Page 1 of Stolen Magic

CHAPTER 1

Magic took on a different quality when it burned.

The same force that had once shimmered and gently danced in glistening, breathtaking beauty—sparking delight and awe as it performed the impossible—now writhed with a destructive energy. I had once revered the power at my fingertips, reveled in the subtle flow of light that responded to my slightest intent…yet the moment I first tasted this dark side of power that until then had been a source of joy and wonder left an indelible mark on my soul.

Its haunting presence infiltrated nearly every waking moment. I could still see the amber flames scorching my memory, feel the oppressive heat that seared the air, and recall the acrid smoke that made each breath a blistering ordeal. As vivid and unyielding as this harrowing recollection was, it didn’t begin with the flickering flames.

It all began long ago with wonder.

Laughter bubbled up from my heart, light and carefree, the soundtrack to my earliest experiments with magic under my mother’s caring attention. The sound echoed through our sunlit cottage, mingling with the soft clinking of glass vials and the rustle of spell pages as my small fingers curiously traced theillustrations while I attempted to sound out the complicated ingredient names. In this precious moment from the past, the air was thick not with smoke but instead the earthy aroma of crushed herbs and mineral pigments. The sound of Mother’s gentle hum created a peaceful background as she meticulously organized her ingredients, patiently wiping up the little spills I created in my attempts to help.

A faint light glowed from a high cupboard shelf, where a large glass jar rested. As I put away the last tiny sack of dried rosemary, my eyes drifted up to stare at the shimmering jar of pure, raw magic—representing both Mother’s power and my nation’s currency. The silvery matter swirled mesmerizingly, like condensed starlight. An ornate silver lock held the lid in place, the key of which hung on a chain around Mother’s neck.

The shelf below held a collection of smaller jars, each containing magic but different varieties—these were collections of potent, refined magic, ready for specific use—a jar of vivid fuchsia glistened, waiting to be used in location charms; the sparkling, pale green magic next to it could add a powerful boost to healing balms and serums.

But my favorite was the brilliant orange-red magic that pulsed in the last jar on the shelf. Mother called it our “special magic,” the one she carefully extracted each year from the single flame-lily that she coaxed to bloom. It was a unique, almost extinct plant that had been bred by our ancestors centuries before and carefully nurtured by each succeeding generation. It had the power of invigorating life—it could strengthen a weak constitution or help a struggling crop in depleted soil to thrive and produce bountifully.

Mother gently closed the cupboard after I tucked the herbs in their place and held out an inviting hand to me. I hung up my apron and ran to follow her.

Morning mist clung to the cobblestones as Mother and I stepped outside. The garden was a rainbow of colors, each plant and herb a testament to Mother’s knowledge and the magic that whispered through her veins…a power I earnestly hoped would one day pass on to me. Each day I awoke with the burgeoning hope that today would be the one I’d long been awaiting—when I’d become more than an assistant to the wonder Mother created with her powers and could explore my own.

“Will I finally discover my magic?” I asked eagerly.

Mother playfully swung our connected hands. “Soon, my darling. Magic is a force with a mind of its own. We must wait patiently for whenever it deems you ready.”

I pouted but couldn’t protest, lest it hear—patience was as essential an element for our craft as any ingredient we used for our spells and potions, a trait that often felt as elusive as my stubborn powers.

But I had faith that one day they would come. The time differed for everyone, though simply being the daughter of a witch didn’t guarantee I would inherit her magic, especially when my deceased father hadn’t possessed any. Yet even amid this uncertainty I’d always believed power resided within me, as certain as my surety for my characteristics—such as my curiosity and stubbornness, as essential an element of my being as my black hair and violet eyes.

Though each morning began with this same hope, it was this seemingly ordinary day tinged with the golden hues of the autumn sun when I finally received my earnest, heartfelt wish and magic first stirred within me.

It had begun like any other day, busy with the regular duties that occupied us when Mother wasn’t needed for any healing or other magical work. Along with lessons, we had a routine of daily chores. I found it fascinating to learn the building blocks of magic, though some days the rudimentary work of measuringand mixing seemed tedious when I still had no spark to make the spells come alive.

By midafternoon, we’d finished the day’s lessons and I’d carefully put each bottle and tiny pouch back in its place, eager for my favorite activity. I skipped ahead of her out to the garden, breathing in the scent of herbs and flowers and basking in the warmth of the sun.

Mother knelt beside a patch of greenery, her hands buried in the soil as she tended to the herbs that thrived beneath her care. I was supposed to be helping or at the very least studying each of her careful movements, but the playful wind and the waltz of the fluttering leaves had other plans for my wayward attention.

“Focus, Lysandra,” Mother chided gently, her smile softening the rebuke. “Magic is about more than power—it’s about our connection with the earth as we learn to feel the life that exists all around us.”

I closed my eyes and tentatively reached out with my senses, expecting nothing more than the usual birdsong and rustle of branches. To my surprise, this time something shifted—the air felt charged, as if the very atmosphere was holding its breath in anticipation. My fingertips tingled as an odd, not entirely unpleasant sensation crept up my arms. My heart raced in exhilaration, growing stronger with each breath.

Mother gasped, as if she too sensed this unseen change taking place behind the scenes. “Deep breath, Lysa. Open yourself to that feeling.”

Her voice anchored me. The earthy scent of moss and herbs filled my lungs as I breathed in deeply, grounding me further to my surroundings. As I exhaled, I envisioned my essence joining with the fabric of the world that now felt alive in a way I had never before known.

Then I felt it—a subtle pull, like a thread tugging gently at my core. The tips of my fingers glowed faintly, a soft, luminescentviolet that mirrored the vibrant flowers of the garden, as if I had tapped into the very heartbeat of the earth. The glow spread, tracing invisible lines in the air to sketch outlines of the power that flowed through everything—a luminous network connecting each leaf, blade of grass, and fluttering insect.

My eyes widened in awe while Mother watched, her expression a blend of pride, reverence, and something deeper and more solemn. “That’s your magic, Lysa.”

The power cupped in my hands was the exact shade of my eyes, confirming it asmine. My joyous wonder expanded from my heart like a drop of golden sunlight as I watched the first violet glimmer glisten within my hands, nothing more than a single spark that illuminated the brushstrokes of dawn against the sky. Curiously, I experimented, gathering the warm glimmer into a single ball of light, molding it like clay. It came obediently, heeding my silent command.

Mother crouched beside me and rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Every spell and potion begins with a single spark of magic. What we choose to do with that spark determines its potential to grow and create wonder. What will you do with yours?”

The possibilities danced across my thoughts in vivid strokes of color, the product of years spent imagining how I’d use my powers the moment they awoke. There were far too many to settle upon just one. “I want to doeverything.”

Mother laughed at my enthusiasm, a sound that caused the warmth in my chest to expand until it enfolded my entire body in the embrace of her love, blending with the joy of my magic into a dizzying sensation of delight and wonder. “You will. This is only the beginning of your journey; there will be plenty of opportunity in the days and years to come.”

Such a sentiment would tragically prove untrue, but for the moment it only filled me with excitement for the time within my reach to play and explore this newfound power.

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