Agent of Darkness (Dark Fae FBI Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  We drove south through the city, heading past Savage Gardens on a street called Crutched Friars. God, this city had amazing street names. At last, we came to an arched carriageway—a covered street called French Ordinary Court—and Nerius took a right into a dark, underground parking lot. He parked the car before a whitewashed stone wall in the passageway. “Here we are.”

  I opened the passenger’s door, stepping out. As soon as I did, the world spun, and I nearly collapsed onto the cobblestones. Roan grabbed my waist and steadied me, helping me cross to the wall. With one arm around me, he lifted his hand to the wall, and it shimmered away, revealing a stunning redbrick mansion with turrets and an arched entrance into a courtyard. I glanced upward, at the golden stag’s head that gleamed in the sunlight above the door.

  Elrine walked past us, pretty much sneering, her eyes pure ice. What the hell, woman? If I had to guess, she was pissed that Roan had put his own life in danger by sucking the venom from my neck. She was clearly protective of him.

  With Roan’s arm around my back, we walked through the courtyard to one of the oak doors. From there, Roan led us through the dark-walled halls into a room hung with ancient tapestries. Through warped windowpanes, milky light streamed onto carved oak chairs and a round table.

  I sat beside Roan, squinting in the bright light. Dust motes hung suspended in the air. Abellio took a few extra moments to fetch me a glass of water. An eerie silence hung over the room, and I had the sense that all the fae were upset about something—Elrine especially. But I had no idea what.

  Once I’d taken a few sips of water, Roan turned to me. “What exactly happened back there?”

  “I found the keys to the locked room. I found my way there through a reflection, unlocked the door.” I shuddered at the memory. “The whole place was full of bodies coated in that stuff. The spider’s silk. The bodies were in various states of decay. Lord Balor was there.” I knew what was most important to them. “He had no information about your spy. He asked me to kill him. I had no way to get him out.”

  “Did you?” asked Roan.

  “Yes.”

  Elrine gritted her teeth. “If you were as good as you said, you’d have found a way to get Lord Balor out alive. Maybe get out yourself in a way that didn’t involve Roan endangering his life.”

  Roan waved a dismissive hand. “Not now.”

  I crossed my arms, trying to ignore Elrine’s hostility. “Lord Balor said something about a bloodline of dread, that he knows about two people who possess a certain power. He said it only works for terror, the most ancient human emotion.” I frowned, not entirely sure if that was true, but I’d leave it for now. “He said that most of the bloodline of dread had been abolished, but now two remain who can manipulate fae terror. I guess that’s me and… someone I’m related to. Maybe the Rix’s brother.”

  Nerius glared at me. “Nonsense. And then, what? You killed him?”

  “He was dying in agony. I had to act quickly.”

  Nerius pushed back in his chair, his face reddening. “You can’t seriously believe this drivel? A bloodline of dread? We would have heard of it.”

  “It bears consideration,” Roan said. “Let’s not forget she managed to kill three banshees, something I’m not sure you could do.”

  Nerius’s expression darkened. “If she was working with them, that would explain everything as well. I never saw any proof that those banshees were dead, like she said. And as it happens, she just murdered one of our allies.”

  Roan eyed him, his eyes flickering. “Do you really think I wouldn’t know it? Even now?”

  The temperature in the room dropped sharply, and Elrine’s lips flattened into a thin line. A heavy silence reigned over the room, and I stared at Roan. What did he mean by that? Even now? Why was now any different?

  Something had happened that I didn’t understand, but seeing as everyone was ready to rip my throat out, I kept my mouth shut. Elrine looked like she was two seconds from leaping over the table and slamming my head into the oak. Mistress of Dread or not, I could not take that woman in a fight right now.

  Nerius finally lowered his eyes. “I trust your heart.”

  And that was definitely unexpected.

  Abellio drummed his fingertips on the table. “Hello? It’s almost like no one listens to me anymore. I already cleared her.”

  Elrine leaned back, crossing her arms. “But what does that change? Even if she does possess this magic, there are stronger beings than her. And who’s to say she won’t join the Court of Terror again? She belongs under the sigil of the Drowned Man. It’s in her blood, Roan. You of all people should be disgusted by this.”

  Roan merely stared at her.

  Branwen reached down, picking up my handbag from the floor. She plopped it on the table, and I realized for the first time she’d been carrying it for me. “Let’s move on, shall we? Cassandra and I found something in the safe.” She pulled out the three rolled parchments, placing them in the center of the table.

  Roan picked the first one up, unrolling it to read the contents.

  “What is in there?” Nerius was trying to peer over the top, though no one touched the rest of the parchments. Apparently there was an order to how things were done around here, and Roan took precedence.

  “We definitely have a traitor.” Anger laced Roan’s voice, and he began to read out loud. “‘I have met with our associate tonight after he showed up in bird form. He escorted me to a hidden trail in the Hawkwood Forest. My guide informed me that Elder Fae and traitors use his path. The trail ended abruptly in the river, which seemed too wild to cross. But my guide made me follow him across the river, and then I could see that it was nothing but clever glamour, hiding the path. The location is in a bend of the river, with dozens of sharp-looking rocks. The water breaks upon their jagged peaks with a roar. Both river banks are covered in dense foliage, old oak trees, and nettles. To get there…’” He scanned the page. “There are very detailed instructions.”

  “A bird form,” Branwen echoed, touching her finger to her lips. “So. A shifter.”

  “Maybe.” Roan uncurled the next parchment, reading it over. “Listen to this one. ‘Our associate showed up again tonight, in the guise of a young woman. We flew through the City of London until we arrived at a small warehouse. It is my belief that this warehouse should contain something of interest. The address to the warehouse is 103 Savage Gardens.’” He raised his green eyes, snarling, “The address of the cache the king’s men raided.”

  “So… “ Abellio chewed at the tip of his fountain pen. “A woman who shifts to a bird?”

  “Well, it says a guise of a young woman,” Branwen pointed out. “As if that weren’t her usual form.”

  Elrine remained silent, and I could practically feel her anger pulsing across the room.

  Ignoring her, I peered at the parchment. The contents didn’t entirely make sense. “Why would he take them to the locations? Why not simply tell them where to find them?”

  No one answered, and Roan unrolled the third parchment. This one looked different—thicker, and the seal had already been broken.

  Roan opened it, reading, “‘It has come to my knowledge that there’s a pixie who poses a serious threat to our kingdom in the human City of London. Among other crimes, the mongrel is suspected in being involved in the death of the estimable Rix, assaulting Grendel of Balor Court, burning down the manor of Siofra of Weala Broc, and attacking seven of the king’s guests in a royal gathering. She is dangerous, like a rabid bitch. She may be known by either the human name Cassandra Liddell, or the designation the Mistress of Dread or the Queen of Terror. She is to be killed or captured without delay, using your best assassins. She has a…” He cleared his throat. “There’s a general description here. Quite detailed. It’s not important.”

  “Really?” I raised an eyebrow. “Please share.”

  Elrine spoke for the first time, her voice venomous. “Enlighten us.”

  “Just… height. That ki
nd of thing.”

  “You said it was detailed.” I peered over the parchment, glancing at the runes.

  Roan sighed and resumed reading. “She has a pink, wanton mane of hair, and a young, nubile body which she uses to distract the honest fae around her like a bitch in heat. She dresses as a harlot would, exposing her breasts and flaunting them. Her pixie emotions inspire shameful lusts in all those she comes in contact with. She is a bit shorter than the average fae, a corrupted runt who should have been slaughtered at birth.”

  My face reddened. “I do not flaunt my breasts. And can hair even be wanton?”

  “Sounds accurate,” said Elrine acidly. “A bitch in heat.”

  “Elrine,” barked Roan.

  She glared at him, her nostrils flaring with rage. Okay, she really hated me.

  “I told you I was the Mistress of Dread,” I said, cringing slightly at the petulant I told you so. “But the rest is inaccurate. I didn’t burn Siofra’s manor. That was Roan’s friend. And Grendel and the Rix attacked me first.” I cleared my throat. “I did do all the killing and assaulting, I guess.”

  Roan rolled up the parchment. “King Ogmios used the house of Arawn in an attempt to efficiently and silently dispatch the Mistress of Dread. He is, quite simply, terrified of you.”

  “Can I see that letter?” I asked.

  Roan handed it to me and I held it, staring at the curvy runes. They were beautiful… and completely undecipherable, as far as I was concerned. I rolled it again, completing the wax seal—a lone cypress tree. I shivered with recognition, running my fingers over it. “I’ve seen this before.”

  “It’s the private seal of King Ogmios,” Roan said. “He seals all his royal missives with it.”

  “Only he has it?”

  “Yes.”

  I swallowed hard. When I’d touched the London Stone, I’d seen another person’s memories, flashes of his life. And in those memories, I’d seen this very seal. I had glimpsed moments from the king’s life. Somehow, touching the Stone let me see fragments of his memories.

  Chapter 18

  After reading the three missives a few more times, we moved on to the papers I had photographed on my phone. It was dreary work—I flipped between each image, and Roan scanned the document, reading it aloud. Several times he accidentally touched the screen, shifting the image around or closing it, at which point he would thrust the phone back at me, muttering in frustration about human technology.

  I transcribed a list of the notes in English. Some were just logistical memos—supplies bought and stored, a shipment of swords that had arrived, an increase of pay to the high officers. Others were reports or instructions—a request for a troop of guards to escort an envoy to the court of Balor, a report mentioning a Seelie spy who had escaped incarceration, a demand for additional skilled archers as many had been killed during the attack on the Elder Fae. Nothing mentioned the Stone, or the Mistress of Dread, or anything that seemed relevant.

  I spent the afternoon helping Branwen cook. After dinner, I wandered through the halls and found Roan in the training room, shirtless and practicing with a sword. I let my gaze roam over the muscles of his chest as they flexed, and the savage tattoos that snaked around his body.

  As I crossed into the room, my pulse began to race, heart speeding up—almost as if I were the one doing the workout. That strange flame burned brighter. What exactly was this bond connecting us? Everyone else seemed to know, and I wanted some answers.

  He paused in his training and turned to look at me, a faint sheen of sweat shimmering on his powerful body. He smiled slyly, and I bristled in annoyance. He could sense the flicker of desire, and I clamped down on it. Pure ice.

  “You should learn to let go,” he said, returning to cutting his blade gracefully into the air—as if he needed practice. “Whatever you feel is a natural reaction. Lust and dread, life and death—they’re dancing partners. You must know that.”

  I did know that. Baby booms often followed bloody wars, and during the bubonic plague, people had screwed like rabbits when they weren’t busy succumbing to their buboes. The scent of death filled people with the need to feel alive. “Terror and Lust.” I smiled. “Sounds like us. Speaking of us—that bond between us… the thing you did. What exactly was that? I felt it like a warm glow in my chest. I still feel it. It feels… golden. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

  “It’s a connection between souls. It allowed me to see some of your memories so I could make sure you were telling me the truth.”

  I took a deep breath. “It’s more than that, Roan. It’s keeping me alive. Elrine hinted that your heart is working for both of us. Is that true? I felt it when I was walking in here, like my heart was speeding up along with yours.”

  Another wicked smile crossed his sensual lips. “I can think of another reason that might happen.”

  My cheeks warmed, pulse racing. Was he flirting with me? Something had changed in him ever since he did that bonding thing. “So what exactly is this bond? And how long does it last?”

  “Cassandra, magic can’t always be explained with words. Some things just are. It’s a connection. It’s keeping you alive. It lets us share some emotions, some memories. That’s it.”

  “Can you sever it?”

  This made him pause. “It would kill you right now.”

  “And what about once I get better?”

  He stopped slicing his sword and turned to me. His expression was hard to read; was that sadness? “Of course I would sever it. If that’s what you want.”

  I blinked. “Well, I don’t understand what it is, and I don’t like things that I can’t understand.”

  “Of course.”

  A heavy silence fell over the room, and I decided to change the subject. “I think the London Stone is important.”

  “Important how?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It just felt… powerful. I went there, searching for my mother. I heard her screaming, like she was trapped in the Stone. It was like there were thousands of terrified souls trapped in there, and it exuded power. At least, to someone like me. A terror leech. But here’s the weirdest thing. I saw someone’s memories. And I’m pretty sure it was the king’s.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Anything we can use? A weakness in his defenses?”

  I shook my head, trying to think clearly through the haze of whiskey-soaked memories. “There was a sacrifice, I think. Almost like he was terrorizing people to feed their fear to the Stone. Like it’s a… like a weapon. I had a sense that it was a living part of the city, the ancient part of the city’s mind, where terror lives.”

  Roan scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “If the Stone connected you to the king, it may have alerted him to your presence. If it linked your minds, this might be how he knows about the Mistress of Dread in the first place. That’s probably what triggered the assassination attempt. Whatever your powers can do, he believes you are a great threat.” He studied me carefully. “We need to understand your powers better. When we finally launch an attack on the king’s keep, we’ll need all we can get. Once we weed out our spy, we’ll have surprise on our side. And we have some raw power.”

  I let my gaze roam over his body for a moment. “Yep. I’ve seen that.”

  “But the king has legions of powerful fae. Perhaps if we can use your powers of dread, it would tip the scale.”

  “Of course. That’s exactly what I want to do, to use my powers to destroy the king. I just need to learn how. It’s not like the reflection magic; it doesn’t just happen when I need it. It only happened that one time, after they killed Gabriel. I just need to learn to focus it, right?”

  He crossed to the weapon rack, carefully resting his sword in an empty spot. “This sort of magic is more powerful than reflection magic. You’ll need to learn how to unleash it, and that means you’ll need to inhabit your true nature.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking slowly back to me. Sunlight from the windows gilded his body and sparkled in his fore
st-green eyes. “Powerful magic is not about focusing. It’s about releasing something inside you. You don’t focus when you need to breathe, or to blink. These things happen because that’s what your body wants.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not sure I can put that advice to use. I don’t know how to develop a skill like that.”

  He crossed to me, his gaze moving slowly up and down my body. “You need to let go. You’re holding yourself too tightly.” He stepped closer to me, the heat radiating from his body. He reached out, tracing his fingertips gently over my collarbone as though he were exploring it, memorizing me.

  His touch left a trail of hot tingles over my skin, and my breath sped up, pulse racing. This close, I could see the stunning contrast of the gold flecks in his eyes with his black eyelashes, and the dark, graceful sweep of his eyebrows. The streaming sunlight seemed to ignite his golden hair, giving him a halo.

  His fingers moved up higher along my throat, brushing lightly over the place where he’d once bitten me. “Your body is full of years of memories and emotions that you’ve always contained, and never faced. They are battering to be let out. And constantly trying to understand everything is just wasted effort.”

  I swallowed, trying to ignore the heat building in my belly. “Right, so… I need my prefrontal cortex to become less active, and let my limbic system and occipital—”

  “What?” He dropped his hand. “I don’t know, but it sounds like you’re still trying to understand it. Look, I need to train you.”

  “And how do you propose we practice?”

  Roan cocked his head. “I think I have an idea.”

  Roan had insisted that I spend some time resting before we could train. I’d tried to explain that I wasn’t tired, but he flat-out disagreed with me. Apparently, his body had been picking up the slack for both of us. So I’d trudged back to my room, thrown myself down on the bed, and had fallen asleep within minutes. After three hours, he’d roused me to return.

  I trudged back to the training room to find a handsome fae standing in the doorway. With his striking feline eyes and brown skin, I instantly recognized him as Morcant—one of the fae who’d helped us rescue Scarlett.