Agent of Darkness (Dark Fae FBI Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  We were hurtling towards a smooth mass of darkness, lights reflecting on it softly. The Thames. I glanced at the mirror. The car was closing in on us, and I saw the distinct gleam of gunmetal out the window. The fae aimed the gun at us.

  “Abellio, grab the wheel!” I barked.

  “What?”

  “Grab the wheel! Hold us steady!”

  His blue eyes wild, he grabbed the wheel. Looking forward, I bit my lip in concentration. Time slowed to a crawl.

  Thirty feet.

  Behind, on the cargo bed, I saw Roan’s fist rising and falling, pummeling the winged creature into a pulp.

  Twenty feet.

  The engine roared as we flew past the buildings toward London Bridge, hurtling across the Thames.

  Ten feet.

  I focused on the rear-view mirror, feeling for the reflection. It flickered.

  Now.

  I lunged up, plunging my hand through the mirror, following with my body. My upper half emerged from the mirror of the car chasing us, and for a fraction of a second, my eyes locked with the eyes of the driver, his mouth lax in shock.

  I grabbed his steering wheel and jolted it aside. As I felt the car swerve, I pulled back, leaving the mirror and falling back into the driver’s seat. Behind me, I saw the car careen over the bridge’s stone wall.

  Roan stood up and threw the lifeless body of the winged creature onto the pavement.

  Our truck hurtled onward, free of pursuit.

  With Nerius’s body limp in Roan’s arms, we stormed back into the mansion. In the hall, Roan laid him on the floor. He was bleeding profusely from the bullet wound in his stomach, his face pale, his eyelids flickering as he barely maintained consciousness.

  “Elrine!” Roan roared. “Get over here!”

  I knelt by Nerius, and raised my eyes to meet Branwen’s. “Give me your knife.”

  She wordlessly gave me her stiletto, and I registered the panic in her dark eyes.

  “Whiskey,” I said. “Fast.”

  Branwen hurried away as I sliced Nerius’s shirt open. The bullet had hit him in the side. As far as I could tell, it hadn’t hit any vital organs, but I wasn’t a doctor, and I wasn’t even sure how much fae anatomy mirrored humans. The gun had been fired from close range, burn marks darkening his skin. Probably the only reason the fae had managed to hit him in the first place.

  Branwen returned with a bottle of whiskey, and I poured some on the blade.

  “Sorry, this’ll hurt.” I poured some on the wound as well. Nerius hissed, teeth clenched tight.

  “What happened?” Elrine’s voice sounded sharp behind me.

  “Nerius got shot,” Abellio said. “With iron.”

  “I’ll get my kit.” She fled from the room in a blur.

  Gingerly, I spread the wound with my fingers. Nerius let out a moan, and then slumped as unconsciousness finally took hold. At least that would make my job easier.

  Now, I could see the bullet lodged in his flesh. I was about to try and pry it out with the stiletto, when Elrine joined my side, a bag in hand.

  “Move,” she said.

  She pulled out a pair of tweezers and clamps. She handed the clamps to me.

  “Hold the wound open with these,” she said.

  I inserted the clamps into the wound gently and pulled it open, ignoring my welling nausea. Blackening blood oozed from the wound.

  “I need more light here,” Elrine muttered

  “My phone is in my bag,” I said.

  Branwen pulled it out and tapped the screen. It glowed with a faint light and she held it close to the wound.

  “Okay, let’s get this fucker out,” Elrine said. She slid the tweezers into the wound. After a few seconds, the phone screen went dark, and Elrine cursed. Branwen hurriedly tapped it, and tipped the screen back to set its ghostly light on the wound. Finally, Elrine pulled the slug out. Her revulsion was apparent as she handled the iron bullet, her mouth twisting as she held it away from her body. She let it drop on the floor, far from us. Then she rummaged in her bag and took out some bandages, which she pressed to the wound.

  “Hold that tight.”

  Branwen grabbed the bandages from her, pressing them down on the wound. Her face had gone nearly as pale as her twin’s. “Will he be okay?”

  “He’s a tough bastard.” Elrine wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “I think he’ll be fine.” She let out a long breath. “Where’s the Stone?”

  Roan shook his head. “It was an ambush. The Stone is still there.”

  Chapter 22

  Through the morning and afternoon, Branwen sat by her brother’s bed at all times, while Elrine and I alternated checking on him, cleaning his wound and changing the dressing.

  He lay unconscious for most of the time, occasionally waking up for several moments, during which he would grit his teeth at the pain, muttering curses. Branwen had joined Elrine in shooting me death stares. At one point, she snapped at me that if it hadn’t been for my obsession with the damn Stone, this would never have happened.

  I cooked the dinner myself that night, alone in the kitchen, though no one came to the table. I dropped the pies off in people’s rooms, finding Roan’s empty. At last, I crossed back into my room, eating by myself at a rough wood desk in the corner.

  Well, my Stone plan had certainly backfired, and it hadn’t even been worth it. I’d felt nothing when I’d touched it, and one of our own had ended up seriously injured. Worse, I was pretty sure no one trusted me anymore, other than Roan.

  As I finished my dinner, I noticed a small wooden drawer in the desk. I pushed my plate aside, then pulled open the drawer. Inside, I found small wooden figurines. One by one, I picked them up, turning them around in my fingers. A woman with a spear, and what looked like a feathered dress, a raven on her shoulder; a cloaked man with a skull-like face; a woman with tree branches that curved sensually around her body; a powerful man with rays of sun gleaming from behind his head. And a final carving—the most exquisite—a muscular man with stag antlers, like Roan’s. Among the carvings, one lay broken—a winged woman whose arms reached for the skies. She lay, cleaved in two.

  A sudden warmth spread through my chest, that flame that still burned inside my ribs. I blinked, exhaustion overtaking my body. Without thinking about it, I crossed to the bed, still gripping the tiny, horned figure. I crawled into bed, collapsing onto the sheets.

  I dreamed of thickly wooded forests, air heavy with the scent of soil, and the wind rustling the leaves. It felt like I had slept for no more than fifteen minutes when a hand shook me. Blinking, I opened my eyes, staring at Roan. Pouring in from the widow, the moonlight formed a halo around his head.

  A frown creased his brow, and his gaze darted to the little wooden figurine clutched in my fingers. He sat on the bed next to me, gently pulling it from my hand. He studied it carefully, handling it with reverence. “Where did you find this?”

  “In the drawer,” I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep. “I found him with the other carvings. What are they?”

  “Gods. I used to play with them as a boy. My father carved them for me. I’d wondered what happened to these.” He ran his fingertips along the finely-carved horns. “This was one of my favorites.”

  He handed the horned man back to me, then rose to cross to the desk, pulling open the drawer.

  “This was my room once. I’d forgotten about those figures.”

  Rubbing my eyes, I sat up in bed. I watched as Roan pulled out the broken figurine, the woman, his features darkening.

  “Was that another favorite?” I asked.

  He stared down at the two broken halves, and an intense look of pain flashed in his eyes. “I remember breaking it when I was angry at my mother.” In the next moment, his expression had cleared again, as if he’d mastered himself. “I think I was a nightmare as a child.”

  “I think that’s all children.” I looked down at the horned figurine in my hands. “I don’t know why I took it into bed.”
<
br />   He flashed me one of his wicked smiles, suddenly flirtatious. “The closet thing you could get to me. You can keep it.” He sat on my bed again.

  “So, Roan. Are you ever going to tell me what Elrine meant when she threatened some kind of dire consequences if we slept in the same bed?”

  He looked away. “She’s just looking out for me, that’s all. She’s very protective of me.”

  “Ah. And she doesn’t trust you with a terror leech. I get it.”

  It didn’t explain why Roan had agreed with her, or why we’d slept in our own beds since then. Obviously, he’d merely been feeding from my lust. I didn’t need him to spell it out by asking directly.

  I clenched my jaw, trying to ignore my growing irritation with him. “What are you doing in here? Did you come in just to check up on me?”

  “No. I have plans for us. You’ll need to dress warmly. There’s a chill in the air tonight.”

  “What are we doing, exactly?”

  “Training. I found a place where we can be secluded, away from the other fae.”

  I sighed. This was the last thing I wanted to do, but without the London Stone, we had nothing else to go on. “Fine. I’ll get dressed.” I narrowed my eyes. “Will you turn around?”

  A wicked grin curled his lips. “Suddenly shy now, are we?”

  “Just protecting you from my terror fae wiles.” Did I sound bitter when I said that? Whatever. Roan was flirtatious one minute, distant the next. I was pretty sure I’d never understand the interior world of the fae.

  “I’ll wait by the front door.” He crossed to the door, closing it gently behind him.

  I tucked away the little figurine and pulled off my nightgown. While Roan waited outside, I dressed myself in a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved cotton shirt.

  I found him by the front door, huddled in the shadows. Together, we slipped out of the glamoured building into the darkened parking lot known as French Ordinary Court. Moving quietly, we crossed to the Nissan parked into the corner, its exterior battered. The cool night air kissed my skin, and I shivered.

  I still had the keys, and I unlocked the truck. “Should I drive?”

  “Yes.”

  I climbed into the driver’s seat, turning the ignition.

  Roan took his seat next to me. “There’s a place called Temple Church. Do you know how to get there?”

  “Yeah,” I said. Gabriel had taken me there, a week after we’d killed the Rix, and we’d eaten sandwiches in a quiet, grassy garden among the church buildings. A pang of sorrow swelled in my chest, but I buried it under the ice.

  As I pulled out onto Savage Gardens, Roan glanced at me. “You shouldn’t do that. You need to face your sadness. In order to develop your powers, you’ll need to learn to unveil.”

  “Unveil.”

  “You nearly did it already.”

  I nodded. “When I bit you. I still don’t really understand why I did that, you know.”

  “Instinct. Anyway, if you want to unveil, you can’t run away from yourself.”

  I shot him a sharp look. “What makes you think I’m running away? I didn’t say anything.”

  “I could feel it.”

  “You face your sadness head on, I suppose?” I ventured. “Like a soldier battering the shit out of his enemy with a broadsword.”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  “It’s not how I operate.” If I’d spent my life dwelling on my parents’ deaths, I’d never have been able to function.

  “It’s how you’ll need to operate if you want to harness your power.”

  “Are you going to dredge up my worst memories again, Roan? You know, that’s not really how therapy works. You can’t completely take someone apart, throw their trauma at them, and fail to put them together again.”

  “But it’s not therapy, Cassandra. It’s war.” He glanced at me. “I’ll do my best to help put you back together again.”

  “Thanks.”

  I gritted my teeth, trying to imagine myself unveiling. He was right—it had nearly happened when I’d bit him. My claws had begun to grow, my teeth lengthened. When I thought about it, the feeling of losing control had sort of terrified me. I wasn’t a fae like Roan was.

  “Do I really need to unveil?”

  “It’s the only way to make you safe among the fae. When fae unveil, our power increases tenfold. We become tuned into the world around us. Faster and stronger, aware of every sound and smell around us, every movement.”

  “It sounds overwhelming. No wonder you spend so much time alone in the woods.”

  “When I unveil, I become my true self. You need to learn to do the same if you’re going to continue to live among us.”

  I heaved a breath, listening to the hum of the engine as we drove down Fenchurch street.

  I looked out the window as we drove, hardly able to remember what the streets looked like in daylight anymore. At night, the city had a strange beauty to it. It glowed with pearly streetlights, the passersby on the streets walking at the casual pace of people looking for a good time. I glanced at the time. Half past midnight.

  “What made you choose Temple Church?”

  “It is a sacred place. Sacred places have power. Also, the church grounds will be completely empty at this time of night.”

  “And… where are the prisoners coming from?”

  “No prisoners.”

  “Then who will I train on?”

  “You will train on me.”

  “I don’t think so. It messed you up last time. What did I just say to you? You can’t rip someone’s mind apart and then fail to put them back together. That’s not how it works.”

  “I will be fine.”

  I shook my head in frustration. Stupid macho attitude. “Roan, my dread power… when I used it on those banshees, they were paralyzed by fear. If I accidentally dredged up something you’re not ready to deal with—”

  “You don’t need to… amplify my fear. All you need is to feel it. This will be our first step. Then, you learn to unveil.”

  Empathy. I could do that. “Okay. Fine. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

  I pulled through a gate into a parking lot, ancient stone buildings on either side of us. We stepped out of the car and crossed the cobblestone ground, moving through the grounds of Temple Church, past the church itself—the round, medieval temple. Outside the church stood a pillar carved with two Templar knights at the top, marking the place where the Great Fire had ended, according to Gabriel.

  Roan led me on through the grounds, to a stony courtyard surrounded by brick buildings. A pool of water with a fountain burbled in the middle of it all. An ancient, gnarled tree snaked over the fountain, its leaves rustling in the wind. Roan stopped by the fountain’s edge, turning to face me.

  I pointed to one of the brick buildings. “I take it there are no fae in there?”

  He shook his head. “None.”

  A chilly breeze whispered over my skin, and I hugged myself. “And what happens now?”

  “You need to face your true self,” he said. “Until you accomplish that, you won’t be able to reliably use your powers.”

  I cocked a hip. “And what if my true self involves a lot of repression? Because I’m quite comfortable with that state of being.”

  “You’re limiting yourself. Did you stop studying after you first learned to read, because you had learned enough? Did you become complacent?”

  “No. I just don’t understand exactly what it is you want me to do. I don’t know what ‘face your true self’ means.”

  “Humans sometimes say that they are angels trapped within the bodies of beasts, godlike sparks stuck in a cursed, beastly body. Two opposing forces at war with each other.”

  “I never met anyone who said that.”

  Roan ignored me. “But the fae are different. We become gods through embracing our bestial drives and desires. We are not gods trapped in the bodies of animals. We are bestial gods of the forests and rivers, the earth
and sky. When we embrace our true selves, we are powerful.”

  I fought my natural instinct to intellectualize all of this. I was pretty sure quoting Freud wasn’t “embracing my bestial self.”

  But because I’m me, I failed pretty fast. “Right,” I said. “So I need to embrace my id. Right? Primal drives and desires, let the superego chill out a bit?”

  “Tune out any distraction around you, the never-ending thoughts about the past you cannot change, or events in the future that you have no control over. Empty your mind completely, except for what you see, what you smell, what you hear, and what you feel. And your most basic needs. A fae who is free can unveil.”

  “I have no idea how to unveil at will.”

  “You are fae. Every fae can unveil.”

  I nodded. He seemed to know what he was doing, and I just needed to trust him.

  For the next four hours, Roan led me through a series of exercises. He had me close my eyes and describe the scent of the night air, the feel of the wind over my skin, the feel of his fingers tracing over my hipbone, over my ribs. That particular exercise had been distracting enough for both of us that we had to stop, and we moved on to the much less pleasant task of him asking me to do pushups to exhaust me.

  As I breathed hard, arms still trembling from effort, I thought of the moment Gabriel died, of his open vacant eyes, of my failure to—

  “No!” Roan roared. “Do not analyze your memories, or imagine what you could have done differently. There is a wound in your soul, and you need to accept the pain. There is a hole inside of you. You need to confront your hole.”

  My arms were shaking with fatigue, and in my exhaustion, I seemed to regress about a decade. “‘Confront my hole?’ I’m sorry, but that just sounds wrong.”

  Roan snarled, unimpressed.

  I tried over and over to accept the pain, to confront my hole the way Roan wanted me to, but he could somehow sense my thoughts—probably through our connection—and seemed dissatisfied.