Scattered Magic (The Sidhe (Urban Fantasy Series) Book 1) (11 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

The lights along the promenade gleamed as bright as a spotlight after the darkness on the pier. London struggled to orient herself. Even at this hour, the late-night weekend crowd still milled about. The volume of conversation and music sounded loud to her unaccustomed ears. Arms still embraced her securely, holding her steady. A solid and warm body pressed against her back. The voice was seductively low, “We are safe. Be easy.”

London glanced back at the elf that held her. She would not have guessed from having seen him cramped in that small cage with the others that he was this tall or toned. Gently, she disengaged his arms from around her waist. “Okay, you’ve copped enough of a feel for one rescue.” The elf laughed at that, but they both knew he’d been getting a bit more touchy feely than the situation called for. Anybody who knew anything about the fey knew they were a casually sexual bunch. A lot like vampires on that score, only without the feeding part. Well, usually without the feeding part, but not always. “What about the others?”

“They escaped.” He placed the handcuff key into her palm. “Rico sent you?”

London closed her fist around the key. “I guess you could say that.”

“I never thought he’d turn to a human for help.”

“Yeah, well. He didn’t exactly ask.” Tucking away the key, London scanned the area. No sign of the Changelings or the wizards. “What’s your name?”

“Kev.”

“Can you teleport us back to Ireland, Kev?”

The elf laughed. “If only I could. ’Tis a bit far of a leap for me.”

“Then we’ll have to wait for the ferry.” London checked the time on her phone. “It’s already pretty late. Should just be a couple of hours. I don’t imagine the Changeling left you with a pocket full of money. Let me treat us to an early breakfast while we wait.”

During the meal and the ferry ride back to Dublin, Kev chattered away… endlessly. The elf definitely had the gift of gab. He went into detail about how Rico had come to the wood elves a little over thirty years ago. As one of the earthborn Sidhe, Rico never lived in the Mounds. The Mounds, London gathered, was the place where the fey came from. Kev’s people had not lived in the Mounds, at least not since the wizards were driven from Ireland.

As one of the “noble elves,” the Sidhe had a superior status in fey culture. Everyone else was “lesser fey” by comparison. Not that all of the lesser fey bowed before the Sidhe. Like Deacon and his Changelings, for example. The wood elves of Kev’s tribe did revere the Sidhe, and were honored to serve Rico, even if he was Unseelie, and the wood elves tended to align more with the Seelie point of view.

Much of what Kev told her London filed away, including the difference between the Seelie and Unseelie. It sounded like splitting hairs to her. Even still, the better she understood Rico and the Sidhe, the better she could fight the curse. So far, she was hanging in there. She suspected her present jitters resulted more from lack of sleep and stress than from the need for another hit of the Touch. At this rate, she might have another couple of days.

A couple days before things started getting bad.

London bit back any comment as Kev sung Rico’s praises. The raids from other bands of various lesser fey had ceased for the most part, with Rico’s power to keep them at bay. His focus of magic was “storm,” so he could bring forth wicked hurricanes against any who outright attacked their settlement. They never had a bad harvest either, since they could always count on just the right amount of rain to fall at the right times.

Their people had enjoyed nothing but prosperity and safety for decades. Deacon’s raids had been unexpected. Why any of the fey would work for wizards was beyond Kev. London refrained from comment.

He leaned his elbows against the ferry’s railing, hands loosely clasped as he gazed at the approaching shore of Ireland. The burn from the silver cuff was still raw around his wrist. London stared at it, debating if she should feel guilty. How much of what the Changelings did for the wizards was her fault, given the way she “introduced” them?

Once they were close enough for a signal, London sent Rico a text. Kev made no secret of reading it as she typed. Holding her smartphone as she waited for a reply, she scanned the other passengers nearby. An older couple huddled together on the bench across the deck stared at them.

“The Brownies had the same idea we did, it appears,” Kev gave them a nod and they quickly looked away. He smiled and then went back to watching the shoreline grow closer. “They are shy by nature.”

“Unless you bring them booze.”

He chuckled, “Or food.”

“Or play music.”

“Mercy, do they like to dance. But then, so do all fey.”

Her phone chirped and she looked down. “Shielmartin Hill.”

Kev pointed to the cliffs just north of Dublin Harbor. “Shall we take the short cut?” His arm curled around her waist and they blinked out.

They reappeared on the grassy hill Kev had been pointing to the moment before. They could see the ferry moving along in the distance, leaving a white foamy wake as it churned up the water. “Aren’t you afraid someone would have seen that?”

He shrugged. “Humans write off what they can’t explain. I don’t bother to hide much of anything when I am around them. Most don’t even notice the slight point to the ears, so I don’t even bother with Glamour half the time.”

The hilltop was bare except for the patches of dry grass. London surveyed the area. The road leading up to them was deserted. In the distance she could see a few buildings, but other than that, there was no one around. She scrubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans. Just knowing that Rico was coming had her desperate for the Touch. The constant jitteriness put her on an impatient edge. “How long will we have to wait?”

“Not long, I’m sure.”

As London glanced back, she saw the older gentleman from the ferry blink into existence behind Kev. With far more agility and grace than any human, he landed on the elf’s back, monkey style. One hand hooked around Kev’s neck. The blade that burst from Kev’s chest glittered with polished silver and streaks of bright red blood.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Lugh offered Ariel a charming smile in which even those of the Unseelie Court could find no fault of deception. The weight of the dagger inside his vest very much in his awareness, they crossed together into the parlor. Ariel hugged against his side, his arm around her shoulders as if with easy fondness. Affecting the appearance of casualness, his hand slipped into the pocket of his trousers and closed over the cool vial of enchantment.

Once inside the parlor, Lugh guided Ariel into his embrace. He slipped the vial from his pocket, keeping it closed in a fist. As he leaned in to kiss her, her eyes closed. His hand toyed in her hair, controlling her head in case she might end the kiss too early. Her lips softened against his in a slow, testing caress of mouths. Keeping enough focus on the kiss to prevent revealing his distraction, Lugh raised the vial up behind Ariel’s head. He adjusted it lower and then higher, taking note of the change in the pulse of light and the direction of the vortex cone. The artifact he sought was neither higher nor lower than the ground floor.

Her lips parted. The taste of her kiss stroked into his mouth. Lugh inhaled with a soft moan that matched hers as he swayed with her, spinning her slowly, watching the enchantment in the vial. As they circled, the doorway entered his peripheral vision. Someone in the entrance watched them. The Sidhe closed his hand around the vial, uncertain if the man noticed it. Lugh broke the kiss and cleared his throat, as if merely embarrassed by the compromising embrace.

Gregory, if that was who this man was, glared at Lugh. The fire in his eyes burned somewhere between mistrust and hatred. Clearly human, Gregory appeared past his youth by some decades, with more grey than black in his thick hair and a considerable loss in smoothness to his face causing jowls to drop with his frown. The cut of his loosely fitting suit reminded Lugh of others of his order that the Sidhe had encountered centuries earlier. The freely moving fabric concealed a multitude of hidden pockets.

Ariel rushed between them, gathering the tray from Gregory. “I’ve got it. Why don’t you tend to your business while I entertain?” She said with exaggerated brightness, using the tray to herd him back out of the room. “I’ll call if I need you, all right?” Once he cleared the threshold, Ariel hooked the door with her foot, closing him out.

“I dare say he disapproves,” Lugh chuckled. “Concerned for your virtue?”

“Gregory is my guardian.” Ariel bore the tray to the low coffee table between a loveseat and the fireplace. The tea service appeared antique porcelain with oriental scenes painted in thin blue lines. “Milk or sugar?”

“Neither.” Lugh perused the room as she fussed, his arms crossed over his chest. Keeping his back to her, he carefully concealed the vial as he passed it near each of the antiques along the mantelpiece. None of these possessed the magic he sought. As he sidestepped left of the fireplace, the gold dust transformed from a cone into a thin spinning column that tightened in diameter as he passed it before a simple wall mirror, its round face no wider than the span of his hand. The light from the vial flared like a sunburst. Lugh closed his hand over the light and secreted the vial inside his vest.

In the reflection of the mirror, Lugh watched Ariel drawing near. Her arms slipped around him from behind. Her breasts pillowed against his back as she embraced him. Her hands glided up his chest, moving under his vest. Lugh hugged her arms tight to him before they could discover what secrets they quested for, other than the feel of his muscles against the flat of her palms. The side of her head rested against his upper arm.

“What interests you way over here?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “Just admiring.” As he turned toward her, he controlled her hands until they cleared his body. “Shall we sit?”

Her smile invited thoughts of a sensual nature. Ariel intertwined her fingers with his and guided him to the settee. Once seated, their knees touching, she offered him a cup of tea. Lugh accepted it, but merely balanced it in his hand. He watched her as she glanced up at the mirror on the wall for a lingering moment before returning her attention to him. “Do you like the tea?”

“It’s fine,” he replied, still having not sampled it.

Ariel lifted her own cup to her mouth and appeared to drink. It mattered not if she did or if she merely pretended. She returned the cup to its saucer. “Earl Grey is my favorite. It’s not too bitter for your taste is it?” Her hand curled around his and she lifted the cup toward him. So tender. So innocent. Nothing in her features or her manner hinted at the guile Lugh suspected dwelled within her like venom.

Lugh allowed her to guide the drink to his mouth, but then diverted the cup to his other hand and set it down on the tray. Enclosing her hand in his, he spoke softly in case the human eavesdropped. “How long have you been with Gregory? He does not strike me as the guardian sort.”

Ariel’s smile faltered but recovered swiftly. Her fingers escaped his grasp and instead collected a cube of sugar from the bowl on the tray. “I can think of much more interesting things to discuss than Gregory.” Her softness curled against his arm as she slithered closer. “Have you ever kissed with a sugar cube melting in your mouth?” With seductive playfulness, she rose to straddle his lap. Her knees tucked beside his hips, claiming him between her legs like a lover. The perfect picture of a blonde temptress, she offered the sugar to him.

Play such as this, so common among the fey, in itself would not have alerted him. So easy to surrender to it. So natural. In another place and at another time, Lugh would have indulged in all the pleasure Ariel promised. With the luxury of eternity, he would have surrendered to a long, slow foreplay that culminated in days of lovemaking. In this place… At this time… everything rang false. Why would any fey, even a mixed-blood fey, find ease in an abode such as this? The tactics she performed with the artistry of an actress, tempting him with such practiced familiarity, screamed of treachery.

His mouth opened. When she passed the cube between his lips, Lugh caught it with his teeth. She pressed against it with her finger, but he held it fast, never permitting the cube to touch his tongue or lips.

“You have to let it melt on your tongue, silly,” she laughed in that sweet way of hers.

Lugh cradled her head in his hands, drawing her down for a kiss. As her mouth drew nearer, Ariel pushed against his shoulders. The harder he pulled her to him, the more urgently she resisted. An unbidden sound of desperation escaped her as Lugh lifted his head to force the sugar to her lips.

“Stop it!” Ariel writhed like a cat. Lugh released her and in her struggling she flung herself from his lap, only to unceremoniously land on her rump on the floor.

Lugh spat out the sugar cube and it landed in her skirt. Ariel brushed it away as if it might burn her. “What is it laced with, maiden? Sleeping draught?” Rising above her, Lugh surged with anger.

No magic responded. No light. No heat. Nothing kindled to his summoning. Lugh pressed for the familiar slip of teleportation, but not even that elementary magic ignited to his will. The ward effectively blocked it all, not simply suppressing it as he’d suspected. Only, it had not always constricted him as harshly as it did now.

Ariel screamed, “Gregory!”

Gathering her roughly to her feet, Lugh hooked a powerful arm about her waist. All her squirming and weak punches to his arm barely registered as Lugh’s magic surged immediately into a brilliant bubble of sunlight that surrounded them, defining the limits of the ward as something about Ariel dispelled the effects.

The door of the parlor exploded into a gale of splintered wood. Spinning with Ariel still clutched against him, Lugh dodged the shrapnel.

Chapter Thirty-Six

London’s shocked scream ripped from her. The fey jerked out the blade as Kev dropped from beneath him. As he straightened, the Changeling transformed from an old man back into Deacon. London scrambled to back away. Belatedly, she reached for her gun. Her grasp didn’t even come close. Deacon’s companions descended on her from behind, hooking her arms and twisting them up behind her back. She yelped at the pain, which only made them laugh.

Deacon held his blade out at a downward angle. The blood dripped from the tip. He snatched her jaw and jerked her face up to meet his cruel glare. “Look who is screwing with the elves.” He snapped his teeth just shy of the tip of her nose. “Playing wicked games. Wicked, wicked human.”

“Kill her,” the other male Changeling snarled.

“No!” London struggled against them. “You idiots! You know I work for the wizards. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Deacon’s grip softened, but he didn’t release her. London jerked out of his grip. She snapped, “You are blowing my cover!”

When she jerked her arms, the Changelings let her go. “Who was it that brought you to them in the first place, huh?” London shoved Deacon in the shoulder, a calculated risk. “Now get the hell out of here so I can clean up your mess.”

The female Changeling spotted the approaching car still far down the hill. “The Sidhe is coming.”

Kev rolled to his side, moaning and clutching his chest. Alive… he was still alive. She willed him to hang on. No way she could fight her way out of this. If the Changelings didn’t buy her act, they were both as good as dead. Kneeling down, London pulled off her blazer and pressed it to the wound. She glared up at Deacon. “Go on! Get out of here!”

Deacon didn’t need to say anything. A look passed between the Changelings and they went into motion. The woman shoved a cloth into Kev’s mouth. She and the other Changeling knelt by him, restraining him. A veil of Glamour formed around them, hiding them all within the illusion of a boulder.

London backed away, but Deacon caught her wrist and yanked her against him. His appearance changed, morphing into a near replica of Kev. Only the expression was one of cruel amusement that looked downright evil on the elf’s face. London shoved at him.

“You need to get out of here and leave me the elf. I can use him to endear myself to the Sidhe.”

“Change in plans,” Deacon wrapped an arm around her waist, embracing her tightly against him. “Our masters want a Sidhe. We will bring them a Sidhe.”

London failed to wiggle some room between them. The car pulled up and Rico got out. He spotted Deacon, looking like Kev, hanging on London. She elbowed Deacon in the ribs as hard as she could. “Get off me, Changeling!”

Whether Deacon had trusted her a little or not at all, the jab in the ribs was enough to catch him off guard. She turned and punched him in the soft hollow of the throat as hard as she could. He went down, gasping and clutching his neck. He lost the shape he’d borrowed, the elfish features melted as the gaunt Changeling ones returned.

“Kev’s hurt!” London didn’t stop to see what Rico would do. She didn’t want the other Changelings teleporting the elf away to God knows where. She dove into the Glamour boulder, half expecting to hit some kind of barrier at the edge of the illusion, but she fell right through it, scattering the magic. London crashed into the male Changeling and they both tumbled back.

Thick storm clouds rolled up from the sea. Thunder and lightning tore through the sky. Furious winds cut around Rico’s body, barely ruffling his clothing, and slammed into the female Changeling. The hurricane force gale flung her away from Kev and into the ground hard, before flicking her off the hilltop and toward the water far below.

The Changeling who tangled with London vanished. He reappeared behind Rico. The Sidhe anticipated the move. Rico spun, knife flashing. He drove it to the hilt in the Changeling’s gut. With a pained gurgling, the Changeling dropped to his knees before Rico. Made it that much easier when Rico sliced his throat.

Rico turned away before the body dropped to the ground. The storm clouds still rolled, and the first cold drops of rain began to fall. He scooped up Kev and carried him to the backseat of the car.

London glanced around. No sign of Deacon. “Can’t you teleport Kev to the hospital in Dublin?”

“No human healing can help a fey.” He slammed the back door and headed around to the driver’s side. Eager to get out of there, London reached for the passenger-side door.

The gunshot shattered the air. London flinched. And then she dropped down and went for her gun.

Her holster was empty.

The next two shots sounded. London pressed against the passenger side of the vehicle. Mind racing. She dropped flat on the ground, looking under the car. She saw legs, but they were not Rico’s. Rico was lying on the ground. He was lifted up and unceremoniously shoved into the backseat. The shooter started around the car. London crawled the opposite way, coming up to a crouch.

She was by the hood as Deacon came around the boot of the car. “Nicely played. He never saw it coming.”

He dropped her gun on the ground. “Take the bodies down to the dock. I’ll pick them up there. Gotta handle Jen and Luke.”

Deacon started for the Changeling sprawled on the ground. She didn’t waste this advantage. She snatched up her gun, thought about taking a pot shot at Deacon but figured she better not press her luck, and jammed it into her holster instead. Rico had dropped his keys on the ground. She snatched them up. With shaky hands, London drove off as fast as she could. In the rearview mirror, she saw Deacon watching her go, Luke’s body flopped over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He would know soon enough that she betrayed him yet again.

Human healing could not help a fey? London sped toward the only friendly fey she knew, that Brownie she’d bribed the day prior. Certainly he’d know where to take Kev and Rico. If there was anything to be done for them at this point… other than funeral arrangements.