Unexpected Magic

by Imani L Hawkins

  I looked up into deep brown eyes beneath a mop of dark curls that cascaded down the man’s forehead, clinging to the sheen of sweat that lingered there. His breath was heavy, coming from him in bursts of energy that fueled his thrusts as he pushed his member against my palm. I tightened my grip, coaxing him to let go. My arm was tired, and I knew I couldn’t maintain that pace for too long. His eyes squinted in concentration, his brows scrunched as he tried to hold himself back from release. The fucker was enjoying it far too much for my liking and would milk that moment for all it was worth.

  Something had to give. Something had to end him no matter the drugs that coursed through his system, strengthening his resolve to prolong the act. He thought himself invincible, probably holding out for a better place in which to release his seed. Were I desperate enough, I may have offered him my vagina, allowing him to stick that filthy mess of a dick into me. I wasn’t. No matter the lengths I would go for my answers, that was a line I would not cross no matter how much he offered, begged, or pleaded for it.

  I let out a soft moan, feigning satisfaction when he grabbed my hair and fisted it. He pulled my head toward him, hoping I’d catch on to what he needed next. I refused. I had no desire to put my mouth, vagina, or any other intimate part of myself on him. He’d have to settle for my hand or nothing at all.

  My mind flitted back to what put me in that moment. My brother was dead, and this asshole had information that would lead me to his killer. I’d stalked him into a bar on the southside of Channingsburg. The fluorescent marquee with its blues and purples had been inviting while there was no other light to engage a normal passerby. But I was no ordinary woman. I was seeking something only held within the confines of brick walls and sparse furnishings. The mood inside the place betrayed the welcoming sign. It was almost empty, save for the few depraved souls that lingered at the bar or sat at the tables tucked away in the corners.

  I waltzed in, a picture-perfect model of depravity. My blonde hair was teased and tasseled about my head, thanks to the layers of hairspray that held it there. My makeup? Flawless. I’d darkened my eyes with black eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara, giving me a mysterious appearance that called to the one I targeted.

  I walked toward the bar, flashing my blue eyes in his direction only long enough for him to meet my gaze, before seating myself atop a bar stool and crossing my legs. My dress, a ruby red jersey dress that dipped low enough at the neck to display a nice set of breasts, hiked up a bit when I crossed my legs, exposing a little too much of my thigh. I sat there probably five minutes before the bartender slid a jack and coke before me, gesturing toward my target. Turning toward him, I gave an appreciative nod, raising the glass in the air. I pretended to take a sip of the drink before returning it to the bar. I’d learned long ago the dangers of accepting a drink from a stranger in a bar and the gods only knew what it may have been spiked with.

  I spotted him in my periphery as he sauntered toward me. His gait was sure, impressive in its gracefulness, as he took long strides to come toward me. He closed the distance between us quickly, as if he’d been worried someone else might beat him to me. Reaching into my pocket, I glanced around the place, making sure no one was looking when I tossed dust into the air. It hit his nostrils the moment he reached me.

  I didn’t need that bit of magic to get an invitation into his room. It was clear in the way his eyes appraised every inch of my body, resting on my exposed thigh a bit too long for comfort, he was interested. But with no desire to engage him in conversation and prolong the inevitable, magic had been my only option.

  He shoved a hand into his back pocket before removing it, revealing a keycard to a hotel room he’d no doubt procured before venturing into the bar. The man was known for entertaining a variety of prostitutes, all collected from that establishment, while his wife and child were home asleep in their beds, oblivious of his extracurricular activities. I’d thought about threatening to make his wife aware of his indiscretions for the information I needed, but immediately thought better of it. The man was loaded, having inherited a sizeable sum from his father upon his death. Even if his wife had backbone enough to leave him, she’d no doubt forgive him if it meant she could continue living in luxury and I’d be left without the name of the man who’d taken my brother’s life.

  Shoving the keycard into my hand, he depleted the distance between us, coming to rest his lips against my ear.

  “I know what you want. Meet me here and I promise you won’t be disappointed,” he said, shoving away from me and making his way to the door.

  He knew nothing of what I wanted. He knew nothing of what I was capable of as I entered his hotel room to discover him in nothing more than a white cotton robe and his watch. He sat on a large king-sized bed before floor to ceiling windows that offered an amazing view of the city below.

  And it was that same view I found myself watching as I worked him over, ignoring the grunts and groans that escaped him as he continued his fight to remain in the moment. He lost that fight moments later, spilling his seed on his lap with a curse. His body jerked about, spasming as he released until finally spent, he tossed his body back onto the bed.

  “How much do I owe you?” he asked, between harsh breaths.

  “A name.”

  Confusion worked its way into those brown eyes before he pushed himself up, studying me for real this time. “A name?”

  “Yes.” I punctuated that word with a tight nod before standing to my feet. “Nothing more. You can keep your money. I only want a name.”

  I could see the wheels turning in his head as he considered the request. Pulling more dust from my pocket, I blew it in his face before he’d had a chance to react. He backed up as the dust assaulted him, confusion marring his brow.

  “What the fuck is that?” he asked, using his hands to shove the dust from his skin.

  “Fairy dust. Ever heard of it?”

  I allowed my eyes to sparkle in pulsating lights of blues, pinks, and purples. A tight smile played on the corners of my lips when he gave a wide-eyed stare, shoving himself back on the bed.

  “You’re…you’re one of them…” he stuttered, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction. “You’re…”

  He scrambled around for the word, but I doubted he’d ever figure it out. For all he knew, I was some kind of enchantress or mage. Humans never got it right the first time, even though I’d clearly just told him I’d dusted him with fairy dust. I watched for what seemed minutes to me as he searched around for the right word for what I am, before he tossed his hands in the air, defeated.

  “Fae,” I offered with a roll of my eyes. “Clearly.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you call yourself.” He rolled off the bed, making sure to stay as far away from me as he could. Grabbing his robe from the nightstand, he pulled it on, wrapping it around him as if to hide shield his body from my view. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want no part in it. I will give you the standard fee for your services, though you really didn’t satisfy your end of the deal, and we’ll part ways.”

  “Stand on one foot.”

  At my command, he brought up his left leg and balanced himself on his right foot. Realization touched his eyes and I could see how hard he strained to lower his other foot to the ground. Wide eyed, he tossed a worried glance my way. “What the fuck?”

  “Hop.”

  The laughter that escaped me when he complied bordered maniacal. I couldn’t help it. He looked beyond ridiculous, hopping about on one leg, his arms raised on both sides trying to balance himself, and his robe open. More than that, the look in his eyes, fear, panic, and confusion with a tinge of anger, was nearly enough to have me rolling on the floor. But I had business to handle. The dust would wear off in an hour, giving me little time to get the information I needed.

  I know you’re probably wondering why I’d gone through the degradation if all I had to do was give him dust to make him comply. But it doesn’t work like that. Fairy dust, the human term f
or what it was, was powerless unless you had something from the target mixed in with it. The more personal that something was, the stronger it worked. His sexual essence, the product of his release, mixed with the dust would give me an hour while other objects would have given me only minutes.

  That was the thing about being fae. Forget all the pretty little stories of magical little creatures who flew around granting the wishes of small kids. Push from your minds the flutter of tiny wings and glittery fairy dust made from the essence of purity and magic. None of that exists, not in the real world. In the real world, all fae magic carries with it a darkness, a darkness I haven’t felt until my brother was violently stripped from my life. A darkness I have carried with me ever since.

  I am Sam, a Fae trying to find my place in the city of Channingsburg, NV. And this is my story.

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Sam sat up abruptly, tossing her covers aside. Her room, the smallest in the two-bedroom apartment she shared with her brother was dark, save for the sliver of iridescent light that slid between the slit of her curtains.

  She rubbed her eyes, a vain attempt to force them into adjusting to the darkness much faster than usual, to wipe away the images that plagued her dreams just moments before. It was a scene she’d seen before, most nights when sleep had been difficult, and terror flooded her subconscious mind. Her heart hammered in her chest. Taking deep breath to calm herself proved just as futile as the images began to replay themselves before her, until the inevitable end, and ending that left her peering down at the broken body of the brother she’d do anything for.

  Brandon’s eyes were open beneath blonde hair tinted red with blood that clung to his forehead. Those lifeless orbs stared through her, the color nearly translucent. Not a swirl of life was left in those eyes.

  She kneeled beside him, swiping the hair from his face with a gentle hand, feeling the cold of his skin seep into her fingertips. His skin still held the baby soft texture she’d grown used to over time, the only recognizable feature that was predominantly him, but the muscles beneath were hard, rigid. They gave nothing as her hand slid down the hard contours of his face, the stubble of his chin scraping against her delicate touch.

  Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to rush down her cheeks as a wave of emotion hit her. It had been so vivid, so real. She could still feel the chill of the air as it bit into her bare shoulders, see the silvery light of the moon, and smell the mixture of earth, dust, oil, and blood that assaulted her nose. The fall of heavy footsteps retreated away from the scene, perhaps the culprit himself trying to gain a head start, but she refused to budge. She’d find the man soon enough and he would pay for what he’d done.

  She laid her head on her brother’s chest, noticing when it didn’t rise and fall as it should have. The thought made her squeeze her eyes closed, releasing the torrent of tears that had collected there. They flowed downwards, staining his shirt as she held him. She could feel the moisture of it on her cheek and it brought about another wave of tears, followed by deep sobs that quaked her body. Her shoulders shuddered, the depth of the emotion too much for her to contain. How he’d gotten himself killed, she had no clue, but she would find out.

  She shook the thoughts from her head, her eyes still trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. She could still feel his presence in the tiny apartment calling out to her, caressing her, letting her know he was still with her. If only in spirit. The thought brought little comfort but a little was better than none at all. She’d cling to that little sliver of him that remained, allowing it to wash over her until it fueled her resolve. She’d find the sonofabitch who snatched him from her life and make sure he paid.

  She slid from the bed, her feet smacking against the cold linoleum as she made her way to their shared bathroom. With a snap of her fingers, white light flooded the bathroom, stinging her eyes. She rubbed them again, trying to relieve them of sleep and the tears that had collected as she thought of her brother. His razor still sat on the ceramic counter top beside the sink, his tooth scrub and brush in a cup on the opposite side next to hers.

  It had been a year, and she was no closer to accepting his death than she had been the day he died. Nor was she any closer to figuring out who’d killed him, a thought that had her stomach clenching. She pressed a hand to her stomach as fresh tears threatened to spill, but she held them back. The time for tears had passed, and she had work to do.

  Sam showered, allowing the water to wash away every ounce of sadness she had left in her until she was filled with nothing but rage. Rage that her brother had been taken away from her too soon. Rage she’d spent a year trying to figure out what happened to him. And rage she’d failed when failure wasn’t an option she’d accept. His body was deteriorating in an unmarked grave, yet she’d been no closer to giving him the peace his soul longed for.

  That was one of the things about fae she’d learned from a young age. When the body died naturally, the soul was free to seek out its final resting place in the afterlife. But a body stripped of its life called for vengeance and retribution, holding hostage the soul that once dwelled within it until the deed had been done. She wondered what would happen should body never find peace, but her parents shrugged at the question. “The body always finds peace. Its just a matter of how long.” The response had been vague, in no way giving her comfort, but she didn’t press them. She had no reason to believe she’d ever need to know the answer to that question. Now, however, she wished she had.

  Sam stepped from the shower and wrapped a terry cloth towel around her body. With the new spa treatment water enhancer, she’d had installed, she had need for lotion or fragrance for her skin which was an added benefit as she began to clothe herself. She pulled on a black dress that hugged every curve of her small frame before running a comb through her golden hair. She combed it straight down her back, not bothering to dry it. The wind would tassel it about a bit, creating the natural wave pattern she loved.

  She plucked up a small metallic device from the counter, tinkering with the gauges until she saw a look she felt suited her mood. Once she did, she clicked on the device and sat on the toilet beside the counter to allow the little arms and gadgets that pushed out of it to do their work applying a thick layer of makeup to her face. The device hummed and beeped at it worked to perfect the look before withdrawing the arms back into itself.

  Sam stood to her feet and sauntered toward the mirror to assess the work. Like always, her makeup was applied with perfection. The dark blue eyeshadow accentuated the blue of her eye. Her lips were stained with a bright red pigment that made them look fuller, kissable. And slutty. The exact look she was going for given what she had planned. Another mark sat at the bar she’d been able to coax the manager to hire her as a waitress at, and she needed to be enticing.

  Puckering her lips, she kissed her reflection, thanking her mother for her good looks, and left the house.

  The drive to the club was a lesson in patience as her car moved at a snail’s pace. She was late and traffic controller installed on the highways of Channingsburg was making it difficult for her to pick up speed. She cursed the mayor who’d thought them a good idea. Sure, they helped keep drivers a safe distance from each other by controlling the speed in which people could operate their vehicles. They’d even managed to lower the amount of accidents by seventy percent, but that mattered little to Sam as she looked at the clock.

  Fifteen minutes late, on her first day, after what she’d had to do just to get hired on was a bad look, no matter how she spun it. Though she doubted her new boss would fire her, she cringed at the thought of him putting his greasy hands on her again.

  Her mind flitted to the twenty minutes they’d spent in the hotel room. She’d allowed him to fondle her bare breasts as he worked himself to orgasm, in a room infested with roaches and whatever else lurked within the walls of the dilapidated building.

  He grunted a groaned a guttural noise that announced his release before falling b
ack on the bed, allowing his member to go flaccid against his thigh, before agreeing to let her start immediately.

  She cringed again, the corners of her lips tugging down into a frown. If her brother had known the depths she’d gone for his retribution, he’d be furious with her. But she had no other choice. With no money to bribe anyone with the information she needed, she had only what the gods gave her to use and was certain that night would be no different as she parked across the street from the bar.

  Chapter Two

  The air inside the bar was dense with smoke and the smell of it combined with the scent of sweat, liquor, and perhaps the contents of a few patrons’ stomach had Sam ready to turn around and exit as swiftly as she’d entered. The bar was dark, save for the neon signs strategically placed in the center of each wall and a series of strobe lights directed toward the center of a wooden stage where a woman danced against a pole, swaying her barely covered ass from side to side. Sam watched as the woman pulled herself up on the pole, bracing herself up with her thighs while she circled around it, lowering herself to the stage and landing in a split. Men clad in leather and jeans cheered her on as she unbuttoned her blouse, displaying a satin bra that hide nothing from their view.

  She tore her eyes from the scene and scanned the bar. From what the man from the hotel had told her, her mark would be seated at the bar with a row of shot glasses filled with bourbon placed on the bar before him and a guitar strapped to his back. She found him easily, considering he’d been the only one foolish enough to carry an expensive guitar into the seedy establishment, but by the looks of him, no one would dare try to extract the instrument from him. He sat there, shot glass in hand, leaned over the bar with a look that threatened retribution should anyone even dare to approach him. Even she found herself intimidated by the man though she couldn’t put her finger on exactly why.