Agent of Enchantment (Dark Fae FBI Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  It was a very male shower, containing only soap and basic shampoo. The warmth and steam felt glorious on my skin, and I tilted back my head, letting the water wash over my scalp. God, it felt good to be back in the normal world. Sure, some things I’d seen in Trinovantum had been beautiful. Enchanting, even. But the fae world scared the crap out of me. And to think, I’d gotten that close to Roan… I’d lain naked on his floor, kissing him. I’d saved his life. I grabbed Gabriel’s soap, scrubbing my body hard enough to take off a layer of skin. Why had I been so utterly and completely attracted to Roan? What had broken in me that left me inexorably drawn to a man like him? Even now, I could recall the feel of his lips on mine, the way my body lit up at his touch. That dream in the woods…

  I lathered up my legs, scrubbing as hard as I could. There was no pretty way to put it. I’d wanted to bang a psycho.

  And all along, he’d been secretly stalking me for years, researching my family’s grim history. He’d paid thugs to attack me in a back alley, to terrify me so I’d be vulnerable enough for him to swoop in.

  I put the soap back, then grabbed the shampoo. I squeezed out a dollop of green shampoo into my palm, then lathered up my hair.

  I swallowed hard, my mind flashing with images of rolling rivers, the amber glow of Roan’s body, the scars on his back. I needed to lock all that up in the cage again.

  Wearily, I turned off the stream of water, and when I stepped out of the shower, I smelled a lot like Gabriel.

  I grabbed a blue towel, drying off and staring at my wet clothing on the floor. I could think of nothing worse than putting them on again. I snatched them up off the floor, and tied the towel around myself.

  Maybe I could borrow a bathrobe or something until they dried.

  But when I stepped out of the bathroom, I noticed the clothing he’d laid out on his bed. His wife’s clothes, presumably. Gabriel had folded them neatly for me, and I felt a wave of warmth for him.

  Still, I wasn’t comfortable with him enough yet to ask for underwear and a bra. I slipped into a pair of skinny black jeans and a striped cotton shirt with a collar. And as I did, my stomach rumbled. Even from here, I could smell the mouth-watering scent of bacon.

  I glanced at myself in the mirror, satisfied. Gabriel’s wife had been almost my size, and I liked her taste—even if the understated look didn’t quite match my pink hair. I pulled the door open.

  “Gabriel!” I called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you come here for a second? I want to show you something.”

  As he crossed through the hall, hands in his pockets, he sucked in a breath. “You look… nice.”

  Okay, so obviously it was weird to see another woman in his dead wife’s clothes. “Thanks. Do you want me to wear something else? I can wear one of your shirts, really.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “All right. So… I have a really crazy story to tell you.”

  “We’ve already done magical serial killers and fairies. How much crazier can it be?”

  I bit my lip. “Uh… it’s going to be much crazier, so I want to start by showing you something. Just so you know I’m not completely batshit.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You’ll not convince me of that easily.”

  “Come with me into the bathroom.” I turned, crossing the room.

  “This request doesn’t make you seem any less crazy, you realize.”

  “Just come.” I beckoned him in, then pointed at the mirror over the sink. “Look at the reflection.”

  “I’ll play along.” He stepped closer to the mirror, resting his hands on the edge of the sink.

  I focused on his reflection, feeling its smooth glassy surface in my mind. I envisioned a wild, avian menagerie on its surface.

  And just like that, it appeared on Gabriel’s bathroom mirror.

  His eyes widened with shock, and he stumbled back from his sink, nearly knocking me over.

  “Crazy, right?” I said. “Who knew penguins smoked cigars?”

  “Cassandra, why are there penguins in my mirror?”

  I cocked my head. “Well, the one on the left is a flamingo.”

  He turned to me, his face a mask of disbelief.

  I cleared my throat, already regretting my little display. “Listen, maybe that wasn’t the best way to go about it. I needed you to believe me, and I thought I’d make it easier if it was funny. Clearly a dumb decision, and now you just think you’re insane. You’re not. The penguins are in the reflection because I put them there. I can control reflections. It’s all real. Magic. Fairies. Other dimensions. It’s all real.”

  He fell silent for a few uncomfortably long moments, before slowly nodding. “I made bacon, eggs, and toast.” He cleared his throat. “And fried mushrooms.”

  Okay. So he wasn’t quite ready for all this yet. “Good. I’ll tell you the rest over breakfast.”

  I followed him into the living room, where he’d laid out plates of bacon, eggs, fried mushrooms, toast, and beans. Despite my insane attraction to Roan, it was becoming clear that Gabriel was the perfect man.

  I sat on his sofa and took a long sip of coffee. Caffeine—the essence of life. Then, between bites of breakfast, I told him about what had happened since the night we had stopped the killer—conveniently skipping over my make-out session with Roan, and the fact that I’d left my underwear on the floor of Trinovantum Palace.

  By the time I’d finished my breakfast, I’d nearly gotten to the part about Roan murdering the snake-fae. Gabriel wanted to know what the fae looked like, how the fae fought, the architecture—everything.

  With his detailed questioning, it took almost two hours to get through the story, and by the time I was done, my voice was hoarse, and the caffeine had fully worn off.

  Gabriel leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his hand over his mouth. While he digested it all, I stared out the window. The sky had darkened with storm clouds, and I listened to the faint pattering of rain against the glass. Drops trickled down the window, and the noise of rainfall started to lull me to sleep.

  Gabriel frowned, his eyes glazed. “So… you think Roan really is the killer.”

  “It looks like it,” I said. “He’s definitely been stalking me. He knew where I’d be, which meant he knew where Catherine’s body would be. Though there are still a bunch of missing pieces to the puzzle. I don’t know why he was stalking me, for one thing. Something about me being a key to something. Or, you know, he’s crazy.”

  He nodded, lost in thought.

  “Any progress on your end?”

  “The investigation is stalling,” Gabriel said. “Some resources were diverted to search for you. We did some research to try and link the victims, with no apparent luck. We got no more communications from the killer. Not surprising, since he was apparently with you the entire time. The girl who escaped the burning attack tweeted it, and her tweets went viral. Public fear seems to be reaching new peaks. There’s a whole lot of guff about Blitz spirit, but I think it’s mostly bluster. There’s also a political mess, because the FBI keep threatening that if they don’t hear from you soon, there will be consequences. They haven’t said what.”

  The thought of people worrying about me at home cheered me up, and I straightened a little.

  “I also did some personal research of my own,” said Gabriel.

  “About what?”

  “Demons.”

  I sighed. “The fae aren’t demons.”

  “Aren’t they?” He leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t see a whole lot of distinction. They’re inhuman magical beings with a completely different moral code, and at least one of them seems to be enjoying disemboweling and burning young women. They cut deals with humans, and when you break those deals, there are consequences. And they live in a different world, but visit our own to wreak havoc.”

  “I guess when you put it that way…”

  “Like I’ve told you before, Cassandra, I’ve seen some things.” He glanced
at the photos on his bookshelf. “I don’t know about fae, but demons are real.”

  “What does that make me?” I asked. “I’m part fae.”

  “You only know what a serial killer told you,” Gabriel pointed out. “I can think of other explanations.”

  “Such as?”

  “Maybe you’re an angel.”

  I snorted. Not likely. At the very least, angels didn’t want to screw demons. At least, not according to traditional mythology.

  “Think about it,” he said. “Maybe demons can feel angels. Maybe they can even feed off angel emotion, like you described. Doesn’t it make more sense than a weird story about your father being a faerie?”

  Not really, but I was too tired to argue. “Sure.” I leaned back on his sofa. “So what did you find out about demons?”

  “Well… not a lot, but one thing does match what you’ve told me. Some writings in the Kaballah claim you can ward off demons with pure iron.”

  “Yeah. Too bad most things today are made out of steel, or lead, or aluminum.”

  He nodded and got up. “I know you need your sleep, but stick with me just a bit more. Hang on.” He stood, crossing into his bedroom.

  I stared morosely out the window, pulling a fuzzy blue blanket over my legs. After a minute, Gabriel returned with a wooden box, laying it on the table. He opened the top, revealing a Glock 17, surrounded by a dozen bullets.

  “All iron,” he said.

  He pulled out a drawer from the bottom, revealing two lethal looking knives.

  “Iron,” he said. “I found a metalworker who could make these for me.”

  “Would the bullets work?”

  “They’ll work fine for short range.”

  I picked up the Glock.

  “The gun isn’t made of iron, of course,” he said.

  I nodded, and released the magazine. It slid into my hand, and I looked inside, even though I could already feel that it was too light. It was empty. One by one, I began loading it with the bullets. “If Roan shows up, we’d better have this thing loaded and ready.”

  Gabriel studied me. “You need sleep. You look exhausted. You get some rest in the guest room. I laid out clean sheets for you. I don’t think Roan will find you here, but keep the gun near the bed in case I get called out on a case, okay? You have my number, right?”

  “Uh… I don’t have a phone.”

  “I’ll call the home phone if I need to talk to you,” he said, and got up. “Go to sleep. You look terrible.”

  I smiled weakly. “You know how to make a girl feel special.”

  He flashed me his most charming smile, then walked out the door, closing it behind him.

  I carried the Glock and knives down a white-walled hall. I found the bed in the guest room covered in blue sheets, soft to the touch. They beckoned to me, whispering in my ear that I’d done enough, that it was time to rest. Let the British police do their job for once.

  I lay weapons on the bedside table, and pulled off my jeans. Then I crawled into the bed, letting my eyes drift closed. And when I slept, I dreamed of wild strawberry carpeting a woodland forest, sunlight filtering through oaks, and a young girl, chucking stones into a river that flowed from west to east.

  Chapter 30

  A jarring noise ripped me from my dreams, and I grabbed the Glock, pointing it at the door, searching for my attacker. It took a moment before I realized I’d been woken by the ringing of Gabriel’s home phone. I must have been asleep for an extremely long time, because night had fallen, and a faint yellow streetlight glowed through the window.

  I pulled on the jeans, then padded to the living room to pick up the phone from the cradle.

  I held the phone to my ear without saying a word, in case it wasn’t Gabriel. I wasn’t about to give myself away.

  “Cassandra?” It was Gabriel’s voice.

  “Hey, Gabriel. What time is it? I just woke up.”

  “It’s late. Listen, I got called out on a murder…” His voice sounded oddly tense, and he went silent for a moment. In the background, someone whispered.

  What the hell was going on?

  “Gabriel?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Cassandra, listen… Get out of the house! Run! He’s got—”

  The line went dead. I held the phone to my ear, frozen, then I gently put it back in the cradle. As my pulse began to race, my mind kicked into gear, clearing the cobwebs of sleep away.

  Was that Roan whispering in Gabriel’s ear? My stalker must’ve told Gabriel to call me, to try to lure me into an encounter. And Gabriel, ever the knight in shining armor, had decided to warn me instead. My heart ached for him.

  As quickly as I could, I slipped into my fur boots, then ran to the guest room, grabbing the two knives. Next to a sandwich, Gabriel had left a note on the table—he’d been called out to investigate a murder in Great Saint Bart’s. So maybe that’s where I needed to go.

  But what was I planning, exactly? Roan had clearly set a trap for me, and if I had any real sense of self-preservation, I’d just run. Like Gabriel had said. Run. If I showed up, Roan would disarm me by threatening to kill Gabriel, and then probably kill us both.

  My mouth went dry, and in the back of my skull, I heard my mother screaming. I blinked, clearing my mind of the memory.

  No—I wasn’t about to leave him there alone. This time, I wasn’t hiding from danger like a coward. But I didn’t exactly have a plan. My only lead was St. Bartholomew the Great, where Gabriel had gone, but I wasn’t even certain he was there. And since I’d slept through the whole car ride, I didn’t have a damn clue where I was right now.

  I couldn’t just rush in half-cocked. Maybe I didn’t have a plan, but Roan sure as shit did. I’d seen how he fought, and even with my weapons, I might not stand a chance against him. He’d set some sort of trap for me, and I needed backup.

  If I called the police, they might be able to locate Gabriel’s cell phone and send a squad car.

  But when I thought of that half-assed dispatcher I’d spoken to on my first night in London… The idea of talking to her and being put on hold while Roan had Gabriel in his power filled me with a cold rage. I needed to go right to the top with this.

  Frantically, I rummaged through the drawers in the living room until I found what I was looking for—a binder with the contact information of the entire City of London Police Force. Roan was trying to lure me in alone, and I wasn’t stupid enough to go without backup.

  I picked up the phone, hurriedly dialing. The phone rang three times before the chief inspector answered.

  “DCI Wood,” he said.

  “Wood,” I breathed. “It’s Agent Liddell.”

  “Liddell! What in the bloody hell—”

  “Shut up and listen! The serial killer has Gabriel. I think he’s about to kill him.”

  He fell silent for a moment. “Tell me everything,” said Wood, his tone sharp.

  “No time. Gabriel said he was going to St. Bartholomew the Great in Smithfield. He said there was a murder there and—”

  “What? There was no murder reported in Smithfield.”

  I blinked. “The killer must have somehow managed to place a call to lure him.” I thought of Roan, masking his voice with a glamour. “Listen, Wood. The killer probably doesn’t know that phones can be traced. He doesn’t understand technology. You can find Gabriel’s location by tracking his cell.”

  “Okay,” Wood said. “Where are you?”

  I hung up. He’d figure it out in a moment. I was calling from Gabriel’s home, after all. But there was no need to help him out. And now, I needed to get the fuck out.

  I shoved the gun into my bag, along with one of the knives. I bit my lip. I didn’t want to bring all the weapons with me, in case Roan disarmed me as soon as I got there. I was certain he’d be waiting for me. As fast as I could, I crossed into the bathroom and left the second knife below the mirror. I rummaged in the cupboards until, to my relief, I found what I was looking for—a small compact mirror that p
robably used to belong to Gabriel’s wife. I shoved it into my bag. As long as I wasn’t too far away, I could use this mirror to get to the knife left in the bathroom.

  Now, I just needed to get to Gabriel.

  I arched my back, looking at the mirror, envisioning Gabriel in my mind’s eye—his tawny skin and hazel eyes, his powerful arms, that black T-shirt stretched across his chest. His clean, soapy smell.

  Nothing.

  I tried again, feeling for the magnetic pull of the reflection that would pull me into Great Saint Bart’s, a portal through one of those shiny surfaces, the candlesticks in the transepts and arches.

  My body tensed. Still, I could feel nothing. I knew there were reflective surfaces in that place, but maybe Roan had prepared, removing them all to make sure I wouldn’t surprise him.

  I ran into Gabriel’s room, searching for his laptop. Thank God it wasn’t password protected. I opened Google Maps, finding out the fastest route from this neighborhood—Bethnal Green, apparently—to Smithfield. It didn’t look close enough, but a mirror route was worth a shot.

  I ran down the stairs and flung open the front door. I looked around me, and my eye caught a black Yamaha motorcycle, parked a block away. I pulled the knife from my bag, walking as fast as I could toward it. I hopped on the leather seat, sticking the tip of the knife in the ignition.

  After half a minute of jiggling, the motorcycle hummed to life with a roar. I shot down the road, heading for Smithfield—that old London vortex of butchery and slaughter.

  * * *

  I drove as fast as I could, the cold night wind whipping my face, my hair billowing behind me in the wind. I cursed myself for not going back to the house to get a jacket, but it was too late for that now. After my little trip to Trinovantum, I was getting used to the cold.

  When I turned up in Smithfield, I expected to see police cars everywhere, to find the place packed with blaring sirens, red lights streaming.

  Instead, the square was quiet as a grave. Had DCI Wood tracked Gabriel’s phone somewhere else? Or maybe I underestimated Roan’s grasp of technology?