Author's note: This is a preview of the first several chapters of Emaline's Gift, the first (and, currently, only) book in The Magi Chronicles. If you want to read more, the whole story is available for Kindle and in paperback through Amazon.com. Enjoy!
THE MAGI CHRONICLES:
EMALINE’S GIFT
BRAD FRANCIS
Copyright © 2012 Brad Francis
1
The alley was deserted, save for an old brown tabby that crept stealthily along the concrete. The tabby, which no one had ever bothered to name, used to have vibrant orange fur, but years of living on the street, soiled from the exhaust fumes and picking through dumpsters, had turned it a matted brown. It had been raining, and the tabby was careful to navigate around the puddles. There was a fish market off this alley, and the dumpster usually had a selection of tasty morsels.
From deeper in the city, behind it, there came a sudden commotion. The cat darted behind some pipes. Hidden in the shadows, in the most rudimentary way, the tabby considered its dilemma. Its stomach ached for want of food, and the dumpster was not far. But the banging and clanging was growing louder, and the cat was scared of the noises.
In the end, hunger won out. Even as the commotion—sounds of struggle, of conflict, not that the cat could know—drew ever closer, the tabby darted from behind the pipe and sprinted for the dumpster. Just as it hurried to within paces of its goal, golden sparks lit up the still night air and the cat began to howl in pain. Its tail was on fire.
Moments later, the cause of the disturbance burst into the alleyway. As the cat soaked its charred rear in a nearby puddle, mewing in discomfort, a tall boy with dark black hair came running along the pavement. “Sorry, kitty,” he called out, twirling around to face the darkness he had just come from and sending another stream of golden sparks flying from his hand.
He stopped for only a moment, then turned back and took off down the alley again. Purple sparks soared through the air where the boy’s head had been seconds before. The stream hit brick on the right side of the alley and mortar exploded in a small blast of brick and concrete.
The tabby cowered in the shadows. Its tail throbbed in pain, and the dangerous strangers were not done coming. Emerging from the darkness at the other end of the alley, the cat heard whistling and footsteps.
Three figures emerged from the shadows: two boys and one girl. The boys were big and thick, and could have been twins. Both had brown hair, a mix of muscles and fat and no neck. The girl was skinny and pretty, with a smattering of freckles and long red hair, pulled into a ponytail. The girl was the one whistling.
The girl stopped at almost the exact same spot that the dark-haired boy had stopped maybe a minute ago. The thick boys, who flanked her on either side and walked half a step behind, stopped as well. She finished her tune and called out.
“Oh, Anthony!” The red-haired girl called out, but didn’t move. Whether she expected a response or not was unclear, but none came. “Do you have to run? Why not come out and face us like a man?”
Now, a reply came. The boy’s voice bounced off the walls in the narrow alley and could have come from anywhere. “Three on one? Is that your idea of a fair fight?”
The girl shrugged. “I’ll tell Simon and Brutus not to interfere.” Her eyes darted around the dark alley, looking in vain for her prey. Then, in a singsong, she added, “Promise, promise, porcupine. . .”
Anthony scoffed. “Your word means nothing, and you know it.”
She smiled in response. “Well, I can’t argue with that. Not that you’d face me alone. I think you’re too scared to fight a lady. Afraid of being beat.”
