’ve as easily spent the time helping Gran
with breakfast.
“No need, dear,”
Gran said with a snort. “The day I can’t whip together a quick breakfast will
be my first day in the afterlife.”
Regardless,
Lillian helped set the table, laying out settings for three even though Gregory
disdained cutlery, preferring to use his three inch claws. Surprisingly, he was
a dainty eater for an eight foot behemoth with wings, claws, and horns.
The mindless
routine of minutia helped Lillian conquer the last vestiges of the strange wildness
surging through her blood. Calmer, she returned to her seat next to Gregory.
She’d barely sat down on the tall stool before the warm weight of Gregory’s
tail snaked its way around her waist. The spade-shaped tip landed heavily in
her lap. With a chuckle at his predictability, she obliged him with a firm pat
before turning her attention to her food.
“So,” Lillian
said around a mouthful of French toast. “Let’s talk about what we’ve all been
avoiding since Gregory and I first awoke.” She didn’t bother looking up from
her food. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gregory’s right ear swing in
her direction, but he didn’t move otherwise, remaining hunched over his meal,
eating with the single-mindedness of a hungry male.
Waving a butter
knife in Gregory’s direction, Gran eyed the gargoyle with a smile large enough
it crinkled the skin at the corners of her eyes. “First off—no more wandering
around buck-ass naked in gargoyle form.”
Gregory glanced
first at Gran and then down at his attire, which consisted of his usual beaded
loincloth and the wrist and arm bands that Lillian had been quick to learn were
anything but vane ornamentation. His ears swung forward in question then
flattened along his horns in confusion, or more likely, annoyance. Gregory
could be a little touchy about his appearance. And she was unsure of Gran’s
line of thought herself. If they were to compare prudish personality traits,
Lillian was certain she’d come out ahead as far more prudish than her
grandmother.
A full-bellied
laugh escaped Gran. “If you two could see your expressions. I haven’t lost my
mind or suddenly turned into a dried-out prune. If our little town was as
sleepy as it used to be, I’m sure Gregory could walk through the forest in
broad daylight and no one would be the wiser, but things have changed.”
Lillian arched
an eyebrow. She’d known by the underlying tension something was bothering her
grandmother, something more worrying than the possibility of the Lady of
Battles invading sometime in a vague and distant future.