Back in my room, I packed my bag. I didn’t need much. Just a few changes of clothes and my toiletries. Even if I ended up staying longer than a few days, a spy mission wasn’t the kind of trip where hauling around a heavy suitcase was very practical.
I glanced around when I was done, heart constricting. This place was my home. At the Court’s home base in London, several hundred fae resided in the old Battersea Power Station that had been renovated into a beautiful residential complex. It was kind of like university halls, only fancier. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the sparkling lights of London, and a four poster bed hunkered beside antique artwork I’d collected over the years.
I’d lived here for a very long time. Everything I knew, everyone I cared about, was here.
I didn’t want to leave, even if it was for only a little while.
A light knock sounded on my open door, and Clark poked her head through. Thick, wavy strands of brilliant red fell into her eyes.
“Mind if I have a moment?” she asked quietly.
I waved her inside. “‘Course not. I’m glad you came by.”
She strode through the door and handed me a thin, long object wrapped in a black cloth. As soon as I felt the weight of it in my hands, magic zoomed through my veins, giving me a sudden burst of adrenaline.
“A sword.” I arched a brow. “An old one, if the feel of it is any indication.”
“To replace the one that fell into the sea.” She gave me a meaningful look. “Can’t very well have you going on a spy mission without your gift to back you up.”
Every fae is born with one power, magical or otherwise. Mine is skill with the blade. No one had ever bested me in a one-on-one sword fight. Not even the Queen herself.
I smiled and propped the sword against the wall. “Thanks. Mind if I ask you something?”
“You can always ask me anything. You know that. I might be the Queen, but I am first and foremost your friend.”
I swallowed hard and stared at the floor. That was why this entire thing was so difficult. “Why are you sending me? Why not one of the other guards? I’m good at swinging steel. Not spying.”
Amusement flickered in her eyes. “How can you say you’re not good at spying when you’ve just sneaked into Pack headquarters and found out a mysterious fae from Scotland is making plans to steal the crown from me?”
I opened my mouth, but then snapped it shut. “Okay, you have a point, but…”
Clark stepped forward and put her hand on my shoulder, squeezing tight. “But what, Moira?”
“You keep sending me out on missions, away from the Court,” I said insistently. “I swore an oath to protect you. The best place I can do that is here. By your side.”
Clark’s smile dimmed. “I thought filling up your time would give you some purpose. You haven’t been yourself since Elise died.”
Elise. My heart constricted, and I closed my eyes. The pain still felt as fresh as it had the day Nemain, a sociopath fae hellbent on the throne, had murdered her. That day, it had felt like half of my soul had been ripped away from me. It had never come back.
“I think it would be good for you to get out of London,” Clark continued. “Besides, I don’t trust anyone with this mission more than I trust you. You’re the best of us, Moira.”
I winced and tried to give her a smile. Little did she know, I was anything but.
I took the train to Edinburgh. The Court was wealthy enough to afford the flight, but the rail had far less of a paper trail. I’d left my brunette wig in the bin and had gone for natural makeup. The traitor—which was what I was calling him in my head now—had only seen me for a fleeting second, but I didn’t want to take any chances he would remember a dark-haired fae lurking in the loo.
When I stepped off the train and onto the platform at the station, a heavy mist immediately descended all around me. A chill sank deep into my bones. I buried my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket and turned my feet toward the castle.
The formidable castle that loomed over Edinburgh was home to House Athaira, the first stop on my tour of hunting down traitors. If he lived in this area, then he was most likely one of the many fae who called the castle home. Back when there had been seven courts instead of one, House Athaira had been part of the Court in London. They had always been loyal to the crown. For the most part. They’d sat idly by while Nemain had attacked us all.
Maybe it was because they’d been plotting against us all this time.
As I approached the castle, it was all I could do not to stop and stare. It was an impressive sight. Squatting on top of ancient volcanic rock, the stone fortress was protected by sheer cliffs and tall battlements that stretched all around. A slight tremor went through me. I had next to no idea what I would be walking into, and the place looked far more ominous in person than it did in the photographs I’d studied on the train.
With a deep breath, I continued the climb up the stairs and across the ancient cobblestones. Finally, I reached the castle. The arching double doors of the gatehouse were shut tight. On either side, flickering torches lit up the night. Over the door, three tiny windows looked down on where I stood. The middle window was covered by an elaborate shield, decorated with a sigil. One I’d never seen before. It was a cloaked figure surrounded by a full moon.
I strode forward and eyed the gargoyle knocker. Its teeth were bared and claws outstretched. Frowning, I tried to push open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. So, I tried a knock instead. A moment later, the heavy wooden monstrosity creaked open to reveal a petite brunette fae with purple eyes. Eyes that I swore looked deep into my soul.
She gave me a glance from head to toe before resting her gaze on the sword sticking out of my bag, still hidden in the folds of the black cloth. “What are you doing here? You aren’t a House Athaira fae.”
What a greeting.
“Nope. I’m a solitary fae. I’m sick of being on the run, and I want to check out your House.”
The fae’s nose scrunched up. Solitary fae weren’t exactly popular. Outcasts and outsiders, they spent their lives alone. It was a terrible way for them to live, partially because the magic kept them from having access to the full strength of their power. Just like the shifters, we did better as a pack. Being solitary meant existing. Being part of the Court meant you thrived.
“I’m sorry. I can’t let you inside,” she said in a strong Irish accent. She took a step back and made a move to close the door.
“Wait.” I stuck out my boot to stop her from shutting me out completely. “At least let me talk to your Master.”
She sniffed. “You mean King Lugh.”
I tried to hide my surprise. There were no Kings anymore. No Princes or Princesses. Only Masters. They kept things chugging along at their individual Houses and reported directly to the Queen. And this fae did not want me to come inside. Alarm bells clanged in my head. Something strange was going on in Scotland alright. And that something started right here.
“Erm,” I said slowly. “I thought the leaders of the Houses were called Masters.”
“House Athaira is different. Wait right here.” She shut the door in my face. Well then.
I frowned at the brass gargoyle knocker. Maybe I’d be better off finding a window I could climb into, although this castle was infamous for being impenetrable. These fae were clearly hiding something here, and they didn’t seem responsive to strangers.
I took a step back to look for some other way to sneak inside, but the door swung open before I could get far. It was all I could do not to gargle out a swear. The fae who stood before me now had sleek black hair and a jawline that could cut through steel.
King Lugh was the fae I’d seen in the loo.
3
“Hello,” he said smoothly as his eyes drank me in. Just as the female had, he rested his gaze on my hidden sword. “Saoirse tells me you’re a solitary fae in need of a home. I’m Lugh, Master of this house.”
“King,” Saoirse hissed beneath her breath.
/>
“Master will do for now.”
My mind whirred. Okay, so the guy who’d met with Anderson and had asked for the cauldron was none other than the Master of this House. And he was either calling himself a King, or his subjects were insisting upon it. Maybe both. He was after some kind of magical cauldron, and he planned to use it to steal the crown from Clark.
At least it hadn’t taken me long to find the right guy. Now, I just needed to stop him.
To make matters even stranger, I knew the Master who lived here. Her name was...well, it was Athaira—she’d named her House after herself. And he wasn’t her. This lad, Lugh, I’d never heard of.
“Something the matter?” he asked in that lilting Scottish accent of his.
“You’re not what I expected,” I admitted. “Some friends told me about this place, and they didn’t mention a King.”
“No, I don’t suppose they did.” His dark eyes flashed as he turned toward Saoirse. “Leave us. I’ll take it from here. Oh, and call a meeting in the Great Hall.”
A strange unease prickled the back of my neck. “What’s the meeting for?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, if I agree to it.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the stone doorframe. “Before I let you inside, I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay.” I mimicked his stance. “Ask away.”
“What’s your name?”
“Moira.” I figured I’d go with the truth. He’d never met me, and I’d never met him.
“Pretty name.” His eyes slightly narrowed. “Why are you here?”
“I told you why I’m here. Why are you being so mysterious?” I shot back, unable to help myself. “I thought the Court was eager to help solitary fae. Strength in numbers, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” He straightened and took a step forward. His shoulders loomed over me, and I swore magic sparked between our bodies. “But how do you know? I was under the impression that solitary fae knew little about court customs.”
“I did my research.”
“Hmm.” He tapped his chin. “Are you willing to sign an NDA agreement?”
“An…NDA agreement?” My mouth dropped open. This was absurd. In all my time as a fae, which was a hundred years now, I’d never heard of such a thing. We were fae, for fuck’s sake. Bound by duty and honour. We didn’t need things like NDA agreements.
“That’s right. A contract, signed in blood.”
“I…” My heart skipped a beat. A blood contract. Those were rare and took a very special type of skill in order to pull them off. I hadn’t known that House Athaira even had a fae with that kind of power. Seemed they were keeping far more secrets than one.
A malicious grin spread across his face. “Your choice. Either you’re in, in which case you sign the contract, or you’re out.”
I stared at Lugh. He looked like a villain in a film, all sharp lines and immovable steel. He had presented me with an impossible choice. I could enter this castle and find out what he had planned. But then I wouldn’t be able to tell a soul. Blood contracts are forever binding. I wouldn’t be able to tell Clark what I found, as much as I’d want to.
My Queen’s words—my friend’s words—rang in my ears. You’re the best of us, Moira.
I wasn’t. Not even close. But maybe I could prove I was better than the worst.
The only way to discover Lugh’s plans was to infiltrate his castle. To do that, I would have to sign a blood contract. But the great thing about magic is, there’s always a way out. A counter spell, a loophole, something.
With a deep breath, I gave a nod. “I’m in.”
Turned out it wasn’t as simple as signing my freedom away on a blood contract. Lugh paraded me through the cobblestone courtyard and then into a Great Hall packed to the brim with tittering fae. The large, expansive room rose up to a hammerbeam roof made with dark timber, rounded off in decorative stone-carved corbels. Flickering sconces highlighted the collection of swords that were hanging in rows by the entry. The bottom half of the walls were glistening wood, polished to perfection. The top half had been painted crimson red.
Twenty rows of wooden tables spread from one end of the room to the next, facing the front where a throne made of twisting black vines sat on an elevated stone dais. Behind it, a flames roared in a dominating fireplace.
My stomach flipped as I stared. He’d fashioned himself a throne. This was worse than I’d thought.
Lugh strode through the packed hall with his head held high, his hand curled tightly around my arm. He practically dragged me forward. Whispers and murmurs rose to a harsh crescendo. When we reached the front, he deposited me at the front of the dais. He settled into his throne and crossed his ankle over his leg, leaning back with a smug smile.
The room fell silent with a hush.
My heart thumped as I scanned the crowd. They all stared at their King in awe, eyes shining with eager anticipation.
“Welcome to the Court of Wraiths. We are ghosts, spectres. The rest of Faerie does not know we exist.” Lugh flicked his fingers at a small squat hobgoblin who scurried out of the shadows.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. It had been decades since I’d seen one of these creatures. I thought most had died from the plague and the rest during the human world wars. They were strange little fae. This one was male, with greenish skin, a long snout, and ears that were as big as his face, pointing up toward the ceiling. He was about as tall as my waist, but his feet were three times the size of mine.
The hobgoblin that scurried toward me wore a billowing black cloak and nothing else. Even though I knew he was harmless, I had to fight the urge to step back. They could turn vicious when they wanted to be.
I slid my eyes from the hobgoblin to King Lugh. Court of Wraiths? Not only was Lugh calling himself a King, he’d made his own Court. I had enough information to go straight to Clark now. I could just sprint out the door and never look back. Of course, I still didn’t know what Lugh had planned. And I didn’t know what the cauldron could do.
The hobgoblin shoved an ancient parchment into my hands with words written out in an elaborate scrawl. His little voice was high-pitched when he spoke. “This is your blood contract. It binds you to never speak of this place or what you find within it.”
He held out a pen, waiting.
Bracing myself, I grabbed the parchment and signed my name.
The hobgoblin let out a screech, and the entire hall joined in with the cheer. I glanced from one wicked grin to the next, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. These were not welcoming faces. They weren’t applauding because they were happy I’d joined their Court of Wraiths. I knew that sparkle in their eye. I’d walked straight into some kind of trap, and the hammer was about to fall.
The hobgoblin sauntered over to King Lugh and shoved the contract into his hands. A moment later, Lugh had whisked it out of sight. The little creature strode from one end of the raised dais to the next, hands tucked neatly behind his back. His oversized ears swished from side to side. Suddenly, he stopped and whirled toward the crowd with a dramatic flair that only hobgoblins possessed.
“Every new member of the Court of Wraiths must undergo a trial to prove their worth,” the hobgoblin said, his wicked eyes flashing. He glanced at me over his shoulder. “What is your gift?”
I let a beat pass, and then another. I didn’t want to tell this room of fae my power, but I didn’t see a way out of it either. “I’m skilled with the blade.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Lugh shifted on his throne. The hobgoblin looked delighted. A murmur even went through the crowd. Great. Just what I needed. They were excited that I’m good at combat. That never led to anything good.
“We could use a warrior,” the King murmured.
“Very well then.” The hobgoblin clapped his hands and turned toward the crowd once again. “It is now time for you, my dear Court of Wraiths, to vote on the trial that Moira must endure to join us. As always, you will be given th
ree options. The first of which is this: Moira must slay as many vampire mannequins as possible within five minutes. She must beat the current record, set by our King himself.”
Mannequins? Sure, okay. No problem at all. That seemed fairly straightforward and not nearly as gruesome as I’d expected. I shot a glance at the King and tried to take a measure of his skill. He was clearly strong and formidable. I wouldn’t want him to sneak up behind me in a shadowy alley. His muscular physique confirmed he spent hours training for time in the field. But what was his skill? If it wasn’t swordplay, his record didn’t stand a chance against me.
Much to my disappointment, only a few hands shot up at that option.
“Brilliant.” The hobgoblin’s smile stretched wide. “Second option, Moira must fight our strongest warrior. The winner is the first to draw blood. Injuries are encouraged.”
I shifted on my feet and frowned. The first to draw blood? Injuries encouraged? While I had no doubt in my abilities, the trial was quickly transforming from a harmless display of strength to a blood-soaked battle.
Much to my relief, only a few hands shot up once again.
The hobgoblin twisted to face me and grinned. At the look in his yellow-green eyes, unease clenched my stomach. Suddenly, I understood what was about to happen. If the pattern followed, this next option had something nasty in store.
“It seems the third option wins by default,” the hobgoblin began with a cackle. “And that option is…Moira must descend into the Sluagh vaults. All she must do is survive.”
“You didn’t say anything about me fighting a bunch of bloody Sluagh.” Hands propped on my hips, I shouted the words at Lugh.
After the vote, he had smoothly led me out of the Great Hall and into some sort of staging room where he now examined my sword with a disturbing amount of apathy. The room was empty apart from the two of us and some folding chairs. The only door had been barred shut, and no windows provided a view out of this hellhole.
Confessions of a Dangerous Fae (The Supernatural Spy Files Book 1) Page 2