Gods of Chaos (Red Magic)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

Copyright © 2015 by Jen McConnel

GODS OF CHAOS by Jen McConnel

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Month9Books, LLC.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Published by Month9Books

Cover designed by Whit & Ware Design

Cover Copyright © 2015 Month9Books

To Laura, who loved Darlena from the first.

“Darlena, sweetie, it’s time to light the fire.” Mom’s voice was muffled by the clothes in my closet, but I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard her. I’d promised to celebrate Solstice with her and Dad, even though all I wanted to do was hide in my room, and my mother wouldn’t take kindly to a broken promise. That was one of the downsides to having a Witch for a mom; in our world, words had power, and promises couldn’t be made lightly. With a sigh, I crawled into my room, feeling the familiar tingling as I passed through the protective ward. My closet was the one place nothing magical could reach me. I looked into the sanctuary with regret, but I had hidden long enough.

I made a halfhearted attempt at untangling my long red hair, but after a moment, I gave up. My parents already knew the worst thing about me; it was too late to start worrying about their opinion of my knotted hair. I wasn’t sure what they thought about everything that had happened last fall, but they didn’t seem to hold Rochelle’s death against me.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t guilty.

Weary, I rubbed my eyes and glanced in the mirror mounted on the front of my closet door. I looked like a ghost; Rochelle would have laughed at my pathetic expression and deeply sunken eyes, but Rochelle wasn’t here anymore.

She was gone because of me.

My parents knew I was a murderer, but they hadn’t said anything after I killed Rochelle. They let me retreat into the darkness of my room, and it wasn’t until last week that Mom had started trying to talk to me through the door. She told me she loved me, and she offered to do anything to help me with my path. Her words pierced my gloom, and, like an idiot, I promised to come down for Solstice. I would have had to leave my room tomorrow anyway, since I was picking up the threads from the fall and starting my quest to find another Red Witch, but in reality, I would have rather not faced my parents before I left for Scotland. Still, a promise is a promise, so I headed downstairs.

Candles glowed on every surface, casting the living room and kitchen in a strange, buttery light. I blinked; after months shrouded in the darkness of my room, even the candlelight felt bright. Xerxes stalked by me, his tail lifted imperiously. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the old cat until that moment. I knelt down to scratch his ears, and the candles flickered as my vision clouded. For a moment, it looked like I was in a cavern, surrounded by flames. Sharp rock walls pressed in on me, and everywhere I looked, I saw the orange-red glow of fire. The heat singed my skin, but I wasn’t afraid. It was as if I
were
the fire.

I’d had this vision repeatedly ever since Rochelle’s death, but that didn’t mean I had any idea what it meant.

The cat hissed, shooting up the stairs as if he’d been scorched, and I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my mind. I could still hear the sound that always accompanied the vision of the cave: a wailing, inhuman voice. It sounded like it was screaming my name.

“Lena?” My dad stood in the kitchen, watching me warily.

I glanced down, and noticed my hands were covered in red sparks. Sticking them behind my back, I shook my head, dispelling the lingering vision. “Sorry. Just a dizzy spell.”

He nodded, looking relieved. Dad didn’t pry about Red magic. Sometimes, it seemed like he pretended I’d declared to the Green path like him and Mom. Once, I had minded his aloof, distant attitude, but ever since fighting Rochelle, I wished my parents didn’t know I was a Red. If he wanted to pretend it had all never happened, I wouldn’t begrudge him that.

Dad forced a smile. “Help me with the cider, will you?”

He handed me two cups of steaming cider, and ladled a third from the silver Crockpot on the counter. With his free hand, he opened the sliding door, and I followed him outside.

The cold air bit into my face, and I looked at the yard in shock. Frost hung on the branches, and even the evergreens looked brown. Winter had come on with a vengeance while I hid in my closet; the last time I’d been outside, the air was still crisp and apple-scented. Now, it was like everything green was dead, and I had the terrible, irrational fear that the earth wouldn’t wake up from this bitter season.

“It hasn’t been a mild winter,” Mom said, glancing up from the fire pit and noticing my stunned expression. She’d built a nest of leaves and newspaper for the Yule log to rest on, but she hadn’t lit it yet.

“Strange for North Carolina,” Dad added, settling into his lawn chair. He scooted closer to the fire pit, holding his cider in one hand. Steam curled lazily into the air. I watched it drift into the clear sky, and I shivered.

I started to hand Mom her cup, but she shook her head and stood. “The fire’s ready.”

I closed my eyes and began the familiar incantation without setting down the mugs. “Let this fire burn away the dark.”

My dad joined in. “Let our lives make their mark.”

My mother spoke the next line in her calm voice. “We celebrate the longest night, and look for the coming of the light.” The smell of sulfur filled the air as she struck a match.

Power suddenly surged in me, and I fought down the impulse to light the fire with Red magic. My hands felt like I had dipped them in flames, and my eyes flew open. The cups of cider had exploded in my grasp, and hot liquid scalded my palms. Red sparks danced up and down my arms for the second time that night, searing my flesh.