Involuntary Time Traveler: Keyona Morgan

By Natasha D. Lane

Tia is going to die. By my hands. I mean, how would you react if your little sister's school project had sent you stumbling back to the French Revolution? 

 

With no way to get home? 

 

Not a clue, a hint, a bread crumb, a damn carrier pigeon. Nothing.

 

Yeah, exactly. You'd kill her, too. 

 

And now I'm having to play noble with these powdered-wig-wearing snobs and pray no one suspects me of being a witch. It's not like 18th century France was a great time for those of us who are magically inclined. 

 

Great, just flipping great.

 

Oh, my name is Keyona, by the way. I've been in this witching game for years, but the shit storm my sister has gotten me into...I have no idea, which means she has no idea which means I'm totally screwed.

 

I'm going to kill her.

 

Anyway, like I said, I'm Keyona, and I'm an involuntary time traveler.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natasha D. Lane
• Release date: Sep 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201745974

Natasha D. Lane

Natasha D. Lane is a friend of most things caffeinated, a lover of books, and a writing warrior to her core. As a believer that "the pen is mightier than the sword," she graduated from Juniata College in 2015 with hopes to become a journalist. Instead, life took her on a different path and Natasha found herself digging up a manuscript from her childhood. This dusty stack of papers would become her first novel "The Pariah Child & the Ever-Giving Stone." With one book under her belt, Natasha has gone on to write several other fantasy and sci-fi pieces including "The Woman in the Tree: The True Story of Camelot" and "Plugged In."

Book preview

Chapter One

I hated history. Primarily because there was so much of it and I couldn’t keep it all straight in my head, especially with twenty minutes left in my upper-level American Magical History course and eighteen questions left to answer.

Staring at the clock, I chewed on the end of my pencil. A filthy habit, but it was my filthy habit, so I chewed. My professor, Mr. Gibson, stood at the front of the class, leaning against his desk. He was looking over the class when he caught my eyes.

Tilting his glasses down, he sent me a small smile. Mr. Gibson knew I hated history. He, on the other hand, had made an entire career out of it; he’d been my history teacher through most of high school. If I had known we were going to follow one another to grad school, I would have applied to a different university. Harriet T.U. was not the only school with a battle magic track.

He pointed down, then mouthed the word, Focus, before nodding toward me. Internally, I sighed. Externally, my stomach was in knots and I was sweating like I was sitting on my great-aunt’s plastic-covered couch. But I needed to pass this exam to have any hope for the rest of the semester.

Focus, Keyona, focus. We got this. Alright. Let’s reread the question.

After taking a deep breath, holding it until my stomach knots untangled, and exhaling, I felt calmer. I cracked my neck, then read the question again. It was asking about the first attempts at Native suppression and the erasure of their magical history in Maryland. Which branch of Christianity led this attempt?

A.Brethren

B.Catholics

C.Quakers

D.None of the Above

I drummed my fingers against the desk while my gaze began drifting away from my paper. Looking up, I noticed Mr. Gibson was rocking from side to side and tossing his hands in the air. I raised a brow, wondering whether he was convulsing or if he had finally lost his mind.

Shaking his head, he repeated the gesture and dropped to a squatted position. Several other students had noticed him and were staring with the same concern as me.

After a few minutes, Mr. Gibson cleared his throat, then shot back up. He tossed out an upside-down peace sign, folded his hands behind his back, and began walking around the classroom. I looked down at my paper, finally realizing what he was trying to get me to do.

I didn’t particularly like that he knew I still used his tip from high school, but he wasn’t wrong. Sighing, I reread the question, then tried to remember the raps I had memorized for this test.

The first branch of Christianity to suppress Native magic...

Quakers, naw, they were cool like the movers and the shakers

Brethren, they hadn’t even sailed in;

But the Catholics, here they go again, trying to...erase all the...melanin!

I circled B, then did a little shoulder shimmy. Mr. Gibson quirked a brow at me, and I smiled in return. I mean, a twenty-three-year-old young woman such as myself believed in celebrating all the victories, the small ones included.

Once I had properly congratulated myself, I went back to the exam. The next few questions were around the factual vs. fairytale-esque retelling of Pocahontas’ interactions with the Europeans.

Then there were questions about the enchantment placed on Harriet Tubman’s pistol and Auntie’s Opal. I rolled my eyes. These were easy. Like my sister Tia and, well, everyone, I had been learning about Auntie’s Opal since I was a child. When she arrived at the plantation, she broke the stone and released the ancestral magic, so the slaves could do magic again—BAM, biggest slave rebellion in the US! Before her, all the knowledge about magic was primarily kept to a select few, mostly religious groups who needed to fuel their prayers. Twenty plus years didn’t change the facts. I quickly answered the rest of the questions.

D.

D.

A.

B.

A.

C.

The bell rang. I tossed my pencil onto my desk and stretched out, pulling my arms behind me while everyone else ran out of class. Smiling to myself, I took my time filling up my backpack.

Mr. Gibson grabbed the exam from my desk, looking from the sheet of paper to me. He pushed his tiny circular glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Confident?

Very.

Did you remember the lyrics?

Perhaps.

Did you study?

I always study.

He stared at me.

Okay, fine, fine, I said, scoffing and crossing my arms. I don’t always study, but I did this time. My results will show it.

He replied with a, Hmmmmm.

I smiled, knowing he was trying to give me a tough time. After four plus years of me as a student, he was bound to have a soft spot for me. It was inevitable.

See ya next week, Mr. Gibson. I turned to leave.

Goodbye, Keyona. Have a good weekend.

You, too!

Once in the hall, I did another celebratory shoulder shimmy while walking to my Practical Defense Course. A few of my fellow seniors waved at me as we passed each other. The joke on campus was you could always spot a senior by the bags under their eyes. HTU was known for having pain-in-the-ass curriculums.

I wonder if Gilly knows any spells for getting rid of bags, I murmured to myself. More than an illusion spell.

Gilly didn’t focus solely on the skin, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. That’s what doctor friends were for.

I stepped out onto the back lawns and jogged to the large, domed gymnasium. By the time I reached the changing room, it was mostly empty and the mirrors were fogged from the last class.

I grabbed a clean towel, wiped down the closest mirror, and tossed open my locker. The ends of my locs were looking a little frayed. I made a mental note to ask my mom to buy some more argan oil and some keratin powder for my next deep condition.

Then I saw it.

The pimple. Smack dab in the middle of my forehead.

I narrowed my eyes at the puss-filled monstrosity. Usually, I never had to worry about acne or breakouts. Just like I never had to worry about lip lines or tanning. My clear skin was just good genes, plus a pretty good skincare routine.

But even I wasn’t immune to the occasional zit. I forced my hands by my sides, so I wouldn’t pop it.

Self-control, Keyona. Self-control.

Once the sports bra and mid-thigh shorts were on, I headed to the arena. Sunlight streamed in through the arched glass windows, and a few bored students filled the arena’s seats. In four months, the entire arena would be packed with eager students, teachers, recruiters, and parents watching the battle of the season.

The thought made me smile. I knew I was going to win. Something in me wouldn’t let me think otherwise. Because as shitty as I was at history, I was fucking great with magic. Sure, most people were magically-inclined, or Inherents if I wanted to use the outdated term. Those who weren’t—Withouts, as we sometimes called them in middle school—were in the extreme minority, but most people weren’t me. I was going to win.

Taking my place next to Jerome and Ana, I sent them both a quick wink just before Professor Hughes walked in. As usual, he was on his phone. There was talk he was being scouted for a training position at the professional level. Most of us, myself included, expected this semester to be his last.

Professor Hughes was a staple at HTU. If the rumors were true, he had unlocked his magic at age twenty-one, way past the kindergarten to middle school years when most people knew if they were magically-inclined or not. His parents had thought he was a Without. How wrong they were.

He scratched his beard, then looked us over.

Who was late?

Shit.

Everyone was silent.

He narrowed his eyes. I asked who was late?

Hughes moved his gaze down the line, eyeing each of us like he dared us to lie to him. I forced my eyes shut and pulled at my fingers behind my back. Students being tardy was a pet peeve of his, especially when it came to seniors. He expected us to act more professionally. And, well, I kind of had a habit of being late, so I was already in deep shit.

I chewed on my lip.

Hughes chuckled. Stroking his beard and flexing his shoulders, he moved toward us. The entire line leaned backward as his eyes glowed a deep brown. It was a sure sign he was about to cast.

I’ll ask again, he started. Who was—

Me, sir, I said, stepping forward and taking in a low breath.

Professor Hughes crossed his arms and inhaled sharply through his nose.

I wish I could say I was surprised, Keyona.

I was already doing a mental run-through of his usual punishments. Last week, I had to do fifty burpees before he’d let me step into the ring. But this time would be different. We were too close to the competition for any slacking, so he’d up the punishment.

Then it hit me. He was going to have me do a multi-tour.

I wasn’t going to feel my body for days. Great.

Jerome, step up.

I blinked. Had I heard him correctly?

My friend moved forward so he stood beside me to my left. He looked ahead but offered me a brief glance as I stared at him, confused. Ana cleared her throat, and I forced myself to focus. Maybe Jerome had done something too, though with him being a Mackley, that wasn’t likely.

You two are first in the ring, Hughes replied, gesturing toward the circle of padded dirt behind him.

Something wasn’t clicking.

Hughes must have seen my face, because he uncrossed his arms, turned to me, and said, No multi-tour. Get in the ring. Show me you want to be here. That’s the challenge. Got it?

I smirked. Yes, sir.

Turning to look at Jerome, I mouthed, Sorry. He just rolled his eyes, but I could see the shade of hazel glowing. Like Hughes, his eyes glowed when he used his magic. It was his give.

Jerome and I had been friends since middle school, and we had sparred on several occasions. What this really meant was I had kicked his ass on several occasions.

I decided I’d take it easy on him. Jerome was a friend and all, but I needed Hughes off my back, too. It was called balance. Just a light ass-kicking.

The entire class moved behind Hughes, with Jerome and I on either side of him. Once at the ring, we waited for our professor to give us the go ahead and then stepped inside. The padded dirt against the soles of my feet felt sacred.

Yeah, I’d had that thought before and yeah, I knew it was weird. But it’s what I felt. Each time I stepped into the ring, a buzz of energy came over me, and I couldn’t wait to release it all.

Hughes stared up into the seats of the arena. A few more students had stumbled in while we were talking, and several had moved to the lowest level for a better view.

And I knew their eyes were on me. I kind of had a reputation.

You know what I want, Hughes stated, placing his hands behind his back and gazing at the crowd. A good, clean fight. No long-term physical harm. No curses. Whoever gives or is pinned for longer than a ten-count is the loser. One round. Understand?

Yes, sir, we said in unison.

And no forbiddens. I think that goes without saying.

Yes, sir.

It wasn’t like I needed a forbidden to win anyway. Also, I really did not want to be expelled and arrested like the last senior who tried Hughes with a forbidden spell.

I shuddered at the thought.

Good. I’m acting as the ref. Anything goes too far, I’m stepping in. Disagree with me, you’ll find yourself on your ass. Got it?

Yes, sir.

Alright, take your positions.

Trying to contain my excitement was always a failure, so I didn’t. As I moved across the ring, I watched Jerome do the same, sending him a big grin. He stuck his tongue out in response, then proceeded to ignore the rest of the faces I made at him.

He had deep brown skin like mine, but he was taller, with a sharp jaw. More importantly, Jerome had definitely been working out since our last spar. Probably in preparation for the upcoming competition. It was a big deal and he was a Mackley. He had to get a top spot.

I took a deep breath. I was still going to try to whip his ass.

Begin!

I moved first. Focusing the magic into my left leg, I kicked into the air and the magic blasted toward Jerome. After immediately following it up with another kick, I ran toward him. He easily sidestepped the blasts of energy, and sent two quick jabs my way.

Jerome’s magic was a sparkly green barreling toward me at lightning speed. I didn’t have time for any fancy maneuvers, so I simply dropped to the ground and covered my head.

Once I couldn’t feel the stinging heat from his attack, I jumped to my feet and brought my hands up. I verbally recited the incantation, then added in the hand gestures to strengthen the spell. At the last word, I raised my right hand and snapped my finger. A string of lightning shot out, cracking across the field, then merging together toward Jerome.

He cast a shield, blocking my lightning. I poured more magic into the attack, stretched the lightning across the barrier. I felt the break before he did.

As Jerome stumbled away, his shield crumbled and I raised my attack to hit just above his shoulder. I rushed ahead, spell at the ready. Throwing both my hands out, I dispersed my energy across the field. Large boars made from earth rose from the arena, grunting, snorting, and nearly slamming into one another as they rushed Jerome. The shimmery red of my magic coated them like a fog.

Using my magic to propel me upward, I jumped on one’s back and prepared for the next spell. But Jerome had already beat me to it. He stood on the back of one of the boars as the sky above us clouded over. Thunder echoed through the arena, and lightning streaked across the gray clouds. Finally, rain poured down on us and my boars turned into sludge.

Jerome was playing to win.

So was I.

As my ride turned into a pile of mud, I tucked and rolled onto my toes. My fingers dug into the cold, wet earth, and I recited my next spell. It was time to be a little risky.

Muddy hands pulled themselves from the ground and snaked around Jerome, dragging him beneath the field. I wouldn’t pull him all the way under. It wasn’t like I wanted to kill him. I’d pull him down to his chest, so he’d be trapped and incapable of casting.

The fact he didn’t immediately counter-cast proved my theory. Storm calling was impressive and all, especially in a controlled area. The problem was that sort of casting took a ton of energy for amateurs like us. And now his fuel was running low.

Shouts and cheers rose around me. Under normal circumstances, I might have done a victory wave, except the battle wasn’t over and the spell was taking a long-ass time. Jerome was struggling against my hold on him, and long-distance casting was its own sort of exertion. I only needed to get him down to his chest, then Hughes would call it and I’d be getting shots on the Mackley family card at the next bar crawl.

Tequila heaven.

Jerome had folded his arms and was up to his elbows when he stopped struggling. He looked straight at me and wiggled his brows.

My connection broke, and the jolt of energy sent me slamming back across the field with a gasp. I knew I had been taking a risk with a spell that distanced; I was stretching my magic a little too thin where I held him. Still, I had thought Jerome was too depleted to sever my connection.

The pain in my shoulder told me I was wrong.

Sparkling green arches sped toward me. Staggering to my knees, I tried casting a barrier. It crumbled at the first impact, and Jerome’s magic sliced through, knocking me backward. Gritting my teeth from the pain, I held in a string of swears.

Hughes didn’t like it when we swore. Well, at least when we swore too much. Not that the same rules applied to him.

Jerome wasn’t going to stop. I didn’t blame him; I would’ve done the same if I had the advantage.

When the next attack came, I was already rolling out of the way, prepared for the blow. It was only a distraction for him to close the distance between us. Freshman year strategy.

Before the blow could land, I watched his lips; he was reciting a confusion spell. It would have been great to actually hear him speaking to decide on the best counter spell, but I’d work with what I had.

He swung at me. I sidestepped and grabbed his right forearm with my left. Balling my free hand into a fist, I recited the counter and swung. Red swirls wrapped around my fist as my knuckles slammed against his cheek.

Jerome stumbled back some, and I moved forward, slamming out an elbow and casting a paralysis spell. He had already spoken the counter when my elbow landed. Pulling me close, Jerome kicked my legs out from under me. My head slammed against the ground, and dirt rose up around me. Coughing, I blinked away the tears in time to see a green sparkling fist coming at me.

Enough!

I had raised my forearms to take the hit, but now I looked past them at Jerome. His fist was still raised and he was glancing between me and Hughes.

A hand clasped my shoulders and pulled me to my feet. My knees buckled.

Time to call it quits, Keyona, Hughes said, lifting me up. "It’s only