Spark of sorcery, p.1
Spark of Sorcery, page 1
Spark of Sorcery
The Firestone Academy
Book 2
Hannah Haze
Copyright © 2025 by Hannah Haze
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Front cover designed by Covers by Christian
Edited by Buckley's Books
Formatted with Vellum
Contents
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Also by Hannah Haze
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Foreword
This book is a 'why choose' paranormal romance with one female main character and more than one potential love interest. This story is based in a dystopian world where the powerful prey on the weak and where much inequality and unfairness exists. There is physical and verbal bullying of the female main character in this story (although not by the love interests) as well as steamy scenes. For more detailed content warnings, please visit my website.
If you spot any typos in this book, please drop me a line so I can make it right: hannahhazewrites@gmail.com (Or just drop me an email anyway. I love to chat!).
Prologue
Briony
Fresh earth hits the top of the plain wooden coffin, dissolving into the sheets of rain and forming a thick sludge that sticks to the surface.
To one side of me stands my father, silent, swaying slightly in his old winter coat. Beyond him is the priest. He’s wrapped up warm but his face is just as hard and worn as my father’s, and though he says the words he’s meant to, they’re said with no feeling and compassion.
What’s another girl dead after all? One from Slate? One without a mother? One less mouth to feed, one less soul to worry over. It’s not like anyone expected her to go off to the academy and return to anywhere but this wasteland of a Quarter.
No one believed that. No one but her and me.
I stare down at the rapidly disappearing coffin and try to imagine her laid out down there, in the cold, in the mud, all alone.
How could this have happened? It seems so unfair – so damned unfair – to lose a mother first and then a sister – a sister who had been more of a parent to me than my own father.
I have the urge to leap down into that hole with her, to scrape back the thick, sticky muck with my hands, and pry open the lid.
She’d blink up at me and grin, her nose crinkling.
“Only joking, Briony!”
I’d grab her by the hand, tug her right out of that ugly box and run with her, run with her far far away.
Like I should have done when she was alive.
But she isn’t. She’s gone. Taken from me. And when I can’t take it any longer, when the sight of my precious sister swamped by all that mud has acid sloshing in my stomach, burning in my throat, I turn and run away alone.
No Amelia by my side – even if I think I hear her voice in the wind rushing through the towering branches of the yew trees overhead.
That’s how it will be from now on. Just me.
Apart from the wind, no one calls after me. Nobody tells me to stop. I wonder if they even notice me gone.
I run away from the old stone church and its circle of graves, down the hill, away from the town and out to the woods, plunging into the darkness of the undergrowth, running and running, not caring at the way the branches scratch at my face or scrape against my legs, ripping the only pair of stockings I own.
I just keep running. There’s no point in stopping. There is nothing to stop for, and I don’t want to go back there. Without Amelia, there is no home.
Soon I know I’m lost deep in the forest, the sky gray with the incoming night, the wildlife out here stirring awake – a screech, a howl, a far off bark.
I stop.
Do I want to die? Is that why I came all this way? To fall down a ravine and break my neck or meet one of the old grizzlies and have my innards mauled?
“Do you want to join me, Briony?” she calls far above me as she rushes through the trees.
My face is wet with tears; they roll down my cheeks, run off my chin and drip onto my coat, lost among all the raindrops.
I shake my head.
I’m not ready to go yet, I call back, not until…
Not until I’ve made them pay for what they did to her. For taking her from me. She gave me everything. This is the least I can do for her.
It’s as I say these words to myself – or do I whisper them out loud? – that I first feel it. A force outside my body, pulling me along, as if I am a piece of old metal and it is a magnet.
At first, I pull back against it, peering down at my feet and wondering if I am losing my mind.
But then I think, what the heck? I’ve lost everything now. My sister to the academy, my father to the bottom of a liquor bottle. Neither is coming back.
I let the force pull me. At first, it’s weak, my feet moving slowly, but then the force grows stronger and stronger, pulling me along more quickly until I’m running through the forest again, this time leaping over scrubs, and ducking under branches.
I’m even more lost. This isn’t a part of the forest I know, one I’ve ever seen. It’s wetter here and greener, vines spinning up the trees and moss covering the stones and sticks on the forest floor. The dying light glows an emerald-green and when I lift my hand to my face, even my skin is tinged with it. The air is heavy, too, with moisture, the chill less permeating in this carpet of lush greenery and sweat trickles down my spine.
Then I see it – a small pond beneath the trees. The light has almost gone now and the waters are black like tar. It’s impossible to see how deep it sits, but across its surface rest bright white lily pads – the kind of which I’ve not seen before.
The force beckons me onward.
“Uh uh,” I say out loud. “I’m not wading into that.”
My imagination is running wild. Perhaps I have gone mad? Chasing feelings through the forest with dusk falling. But I’m not mad enough to plunge into unknown waters. I’d freeze to death. Or perhaps I’d be pulled down to my grave, drowned without anyone ever knowing.
No, thank you.
The force doesn’t take no for an answer, it continues to pull. I dig my heels into the mud and cling to an overhead branch to stop myself from being dragged forward.
But then, just as quickly as it started, it stops. I stumble backward into the undergrowth. When I pick myself up, the pond glows a deep orange in front of me. It lasts but for a fraction of a second before it plunges into darkness again. However, it’s long enough for me to have seen what lies on its bottom.
A small black stone, the size of a large goose egg.
I don’t know how, but I know it is that egg that has pulled me here.
But why? What does it want me to do?
Rolling up my sleeves, I kneel down by the side of the pond, the wet and the mud penetrating through my stockings, and lean over the water. The depths are too dark for me to make the egg out now, but I guess where it was and plunge my arms down into the water. It’s icy and I gasp, the cold permeating right the way up into my chest.
I swim my hands through the water, searching for the egg beneath the surface. Finally, when I think I can no longer bear the cold water any longer, the back of my left fingers hit something hard and solid. I feel at it with my fingers and my palms.
The egg.
Gripping it carefully, I pull at it. The mud has sucked it tight, but with more effort, I yank it free and it comes bobbing up towards the surface, floating right in front of me. It is blacker than the water, so black it has no marking or coloring at all.
I cradle it careful
It’s beautiful. A giant precious jewel.
I could take it to old Jeb in the market. They say he’ll buy just about anything hidden under the table. I’m sure this would fetch a fair few pennies – perhaps enough to feed us for weeks, even months.
But even as I think it, the stone warm and smooth between my palms, I know I won’t.
The stone asked me to find it and I will keep it safe.
Chapter One
Beaufort
“You’re handling this all wrong,” Thorne growls at my retreating back.
I pause and spin around. He stands at the bottom of Briony’s tower, straight-backed, chin raised, like a soldier lining up for inspection.
Dray hovers in the space between us, eyes flicking from me to Thorne and back again.
“What am I handling incorrectly, Brother?” I snap.
“The girl,” he says.
I almost laugh out loud. Is he serious? He’s hardly spoken two words to her. Has refused to spend any time with her. And now he’s going to lecture me on ‘handling’ her correctly?
“Oh yeah,” I say. “And how exactly should I be ‘handling’ her?”
“You should have insisted on healing her injuries,” Dray says, shifting from one foot to the other and peering up towards the top of the old rickety tower.
“I was asking Thorne,” I growl.
Thorne’s dark gaze meets mine, unrelenting and unperturbed.
I run my hand through my hair in frustration.
“You saw what she’s like,” I say. “Unreasonable, temperamental, damn bratty. She’s a fucking nightmare.” A fucking delicious nightmare I never want to wake up from.
“You should have told her the truth from the start.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. She doesn’t trust us. She doesn’t trust shadow weavers at all. She would have thought I was lying.”
Thorne doesn’t respond, just keeps on staring at me.
I won’t admit he’s right. The truth is, I don’t know if she would have believed me or not. If I’d been truthful from the start, would everything have run a lot more smoothly? With Briony Damn Storm who knows.
“Are you coming?” I say to them both. “We need to find out what the hell happened to her and why.”
“What do you mean?” Dray says, scratching at his cheek.
“She was in that maze for far too long and you saw the way she looked. They’re meant to fish them out when they’re struggling. It’s a fucking rule – no one gets hurt in the first official trial. It’s like a warm up – a baby beginner’s one. It definitely felt simple.” I kick at a loose stone with my foot, sending it hurtling across the pathway. “Something happened. And I want to know who is responsible.”
Dray scratches his cheek some more, thinking this over. Then he grins. “Sounds like fun. I’m in.”
We both look to our bond brother. “You coming?” I ask him stiffly. That remark about the girl has stung me more deeply than he realizes.
He shakes his head. “I’m going to stay here, ensure she’s safe.”
Anguish flickers across Dray’s face as he swings his gaze between us again, torn between his instincts to stay and protect the girl and go rip out the throat of whoever hurt her.
“Thorne has it covered,” I say. “Let’s go ask some questions.”
I march away and soon Dray is bouncing along beside me.
“Who are you thinking? Where do you want to start? Can we go tear Kratos’ nuts off?”
“Too many questions.” I wince. I’m trying to think this through in my head. The only ones who could have tampered with the trial – if that is what happened – are the teachers themselves. Possibly one or two of the officials from the Empress’s court. Both of those seem unlikely. Why would they be concerned with manipulating the trial of some girl from Slate Quarter?
Unless someone knows she means more to us than just a thrall and is using her as a way to punch through to us.
We have enemies. Inside the court. Inside Onyx Quarter. Inside the realm. Plenty of enemies. There are the other shifter packs, for starters. Dray has had run-ins with most of them. There are the other powerful shadow weaver families jostling for dominion, who may be taking the chance to swipe at a band of formidable brothers. And then there are the Hardies.
The Hardies are petty and stupid enough to do this, but that’s the problem – they are too stupid. They wouldn’t know how to begin to manipulate the trial.
The shifters like their revenge to be served hot and bluntly. If they wanted to strike at us, they’d come charging full pelt. They wouldn’t choose this devious route.
Which leaves one of the powerful families. While they might not be able to manipulate the trials directly, they may have connections and they certainly have money and influence. Bribery may even have been involved.
“Let’s go see the Titan twins,” I say. “They help set up the trials, don’t they? Maybe they know something.”
The head and deputy-head have rooms in the same building as the Great Hall. The rest of the teachers are consigned to a tower at the back of the academy where I suppose they can’t be disturbed by students. There’s a gated courtyard out front with a large sign instructing students to stay away.
Dray tuts at the sign and leaps straight over the metal fence. I open the gate and walk straight through.
We walk up the little path and find a sign listing the various rooms and their occupants. The Titan twins share a room that takes up the entirety of the first floor.
The front door to the tower is unlocked and we pass straight through, heading for the Titan twins’ door.
“Sounds like they’re having some kind of party in there,” I say.
Dray cocks his head to one side. “It sounds more like a fucking orgy than a party.”
“Who the hell would want to sleep with those two?” I shake my head and knock my fist on the door.
Nothing happens. The rhythmic thudding and the revolting grunts and groans from the other side of the door continue. I bang again, this time harder and louder.
The noise stops. There is some whispering. What sounds like a female voice giggles.
Then one of the twins calls out. “Go away. We’re busy.”
“We’ll give you thirty seconds. Should be long enough to finish what you were, erm, doing,” Dray says, with a wicked grin.
“Who the hell is that?” one of the twins asks angrily.
“Beaufort Lincoln and Dray Eros,” I say. “We want to talk now.”
There’s some muttering from inside and then one of the twins opens the door, a towel that was once white wrapped tightly around his waist and not leaving a lot to the imagination. His body is covered in sweat and his face purple.
I have to force myself not to gag. Seriously, how are these dudes getting laid?
“What is it?” he says, obviously annoyed but trying his best to suppress it. Any other students, he’d probably be ripping them a new asshole, but he knows to keep on our good side.
“The trial today,” I say, “anything unusual happen?”
“Can this not wait until tomorrow?” he grunts as his twin joins him. He’s wrapped in a black silk dressing gown that gives off mega sleaze vibes.
