Agent of Darkness (Dark Fae FBI Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  I nodded, and felt for the reflections in the mirrors. When my mind clicked, I let my thoughts roam, conjuring fae from my past on the mirror. The forked-tongued fae who had assaulted me in Trinovantum; the hoofed woman Scarlett and I had chased into the fire; a silver-skinned fae warrior in the house where Scarlett had been imprisoned.

  Branwen whirled and stabbed, dodging and swinging as the enemies around her attacked, faces twisted in angry snarls. Only her grunts and heavy breaths broke the silence as she moved faster and faster, her body a blur of motion. I could hardly follow her attacks anymore, and I let her attackers die, replaced by new fae. The torturer from the king’s prison, the fire-winged fae who’d bombed London, the acid-spitting fae who’d attacked me in the alley.

  I began to sweat as I let Branwen set her blades on my own terrible memories, her blade slashing the prison’s warden. A stiletto plunging into Grendel’s throat, his eyes bulging. A flurry of thrusts on the banshee who had attacked Gabriel. I wasn’t even looking at Branwen anymore, my own face twisted in a grimace as I conjured all the fae of my nightmares, a bitter taste in my mouth, strangely thrilled at the vengeance before my eyes.

  And then the warriors disappeared from the reflections, the mirrors instead blazing with one image—a woman, her mouth twisted in pain, her eyes vacant, hands held up, begging for help. My heart stopped. Siofra.

  I let out a scream and severed my connection to all of the mirrors. Siofra disappeared, and the mirror shards showed only Branwen and me, standing alone in the room.

  Branwen turned to me and looked at me strangely. “What happened?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. I just need to rest.”

  I didn’t tell her the real reason my heart was beating as wildly as it was.

  I hadn’t summoned the imaged of Siofra. She’d just appeared.

  Chapter 12

  After Branwen’s training, she led me to the dining room for breakfast, where the rest of the mansion’s inhabitants already sat around the table laden with plates of bacon and toast. Nerius was speaking loudly, waving his fork around, and Abellio listened, grinning. On the other side, Roan and Elrine sat next to each other, whispering, their heads nearly touching. Something Roan said made Elrine smile and lick her lower lip. For a moment, a jolt of unbridled jealousy tightened my chest. Of course, they had a lot to whisper about. Their family histories went back literally hundreds of years. If I’d crawled into his room last night like I’d wanted to, would I have found her in his bed?

  Anyway, it was nothing to do with me. I was here on a mission, and that mission was revenge. I glanced at Branwen, realizing she was watching them both as well, gritting her teeth. So that’s who she was in love with.

  Nerius continued on with his stupid story. “And the woman, completely naked, got on her knees and—”

  Branwen cleared her throat, and the four of them raised their eyes. “Telling stories of your imaginary exploits again, Nerius?” she said, crossing to him.

  “Just teaching Abellio some basic lessons.” He glanced at me and his face darkened. “Ah. The mongrel is joining us. Dressed in my sister’s clothes. What’s that human expression? You can’t put fine frocks on a festering corpse?”

  I shook my head. “Definitely not a human expression, but nice try.”

  I pulled out a chair by Roan, my eyes meeting Elrine’s for just a moment.

  “It’s good that you came,” Roan said, his eyes briefly lingering over my dress, taking in the short hem. “We need to discuss our next course of action.”

  Nerius looked like he was ready to crush his ceramic mug. “In front of the terror leech?”

  “Yes.” Roan’s tone brooked no argument, and he stared down Nerius in what I could only imagine was some primal fae display of dominance.

  When Nerius’s gaze lowered, Roan turned back to the table.

  “We now have another reason to think there is a spy among one of the rebel cells. The king’s men discovered a stash of our supplies last night. It could be the tracking ability of the king’s men, but I think it might be more than that.”

  “Then maybe it’s time to stop hiding,” Nerius said, his voice sharp. “The keep is not as protected as it used to be. We still have surprise on our side.”

  “Not if we have a spy among us,” Elrine said. “He’d inform the king.”

  Roan nodded. “True. We need to capture the spy before an attack can even be considered. In addition, we need Lord Balor. We need his connections to the rebels within the house of Balor. In addition, it is likely that the banshees that took him are the ones in contact with the spy—that’s how they knew where to ambush him. We might manage to get information from them regarding that. We will track the banshees down, and see where that leads us. Hopefully, Lord Balor is still alive and can tell us about the Mistress of Dread.”

  “The Mistress of Dread?” sneered Nerius. “Abellio told me. You can’t possibly believe that, can you? A fae can’t manipulate fae emotions with magic. Our emotions are magic.”

  Elrine glowered. “We know that. But in any case, we need Lord Balor’s forces. Are we agreed? Good.”

  Roan’s face shone with respect as he looked at her, and that unwelcome stab of jealousy pierced my mind again. I shoved the thought away.

  Revenge. I was here to get revenge, and vengeance would be mine.

  On the narrow, cobbled street in the city, I led Roan and Elrine toward the place where the banshees had slaughtered my friend. The two fae followed me, eyeing our surroundings warily, looking for signs of an ambush. As we got closer to the spot, bile rose in my throat, the memories of the attack flashing in my mind. Only yesterday, I’d strode the same cobblestones, chasing Gabriel—the living, breathing Gabriel. The Gabriel with a heartbeat, who wanted to help me. I could almost feel the despair that had threatened to consume me that day.

  The Court of Sorrow had come for me.

  We reached the crimson stain, the one left by Gabriel’s blood. The police had already processed the scene and left—just a few shreds of police tape, probably left there to keep away the curious pedestrians until the city could clean the blood from the street.

  A torrent of sadness washed over me at the thought of Gabriel’s body, left there, alone.

  At the sight of blood, Elrine hurried closer to the stain, kneeling by it.

  “That’s not the banshees’ blood.” My mouth had gone dry. “That’s Gabriel’s.”

  “Oh.” She rose. “Where did the banshees die?”

  I pointed to the wall where I’d killed one of the banshees. The shattered glass had been swept up, but blotches of maroon still stained the pavement. “Right there.”

  Elrine frowned, approaching it slowly. “It’s very dry.”

  “Can you use it?” asked Roan.

  She crouched, inspecting the blood. To my disgust, she ran her finger across the dark smear and licked it. She frowned, as if deep in concentration.

  “Cassandra,” she finally said. “I can’t fucking concentrate. Your emotions are ringing in my skull.”

  “Sorry.” I shut my eyes and focused, trying to freeze my guilt and grief under the rivers of ice. I summoned the glacier.

  The coppery smell of blood curled into my nostrils. Gabriel’s? No. It couldn’t be real—his blood had completely dried. I shoved the scent under the surface, locking it deep under the ice—

  A faint buzzing from the alley called my attention, and I opened my eyes. Flies, always drawn to blood. I scanned the scene, catching sight of them. Four, no… five dark specks, crawling over Gabriel’s blood, where he had lain after the banshees attacked.

  If he hadn’t come back to look for me…

  If he hadn’t been burdened with having to come into my hotel room…

  If I’d been faster, smarter, stronger…

  The ground tilted under my feet, the pounding in my head deafening, bile rising in my throat. My knees buckled and I leaned on the wall, and then bent, throwing up on the cobblestones.

 
; Roan’s strong arms grabbed me from behind, steadying me. I coughed, wiping my trembling lips on the back of my hand.

  “I have to get out of here,” I stuttered. I pulled away from Roan, breaking into a run, eyes blurring with tears as the loss hit me again, harder than before. I reached the high street, and leaned against a glass storefront, trying to control my breathing, to summon the ice.

  It only took a moment for Roan to find his way to my side, and his powerful hand warmed my back. “I’m sorry.” His soothing voice sparked a flame of warmth between my ribs. “We should have never brought you here.”

  “It’s okay.” I took a deep breath. “You’re centuries old. I imagine you don’t fall to pieces every time one of the rebels dies. But this is new to me.”

  Roan pulled me close, and once again, with my head just by his heart, I was struck by the certainty that he smelled like home.

  Slowly, my racing pulse began to calm, and when my breathing had returned to normal, he said, “It’s what the king does. He destroys lives. And we will end him. We will get revenge.”

  “Yeah,” I said hollowly. Vengeance wouldn’t bring Gabriel back.

  Chapter 13

  For over two hours, Elrine prowled in front of Roan and me, her hands slightly outstretched, nostrils flared. In her black leather leggings and boots, she moved stealthily, fluidly. It was a strange experience, using an actual person as a blood hound, but she seemed to know what she was doing.

  A few times, she stopped and muttered around the ashy ruins of Leadenhall Market—the old Victorian covered market that had been bombed in the fae attack on London. She sniffed the air, mumbling that the traces of blood were fading, lost in the scent of cinders.

  At last, she led us to the ancient, crumbling Roman walls that had once enclosed the city, and beyond into a brick courtyard. Here, modern, glassy apartment buildings encircled a stunning pool of green, tree-lined water. Just ahead of us, a small stone church stood in a brick courtyard, surrounded by the glassy water and a curving section of ruins. There was something oddly peaceful about this part of London, this serene blending of the ancient and the modern.

  As we drew closer to the church—St. Giles, it said—Elrine stopped abruptly, looking around her, her crimson hair seeming to snake around her head in the breeze. “Here. The scent is strong here.”

  I frowned, looking around at the empty expanse of brick around us. “Where, exactly?”

  She gestured around her. “Just… here. Underneath us.”

  I scanned the brick courtyard, looking for a manhole or something that would take us underground, but saw nothing that stood out. “Maybe there’s a crypt in the church? It looks medieval.”

  Elrine nodded. “Right. A crypt. Human burial spaces, yes? Seems appropriate for the Court of Sorrow. They love death, of course.”

  I crossed to the church’s door, glancing at the old wooden sign that read, “City of London – Ward of Cripplegate.” Below that, a sign gave notice of a scheduled funeral. I checked the date. It was today, about to start in half an hour.

  Elrine folded her arms. “So what’s the plan?”

  Roan ran his fingertips along the church’s stone, as if inspecting an alien object. “How do we find this crypt entrance?”

  “There might be dozens of Arawn fae inside,” said Elrine. “Whatever we do, we need to remain discreet and blend in with the humans.”

  “Just ordinary humans,” I said, “showing up early to a funeral to search the building for a crypt.”

  Elrine shrugged. “We could try walking in and pretend to be shopping for a funeral.”

  “Shopping for a funeral?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Isn’t that what people do? Don’t they go and choose a fancy corpse-box, and flowers and all that? Pretty makeup to cover the rot? I don’t know how you humans work. We just burn our dead in trees like normal people.”

  I shook my head, quickly getting the sense that we would not blend in easily among the humans. “Funeral-shopping doesn’t happen in a church.”

  Roan shook his head. “Banshees are sensitive. They will sense that we’re fae, and they’ll definitely feel your sorrow, even with me close by.”

  “Okay, hang on.” I rummaged through my handbag, pulling out a compact mirror. “We can have a look first.”

  I gazed into the reflection, letting my mind click with the glass, feeling for other reflections around us. I could sense dozens, and I scanned through them, looking for something crypt-like. I reached for a reflection, using it to gaze into a spacious stone hall, the flagstones covered in an ornate rug. Old church pews lined the room, and portraits of cranes and mourning doves hung on the walls. Three brightly-cloaked women, their locks long and tangled, sat before a burning hearth, silently sipping from black cups. Seemingly transfixed, they stared into the flames. Even before the fire, their breath misted in front of their faces, as if they generated cold air. Though all were silver-haired, they ranged in age, from a youthful banshee to an old crone.

  I frowned. We’d found what we were looking for, but… Since when did churches have large fireplaces? It must be some sort of banshee lair under the ground. Beyond the crypts, maybe.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We’ve found the banshees.”

  I felt for another reflection, the mirror flickering. Now, it showed me a windowless stone hall, with at least ten banshees, each gripping spears. They were sparring, moving in graceful circles, their cloaks seeming to float on ghostly breezes. How big was this underground compound? This was more than just a crypt.

  “It’s not just a crypt. It’s like a whole underground compound, with a lot of armed banshees.” I turned the mirror so to give Roan and Elrine a look. “Before we go in, I need to map out exactly what we’re walking into. Give me a few minutes to puzzle this out, okay?”

  Roan nodded, and I crossed the brick courtyard to a set of stairs that led down to the water. I took a seat on the stairs, then rifled around in my bag for a pen and a piece of paper.

  With the compact mirror resting on my knee, I bonded with the reflection and scanned the banshee’s compound. After a few minutes, I linked with a reflection in a large brick room full of domed ovens and pots hanging from the ceilings. I flipped through other reflections in the room, trying to estimate the room’s size. I finally decided it was a square room, twelve feet wide. I drew a small square labeled kitchen, with a door marked on one wall.

  Then, I searched for other reflections nearby. After scanning past three of them, I landed on a cavernous dining room with an oblong table. Four banshees sat around the table, eating with their hands, licking their bony fingers clean. I located the door that looked like the door from the kitchen.

  Across the room stood a large glass cabinet with plates in it. I felt for the reflection on the glass, and it appeared on the other mirror. I sifted through several reflections until I felt I had a good grip on the room’s size and exits, and added it on my paper map. Dining room.

  On and on, I leaped between reflections, searching rooms for doors and reflections and creating a detailed map of the place on my receipt, my handwriting cramped on the tiny piece of paper.

  At one point, I realized in frustration that I had placed the kitchen—my place of origin—too far to the right, and I’d run out of room, needing to flip over the receipt. I scrawled the rest over the front of the receipt. Training room. Bedroom A. Bedroom B. Bath C had a tall male fae soaping himself, and I lingered on that reflection just a second longer, to make sure I got the measurements right. The measurements of the room, that is.

  Finally, I felt like I had a reasonable diagram of the place, albeit one that only I would be able to read. I shoved the paper into my pocket and turned to head back to Roan and Elrine. My heart skipped a beat when I couldn’t find them, until I found the faint glimmer of tall outlines. Of course—Roan had been glamouring us this whole time to hide us from the banshees.

  As I moved closer, their forms became clearer, but I counted five of them. Five? Bran
wen, Nerius, and Abellio had joined us, huddling by the church, their faces clearer as I drew within a few feet of them. Branwen had dressed in a formfitting red dress, cut in a low V that showed off her cleavage, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Not exactly ideal for a covert mission, but with her dark, wavy hair and dimpled cheeks, she could certainly distract someone if we needed that.

  “Hello everyone.” I pulled the scrawled map from my handbag. “This is a general outline of the place. There are at least fourteen rooms, not counting the bathrooms.”

  “At least?” Nerius scowled. “You’re not sure?”

  “I’m getting to that.” I said testily. “I think the entrance is through the church’s crypt, and even that is hidden. It’s hard to be sure, because I could find no reflections in the actual crypt, but see here?” I pointed at the edge of a corridor, and the fae hunched over my crappy squiggles. “This corridor ends in a large barred door, with a small hatch. I’m pretty sure I could glimpse a low, arched tunnel that leads beyond the crypt.”

  “How do you propose we get to it?” Nerius asked.

  “We probably don’t. Two male fae were standing guard there, both with swords.”

  Nerius huffed a laugh. “Two? We can take two.”

  “Yes, but we might alert the rest,” Branwen said sharply.

  “How many are there?” asked Roan.

  “Dozens,” I said. “Four of the bedrooms look like barracks, with six double beds in each. This is like a small military outpost. An underground fortress for the Court of Sorrow.”

  I let them digest this for a moment.

  “Besides that entrance from the crypt, three doors lead to places without reflections.” I pointed at my scrawl. “This one here looks like a door to a pantry, and this one, I think, leads to a bathroom stall. That’s the impression I got, anyway. But this one—” I pointed on one I had circled and labeled mystery door. “This one hides something. There’s a huge padlock on it, and it looked like a heavy door with spikes. That’s what I meant earlier when I said I wasn’t sure how many rooms there were. As far as I know, beyond any of these doors could be an entire section with no reflections.”