USED SPELLS FOR SALE By Taylen Carver

Contemporary Fantasy Novelette

Pre-Order now! Releasing January 16th, 2025.

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When spells go wrong and blame runs deep, Ryann Toliver must outsmart a vengeful family to save her life—and her dream of freedom.

Ryann Toliver has spent the last twenty years collecting and selling used spells, while dreaming of returning to the United States, away from the choking grip of Naples’ preeminent family, the Ricchetti family.

When the head of the Ricchetti family’s daughter is murdered by a wrongly combined spell, everyone looks to Ryann, including the Family itself, as she is the only known used spell merchant in the city.  Ryann must figure out what really happened before the Ricchettis decide to settle matters their own way….

This novelette is part of Taylen Carver’s standalone fiction:

Touched by Faelight
Used Spells for Sale
Veilbound

Also (only from Stories Rule Press):
Taylen Carver’s Super-Bundle
Contemporary fantasy, fantasy.

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Excerpt

EXCERPT FROM USED SPELLS FOR SALE
COPYRIGHT © TAYLEN CARVER 2025
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Flavio Gioia Docks, Port of Napoli, Naples, Italy. Friday, 1:43 a.m.

“Watcha looking at, anyway?” Orazio demanded, in his thick Tuscan accent. He was a short man, with a jutting brow so deep that it folded in a crease over the bridge of his nose, giving him a permanent scowl. He managed to look freaked out, anyway. Five minutes ago, he’d jumped when a seagull landed a foot away from him and pecked at an invisible morsel. But then, he was new.

I paused my swiping to study one of the images on my phone. White apartment walls, black rococo fireplace, gleaming wood floors, and a view of Central Park through the tall windows. “I think I just found the perfect apartment.”

Fredo, who wasn’t new, snorted. He sat on the other pile of pallets, smoking. “You always find perfect apartments in New York, but you never leave Naples.”

“This one has a rococo fireplace.”

“Who needs a fireplace?” Fredo replied. Despite the hour, we all wore short sleeved shirts. Even the breeze off the bay was warm, rich with the scent of rotting fish, seaweed and salt.

“You need a fire in New York, trust me.” I recalled sitting beside one when I was a child, watching the flames dance. The sound of soft voices in other rooms. The smell of turkey roasting.

The ground gave a heave and rattled my teeth. The pallets beneath me chattered against each other with unmusical wooden notes.

“What in God’s name is that?” Orazio cried. He had one hand spread for balance and the other under his shirt, where his gun would be hanging from his belt.

“What was what?” Then I got it. “Oh, you mean the earthquake?”

“Mother Mary! That was big!” Orazio declared and crossed himself.

Fredo and I both laughed.

“That was nothing, my friend.” Fredo waved dismissively. He pointed to Vesuvius. The mountain dominated the bay. “One day she will blow her top again and then you will have nothing more to worry about.”

Orazio looked unnerved.

“Actually, it’s the Campi Flegrei we really have to worry about,” I told them, and pointed farther south, toward the end of the bay. The campi was just on the other side of the peninsula, where Salerno and a dozen other towns were sitting right on top of the ancient caldera. “There’s more chance of the super-volcano blowing.”

Orazio crossed himself again.

The crunch of shoes on the pebbles strewn across the asphalt of the dock was faint, but instantly both men turned to spot the newcomer, their hands by their hips.

I put my phone away as Salvo rounded the piles of pallets and looked at me. “They’re ready for you, Ryann.”

I cleared my throat and followed Salvo toward the administration buildings at the back of the docks. Orazio and Fredo fell in behind me. Two other men with familiar faces stood smoking outside the building Salvo took us into. They didn’t look at me, and I looked away after a quick glance. This was the way it was always done. I wasn’t here. Had never been here.

The room was empty of people, but filled with death. I could almost taste it—a harsh dryness at the back of my throat. I didn’t comment on that. I’d learned not to. But I couldn’t stop myself from remarking, “What shiny new wizard did this? They’ve left a mountain of resin!”

Some tyro had blown a gasket pouring way too much power into his spell. Leftover resin was everywhere. It wasn’t good quality stuff, either. I didn’t have to touch it to learn that. I could sense it from where I stood in the doorway.

“Not for you to ask, nonna,” Salvo murmured. “Just clean it up. If the police find even a trace, we’ll know who to blame for that.”