Scattered Magic (The Sidhe (Urban Fantasy Series) Book 1) (21 page)

Chapter Sixty-Two

The Glamour club was flat insane.

Pretty much, it was like a dance club with a good helping of weirdness. Loads of people milled about. All of them some kind of fey or other, Malcolm guessed. And all of them just gushing magic about. The sounds all smashed together into a chaotic mixture of hums and music and thumping and buzzing and whooshing.

Malcolm couldn’t even begin to figure out all the different smells it was such a mash up of scents. Like woods and dirt and perfume and food. Something sweet for one breath. Something spicy in the next. Then an odor like molded leather that made him cover his nose until he got past the troll.

Everybody had at least a bit of something floating about them. Colors or lights or sparkles or flames. Malcolm gave Kieran another once over and noticed the distortion around him, like the heat coming off a hot engine in the summer. That shimmer. Sound waves, Malcolm guessed, on accounta Kieran said his power was sound. Everyone had something.

He looked down at himself.

Nothing.

He raised his hands to look closer, watching for any kind of spark or color or anything.

Still nothing.

Kieran clapped a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder and then pointed to a table in the center of the room. “There’s Donovan with Dawn.”

The tornado-funnel thing appeared in front of Kieran’s head. Malcolm almost fell backward at the sight of the thing. It ignored Malcolm this time and shot across the room where it hovered and swayed a foot away from Donovan. The tail of it reached all the way back to Kieran. People walked right through it like they didn’t even care. Malcolm stared at Kieran and then down the length of the tube. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m listening in.”

Malcolm gaped at him for a minute. “You were listening to me in the shower?”

Kieran cut him a glance, as if he debated what he was going to say. “You were taking forever. If I’d’ve heard you having a wank or something, I’d have left you alone.” He smirked. “Probably.”

“Say what?”

“Just get over there.” Kieran laughed, placing a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder and propelling him forward.

As he made his way across the club, Malcolm did his best to ignore all the crazy magic going everywhere. He scrubbed the nervous sweat from his palms onto his jeans as he slipped into a chair across from Donovan. Both Kieran and Dawn waited behind Donovan, one just to either side of him. Lined up on the table were what looked like five frosted-over snow globes, each the size of a fist, perched on wooden stands.

Donovan began, “You’re Sidhe, Malcolm, one of the race of Noble Elves. Of all the races of fey, we are the most magical.”

Malcolm leaned forward, sucking in every word. No one ever told him stuff about the fey before. Not his parents, who lied to him and raised him as a human. Not the goblins, who never spoke to him at all. Certainly not Rand, the ‘lesser fey’ bastard that kidnapped him. This was what Malcolm sought when he ran away from home. What he needed. Some answers. Some idea of what he was. What all this fey stuff was really about. He’d known being Sidhe made him something special, on accounta Rand hated him for it. Not knowing anything about magic, when everyone else knew all sorts of stuff, made him feel dumb.

“The fairies are excellent with magicraft,” Donovan began. “They wove the magicraft into all the lights here in the club.” He waved around toward the lights along the ceiling that pulsed in different colors. “To make sure the fairy younglings apprentice in the correct type of magicraft, they use this method.” He indicated the snow-globe things. “These are so accurate that they can even detect magic in newborns.”

“If you have even the slightest shred of magic, this will tell us what it is,” Dawn added.

Malcolm glared at her for the dig. Malcolm didn’t care if she didn’t like him. He didn’t like her right back.

Either Dawn didn’t notice or didn’t care about the glare. Donovan continued, “Let’s begin, shall we? The first fairy light reacts to elemental types of magic, like fire, water, earth, air, and metal.”

Donovan reached out toward the first globe. Even inches away from it, the magic around his hand reacted. It reached for the globe, spiraling into it until the globe began to glow with the same brown color as the dust floating about him. When he withdrew, the light faded away.

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm reached for the first globe. As his fingers drew closer and closer, he watched it for any reaction at all. Even when he pressed his fingertips to the cool, glassy surface, nothing happened. He drew his hand back.

“The second responds to ephemeral magic, such as sound, shadow, music, light, or mist.” Even as Donovan explained, Kieran reached out toward the second globe. The shimmer of vibration around him spilled into the globe, which began to glow with a white light. Kieran withdrew from it, and the globe went dark again. Slowly, Malcolm reached out for the second globe. He left his fingertips against it for a long time, just to be sure. Still nothing.

Donovan didn’t give him time to dwell on this. “The third responds to biological magic, such as healing, blood, wounds, and fertility.” It was Dawn’s turn to reach out. The purple sparks dancing around her fingertips brightened until the prism of it tapped the globe and made it glow with the same purple hue. She pulled back and they all looked to Malcolm, who reluctantly reached out and touched it. Again, nothing. No wonder Dawn said his magic was retarded, or defective, or whatever. The magic around each of them went into the globes to make them light up. Only nothing was around Malcolm. It was obvious.

“The fourth light responds to natural magic, both plants and animals.” Malcolm moved his hand over to it. The globe didn’t react. Not surprising. He’d grown up on a farm and hated every second of it. If he’d had any connection with any animals or plants, he’d have known about it.

“The final one reacts to the more ethereal magic, such as celestial powers, the sun, moon, tides, seasons, emotions, and wisdom.” Malcolm stole a glance at Donovan, who just nodded for him to continue. Maybe his magic was something unusual. Maybe that’s why he didn’t know about it. Maybe… Just maybe this last one…

Nothing.

No magic came out of him. None of the globes even flickered in the least. Magic came out of everyone else. He cut a glance around the club. Magic was everywhere. Flickering and flowing.

Malcolm looked at his hands. No magic.

Just the bandages circling his wrists.

He looked up at Donovan. Throat closed. Words abandoned him. Donovan tested him and Malcolm failed out big time.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Donovan considered the young Sidhe, who was as taut as an overdrawn bowstring. From beneath his messy bangs, the lad’s dark eyes watched everything with the weariness of an animal used to unaccountable beatings. He trusted nothing. Malcolm’s attention fixed back on Donovan, expectant to the point of not breathing. So tense he practically vibrated.

“It’s worse than I feared.” Dawn leaned closer to speak with him, but the lad could still hear her. “He’s been severely damaged.”

“It’s too early to make assumptions,” Donovan said. “That’s enough magic testing for one day, Malcolm. Kieran will show you the rest of the Glamour Club and introduce you to the other earthborns.”

Malcolm didn’t utter a word or even nod. He just got up, crossed his arms so his bandaged wrists were tucked out of view, and trailed after Kieran. Dawn silently collected the fairy lights onto a tray and carried them away.

Even as the earthborns left, Tiernan Kilgrave swaggered over toward Donovan. About halfway through the testing Tiernan showed up, but the younger Sidhe knew better than to interrupt. He made no secret of watching the proceedings from the booth where he waited, though. And now he strode over without waiting for an invitation. Cheeky bloke.

“Is that him?” Tiernan dropped into the chair next to Donovan and then tilted it back on two legs to prop his feet on the table, ankles crossed. “Hard to believe someone so young kept up with that arse load of clients.”

“I doubt Malcolm called them clients.” Donovan waved to the server to bring their drinks.

Tiernan winked at the wood elf waitress who brought their usual preferences. As he watched the swish of her skirt as she left, Tiernan returned to his point. “Something’s bugging me. Look, your lad was jacking-up four to six humans a night, a good fifty or more going through a rotation. I should be snatching up the ones at the end of their grace period, beetling around to find a new Sidhe who’ll put out. Swoop in to save the day, so to speak.”

“You’re such a humanitarian,” Donovan retorted with a snort.

“Hey, man, don’t be a hater. I run an honest service, a very lucrative one at that. I don’t enchant anyone. Some other bonehead Sidhe does that. My point is that these humans aren’t surfacing. That’s seriously whacked.”

“The Changeling may have moved his operation.”

“Bang on. Could be your lad wasn’t the only Sidhe he nabbed to whore out.”

Donovan’s hard glare leveled at Tiernan. “I need to know who this Changeling is and where he’s gone.”

“Too right. I’m on it.”

Chapter Sixty-Four

That sense of having a safety net lasted all of two days.

London had almost convinced herself that she could settle into something of a routine. She’d taken on a good case, the first one since Rico cursed her, and she’d solved it. She made her rent with cash enough for food and expenses for the month. Things almost seemed to be looking up, as much as it could for a cursed human.

Then she’d gone back to the Fairy Circle Shop. She’d wanted to get the arrangements set up for her next dose. The first hint of anxiety was beginning to set in, the tremble in her hands that was becoming too familiar.

But the Fairy Circle Shop was empty. Abandoned.

For the next two days she staked it out. Besides the occasional passerby cupping their face to peer through the glass at the shadowed interior, there was no activity. Dread pooled like sickness in the pit of her gut.

It was after sunset when someone rapped on her driver’s side window. London rolled it down and looked up at Joe’s shadowed face. “They’re gone.”

“So I can see,” she got out of the car. “Where are they?”

“The cave’s gone. Totally crushed.” Joe hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “I tagged it with the GPS on my phone the first time I was there, so I could find it in a pinch if I needed to.”

“Good idea.” She folded her arms. “What happened?”

“My best guess, raiding the All-Mother’s temple wasn’t such a hot idea. Could’ve pissed off any number of the wrong people. One of the few times we should be grateful that no one gives a shite about us. They don’t care enough to hunt us down and take revenge for our part.”

London dragged her fingers through her hair. “Great. That’s just bloody great!” She spun and punched the heel of her hand against the hood of her car, leaving a dent. “Now what are we going to do?”

He handed her a card with his contact information. “We keep looking. I’m going to head to Northern Ireland and see if I can find any leads up there.”

“This is the second time I’ve been roped into doing the dirty work for a Sidhe and then got left high and dry. They are starting to get on my last nerve.” She accepted the card and stuck it in her pocket. “Selena once told me I needed to think like a vampire and quit doing deals with them. Just hunt them down and take what I need by force. Next Sidhe I find, I am seriously thinking about doing that.”

Joe just chuckled, “Good luck with that. Any Sidhe with any kind of experience is going to be the devil’s own to subdue.”

“Don’t laugh, I’m serious. I’m getting fed up with not being in control of my own life.”

“I just don’t see it happening,” Joe leaned against the hood of her car. “You’d have to catch an earthborn and word on the street is that some Sidhe named Donovan is sweeping up the earthborn Sidhe and taking them to a safe house out west. You aren’t going to get past him. You aren’t likely to uncover any earthborns that he couldn’t find. So you might as well resign yourself to being someone’s hired gun.”

“Even if I was willing to resign myself to that, how can I find a Sidhe? Much less one who will take me on?”

“Same way you found Rand. Just keep digging.” Joe glanced up at the empty Fairy Circle Shop and then up to the stars as if somewhere there might be an answer. “Tell you what, you find a Sidhe you can capture and keep drugged up like Rand’s so-called boss, give me a call. If I find a Sidhe willing to take on some cursed hired help, I’ll give you a shout.”

“Deal.” London passed him her business card before she climbed back into her car. She waited until Joe had walked off before driving away herself. Her mind worked over the sliver of information he’d given her. A Sidhe called Donovan was rounding up the earthborn. She’d heard that name before. The Changeling that killed Rico had mentioned it.

Forget the Sidhe anyway. All the fey. They cursed her. They cursed any human they got a notion to curse. Cursed. Enslaved. Same difference. She’d had enough of it.

Might be a long shot. Might get her killed. But it was someplace to start. Time to get serious and quit letting the Sidhe jerk her around. Time to take control for a change.

Chapter Sixty-Five

The last time Lugh visited the outpost in Kerry County the Sidhe still led the battle to banish the wizards from Ireland. That had been in the range of a few hundred years past. Less than a thousand, to be certain. Measurement of time lost its meaning when time stretched eternally before him. Once in a great while someone would inquire as to Lugh’s age, and in truth he did not know. There had been a celebration in the year he reached a thousand, for he’d been king of the Seelie Court on the occasion. He’d had a moment of reflection when he’d judged that he’d surpassed two thousand and failed to notice it. If pressed for his age now his most accurate answer would be that he was fairly certain he was a few thousand shy of reaching ten thousand. The Scribe Willem probably could determine Lugh’s age with a moderate amount of research. What Lugh did know was that he’d been sired within the first millennia after the All-Mother created the Mounds.

He paused on a ridge, scanning the steep hillside upon which he perched and the identical one across the valley. To the best of his recollection, he was heading in the proper general direction. If he risked teleportation he could instantly appear within the entrance of the outpost, but the expenditure of magic was too severe. Time was an equally precious commodity that the Fade stole from him moment by moment, spurring him to travel more openly than he preferred. The hunter in him disliked the wind blowing constantly at his back, carrying his scent before him to alert what may lurk in the trees and rocky outcrops. The rough landscape was ideal for the wolf-kin, or werewolves as they’d more recently dubbed themselves. They were vicious, possessed unnatural speed, and hunted in packs that could overwhelm and rend a lone Sidhe before he could mount a defense.

And even as he thought this, a stillness descended over Lugh that only came in the presence of a predator. The wind mocked him, altering course to taunt him with the hint of something foul and then stealing it away once more.

As Lugh reached for the long knife the hiss of an arrow’s flight slashed the air. In the second he detected it Lugh dodged, but not knowing from whence it came he failed to escape.

The arrow drove into the vulnerable hollow at the back of his right knee. His strength and stability failed as the agony exploded through his leg. Lugh kicked to the side with his left leg, scrambling for cover. He heard other arrows bounce off of the stones, missing him. Malicious, high-pitched laughter echoed about him. As his attackers encircled him, Lugh caught a strong whiff of their foulness.

Goblins.

They would besiege him in short order and with the fullness of their number, however many there were in this hunting party. Once goblins stumbled upon effective ambush techniques they employed them mercilessly. The debilitating wound rendered Lugh unable to stand, much less evade. Removing the arrow would cause more damage. He didn’t attempt to teleport, knowing the effort was futile. The searing torment was unmistakable. Silver. That metal defeated his magic the instant it touched his body, and with it embedded beneath the skin it would begin to slowly poison him. The goblins fashioned burrs into their arrowheads that easily broke off so that even if he managed to rip the arrow out, the silver would remain and his magic would still be lost to him.

Lugh struggled to prop himself against an outcrop. With his wounded leg tucked behind him, he prepared to defend himself with the long knife. Very likely, it would not be enough.

The goblins assailed him in a rush. Only four feet tall and spindly, a single goblin was fragile and easy to dispatch. A few dozen of the swift, determined little beasts, with their sharp teeth, claws, and rough hewn weapons, washed toward Lugh in a tide of leathery, green skin and jabbering laughter.

Though Lugh prepared to slash and punch anything within reach, the goblins scrambling like lizards along the sharp incline above him flung a net over him. This was no thin-gauged netting like might be used for fishing, but a heavy, twisted rope weave meant to bring down prey with size and strength. The blade of his long knife stabbed through the netting where it tangled, allowing the goblins to wrench it away from him. Even as they dragged him from the rock, they chanted, “Sidhe, Sidhe,” between giddy grunts and evil giggles.

With the crippling leg wound, the effective snarl of the net, and the sheer number of assailants, there was no chance of escape. The goblins of the Mounds would have slain him there, stabbing him through the netting until he ceased to struggle and then rending his body until it was unrecognizable. This band was determined to capture him instead. With no magic and no physical way to defend himself, there was nothing he could do to thwart them from abducting him.

A roar resounded so loud and so near that it made the very ground quake, causing Lugh to cover his sensitive ears and wince against the power of it. The goblins discarded Lugh in their scramble to escape. Even as he struggled to free himself from the snare of the net, he witnessed a dragon slaughtering the entire hunting party, stomping and chomping his way through them all. “Rotten, little vermin fey!” The dragon’s voice growled the words like stones grinding together. Smoke curled from the dragon’s nostrils and from between his sharp teeth. A fire dragon. Not the mist dragon Lugh sought. “And you,” the dragon caught the netting with one of his fore-talons and hoisted Lugh up to dangle before him, “are trespassing, Sidhe.”

“I’m friend and ally to Rehnquist,” he petitioned, frantic to avoid the same bone-splintering end that annihilated the goblins.

The dragon snorted, sending streams of smoke from his wide set nostrils that blew past Lugh on either side. “Rehnquist is dead.” With that the dragon gave a mighty flap of his wings and lifted them into the sky.