Remnants of Magic (The Sidhe Collection (Urban Fantasy))

by S. Ravynheart

  With each word spoken with incredulous fury, he repeated, “You did a job for him?”

  “It’s true. He sent a bunch of us out to kill or be killed. I was one of the few that made it out alive, if that speaks at all to the skills I have to offer.”

  As soon as she said it, Donovan knew exactly which ‘job’ she meant. The Changeling that enslaved Malcolm had led the raid on Danu’s temple, slaying the fey sheltered there. This wretched woman had been one of his gunmen.

  “It was a high price for just a kiss, but what can I say? It’s just like his Changeling buddy said: what wouldn’t I do for the Touch?”

  Donovan snatched London by the throat, lifting her onto her toes to bring her eye-to-eye with him. He’d heard more than enough. For the opportunity to rape Malcolm, she’d slain innocent fey in cold blood.

  The human was dead. Deserved to die. Allowing her to live was to condemn the Sidhe she would certainly continue to hunt and abuse. She was no better than a wizard, lusting for magic that was not innate to her.

  Killing her was the only recourse. The earthborns needed a test. A practice. Someone well within their capabilities to dispatch. He teleported them both away.

  Chapter Three

  “I knew it! Didn’t I know it?” Malcolm paced beside Donovan’s usual table in the middle of the Glamour Club. His right hand fiddled constantly with the leather of his left wristband. Sometimes the feel of it reminded him of the shackles, but he still wouldn’t take the wristbands off. He didn’t want people to see his scars. More than that, he didn’t want to see them either. Didn’t want to even think about them. Only, times like now they were impossible to ignore.

  “You knew it; now quit pacing. You’re making me dizzy.” Bryce handed Malcolm a Coke and carried his own drink to the table, joining Trip and Dawn. His emotions were running hot, which Malcolm could see in the flames cracking around Bryce. No one else could see it. Not until the magic became real flames, something Bryce wasn’t always good at controlling.

  “Malcolm doesn’t need any caffeine. He’s already bouncing off the walls.” Trip snagged the glass from Malcolm and sipped from it.

  He didn’t care, just went back to messing with the wristband. More than anything, he couldn’t hold still. Couldn’t even think about holding still when his mind was speeding a thousand miles a second. He wanted to run, or hit, or do something. Anything! If he had a cool magic like Bryce the whole place would be on fire. He’d have charbroiled that human before anyone could’ve stopped him. Whoosh! Up in flames in a blink. That would have felt great. To see her, and know who she was and what she’d done, and just fry her to a crisp with one zap of his magic. And not just her, but all those who’d hurt him.

  And they weren’t gone either.

  Donovan squished a bunch of goblins and a handful of vampires, but there had been others. So many others. Others like this woman.

  It wasn’t over. It was never going to be over.

  He wanted to run or hit something. Run or hit.

  But not stand still

  Not stand still.

  Malcolm paced. Fiddled with his wristband. Felt all the stinging aches bubbling up inside him like acid. He fixated on the three people inside the office, seeing their magic through the wall. Only one reason why he could see the human at all; she was all lit up with the Touch. Kieran’s Touch. The grey-white illumination was unmistakable. Last time she’d been glowing from Malcolm’s Touch, which had an iridescent gleam like oil. Shards of his magic still glimmered within her, even weeks later. Made his guts twist up just to remember about it, to remember her.

  Just remembering her kissing him, drinking in his Touch when he was too drugged up to do anything about it, made his jaws clench so tight his teeth ached. He wiped at his mouth, as if that might rub away the memory. Malcolm glared at her through the wall. The brightest spots of magic still glowed on her face and in her mouth. Kieran’s magic this time.

  Only Kieran wasn’t drugged.

  Malcolm whispered through his gritting teeth. “They hurt him. Did you see?”

  “Kieran’s fine, just a little bloody.” Bryce leaned back, passing a flame back and forth between his hands like a ball. So not worried. So clueless. Clueless to the point of stupid.

  Malcolm had been clueless and stupid once. He had the scars to show for it.

  Never again.

  Not to him. Not to Kieran. Not to any of them.

  Never again.

  When Kieran finally strolled back into the Glamour Club, everyone started asking questions at once. He waved them off and dropped into the chair next to Dawn. “Easy now.” The other earthborn Sidhe huddled in around Kieran, ready to hang on his every word. Instead, he swiped the Coke from Trip, downed the rest of it, and then balanced the empty glass on his leg. “Give a guy a little healing magic, Dawn? My chest is burning like a mother.”

  After wiping her hands on her slacks, Dawn flattened her palm against Kieran’s chest just beneath the collarbone where five puncture wounds formed a semi-circle. Flares of light, like a handful of sparklers all burning at once, flicked around Dawn’s hand and into Kieran. At least that’s what Malcolm saw. Everyone else always denied seeing anything.

  “Was there a Changeling?” Malcolm’s palm curled around the hilt of the knife sheathed on his thigh, compulsively clenching and unclenching.

  “No Changeling.” Kieran rubbed his fingers over the newly healed skin. “Just vampires and werewolves.” He slumped down in the chair until his head rested back on the cushion. “Werewolves are some bloody, jacked-up nutters.”

  “Werewolves?” Bryce extinguished the flame he played with. “No way! Is that chick a werewolf?”

  “No.” Malcolm and Kieran answered at the same time.

  Everyone looked at Malcolm. He glared right back at them. They didn’t need to know how he knew that. They didn’t need to know anything about that time before Donovan saved him. Nobody needed to know.

  Teeth clenched, hand pumping open and closed around the knife, he couldn’t stand to be still.

  Run or hit. Run or hit.

  Couldn’t stand to be still.

  So he paced and fidgeted instead.

  Of course, Kieran wasn’t letting it drop. “What was up with you anyway? Going all ballistic with the knife?”

  “Since when does Malcolm need a reason to go after someone with a knife?” Dawn piped up. Apparently, she wasn’t over that first day Malcolm woke up in the club. He’d threatened Dawn with a carving knife then. Well, she’d had it coming. Shouldn’t have been messing with him in the first place.

  “Who is she then? What happened? Come on, Kie, we’re dying here.” Bryce said.

  Malcolm half turned, glancing back over his shoulder, wanting to hear Kieran’s answer. Only, Kie wasn’t saying anything. He was thinking about what to say. What was there to think about? Maybe it was like with Malcolm. Like it was too bad to talk about. Eventually, Kieran said, “Her name’s London. She’s human.”

  “Who cares what her name is?” Malcolm scowled when everyone shushed him.

  Kieran didn’t have a chance to reply. Donovan appeared in the middle of the dance floor with the woman, lifting her by the throat so only her toes reached the ground. Her fingers clawed at his hand, but Donovan didn’t seem to give a crap. He commanded their attention, “Unseelie!”

  Both Kieran and Malcolm pushed through the retreating crowd first. The other Sidhe were right on their heels.

  Donovan demanded, “What do you do, Malcolm, with an animal that is diseased and dangerous?”

  “You kill ‘em!” Malcolm gripped the hilt of his knife tighter.

  “This human has twisted the enchantment into something unspeakably vile. Already she’s attacked two of our Sidhe. She partook in the massacre of the fey of Danu’s temple, desecrating her sanctuary.” Donovan snarled. “What should you have done with her, Kieran?”

  Yeah, Kieran. Malcolm thought, narrowing his eyes at this human.

  “Kill her,”
Kieran said it in a flat voice. Not even close to the kind of rage burning in Malcolm. The kind of rage Malcolm thought Kieran should feel.

  “You say you’re ready to go on missions. You think you’re ready to fight to defend the fey? Prove it!” Donovan flung the human to the ground before him. She landed hard, getting her hands down in front of her just in time to keep from face-planting. Her fearful eyes lifted, flicking to the Sidhe standing over her.

  Kieran crouched down, smirking in that cocky way of his, like he was flirting with her. “This is the part where you run.”

  “Ya think?” The woman got to her feet, raising her hands like she was all harmless, when Malcolm knew different.

  The others had magic that could zap her right here and now. Malcolm waited, wondering which one would get her, wishing hard as ever that he had a brilliant magic. She’d already be a sizzling puddle of goo on the floor if he did.

  But the others didn’t do anything. Donovan told them to kill her and they just stood there like sheep.

  The human edged toward the door.

  Malcolm cut her off. The boss said kill her. There wasn’t anything Malcolm wanted to do more. Magic or no magic, this chick wasn’t just walking out of here.

  The woman froze.

  Who was the prey now? His lips curled back with his fury and disgust. She wanted to steal from him? Never again. Malcolm slid the knife from its sheath. If he’d had a cool magic, she’d already be fried. Or exploded. Or whatever gruesomely hateful thing he could do with it. Might not have a spectacular magic, but he bloody well had one heck of a knife.

  “Easy now.” She gave him a sweet, aren’t-we-friends smile. “Remember me? Remember our kiss? You don’t want to hurt me.”

  How dare she?

  How dare she even speak of it?

  How dare she pretend it was anything but what it was?

  All his hate, all his wrath for all that time exploded inside him. Words meant nothing. The scream that ripped from him was all he could conjure. Malcolm lunged at her, knife slashing.

  She raced around a table, avoiding him. Every time he plunged for her, she retreated, keeping the furniture between them. Malcolm wanted her dead. Now! He jumped onto a chair and then the table, throwing himself down onto her.

  He realized too late that she was ready for him, lifting up a chair so the crossing bars between the legs caught him in the chest. She heaved him up and over her head, using his momentum to fling him away from her.

  Malcolm crashed into a table, shattering the glasses before the whole table tipped and knocked him into chairs and fey who couldn’t get out of his way. The physical pain from the crash landing was nothing compared to the pain on the inside. The pain that he could never get out of him. The pain he’d make her feel. Hurt her until she understood what terror and agony really were.

  Others yelled and scuffled about, but Malcolm couldn’t see what was happening. Then there was the sound of fireballs exploding. Malcolm grabbed his knife and shoved his way between the fey, rushing back toward the fight.

  Kieran rolled on the ground, grabbing his throat. The fire exit door was open, slowly closing on the hydraulic spring. The human got out! Bryce rushed for the door and Malcolm stayed hot on his heels. Out in the alley, they dodged around Trip, another casualty writhing in pain. The lads didn’t slow down to check on her. They raced each other after the human, gaining ground with each stride.

  They’d have caught her too, if she’d not rushed from the back streets out into the open. The woman collided with some pedestrians, only stopping long enough to steady herself and look back.

  Malcolm didn’t care. He wanted her dead. Dead forever. Dead and never going to hurt him or any other Sidhe ever again.

  Bryce snagged his arm and jerked him back. “No, mate! Come on. Give it up.”

  “No!” Malcolm snarled, jerking his arm, but couldn’t break Bryce’s hold. “Let me go!”

  “Not in public, mate. You don’t want to get locked up in jail with a bunch of humans.” He pulled Malcolm, and this time Malcolm let him. He glared his hatred at the woman, but let Bryce turn him around and get them out of there before anyone could start asking questions or fetch the coppers.

  If only…

  If only he had a flipping brilliant magic he could have done something.

  Chapter Four

  Donovan purposefully didn’t interfere as the earthborns clumsily stalked and attacked the human. Instead, he evaluated. Not surprisingly, Malcolm possessed the aggression to attack first when the others froze. His skills with the blade were close to nonexistent, slashing wildly with a great expenditure of energy and with no accuracy. Without a more combat-oriented magic, the lad would require extensive hand-to-hand and weapons training.

  How Kieran had survived the encounter with werewolves, Donovan wasn’t certain, for he played with the human rather than attacking her. Something she quickly took advantage of. He’d done nothing more aggressive than grabbing her from behind, hugging her arms down to her side. She’d broken the hold with elementary fighting moves and punched Kieran in the throat. The lad might learn a lesson about squandering advantage once he stopped rolling on the floor, struggling to breathe past the swelling.

  For the past few weeks, Bryce had practiced accuracy with his thrown fireballs. He nailed the human in the back twice as she raced from the club into the alley outside. Although his aim had been spot-on, the flames burst apart like a fistful of burning leaves, with no real force behind the blows.

  While Malcolm and Bryce raced after the human, only Trip possessed the skills and levelheadedness to teleport. Donovan hadn’t pursued the battle. The earthborns had their assignment, which should have been easy enough to accomplish given their powers.

  Dawn had no more than finished her healing ministrations over Kieran’s throat before Trip came stumbling back inside holding her head. She slumped to the floor. Blood dripped from her hand when she removed it from her scalp wound. The healer tended to her second patient as they waited for the final two to return.

  Which they did.

  Empty-handed.

  “She got away,” Bryce announced, his cheeks almost as red as his hair, either from embarrassment or excursion.

  Malcolm yelled in frustration and slashed one of the chairs. He kicked it, sending it skittering across the floor. He’d have rampaged further, but Donovan snatched him by the back of his shirt and jerked him up short. There was a time for unbounded aggression and a time for self-control. Something the bloodhound lacked in understanding. Donovan snarled into the boy’s ear, “Take it out in the workout room.” He shoved him in that direction.

  “All of you!” Donovan snapped. “Downstairs! Now!”

  The others scrambled after Malcolm. Donovan spared a glare around the room, at the fey who’d borne witness to this pitiful display by the earthborns. For centuries, the Unseelie Sidhe rightly earned their fearsome reputation. The fey submitted before the Sidhe, because it was the Sidhe who protected them and ruled with a power no other could withstand. These fey did not coddle the earthborns, tending to their mundane needs, out of some ingrained love or for the noble status of their birthright as Sidhe.

  Everything Donovan built here with the Glamour Club, everything he hoped to secure for the fey and the Sidhe in the future, hinged upon these earthborns. If they didn’t rise to a fighting force as formidable and fierce as the best of the Elite, everything was lost.

  Chapter Five

  The earthborns milled near the doorway, awaiting Donovan with an excited apprehension. He’d given them leave to use his personal training room, but never yet had he taken the time to put them through their paces. The lessons were well overdue. “Have you wondered among yourselves why the floor and walls of this room are this particular shale?” Clearly they hadn’t, nor had they any clue why he should mention it. “This is why.”

  At his will, the ground before them turned fluid, moving as if by its own intelligence. The practice mats, targets, balance beam, dumbbe
lls, all of the equipment slid with perfect balance and smoothness of motions until the equipment stacked against the far wall several yards away and the vast expanse of the room was bare of obstacles. He ignored the impressed gasps and rustle of movement as the earthborns allowed such trivial use of magic to stun them. He’d yet to even reach the point, but merely cleared the way for it.

  The fine particulates of the shale moved easily by his design, becoming as soft as the saturated consistency of a mudslide or as robust as limestone. So acutely could he manipulate it, that it no longer even taxed his effort, for in this very room, over the course of many centuries, he’d mastered its every nuance.

  Before them, five figures arose from the ground like men sheathed in a layer of mud, only these were no living beings. In form and movement, they were as the elf-kind, tall and lean in stature. They moved with dexterity born not from sinew, but from magic and fluid substrate. The stone elf men shifted and flexed, as if testing their agility. One rolled his head from side to side, while another jogged in place, each moving naturally as though a true living being with the desired effect. If one did not know better, they might well mistake them for alive.

  Donovan selected his first victim, startling a yip out of Bryce when he clamped a hand upon his shoulder. He pushed the lad to the right side of the training room. One of the faux elves broke away from their grouping and joined them. Bryce could scarcely take his eyes off the face, with its indiscernible features just reminiscent enough of an elf so as to not be mistaken for a human. As the lad stared, Donovan made the figure turn its head toward him, getting a startled “Geez!” and a flinch out of the youth. The creation acted enough like a true living being to make it convincing as such.

  “Bryce, your fireballs hit with all the might of a child’s plush toy. Fire is unforgiving. You have the capacity to devastate your foes and incinerate them where they stand.” He gestured to the figure before him. “Blast a hole through him with one strike.”