Remnants of Magic (31 page)

“Right.” London backed away from him, watchful and uncertain. After a moment, she found a cloth bag and collected the money, which she secreted behind a colorful array of bottles and cans beneath her sink. When she returned to the table, she rubbed her hands on her pants nervously.

He’d frightened her, but she didn’t flee from him. Lugh reconsidered this human. When Selena gave her to him, she assured Lugh that the lass came with many useful talents. Surely, bravery was chief among them. No doubt working with vampires and such, she’d been handled more roughly and yet didn’t slink away, crushed by her fear.

And she handled an auto with far more mastery than Willem. Denied the convenience of teleportation, having her to chauffeur him about was preferable to hitching rides or walking all over Ireland.

Which was why he’d brought the necklace with him when he returned to her.

In the haze of the beast’s desires, he’d all but forgotten the necklace and his reason for carrying it.

Lugh drew out the chain from the breast pocket of the jacket. “Are you ready?” The pendant dangled before him, glinting with golden perfection. He’d crafted it ages ago. The knotwork of enchantment still held true. Only the slightest adjustment and it would serve his purpose.

“Ready for what?” Those dark eyes of hers didn’t fully trust him. But she needed him, captivated by the Touch as she was.

And that was the beauty of the Touch and the Sidhe-druid bond, dependency that, when shaped properly, could breed an intense loyalty. “In ages past, complicated ceremonial customs accompanied the making of a druid. Severe times deny us such luxuries, but believe it not that it means any less of an honor or a responsibility.” Lugh fastened the golden chain around her neck. “The chain is enchanted and can not be snapped nor drawn over your head, save by your own efforts or mine.”

With the fastening of the chain, Lugh gathered the loops of his enchantment that dangled from the clasp. As his fingers glided over the necklace, and her smooth skin, he snatched each of the loose loops of the magicraft weaving. And when he reached the pendant, he bound the final linkages. “With this token, I shall always know where to find you. When you invoke my name with urgency, either in thought or aloud, I shall feel your need for me and respond when I am able. This is for use only in dire times, you understand.”

She shivered beneath his caress. “I understand.”

Gathering her face in his hands, Lugh cast his thoughts back to the vows he’d administered to his druids hundreds of years ago. “Pledge these words to me, if you mean to become my devout druidess.” Then he Touched her, giving to her through the magic the words she must speak.

London’s gaze locked with his, the magic of the Touch feeding her endless craving. “I pledge to you, Lugh Samildanach, that I shall preserve your secrets. I shall honor you above all others and never slander you nor speak to others of our grievances. I shall be the shield at your back and the staff by your side. I pledge to you my life, both in my living and in my dying, always in service to you. Friendship, love, and loyalty, such is my eternal promise.”

And once she’d given her vows, Lugh responded, “With my symbol, I have marked you. With my magic, I have claimed you. And with your pledge, I have made you my druidess. And so you are an initiate of my temple and of my order, as well as my companion.”

Not since the Sidhe drove the wizards from Ireland in the age of myths and legends had he taken a druid into his service. He’d quite forgotten the sensation.

Lugh bent down and kissed her lightly on the mouth. As he Touched her, he sealed the enchantment he’d woven into the necklace, binding it to her and to himself. And with the magic, a new awareness awoke within his mind.

A resonance.

An echo.

Like a distant chime or a ripple across the still surface of a pond.

He felt her.

Nowhere in the world could she venture, and he not know where she hid. The enchantment was small, and with time he’d adjust so that he’d not continuously be aware of it unless he called it to mind, but for now, it pinged with singular keenness.

He withdrew from the kiss and stared down at her. A quiet resonated within him for the first time in recent memory.

The beast turned its back on the scene. Not gone. Never gone. But refusing to even witness the connection.

As he broke the skin contact, and the Touch, London dropped back a step. She knew not what he felt. She’d no awareness of him as he held of her. A little unsteady in the wake of what transpired, she said, “Here. Let me scan those images in and do a search. See what I can come up with.”

She settled herself before a piece of machinery on the dining room table and touched it. The black face of it flashed with light and images that moved like a scrying mirror. It surprised him not to see that she had such a thing. Humans of late seemed to have discovered how to enchant objects with their own type of pseudo-magic, and scrying mirrors of various sizes appeared to be almost everywhere. London began weaving her magic with considerable speed and confidence. The details of how she executed her craft mattered not to him, only that she seemed adept at doing so.

Leaving her to her toils, he collected the journal Willem had given him to glance over. One of the few the dragon had been willing to part with, which discussed what the dragons knew about fey magicraft. It was odd to read something he’d always thought of as artistry presented in such a clinical manner.

But he meant not to truly read it, only give the appearance of distraction. Lugh kicked off his shoes and settled his long frame along the length of London’s sofa. It wasn’t more than a minute before the book found a perch on the coffee table and his fatigued eyes demanded that he close them. And in the quiet, he just felt the awareness of London.

And the beast’s silent scheming.

Chapter Four

Though he longed to allow himself the luxury of a deep slumber, he could not risk such vulnerability in this place, with this human. So he compromised with the warrior’s sleep of allowing his body to rest while remaining aware of his surroundings. Feeling always within him the dual sensations of the beast and of his druidess nearby.

After an unmeasured time, London finally stirred. Through barely opened eyes and sharp hearing, he noted her movements in the next room, and then her soft-footed approach. She paused a few steps from him, watching him. Lugh waited to see what she might do, as she may judge him helpless and take her advantage, but she did nothing untoward. Only stared at him.

The beast raised its feline head; ears forward, eyes slit open. Debating.

Lugh reached out to London, wordlessly inviting her to join him. The offer was calculated. The thin awareness of her was an unexpected touchstone. A beacon in the distance.

As he felt certain she would, London accepted his hand.

He rolled over, tugging at her and moving her about as he wished. She did not resist him. A sign of her acceptance of him and his dominion over her.

The beast flexed, stretching its lithe body.

Lugh drew her down, turning London about so she lay with her back to him, and he embraced her close. With his body curled against hers, and his arms wrapped over hers, she could not move in the slightest without alerting him. Holding her thusly, he might sleep a while without concern. At least without concern about her acting against him. He would need to stay at least partially alert in case she had an ally or enemy who might discover them here.

With true Seelie elegance, embracing her in this manner served another purpose beyond knowing where she was and testing her acceptance of him. Lugh snuggled to her, embracing her like a lover. His face nuzzled against her throat. The natural, warm scent of her filled his senses.
Not prey
, he thought to the beast.
She belongs to me now.

The beast padded forth on silent paws, rising to the surface of him. And together, they drew her closer. Nuzzling. Dominating.

Mine
, the beast agreed, bringing forth a purr from within Lugh’s chest.
Mine to keep. Mine to take. Mine to kill. All mine.

Smiling, he dozed with her trapped in his arms. Possessed.

Chapter Five

London’s soft warmth and fair scent filled Lugh’s awareness as he awoke. With his arms still wrapped about her, he drew her in tighter against him. As he flexed his hips, the trapped awakening of his body rubbed firmly against the curve of her bum in an aching and enjoyable way. His face nuzzled to her neck.

I could bite her, if I want.

But he wouldn’t. He’d keep her. Keep her close. Feel the steady presence of her. Stabilizing. Calming. A lighthouse in the darkness.

I could have her body, if I want.

And he would. His hand glided down London’s side and hip, her curves a pleasing shape.

But not yet.

His hand settled over the bottle stashed in the pocket of his jeans, feeling for it even though he was certain it was there. The bottle contained no more than a dram of the dark magic, but if the Fade became acute once more, nothing else would save him. And in saving him, it would poison him further. Alter him from a being of light into a creature of darkness. Suppress his Seelie nature, and cultivate a more wild and vicious one.

And would that be so bad?

It would. But he had to struggle to remember why.

It would strip him of everything he valued. He was Seelie. Champion of the Sidhe. The Shining One.

And the last hope to save the fey.

He must never loose sight of that, or they would all die.

As he stirred, the woman in his arms twisted slightly, lifting her face toward him. Her mouth soft and ready, wholly unaware of his violent urges and internal debates.

Lugh kissed not her mouth. Rather, he kissed only her cheek. “Let us break our fast and begin our labors.” Disentangling himself from London and the sofa, Lugh rose. Offering her a gentlemanly hand to aid her came automatically, although from her hesitation the gesture was unexpected.

Once on her feet, London crossed ahead of him to the kitchen to fetch pastries and tea, which he accepted with gracious murmurings, and then he inquired, “Did you have success with your magicraft?”

“With my what?” London claimed the seat before her scrying mechanism.

Lugh tapped the top corner of the scrying mirror, which came not to life at his touch, but responded instantly when London pressed her finger to the lower corner.

“Oh, you mean the laptop.” She smiled with amusement. “It’s not magic.”

Humans possessed no true magic of their own. Of course, Lugh knew this. It was their desire for possessing magic that led the wizards to find endlessly brutal ways to strip the power from the fey for their own use. More recently, the mass of humanity found ways to manufacture the effect of magic with some strange weaving of power they dubbed ‘technology.’ To the fey of the Mounds, such was simply called ‘human magicraft’ and marginalized as anything of interest. Even now, when rationing his own use of magic, Lugh maintained a steadfast resistance to acquiring any knowledge of human magicraft beyond what circumstances forced upon him.

London smiled, and it was an attractive one. As pleased with herself in this as the Scribe, Willem, was when he teased some key piece of wisdom from an ancient text. “I scanned the images into the computer, and then did an image recognition search on the Internet.”

Lugh merely nodded for her to continue, assuming that at some point she would say something from which he could gather some sense of what she spoke.

“See?” She rotated the device toward him so that he might gaze into the mirror himself. “I’ve found the actual photos of the items from your drawings. This chap has at least five of them.”

Lugh glanced over the images. The series of pictures along the side of the mirror indeed appeared to depict the very artifacts from the drawings made thousands of years prior. Opposite the artifacts, the image of a man smiled at him, dressed in the garb of a human professional with a dark suit with an azure tie to add the touch of individuality and color. The name below the image was Quinn Cuidightheach. Lugh felt his own smile beginning to spark. “He’s a Scribe.”

“A historian and a collector of antiquities, actually.” London corrected, having misunderstood him. “He’s in charge of the collection of Celtic historical treasures near the University College campus in Cork.”

“He’s a Scribe. One of the lesser fey. Myopically large eyes, wide grin, diminutive. You can almost catch the shape of his pointed ears hidden beneath his hair.”

“Oh.” She leaned closer to inspect the photo of the fey. “So you know him?”

“No, but I know someone who might.”

Chapter Six

The detour through the Ring of Kerry, to collect Lugh’s Scribe companion from the safety of the dragon’s keeping and then to make their way along the easterly trail back toward Cork, consumed an unseemly number of hours crammed in London’s undersized automobile. With impatience, the beast growled and paced. Lugh glared out of the window, arms crossed firmly over his chest, despising the Fade for the ignoble mode of transport.

More tedious even than the monotonous roll of landscape was the Scribe’s endless blathering. Since collecting him, the lesser fey only ceased to stare at Lugh when blushing his way through conversations with London. Of course, Willem could intuit the wrongness in Lugh. And, of course, his curiosity twisted within him, tormenting the Scribe. Nonetheless, Lugh refused to acknowledge Willem’s concerns or suspicions, even when he whispered in fear, “Your eyes…”

Lugh could see for himself in the mirror fastened outside the window the dark smudges staining the soft flesh below his bloodshot eyes.

Evidence of his corruption. Of the dark magic spreading.

Consuming him by inches.

And Willem knew all too well the horrors of the coming eclipse.

Kill him.
The panther stalked back and forth, agitated.
Claw out those eyes that see too much.

Shut up and be still.
Lugh snarled back at the beast.

Still, it paced. Watchful. Ready for its chance to slip Lugh’s control.

“We’re here.” London dispelled the auto into silence. Besides her vehicle, no other occupied the lot before the long, low building. “Looks empty, but the sign says it’s open.”

Lugh unfolded himself from the auto and stretched his long legs. “Willem shall speak with the Scribe. London, you’ll accompany him and keep them on task.”

“You’re not going to join us?” Willem, fool that he was, moved within arm’s reach. His intense expression searched Lugh’s face. Sharp hazel eyes seeing right into the truth of his darkness.

The beast bore its fangs.
Snatch out his eyes!