Thursday, December 19, 2019

Fatal Magic Blog Tour

Check out my stop on the Fatal Magic (Unstable Magic #2) by Emily Bybee blog tour! 

Fatal Magic (Unstable Magic #2)
by Emily Bybee
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Release Date: December 2019
Wild Rose Press


Someone wants Sydney dead. Only problem is, she has no idea who. Pushing her off a cliff, thinking the deadly ocean waves will finish their dirty-work, was their first mistake. The near-death experience opens channels of uncontrollable magic, which Sydney is told should have remained dormant. As if finding out magic is real and hit-lists aren't enough, Sydney discovers her family lied to her. They were witches too. But they're all dead. And she's left to fend off the psychos after her blood with only Luke, her childhood crush turned steamy college student, on her side. Turns out being a witch isn't as awesome as you'd think, especially when your magic has fatal consequences.

Purchase Links: 
Book One: 
Fractured Magic (Unstable Magic #1)
Release Date: October 31st 2018


As the world’s worst witch, Maddie is mistreated by her own kind. She was born a Defect. Most of her spells blow up in her face, literally. While witches search for the long-lost power of the earth, Maddie spends her time in the science lab. There, she discovers a clue to the lost power. The only other witness is Jax, a smokin’ hot college bad-boy, who Maddie can’t decide if she wants to kiss or kill.

When she fails her magic final, the council orders her magic stripped. Maddie’s only chance to keep her brain intact is to find the power with the hope that it can fix her. Jax is her one true ally on the journey. The two of them must use their smarts to stay ahead of the witches while they follow a two-hundred-year-old trail to the power of the earth and the truth behind Maddie’s defect.

Fatal Magic Excerpt
I turned to face the water and slipped my cell phone from the pocket of my silk skirt. The contact for Rowan was top on the list. I tapped the screen and put the phone to my ear. Her voicemail picked up.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m going to book a flight for tomorrow to come home, there’s nothing left for me here. See you soon.” I hung up. Calling my boarding school in New York home felt oddly right. Over the last six years, I’d only left school for a two-week vacation each summer, sometimes with Pete, sometimes on my own.
A powerful blow between my shoulder blades knocked me off balance. The cell phone flew from my hand. I teetered on the edge of the cliff, fighting to stay alive. Every muscle tightened, and my arms spun through the air. My heart seized, a quivering mass inside my chest. I battled with gravity to keep from going over the cliff’s edge. Gravity won.
I fell head-first into open air. “No,” the strangled cry flew from my lips. I flailed, as if somehow, I could learn to fly or stop gravity, if I just tried hard enough. I couldn’t die this way.
I hurtled toward the rough water. My attention focused on the rocks rushing toward me. Too fast.
Instinct, and years on the dive team, took over. With the forward momentum from the push, I twisted and got my feet under me.
I might as well have landed on cement. Sparks flew through my vision. Air burst from my lungs. The water swallowed me, but for one split second I swore I saw the outline of a figure leaning over the cliff.
A vice griped my lower limbs. With a tendon-snapping jerk, the undertow yanked me down before I could break the surface for a breath of air. My fingers clawed at the water. Life-saving oxygen drew further away from me. With what was left in my lungs, I couldn’t hold my breath for long.
My laboring heart slammed against my ribcage. I battled to stay calm but tendrils of panic gripped me. My oxygen ran out, and my brain struggled to rectify going from safely standing on the cliff to drowning in a few seconds.
Jagged rock scraped my back. The last of my life-sustaining air exploded from my mouth, and I sucked in water. The salt burned my airways and flooded my lungs. I would die in this churning hell.
Instead of my life flashing before my eyes, all the things I’d never experienced ran through my mind. It was a long list. Too long. I couldn’t control my limbs. All I could do was drift. Darkness claimed my mind and I slipped into unconsciousness.
As I let go, my heart stilled, and a searing pain ripped through my head. Burning acid raced through my brain.
The pain forced the blackness of death out, even as the undertow spit me out. I twisted and gave a feeble kick, extending my clumsy arms upward. I struggled through the water, my brain on fire.
At last, I broke the surface. I sputtered and gulped in the sweetest breath of air of my entire life, gobbling down oxygen in between bouts of coughing. My neurons sputtered and fired, struggling to connect. I should be dead. Relief spread with each breath, and I twisted in the water to get my bearings. My exhausted limbs wouldn’t keep my head above water for long.
The vortex had flung me out hundreds of feet from the cliff. With the current along the coast, each wave moved me away from land, and safety. No way did I survive the damn cliff only to be dragged out to sea and drowned. I kicked and hacked at the water with protesting muscles.
In my mind, my swim coach shouted for me to finish the race. My strokes faltered, but I fought on, battling the current. Finally, the waves tumbled me onto the shore where I collapsed face first at the edge of the water and sank into darkness.
 Pebbles dug into my cheek and invaded my consciousness. A mineral taste filled my mouth, and my stomach rolled, did you mean rolled none too happy about the amount of water I’d swallowed.
I shivered as if my blood was transfused with liquid nitrogen. I needed to get moving. Pain permeated my entire body, not just my head. My frazzled mind could barely comprehend what happened.
Someone pushed me off the cliff. Half-formed questions tumbled through my thoughts. I didn’t know the why but I damn sure would find out the who. My jaw firmed. I squinted up at the empty cliff. Goose bumps ran up my arms that had nothing to do with the cold.
The wood of the stairs leading up from the beach bit into my hands and knees. At a sound from above, I jerked up. A figure stood at the top of the steps, silhouetted in the afternoon light. My heart jumped into my nasal cavity and accelerated into a manic rhythm.
“Sydney?” Called the frantic voice of my family’s housekeeper, and Luke’s mom, Mrs. Kimball.
“Yes,” I croaked in a weak rasp. My heart sank down to its natural position in my chest, resuming a semi-normal pattern.
She pounded down the stairs. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. What happened?”
“The cliff,” was all I got out before my chattering teeth stopped me.
She helped me stand, and we struggled up a few steps. More footsteps rattled the stairs. The wood squeaked with the formidable weight of Mr. Smits. He rushed toward me, focused as a bloodhound on a scent trail. Without a word he lifted me into his meaty arms and carried me toward the house.
Pain stabbed my torso as if a jagged blade tore through my ribs. I gasped and clutched my side.
“We mustn’t let anyone see her in this state,” Mrs. Kimball whispered to Smits. 
I looked down at the dress I’d worn to the funeral and tugged at a ragged tear that split the black silk up to my hip then shoved my hair out of my face. Gritty sand covered every inch of my skin and hair. Personally, I didn’t care if a houseful of people saw me. I had more important things on my mind¾finding out who pushed me.
 Smits carried me into a side entrance, away from guests, and up the back staircase. The only people we encountered were a few security men and maids. The shocked expression that crossed each of their faces told me I looked about as good as I felt.
We paused in the doorway to my room then Smits set me down on the edge of the bed. I clutched my side against the pain and glanced around. It was like a time-warp, nothing had changed in six years. Still a twelve-year-old’s room. Although, now there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere and someone had unpacked my bags.
Mrs. Kimball spoke in a low voice to Smits.
“I’ll talk to my guys.” He hurried from the room.
Mrs. Kimball turned to me. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” She fussed, brushing sand off my face. “I never thought you’d jump.”
“Jump? No, someone pushed me,” I croaked, then coughed, my throat raw.
Her hand paused. “Who would do such a thing, dear?”
I thought about the empty path behind me on the cliff and the flash of a silhouette from the water. “I’m not really sure. I didn’t see anyone.”
“Don’t worry now. You’re not alone. We’ll get you the help you need.” She patted my shoulder, her tone telling me that help would include a psych visit and antidepressants.
Having your closest relatives die made adults think you were suddenly suicidal, as I’d found out when my parents died. My mouth opened but I couldn’t find the motivation, or the words, to argue.
“We’ll get you out of these clothes. Then I’ll get Dr. Perry.”
I nodded, sending bolts of lightning through my brain, and cradled my head.
She helped me to my feet. I limped to the bathroom, pain shooting through my torso with each step. Anguish still coursed through my head to the point of dizziness. I sank into the tub. Fresh chills swept over me in response to the warm water.
“Will you be okay for a minute while I get the Doctor?”
“I’m not going to jump off a cliff, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I couldn’t help the edge in my voice. I hated when people treated me like I’d break.
 Her mouth formed a firm line at my snark. With one last glance over her shoulder, she left. After she was gone, I realized she’d taken my razor. I didn’t have the energy to do more than roll my eyes.
I thought back to the cliff. There were three possibilities—I’d jumped, I’d tripped, or someone pushed me. I ran through the events in my mind. No way I’d tripped.

About the Author
Emily grew up loving to read and escape into stories. She began writing her own at the age of twelve. In college she focused on science and graduated with a degree in Environmental Biology. After college she began writing again but quickly realized she had failed to take a single writing or grammar class. Luckily, she’s a quick learner. Emily now lives in Colorado with her wonderful husband, three amazing children, and way too many animals. She still enjoys making up stories and can’t seem to leave out the paranormal elements because they are just too much fun.

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