Agent of Darkness (Dark Fae FBI Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  In the next moment, he was behind me, his arms encircling me, body warming mine.

  He nudged the horse, pulling on the reins, and we took off at a gallop toward a winding forest path.

  As the horse’s hooves hammered the earth and the wind whipped at my hair on our way to the Trinovantum portal, for the first time, I embraced the hope that I was truly free.

  I’d never realized I could miss the din and chaos of the city so badly. As soon as we’d returned to the city and heard the honking of cars, I’d cried with relief, leaning into Roan’s chest. And God bless him, he never mentioned how bad I smelled; he just scooped me up and carried me to the nearest hotel. We couldn’t go back to his mansion—not when Abellio knew how to find it—so Roan ferried me to an old Victorian hotel in the city.

  If they’d actually seen how we looked, Roan carrying me in his arms, covered in the ragged filth of two months in a hole, they would have turned us away immediately.

  Luckily for us, Roan was able to glamour the both of us and charm the woman behind the counter. When she’d asked if we wanted one room or two, I blurted, “Two.” I didn’t like Roan seeing me like this any more than he needed to. So two keycards it was, and the woman simply batted her eyelashes at Roan, asking if we wanted breakfast in the morning. Was she kidding? I wanted breakfast now.

  In the elevator, Roan held me in his arms, closing his eyes as he leaned against the mirrors. After so much time desperately searching for reflections around me, the vastness of the mirrors in the elevator seemed like a stunning luxury.

  On the fourth floor, Roan carried me to my room, gently putting me down before the door, and then he crossed to his own room.

  The first thing I did when I walked into my hotel room was to snatch the box of matches that lay on the bedside table. Then I stumbled to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I stripped off the piss-stained, mud-soaked tatters that had been clinging to my body for months and I dropped them in the sink—pants, underwear, shirt. Stark naked, I struck a match, then held it to the pile of rags. The match went out. I went to the minibar, and took out all the bottles that were at least forty proof. I poured them one after the other on the humid, moldy rags, the air in the bathroom becoming dizzying. I lit three matches together and tossed them into the sink, and a large flame rose upwards. I stood back, watching them burn, the smell overpowering. Fortunately, there was no smoke alarm in the bathroom. I had no plan for what to wear now that I’d burned my only clothes, but I’d rather go naked than leave those things in existence.

  While the rags burned, I crossed barefoot to the shower, my body shaking, ready to give in. But I couldn’t sleep or rest until I’d cleaned myself, and I turned the shower up as hot as it would go, letting the room fill with steam. Holding on to the towel rack for support, I stepped, trembling, into the shower. The scalding water washed over me, and I grabbed the soap, scrubbing at my chest, my arms, the back of my neck, between my legs. I poured out an enormous dollop of shampoo into my hand, working up a thick lather in my hair, then grabbed the soap again, clawing at the creamy bar with my fingernails to clear the crusted dirt from under them. Mud and grit swirled into the bottom of the tub along with the soap suds. When I couldn’t stand anymore, I sat on the lip of the tub and lifted my feet, scrubbing at them with the soap, wearing it down. My mind flashed with the image of the silver pen, worn down to a dull nub. I scoured the pads of my feet, grinding down the soap with all the force I could muster—scraping, wearing it down. When the last of the dirt had swirled down the drain and the soap had turned into a thin sliver in my palm, I turned off the shower.

  Stepping out of the tub, I stumbled to the sink and turned on the water, dousing the last of the flames. I glanced at the bathmat beneath my feet, lured downward by its softness. I practically fell to the floor, curling in a ball. For reasons I couldn’t quite explain, tears rolled down my cheeks, and I sniffled into the bathmat.

  Hadn’t I spent enough time alone already?

  I reached up to the towel rack, snatching off a fluffy white towel. Slowly, nearly ready to collapse, I pulled myself to my feet and wrapped the towel around me.

  Leaning against the walls for support, I shuffled to the door. Slowly, painfully, I made it to Roan’s door and knocked. It took a few moments for him to open the door.

  He was shirtless, water droplets glistening over the muscled planes of his body. “Are you okay?”

  “I want to stay with you.”

  Without another word, he opened the door wider, and I shuffled into his room. I collapsed onto his bed, my eyes already closing. And as sleep began to claim my mind, images rose from the back of my skull—images of a silver pen, worn down to a nub, rat bones snapping in grout. As I drifted off, the towel wrapped around my damp body, I became vaguely aware of a masculine presence enveloping me, powerful arms curling around my body. Then my visions shifted, and I dreamed of sunlight filtering between the oak leaves.

  Chapter 32

  As we walked in the tall grasses of Hampstead Heath, the sun edged out from behind a cloud. Rays of sunlight shone through a hawthorn’s leaves, which were just starting to redden in the September air. The grass sparkled with remnants of the night’s dewdrops. My eyes filled with tears as I looked around me, taking in the calm beauty. Fresh air, sunlight, the smell of wet earth, vivid colors. I had once taken these things for granted.

  Never again.

  “This is it.” Roan squinted in the sunlight. “This is the meeting place. I should have chosen a different one. We’re too visible here.”

  “I can think of worse places to be,” I whispered.

  When I had woken up that morning, Roan was gone. He’d returned half an hour later with some fresh croissants and a cup of coffee for me, as well as clothing for both of us. When I had asked him where he got the cash, he muttered something incomprehensible, and said that we had to go, that he had sent a message to whomever remained of the rebels to meet us in Hampstead Heath.

  Most shockingly of all, along with the new underwear, pants, and shirts, he’d included a tube of cherry-red lip gloss. Roan explained that I’d been talking about it in my sleep, and he’d gone out on a little early-morning shopping trip. The idea of Roan Taranis walking into a department store to select just the right shade of lip gloss brought a smile to my face that wasn’t going away any time soon.

  I took a seat on the grass beneath the tree, running my fingers across the soft blades, then gently stroking the damp earth. The dew dampened the seat of my jeans, and it felt glorious. Everything about being outside thrilled me. “This would be a lovely place for a picnic.”

  Roan sat next to me, and his lips quirked slightly. Sunlight ignited his tousled hair, electrifying the strands of gold. “A picnic.”

  “Cheese, wine, bread.” My stomach rumbled, and I smiled at the thought. “Chocolate. We need chocolate.” When I glanced at Roan, I caught him studying me carefully. “What?”

  A faint smile played about his lips. “Nothing.”

  I leaned back on my hands, the dew wetting my palms. “Have you spoken to Elrine?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t found her yet. I don’t know who we’re meeting or where to find the other rebels.”

  I frowned. “How did you arrange this meeting, then?”

  “I had some help.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  His brow furrowed, and he looked extremely uncomfortable. He muttered something under his breath.

  “Who?” I leaned closer, trying to hear him.

  “Alvin helped me,” he said at last.

  “Alvin Taranis?” I asked, bemused.

  “Yes.”

  “Your relative?”

  “Distant relative.”

  “And you trusted him to set up this meeting?”

  “Not at all,” Roan said sharply. “But I had no choice. I couldn’t find anyone else. Alvin has no love for the king. Ogmios killed his entire family, too.”

  “Right.” I shivered, the nam
e Ogmios casting a shadow on this beautiful day.

  “I was hoping he’d find Drustan. Maybe Odette. We need the rebellion’s leaders.”

  I surveyed the park, searching for signs of Drustan’s darkness. When I saw nothing moving in the tall grasses, I shut my eyes, letting the gentle warmth of the early September sun bake my skin. Unusually warm for this time of year, and it felt sublime.

  “Good morning, Goddess. Squawk!”

  My eyes snapped open, and I raised my eyes. The raven perched on a branch above us, quirking his head.

  “Odin!”

  “My nipples tingle with delight! Squawk!” He flapped his wings and took off over the grass, his black shadow rippling in the green expanse. I jumped to my feet, and took off after him.

  Running. Running in the sunlight, no walls around me, the slight breeze blowing against my face. A perfect moment.

  It wouldn’t last long, I knew. Soon, we’d meet the rebels. We would talk about war and death and betrayal, and danger lurking ahead. But for now, I didn’t care. I focused on the now, enjoying the open air, relishing the simple chase. Laughter bubbled in my chest.

  Odin led me to a line of trees, cutting a lazy arc through the air. He flapped his wings, curving slowly down, heading for a man’s shoulder. A hulking man with a beautiful face, marked by a scar over his olive skin, glared at the raven.

  “Nerius!” I breathed.

  He smiled at me just as Roan caught up to me, his long shadow moving over the grass.

  Without saying anything, Nerius nodded at the line of trees, leading us onto a path. From the trees, a kestrel called. We followed the fae warrior, my eyes dazzled by the light piercing the canopy of birch and oak leaves, flecking the ground with gold.

  Within a grove of oaks, Elrine and Branwen waited for us, leaning on tree trunks. Elrine’s face lit up with a huge smile as she saw Roan, and she ran into his embrace. She buried her head in his shoulders, gripping him for dear life. “Roan. I’m so happy you’re okay.”

  Branwen didn’t move, or smile. Her dark eyes met mine, and she said nothing.

  “Where are the rest?” Roan asked, pulling back from Elrine.

  “There are no rest.” Branwen’s voice was ice-cold. “We could get in touch with no one. They’ve gone deep underground.”

  “No one contacted you?” Roan frowned.

  Branwen folded her arms. “I believe the general consensus was that it was best to stay away from the cell that had a spy in its midst.”

  Elrine’s eyes glistened. “The rebellion is dead. It’s over. The remaining survivors went into hiding with the Elder Fae, deep in Hawkwood Forest. I managed to find Nerius by tracking him to his hideout.”

  “What happened to my home?” Roan asked.

  Elrine seemed reluctant to pull away from him, her arm still around his waist. “Abellio gave them the location. The king gave it to Grendel.”

  A muscle twitched in Roan’s jaw. “What’s the news of the war with the Seelie?”

  “The invasion has started,” Elrine said. “Heavy casualties on both sides. I think Ogmios underestimated their strength. But just for now, the Unseelie have the advantage. The king is using enormous amounts of the energy he had managed to store over the years. Human terror that he’s drawing on somehow.”

  “Store it?” Roan asked. “How?”

  I straightened. “The London Stone.”

  Nerius scrubbed at his jaw. “As far as we can tell, Cassandra is right. Ogmios has been storing fear in the Stone for centuries. Lately he’s accelerated this process, spreading fear throughout London. He amplifies it and feeds from it.”

  The Rix and his serial killings. Siofra and her attacks on London—the dancing plague and the floods. All designed to spread fear. King Ogmios had harvested all that fear, storing it in the Stone. I hadn’t been entirely certain before, but this confirmed it. I was the king’s daughter. It all fit—and it mirrored my powers precisely. The bloodline of dread, and I, its heir.

  Roan ran a hand thorough his golden hair. “We have to get to Hawkwood Forest, find the rest of the rebels. The king won’t be prepared for another attack, not while he’s fighting the Seelie. We’ll—”

  “No!” I practically shouted it.

  Everyone turned to stare at me, the single word piercing Roan’s speech.

  “We need to get me to the London Stone,” I said. “I’ll use it against the king. It’s the key.”

  Nerius shook his head. “Last time you touched it, nothing happened.”

  “I think I know why. I can make it work.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Nerius said. “The London Stone is gone. Ogmios took it. He has it hidden somewhere.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I know how to find it.”

  The man behind the desk at the hostel glared at me, scratching his beard. The fluorescent light flickered above him. “I’m sorry, miss, I have no idea what you are referring to.”

  “A golden compass. Not too big. I left it in room eleven a couple of months ago.” I was certain I’d left it behind with my other things when I’d left in a rush for Trinovantum. I gripped my handbag tighter. I’d filled it with hand mirrors, and had everything I needed at this point. Except the compass.

  The man tapped his stubby fingers on the counter, then he wagged a finger at me. “I remember you. You left the room in a terrible state. I should be billing you for damages.”

  A throat cleared behind me. Roan stood by my side, towering over me. The receptionist seemed to wither as he stared upward at his face.

  Roan leaned on the counter. “She’s merely asking for her belongings,” Roan said. “You should accommodate her.”

  The man cleared his throat. “I really wouldn’t hang on to a compass.”

  Roan leaned forward and grasped the metal desk bell from the counter. He clenched his fist, twisting the bell as if it were made of paper.

  The man jumped back. “Oh! That compass! I have it right here.” He crouched down, rummaging below the desk. A few seconds later, he slammed it down on the countertop. “There you go. I think it’s broken. It doesn’t point to the north.”

  “Thank you.” I plucked it from the countertop. “Wonderful service. I’ll be sure to recommend this place to my friends.”

  “I’d prefer you didn’t,” the man muttered to our backs as we strode outside.

  We walked out onto the narrow London street, and I nodded down the road. As I walked, I glanced at the compass, which pointed north. “Let’s go that way.”

  As we moved along the sidewalk, I kept my eyes locked on the compass. After walking several yards, the needle shifted slightly, and I loosed a sigh of relief.

  Roan peered over my shoulder. “We just walk in the direction the compass is showing us?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What if the king shipped the Stone to another land?”

  I tried to avoid passersby as I stared at it. “He didn’t. The Stone is still in London.”

  Roan’s enormous form cast a shadow over the compass as he looked on. “How do you know it’s in London?”

  “Because the needle just moved. So it means the Stone is close because…” I hesitated. “Because of math.” I didn’t feel like explaining about vector intersection just then.

  Roan walked by my side along London’s winding city streets, moving northwest along the sidewalks. After a while, I began to suspect I knew where we were going. I recognized the sleek, modern apartment buildings just up ahead.

  “The compass seems to be taking us to Cripplegate. Barbican. The Stone is probably in the banshees’ compound under the church.”

  Roan squinted in the sunlight. “That makes sense. A good hiding place, with many soldiers from the house of Arawn.”

  As we moved closer to the church, striding over the brick, I stared at the compass. The needle pointed unerringly to the large terrace beside the church. Then all of a sudden it wavered, flipping around and pointing back. I stopped.

  “Hang o
n,” I said. I slowly took two steps backward. The needle wavered again, and then spun wildly in a circle. “We’re standing right above it.”

  We both looked down at the brick ground. Somewhere below us, the London Stone waited.

  “Can you get into the compound?” asked Roan. “You just need to touch it. Is that right?”

  “Yeah. Last time I connected to the king, the connection maintained for over a week. I’ll find it, jump in, touch it, and leave.”

  Roan frowned. “And you’re sure this is worth the risk?”

  “Completely sure,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

  I unzipped my handbag, pulling out a small hand mirror. As I gazed into it, I let my mind bond with the glass, then I scanned for reflections below.

  Instantly, I realized my options had become more limited since the last time we’d visited. Learning from their mistakes, the Arawn fae had removed most of the mirrors. Still, they’d left behind metal candle holders, small puddles of water, the well-polished wood. People don’t realize how many things cast reflections.

  I scanned the compound’s reflections, shifting quickly from one to another—past the images of blank walls, of banshees bathing, of rooms full of guards. I searched each room for the London Stone. I found it nowhere, until, with a sinking feeling, I realized where they’d hidden it. I lowered the mirror.

  “There’s a lot more security inside the complex,” I said. “About twice as much as before. They have six fae watching the front door, and more patrols. Guards in the study as well. They definitely bolstered their defenses since last time.”

  Roan crossed his arms. “Did you find the Stone?”

  “I couldn’t find it, but there are nine guards stationed in the atrium that leads to the spider’s lair. Last time there were none. And the spider’s lair has no reflections in it.”

  “Jumping in, touching the Stone, and getting out is out of the question. We need ten or twenty more fae on our side before you can go in there.”