Scattered Magic (The Sidhe (Urban Fantasy Series) Book 1) (2 page)

Chapter Three

Not another fey stirred in the dark courtyard outside the family wing of the castle. Lugh expected someone would attempt to scale the castle wall, perhaps even the elf he’d spied slipping something to the princess. But, it was the princess herself, clad in dark form-fitting pants and sweater like a thief, who lowered herself to the courtyard with a rope.

Saying nothing, he watched her descend with practiced ease, for he was well aware that this was not her first time slipping out without permission. Not that she truly required permission; at two-hundred-some-odd years she was well old enough to go where she pleased. Be that as it may, she was still a youngling among the long-lived Sidhe, and a princess whose safety, or the threat thereof, could serve as leverage to the unscrupulous.

Lugh slipped silently to the wall next to the trailing end of the rope. He leaned back, his arms crossed, patient for her to climb down and notice him. She was beside him, practically face to face with him, before she squeaked in surprise and dropped to her feet. “Bless it, Lugh!” She whispered with the annoyance of her fright. “You scared the spit out of me.” She smacked his arm with girlish strength that was barely noticeable.

“Sneaking off for a midnight tryst?” He teased, but highly doubting that was the truth.

“Mercy, you’re going to do that thing you do, aren’t you? You do know how utterly annoying you are when you play Champion, don’t you?” Kaitlin didn’t wait for his reply. Instead she shielded her fair face with the dark hood of her sweater and rushed off at a jog.

With his longer legs and swift stride, Lugh kept pace with just a brisk walk. “I pride myself on the knowledge that I have annoyed every single Sidhe I have ever met at least once.” When she cut him an incredulous glance, he grinned back with just enough brightness to cause her to roll her eyes in that amusingly exasperated way she had.

“Only once?” She snorted rather unlady-like. “I don’t need a chaperone. Any chance I can talk you out of shadowing me?”

“Slim to none.”

She spun around to face him, to block him, her tapered finger pointing at his face. “You can’t mess this up, Lugh. This is important. I’m not going anywhere, not taking another step, until you promise me, for real Champion-of-the-Sidhe, promise me, that you will not do or say anything that will mess this up.” Even as he opened his mouth to respond she shook her finger at him again with complete seriousness in her young face. “And no fey-logic excuses to weasel out of your word.”

That closed his mouth. Her blunt rebellion was almost Unseelie in unbridled determination. Even as Lugh searched her face, the memories he possessed of her, a mischievous child with enough tomboy in her to lead her into trouble at every conceivable turn, transformed into something else. Into the young woman before him, possessed with the serious passion of youth, and lacking in caution or wisdom. “Just what manner of trouble has befallen you, Luv?” He reached to stroke her cheek, but she shied away from it.

“You have to promise me and mean it.” Kaitlin repeated. She shifted, looking past him at the castle as if just now realizing that she’d not yet made good her escape. “I would trust you, if only you didn’t trust Manannan.”

“What is this about, Kaitlin?” The dread that twisted his gut earlier in the evening when he’d spotted the elf, moving with deception and purpose, returned. Publically, Manannan and Kaitlin played cordial for the Seelie sake of decorum, but the undercurrent of dislike was easy enough to discern. Lugh knew something of the issue that divided them. Kaitlin’s father held the Seelie throne before Manannan, and though content to be a caretaker rather than a progressive ruler, Tethor had been very popular. Manannan’s attempts to ingratiate himself to the king had met with cool dismissal until the eldest princess, Leannan, became pregnant with Manannan’s child.

That changed everything. Because the Sidhe so rarely sired offspring, fertile couples were lawfully bound into marriage immediately. The fact that Leannan lost the baby early in her pregnancy didn’t dissolve the union, as Tethor had petitioned of the All-Mother. When Tethor was killed in one of the frequent goblin raids, and Manannan was raised to the throne as king, it had been the popularity of his wife that smoothed the transition. His ambition and the circumstances of his ascension spawned rumors and dissenters.

Lugh folded his arms, giving serious weight to the promise Kaitlin implored of him. He understood what she was requiring. The fey could easily ‘interpret’ agreements in a manner more suiting their preferences. The Seelie raised the practice to an art form, which was why most didn’t bother with promises anymore, but rather appealed to chivalry or pride to procure favors, for a favor was not an obligation, but a promise was.

So to make a promise, and forsake the escape route of fey-logic, was no light matter. “I cannot grant a promise as grave as you beseech without knowing the particulars.”

Kaitlin nervously glanced back at the castle, then hooked her arm in Lugh’s and began walking with him. He did not waste a glance back himself. If someone spotted them, what might have appeared to be two conspirators whispering in the dark became lovers sharing a moonlit stroll in the courtyard. “It’s about Aoife. Where she’s been imprisoned.”

Lugh rubbed his forehead to cover his exasperation at this confession. “I rather thought you were too clever to fall for the wiles of that faction, Princess.”

“Everyone ignores what I think because I’m young. What if I’m right? What if Aoife spoke of a true vision and we’re all in danger? What if Manannan had something to do with Aoife’s disappearance? Wouldn’t you want to know? You, of all people, should be investigating this stuff, not blithely taking Manannan at his word.”

That made him smirk. She appealed to his pride. Very Seelie of her. She was just beginning to learn the techniques of their court. With her tendency toward bluntness, carefree rebellion, and her interest in conspiracy theories, Lugh wondered if the princess might come to the revelation that her heart lay upon the Unseelie path. Though her future yet lay before her full of undiscovered vistas, he longed to keep her safe and innocent and shielded from the dark realities of the Unseelie as long as he might.

Lugh slung an arm around Kaitlin’s shoulder and hugged her against his side in brotherly fashion. “Fool’s errand though it maybe, I shall do my upmost not to ‘mess things up.’ I will, however, protect you from all eminent danger. Of that, you may be assured.” Even as he smiled to feel her excitedly hugging him for his affirmation, Lugh reserved his misgivings. After Aoife vanished, the movement against Manannan lost its leverage. How easy to confuse and enlist this guileless Seelie princess and use her with ill intent. That elf disguised as a waiter had been no misbegotten youth rebelling to fancy himself a man. The safety of the princess weighed upon Lugh. If he could not convince her to stay out of trouble, he would at least escort her safely through it.

Chapter Four

Jhaer appeared in the forest with the chill of the night cutting through his clothing. Over the past few thousand years, Jhaer’s missions sent him all over the Emerald Isle. There wasn’t much of Ireland he’d not seen with his own eyes and therefore couldn’t reach via teleportation. The modern cities perhaps, which changed as frequently as the humans’ architectural whims. Even still, he knew enough places to get himself within striking distance of most targets.

Jhaer crouched down and placed his hand upon the earth. Not something he needed to do in order to commune with the element of his unique focus of magic, but something that helped him to concentrate when he surveyed a target area. The reach of his power spread through the ground beneath him. The most striking difference between the surface and the Mounds was in the sky. On the surface, Jhaer could not feel it. In the Mounds, deep within the caverns below Ireland, the sky was nothing but a magical illusion curtaining the ceiling. Most didn’t notice it or think much about it. But to Jhaer, who could feel the rock enclosing the Mounds, it had a very distinct feel. Here on the surface, he only felt the ground below him. It was instantly orienting, making the Mounds an entirely different environment to operate in than the surface.

His awareness travelled through the ground, spreading in an ever-widening search pattern. He felt the sharp-ridged back of the hills stretching off to the northeast. The weight and tacky depression of the soil beneath the lakes. The fingers of tree roots clawing into the ground and drinking in the nutrients of the earth. The tread of animals brushed and vibrated, but no footfalls of a biped.

As his magical awareness melted through the granite of a tower remnant of the medieval period, Jhaer lifted his head to gaze in that direction. Movement vibrated through the building, but he couldn’t track it specifically. While the tower’s walls were stone, the floors were not. Probably wooden. The fey often reclaimed abandoned ruins, and Ireland possessed such structures in abundance.

Without seeing the tower with his eyes, he could not simply teleport to it. Underbrush littered the rough terrain, which would slow him down and make noise. If the Seelie imprisoned Aoife here, then undoubtedly lookouts posted at the tower watched for infiltrators. Better to sidestep the trouble and go underground. The soil beneath him sank, swallowing Jhaer like quicksand. Using his magic to propel him, the ground shifted and yielded like a thick liquid, carrying him as swiftly as a fast-flowing river and coming to a stop in a hollow chamber he created beneath the tower.

Jhaer glanced upward, sensing the floor and walls of the basement room. He didn’t detect any movement. No sounds echoed off the rocks. The chamber around him rose until he emerged in the tower’s basement. Dark and quiet.

Jhaer cast a layer of Glamour over himself, rendering him invisible to all but those rare beings with the most powerful magical vision. Unarmed except for his magic and his combat skills, Jhaer prowled with graceful silence up the stairs to the first floor. A pair of Redcaps drank from banged-up tankards. Blood, from the smell of it. As broad and mountainous as trolls, Redcaps served as brutal thugs for those who could control them.

No point in sacrificing his stealth at this stage. Not until he’d verified Aoife’s presence. Even with their acute sense of smell, the Redcaps likely missed the scent of his Sidhe blood, with their faces crammed in their tankards.

The design of the tower appeared to be nothing more complicated than single rooms, one stacked on top of the next. Wooden floors divided the hollow stone building into levels. An open staircase spiraled up the inner wall.

The soft soles of his boots whispered no sound on the stone steps as Jhaer hurried through the trapdoor to the next floor. Not much there except a heap of rickety, discarded furniture, at least to the naked eye. Not with his own ears, but through micro-vibrations in the stone wall, Jhaer detected the faint sound of breathing. He was not the only one using Glamour, it seemed.

Jhaer remained perfectly still, picking up every nuance. Two distinct sources. The breathing remained regular. Even. No breath holding. No quickening of the intake. The fey hidden around him remained unaware of him. Windows at the compass points of the round room looked out over the paths leading to the tower with perfect lines of sight for long-range weapons and magic. Body heat spread over the stones in two of the window wells. If he had to guess, both lookouts were doing their jobs, leaning out of the windows. They wouldn’t be guarding their backs. Not if they counted on the questionable vigilance of the Redcaps.

Simultaneously, Jhaer pried loose a couple of rocks from the mortar at the top of the window wells. With the force of a cannon blast, he swung the loose rocks through the opening of the windows. Jhaer heard the cracking impact against skulls. Rather hollow sounds, he noted. The Glamour for both fey dissipated. One hung half out of the window, his head bashed in. The other slipped out and landed with a muffled thud outside.

The noisy drinking of the Redcaps on the floor below didn’t falter. Apparently, the sound passed unnoticed by them.

The stairs above Jhaer ended in a wooden trapdoor, dropped down into place from above. He listened to the sounds filtering through the floor and the stones. Movement. Pacing. Ever so slowly, he pushed at the trapdoor, testing it. It was not latched. Lifting it just a crack, he could see along the east curve of the tower. Unfortunately, that provided him a view of nothing but an empty wooden table and a couple of spindly chairs.

The pacing faltered. He’d been made. Jhaer knew half a second before the shout. A full second before the sweep of fire flooded overhead and licked through the crack at his face. He yanked the trapdoor down until the initial roaring rush silenced. From below, the snarls of the Redcaps responded.

Chapter Five

Hanging out with a vampire while she feeds on someone is kinda like being in the room while your best friend makes out. It is awkward as hell. Not that the guy Selena was feeding on wasn’t totally hot. He reclined against the arm of the settee, black shirt unbuttoned and open to reveal the sculpted perfection of his musculature. One of his strong legs was bent and against the back of the settee. The other stretched out so his foot rested on the floor. His hands fisted in Selena’s sleek blond hair. The vampire was all over him, but the guy didn’t seem particularly aroused, unlike most vampire prey.

His stubble appeared a couple days old, but it was probably more of a fashion choice than laziness. It accentuated his chiseled features. His skin tone had a Mediterranean glow, a stark contrast to Selena’s fair complexion. His dark hair was on the short side yet long enough to have the artistic messiness of a male runway model. Criminally good looking, a guy this stunning stole more than hearts, of that London had no doubt. Scratch the stealing part; the girls probably lined up for him. The direct gaze from his black eyes hit her hard. Oh yeah, this guy knew he was dead sexy. Probably got him most anything he wanted, too, which put him firmly into the “probably a jerk” column in London’s book.

Jerk or not, Selena appeared to be enjoying him immensely. Her formfitting red dress pulled nicely over her bottom, which swayed as she slithered against him. London couldn’t see her friend’s face, but the moans and writhing made her enjoyment hardly a mystery.

London wasn’t the only spectator. One of the vamp bouncers from the club stood guard by the door. His mouth worked some and London suspected that he was licking at his fangs. The stud on the settee apparently didn’t just affect women. Or was it just a blood thing that had the vamp staring like a beta wolf waiting for his chance at the kill?

London doubted that he’d get his turn. Not with the two bodyguards watching the scene from the other side of the immaculately furnished room. Their jackets had been tossed aside so nothing impeded their access to the multiple holstered weapons strapped to their chests and hips. That was fine by London. She was armed, too. Both of the bodyguards were decent looking. London would have even admitted that they were hot, but next to the guy sprawled under Selena, they didn’t even begin to compare. No, he was stunning enough to make a smart woman do stupid things.

This scene had all the earmarks of a business feeding, with both sides bringing backup to make sure the transaction came off smoothly. One of the bodyguards glanced at his watch. “Time.”

The muscles in the stud’s forearms flexed as he pushed Selena back, controlling her by her hair. Her neck arched back as she glanced over her shoulder at London. Blood glistened on her teeth, but had not dribbled down her chin. Uncharacteristically tidy for a vampire. Selena hadn’t permitted even a single drop to escape. Even still, she licked her lips. She turned her glare on the bodyguards as she stroked her hands over the man’s body one last time before dismounting, as if daring them to say anything about it.

Interesting, London thought. She’d never seen Selena give up anything she desired for any reason, and she clearly desired so much more than just the brief feeding. The vampire smoothed her hair to its usual sleek perfection. She seemed to flow in that liquid way she had as she crossed the room.

“London,” the vampire’s voice had a breathy tone, as if blood still coated her throat. “You got my message.”

“I could have waited until your transaction was completed.” London quirked a smile as she watched one of the bodyguards hand the guy a handkerchief to press to the pinprick wounds on his neck.

“This is Rico, your new client,” Selena indicated the guy on the settee. “You’ll regret having met him, I am certain. I know I do.”

With a sharp nod to her vampire guard, Selena directed him to precede her from the room. Selena reached the doorway before turning back to London. “Don’t touch him or you’ll regret it.”

The words had not been a threat. Not in the conventional, “don’t touch my man” kind of way. What exactly she meant by that warning was a mystery, but Selena left without further explanation.

The force of Rico’s striking gaze brought London’s body to immediate attention. She became hyperaware of herself as a woman in the presence of a dominant male. He sat up and gestured for London to come closer. Those dark eyes beckoned and she obeyed. The whole scene had a serious “come into my web”, said the spider to the fly vibe to it. Only she had a sinking feeling that she was already snared in his web.

London settled for the red velvet wing-back across from Rico. With effort she tore her attention from the smooth, muscular chest revealed by his open shirt. His face was just as potent, with eyes as hypnotic as a cobra’s. She crossed her legs, a protective gesture. “Selena may have introduced us, but she does not select my clients.”

Rico pulled a business card from the pocket of his slacks and read it out loud. “London Eyer, Special Investigations and Security.” He held the card between his first two fingers as he grazed his thumb over the raised ink. “This is your business. Money is not enough for you?”

Was it wrong that seeing him fondle her business card made her blush? Or that it turned her on knowing he had been carrying something of hers in his trousers? Yeah, most definitely wrong. Something more insidious than just the magnetism of a pretty face was affecting her.

“Money is a start, but I don’t just do anything for money.” The two bodyguards wandered closer to her, but stopped when she snarled. “Wanna stay on your own side of the room, boys? I’d hate to have to kick your asses in front of your employer.” Bravado on her part, acting like she was all badass, but it worked. When they retreated a few steps London focused back on Rico. “What’s the job?”

He leaned forward so his elbows rested on his thighs. One hand still cupped the handkerchief against his throat. He turned the card over in his fingers, as if something might be written on the back, then tossed it down onto the coffee table between them. “Selena said you have contacts among many of the parahuman and nonhuman groups. Which ones?”

He’d ignored her question and kept on asking his own, she noticed. Probably a control freak. London let it go for now, but in the end if she didn’t like the job, she’d walk. Period. “Vampires, obviously. Weres. Demons. Wizards.”

“Wizards,” he repeated, calmly. As if he’d been waiting for her to reveal that one. “How good is your contact?”

“Good enough.”

“You worked for them? These wizards you know?” He removed the handkerchief and tossed it down next to the card. His wounds had healed. She could not see any marks marring the perfection of his skin.

“That is confidential information.” She gave him the shadow of a smile. “Just like your case would be. Certainly you can appreciate that.”

Rico rose, graceful and swift. “If you work for me, you work for me. No one else.”

London bolted to her feet almost as soon as he started moving. “I don’t work for you.”

The bodyguards flicked out of sight. Teleporters.

Crap.