Conjured Hearts

Tawnya Jenkins

Beware the call of the Blood Moon, it is a beautiful sight to behold, but with it comes an epic story that begs to be told.

Copyright 2017 Tawnya Jenkins

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: This story contains some adult language and is book one of a two book series.

TODAY IS THE day I break, I tried so hard to be normal; but now I realize my life will always be anything but normal. Please, please babe . . . can’t we—can’t we talk about this? Tears flooded down my cheeks.

Let go, Allison. It’s over. You made your choice. I can’t do this anymore, after all this time, everything we’ve been through, and for what, Allie? We never had a future, did we? Logan’s voice contains a sorrow that only penetrates my heart deeper. He unlatches my hand from his leg allowing me to collapse onto the floor. He doesn’t cast another look in my direction as the slamming door echoes through the silence; and just like that, my world crumbles.

My heart broke. Logan and I had been together for three years; things were great. We had finally gotten our own apartment together. He was the first guy I’d ever dated and the love of my life. Still, I knew . . . deep down I knew this day would come. I’m no good for him. I know that, I know he deserves better than me. But knowing that doesn’t stop it from hurting.

When he had gotten down on one knee, I knew I couldn’t say yes. I wanted to, God how I wanted to. I stared at that sparkling diamond like a little girl staring at a lollipop. My fingers itched to put it on. My heart begged me to scream yes and jump into his arms, but my mind knew better.

I hated that my mother was right; we can’t date mortals. Not only is it against our laws, but, well, it just never works out. He would age, gracefully I’m sure. Salt and pepper hair and a distinguished jawline, but me . . . I would age until I looked around thirty and then I would stop. I had hoped I would be different, that Logan and I would be the exception. I had turned him down so many times before finally agreeing to date him.

He was perfect. The way his hazel colored eyes changed colors with his mood. The way his perfect lips curved into a smile every time I walked into the room. His wavy chocolate-brown hair that was so soft I loved to run my fingers through it. As badly as I want to run after him, I know I can’t give him what he needs . . . what he deserves.

My mother chooses this exact moment to appear in front of me.

Oh Allison really, all these tears and theatrics for a simple mortal boy. Pick yourself up from that floor this instant. No member of the Pierce family will ever grovel, my mother, Victoria, says in her most prestige tone of voice. My family is like royalty in our community and Mother will never let me forget it. As I gather myself up, I take in her polished black high heels and red pencil skirt. She has on a perfectly pressed white button-up shirt and her signature string of pearls. Her jet-black hair shimmers as it sits perfectly on her head, her lips are taunting me with its blood color; reminding me of the upcoming blood moon. She looks like a pin-up girl from the 1950s. There, that’s much better darling, she says. Now I trust you will be attending this year’s solstice ceremony?

No, Mother, actually I will not. I cross my arms defiantly.

Come now, of course you will attend. I already assured your father that you would, and you know I simply hate being untrue, she replies while gazing at her red painted nails.

I don’t want anything to do with all of this . . . this magic stuff. I just want to be normal and live a normal life with a great guy.

Don’t be so obtuse, Allison, you are far from normal. You are destined to be a legend like the rest of your lineage. You’re of age now and it’s time for you to attend and find your mate.

I don’t want to find a mate! Don’t you get it? This is stupid . . . all of it, I don’t want anything to do with any of it. These are modern times; it’s not the same as it was back then. I don’t need a man to be happy, I shout.

You listen to me. The red polish glistens as her nail scrapes up my throat. "You will attend this solstice. You will be on your best behavior. And you will not embarrass this family with that kind of talk or outbursts of that nature. You will be nineteen years old soon, and once you start your transition you will need your mate. You will find one or I will arrange one for you. Do I make myself perfectly clear young lady?" she scolded.

Crystal, I seethed as she vanishes before my eyes. Ugh! I want to scream, to hurl something through the wall. Instead I sink back to the floor and cry until I have no more tears left. My father comes from a long line of Conjurers. His mother, my grandma, is one of the most respected leaders of all our clans, even though she moved out of the country; she still calls the shots. Our clan is very fortunate.

Every generation has managed to find their mate—that puzzle piece that perfectly connects them together. The one soul in existence that will awaken your inner power and help ground you. Not every clan is so lucky; a few of our clans have gone generations without mating. They mate with mortals and end up with half-blood children; children that will never be accepted by our people. They never fully gain their conjuring abilities and end up being exiled.

Being a Conjurer is sort of like a witch. Some of us have the ability to make things appear out of thin air or even make ourselves appear like my mother did. Each of us however, is unique. We won’t know what our particular ability is until we meet our mate and our full power comes forth. It takes a great deal of strength to transport yourself, or phase as we call it, a talent not many clan members have. Everyone in my family has this ability, well everyone except me.

Growing up as Conjurer was no fun for me, you would think it would be a dream to grow up in a house full of magic and other wondrous things—it wasn’t. For whatever reason my parents kept me very sheltered, I didn’t get to attend the play dates with the other Conjurer children or attend the big events, instead I stayed home with my grandmother, Ruth. You would have thought I had the plague or something, with how much they kept me away from others. I vaguely recall a time once, long ago, when I had an interaction with another child my age; it was however, short-lived, as my mother yanked me away the moment she noticed.

In grade school most kids thought I came from a military family, with how many times I switched schools, but that was not the case. I was never allowed to make friends, and the couple times I had managed to, someone got hurt. When I met Logan it all changed, he was different from everyone else. He didn’t look at me with such judgment or curiosity; he looked at me with kindness. I will admit, at first I thought he was just like the others, just fishing around to find out information about me; he quickly proved me wrong. He never asked me a million questions like the other kids; he was just always there for me.

He would walk me to class, carry my books, save me a seat at lunch. Before I met him I ate lunch outside alone, he was kind and patient and I will forever love him for that. I tried my best to avoid him, to not let him get too close, but I didn’t have the willpower to stay away any longer. I wasn’t allowed to attend prom, so when he asked me and I had to turn him down, he did the sweetest thing—he made our own prom. He snuck in to my parents’ backyard, decorated it with hundreds of white lights wrapped around every tree, he bought six-dozen red roses and had them individually laid out around the ground. He even made our own dance floor out of wood he purchased at the hardware store. Luckily my parents were out of town that weekend for a convention, or I’m sure he wouldn’t have made it home alive that night

I enrolled in college and moved out on my own the second I turned eighteen; Logan moved in a month later. It was hard at first, keeping my secret, especially the nights I would wake up floating above my bed. I finally managed to keep it under control and it was bliss for almost a year.

Often at times I’ve wondered what kind of life I could get by with if I just disappeared. Escaped to a place far away from here and tried to live out my days the mortal way. The thought never lasts long though, they would find me and then I would be punished like all deserters are—stripped of my powers by the Elders. I shudder at the thought.

A dress appears in the corner of my living room. The suddenness of it should have made me jump, but I’m numb to the ways of my mother, nothing surprises me anymore. The dress is gorgeous; no doubt she designed it herself. It’s champagne in color, strapless, and comes just below the knee.

The color will no doubt highlight my dark green eyes and contrast perfectly with my golden blonde hair. My mother may be a pain but she has impeccable fashion sense. Trailing my fingers down the body of it I can tell it’s made of a satin material, maybe even silk. I am the opposite of my mother, I stick to jeans and T-shirts; cotton and polyester are things I know.

My phone chimes, my mother. It will look even more stunning on you at the solstice under the glow of the blood moon. I roll my eyes, hating that she’s right. Grabbing the dress I carefully take it back to my bedroom and place it in the closet. Out of sight, out of mind. Standing there in the closet my eyes rest on a flannel sleeve peeking out between some of my winter shirts.

Bringing the sleeve to my nose I am instantly reminded it’s Logan’s. It still contains his scent. That sexy musky smell, that only hours ago, I was basking in. Pulling it from the hanger I wrap myself up in it and throw myself down onto my bed. The soft material comforts and upsets me at the same time. I miss his smile, the way his arms wrap securely around me, acting as a barrier to all the bad thoughts that tempted to invade my sleep. Tears began to stream down my face, but I refuse to sit here and dwell on the events of the day.

I decide to clean; cleaning helps me relax. Strange, I know, but there is something about a clean house that just sets my mind at ease. I start with the bedroom, dusting it from top to bottom and rearranging the closet so that the shirts are lined up by sleeve length. I then move on to the bathroom and work my way to the kitchen. It takes me nearly four hours, which believe it or not was fairly quick.

I plop down onto the couch and allow the smell of Pine-Sol and bleach to cleanse my mind. The smell is a little overpowering at first, it nearly burns my eyes so I decide to open the sliding door and get some fresh air. The air is cool and crisp, as it gently assaults my face and I soak it in. The sun is nearly set now and the stars begin softening the darkness. I have always loved the night, something about the calmness and quiet of it that makes my magic stir within me; it’s during the night I feel it most.

It’s hard to describe the way it hums gently beneath the surface of my skin, growing fiercer with each passing day as my birthday nears. At times it’s hard to ignore, if only there was a place I could go to just release it all—to rid my body of this torture. I return to my room and sit on my bed, staring at the plain beige carpet, running my toes through the fibers. It’s too quiet now, my mind is running in all directions; I can feel the emotional turmoil of the day finally soaking in and the thought of breaking down consumes me.

I pick up the music box from the dresser; the one that my grandmother gave to me the day of my fourteenth birthday before she left. She told me that the melody it played was special; something she conjured up just for me to keep the darkness at bay. I hadn’t understood its meaning at the time but now whenever I have a bad dream or something is weighing heavily on my mind I open it, and all the bad thoughts drift away with the notes. Lying down on the bed I allow the familiar tune to sing me to sleep.

THE RAYS OF the morning sun creep through my window, invading my peaceful sleep with its bright promise of a new day. Sitting up I run a hand through my