Windfire

Windfire

Excerpt

Primarily I read feelings. Every now and again, I hear thoughts. I have dreams that come true, visions, I— she stopped. Surprisingly enough, she wasn’t afraid of his reaction, more so at the sound of her own voice saying things she’d only told her two closest friends. Now here she stood, telling someone she barely knew all her dirty little secrets.

Go on, he prompted.

I shouldn’t. She felt exposed. Letting go of his arm she stared back out the window, crossing her arms nervously.

You can trust me.

Atlanta pondered this. If he had the same gifts, then he knew what it was like. Why was she so scared? Sure, she’d only known this beautiful man for a few hours but maybe she could tell him everything. She wanted to but hesitated, biting her lip in thought.

He didn’t pressure her, though she felt him watching her process her thoughts.

When she finally looked up into the stormy blue of his stare she felt an understanding that was so powerful and safe, she felt helpless. So she told him. She told him a lot. She told him things she’d never told anyone. He listened, and when she finished, Atlanta felt so much better. The cliché of ‘a weight off your shoulders’ sometimes was exactly that. Now she waited for his response.

He smiled at her. You, my dear, are a lost witch.

Excuse me?

I’m not positive. But I think you’re a lost witch. You mentioned you were adopted and that you don't know your mother’s side of the family. There’s a good chance you’re from a bloodline of witches. The powers you possess mirror those of some of my friends.

And they think they’re witches?

"They are witches."

Atlanta almost made another joke but he appeared serious. She then heard him inside her head.

"Don’t be afraid of what you don’t know. You accept your gifts. Why not accept that there is an explanation for them?"

He had a point. Her education told her that there weren’t such things as witches. Well, not real ones with working spells and powers. There were those that practiced Wicca, sure, but actual witches? No.

"Witches are fictional characters from fairy tales," she finally said mentally.

"I’ll get you my pretty and your little dog too."

She laughed.

"You know, some things in fiction…well, the idea had to come from somewhere."

Windfire

By Tamsin L. Silver

Copyright 2012 Tamsin L. Silver

Smashwords Edition

Cover Art Copyright 2012: Kathleen Baum /Baum Book Designs

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this story may be reproduced in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher/s.

Published in the United States of America.

Windfire

Book One

Tamsin L. Silver

Dedication

For my Father. Who instilled the love of books in me and built my vast imagination by reading to me for years. I love you with all my heart.

Acknowledgements

As like with most labors of love, there are people along the way to its completion that help it come to fruition either by their skill, talent, advice, support or all of the above. I cannot go without mentioning them. So here we go.

Large thanks to my editor, Chris Borhani, for taking a chance on me and pushing me to truly reinvent this world. Sometimes you need a kick in the behind to head in the correct direction. Thank you, Chris! Now go get some sleep!

A huge hug of thanks to my British Liaison, Rachel Grundy, who’s my UK proof reader (I do have quite a few Brits in these books, after all). To Juliet Grames, my first editor ever, who came into my life when I needed her most…though I don’t get to see you often, my appreciation for all you did for me never wanes. To fellow writer friends like Jennifer Fromke, John Hartness, and Kate McMurray…you are an inspiration, thank you for your friendship and guidance along the way. And to Anastasia Catris, I bow at your feet. Not only are you an amazing friend, but a phenomenal writer/reviewer, and artist (my logos are her creation). Much love.

To all my Beta Readers—Rachel Grundy, Angie Hays, Julia Im, Ron James, Joshua Price, Lauren Steinmeyer, and Niki Quinn—you all are my rock and my driving force. Thank you for not only your time and input, but your immense support and suggestions that drove me forward.

Last but not least, to my family and friends all over the globe—from Michigan to the Carolinas, to NYC, Georgia, Colorado, California and the UK—without your support and belief in me this book would still just be a document on my computer.

Letter to the Reader

Welcome to the first book of The Windfire Series!

I began this saga in college, yearning to create a kick-ass female character and take her on a journey. I wanted to not only show her strengths, but expose her flaws. For I feel that the true love for a person stems from understanding and accepting both.

Shortly after I started the novel it became apparent to me that just like in life, my primary character wasn’t whole without her support system, her friends—a team. So, the book altered from one person’s story to an ensemble team of seven to whisk you off on an adventure. I hope you enjoy where they take you.

Originally, books one and two of The Windfire Series were one book known as The Betrayal - A Living Dead Girl Novel. If you read that book, there have been changes. For instance, this series is now YA Fantasy vs. adult. However, the story is still the same and I would suggest you begin reading this new version with book three, entitled Metamorphosis.

If interested in knowing more about me or the series, you can visit my website, www.tamsinsilver.com and/or blog, http://tamsinsilver.blogspot.com. There are pictures of characters as well as videos from the photo shoots and character information. You can also come follow me on Twitter (@tamsinsilver) and Facebook for more updates on the series as well as other books I’m working on.

Cheers! Tamsin L. Silver

Clandestine History

Volume One: 1997

Chapter One

Standing there, she could still feel the fire burn. She smelled the flesh of those who died and saw the pain on what was left of their faces. She looked around and all she saw were flames and death. The air hung with smoke, ash, bits of paper, and the screams of those who stared in horror as more died. A part of her wanted to run screaming and yet a part of her stood fascinated by the destruction. She moved closer to the flames, to quiet them, to try and control them. But she wasn’t able to. It seemed as if she wasn’t really there, like a hologram. She glanced down at her hands and she saw right through them.

Though confused, she took in the scene around her. Had she caused this pain? Were these people dead because of her? A feeling deep within her gut told her they were. She then turned and gaped as a man’s torso crawled across the ground toward her, hate in his eyes.

"How could you? he spit from his scorched throat. How could you be so selfish?"

His burnt hand, more bone than charred flesh, reached out and took a hold of her ankle, and pulled. For reasons she didn’t know, this half-man was stronger than her. He pulled her down. Her hands smashed onto the ground to catch her, causing the transparency of them to stain. Her flesh now smeared with blood, dirt, and ash.

Dragged by her ankle, she dug her fingers into the blood soaked dirt in attempt to hold her ground. Yet he continued to yank her toward what appeared to be a cliff. As she fixed her gaze upon him, he smiled at her, and his face magically filled in with flesh. His eyes were full of love, instead of hate.

"This is for your own good, Atty. I’m so sorry. I know it’s not what you want—but you have to face the pain—"

"The what?" she asked, panic creeping into her voice.

When he ignored her, she twisted, catching a glance at a large dark hole in the ground, like a grave. Teetering on the edge of the deep hole, she wailed out in pain and fear.

Atlanta woke up with a start; the scream still caught in her throat. She sat up in bed with wide eyes and a sweat soaked hairline.

Well, hell, she muttered, rubbing her face and shoving her hair out of her eyes. That nap wasn’t restful at all. She glanced at the clock. Shit, shit, shit, I overslept.

Throwing the covers off, she streaked into the bathroom and snagged a quick shower. On the way back to her room in a towel she stopped at her roommate’s door and banged on it. "Stoltz! You’re so fired!"

The door opened and a tall young man appeared, hands up in defense. His sea green eyes were wide with fear, I know. I know. I just saw the time. I’m sooo sorry, Atty! Grayson said.

Uh huh. It’s Jen’s first night back. I’d like to get as much hang out time in as possible at the club before it closes. I’ll be ready in thirty minutes, fifteen if you’ll drive while I put on make-up.

He ran his hand through his blondish brown waves. I can do that. I’ll be ready by then too.

Atlanta pulled the shower cap off her long, straight, black hair and tossed it back into the bathroom. Call Jen, make sure she’s awake. The less time we have to spend at her place the better.

On it!

Atlanta rushed into her bedroom and shut the door, her mind going a hundred miles a minute. It jumped between what she should wear, to what her dream meant, to this nagging feeling that she needed to get to the club. With a frustrated grunt, she tossed the towel and pulled out her black corset, long black pencil skirt, heeled lace-up boots and worked herself into the outfit.

Grayson’s voice came through her door, I woke her up. She cursed me out in two languages.

Atlanta smiled. We’ll call her back as we leave. Come in here and help me with this, will you?

Grayson entered, a lit cigarette in his mouth. Atlanta noted he’d opted for a simple pair of black leather pants and a see through black shirt with sparkles that showed off his well-defined chest and abs nicely. As he sauntered in, Gray attached his choker behind his neck. Corset time?

Yep. She stole the cigarette from him and took a drag, then spun to hold onto the tall bedpost, Pull, girlfriend, pull.

Grayson was used to this. Working the laces like a pro, he pulled her already hourglass figure into a more severe version and tied it off. Can you breathe?

A bit.

Then it’s not tight enough, he joked and took his cigarette back.

Ha ha. I’d like to breathe thank you very much. Passing out on the dance floor is so last season.

Breathing is overrated. You look hot though.

Atlanta turned to inspect herself in the door size mirrors on the closet. Her already ample cleavage now heaved out the top of the corset. Tucking it back in just enough so they didn’t resemble chin rests, she noted her new boots had her normal five foot ten stature now over six foot, making her an inch or two taller than Grayson. It works. You ready?

Yes ma’am, he said, his face inspecting her face. You okay?

Fine. Why didn’t you wake me? she said, changing the topic. He opened his mouth but she cut him off. Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go. Shifting past him, grabbed her black leather duster from the coat rack, and slipped it on. She snatched her purse from the table, and headed out the door and down to the car, Gray on her heels.

Atlanta unlocked her car and tossed Grayson the keys, heading around to the passenger side. When is your Jeep outta the shop?

Tomorrow. He got in and started the car, shut the door. He fastened his seatbelt and said, Call Jen again.

Uh uh…you get that chore.

You suck. He hit re-dial on his cell. Hey Jen, we’re…

Atlanta was able to hear her other best friend say something like, I’m up! I’m up for God’s sake!

Excellent. We’re on our way. Be there in fifteen minutes.

As he hung up Atlanta pulled out her make-up. She only yelled in one language, that’s a good sign.

With a chuckle and shake of his head, Gray pulled out of their condo complex. Once on open road Gray pushed again, You had another dream.

Atlanta heard the statement of it. She flubbed up her eyeliner and cursed. What? No. Why would you say that? she lied. She didn’t want to go into this and even more so, she didn’t want him worrying about her.

The circles under your eyes give it away, you know. Want to talk about it?

She blew it off, her tone light. Nothing to talk about.

Uh-huh. Okay. Just tell me, is everyone safe?

Grayson knew about her dreams. How they were prophetic in nature and often disturbing. She’d possessed the gift ever since she was a little girl and other than her adoptive parents, no one but Gray and Jensine knew.

I’m fine, Gray, Atlanta said. He stole a glance at her and she knew he wasn’t satisfied with her answer. She didn’t want to go into it, not now. So she put on a smile, took a cleansing breath, and said, Really, everyone we know is fine Gray. I’m just agitated ‘cause I woke up late. The dream had nothing to do with you or Jen. Promise.

He seemed to consider pressing the issue, but he nodded. Okay. You can tell me later, if you want.

You got it.

As they drove and she applied her club make-up, Atlanta couldn’t help but think about the dream. At least she’d not lied to Grayson—Jensine and he weren’t in it—they weren’t in any danger. She was.

* * * *

As they entered the club, the DJ began to play a song by KMFDM. As per usual, the music was at almost an ear splitting level as the bass vibrated the floors of The Barn nightclub. Multi-colored lights zoomed about the dance floor as people danced, drank, and socialized.

Ladies, what do you want to drink? Gray yelled over the music. They gave him their orders. Coming right up. He handed Jensine a roll of quarters. You two go snag us a pool table. I’m gonna check out the bartender.

Don’t you mean the bar? Jensine asked.

No, he means the bartender. He’s looks like Gray’s type of man, Atlanta added with a wink.

You said it sister! Gray gave her a high five that he ended with a snap, his ‘queening out’ moment he did only now and again.

Atlanta watched him sashay off. Let’s get that pool table.

Jensine motioned toward the stairs. Plan in action, let’s go!

After moving to Boston, Massachusetts, the three of them had sniffed out the local Goth/Industrial Scene hangout and visited it often before Jensine left for London. The Barn, one of the biggest clubs in town, had different themes per night. Tonight, Thursday, was a mixture of 80’s and 90’s Goth/Industrial music.

The building, an old barn, boasted of a big open space on the main floor with a stage at the far end. Tonight it would be part of the dance floor but other nights local bands played up there. A spiral staircase near the dance floor led to upstairs, which housed the video games, a few pool tables, and couches with comfy chairs.

Atlanta took the spiral stairs up to their favorite spot, snatching up an open pool table near the railing. Racking the balls for their game, she glanced up to see Jensine lean her five foot two self on the railing to gaze at the crowd below. Atlanta had missed her like one misses a sister. Just watching her stand there, blonde bob of curls bouncing to the music as she swung her short skirt about, made her happy.

I like the skirt, is it new?

Jensine twirled the short, purple, and black plaid catholic-girl skirt. Yep. Found it in London. Knew it’d go with this corset perfectly. Besides, it gives me an excuse to wear my purple thigh high skully socks. She giggled, popping up a combat booted foot as if they were sexy heels, showing off her socks. She then continued to stare down at the crowd and added, "I missed this. They way they, we dance—it’s like a sea of waves. Don’t you think? Jensine asked. It’s not the same in London."

Atlanta walked over to stare down at the crowd with her. I like to think of it as if our legs are the bass and our arms are the lyrics. I feel this music all the way to my bones. Putting an arm around Jensine, she squeezed her shoulders. Glad you’re home.

Jensine looked up at Atlanta, So am I.

Her hazel-green eyes held Atlanta’s in the pause that followed and Atlanta squeezed her again. Seeing Grayson come up the stairs she broke the silence, Ooh look, here comes our drinks!

Now this takes some talent! Gray bragged as he got to the top of the stairs, balancing four drinks in his hands, two beers for him and a drink for Atlanta and Jensine.

After a few more drinks, some dancing, and a third game of pool Jensine draped herself over the railing again.

Atlanta joined her. What ya watchin’?

Him, Jensine stated with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Oh no. Who’s ‘him’?

Down at the end of the bar, closest to the dance floor. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and jeans.

Atlanta chuckled. That describes, oh say, half of the men here this evening.

Dark auburn hair in a short ponytail. Jensine gave a satisfied hum. Looks like an artist. Painter maybe? Poet?

Atlanta scanned the crowd until she found him. He was totally Jensine’s type of man. Pretty, a loner, and he screamed of danger. He pivoted then, as if to survey his surroundings, and Atlanta felt her stomach wrench into a knot. It was Devon. Opening her mouth to warn Jensine, she was cut off.

I feel the need to go talk to the—bartender, she giggled and pulled out of Atlanta’s grasp.

No you don’t! You’re headed straight over to Mr. Brooding at the bar. You should know that’s—

"I so don’t care. I’m off to get a drink. You coming?"

No.

"I’d come if you asked me to," Jensine taunted and headed for the stairs.

She was right. Atlanta hated it when Jensine was right. Gray, you need anything? I’m going with her. First night in town, and she’s found trouble already.

Gray looked down over the rail. Hey, isn’t he the dude from the fight last week? The guy nice enough to save your ass from getting hit when you were in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Yep, he’s the one. The British dude who beat the crap out of what’s his name. If you remember correctly he and I had quite the altercation ourselves seeing as he threw a drink on me.

Can’t she find a nice boy?

This is Jensine we’re talking about.

Gray’s hands went up in surrender. Enough said. Get me a beer while you’re there, would ya?

Yes ma’am.

Atlanta headed down the staircase to where Jensine stood, next to the brooding young man, and waited for the bartender to notice them. As Atlanta approached Jensine moved to the side as if to make room for her, purposefully bumping into the man whose attention she wanted.

Jensine excused her deliberant nudge with a flirtatious smile. "Oops, I’m so sorry."

No problem. Not a lot of room here at the bar. Then, seeing Atlanta, he continued, Well bloody hell, it’s you again. Not going to get in the middle of a fight again, are you? he said, poking fun at her, his blue eyes sparkling.

Atlanta snapped, No sir. I’ll leave that to you.

Jensine turned to Atlanta, cocking one eyebrow.

His clipped British accent came across cleaner as he continued. Now now—he was being a wanker and he had it comin’. You know I’m right. Bastard was piss drunk and out of control.

A look of realization came over Jensine’s face. Atlanta told Jensine earlier about the fight from the previous week. If he had it coming, Atlanta, then he had it coming.

See? Your friend agrees with me.

That’s because she wants in your pants, Atlanta thought but instead she forced a smile and said, How can I argue then?

And what is your name, lovely friend of Atlanta?

Jensine Blackensdale. And you?

Devon N. Worthy, at your service, he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Atlanta wanted to gag. If he only knew Jensine’s weakness for British men, he’d realize he didn’t need to be working this hard.

Excuse me, I like this song. Atlanta exited to let Jensine flirt away.

Climbing up onto the stage, near the left wall, she began to dance. Halfway through the song though, a chill inched its way up her spine. Someone was watching her. A glance at Devon proved it wasn’t him. Then who? Trying to focus on where it was coming from the chill left her spine to slam into the base of her skull.

Oh no, not here…no, no, no… Dizziness pulled at her, the premonition taking over her mind and body. She moved toward the wall, putting her hand on it to steady herself as the vision shoved into her mind.

She found herself in a grassy field. The blades of grass were both green and gold—with splotches of red. Atlanta couldn’t move anything except her head. She looked down at her feet to watch the red substance crawl up her shoes—to her legs—up her chest causing the air in her lungs to feel like fire. It dripped from her fingers, it poured into her mouth. Blood. It was blood and a lot of it. The hot metallic liquid choked her as she stared up at the sky. Tears ran down her face and then, the world tilted. She fell to the ground, which shook as a body in great pain would, until it finally shuddered one last time, opened, and swallowed her whole.

Atlanta’s eyes flew open, shock and fear clawed at her chest as she dragged in a breath of air. Her hands flew to her throat. Feeling it wasn’t covered in blood, she rested her back against the wall, taking a moment to gain her composure. Though a bit lightheaded and nauseous, she worked at slowing her breathing down. She hadn’t experienced a premonition while awake in years. Something must’ve triggered it. The question was what. She studied Jensine and Devon, who were still talking. Could it be a who instead? Was it him? If so, why?

Regaining most of her composure by the end of the song, Atlanta walked to the bar. She ordered a shot of vodka, downed it, ordered Gray’s beer, and headed to collect Jensine.

Jen, we should get back to the game. Gray is waiting for us.

That he is, she agreed. Devon, do you play pool?

Somewhat.

Jensine touched his arm, letting her fingers caress the leather of his jacket. Care to join us? We could use another person to play doubles.

Don’t mind if I do.

Atlanta minded. She minded a lot. She was about to negate the invitation when he flashed his charming smile at Jensine, took her hand from his arm and kissed it.

Did she just swoon? Atlanta thought. Dear God. Obviously Jen didn’t see him like Atlanta did. Not that she could put her finger on what it was exactly, but something was not right about him. If he played Jensine for a fool, Atlanta was not going to be a happy girl.

As they climbed the stairs, Atlanta caught sight of Gray. He looked bored as well as pissed off, sitting there on the pool table smoking a cigarette. The minute he saw her he plastered a fake grin on his face and scolded them in a sickly sweet voice, Why gee, you’ve come back.

We weren’t gone that long Gray, Jensine defended.

"I’d say fifteen minutes is pretty long for ‘we’re getting a beer.’ He doesn’t look like a beer."

Atlanta handed Gray his beer.

"That looks like a beer. He jumped down off the table and took a drink. And now that I have my real beer, who are you?"

Devon N. Worthy.

Worthy of—

Jensine kicked him. A good game of pool. Right Gray?

Devon leaned down to Jensine’s ear, We’ll see. It’s been awhile.

Devon and I against you and Atlanta, Jensine suggested excitedly, glaring at Gray.

Fair enough, Gray said out loud before turning to Atlanta, mouthing the words, oh joy.

The games were quick. The first because Atlanta and Gray played a perfect game, the second due to some smooth moves by Devon.

Jensine bounced about. Woo-hoo! We whooped your asses!

Smoke break? Outside? Gray suggested.

We can smoke in here— Atlanta started to say when she caught the glare Gray gave her. Ah yes, outside sounds great.

Shall we play another? Devon asked. A tie breaker, shall we say?

Sure thing, big guy, Gray said, his sarcastic tone exactly on point. You get that table ready and we’ll be right back.

Stepping out onto the patio Gray pulled a smoke out and lit it. Lighting Atlanta’s he began his rant. "There is something so wrong with that guy. ‘Haven’t played pool in ages,’ my ass. You’d think he’d been a pro. What, he let us win the first game for fun? Something’s going on. He’s workin’ us, Atlanta."

Ya think?

Problem is she likes him.

"What hot Goth guy doesn’t she like? Hell, for that matter, what hot Goth guy don’t you