by S A Archer
She was banking on it actually, with her gun and her silver handcuffs on her. Slowly, she prowled the streets of Kilkenny, trolling for the one thing that would save her. The one thing that would keep her sane.
Every itching agony… Every yearning ache... Every spiraling thought… Kept her on this path.
This curse wouldn’t end her. She didn’t care what length she had to go to.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Malcolm sat cross-legged on the floor next to Donovan’s table in the Glamour Club with a sketchbook and a book he’d picked up on how to draw people. He scrubbed the eraser over the paper again. Making the drawings look anything close to what he saw wasn’t as easy is it first sounded. “So why didn’t I light up one of those snow globe things?”
“They were crafted to test magical abilities in fairies. Your magic is one of the rare ones that are exclusive to the Sidhe.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” He started his sketch over. “I think Bryce catches stuff on fire on accounta he’s always blazing. Everyone else’s magic goes down when they’re not using it, but Bryce is a bonfire all day.”
“You’ll have to work with him. Help him to understand.”
Malcolm glanced up, scrunching his face doubtfully. “He’d listen to me?”
“You’re trying to help him. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Hey, Mal.” Kieran nudged him in the rump with his foot. “The rest of us are going to dance. Get your arse on the floor with us. Show us your moves.” He nodded toward where Dawn, Trip, and Bryce were dancing in a loose circle to Usher’s ‘DJ Got Us Fallin’ in Love.’
“You should go,” Donovan urged.
Kieran reached out a hand to Malcolm and yanked him to his feet. “Come on. You’re fey. Dancing’s in the blood.”
The song was one Malcolm knew. His kid sister had a couple different dancing video games she’d used to make him play with her. Not that he didn’t like dancing, but mostly because when they were growing up they didn’t have anyone else around their age to play with, except each other.
The other earthborns knew the moves from the music video too, and they did a pretty decent job staying in sync with each other. Malcolm picked a spot where the magic zinging off of Bryce and Trip wouldn’t flick against him. About the time he loosened up enough to keep up with them, the song ended.
And then it started up again from the top. Malcolm glanced up at the fairy in the DJ booth and she gave him a wink and a thumbs up. The smile he flashed back at her wasn’t one he planned. It just sorta popped up on his face and he couldn’t help it. This time, he kept up the groove with Kieran and the others and laughed when he wasn’t even expecting it. It was neat, laughing and smiling again. He’d thought he’d forgotten how.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Tiernan brought his drink and joined Donovan at his table. He pointed the neck of the bottle over to the bar where the earthborns were taking a break after dancing for over an hour. More specifically at Malcolm, whose long knife strapped to his thigh was becoming as much a part of his standard gear as his wristbands. “You really are going to trust these kids with weapons?”
“Don’t underestimate these earthborns. They’ve got potential.”
A concussive ‘poof’ startled the club into relative silence, followed immediately by Kieran jumping up, fists pumping in the air as bits of melon and fruit juice dripped off of him. “YES!” Even as he laughed, the barkeep swatted at him with a towel. The other earthborns, in splatter range, expressed varying degrees of revulsion, while the fey out of range just applauded.
Tiernan turned back to Donovan. “Yep, downright brilliant, these earthborns.” He tilted back his Guinness.
The smirk on Donovan’s face wasn’t for the earthborns, but for Tiernan. He might have been born in the Mounds, but Tiernan had been raised on the surface. He was as comfortable and familiar with humans as the earthborns. With only a scant 80 or so years on them, Tiernan was still as much of a youngling as the earthborns, in Donovan’s eyes.
“I’ll tell you whose potential scares me,” Tiernan continued. “That’s your bloodhound. Correct me if I am wrong, but hasn’t every other bloodhound, save one, gone feral? In fact, didn’t you yourself have to put down two in your illustrious career as Elite? And the one bloodhound that didn’t go feral can hardly be called a poster child for sanity, considering he led the Seelie to destroy the Mounds.”
“Manannan.”
“The god o’magic himself.”
Donovan studied Malcolm. The boy was just beginning to let his walls down. Just starting to open up to the group. At the very first blush of awareness of what it meant to be Sidhe and Unseelie. He would never truly be like the others, though. What made him special also made him different. Made him dangerous. Controlling him would be as challenging as understanding him, for no one but another bloodhound could ever truly comprehend what they experienced.
“Better put a leash on him, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Donovan ended the conversation, watching the young bloodhound, the potentially deadly wildcard in their midst.
###
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Scattered Magic!
The story continues in Remnants of Magic
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Scattered Magic
Remnents of Magic
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Remnants of Magic
London wasn’t looking for Mr. Right. Not even Mr. Right Now. No, she searched for someone much more special than that. More unique. She searched for someone with that special Touch. The Touch she craved. The Touch she would die without.
Most humans cursed with this particular addiction died lonely, miserable deaths. But London wasn’t most humans. She wouldn’t go out that way.
Six weeks.
For six weeks she’d scrounged for every lead. Hit up favors from every underworld scum, fey or otherwise. Promised some disgusting favors to others, if they could point her in the right direction.
Six weeks of total agony. The need… the longing… twisted within her, becoming more and more unbearable with each breath. Finding a Sidhe wasn’t an option. It meant her life and her sanity.
But finding this special someone was only the first problem. The second… well, that’s what the gun was for.
So when she spotted tall, dark, and Sidhe slipping out of the curtain of Glamour that disguised the entrance to a fey-only club, London trailed him. She knew how to tail a suspect, not that this fellow taxed her skill set. He glanced up from his smartphone just often enough to navigate.
To the uninitiated, this particular Sidhe could pass for human. A really sexy human male. The kind of sexy that made you stare. The kind of drop dead gorgeous Hollywood would pay millions for, but could only achieve after hours in a make-up chair and with careful camera angles and creative lighting. There was simply no such thing as an unattractive Sidhe. Heck, there was no such thing as a kind-of good-looking Sidhe. They were all— every last cursed one of them— too damned sexy for anyone’s good.
So that was one reason London hadn’t a single doubt that her prey was Sidhe.
; The rugby jersey, the jeans, the trainers, none of it fooled her for a second. He moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, covering ground easily on those long, sexy legs of his. London spoiled herself, admiring his gorgeous bum as she followed. Those jeans fit him wicked perfectly.
The enjoyment lasted only a few blocks, where he passed from the sparsely populated industrial area to a street lined with shops. The Sidhe ducked into the music store. London paused outside, watching him through the window as he flipped through CDs. She smiled to herself. That should occupy him just long enough.
Within five minutes, she parked her car along the Sidhe’s route. London squeezed the steering wheel, but her hands still trembled. Every second telescoped with impatient agony as she glared at the empty street. Where is he? What if he doesn’t come back this way? The earthborns, the young and inexperienced Sidhe, didn’t often stray from the club. There was no telling how long she’d have to wait for another opportunity. “Come on, now,” she murmured. “You’ve jerked me around long enough.”
The Sidhe turned the corner two blocks down, heading her way. London stared at him, transfixed by the perfection of his body and the promise of his magic, both lethal obsessions. Snapping herself out of her daze, she accused him, “You did this to me.” Maybe not this guy in particular, but one of his kind. They didn’t care, these Sidhe. None of them cared. Just like Rico, who cursed her so she’d work for him. Just like the dark-eyed Sidhe whose name she didn’t even know, but who’d sent her and the other hapless humans he controlled off on a doomed temple raid, to slaughter or be slaughtered. They just didn’t care. None of these Sidhe cared.
They’d meant to enslave her with this curse. Time for them to pay the price. Time for her to take control again.
The Sidhe carried a small shopping bag, his attention focused on the CD case in his hand, reading as he walked.
London slipped unnoticed from her vehicle and circled around the rear bumper, out of his line of sight. As she peeked over the car, her hand slipped into her blazer pocket. She’d have to time it just right. When the Sidhe passed the front bumper, London moved.
Not every private investigator was trained in hand-to-hand combat. In truth, London hadn’t done much herself until she’d begun to specialize in parahuman cases, those involving former humans who’d become either vamps or weres. Even now, she’d still be considered a novice. But what skills she did possess, coupled with the element of surprise and the determination of her addiction, inspired her body to flow almost without her conscious effort.
As she strolled past the Sidhe, he glanced up and flashed a smile so brilliant that she couldn’t help but blush as she smiled back. Certainly, the Sidhe never expected her to catch his wrist as she ‘brushed’ against him. The click of the handcuff snapping into place caught his attention, too late though. London spun in behind him, jerking back the wrist she’d snared and grabbing his other arm before he could fathom what she meant to do. Just after she locked the second cuff into place, London kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to kneel before her.
“What the bloody hell are you playing at?” the Sidhe yelled over his shoulder, struggling against the bonds.
With a handful of his incredibly silky hair, she arched his head back. The muzzle of her gun pressed to his temple. “This is the part where you come with me,” she said, her voice low and direct.
“Are you insane?”
Certainly a rhetorical question, but she snapped, “If I am, it’s all your fault, Sidhe!” She released his hair to reach over and open the door. “Now get in!”
He closed his eyes. Winced hard.
London bent close to his ear and whispered, “You’re not teleporting anywhere with those silver handcuffs you’re wearing.”
He twisted around, maybe trying to look at her, maybe attempting to wiggle away from her. It didn’t matter. He managed to plant one foot on the ground in his struggle and London used the moment when he was off balance to shove him, with all her weight behind him, right into the backseat. He dove in head first. When he rolled back up to a sitting position she had the seatbelt ready. With the gun jammed in the hollow of his throat, forcing him to lean back, she reached across and belted the restraint into place. She backed out of the car and slammed the door. Snatching him from the street hadn’t even taken a full minute.
London hopped into the driver’s seat, diagonal from the Sidhe. The gun she tucked into the pocket on the door, where she could retrieve it quickly. She sped off. The only evidence that he’d ever even been there was the CDs, scattered and abandoned on the ground.
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Glossary and
Name Pronunciation Guide
Names and Pronunciations
Amon: Pronounced ‘Ah-mun’
Aoife: pronounced ‘Ee-fa’
Bain Greim: Pronounced ‘Bane Grimm’
Crom: Pronounced ‘krom’
Danu: pronounced ‘Dan-oo’
Eircheard: Pronounced ‘ER-chart’
Jhaer: pronounced ‘Ja-hair’
Jonathan Wyndracer: Pronounced Jonathan ‘wind-racer’
Kieran: Pronounced ‘Kear-an’
Lugh Samildanach: Pronounced ‘Loo Sa-mul-da-knock’
Leannan: pronounced ‘Lee-an-nan’
Manannan: pronounced ‘Ma-nan-an’
Rhiannon: Pronounced ‘Re-on-nan’
Rehnquist: Pronounced ‘Ren-quest’
Seamus: Pronounced ‘Shae-mus’
Tethor: pronounced ‘Tee-thor’
Tiberius Laven Davort: Pronounced ‘Tie-beer-E-us La-vin Da-vort’.
Tiernan: Pronounced ‘Tear-nan’
Willem Phillip Brodie Mac ind Óclaich: Pronounced Willem Phillip Brodie ‘Mac end O’clock’.
Glossary
All-Mother: A title given to Danu respectfully acknowledging her connection to all fey connected to the Mounds.
Aspect of magic: In addition to the Touch and the common magics (Glamour and teleportation), each Sidhe possesses a single aspect of magic, which dictated how their personal magic will manifest. For example, Lugh’s aspect of magic is ‘the sun’.
Banner: A type of fey highly skilled at using magic to perform construction very quickly, but only when unobserved.
Beltaine: Pronounced ‘Bell-tane’. Celtic festival celebrated on the first day of May, and marks the beginning of summer.
Brownies: A type of fey known for being secretive and shy, but very helpful domestically.
Captivated: Seelie term for humans addicted to the Touch.
Champion: A title given to respectfully acknowledging someone’s role as defender and ambassador for the their race with other races.
Changeling: A type of fey that can shape change and that has a reputation for being self-serving and vicious.
Collapse: Refers to the recent destruction of the Mounds.
Creatrix: Refers to Danu. The feminine form of the word ‘creator’.
Cursed: A term used to describe humans who have been Touched by a Sidhe.
Dark Court: Another name for the Unseelie Court.
Dark Elves: A type of fey who often lives underground like dwarves, and who tend to possess darker magic.
Druid/druidess: A human who loyally serves a Sidhe in exchange for the ‘blessing’ of the Touch.
Earthborns: The term for the Sidhe born on the earth surface in the past few decades who are generally untrained in magic and unprotected from predators.
Earth realm: Refers to the surface of the earth.
Elite: The assassins who worked for the Unseelie Queen.
Enchanted: Someone or something bespelled by magic.
Enchantment: A spell created by magicraft.
Exiles: Refers to the Unseelie who left the Mounds after the Seelie gained power.
Fade: A potentially deadly condition suffered by the fey when their magic is not replenished.
Fey: A general term for any creature whose race descended from the first realm of fey.
Ghille Dhu: Pronounced ‘Gell Doo’. A type of shape changing fey.
Glamour: One of the types of magic all fey can perform and is used to disguise oneself or objects behind an illusion.
Glamour Club: Owned by Donovan, this fey-only club is a haven for earthborn Sidhe.
‘Is your head a Marley?’: Irish slang for ‘have you lost your mind?’