Bound by Sorcery: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (The Half-Goddess Chronicles Book 1)

by Antara Mann

  Although I was, like all supernaturals, aware of the Griffith family, I had never heard of this particular member. But just the name ‘Kagan’ was making my skin pulsate with strange magic. Names, especially supernaturals’ names, held vast magic powers; one had to be cautious how and where one used them. For instance, for the sake of the universe, I wouldn’t dare mention Kai’s name idly.

  Kai’s lips spread in a grin and he added, “Know, though, that if the culprit is not caught within fourteen days, I will charge a demon with finding the murderer.”

  “You must be aware that would break our peace treaty, and would mean only one thing: A war between the two Courts,” the Morrigan said quietly.

  A strange light gleamed in Kai’s eyes, making my hair stand on end. “So much the better,” he said. “It’s high time for the fun to start.” A devilish smirk appeared on his dangerous face.

  Chapter 8

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked. We were back outside the building, the meeting between demons and gods concluded.

  Carlos glanced at me skeptically, and Brendan wore his typical discontented look. He had knitted his brows, and by the twitching of his upper lip he was thinking hard. He looked like a storm cloud.

  “Great. Just fucking fantastic,” my ex cursed under his voice.

  “Oh, come on — it can’t be that bad. I am sure this Kagan person will be helpful.”

  Brendan pushed past me, his eyes gleaming yellow — he must have been really furious to have connected with his inner animal.

  From personal experience I knew that when Brendan was angry, it was better not to stand in his way, so I made a mental note not to talk to him for a while.

  I looked at my watch — it was a little before eight o'clock, so we had an hour before our meeting with Elliott Rumford at his Staten Island mansion. Before then, we had to meet with our new supervisor; Tomas had contacted him to inform him of the assignment, and asked that he get started without delay. I was feeling fairly excited myself: Something about his name prickled my skin and made me feel like a six-year-old waiting for Christmas morning. I was being ridiculous. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind — it must be the early hour giving me all these odd thoughts.

  I glanced at Carlos, who stared ahead vacantly. Brendan stood a few feet away from us. I sensed that he was having a mental conversation with the Magic Council — I assumed they were giving him details about our first meeting with Kagan Griffith. Presumably the Council had anticipated the need for an independent investigator to join our team, and had made arrangements with the fae ahead of time.

  “Okay, guys, we’re set to meet Kagan on the Lower East Side,” Brendan said, coming over to us.

  “How are we going? Transport charm, or do you prefer to drive your expensive toy?”

  Brendan gave me a dirty look, which made me smile. I loved irritating my ex — it was my guilty pleasure.

  Trying his best to sound nonchalant, Brendan said, “It’s almost eight; better to avoid the rush hour traffic if we want to make our meeting with Rumford. I suggest we go by your friend’s teleportation charm.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Carlos chimed in.

  “Me too,” I said, “but under one condition: I need some coffee first.” I headed down the street and into a small café, the shifters following behind me. Over coffee, I thought about my financial situation. When we solved this murder and my gig with the Council ended, could I go back to being a full-time shopkeeper? Or should I ask Brendan for a permanent job with the Council? That would improve my finances, no doubt, but even the idea of begging him for work got my panties in a bunch.

  Let’s solve this case first, then we’ll think of what to do next, my inner voice advised me. This was actually a valid point. I tried to relax. The fragrant aroma of coffee and freshly baked cookies filled my nostrils and invigorated me. I glanced at Brendan with mixed feelings. When I had first arrived the day before yesterday, I had been very angry at him, but now, with this latest turn of events, strangely enough, I was mollified. Was it because he was in such distress? I wondered, and suddenly I didn’t feel too good about myself. This is bad, Alex. Other people’s misfortunes shouldn’t make you happy, I scolded myself, but part of me did think he deserved it. He had used me. I shook my head, and tried to put it out of my mind. While Brendan and Carlos finished up their coffee and donuts, I pulled out my phone and went online to see what I could learn about Kagan Griffith. Once we had all finished, I took my best friend’s teleportation charm and sprinkled it around. A sparkling silver cloud appeared and we stepped inside of it. Brendan envisioned the place we had to go. The magic grabbed us and we stepped through the portal in front of an imposing skyscraper.

  “Wow! Stunning,” Carlos exclaimed. The building looked pretty new; an apartment here would probably be in the high seven-figures. A small but beautifully maintained garden encircled the skyscraper and I breathed in the fresh fall air. I took a better look at the surroundings — most of the buildings were relatively new, with their own encircling grass lawns, but the fae’s skyscraper really did stand out — it was taller and looked more expensive. The Manhattan Bridge was not far behind us.

  “So, was he supposed to come take us from here or…?”

  “The Magic Council just gave me the address,” Brendan replied gruffly. Ah — so Brendan was pissed off because he would no longer be the alpha male on our team? I smirked. This whole situation was beginning to amuse me. Still, my conscience reminded me, it wasn’t kind to rejoice at someone else’s bad luck.

  I let my thoughts drift to the fae we were about to meet, the heir of a magic dynasty. Pretty exciting! Several of the families held multinational, billion-dollar companies. I’d always wondered what filthy rich people did with all their money. Some of them donated to charity organizations and causes, of course, but still they had a lot of cash to burn. I sighed and wondered what amount of good karma one needed to be born in such a family. Probably a lot.

  From the quick internet research I’d done in the cafe, Kagan Griffith was owner of Griffith Enterprises, which manufactured and sold steel and iron. That was definitely strange. Fae were usually susceptible to iron. But he was selling it, not touching it, so that was one explanation. Still, this guy seems interesting, I noted to myself. I had also learned that he’d been born in Ireland, where his family normally resided, but had houses in NYC and London as well. That made sense — the fae originated in Ireland, which was the homeland of half the supernatural species.

  “Nice view, and a very nice building. I wouldn’t mind living here,” Carlos chuckled while checking out the skyscraper.

  “You’re most welcome to come on board, then,” said a male voice. We turned our heads and saw another ogre. This one had somewhat softer features, though, and multitude of tattoos drew attention to his bulging biceps. “I am Mr. Griffith’s assistant,” he introduced himself. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you up to his apartment.” He led us through the building and into the elevator, and then into the fae’s fancy apartment. The ogre ushered us in and then stepped back out, closing the door behind him and leaving us alone in the room. From the far side of the room a sonorous male voice with a thick Irish accent greeted us. I immediately turned my head toward the voice’s direction, and had to catch my breath: A very tall man — probably six foot six — with a muscular, athletic body and chiseled features towered above all three of us. He was dressed in a dark gray t-shirt, tight on his perfect body, and I wasn’t sure whether the sudden heat I felt came from the sun or his looks. What did hold my attention, though, was the feel of his magic: It smelled of fragrant spring flowers in full bloom, tasted of fresh early dew, and sounded like roaring wind. No, more like a tornado. This guy was powerful, so much so that if I had to fight against him, I didn’t know if I could win. His magic invigorated my senses, caressed and played with my own magic. He was not only smoldering hot, but full to the brim with magic: It practically sizzled in the air around him. I instinctive
ly bit my lower lip. His energy felt unusually good — quite the opposite of the incubus I’d encountered the previous day in the Hellfire Club.

  “Kagan Griffith, I presume?” Brendan spoke up. I smiled: He was trying hard, poor guy, but his magic was nowhere near the raw prowess of this fae.

  “That’s correct. You must be Brendan Sax, right?” Playful sparkles glowed in the eyes of the fae. He was clearly enjoying the effect his magic had on people.

  “Yes, I am. These are my partners, Carlos Delvalle and Alexandra Shaw,” Brendan introduced us. Kagan nodded and studied us. When his scrutinizing look rested on me, I felt his magic intensify and pour over me like an ocean wave. He lit up all my senses and I suddenly felt thirsty for more. This guy was sure to be a magnet for the ladies.

  Brendan cleared his throat and looked at me questioningly — my attraction to the fae was pretty obvious and I caught myself gaping at him. Or, to be more accurate, I was straightforwardly ogling him.

  “Uh, I apologize for staring — this is the first time I’ve met someone from one of the magic dynasties,” I managed to stammer.

  A faint, self-satisfied smile spread across Kagan’s handsome face. I was sure he often experienced situations like this.

  “Please, take a seat so we can discuss the case and make plans,” the fae said. We obeyed, sitting on a ridiculously big sofa, very soft to the touch and quite comfortable.

  “So, how far have you progressed with the investigation? The Magic Council filled me in briefly, but I’d prefer it if you acquaint me with the details of the case,” he said.

  “To be honest,” Brendan began, “we haven’t progressed much. We know that the victim, Daniel Stone, was a member of an occult club, the Hollow Skull, and had participated in orgies, and that shortly before his death he’d also met with a mysterious sorcerer. He had an interest in dark magic, which was why he was a member of that club. Probably nothing too serious, just orgies and debauchery, but we have to follow the lead anyway. It is quite possible that this sorcerer might have been the killer, or at the very least knew the perpetrator. The murder was clearly a supernatural one — we all felt a powerful dark magic lingering at the crime scene — and it’s possible Stone might have had company. If that were the case, whoever he was entertaining might have been the killer, but we have no way of knowing if there anyone was even there. There are dozens of plausible scenarios. It’s all very shady and unclear. What we know for sure, from the coroner’s report, is that Mr. Stone had drunk wine shortly before his death.”

  “And what about the sign of the Holy Order of Shadows?” Kagan asked. “The Court of Hell is on fire because of it. No pun intended.”

  I chuckled. “It seems to me they’re just looking for excuses, and that sign is a good one. I doubt it is a genuine symbol. It looks to me like the culprit wanted to divert attention from his true identity.”

  “Why do you think so?” Brendan asked me.

  “Well, it is possible that the perpetrator knew the victim — there were two wine glasses so the second could have been intended for the killer, and there was no sign of force or someone breaking into Mr. Stone’s office.”

  “It makes sense to me,” Kagan said. “Now, we don’t have much to go on, so it seems this case will be rather a challenge. What are your plans for today?”

  “We’re going to Staten Island to question Elliott Rumford — the president of the Hollow Skull — the occult club I mentioned.”

  “Interesting. Humans have started to show great interest in otherworldly matters and the paranormal lately. What do you know about this Rumford?”

  “Not much, only that he is stinking rich and interested in the occult,” Carlos said.

  I added, “I did some research on him last night, and the victim’s girlfriend told us a bit about him yesterday. He’s chairman of Texas Oil, a billion-dollar corporation; he’s thirty-nine years old, unmarried, with no criminal record. He’s a very generous man — he’s donated tons of money to various charitable causes. He lives in a mansion in Staten Island which reportedly cost him ten million dollars.”

  Carlos whistled. “If that ain’t impressive! It seems you burned the midnight oil, huh?” He smiled at me.

  He was right — I’d been feeling quite excited about the meeting at the Veil, so I had decided to research some of the leads from the previous day. Not that they were any direct help at this point in our investigation.

  Kagan chuckled. “I already like working with you guys. Being a supernatural investigator may turn out to be more fun than I imagined.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Brendan murmured, and eyed Kagan suspiciously, mistrust written over his face. Watching these two interact would be more fun than any TV show.

  I smiled inwardly and was about to take out my transport charm when Kagan forestalled me. “There’s no need to use your charm. I’ll take care of the transportation.”

  Then he connected with his magic, unleashing it. As contradictory as it was, it felt simultaneously gentle and subtle, yet very persistent and strong. The air around us vibrated with yellow-white light, then grew into a big swirl that took us through the ether into the void.

  ***

  The swirl of magic deposited us in front of a lavish four-story mansion of white limestone with a marvelous lawn, worthy of a summer royal residence.

  “That was impressive. How did you do that?” I said to Kagan. He hadn’t used any charm, spell, or even an incantation.

  He shrugged. “It’s fae magic. For the record, though, I know the mansion; it’s one of the largest in the area — on the whole island, in fact. I knew exactly where I had to transport us.”

  “Very impressive, indeed,” Carlos muttered.

  “Yes, it certainly is,” I said, still looking at Kagan. I had known a few fae, of course, but never had I witnessed a display of their magic prowess. This is good, Alex. Watch this guy closely. You can learn a few things from him, the voice in my head advised.

  “No, I meant the hedge and the figures on it.” Carlos pointed at the topiaries that surrounded the garden, and I now noticed the different figures cut into them: A horse, a dolphin, the sun, and many other similar symbols. The hedge was tall, about a meter high, but well-trimmed, and the grass below was perfectly maintained. We took the path leading to the mansion doors and for a few moments I was transported to another world. Images of people dressed in clothes from the twenties and thirties and the atmosphere of jazz parties filled my mind. They were laughing, chatting idly, and dancing. This mansion had a history and I was peeking into it. This was a gift that manifested occasionally: I could see the pasts of places, objects, or even of people. Of course, as with all my magic, it was most powerful at or close to the full moon. I had no idea why the gift of mine had kicked in now, when the moon was in the first quarter. Then it dawned on me — perhaps it was because of the fae’s potent magic. That was perfectly plausible. I had noticed that, for example, when I was close to a very powerful supernatural like Awen, my powers increased and intensified.

  “Alex, are you all right?” Brendan’s voice took me out of my reverie.

  I shook my head, trying to push away the mansion’s memories and replied, “Yes, Sometimes I can see into the past, and it happened just now — I was seeing this place as it was in the early nineteen-hundreds.”

  “Wait, what? You have the ability to see into the past?” Carlos asked incredulously.

  “Sort of. But it manifests only on certain occasions. It’s not usually that powerful, though, especially when the moon is new.”

  Kagan fixed his gaze on me for a few seconds, and I felt a surge of heat seething inside of me. His magic caressed mine gently, trying to draw it out, but I resisted and pushed his magic away. He frowned and commented thoughtfully, “Hmm. I’ll eventually figure out your magic.”

  I flashed a skeptical glance at the fae. This was going exactly where it shouldn’t go. Of course, I was flattered and thrilled by his attention — what girl wouldn’t be? —
but I didn’t like the fact that I was drawing the attention of such a powerful supernatural. Awen’s words echoed in my ears, telling me that I shouldn’t reveal my true colors to strangers, that it was dangerous. I trusted his judgment. I was beginning to regret taking this job.

  “Here we go, guys,” Brendan announced when we’d climbed the dozen steps to the mansion’s front door. The oak door alone looked like it had cost a small fortune. “Let’s drop the idle chatter — we’ll have plenty of time for that later. We need to focus on questioning Rumford.”

  “Got it, chief,” Kagan said with a chuckle. Brendan glanced at the fae and pressed the buzzer. Shortly, a butler appeared at the door. Brendan introduced us, and said we had an appointment with Elliott Rumford.

  “Yes, of course. Mr. Rumford is expecting you. This way, please,” the butler said. Entering the house, we found ourselves in a black-and-white tiled corridor, like a gigantic chessboard. The servant led us through huge halls hung with opulent chandeliers, worthy of the French elite. The walls boasted portraits of aristocrats with old-fashioned clothes dating back to the nineteenth or even eighteenth centuries.

  The butler stopped in front of a dark mahogany door and knocked. We heard a muffled “yes,” then he opened the door, ushered us in, and introduced us to his master.

  Elliott Rumford nodded curtly, and the servant left the room as quietly as a mouse. I spotted another man also present in the room. He held a pen in his hand and a notepad lay in his lap, and I immediately concluded he had to be Rumford’s lawyer. I took a look around the room; it was relatively small and cozy. There was a desk with a laptop on it, a fireplace on one side of the room, and a few chairs and a sofa against the walls. Elliott Rumford stood up and came over to greet us. He looked his age — around forty, with a beautiful, oblong face and cold blue eyes. For a second, a blade gleamed before my eyes, then was replaced by a stack of money. The vision made me feel like I was going to vomit.