Page 1 of A Snowed in Valentine's

Prologue

The young-looking witch in the beanie and the wool sweater knew a lot of things, though not all.

It came with the territory.

She knew, for one, that she wasn’t the only supernatural aboard the plane that was currently headed from Vegas to Chicago. She also knew that at least one passenger on Flight 18 would be arriving at a different destination, one way or the other.

But these were merely rudimentary details. As a witch and a powerful one at that, she considered herself privy to a host of more interesting tidbits that a majority of the world’s populace was ignorant of, one of which was the fact that Earth was not the only world filled with people. Other worlds, other realities, existed alongside hers: worlds where humans and supernaturals lived together in perfect harmony, realms where monsters thrived, worlds filled with old celestial beings and from which some crawled into this world...it was all so much.

One world, in particular, had caught her interest.

She knew exactly what Frost Mountain was, and she knew that it was a terrible place to be. It was a vast, nay,infinitedimension, brought into existence through dark, ancient magic. It had a sun, moon, and stars as Earth’s sky did, although these weresomewhat illusory, as was often the case with magic. She knew that Frost Mountain had come into existence several lifetimes ago and had been growing ever since.

Her name was Daphne Emerson, and she was growing tired of merelyknowing. The time had come to apply that knowledge. And so here she was, seated in business class on Daystar Airlines Flight 18, preparing to do something that had never been done before.

“Svarta,” she muttered.

A light wave of turbulence rocked the plane. At least, itfeltlike turbulence. Daphne knew better. The protection spell she’d just cast was slowly spreading around her, trying to encompass the circumference of the entire plane.

Hopefully, this works, she thought.

Sucking in a breath, she regarded the grimoire sitting open in her lap. It was a large, ancient-looking book with words scrawled across the yellowed pages. All she had to do was close the book to see the wordsTHE BOOK OF NYXemblazoned on the front cover in gold letters.

There were other copies of the book in existence, but this one was special because it was the original copy. It was handwritten in a forgotten language. Just below the words on the front cover in tiny print was one name among others:

Eleanor Emerson

It was the name of one of the writers of the grimoire, witches who knew the darkest magic known to mankind, which was passed down through generations until it fell into Daphne’s hands.

It was the name of one of Frost Mountain’s creators.

She flipped over to the next page, tracing her finger over the words.Svarkime…Svarkinosi…Svarlia…aha!

Her finger came to a stop, hovering just above a section of the page near the bottom.

Svassissimo nepo diovina.

Daphne repeated the words to herself, not daring to speak them out loud just yet. She knew that the words meantOpen the void.It was a spell to open or reveal a portal for spatial travel. What followed it were instructions on how to concentrate her magical energy in order to achieve the desired outcome.

Daphne’s lips twitched. The way she saw it, most spelled magic, was merely a means to hack reality. Life was like a game with rules and codes that certain people could sometimes break, people with the knowledge and energy to exact their will upon reality instead of being subject to it.

People like her.

She glanced up from the grimoire and looked around at the other passengers. People traveling on business. People headed to Chicago to see their families. A lot of these passengers were regular humans going about their regular lives. Daphne could sense a few supernaturals around, but she doubted anyone in this cabin suspected her. If they did, they’d probably be running up and down the aisle in a frenzy.

Not that she was doing a great job of blending in. Between the beanie and the layers of clothing she wore, she looked like she was traveling to the North Pole.

Well, my destination isn’t much different,she thought, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead as she continued reading the grimoire.

“Can’t imagine you’re not hot under all that clothing,” said someone to her left.

Daphne lifted her head and, with a raised eyebrow, looked at the passenger who’d just spoken. She was young with scarlet hair and blue eyes. Daphne had noticed her checking out the other passengers since they’d taken off. She looked bored.

But Daphne also noticed something else about the woman: she spoke with a British accent. That wasn’t the only thing out ofplace about her. There was nothing human about her aura. This woman was a fellow supernatural. A snow leopard shifter, to be exact. Most witches would have had difficulty sensing who the redhead truly was, but Daphne was no ordinary witch.

“Fancy accent you’ve got there,” she replied.

The woman’s cheeks reddened. “Uh…thanks.” Her gaze dropped to Daphne’s sweater. “Aren’t you hot under all that? I’m surprised you aren’t sweating.”

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