Quantum Sorcery Book 1: Ignited

Giving new meaning to the table being “hot” in Las Vegas. Aisling Carson sets more than just her hair on fire.

She knew she was in trouble when her hair caught fire.

Caesar’s Palace was a cacophony of flashing lights, ringing slot machines, and excited chatter that assaulted the senses of all who entered. Aisling Carson, everyone’s favorite dealer, felt like she was at the center of it all.

As she dealt the cards from the shoe to the eager gamblers before her, the sinewy muscles of her wrists flexed like a dancer’s, sending the cards gliding across the green felt like swans on a glassy lake. She could feel the odd power within her stirring—the power to tweak the outcomes for the players just enough to make a difference.

With a flick of her fingers and a glance from her emerald eyes, she could turn quietly desperate losers into winners and irritating or cruel players into losers. Management loved her too since nobody won big at her table. Sometimes, when they were faced with an obnoxious bettor who seemed unable to lose, they’d switch her onto the table. She brought sanity back to the game, along with profits.

Her gift made her popular, but it was also a curse she couldn’t control. This evening, a stranger reminded her of the limits of her understanding of her skill.

A tall man dressed in a sharp suit had joined her table, a confident smile playing on his lips. A silver-haired woman in a skin-tight emerald dress deferentially stood behind him. Tiny sapphire sequins studded the dress, interconnected by fine gold threads forming arcane patterns. The woman’s eyes locked on Aisling with unnerving intensity.

The man nodded at the dealer as if he were giving her permission to begin the next hand.

If this Pompous Player thought he controlled her or her cards, he had another thing coming.

Aisling continued to deal. She felt the power rise within her with each card she dealt Mr. Pompous and herself. Yet something was wrong. Her influence on the table always felt murky, but this time it felt less like mud than tar. It disturbed but did not distress her.

Mr. Pompous received a jack followed by a king and leaned toward her. Though he whispered, his voice carried. “Beat that if you can.”

The goad threw her power into overdrive. It came alive in a way she had experienced only a couple of times. She could feel static electricity running through her scalp and tingling in her hair.

Aisling had dealt herself an eight and a three. She forced herself to contain her excitement. Her chances of beating him were very good. She only needed a nudge for victory with a nine or higher.

She dealt herself a seven, too low to win, too high to try again.

The Pompous Player smirked. The sparkling woman relaxed.

Aisling frowned as she announced, “Player wins,” and shifted chips across the table.

* * *

The tension between Aisling and the Pompous Player continued to grow, the air crackling with her power. Her focus intensified. With each hand, the room seemed to get darker. The shadows lengthened and crept toward the table.

Mr. Pompous did not win every hand. He did, however, win often enough to accumulate a large stack of chips. His confidence never wavered, and his piercing gaze mocked her every time her eyes flicked to his face.

He thoughtfully stroked his goatee. “Time to end this.” He bet the table limit.

The first card Aisling dealt herself mocked her as well—a five. He received a queen and an eight. Eschewing the accepted strategy of standing on seventeen or higher, Mr. Pompous requested another card.

He received a three.

Aisling flipped her hole card: a six, the perfect setup. She focused her energy, frustration, and rage on the shoe and saw that the next card should be a jack.

Then static electricity set her hair afire.

* * *

Aisling’s red hair turned orange with blue at its core, dancing and crackling, casting an eerie glow on the table. Her eyes widened in panic. She reached for the glass of water next to one of the players and upended it on her head.

She shrieked in a mixture of pain and terror, and the sound reverberated throughout the casino. “Vodka!” The flames leaped higher.

The Pompous One put his hand out to his companion, who reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of water. He snapped the top and tossed it to Aisling. “You might want to try this instead.”

She dumped the water on the flames. It did the trick.

Aisling gently fingered her scalp, expecting agony and the stiff roughness of charred flesh. Only mild pain met her touch.

Shocked, another player at the table asked, “Are you okay?”

Aisling muttered, “Apparently.” Her skin felt like it was sunburned, not charcoal-grilled.

The Pompous Player chuckled. “How lucky you are.” He sneered. “Or are you?”

His companion shimmered in the dim light as she swayed against the Pompous One. He nodded. “You need answers only I can provide. When we meet again, you’ll want to join me.” He took his companion’s arm and sauntered away.

* * *

Aisling’s floor supervisor arrived with another dealer in tow. “Let’s get you out of here,” he murmured as he nudged her from the station so the new dealer could take over. As he led her away, she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder to see the next card.

It wasn’t the jack she had envisioned. It was, however, a queen. Close enough.

The supervisor led her around the corner. Looking at the top of her head, he asked, “Do you need an ambulance?”

Aisling touched her scalp again. She winced, but she did not faint from the pain. “I guess not.”

The supervisor’s eyes twinkled. “You’re done for the night.”

Aisling frowned. She could use the money, but she would admit that she was no longer at the top of her game. Now that she had a moment to listen to her body, she realized she was exhausted, mentally, physically…and mystically.

Besides, if she took a table now, her bald red scalp would scare off the customers. She sighed. “I think I need a couple days off.” She frowned. “To get a wig if nothing else.”

The supervisor nodded. “Good plan.” He hovered a moment, then went back to work.

She stepped out of the casino onto the Strip. As the neon lights cast their kaleidoscopic glow over her face, Aisling’s thoughts swirled with possibilities and questions. What did the Pompous Player know that she didn’t? What about the woman with him? If Aisling could not master her abilities, would she forever be at the mercy of those who could?

She refused to accept that.

Since her abrupt departure from matriculating in MIT’s math department, Aisling had conducted a low-key search for answers concerning the odd things that happened around her. She had found only one promising thread, a series of articles published on renegade-science-publishing site arXiv.org, where articles wound up when they offered such provocative theories that they could not survive a peer review.

She suspected the only reason even arXiv had published these papers was that the author had seemed destined to become one of the great lights of physics until a few years ago. He had since dropped out of sight, appearing only in these tantalizing glimpses.

Her next step? She needed to find the mysterious author.

Where in the world was physicist Virgil Maxwell?

If one bad hand caused her to loose control, Aisling might not know the extent of her powers. Find out who the mystery man is, and what physics has to do with her magic on January 24th when Ignited: Quantum Sorcery book 1 is released. Until then head over to Amazon and pre-order it today.