Scattered Magic (The Sidhe (Urban Fantasy Series) Book 1) (23 page)

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Even more fey packed the Glamour Club than before. A real rock band played on the stage, doing a cover of the Nine Inch Nails song ‘Closer’. Malcolm hesitated at the sight of the crowd on the dance floor, all writhed up against each other, moving to the music like they were humping instead of dancing. Grabbing at each other. Arms and legs clutching. Rubbing. The heat made them shine with sweat. Magic pulsed all around them.

So like the drug-time.

Malcolm’s heart seized up. He couldn’t swallow, not that he had any spit anyway.

He backed into Kieran, who dropped a hand on his shoulder to steer him forward through the crowd. “Want something to make that black eye stop throbbing? What’s your drink?”

Malcolm glanced up at the bartender, an elf with a brilliant blue light that danced about him. “Just a Coke.”

“Nothing stronger?”

Malcolm shook his head, hunching over the bar with his back to the dance floor. He toyed with the bandana covering one of his wrists. Memories of being smashed out of his mind rushed over him, so near he could almost smell the cinnamon of the ‘brew’ they forced him to swallow… so they could force him to do other stuff.

Kieran just snorted a laugh. “You’re kind of weird, Mal. But that’s cool.” He removed one of his own bandanas and then leaned over the bar to grab a handful of ice. Once he tied up the bundle he handed it off to Malcolm.

The pressure from the cold pack against his bruise made him wince. The pain was good though, distracting him from the memories creeping into his head like goblins.

Kieran leaned his back against the bar. He bopped Malcolm in the shoulder. “Check her out.”

Even though he really didn’t want to, Malcolm stole a glance over his shoulder.

A dark-haired beauty danced in the center of a small group. Her top was little more than a sequined napkin with a few strings tied behind her otherwise bare back. The black leather leggings hugged her body like a second skin. Her magic, though, slithered around her like strips of black silk, flicking and caressing everyone nearby.

“I think I’ll pass you off to Trip for the next part of your training.” The smirk conveyed every perverted notion Kieran didn’t say. Even when Malcolm turned back to his icepack and Coke, Kieran persisted. “I could Touch you, but how much nicer would it be with a beautiful woman, eh?”

A slender hand closed over his bicep. The voice was feminine and seductive. “Come on, Malcolm. Dance with me.”

He turned toward her and then froze. Her eyes were utterly black. No whites at all. No color. Just pure black. Magic surged around her, darkness expanding to blot out the rest of the club. Trip smiled as her fingers skimmed his cheek and down his neck. Sexy. Suggestive. The magic zinged through Malcolm from that barest Touch. A rush of sex-need surged through him. His body reacted instantly, giving him a hard-on so fast that it hurt.

Just like that.

Just like the drugs the goblins crammed down his throat.

He didn’t have a say. He didn’t have a choice. All sexual and demanding. Not asking, just taking.

“Stop messing with me!” Malcolm pushed her away. He shoved past them both. Teeth clenched. Vision blurred.

“Malcolm! Hey, she didn’t mean anything!” Kieran called after him.

He crashed through the crowd and didn’t even slow down. Malcolm straight-armed the door to the stairwell and ran up the steps. He didn’t stop running until he was locked inside the apartment where he’d woken up that morning.

So much like the goblin time. Too much like the goblin time. Out of control. Drugs that made him all... all… all hard… like Trip’s Touch made him hard. And then they tossed him to the mob. The humans. The vampires. The sex. The blood. The magic. The violence. Out of control. No choice. Drugged out of his mind. Hardly knowing what he was doing. And doing anything and everything they wanted. They stole everything from him. Destroyed him over and over and over. No hope of escape. Not ever.

Not even now.

Not even here.

With his back to the door, he slid down to the ground. Arms crossed on top of his pulled up knees. Face buried in them. There he cried until he couldn’t cry any more.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

In Dublin, there was a secret community hidden beneath the human one. In a neighborhood filled with seemingly ordinary row houses, where the humans came and went in their painfully mundane lives, Glamour hid the doorways under the porches and in the alcoves of the alleyways. Even knowing where to look, London had to study the bricks of the wall closely to find the spot where to knock.

The Brownie that opened the door wasn’t looking towards her when he did so. His head was turned, chuckling at something someone inside had just said. The day’s chores accomplished, the Brownies enjoyed hearth and home. Sean entertained his fellow Brownies like his family room was the local tavern, with voices exchanging merriment and companionship. All so very pleasant and domestic. And distracting, apparently. Dressed in his straight-leg trousers and a vest that covered his work shirt, Sean glanced back into the room, smiling as he chuckled out the smoke from the long-stemmed pipe he held. “Come in, friend!” He greeted her without even having looked to see if she were a Brownie or not.

Careless. Especially in Dublin, that was home to far more than just the fey.

London curled her hand in Sean’s vest and jerked him outside so the door closed behind him. With the safety of the light and the voices lost to him, Sean ‘eeped’ as he spun around. Pushing him back, London shoved the shorter man back against the wall. “What’s this, then?” He demanded, then finally focused on London’s face. “Ohhhh, nooo!” Sean tried to peel her hand from his clothing. “No, no, no, and no.”

“I need your help.” London braced her forearm across his chest when he made a grab for the door. “Sean, listen to me.”

“Oh, no!” He shook his head and pulled up a smile that was more determined than apologetic. “No, see? No.” He kept shaking his head as if that firmed up his conviction. “I said ‘no’,” he reminded her, once more.

“Donovan,” London said the one name she knew. The only lead she had. “Where can I find him?”

“Donovan?” The Brownie laughed, and then wiped his hands over his face as if dragging away the visions she’d just given him. Then he poked London in the center of her chest, not because he was all that brave by nature, but because they’d known each other long enough that he knew he could get away with it. “He will kill you.” Sean glanced up at her, seeing the pain shadowing around her eyes and the strain in her features. He really seemed to want to know, as a friend, when he asked, “Are you hunting your death?”

She felt the strain of the magic fading within her, knowing it was only a taste of what was to come. “Please? While I still have my sanity? Unless you know another way.”

Sean glanced past her, as if searching for that other way. “You might not have killed Rico yourself, but you had a part in his death. Your name is spat, not spoken. There isn’t a fey in these parts that will help you now.”

Her heart felt frozen. Barely above a breath, she pleaded, “I didn’t ask for this curse.”

Sean lowered his head and sighed. With his eyes closed, he whispered, “Kilkenny.”

London straighted, lowering her arm back to her side. Kilkenny. It was a start.

“Don’t expect aid from him. Donovan is the epitome of Unseelie.” Sean straightened, turning to touch the spot on his door that would open it to him.

“I won’t,” she whispered as Sean disappeared inside. She was done begging for scraps. Sliding her hand up her lower back, she checked the placement of her gun. She was done playing by their rules. Time to make up some of her own.

Chapter Seventy

Malcolm expected someone to come for him, so he jammed a chair under the doorknob. And in case they teleported in, he fetched the big knife from the kitchen again. At least they’d not taken that away.

And people did knock on his door a couple times and call out for him. Kieran was the first. Malcolm ignored him. Dawn was next. He ignored her, too. The second time, Kieran brought Trip for reinforcements, and he ignored them both. He just curled on the settee on his side where he could keep an eye on the door and reach the knife on the coffee table if he needed to.

After a while, he turned on the telly to cover the constant magic noises filtering up from the club. Sleep wouldn’t come, though he was so dog-tired. Way after the light from the windows darkened and the flicker of the TV made the room kind of strobe, Malcolm finally forced himself up off the settee. His neck ached from the bad angle. Stretching, he headed to the bedroom.

And froze in the doorway.

Black silk scarves floated right through the bedroom wall, waving and groping all over the length of the bed. Just like one of those ghost-horror movies. Flipping creepy. A buzzing rose and fell. Over and over. A steady banging against the wall jiggled the bedside lamp. Thump. Thump. Thump. Suddenly Trip screamed, and not from pain or fear.

Just bloody wonderful.

Malcolm closed the bedroom door. Even if he could’ve handled the racket of them humping next door, the thought of those shadow scarves whispering against his body gave him the shivers. He trudged back to the settee, back to staring blankly at whatever show was on. He really wasn’t paying much attention.

Maybe he dozed. Probably he didn’t. After a while, the light from outside crept back in. The noise never did completely stop. Kieran must’ve been in marathon mode, and didn’t shut the crap up until like 4 a.m. Apparently, Bryce was a morning person, making crackling and whooshing sounds from the kitchen side of the flat, so much so, Malcolm expected to hear the fire alarm at any moment.

Someone knocked at the door again. Trip shouted, “Malcolm? Donovan asked about you. You want me to say you’re sick?”

He couldn’t stay holed up forever. She just better not mess with him. Malcolm snatched up the knife just to make sure. Keeping the blade ready, he moved the chair aside, then opened the door.

Trip smiled up at him. This time her eyes weren’t all blacked over. Just normal eyes, with whites and honey-brown irises and everything. Only a thin shadow haze hugged around her, close to the skin. No shadow scarves anywhere. She looked almost like a normal girl now, with stretchy leggings and a baggy sweatshirt. She’d pulled her black hair back into a ponytail. At the sight of the knife, her smile faltered. “Truce, ok?”

“Maybe.” The knife leveled the playing field and he liked that about the weapon. If he turned out to have a kick-ass magic like Donovan’s, maybe he’d not need it anymore, but for now, it did the job.

“Isn’t that what you wore yesterday?” She frowned at his clothing, but it was a pretty frown. Everything about Trip was pretty, but Malcolm knew better than to trust looks, and he didn’t trust shadow girl even a little. Not even with this sweet act she had going. He’d seen what she was on the inside. Darkness.

About his clothes, he just shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Guys.” She shook her head, ponytail swishing side to side, all girlish. “Go change, handsome. You’re a rumpled mess.”

Malcolm looked down at himself, not really seeing anything wrong, but whatever. “OK, but you stay out here,” he said, just in case she had any ideas about doing different.

He closed the bedroom door behind him. Dirty clothes landed in a pile in the corner. It only took a minute to switch over to fresh stuff. He made sure the sleeves on the Guinness T-shirt hid his scars. The bandanas still covered his wrists. With the knife in hand, he returned to the living room. “Ok, let’s go.”

Crossing her arms, Trip did the girl thing where she stuck her hip to the side and tilted her head. All that just to say, “Don’t you own a comb?”

He tried to run his fingers through his hair, but they got snared in the knots.

“Come here.” She pulled out a stool in the kitchen. “Sit.”

He didn’t. Instead, Malcolm watched her as she ducked into the bathroom and returned with a towel, comb, and scissors. “Come on, sit. I won’t bite. Long, messy hair on guys is so out right now. Trust me. Plus, everyone feels better with a good haircut.”

His mum had always cut his hair like that, in the kitchen. He’d always had it kind of long, though. Kind of shaggy. So nobody would see his ears, with their elfish shape. He pointed at Trip. “No Touching.”

She raised her hands all innocent-like. “No Touching.”

After he sat down, Trip wrapped the towel around his shoulders and then smoothed it down. Only, it didn’t quite feel like that. Like she wasn’t just smoothing the towel. It felt like she stroked his shoulders on purpose. Suspicious, he twisted around to watch her, but she placed her palms on either side of his face and made him look forward again. “Keep your head straight or your haircut will be all crooked.”

As she worked the comb through the tangles, she talked about having learned how to cut hair in vocational classes in high school. Malcolm couldn’t relate. His parents never let him go to school. They did the homeschooling thing so nobody would find out about them being different.

Malcolm shifted uncomfortably as she worked. She kept fingering through his hair, and maybe it was just to style it, like she said, but maybe not. He thought not. More like she meant to toy with it. Grope on him. He rolled the handle of the knife he kept in his lap, fighting within himself. Couldn’t freak out over a haircut like a nutter. Only inside, he shivered every time she felt on him, or brushed against him, or fingered through his hair.

Before the goblin-time, Malcolm never got to have friends. Never had a girlfriend like blokes on TV had girlfriends. Never held hands with a chick or learned about tongue kissing or anything like that. People on TV acted like it was so wonderful, kissing and humping and all that junk.

Then came the goblin-time. And the drug-times. And Malcolm learned that none of that stuff was really good at all. It was a trick. People got off on hurting you. On stealing from you. On tearing you to pieces until you couldn’t even remember who you were any more.

Even just someone messing with his hair. It kinda felt good, so he didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust her. She said she was just giving him a haircut, but it felt like more. Like she was copping a feel.

“So Kie says you had a run-in with some wizards.”

He mumbled, “I don’t know anything about any wizards.”

“I’m just mentioning it, because I had a run-in with them, too.” She moved in front of him and checked the evenness of his bangs. “If you need someone to talk to, you know, I’m a really good listener.” Trip made eye contact and then her eyes drifted down to his mouth, gaze softening.

Malcolm froze. She was going to kiss him. He knew it. He started to say ‘don’t,’ but she leaned in and planted the kiss right on his mouth. Her lips all soft as they smooshed against his.

Malcolm shoved her away. The stool clattered to the ground as he jumped back. He brought up the knife between them to keep her back. “Why’d you go and do that for?” Wiping at his mouth with the bandana, he rubbed the feel of the kiss away. His anger bubbled up. Pissed at her for kissing him and pissed at himself for not trusting his instincts. He’d known she was up to something! Known she was pulling a trick on him! If he had anything even resembling magic, it should’ve been zinging all around the place. Only nothing magic happened.

“You looked sad.” Trip backed up with that hurt girl look about her that was supposed to make him feel like he’d done something wrong when it was all her fault. It was another trick. Trying to confuse him, but he wasn’t buying it. Not any of it!

“Why’d you have to be all up on me?” Malcolm yanked off the towel and tossed it aside. The haircut didn’t make him feel better either, just all itchy. He scrubbed at his neck. “Why do people just take? I don’t belong to you! I belong to me!”

Trip blinked at him, stunned. As if she hadn’t a clue, but she wasn’t any different than those humans and vampires, wanting to get at his body and steal from him. “I was just trying to help. I thought we could be friends.”

“Stay away from me!” He rushed past her as he stormed out of the flat and slammed the door behind him.