Agent of Enchantment (Dark Fae FBI Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  I blinked away the tears, turning to the next page to find a street map. My hands were shaking so hard now, I could hardly hold the book straight. But slowly, I recognized the layout of this map.

  It was a map of the streets near my hotel. Several locations were circled. I scanned them, trying to piece together the circled areas, the narrow alleys and streets.

  He’d marked Catherine Wheel Alley with a red pen—where I had been attacked by the two men. Where Roan had just happened to run into me getting attacked by them.

  I wiped the tears off my cheek, flipping to the next page. More drawings of me—my hair cut in a short bob, like it had been years ago.

  He’d been watching me for years. Why?

  And then, hours after I came to London, he was there to save my life.

  But of course, that’s not what really happened. Roan had paid those men to attack me in the alley. He’d marked out my location, sent the thugs after me, and he’d followed me there. He had orchestrated the entire encounter to make it seem as if he had saved my life. I recalled the man with the red eyes spitting at me, the spit melting the cobblestones… fae for hire. The boot to my face, the invasive hand grabbing my ass.

  All an act, to get me to trust my stalker.

  How did he know I’d be in that alley? A vision like the one I’d had? Or maybe he had used magic to make me walk into that alley. It didn’t matter. It fit. That’s why he didn’t want me chasing those bastards. Because he was the one who had sent them.

  My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hang on to the articles, but I thumbed through them again, poring over the London killings. If he’d been stalking me for years…

  Dread stole my breath.

  What if he’d orchestrated the killings to get me into London?

  The night I’d chased the killer, following him into the fae party, Roan had just happened to be there. Another coincidence, or was he there because I had chased him there?

  The floor creaked, and I whirled. Roan stood in the entrance to the small room, his green eyes glinting in the darkness. A scrap of fabric bandaged his wounds.

  Be courteous, and be prepared to kill anyone you meet.

  But I couldn’t be courteous anymore, not with the raging beasts uncaged in my mind, ready to rip apart anyone in their path. Anyone was fair game now.

  Roan emitted a low growl. “What are you doing—”

  “What’s all this?” my voice shook. Rage flooded my body. I wanted to murder him. “How long have you been following me? How long have you been planning all this?”

  “There are so many things you don’t understand.” He took a step forward. Be prepared to kill anyone you meet. Now, my mind wild with rage, only that one thought rang true. I pulled the cat o’ nine tails from my shoulder bag.

  Roan’s cold gaze landed on my weapon.

  “You sick bastard.” My voice shook. “Killing those women, hiring those goons to attack me—all to… what? What did you want with me?”

  “You’re wrong. I—”

  “Shut up!” I shouted, brandishing the whip. I didn’t need to hear his manipulations.

  He took a step back, and I pushed forward. “I found your little map, highlighting my route to the hotel that night from the murder scene. What did you do? Pay a couple of goons to attack me so you could swoop in and save the day like a fucking hero?”

  He hesitated, probably trying to figure out his lies. I swung the whip, and it struck the wine bottles. They smashed, spattering us both with wine.

  The room seemed to have grown colder, the air around us thinned. “Yes. I hired them. The Callach told me you’d go there. She gave me a vision. I saw the time in the stars.”

  I couldn’t believe he’d admitted it. “Did you tell them to beat the shit out of me, to grab my ass? To make me think they wanted to rape me?” Pure anger erupted. “You should give them a fucking bonus. They did an excellent job!”

  He raised his hands, as if to calm me down. “They weren’t supposed to take it that far. Your pixie—”

  I lashed the whip again. Three crimson lines appeared on his left hand and he snatched it back as if bitten by a snake, stumbling backward.

  “Don’t you blame this on me for being a pixie. Don’t you blame their actions on me.” The beasts had been let out of their cage, and I was taking no prisoners. “You killed those women, didn’t you? You’ve been stalking me for years, and you wanted to bring me to London. You were lurking around all the crime scenes. You planned the crime scenes to get me there.”

  My heart thundering, I lunged, and he dodged back, a knife materializing in his hand.

  I looked at him, searching his emerald eyes. He didn’t move, every muscle tense, and I had the sense he was fighting some sort of internal battle. I’d seen him fight, knew I could never take him alone, not with a dumb whip. But something was stopping him. The whip, I guessed. Slowly, sliding my body against the wall, I made my way toward the door.

  “Follow me, and I’ll hurt you even worse than I hurt that torturer.”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “You won’t make it on your own out there.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” I pointed the whip at him.

  He stared at me, not daring to come closer. I kept walking away, step by step, unwilling to turn my back on him. He made no move to stop me, just watched me walk away. Finally, I got to the door, and turned the knob.

  A wall of cold air hit me, and I turned to run for the river, pumping my arms in a fast sprint. Outside, the morning sun tinged the sky with lurid shades of gold and cherry, but the warmth of the light did nothing for the cold in my chest. As my feet crunched through icy deadfall, my shoulder bag bounced against my hip.

  The cold air stung my face, and my breath grew ragged in my lungs as I sprinted. After a few miles of running, I slowed to a walk, catching my breath, my footsteps crunching in the snow. Here, in the freezing forest, where skeletal trees clawed at the sky, I felt more alone than I ever had in my life. The isolation gnawed at my chest, and an icy tear rolled down my cheek.

  All this time, Roan had known everything about me. And for some sick reason, he was drawn to my pain. For all I knew, that’s why he’d slaughtered those women in London—a ghoul drawn to human agony.

  I ran alongside the river’s edge, my muscles burning, blood roaring in my ears. I walked for what seemed like hours, until at last, I came across the first bit of good luck I’d had in weeks: an old, overturned canoe by the river’s edge. Frantic, I pushed the little boat into the water, then jumped inside.

  I let the current carry me east, the icy water splashing my face, soaking my clothes. I just wanted to close my eyes for a few minutes…

  I hardly noticed as the canoe rushed straight at a sharp protruding boulder. I saw it at the last second, and with a panicked lunge of the oar, managed to tip the canoe sideways. The side scraped against the boulder, and I was nearly thrown out. When I managed to regain my balance, I realized my whip had fallen from the bag. It was gone, probably half a mile back.

  I shivered in my sodden clothes, and the canoe drifted on.

  When I came to the bend in the river, I jammed the oar into a rock, stopping the canoe’s progression. I leapt out onto the muddy river bank and began my march north, my teeth chattering.

  As I walked, my eyes drifted closed, and I pinched myself to stay awake. My stomach rumbled. It seemed as if I’d be walking here endlessly, in complete solitude.

  By the time I found my way to the oak grove, I’d gone numb inside and out. Still spattered in icy river water, I found my way to the large oak in the center of the grove, glowing with a golden light.

  I traced my fingers over the bark, feeling its energy flow through me. As I touched it, a gap slowly opened in the bark, large enough for me to fit inside.

  I stepped into the trunk, then cast one last glance back at Trinovantum. My blood ran cold.

  There, on the other side of the river, Roan stood watching me, his body bathed in honeyed light.


  I stepped deeper into the oak, and a rush of pure, vernal magic rippled through my body.

  Chapter 29

  The first thing I heard was the sound of moving cars. The rumble of motors, a screeching brake. Then I noticed the air—warmer here, and humid.

  Blinking, I surveyed my surroundings. I was standing in a narrow alley. My entire body sagged in relief. Pale, late morning sunlight washed over the streets.

  I’d found my way back to the world of fast food, commercial breaks, and internet memes. No one would feed off my feelings here, or call me a fortal, or magically fuck with my mind. No torture dens, no prisons—

  And with that thought, I remembered I was a fugitive here. The police were looking for a serial killer. They’d convinced themselves that I was involved. But after my little adventure in Trinovantum, I had a pretty good idea who the killer was.

  I needed to get in touch with Gabriel. I stepped out of the alley, rummaging through my shoulder bag for my phone. It wasn’t a huge shock when it refused to turn on. After all, I’d taken it though rainstorm, a bath of water, and a little dip in a freezing river.

  Looking around me, I recognized some of the buildings I’d seen when Roan had taken me to see the London Stone. After a few moments, I found a café called Green Man Coffee.

  Shivering, I pulled open the door.

  I crossed to the chrome countertop and pushed my hair off my face. A few mothers with babies in strollers sat at tables, drinking lattes and eying me up like I’d just crawled off the streets. Which I had. Plus, I was wearing a tattered winter coat in the middle of July.

  A man with thick black glasses stood behind the counter, just in front of a mirror. “Can I help you?”

  “Can I use your phone please? It’s important.”

  He pursed his lips, scanning me from top to bottom, lingering over my chest. My clothes were wet, and my jacket’s damp fabric clung to my bare skin. “If you’re not here to buy anything, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Irritation flared, and I had to restrain myself from reaching over the counter to grab him by the collar. Instead, my gaze shifted over his shoulder, to the reflection behind him. I felt for the mirror, letting my mind become one with it, feeling its glassy surface inside my skull. I lifted my hand, letting flames blaze from my open palm in the reflection, so high they reached the top of the mirror.

  One of the mothers rose from her chair, staring. Above our heads, I painted the image with rolling black clouds. My face shimmered, larger than it should be, looming over everyone. The reflection’s hair billowed, flames dancing in its eyes.

  “Oh my God!” The woman pointed, her face aghast.

  Slowly, the barista turned around to look at the mirror. When he turned back to me, his face had gone white.

  “Give me your phone,” I said, my voice sharp. The face in the reflection mirrored my anger—red blazing eyes, sharp claws.

  The barista cast one last glance at the mirror, then nodded, his eyes wide, lips trembling. The moms were frantically packing their baby toys into bags, making for the exit. Slowly, the barista pulled his hand from his pocket, and handed his phone to me. As I dialed Gabriel’s number, the reflection in the mirror shimmered, returning to normal.

  “Hello?” I could hear the tension in Gabriel’s voice.

  “Gabriel, it’s me.”

  He let out a long breath. “Where the bloody hell are you?”

  “Near Walbrook, I think.” I glanced at the petrified barista. “What’s the address here?”

  “One Lombard Street.”

  I repeated it for Gabriel.

  “I’ll come and get you. Stay right there.”

  I hung up the phone, returning it to the trembling barista, and took a seat at one of the now-empty tables. My muscles burned with fatigue, and I shot a weary look at the barista.

  “Coffee, please,” I said. “Make it hot. I’m fucking freezing.”

  Okay. So I’d dropped that whole “polite” thing entirely. But to be fair, I was pretty sure this is what they expected of Americans anyway. Especially monstrous ones with flame-like eyes.

  * * *

  I sat at a chrome table, nursing my coffee. The place had emptied out, apart from the barista. He’d taken on a glazed look since the episode with the reflection—probably wondering if he was suffering from a psychotic break.

  Gabriel pushed open the door, his hazel eyes glinting with concern. He wore a black T-shirt with white text that simply read Superb. He looked so beautiful and safe and normal, and only my fatigue stopped me from running over to him and throwing my arms around him.

  “Cassandra!” He looked over my tattered clothes—the damp, black jacket Roan had given me—and my newly pink hair. “What the hell happened to you?”

  I shrugged. “I got a new hair color. So I don’t stand out.”

  He blinked.

  “I’ll tell you in the car.” I turned to the barista. “How much for the coffee?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Oh, no. I insist.”

  The barista stared at me. “Uh… one pound and ninety pence.”

  I found my wallet and dug out two pound coins. The young man’s fingers trembled as he cashed them, giving me my change and the receipt. I shoved them both into my damp shoulder bag and followed Gabriel outside to the narrow Street. He led me to his little black car, opening the passenger door for me like a proper gentleman. I smiled at him and sat inside, shutting the door. As soon as I sank into the seat, I closed my eyes, exhaling. What a fucking day.

  Gabriel sat in the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. He eased into traffic, shooting me a questioning look.

  “Let me think for a minute,” I muttered. “I need to figure out where to start.”

  I shut my eyes, reviewing the past three days, until my mind began offering up images of gently falling snow, emerald green eyes, and a cottage in a dark wood…

  A gentle hand shook me awake. My eyes flew open, startled. Gabriel was smiling at me. We’d parked by a squat brick apartment building, the bottom floor lined with bright storefronts.

  “You fell asleep almost instantly,” he said.

  “It’s been a tough week.” I smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t snore, right?”

  “No… but there was some drooling.”

  I wiped my hand across my mouth. “Drooling is totally fine. Did you know that even supermodels drool when they sleep?”

  “Come on.” He opened his door, stepping out.

  I followed suit, my muscles rebelling at the sudden movement. God, I needed sleep. How long had I been awake?

  Gabriel crossed to an orange door, next to a shop that sold gardening supplies. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it.

  “My flat should be safe,” he said. “Detective Wood thinks you’ve managed to leave the country.”

  “Oh, I did,” I muttered, walking into the stairwell.

  I followed him up the narrow stairwell to his apartment, and he unlocked a second door, motioning me inside. It opened into a tidy apartment with hardwood floors and antique furniture. A round oak table sat in the center of the room, with an open newspaper, a cup of tea, and cereal. I’d obviously interrupted his breakfast.

  On a dark wood bookshelf, framed photographs nestled between books—A Biography of London, a book of Shelley’s poetry. I moved closer, suddenly eager for a glimpse of his life. Some pictures showed a young woman smiling at the camera, her chestnut hair draped over a lace wedding dress. Beautiful, of course. Just like Gabriel. Some were images of Gabriel and the woman together.

  “My wife,” Gabriel said behind me.

  “I didn’t think you were married.”

  “She passed away.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He cleared his throat, glancing away. “Anyway, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just extremely tired. I’ve been out in the woods.”

  “Before you tell me what happened, do you want some tea?�
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  Always with the tea here. No wonder our forefathers threw crates of tea into the ocean. “No offense, but do you have coffee?”

  “Why would I find that offensive?”

  “I don’t know. You’re English. Coffee makes you shrivel and die.”

  “I assure you it doesn’t. That would be sunlight.” He flashed me that charming smile of his. “I have coffee.”

  “Good.” I exhaled in relief. “Make it extra strong.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I’ve missed breakfast and several other meals.”

  “Okay. You can hit the shower in the bedroom. There are spare towels in the closet under the sink. I’ll make you a fry up. And then you can fill me in.”

  A fry up sounded amazing, and I didn’t need to be told twice to jump in a hot shower. I crossed through Gabriel’s Spartan bedroom, enviously eyeing his soft white duvet which was bathed in pale light from the windows. An Orwell book lay on the bedside table next to his alarm.

  I pulled open the door to his bathroom, finding again that everything was meticulously clean, with tidy navy blue towels hanging from a rack. If Gabriel had ever stumbled into my apartment in Virginia, he would not have been impressed by the piles of clothes on the floor, the discarded shoes, the dust accumulating in the corners. Cleaning wasn’t exactly my strong suit.

  I stared at myself in the mirror over the sink, and my bedraggled reflection stared back at me. I felt for the reflection, for that magnetic pull on the other side of the glass, hoping to find a reflection that would show me Roan. I sensed nothing. Either he was too far away, he was in a room with no reflections, or he knew enough to hide from me.

  I cocked my head, unused to my new hair color. For just a moment, I changed the hair in the reflection back to pale blonde. But to my surprise, I actually preferred the pink. Maybe I’d been tainted by the fae realm.

  I unbuttoned the black jacket, still completely bare underneath. God, I missed wearing a bra. Then I pulled off my boots and pants.

  I leaned into the tiled shower, turning the knob until it was just the way I liked it—nearly hot enough to burn my skin off.