The Realm

Prologue "Have you completely lost your mind?" Sinclair barked as he strode into the ornate parlor, his black boots clacking loudly on the gleaming wood floors. His abrupt entrance startled a slim blonde bent over a scrap of embroidery. Melisante stood up slowly, shoulders back, showcasing the fact she wore a daringly lowcut gown. The displayed bosom and greeting smile did little to temper his aggravation. "Why hello there, darling, what an unexpected pleasure." "Unexpected? I doubt that after what you did." "Calm down. I'm sure whatever is bothering you doesn't warrant such a tone." "I'll use whatever tone I damned well like. You stole from me!" An incontrovertible fact he still had a hard time grasping, but he couldn't ignore the evidence. "Me, steal?" A tinkle of laughter escaped her. "What makes you think that?" "Did you really think I'd have the amulet so poorly guarded? The tracking spell I placed upon it led me directly to you." Forget appearing chagrined. Melisante shrugged with a nonchalance that just served to enflame him further. "Yes. I took it. It's not like you or your family were using it." "You had no right." "I'm sorry," she said, smiling sweetly at him, batting her long lashes. It didn't stir him in the least bit, not when he finally recognized the manipulative behavior behind her actions. She'd already fooled him enough with her innocent airs and pretend smiles. "Sorry? Sorry! Sorry, doesn't erase what you've done." He practically shouted as he raked fingers through his already rumpled hair. He flung his hands outward, frustrated and trying hard to resist an urge to throttle her pale neck. "The power in that amulet is dangerous. Deadly in the wrong hands. The only reason it hasn't been destroyed is because no one has ever found a way to do so. You know it's my family's responsibility to keep it safe and out of the reach of those who would be tempted to use the power it contains. I can't believe you stole it." "Steal is such a harsh word." "Then what would you call it?" "Borrowing it?" His laughter barked forth, short and humorless. "Nice try. But no. You have to return it." He held out his hand in demand. The sensual smile on her lips faded and for a second, anger flashed in her usually flirty blue eyes. It disappeared so quickly he wondered if he'd actually seen it. Tears brimmed on the lower edges of her lashes. "Oh, don't be angry. I'm sorry I took it. I just wanted to play with it," she pouted, her lower lip trembling. "It's not a toy. And its absence will be noted." "Only if you tell. Would you really do that to me? And over a silly bauble?" "I have to report it. It's my duty." "You and your duty. As my fiancŽ, isn't your duty to please me?" she replied in a husky tone. With a seductive wiggle of her hips, she floated up to him, her every motion calculated to show her assets off, much like a practiced courtesan. Wrapping her arms around his solid body, she rubbed herself against him, her delicate perfume wafting up and tickling his nose. She moistened her lips with her agile pink tongue, a tongue that had tasted every inch of his skin, but for the first time, it left him cold. "I've done plenty to please you. I've given you lavish gifts. Given in to all your wedding demands. But this, this I cannot condone," he said brusquely, resisting an urge to shake her. "Always such a spoilsport. Have you ever stopped to think what we could accomplish with the power in this amulet? Why, we could have anything we want and be free of the council's silly rules. Imagine the power we could wield," she purred, reaching up to kiss the edge of his jaw. A muttered curse was his reply. Pushing her away, he put some distance between them, his face twisted in disgust. Stumbling, she clenched her fists at her side and her eyes narrowed in anger. He almost shook his head in disbelief at her temerity. How dare she be angry? She'd wronged him. Betrayed me! Played me for a fool. "I don't want its power. It's tainted. Evil. Something you well know if you've read up on its abilities. As for no one noticing its absence, you're mad. The artifacts are closely monitored, not just by me, but others as well. Even if I didn't turn you in now, it wouldn't take long for the truth to come out. Then what? How do you expect me to explain it? Did you even think of that when you stole the damn thing?" The blonde sighed loudly before sashaying away from him. "So, tell them it was a clever thief. No one has to know I have it, unless you tell them." She threw herself on the settee, petulantly kicking her feet. "I am not going to lie for you, but because of our relationship, which by the way is over as soon as I leave here, I won't tell anyone you took it if you hand it over. Speaking of which, how did you get through all my defensive spells? Who helped you steal it?" he asked staring down at her, his stern gaze - and yes, his pride - demanding an answer. "No one helped me, unless you count yourself. After all, you're the one who bragged about how well protected it was. Have you forgotten so soon?" And for a moment he did remember - sweating bodies on satin sheets, trying to catch his breath. She'd asked him such innocent questions about the amulet. Worried about it falling in the wrong hands, or so she claimed. Questioning its protection while citing fear for her safety from its evil magic. She preyed upon his naivety and he'd fallen for it. Damn! This is all my fault. "I can't believe you didn't trust me enough though to tell me about the tracking spell you placed on it," she continued with a pout. His jaw dropped and his brows arched high in astonishment. "You're unbelievable! I told you about the defense spells because you pretended to be so worried about it getting stolen and used for nefarious intent. And now you have the nerve to complain because I forgot to mention it. I can't believe I was so gullible," he ranted. "Here I thought you loved me. We were supposed to be married. Instead, I find out you've been using me all this time. Did you enjoy making me believe you loved me and that I could trust you? Or were you laughing at me this whole time?" He fired questions at her, angry and at the same time hurt. How could I have been so stupid? "I'll admit I may have started out using you." She rose from the settee and sidled up to him again. Placing a hand on his chest, she peered beseechingly at him, her big blue eyes liquid with unshed tears. "But somewhere along the way, I found out I did love you, which is why I want you to forgive me. Come away with me. We can still be together." Reaching up, she tried to pull his face down for a kiss, but he snorted in disdain and again pushed her away. "Your tricks won't work anymore. Now that I've seen the treachery you hide underneath, the very thought of being with you makes me ill. Forget your mad plan. It's not going to happen. Now, give me the amulet." He held his hand out imperiously, tapping a foot impatiently when she didn't immediately comply. Her perfect face twisted, and contempt filled her eyes. "Fool! I am giving you a chance to join me, to share the power. But no, you'd rather obey your stupid council. Dance to their tune like a well-trained puppet. So be it," she spat, her blue eyes flashing. From within the folds of her skirt she withdrew the amulet. Holding it aloft, she grinned at him wickedly. A frisson of fear tickled down his spine. He quickly tamped it down. She wouldn't dare. She's bluffing. The amulet glowed, its bright light spilling from her clenched fist. "I am not giving back the amulet," she stated, enunciating each word slowly. "Then I will have to take it back, by force if needed," he threatened. Time to call her bluff. He started toward her only to stop dead, his face astonished. Movement became impossible. It was as if some invisible bands had wrapped around him, holding him tight, and when he reached for his magic, it lingered just out of reach. She immobilized me! Approaching him, she smiled widely, her big blue eyes dancing with mirth. "What's wrong, darling? Is my new magic too strong for you?" she taunted. Then shaking her finger at him, she shook her head and tsked. "Naughty boy, making threats and turning me down. It wasn't a good idea to make me angry. You should have taken me up on my offer. I have no intention of giving up the amulet, not when I worked so hard to get it. But you my darling, since you refuse to join me, then you need to leave now, forever. . ." she whispered. Stretching up on her tiptoes she brushed her lips lightly across his before stepping away from him. Frozen, he could only follow her with his eyes, wishing he had the power in them to punish. From under the cushion on the settee, she withdrew a black grimoire and slapped it down on a table with a heavy thump. "I found the most delightful spells in this book. It was written by one of my ancestors who had the foresight to hide it so that one day my family would find it and take back the power the council stole. The spells in this book, you have no idea," she enthused, her face aglow. "So many delightful curses and clues on how to defeat my opponents. Did you know it's where I found out about the amulet and what it could do? Did you even realize what you were guarding? Only one of the most powerful artifacts imaginable. I can't believe your family has been sitting on this power all this time. Fools! Unlike you, I'm not a stupid sheep who feels a need to blindly follow the council's rules. I want to make my own rules and now that the amulet is mine, well," she smiled coyly, stroking the heavy amulet much the same way she used to stroke him, "I am not afraid to use it." If he could have answered he would have, a scathing retort at the very least, but his voice stayed mute, as frozen as his limbs and he could only stand there, silently fuming. Backing up a few steps from him, she held the amulet out in front of her. A humming filled the air as she began chanting, a guttural language which grated upon his ears. The amulet flared bright as she wove her spell. The words she spoke conjured up dark shadows which hung heavily in the air. Even with his body immobilized, his mind remained alert enough to realize the amount of trouble he found himself in. He struggled against the invisible bonds holding him, to no avail. The air around him became heavy and charged, the sharp smell of ozone cloying as the spell she cast reached its crescendo. As she gestured sharply towards him, an ominous flash streaked across the room. He closed his eyes, sun spots dancing behind his eyelids. A painful impact jarred his body and with a wrenching sensation, he knew no more. Who knew how long later. . . Blinking his eyes, Sinclair stared up at the bright blue sky above. Great, not quite dead. But where in the Realm am I? He rolled onto his side, the sudden motion causing his insides to cramp and his head to spin. By the Higher Powers, he felt as if he suffered from the world's worst hangover. Gagging and spitting in the sand, he tried to breathe deeply, in and out. Slowly, the nausea and spinning dissipated. With difficulty, he struggled to his knees and almost fell flat on his face, his limbs weak and trembling like a newborn colt. After a moment of breathing deeply again, he calmed his stricken body. Legs quivering with effort, he slowly stood and looked around. To either side of him stretched a white sandy beach bordered by dense, jungle foliage. Turning slowly, to allow his head and stomach to keep up, he peered behind him. Rolling ocean waves stretched as far as he could see. Trepidation tickled him with icy fingers. Strange beach. No landmarks. No buildings. No evidence of habitation whatsoever. No matter, he'd just teleport back to his home, but when he recited the spell to create a portal to transport - a spell he'd done hundreds of times - nothing happened. He closed his eyes and concentrated, pulling deeply at his inner magic and said aloud, "Teleportus!" There wasn't even a fizzle. Nothing. Was his magic gone? Only one way to find out. He gathered his power, tugging at the etheric forces surrounding him, an electrical sensation hard to describe, but familiar to those born with the ability to feel it. He held out his palm and watched a golden light ball form. The problem didn't lie with his magic then, but with teleporting. Inconvenient, but not the end of the world. He'd just find the nearest habitation or town and hire transportation until he reached a locale where his spell worked. He took off at a jog along the beach. Hours later, he collapsed back where he'd started, his clothes stained with sweat and dirt, his mouth even fouler as he sputtered invectives. Lying on his back, he stared up at the blue sky, the gulls circling above as if nothing was wrong. Did they not understand the gravity of the situation? The b***h had teleported him to a bloody island in the middle of nowhere! Groaning aloud with frustration, he thumped at the sand with his fist, the dusty particles flying and clinging to his sweat slicked skin. Gritty and hot, he jumped up and dove into the warm water, sea water judging by the salty tang. Using the long strokes he'd learned as a child, he flowed through the waves. The beach receded as he pumped his powerful arms and fluttered his feet. The soothing feel of this liquid medium calmed his troubled mind. He spotted no bobbing crafts or specks of land, however. Perhaps the problem which impeded his magic would disappear once he put some distance between himself and the island. Smack! His body floundered in the briny water, his mind dazed from the impact. Pumping his legs to tread in the water, he peered around him. The ocean stretched empty all around him, the waves still rolling out to the distant horizon. Reaching out a hand he patted the air in front of him. Beneath his questing fingers, he touched an invisible, yet very solid barrier - just ask his still throbbing head. Closing his eyes, he concentrated and then re-opened them, his magical senses awake. In front of him stretched a wall, the magical threads of its creation weaving in and out in a complex, impenetrable pattern. Looking up, he saw the wall stretched high up into the sky before curving over the island. A quick dive underwater showed it stretching down into the ocean depths. A f*****g bubble! She'd stuck him inside a giant magical bubble, one he couldn't teleport out of. Mentally cursing the b***h who had so used and now abused him, he swam rapidly back to the beach. Pacing back and forth on the pristine white sand, he threw every spell he knew at the magical bubble. Most fizzled on contact, a few though bounced back dangerously, almost crisping him on the spot. The full horror of his situation sank in. With no way off this island and no way to contact anyone, he was stuck. Like a bug in a jar, he thought angrily. "Argh!" he bellowed, pounding his fists in the sand. "You will pay for this!" Far away, Melisante clutched her stolen amulet tight and shivered. Three years later in another place. . . His lips crushed hers as he held her in a passionate embrace. She clung to him tightly and whispered, "I love you." He responded by sweeping her up into his muscular arms and carrying her to his waiting carriage. They drove off into the sunset, hands held tightly, knowing no one could break their bond of love. Samantha uttered a happy sigh and closed the book. She loved happy endings. If only she could find her own knight in shining armor to sweep her away. What a shame she'd ended up born in a time when chivalry was most definitely dead. Getting up and stretching her stiff body, she placed the novel back on the rack of romances. Thank God, a new shipment of books was scheduled to arrive on Monday. Hopefully, it would contain something with Vikings. She did so love their bare-chested covers. Yes, a guilty indulgence, but given the choice between reading boring non-fiction and classics, or something displaying a half-naked Adonis seducing a reluctant heroine, well. . . Some might call it a tawdry romance, or mommy porn. Samantha, however, found romances very educational. For example, she knew exactly what to do if facing an angry Saxon - swoon in his arms. See? Useful stuff. A lifelong bookworm, some would say her career as a librarian was a dream come true. And in some respects it was, and not only because she got first crack at just-released novels. Just look at the excellent muscle tone she'd achieved from pushing heavy carts laden with books that people left carelessly strewn everywhere - did their mothers never teach them to tidy up after themselves? How about alphabetizing the children's books daily because after all, it wasn't as if they wouldn't come in the next day and yank them off the shelves willy nilly again. And finally, her favorite literary achievement - scraping gum off the bottom of tables. Fun times! Was it any wonder she turned to fantasy to escape? Eyeing the clock as it slowly inched toward quitting time, only one more minute to go, she got up to make a cursory round of the library, which was thankfully empty. No arguments tonight with stressed out students studying for exams. Or chasing out teenagers necking behind the tall stacks. "Come on, just five more minutes," they'd beg. How she envied them. Their youth. Their passion. She had never sneaked around making out with boys, of course, she might have, had any boys asked her. As a geeky girl with thick glasses and a tongue that refused to utter coherent or witty replies when hit with shyness, she didn't exactly enjoy a great social life. The clock hand hit eight and Samantha, who had everything ready and waiting, dressed in her coat, hat, and gloves. According to the forecast, the temperatures were about to drop and snow was imminent, just in time for the holidays. Which reminded her, she needed to put new plastic bags in her boots. After the last icy dumping, she'd had to work all day wearing bone chilling, wet socks. Not fun! Shouldering her heavy bag, laden with all the odd and ends a girl could need - a few books, a can of mace long expired, and a wallet full of nothing - she set the security alarm, locked the library door, and began her walk home. Paying little attention to the still busy sidewalks around her, crowded with holiday shoppers, she strolled along lost in thought. Another Friday, and guess what? She had nothing to do, nowhere to go. What had happened to her childhood dreams of finding her one true love and living happily ever after? Of romantic dinners for two? Of intimate evenings spent discussing books or watching a movie? Of getting saved from danger and then made love to until the wee hours of morning? Ha! As if. Reality sucked. Her fantasies belonged in books, not the real world. She pulled a face. Stupid! She shook her head ruefully, then blushed as she realized she'd spoken aloud. People walking by eyed her strangely and give her a wide berth, just another crazy single lady in the city talking to herself. Give her a few cats and she'd totally fit the stereotype. But I don't want to be a spinster! Is it asking too much to wish for a date, especially during the Christmas season? Catching a glimpse of herself in a reflective store front window, she stuck out her tongue. Okay, so maybe I'm not model material, but I do have a great head of hair. Lots of women pay to get my shade of auburn. And you can barely see where I had the incident. She should have listened to her mother when she said young ladies should never have their hair loose in public. After her mother passed away, Samantha defiantly left her hair down - until the day she'd had to cut off a chunk that got caught in the shredder at work. Now her hair appeared a little lopsided, even when she pinned it up. A hard jostle, from someone on the sidewalk behind her, pushed Samantha past the front of her own building. Rude jerk. She glared at his retreating back. She pivoted to go back, but stopped. Having nothing to go home to, no one waiting for her, why not wander a bit further along the busy sidewalks? At least out here, she could pretend to be part of the crowd. Pretend she too had places to go, people to see. The holiday decorations lining the storefronts merged in a jumbled blur of sound and color. So much to see and yet she didn't really take note of anything until the strange moment when she noticed the world went quiet around her. Her feet, which just a moment ago marched to their own tune, stopped and she stood still. Coming out of her day dreaming daze, she frowned. This is weird. People still passed by her on the sidewalk, the traffic on the street flowed steadily, but around her everything had gone quiet. No, that wasn't quite true. She could still faintly hear the hubbub of the street, but from a distance, as if she stood in an invisible cocoon, one where noise and colors came through dull and muted. And in this quiet, almost colorless zone something bright caught the corner of her eye. She turned to take a closer look. Tucked between two trendy stores screaming ÔSeventy Percent Off!' and ÔBOGO Sale!', sat a small, unremarkable shop. Samantha stepped up to its clouded window and tried to peer in to no avail. Reflecting back at her was her bright cheeked complexion and glasses. Stepping back, she peered up and spotted a bright red and white sign painted over the window, Ye Olde Book Shoppe. Samantha frowned at the store. How odd. She'd never noticed this store before even though she'd walked this way countless times. Businesses are always changing, she told herself, but still, she'd come through here recently and would have sworn there was no book shop tucked between the two flashy boutiques. Actually, I could have sworn there was nothing here at all. Intrigued, she pushed open the heavy wooden door. A hidden bell tinkled as it swung open. The distinctive scent of dust, leather and musty books wafted out. Samantha cautiously stepped in and instantly fell in love. The place bulged from the scratched wood floors to the high ceilings with shelves packed tight with books. And the variety. . . Many were bound in traditional paper and cardboard, while others sported, leather, cloth, and if she was correct, even wood. She stepped in further, then stopped, her eye caught by a bin with sign done up in bright red lettering advertising BARGAINS! What fascinating books it contained - like a red leather-bound book called Caring For Your Backyard Dryad. Another, covered in a shimmery cloth read, Elves, The New Sidhe. Samantha browsed through the discount pile, each title more extravagant than the last and she gasped in shock when she glimpsed some of the illustrations in a book titled How to Keep Your Demon Lover Satisfied. She might have lacked s****l experience, but she wasn't a complete i***t. She even turned the book upside down and looked again at the illustration - Nope. Still not humanly possible. A cheery, "Hello," startled her. Red-cheeked, she quickly stuffed the book out of sight in the bin before turning. The smiling, cherubic face of the shopkeeper popped up from behind a long wooden counter. To her inner amusement, she found he fit her stereotypical description of what a shopkeeper should look like with his short, plump stature, shiny, bald crown, round cheeks and dimpled smile. "Well, hello there, young lady. How may this humble shopkeeper serve such a beautiful damsel this fine evening?" He added a bow to his flourished greeting. Samantha blushed at his compliment even though she knew he probably used the same speech with all his female clientele. She pushed her heavy glasses back up on her nose. "I don't need any help, thank you. I just found your shop by chance and decided to pop in. I can't believe I never noticed you before. I've been down this way a hundred times before. " "Aah, 'tis a funny thing with chance, you never know when he will meddle," said the shopkeeper with a shake of his head and a wide smile. Taken aback at his odd comment, Samantha pegged him as slightly eccentric, after all, who spoke of chance as if it were an entity? Probably one of those new age people who believed everything was a sign. The little shopkeeper came out from behind his counter. He swept his arms wide, gesturing to the gathered trove of books. "So what kind of story were you looking for today?" "I wasn't really looking to buy a book," Samantha said. "I work at the library down the street so I never lack for reading. But I have to ask, where on earth did you find these? I've never seen or heard of any of them." "A librarian you say. A fine profession for a lovely lady like yourself. As for these tomes, they're special. I pride myself on having any kind of book a person would ever need." Picking up a slim volume covered in green scales that lay on the long counter by the register, Samantha crinkled her brow as she read the title, Dragon Recipes - 101 Ways to Cook for Your Beast. "But who would need a book on how to feed dragons?" she asked. "Ah, that's a tragic tale actually. The person this book was meant for decided he didn't need it, and alas, that proved to be his undoing," said the shopkeeper with a sad shake of his head. "The poor lad. . . well I'm sure you get the idea." Samantha almost giggled at his answer, but the shopkeeper's face turned quite solemn. Surely he isn't serious? A second later he grinned at her. "Just kidding." His eyes twinkled. "That gent isn't due to pick his book up until next week." A giggle slipped out of her. She'd almost believed him. To her surprise, she found herself saying, "Well, I don't have a dragon to feed, so what kind of book do I need? Maybe you have one on how to turn a dull librarian into a scintillating femme fatale?" Samantha blushed at her own temerity. Oh my God, I can't believe I said that. He is going to think I'm nuts - or desperate. The shopkeeper grinned widely and rubbed his hands together as he approached her. Humming under his breath, he eyed her up and down, even walking around her to view her from behind. A voluptuous behind that she no longer struggled to shrink. Why bother? At an average five foot six she would certainly never be considered tall and leggy. Oh no, on the contrary, her figure was lush, too lush with heavy breasts that insisted on a bra at all times, generously curved, wide hips, and a very full bottom that got pinched more often at the library than it should. At least she had a clear complexion, which she kept hidden behind a pair of large, thick-rimmed glasses that made her eyes seem huge and owlish. Her nickname, Hoo, had stuck right up to graduation. Not a conducive name for getting a date. Maybe instead of a book on becoming a hot femme fatale, I should have asked him for one on miracle make-overs. Samantha stood, feet rooted to the floor, cheeks red, eyeing the door in case she needed to make a quick exit. The panicky part of her that had read too many mystery novels wanted to run. What did her looks have to do with choosing a book? However, curiosity rooted her in place. She wanted to know what kind of book he thought she needed. Hopefully not the demon one. She shuddered. Still humming, the shopkeeper finished his perusal and went over to a bookshelf. Climbing up a rickety wooden ladder, he started pulling out book after book, shaking his head at each one. "Nope. Not this one. Ooh, definitely not that one. Hmm, I don't think you'd like this one at all." Samantha wondered if perhaps he'd end up telling her he had nothing for her until he pulled out a slim black volume and exclaimed, "Aha! Here it is." Clambering back down the ladder, he handed her the book with an expectant smile. Reaching out to take the volume, an electric shock jolted through her when her hand touched the leather cover. She almost dropped it. Must be static electricity. Though it seemed unlikely, considering the store's hardwood floors. Turning the book over in her hands, she noted it sported a hand-stitched, black leather cover, the skin soft and supple. The title in gold leaf read simply, The Wizard's Curse. The book nestled warmly in her hands and possessed an odd smell - a mixture of old leather, men's cologne, and the ocean. The ocean? How on earth could a book smell briny like the sea? She gave herself a mental shake and told her overactive imagination to take a break. "Oh, I don't think I can afford this." She eyed the slim tome in her hands and mentally calculated the meager handful of change left in her purse. "What? Pay for your destiny. Perish the thought. It's yours, my dear. I told you I deal in books people need and you need that book. Why, the book belonged to you before you even came through the door. I was merely its keeper for a while until chance helped you find it. Consider it a Christmas gift." "But. . . " she tried to protest, but he just beamed at her as he ushered her out of his shop. Forget giving it back. He closed the door firmly behind her and flipped the sign in the window to Closed. Slightly dazed by the encounter, Samantha stood for a moment staring at the shop. What a strange store and an even odder man. She wondered how long he would stay in business if he kept giving away his books for free. Nothing she could do about it, though. Shrugging, she placed her new book in her large carry all. Despite the oddity of his business practice and the shop itself, the whole experience proved somewhat exciting. Walking back up the street to her building, her step was much livelier than before. Quickly reaching home, she saw she didn't need her keys to unlock the vestibule door. Not surprisingly, the lock was broken again. So much for building security. Once inside, she was chagrined to see an Out of Order sign hanging once more on the elevator door. Sighing, Samantha started the long trudge up the stairs to her sixth floor apartment, trying to stay positive about the long climb, after all, a lot of people paid good money to go to a gym and get the same exercise she currently received for free. By the time she reached her floor, huffing and puffing, she made a vow. That's it! My next apartment won't be any higher than the second floor. Finding her keys after scrounging around in her seemingly bottomless purse, she let herself into her little apartment, locking the door behind her. She leaned on it for a minute to catch her breath. Home-sweet-boring-home. Dropping her bag on the floor, she wandered into her bedroom, so tiny a space there was room only for a single bed and a tall dresser. There she slipped into her comfy jammies, robe, and slippers before wandering into the kitchen. More like a galley. She squeezed past the little table and its one accompanying chair to open the fridge door. Shuddering at what she saw - penicillin in its early stages - she quickly slammed it shut and opened the freezer, opting for one of the many frozen meals she kept stocked. Cooking had never been one of her strong points. Sticking the cardboard box into the microwave to cook, she bustled around her kitchen tidying up her breakfast mess until the timer beeped. Grabbing her hot pasta, she sat down and ripped off the cardboard lid. Yuck. Overcooked noodles swimming in a lumpy white sauce. A ton of salt and a lot of stirring later, it still wasn't any more appetizing. Perhaps a distraction would help her gag it down. Okay. If she were to be honest, curiosity ate at her. Getting up from her tiny table, she fetched the book from her bag by the front door and brought it back to the kitchen. The novel itself wasn't very big or thick, maybe a hundred or so pages. The black leather that covered it was only slightly textured, with not a single crack. The title, The Wizard's Curse, printed on the cover of the book, was not followed by the author's name. Strange. She flipped the book around. She'd never seen a book before that didn't have the author's name highly visible on the outside. Intrigued, she opened it to see if the name was inside. An electric shock shot through her again and she bobbled the book. What the heck? The tingling dissipated quickly, but the book radiated a disturbing warmth. I sure hope this doesn't mean it's radioactive. Having handled hundreds of books over the course of her life, she could say with assertion she'd never had one behave in this fashion. It should have scared her off. Made her more cautious. Instead, it roused a curiosity and adventuresome spirit in her. What mysterious tale hides in those pages? Opening it again, Samantha braced for another shock. Nothing happened. How disappointing. She peeked at the first page and noted the title in a fancy script resembling handwriting. Still no author though. She flipped to the next page and to her surprise saw the font chosen was in the same fancy script. Don't tell me it's actual handwriting and not a press fabrication? Judging by the ink bleed and occasional smudges, she began to think the former. Flipping quickly through the pages, she noticed that not only was there no apparent author, but the pages weren't numbered and there didn't seem to be any chapters. Could it be someone's diary? Time to find out. Taking a bite of her pasta, she began to read. Fifteen minutes later, her pasta cold and congealed, she rose from her little kitchen table, never pausing in her reading, and went to settle herself more comfortably in her secondhand wing chair that took up most of the space in her living room. The story, written in the first person, took place in a fictional land and centered around a well-to-do young wizard who fell in love with a beautiful sorceress. Unbeknownst to the young man, his lover was actually using him to steal a precious, magical amulet in his family's possession. He discovered her perfidy, but before he could reclaim his family's heirloom, the sorceress cast a spell upon him and cursed him to a lonely exile on an island far away from his friends and family. Angry and devastated, the young wizard promised revenge. Turning my face to the skies and stars, I try and fight the despair within, the knowledge I might never see my friends or family again. I want to have hope, but I cannot stop my inner anguish, nor the tears that thankfully no one can see. I don't want to live the rest of my life alone. Yet, if no one knows where I am, then who will save me? As Samantha read those final words, caught up in the sad tale, she felt tears of her own gathering. "Oh, that poor man. How could his lover do that to him?" She'd no sooner finished speaking than one fat, glistening drop rolled down her cheek and plopped onto the open page of the book. The ink smeared. Appalled, Samantha jumped up to grab something to pat the page dry before it was completely ruined. Vertigo seized her. Stumbling, she dropped the book. The room spun around her and her undigested pasta churned in her stomach. Closing her eyes to fight the dizziness, she tried to sit back down in her chair, however, instead of hitting a cushion she felt herself falling. Startled, she opened her eyes and had a brief glimpse of a white beach before she landed in some warm, but still very wet, water.