An echo of magic, p.1
An Echo of Magic, page 1
An Echo of Magic
The Resonant Arcana
Book One
Nicole R. Taylor
An Echo of Magic
(The Resonant Arcana - Book One) by Nicole R. Taylor
Copyright © 2024 by Nicole R. Taylor
All rights reserved.
This book is written in British/AU English.
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.
www.nicolertaylorwrites.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Author Note
UP NEXT…
Other Books in the Series…
A Resonance of Power
VIP Newsletter
About Nicole
More by Nicole
Chapter 1
The books whispered to Vesper Ainsley every morning, but today their voices seemed different. Urgent. Almost afraid.
She paused in the doorway of the London Historical Library’s restricted section, breathing in the familiar perfume of aging leather and yellowed pages. At this early hour, dust motes danced in the weak sunlight that filtered through the high windows, catching on the brass fixtures and creating halos around the ancient books that lined the towering shelves.
Something felt off.
Vesper adjusted her cardigan and pushed the thought away. After three years working as the library’s youngest rare collections manager, she’d learned that books had their moods. Some days they were chatty, eager to share their secrets. Others, they brooded in silence. It wasn’t actually magic—just the natural settling of old buildings and the way sound carried through the stacks.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
The brass wheels of her cart squeaked as she guided it down the narrow aisle, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Her footsteps, usually a steady rhythm against the hardwood floor, seemed muffled today. Even the constant hum of London traffic beyond the library’s walls felt distant, as if the restricted section existed in its own pocket of silence.
As she entered the main library, Vesper allowed her fingers to trail along the spines of the books, their worn covers whispering stories beneath her touch. She moved with a natural grace, her lean figure navigating the towering shelves with ease. Each book held a piece of history, a fragment of a forgotten tale waiting to be rediscovered.
That’s why she loved it so much.
In the stillness of the library, she found a sense of belonging. The outside world, with its chaos and uncertainty, seemed to fade away amidst the timeless wisdom of the books. Here, she could forget the gaps in her own memory, the unanswered questions that haunted her dreams. Among the shelves, she was simply Vesper.
Not Vesper the orphan. Vesper the problem. Vesper the drain on society.
No, here she was just Vesper, the librarian.
As if that was her only problem.
Her hand trembled as she reached for a weathered volume on the top shelf. The weight of it felt heavier than usual, much like the burden she’d been carrying since that awful night three weeks ago. Her friend Selene’s face flashed in her mind—vibrant, full of life, with those twinkling green eyes and a smile that could light up even the dustiest corners of the library. Selene, her only friend in the whole of London…
Gone. Just like that.
Vesper set the book down on her cart with more force than intended, the thud echoing through the empty stacks. She closed her eyes, willing away the memory of the police officer’s solemn face at her door. His words still rang in her ears, clinical and detached.
“I’m sorry to inform you, Ms Ainsley, that Selene O’Connor was found deceased in her flat this morning. The circumstances indicate…”
Vesper’s jaw clenched. Suicide. That’s what they’d ruled it. But it didn’t make sense. Not Selene. Not the woman who’d mentored her, who’d shared her passion for ancient texts and obscure languages. Not the friend who’d been planning a trip to Ireland to research old Gaelic manuscripts.
She pushed the cart forward, its wheels squeaking in protest. Each book she shelved felt like another unanswered question. Why hadn’t she seen any signs? What could have driven Selene to such despair?
“You alright there, Vesper?”
She startled, nearly dropping the book in her hands. Mr. Hawthorne, the head librarian, peered at her from around a nearby shelf, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“Yes. Just…lost in thought.”
He nodded, understanding in his eyes, and he said no more, handing her a slip of paper. A request for a book that was housed in the restricted section of the Library.
“Could you fetch that for me when you have a chance?” he asked.
“Sure.” Vesper glanced at the paper, reading the title of the requested book. Visio Monachi de Eynsham. She knew this one. In English it was called, The Vision of the Monk of Eynsham. The library’s version was an illuminated copy of the original 12th century text produced in the 16th century, and a title that she’d only recently restored the binding on under Selene’s watchful gaze.
As Mr. Hawthorne shuffled away, Vesper felt a lump form in her throat. She’d been avoiding the subject, burying herself in work, refusing to believe Selene was gone. But the pain lingered, along with a nagging doubt she couldn’t shake.
Selene wouldn’t have ended her own life. She couldn’t have.
Vesper re-entered the restricted section, the wheels of her cart squeaking in protest as she navigated the narrow aisles. The dim light cast long shadows across the shelves, transforming the familiar space into something almost otherworldly. Rare books and fragile manuscripts were stored in the temperature controlled room, their secrets guarded by dust and time…and perhaps a translator versed in Old Welsh or Anglo-Saxon languages.
As she moved deeper into the stacks, Vesper felt the air grow thick with an energy she couldn’t quite name. It prickled along her skin, raising goosebumps despite the stuffy warmth. She paused, tilting her head as if listening for something just beyond hearing.
“Pull yourself together,” she muttered, shaking off the eerie sensation.
Vesper consulted the slip Mr. Hawthorne had given her, squinting to decipher his spidery handwriting in the low light. Her fingers trailed along the spines of nearby books. Each touch sent a tiny shock through her fingertips, as if the volumes were charged with static electricity.
She frowned, rubbing her hand against her cardigan. Strange. Perhaps the dry air was playing tricks on her. It did sometimes get a little charged with static if the temperature controls became a little wonky. She made a mental note to check on the way out.
As Vesper scanned for the copy of Visio Monachi de Eynsham, her fingers ghosting over ancient spines, she couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched. The shadows seemed to shift at the corners of her vision, retreating whenever she turned to look directly at them.
The silence of the library pressed in around her, broken only by the occasional creak of settling shelves and her own breathing, which seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness. She tried to focus on finding the book, but her senses remained on high alert, picking up on every subtle change in the surrounding air The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder more frequently than usual, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of whatever presence seemed to linger just beyond her sight.
“Ah, here you are,” she exclaimed, finally spotting the familiar spine of Visio Monachi de Eynsham on the shelf.
Her hand hovered before the spine and she hesitated as she realised something was wrong. The book wasn’t there.
Vesper blinked and looked again, swearing that she’d just seen it.
But in its place sat a slim volume bound in deep blue leather, its edges shimmering with an iridescent gleam that seemed to shift as she looked at it. Vesper blinked again, certain her eyes were playing tricks on her in the dim light.
“What are you doing there, huh?” A book out of place in her part of the library? Not on her watch. “You’re supposed to be Visio Monachi de Eynsham. A monk with a vision indeed! Let’s get you back to your rightful spot…”
Vesper reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the book’s spine. A jolt of energy surged through her, warm and electric, unlike anything she’d ever felt before. The sensation travelled up her arm, settling in her chest with a gentle hum.
Vesper’s breath caught in her throat. This was impossible. Books didn’t…vibrate. They didn’t pulse with unseen energy. And yet, as she carefully pulled the volume from the shelf, she could have sworn she heard a faint whisper, like the rustling of pages in a phantom breeze.
She looked up at the stacks, her gaze moving up and down the aisle. “Hello? Anyone else in here?”
No one answered, but the strange feeling of static crawling across her skin remained.
Shivering, she looked down at the book. The cover was unmarked, save for a single symbol etched in silver—a crescent moon cradling a star. It looked familiar, tugging at the edges of her memory, but she couldn’t place where she’d se
With trembling hands, Vesper opened the book. The pages were blank, pristine and untouched. But as she stared at them, faint lines began to appear, coalescing into intricate diagrams and flowing script in a language she’d never seen before. Yet, somehow, she understood fragments of it.
“Resonance… Praestigium… Solve et coagula…”
The words danced on the edge of comprehension, filling her mind with fleeting images of shadowy figures and glimmering portals. Vesper’s heart raced, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through her veins. This was madness. Books didn’t write themselves. It was ink reacting to the oxygen in the air. It had to be some sort of Medieval concealment technique. But Vesper didn’t know of any ink created in the Medieval age that reacted to particles in the air.
But even as she tried to rationalise it, she knew deep down that she was wrong.
A soft gasp escaped her lips as she recognised a name amid the swirling text.
“Selene?”
Vesper’s heart pounded as she stared at her friend’s name on the page. Her fingers traced the letters, half-expecting them to vanish like a mirage. But they remained, solid and real, defying comprehension.
“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m having a mental break. I’m…” Breaking apart with grief.
The book seemed to pulse in her hands, its energy seeping into her skin. Vesper felt lightheaded, her vision blurring at the edges. The library around her began to fade, replaced by fleeting images that flashed through her mind like fragments of a forgotten dream.
A Victorian mansion shrouded in mist. A marketplace bustling with impossible creatures—human, but not. Streets that twisted in ways that defied logic. And through it all, a sense of power, of magic, thrumming just beneath the surface of reality. Hidden beyond reach. Beyond the dark of night.
Vesper gasped, stumbling back against the shelves. The book nearly slipped from her grasp, but she clutched it tighter, unable to let go. Her grey eyes, wide with shock, took on an opalescent sheen in the dim light.
“What are you?” she breathed, staring at the book in her hands.
The world tilted on its axis, and Vesper’s vision blurred. The library faded away, replaced by a scene so vivid she could almost smell the acrid scent of burning candles.
Selene stood before her, alive and breathing. Vesper’s heart leapt, a mixture of joy and confusion washing over her. But something was wrong. This wasn’t the warm, laughing Selene she remembered. Her friend’s face was pale, drawn tight with determination and…fear? Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her usually vibrant red hair hung lank around her face.
The room around them flickered in the candlelight, revealing glimpses of strange symbols etched on the walls. Selene stood in the centre of an intricate pattern chalked on the wooden floor, her hands outstretched as she chanted in a language Vesper didn’t recognise.
Was it Latin, or a dialect of Gaelic? Old English? Gaulish or Brythonic? She didn’t know any other languages, but Selene knew several extinct dialects. Maybe it was one of those.
Dark energy crackled around Selene, tendrils of power whipping through the air like living smoke. The air felt heavy, charged with a dangerous electricity that made Vesper’s skin crawl. Whatever Selene was doing, it was powerful and terrifying.
Vesper tried to call out, to warn her friend, to ask what was happening. But no sound escaped her lips. She reached out, but her hands passed through her friend as if she was made of smoke.
She looked up in shock, her stomach rolling. There was nothing she could do. She was a silent observer, powerless to intervene.
Selene’s chanting grew louder, more frantic. The dark energy pulsed, growing stronger with each word. Vesper watched in horror as it began to coalesce around her friend, enveloping her in a cocoon of shadowy power.
Just as Vesper thought she couldn’t bear to watch any longer, Selene’s eyes snapped open. For a brief moment, their gazes locked. Recognition flashed in Selene’s eyes, followed by a mixture of sorrow and resolve.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the vision vanished.
Vesper staggered back, her breath torn from her lungs as the book erupted with dark energy. The force slammed into her chest, sending her stumbling into the shelves behind her.
The book hung suspended in the air for a heartbeat, pulsing with an otherworldly light. Vesper’s hair whipped around her face as a foul wind rushed down the aisle, disturbing the temperature controlled archive. The overhead lights flickered wildly, plunging the room into alternating darkness and harsh, sterile glare.
Just as suddenly, the book slammed shut, dropping to the floor with a resounding thud that echoed through the silent library. Vesper’s heart thundered in her chest, each beat painfully loud in the eerie quiet that followed.
She stood there, leaning against the shelves, stunned and shaking, struggling to process what had just happened. The scent of ozone and something darker, more primal, hung in the air. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself away from the shelves and glanced down.
The blue leather-bound book lay at her feet. It looked deceptively ordinary now, as if it hadn’t just unleashed a maelstrom of impossible power.
Vesper’s gaze fixed on it, fascination beginning to override her fear. Her fingers tingled, and she could have sworn she saw faint, silvery lines tracing patterns across her skin before fading away.
Vesper started as she heard footsteps approaching. The book lay innocently on the floor, as if it hadn’t just turned her world upside down.
“Everything alright in here?” a deep voice carried down the aisle. “Saw the lights flickering something fierce.”
Vesper snatched up the book, her hands trembling as she slid it onto her cart, concealing it beneath a stack of papers. She took a deep breath, willing her voice to remain steady.
“Oh, Marcus. You startled me,” she said, forcing a smile as the burly security guard came into view. His eyes swept the area, brow furrowed in concern.
“Just a bit of a draught, I think,” Vesper continued, gesturing vaguely. “Must’ve knocked something over. The thermostat in here has been acting up.” Her fingers drummed nervously on the cart’s handle. “I’ll make sure to tell Mr. Hawthorne on the way out. Wouldn’t want any of these old books getting damaged by temperature fluctuations.”
Marcus nodded, seemingly satisfied with her explanation. “Right you are, Miss Ainsley. Can’t be too careful.” He chuckled, patting the nearest shelf affectionately. “Well, if you’re sure everything’s alright, I’ll be headed out until tonight.”
“I’m okay,” Vesper assured him. “Thanks for checking, though. It’s good to know you’re keeping an eye out.”
A small smile broke through Marcus’ usual stoic expression. “Just doing my job.”
As Marcus’s footsteps faded away, Vesper let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging. She glanced down at her cart, where the mysterious book lay hidden. What was she going to do now?
Vesper’s hands trembled as she retrieved the book from beneath the papers on her cart. The leather-bound volume felt unnaturally warm against her skin, its weight far greater than its slim size suggested. She turned it over in her hands, searching for any clue to its origins, but found only the same silver crescent moon and star etched into its cover. It wasn’t catalogued, which meant it probably wasn’t in the library’s archive.
Then how did it get here?
I should leave it here, Vesper thought. She moved to return the book to its shelf, but her hands refused to cooperate. Something deep within her rebelled at the thought of parting with it.
With a final, furtive glance over her shoulder, Vesper slipped the book into her bag, which sat at the bottom of her cart, nestling it between her wallet and a battered paperback.
As soon as the zipper closed, a wave of relief washed over her, followed immediately by a pang of guilt. She was stealing from the library.
She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She’d take the book home, examine it properly, and then return it first thing in the morning. No harm done. It wasn’t stealing if she intended to return it. Right?
