Absorb: Book One of the Forgotten Affinities Series Read online

  Absorb

  Book One of The Forgotten Affinities Series

  Analeigh Ford

  Absorb by Analeigh Ford

  © 2018 Analeigh Ford

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of including brief passages for use in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For permissions contact:

  [email protected]

  Visit the author’s website at:

  analeighford.com

  Ebook ASIN: B07HYG4YFH

  Also by Analeigh Ford

  The Forgotten Affinities

  Absorb

  Adapt

  Abandon

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Octavia

  2. Octavia

  3. Cedric

  4. Octavia

  5. Kendall

  6. Octavia

  7. Octavia

  8. Octavia

  9. Flynn

  10. Octavia

  11. Octavia

  12. Octavia

  13. Octavia

  14. Octavia

  15. Octavia

  16. Draven

  17. Octavia

  18. Octavia

  19. Octavia

  20. Octavia

  21. Octavia

  22. Flynn

  23. Octavia

  24. Octavia

  25. Octavia

  26. Octavia

  27. Octavia

  28. Octavia

  29. Draven

  30. Octavia

  31. Octavia

  32. Octavia

  33. Octavia

  34. Octavia

  35. Octavia

  From the Author

  Prologue

  Octavia

  I have never felt power like this, not even before, with the strength of four other mages channeling through me. It feels different. It pulls at parts of me that I didn’t know existed. It’s as if every tiny particle of magic in me is being scraped out, trying to draw out enough to perform this ritual.

  A sudden wind pulls at the stale air. My lips falter over one of the words, but I glance towards Wednesday and concentrate harder. It doesn’t help that the Salamander Brandy is now wearing off. One second I can see the words clearly, the next they go soft around the edges.

  The first band of the summoning circle alights with a blue glow. At the same time, so does the brand on my arm for Earth Magic.

  I begin the second line of text. The light from the outermost circle spreads like fire writhing one band closer. My Psychic Brand sears to life, fresh and bright as the day it was made on my forearm. Those mages at the furthest ends of the room suddenly grow restless. I can see them speak, but they make no sound.

  I am about to move on to the second to last line of text when I hear it; the only noise that can rise above the tide of rushing wind. A dull thud against one of the walls.

  I pause. Was I followed after all? Could it be that we are about to be rescued?

  A spasm strikes Wednesday’s body once again.

  “Faster!”

  I can’t stall any longer. I have to do it. I have to finish this. My own voice sounds foreign and hollow, even to me. The words of the spell swim in and out before me as my mouth forms the next part of the incantation. It is like I am between two worlds.

  It takes everything in me to stay planted in the center of the circle and keep the book from being ripped from my hands. Whatever is reaching inside me for magic has found its end. It begins to scrape at what is left of me instead. I choke in pain. The very fiber of my being is beginning to tear apart. Every part of me screams in agony.

  But I take one last glance at my best friend and I know I cannot stop. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even know I am a mage. I would have lived my whole life without Sight, without magic, without Kendall, Cedric, Draven, or Flynn. I’d never have met them, never gotten the chance to know them.

  And so, I persist.

  The final line of text is near impossible to read. The letters move around the page, barely rearranging themselves into something resembling words when I force them to. All around me there is commotion, but I cannot see it anymore. There is only me, the ritual, and the pain.

  And then suddenly, there is nothing.

  1

  Octavia

  There is never a good day to get lost in New York City. All I want is to make it through my initiation as a mage without somehow screwing everything up. In order for me to even get the chance to ruin things, however, we have to actually find the place where the ritual is being held.

  I run a hand through my shoulder-length silver hair. I left the house with it in picture-day perfect curls just a couple of hours ago, but by now I’m sure it looks like I don’t even know what a hairbrush is. So much for trying to make a good first impression.

  Wednesday keeps biting her lip the way she does whenever she’s getting anxious, and it’s annoying because now it’s making me anxious, too.

  “Maybe we should call our parents,” she says, biting her lip again as she glances up at the second abandoned factory I’ve misled us to today.

  “No!” I blurt, a little more forcefully than I mean to. I stumble over my next words after catching the hurt that flickers across my best friend’s face. “If you call your parents, then they are going to call mine…and I don’t need to go through that whole ordeal right now.”

  I’m lucky the New York Academy of Mages accepted me in the first place. Luckier still my parents agreed to let me go.

  Wednesday turns me around and rustles in my backpack for a moment until she finds the only copy of the invitation we brought crumpled up at the bottom. I don’t know why I insisted on being the one in charge of getting us here. I’ve always been notorious for getting lost in places where no one thought it was possible. Wednesday always blames it on my stubbornness. I prefer to blame it on my dyslexia.

  Now come to think of it, I don’t know why either of them let me be in charge of directions in the first place.

  I have just begun to convince myself that this predicament is just as much her, and even her twin brother Kendall’s, fault as it is mine, when I catch the shift in Wednesday’s expression.

  It is that subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth, the way she squeezes her nostrils ever so slightly and squints up her eyes—these are the ticks that tell me she’s once again realized I am an idiot.

  Less than five minutes later we turn around a corner and both Wednesday and Kendall gasp and stumble to a halt beside me. All I see is another factory building, but I don’t have to turn to look at the stunned looks on their faces to know that whatever it is I am seeing, it isn’t what is actually there.

  The magical world is invisible to the naked, non-magical eye. Since my family does not have a history of magical abilities, I’ve spent most of my childhood with the near constant reminder that there is some invisible world all around me that I am not a part of.

  Or, at least, was not a part of until today. All that is about to change.

  It must be my turn to be the one looking anxious, because Wednesday stops me before we push open the door to go inside. “Stop worrying, you’re going to be fine. Look, I ca
n’t guarantee you’re going to be an Earth Mage like me...but you’re not going to get Ritual Magic either, okay? You’re not the type.”

  There are three types of magic; Earth, Psychic, and Ritual. Like all things, certain stereotypes persist with those mages that have an affinity to them. The very last thing I want is to become a Ritual Mage. They say once you are chosen by that affinity, you change—and not necessarily for the better. Just becoming a mage is enough change for me. I don’t need to suddenly turn into a Voodoo priestess too.

  I have waited too long for this moment to worry about it now. It’s going to be okay. I am not alone in this. There are dozens of new mages inside going through the exact same thing as me. There are two of them here, right now, on the stairs with me.

  She squeezes my hand to reassure me once again. I shove aside the anxiety that has risen in me, take a deep breath, and nod. It’s time.

  As soon as we push the doors open and pass under two massive chipped, marbled statues, I briefly wonder if this is all some big trick they are trying to play on me. The inside of this place is the definition of mental-asylum chic. Old newspapers decay in the corners, rusted furniture is stacked in teetering and broken piles, and dirt—or at least what I hope is dirt—is smeared in long streaks across the walls.

  The statues hovering over us look at me with faces frozen in perpetual shock and, unless I am mistaken, terror. For a second, I want to heed their less-than-subtle warning and run, but Wednesday catches me by my sleeve before I do.

  “Oh god, I almost forgot.”

  She pulls a pair of worn and scratched reading glasses from inside her purse. “These used to be my aunt’s, but she said you can use them until you get The Sight.”

  She tries to perch them on the bridge of my nose for me and nearly puts out one of my eyes in the process. And just like that, the veil between our two worlds lifts.

  I want to sit here and take it all in, but Wednesday is already whisking me and Kendall off towards a door at the far end of the corridor. I’m barely able to get another glimpse of those two statues—just long enough to be willing to bet money that they are now actually breathing—before she is already herding us inside.

  I have to stop and squint at the sudden darkness.

  We stand at one end of a long, oval shaped amphitheater. At the middle of the lowered pit is a small circle inscribed with runes. Though I can barely make them out from here, the three ancient artefacts meant to determine each mage’s affinity sit on stone pedestals in its center. I can feel something ancient and powerful emanating from them, even from here.

  I tear my eyes away from the ceremony and try to avoid looking at anyone as we edge our way through the crowd. We join a dwindling line of students along the far wall. It isn’t until I am fairly certain that I am where I’m supposed to be that I let my gaze wander back around the room.

  I catch a look from a man standing at a podium across from us. I recognize him immediately from my letter of acceptance. Allister Davenport, principal of the academy. The haunting blue of his eyes is unmistakable.

  I try to duck my head and pay attention to the next new mage stepping up to the circle of runes as quickly as possible, but not before I catch the eye of the young man beside him. No one would ever guess the two were related...except for the eyes. They are so bright they almost appear to glow from the inside. Where the effect is disturbing on the principal, it is strikingly attractive on who I am guessing is his son.

  They stare at me long enough to make me squirm uncomfortably where I stand. I forget for a moment where I am, and what I am supposed to be doing here. And then, as quickly as it began, I am suddenly jerked back to the ritual chamber a with sudden round of polite applause. I am standing exactly where I was before, but now I am the only one left waiting.

  Wednesday stands before the Earth artifact, a massive chiseled block of eternal Ice, all aglow with the blue light now pulsing from inside. That is no surprise. Most mages inherit their affinities from their parents. She glances over and tries to smile at me encouragingly before she pauses by the exit for a photograph, her part of the initiation ritual apparently already over with.

  Kendall too, along with the rest of the students, has already gone.

  How long was I engaged in that staring match? I shake my head and feel a fog slowly slipping from the edges of my mind. It’s like I lost the last couple of seconds, if it had only been seconds, entirely.

  As soon as my eyes fall back down to the three artifacts in front of me, all I can do is think about what Wednesday said outside. It’s going to be fine. I’m going to be an Earth Mage, or I’m going to be a Psychic Mage. My eyes flicker over to the golden Spindle atop the third pedestal. Thank god Ritual Mages are rare.

  I tell myself that for once it’s a good thing I’m not particularly special. I am just like everybody else. There is absolutely no reason to be worried.

  No reason for my blood to be pounding in my ears. No reason for my breath to feel like it is always just out of reach. No reason for darkness to creep in at the edges of my vision.

  I try to force a deep breath to steady myself. Right. There is no reason for any of that.

  I walk down to the center of the circle of runes, trying not to let my feet betray the anxiety I feel. I still can’t seem to breathe quite right, so I simply focus on not passing out.

  The three affinities of magic. Earth Magic. Psychic Magic. Ritual Magic.

  “Octavia Hadley.”

  The principal announces my name. I glance up at him briefly, but this time I avoid staring into those unearthly eyes of his. I don’t want to forget these moments by getting lost in them again.

  As is custom, I step up to the Earth artifact first. The eternally frozen block of Ice rests like a giant many-faceted diamond on a stone pedestal. Even from several feet away I can feel the cold radiating from it. The pedestal below is frosted over, patterning the stone with delicate frozen marks. I lean in closely, purse my lips, and let out a stream of hot air. A scent like new snow and wood-burning stoves washes over me.

  But unlike when Wednesday did it, the Ice does not glow.

  I straighten up and step to the side, swallowing the growing lump in my throat. The second artifact is the glass Orb of Psychic Magic. I kneel beside it so my face is level with it. A mist begins to gather inside. It clings to the edges of the glass with greedy tendrils. I can almost make out words and images swirling inside.

  I try to focus on them, try to pull them to the forefront of the glass with my mind. For a second I feel something tugging against the front part of my brain. And then, just as quickly, it is gone. I try to concentrate even harder, but the words don’t come back. The mist inside fades. Again, the artifact does not glow.

  There is a quiet cough from behind me. Where before the air was filled with the restless stirring of a crowd ready to leave, everyone is watching me intently now. I wish we had gotten here earlier, I wish I knew I wasn’t the only one this year who is about to align with Ritual Magic. Some years they don’t have any. Ritual Magic is not popular, and for good reason.

  Nothing good ever comes of a Ritual Mage.

  My step towards the Ritual artifact does nothing to conceal my apprehension. The golden Spindle glistens before me. I can’t back away now. Any magic is better than no magic, right?

  I press the tip of my finger to the Spindle. I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut, ready for the prick that will bring blood trickling down onto the artifact.

  But it doesn’t come.

  I open my eyes slowly just as the whispers start. I press my finger to the needle-like point of the Spindle again, this time harder. But nothing. I press again. And again, nothing.

  Someone says something to me from the doorway. I look up and see the teachers of the three magical affinities taking a step toward me. They say it again, but I cannot hear it above the rush of blood in my own head.

  I feel a panic rise in me. I look down at the Ritual artifact again, then take a step back towar
d the Orb. This time, when I look into it nothing happens at all. My hands begin to tremble.

  The whispers grow louder now. They are no longer just whispers.

  I stumble back over to the Ice. This time I touch it. I run my hands across the near blisteringly cold surface and I breathe what little air I have been able to force into my lungs out, out, out...and...nothing. No glow. No magical tingle telling me my affinity is revealed.

  “Octavia.” I look up. It is the principal, finally stepped down from his podium to prevent me creating any more of a scene. “Follow me.”

  He places a hand on my shoulder and steers me away from the artifacts. Together we walk past them, my pace quickening with every step as we approach the exit.

  Nothing. Nothing.

  The words echo in my head.

  I was so afraid of getting the wrong kind of magic that I never imagined I wouldn’t get any at all.

  Just as that thought truly begins to sink in, I feel the grip on my shoulder tighten.

  “Look!”

  The whispers behind me die down immediately.

  Blue light casts my own shadow on the wall in front of me. I turn slowly, not sure what to expect. Whatever it was, it wasn’t this.

  All three artifacts are aglow on their pedestals, and below—the circle of runes itself alights. Light plays along the lines of the words inscribed in it. As it does, searing pricks of pain sprout on my forearm. First one, then two on my right arm. Then two more on the left. Four brands. Three I recognize—Ice, Orb, and Spindle. There is no time to make out the fourth because I am drowned out by the noise of stone grating against stone.