Wicked Magic (5 page)

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Authors: Cheyenne McCray

BOOK: Wicked Magic
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Aunt Aga had choked and wheezed. Her face turned purple and her eyes bulged.
As that innocent little five-year-old, Rhiannon had cried and begged the Shadow to stop. After a few moments, the Shadow paused, then dropped Aunt Aga, who'd collapsed like an unwatered plant withering in the sun. The Shadow shot back inside Rhiannon, along with the other four Shadows she'd been playing with.
At that time, the Shadows didn't hurt when they were inside her. They felt warm and comfortable, just like when she hugged her favorite rag doll.
But she'd learned an important lesson that day that she never forgot. The Shadows were inside her, but she could never let them out again.
For a while, when she was still young, one would escape now and then and her little heart would pound as she demanded it to go back to sleep. Finally, she became so strong magically that no matter how hard the Shadows tried to come out, she'd been able to keep them tucked away. Locked inside that small box with no key.
Rhiannon swallowed hard. Somehow the key had been found and the box opened.
And she had a horrible feeling it had something to do with Ceithlenn.
When Keir reached the door to the electrical room, he paused.
By the gods.
He had been so focused on the situation at hand, and on that witch, he had forgotten about Galia. He had meant to ask the half-Elvin witch Cassia to help him send the imp of a Faerie back to Otherworld.
He paused, his hand above the doorknob. Galia would no doubt be ready to fly past him the moment he opened the door—if he gave her a chance.
With his gaze he measured the door. He was tall enough that his head nearly reached the top of the door frame. All he had to do was open the door wide enough for his body to slide through and then slam the door behind him.
Keir shook his head. This was absurd.
He opened the door in one quick motion, slipped through, and slammed it behind him.
His jaw nearly dropped in surprise.
Not a smudge of dirt or hint of dust remained in the room. It smelled of lilacs.
He searched the room with his gaze and found Galia sitting on one of the metal boxes against the wall—a box that
was no longer rusted, but looked new. Everything in the room looked new.
The little Faerie sat on the edge of the box with her hands braced to either side of her and her legs crossed at the ankles. Her long blond hair hung over her breasts and her green eyes were clear and bright.
“Well?” She tilted her head, obviously expecting some kind of praise.
Keir wanted to be gruff with her, but this was not the moment to yell at the imp. He was not enthralled by the smell of lilacs, but the clean room was a pleasant surprise.
“Thank you.” His voice was rough despite his attempt to sound grateful.
Galia pushed off from the top of the metal box and fluttered right in front of his face. She crossed her arms over her chest as though she expected a better response.
Then her face brightened as she giggled and swooped around the room. “It looks much better, does it not?”
“Aye.” Keir gave a curt nod. “I am grateful, little wench.”
“Wench?” Galia snorted, then stopped fluttering to hover close enough for him to reach. She wrung her hands and gave him a pleading expression. “You would not send me back now, D'Danann, would you?”
Instead of grabbing the Faerie, Keir sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Godsdamnit. I cannot have you staying with me—it is dangerous for you here. You must return.”
Galia rolled her pretty green eyes. “My magic is enough to protect me.” She gestured to the room. “Cleaning this place is only a small measure of what I can do.” She fluttered closer. “I am not as silly as you think I am.”
At that absurd statement Keir crossed his arms. “The ability to clean a room with your magic will not protect you from what is out there. A being beyond evil exists in this city, a being that would swallow you whole in the time it would take you to throw up a shield. A shield that would never be powerful enough to protect you in the first place.”
“I will stay out of the way.” Galia's sad expression touched his heart in a manner he had not expected. “Please?”
With another sigh, Keir scrubbed his hand over his face again. For a moment he studied the mischievous Faerie. “For a short time.” He could not believe the words were coming from his mouth. “I will allow you to see this Otherworld, and then you must return home.”
Galia's face lit up and she swooped around the room, giggling and leaving pink dust and the scent of lilacs in her wake.
When she came to a stop she was smiling and excitement shone in her eyes. “I want to see it now. Can I please?”
Keir braced one of his hands on a wall and looked down at the floor before looking at the imp again. “If you stay out of sight and obey me. If I tell you to hide, you will comply. You must avoid Ceithlenn and the Fomorii at all costs.” He shook his head. “Do not let the other D'Danann know you are here.”
His comrades would never let him live it down if they knew a Faerie had crossed the veil to San Francisco with him—and he had allowed her to stay.
“Can we go now?” She bounced up and down in the air so fast it almost made Keir dizzy.
He shook his head with exasperation and dug into his haversack. He pulled out a long, black coat that he wore to hide his weapons when out among the people of this city. “In my pocket,” he said after he shrugged into the coat. “Stay out of sight until we are in the air.”
Galia laughed in obvious delight and in a flash was in his right pocket. Her little hands clung to the edge of the material as she peeked out.
“Down,” he ordered and she immediately disappeared from sight.
Keir stalked out of the now spotless electrical room and shut the door behind him. His sword banged against his leg as he headed up to the rooftop.
When he reached the small garden area, cool air brushed his face along with the scent of the ocean mingling with the city's countless smells.
Keir's black wings magically pushed through the coat, unfurled, and spread wide. He flapped his large wings and
took to the air with the ease of his people, and vanished from human sight.
“Now?” came Galia's muffled voice from his pocket.
“Aye,” Keir said as he soared over the city.
He glanced down and saw the Faerie peek her head out of his pocket as he flew from the Haight-Ashbury district toward the bay.
“In all of Otherworld, I have never seen such incredible sights as these,” she said with wonder in her voice. Her eyes were wide and filled with delight and she wore a broad smile. “May I fly with you?”
Keir found the corner of his mouth twitching and he had the absurd desire to laugh. He forced the feelings back. “Can you keep up?”
In response, Galia flew out of his pocket and zipped along beside him, pink Faerie dust in her wake. “This is amazing,” she said in a breathless voice.
Keir turned his attention to his task. “We must attempt to scent out the Fomorii. They have a rotten fish stench when in their natural form.”
He glanced at the Faerie and saw her wrinkle her nose.
He almost smiled again, then gave a low growl. What was the matter with him? First he was obsessing over a witch who had literally driven him to his knees, and now he was almost enjoying Galia's company.
Choosing to ignore her, he swept low over the city, focused on scenting out the demons. Unless the Fomorii had all taken over human host bodies, he and his comrades should be able to track them down—unless something blocked their odor.
Keir frowned and swooped lower, weaving his way around buildings and above vehicles, and avoiding the wiring that crisscrossed Market Street. When he reached the bay, he drank in the scent of brine and felt more moisture against his face from the fog rolling in.
The entire time Keir searched for the demons, Galia chattered and giggled so much that he was tempted to shove her back into his pocket and keep her there.
This had better work
.
If not, she was going to kill Mackenzie.
Rhiannon tugged down on her
very
short skirt and prayed she wouldn't wobble in her obscenely high heels when she was summoned. She was used to wearing her comfortable and colorful clothing, not a pastel pink button-up blouse that was too snug and gaped to allow a view of her ample cleavage. Not to mention a matching tight miniskirt that molded to her curves and darn near showed her underwear when she sat down. She liked short, but
give me a freaking break
.
She kept her knees pressed closely together and raised her chin as she sat in the waiting room to be called in for the interview.
To make sure she wasn't recognized, Rhiannon's chin-length auburn hair had been spelled black, her scars hidden by a thick coat of makeup that was driving her crazy. She never wore makeup and it felt like her skin was suffocating.
Witches healed faster than normal humans, but in this case, the scars wouldn't go away. The iron on the claws of the demon queen and the scars they had left on Rhiannon's cheek had proven she had Elvin or Fae blood in her. Iron could be deadly to both races.
Cassia said Rhiannon was Elvin, and Cassia knew a lot more about such things than anyone had ever realized or
expected in the past. Rhiannon still couldn't get used to the idea that she was part Elvin.
She let out a sigh and thought about her birth parents. Which parent had been Elvin? Which one had been a D'Anu witch?
It didn't matter how pissed Rhiannon was at her parents for abandoning her, a part of her wanted to know more.
Once again, like so many times before, a flash of a woman's scream and the vague outline of a face came to Rhiannon. Then a sense of stumbling away from a great ball of fire. Why did she have this vision every time she thought about her birth parents?
Rhiannon shook her head and forced away thoughts of her parentage and looked at her fingers.
Get your mind back on the job, Rhiannon. You're here to tag a demon, not go down memory lane
.
She had left all of her jewelry back at the apartment, except for an obsidian and gold ring she wore for protection and to deflect negativity. It didn't have a pentagram on it. She didn't want to provide any hints of who she really was, but she felt naked without the rest of her jewelry.
Two days had passed since the meeting in the common room and Rhiannon getting this job interview had been the witches' first break. It was still early morning, so even
when
she tagged the bastard, they wouldn't be able to track him until the end of his business day. Hopefully he didn't have an event planned for the evening and would go straight to Ceithlenn's lair.
While she waited, Rhiannon looked up from her hands and glanced around the lobby. It was certainly impressive—all marble, mahogany, and glass, with porcelain sculptures of birds in flight. Hard to believe that the congressman with all this wealth and power no longer existed.
Only no one knew that yet.
This Fomorii they had tracked down through Sydney's talent. She was able to divine things by allowing melted wax to drip into a pewter bowl of consecrated water and then could “see” whatever it was she was attempting to visualize.
She always chose wax of different colors and scents appropriate to the situation.
The ever-so-friendly (
not
) receptionist came through the heavy wood door of Congressman Dentworth's office and gave Rhiannon a false smile. With her short brown hair and fresh-faced appearance, the woman looked like a soccer mom but had the manners of a real bitch.
The receptionist examined her long, manicured nails. “You're up, cookie.”
Rhiannon forced a fake smile of her own. Just a little flick of her fingers and she could seriously hose the secretary's computer for a while.
Instead, Rhiannon rose from her seat in the waiting room as gracefully as she could and tugged down the skirt with one hand. She wobbled in the unfamiliar spike heels as they clicked across the marble floor. She was positive high heels had originally been designed by a male as a torture device for females.
Cookie Woman held the door open for Rhiannon, then closed it behind her. Rhiannon entered a beautifully appointed office, also of mahogany, marble, and glass, but with thick forest green carpeting. Through a large window, she could see an impressive view of San Francisco's skyline.
Rhiannon clutched the stupid little pink purse in her left fist as she approached the blond man who crossed the office, his right hand extended. He had a friendly, easygoing expression. She'd always considered him to be a good congressman. It really sucked that he'd been killed and his body now hosted a power-hungry, butt-ugly demon.
“Welcome, Ms. Smith.” The supposed Congressman Dentworth clasped her hand.
The moment Rhiannon touched his hand, she felt a rush of bile climb her throat. When he released her, she fought back the urge to turn him into a pile of dirt right there in the office. One good-sized fireball and he'd be toast.
No killing … no killing … it wouldn't be as fun as I think it would be …
No, she would never cross that line.
But the D'Danann would.
It was all she could do to smile again, and take the seat in front of the desk while the demon moved into the plush leather office chair on the opposite side. It was obvious the demon had taken over this host body efficiently. From what the witches had gathered from their divination, some of the Fomorii apparently had difficulty assimilating into the world their particular host had occupied, but this one was smooth.
Fomorii demons normally smelled like rotten fish, but whenever they were in a host body, they simply smelled like the human who had formerly inhabited the body.
“You are here for …” He rifled through papers on his desktop as he casually glanced at her cleavage. “ … the administrative assistant position.”
“Yes.” Rhiannon struggled to keep her voice pleasant.
While the congressman began to grill her on her qualifications, Rhiannon eased the clasp of the purse open and withdrew a small, clear, sticky patch, keeping it stuck to the end of one finger. She did her best to flub the interview so he'd cut it short, but the bastard's eyes kept landing on her breasts. Apparently this demon had a thing for women with big boobs.
When he finally rose to walk her out of the office, Rhiannon stood and let her purse tumble off her lap and onto the floor. It landed with a thunk on the carpet and the contents scattered everywhere. A tube of lipstick—which she never wore—rolled under the desk. A wallet and coins scattered everywhere, along with other things Mackenzie had shoved into it to give Rhiannon enough time to do what she needed to do.
Great. That …
witch
had stuck a condom package and a tampon in the purse as well.
Predictably the man squatted down to help her pick up the items, and she saw the quirk of his mouth when he spotted the condom. Rhiannon snatched it up and stuffed it back into the purse. Oh, great. Just how low could things go before this mission was complete?
As she leaned down to grab the tube of lipstick from beneath the desk, he shocked her speechless when he “accidentally” brushed one of his hands against her nipple.
Well, all the better. Rhiannon choked back her anger, leaned into him, and grasped his arm as if to steady herself. She planted the patch on the sleeve of his suit jacket with one press of her finger.
Rhiannon gave him a seductive smile. “So sorry,” she said, easing to her feet with the now refilled and tightly closed purse. She nearly fell against him when she wobbled in the freaking stilettos.
He rose up to meet her and was standing close, waaaaaay too close. “The job is yours, Ms. Smith. When can you start?”
Rhiannon took a couple of steps back. She hadn't expected
that
. “I—I'll need a few days.”
He'll be dead within one.
“Monday, then.” He took her hand, held it between both of his, and she shuddered.
Her skin crawled and she pictured him as one of the many demons who had kept her in captivity until Silver, Hawk, and Jake had saved her.
She yanked her hand back and he gave her an odd look.
Rhiannon regained her composure and tried to appear pleased. “Sure. Monday. Thanks.”
Rhiannon moved across the office to the door on her unsteady heels, but the demon beat her to it and held it open. She managed a half grimace, half smile as she hurried past him, calling out another “Thanks” over her shoulder. Wouldn't do to have the demon suspect her.
As she passed through the reception area, Cookie Woman gave a condescending look over her computer monitor.
Rhiannon couldn't resist a small flick of her fingers.
The last thing she heard as she walked out the lobby's glass doors was the receptionist's cry of dismay as her computer screen fizzled.
It was good to be a witch.
“What in the Gods' names?” Keir nearly roared as he tried to stare Mackenzie down, his hand gripping his sheathed dagger. “You allowed her to go to the demon? Alone?” Blood pounded in his veins at the thought of Rhiannon so close to one of the Fomorii.
The petite blond's blue eyes appeared thoughtful as she studied him. Mackenzie was sitting in the apartment building's common room, where she'd been thumbing through what he had learned was a New Age magazine.
“You've really got to get over yourself.” Mackenzie shifted her gaze back to the magazine and flipped another page. “Goddess knows you've got the hots for her, but she sure doesn't seem to want anything to do with you.”
Keir gave another low growl.
Rhiannon sailed into the room and Keir's scowl deepened. Her hair was black instead of the usual dark shade of red and she had some kind of paint on her face, hiding her beautiful freckles.
But what she was wearing—a formfitting skirt and a blouse that nearly bared her breasts—made his cock hard and his blood boil. The idea of any other man seeing her body like this infuriated him.
“Hey, Rhi.” Mackenzie dropped the magazine and rose to her feet. “How'd it go?”
Rhiannon barely spared Keir a glance but gave Mackenzie a smug look as she circled her hand above her hair, changing the deep black shade to auburn again, then made the same circular motion in front of her face, causing the makeup to vanish.
“Tagged the bastard,” Rhiannon said with a grin as she tossed her bag onto the couch. “Definitely Fomorii.”
“Hot damn.” Mackenzie raised her hand and the two witches gave a “high five” to one another. Mackenzie jerked her head toward the stairs. “I'll tell Jake. A group can track the demon tonight.” She turned and left, her shoes making sharp taps as she trotted up the steps.
“I do have a score to settle with you, Mackenzie,” Rhiannon yelled after her, but the other witch had already disappeared upstairs.
“What in the gods' names did you think you were doing?” Keir bellowed at Rhiannon, jerking her attention to him. “Going to a Fomorii. Alone.”
Rhiannon marched up to him and pointed her finger at his face, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparking green fire. “I don't answer to you, Keir. You'd better get that straight and now.”
“Fool of a woman.” He pushed her hand down so it was no longer in his face. “You never should have gone alone.”
“Oh, sure.” She looked pointedly at his clothing, his sword and dagger. “Like I'm supposed to take someone who looks like a reject from a Renaissance fair.”
Keir had had enough. He took her by the wrist. “You will never go near a Fomorii alone again.”
“Bite me.” She tried to turn away from him, but he kept his grip firm. “You'd better let me go,” she said, her jaw tight with anger. “Or I'll spellfire your cock again.”
With a quick movement, he caught her other wrist and pinned them both behind her back so she couldn't use her magic if she tried.
He pressed his body tight to hers and outrage flashed across her beautiful face. Her light citrus scent combined with her natural musk nearly sent his head to reeling.
“Whoever hurt you should be gutted,” he said in a rough voice and her eyes widened in surprise. “Tell me his name and I will do it myself,” he added before he captured her mouth with his.
Rhiannon gasped as Keir kissed her, and lightning zinged from her belly to her now-damp folds. The fact that he had recognized her pain from past relationships made her head spin nearly as much as his kiss did.
He thrust his tongue through her parted lips and took her in a thoroughly possessive kiss. Every inch of his hardness pressed against her through his leather tunic and pants, from
his heavily muscled chest and abs to the rigid erection between his thighs.

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