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8 Maggie

Author: Aricka Allen
last update Last Updated: 2025-10-02 11:10:26

It was the dull, repetitive rapping of knuckles at his skull that brought him from the confused murmurings and visions of sleep. Aggrieved, head heavy, and tongue dry, he threw off the cream comforter and answered the door.

The subtle scent of her perfume preceded her into the room and washed away the fatigue and disorder of his thoughts. Her dark hair was pulled back and emphasized the sharp angles of her olive complexion, and her scarlet bodice, sharply contrasting with the navy gown, emphasized her narrow waist. He closed the door and they stood facing each other.

“Did you find the secret the Magister sent you after?” she asked, her voice imperial, gaze direct.

Poe gave a resigned sigh and shook his head as if flinging some distressing gnat from his brow. It was this attitude that was pushing them farther and farther apart. “There is no secret, Maggie, only others’ hidden agendas and suspicions.”

“And what is your hidden agenda, my lo
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    Hunter fled, the Magi’s first rule clear and resounding in the cavern of his mind: “A Magi, on pain of death, cannot use ki to harm, except to defend, and that only sparingly.”He fled in shadow and silence, hidden from searching minds. His mind a tumult, body a mess. Cramps would assail him, still him in his flight as he worked through the knots of pain. Forgotten memories, put aside duties overshadowed by the communal the School offered, had resurfaced. Jumbled andAnother cramp took him, bent him double as it clutched at his lower back. The mirage faltered, and, for moment, his harsh breath could be heard, the silhouette of a shape seen.He slowed his breathing; silence was clothed. He uncurled the hinge of pain that clasped his muscles tight; he stood tall; He continued; the mirage steadied.If he knew who to pray to, he would have prayed. He wanted no harm, no wrong done to his friends, but it might come to that if he could not escape before encountering them. But something else

  • Foundling   Book Two: Flight (1)

    In the hall, amidst the revelry, amongst friends who had become family, Hunter felt a stabbing pain in his head that bent him double. The acuteness of the pain disordered his senses, fractured them like a shattered pane of glass. He clenched his teeth and forced down the remains of breakfast and the acrid taste of bile. But he could not hold at bay emotions felt as heady euphoria, ranging despair, heat from the bloom of new love, hate, rage cold and cripplingly. All his training was for naught.Goosebumps preceded the spreading ague, the trembling, the blurred vision and runny nose, the debilitating spasms. And the pain opened a door in his mind to regions and feelings previously unthought and undreamed, to a space occupied by something large, insatiable, something that once slumbered but slumbered no more. It stirred, stretched its burgeoning awareness to liberty that awaited it.Hunter screamed, a tortured howl that shattered the eardrums of those closest to him, and fell from his c

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    Not resisting, Hunter was moved deeper into the water father away from his friends and a little to the left of hers until the water was up to his chest. From one step to the nest his head went from the surface to falling beneath the warm dark of the lake where nothing could be seen. Water filled his mouth, his nose, stung his eyes. He tried to surface, but did not know how to swim and his thrashing seemed to only weigh him as he slipped deeper. Hunter stretched forth his mind, his powers, and nothing happened. He became afraid, began to despair when he felt hands grasping, pulling at him. He clutched at them in his desperation until he felt them retreat. Why had they left, he wondered? And where he had felt despair he began to feel the slow burn of anger in his gut. He would not let it end like this He calmed his heart, his mind, his body began to slow, to rebound against the motion that was pulling him under. He could see nothing but knew he was slowly rising. Would it be

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    “Hey, wake up.” He heard the words through the fog of sleep but did not want to wake up. Sleep was far more comfort than the lonely, isolated wakefulness he saw stretched before him. But he could not run or evade the truth, so, reluctantly, he rolled to his back and opened his eyes to a startled brown stare. The boy looking down at him took a step back before recovering himself. “First bell has rung and it is time for the morning bath,” said the tall, slim youth. Hunter did not respond. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and the covers slipped from his chest. The others gasped. “Where did you get those?” The question came, simultaneously, from the two who stood back. “What?” Hunter responded, bent head searching for whatever had caught their attention. “Those scars.” Hunter stilled, and the attention from those dark matchless eyes seemed to draw their breath.They began to fidget. Had they pres

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