A Spell for Death: Rosewilde Academy of Magical Arts by B.C. Palmer & Marie Robinson

Author:B.C. Palmer & Marie Robinson [Palmer, B.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harbinger Press LLC
Published: 2019-07-11T16:00:00+00:00

Hunter

Once Amelia had drifted off, I dimmed the light on her side of the room and tried to ignore the tug I felt toward her. There was too much work in front of me to let myself become distracted by her. And she was, distracting that is. I’d find myself thinking of her at random moments, any time my brain quieted, suddenly she’d be there. It didn’t matter if I were in class, in the library, eating, or even, to my chagrin, in the shower.

Knowing that Isaac and Lucas had been with her simultaneously gutted me and aroused me. I’d accepted my self-imposed celibacy after Nathan’s disappearance without issue until the damn headmaster’s room-assigning spell indicated she’d be best fitted with me. It was magic that Lucas likely understood a fraction better than I, and he knew hardly anything about it. The academy simply placed students where the magic said they needed to be—giving no concern for class standing or genders.

I’d thrown myself into the hunt for answers even more after she’d appeared, desperate to keep her out of my thoughts. Others might say it was out of guilt or loyalty to Nathan but it wasn’t. Hell, even I knew Nathan would be the first person egging me on to take the woman up on her offer. All I knew was that the glimpse I’d let myself selfishly have of the soft curve of her hips, pert ass covered by the plain but bafflingly sexy panties, and soft slope of her breasts was going to taunt me. It was all I could let myself have, though. It wouldn’t be fair to her to tumble into the bed and drive myself into her, not when I couldn’t offer more. Amelia, I knew it in my bones as well as I knew I was a magician, was meant for more than just a fuck for fun. And I couldn’t offer that.

I shook my head and turned back to my work.

Translating incantations from one language to another rarely revealed their purpose. Some spells were direct enough with their semantic components—my dimming spell lux cadere literally translated as ‘light, fall’. Other spells, however, were more poetic. Dissecting them could be the work of years without proper references, digging not just through the words themselves but through the poetry and literature of the culture, looking for the native context.

That was easier when the language in question came attached to a culture that had been preserved. Whatever Nathan had been attempting, he employed spells from cultures that had been dead for thousands of years. Little more than a few scraps remained, and those that did were often useless. Maybe I overestimated myself thinking I could match wits with someone like Nathan. How he’d amassed the necessary understanding to actually use this kind of magic was beyond me.

It was clear that the ritual involved a cascading series of such spells, each one building on the next. My research had at least given me a sense of the overall structure of it.

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