Bastion of Magic (The Sidhe (Urban Fantasy Series) Book 4)

by S A Archer

  Now, it was weird.

  Kieran had a crew of two under him and one of them was some wizard-cavorting, druid guy who could go ninjitsu-ballistic on them all, and that no one trusted. The only thing going in Riley’s favor was that he liked Dr. Who and he didn’t mind sharing a sofa. On balance, not real encouraging.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jasper set things up for the band; from the townhouse that they shared, to the Brownies that saw to the food and the clothing, to this car that he loaned to Malcolm to use. Malcolm coasted to a stop in front of the two-story farmhouse out in the middle of Tipperary County. His eyes unfocused. The figures moved around, casting a hazy glow that he could see through the walls. Two changelings and three enchanted humans.

  That Rand had enchanted humans glowing so bright with Touch magic made Malcolm grind his teeth. Back to his old ways, Malcolm thought. When he lost Malcolm as a slave he found someone else to wring the Touch from. Another Sidhe.

  It would end today.

  Malcolm drew the hoodie up to cover his head. Dressed in all black he’d be hard to see this early in the morning. From the driver’s seat he looked at the porch outside the front window. With a flick of his magic he was there. Crouching outside the window and gripping the frame he glanced inside.

  A changeling Malcolm didn’t know leaned forward on the sofa to look into a box on a coffee table before him. He inspected the bottles that weren’t any longer than his palm. Behind him the humans moved more boxes from the dolly into stacks along the wall. The boxes flickered with magic as if they were translucent and multicolored fairy lights blinked inside them. It didn’t look like fey magic to Malcolm. But he didn’t really care about that. That wasn’t why he was here.

  Rand came out of the kitchen carrying a Guinness. He said something Malcolm couldn’t make out but the changeling on the sofa nodded and laughed.

  Malcolm gripped the handle of his knife. He recognized the humans. He gritted his teeth but that didn’t drive the memories away. They’d used him. Stolen magic from him. Taken advantage of him when he was too drunk to defend himself. And here they were still working for the changeling and still drenched in stolen magic. Filthy human perverts.

  No more.

  As one of the humans turned, Malcolm spotted the handgun jammed in the back of his waistband. His eyes narrowed as he watched them move. The other two humans carried guns as well, one in a holster under his arm and the other in a holster on his hip. They probably knew well how to use them.

  Malcolm’s dad had made sure that Malcolm knew how to use a firearm. He wasn’t afraid of them. Even if there were more guns than his one single blade. The knife was as long as his thigh, and Malcolm knew how to use it, too. Donovan had made sure of that.

  Best as he could tell, neither of the changelings were armed, but changelings could be deadly in their own way.

  Surprise would be on Malcolm side, but only for a moment. He’d have to watch for his chance.

  He could just see inside the kitchen from here. When one of the humans went in there that’s when Malcolm struck.

  He teleported in behind him. Gripping him by the hair Malcolm shoved the human deeper into the kitchen and out of sight even as he dragged the blade across his throat. Fast and deadly, making sure to hit the major arteries like Donovan had said. The human dropped faster than Malcolm expected, hitting the ground with a thump.

  “You alright, Allen?” Someone asked, not sounding too concerned just yet.

  Crouching down, Malcolm jerked the handgun out of Allen’s waistband and flicked the safety off with his thumb. The weight of the weapon was uncomfortable in his weak grip. Probably a .45 caliber. A hand cannon, with serious stopping power. Staying low he teleported again.

  He landed in the space near the closed door leading out front. He pulled the trigger and the gun recoiled like a mule kick in his hand sending a lance of pain from his fingertips to his shoulder. The weapon jumped from his hand and bounced aside on the carpet. But the human he’d aimed at lost his head in the spray of red.

  With no time to process the pain, Malcolm leapt and twisted in the air. He slashed with his knife cutting across the face of the last human before he could reach his gun. They both went down and Malcolm stabbed straight through his chest. He knew he’d hit the heart, and Malcolm jerked back the knife before it could be caught between the ribs.

  The changeling from the sofa flipped over the back of the furniture. Instead of hands, long twiggy claws slashed at him.

  Malcolm teleported on instinct, and reappeared almost in the same spot after his attacker flew past. Malcolm reached back and raked his fingers down the changeling’s back before he could even hit the ground. His fingers snagged in the threads of the changeling’s magic and wrenched them. The scream was horrific. The bloke hit the ground and tried to twist, but Malcolm kicked out a foot and pinned his neck to the floor so the side of his face was smashed into the carpet. Malcolm’s head jerked up, snarling at Rand who watched more with interest than fear.

  Malcolm kept his knife up in threat as he jammed his fingers into the changeling’s back and twisted the magic inside him, making him scream.

  “Come back home have you?” Rand snarled. “You always did know how to party.”

  The changeling beneath him vanished. And almost immediately reappeared behind Malcolm. The claws on one hand gripped Malcolm’s throat as the other circled his wrist. He slammed Malcolm’s hand to the floor knocking the knife from his grip. The snaps on Malcolm’s leather wristband popped open, sending it tumbling away in the struggle.

  The changeling holding Malcolm bit his shoulder with a mouth suddenly full of crocodile teeth. Malcolm cried out at the searing pain, and reached back to tangle his fingers in the magic at the base of the changeling’s skull. When he yanked forward the threads of magic snapped and the head popped off and rolled over to Rand’s feet. The changeling’s body dropped to the ground behind Malcolm. He didn’t even look back at it. Instead he snatched up his knife and crouched to strike.

  Rand smirked. “Catch me if you can, Sidhe boy.” And he vanished. The air seemed to twist closed over where he been when he teleported away.

  Malcolm jabbed the knife back into its sheath. Checking the wound on his shoulder he found it not too bad. It didn’t even bleed much.

  When he’d first come to the Glamour Club and felt the need to arm himself, Malcolm had found his blade. Opportunity offered him other options and instincts drove him to take advantage. Malcolm stopped long enough to jerk the shoulder holster from the headless human and strap it onto himself. He checked the magazine, finding it full, before slapping it back in place. Repeating the process, he grabbed the hip holster from another body. Both pistols fired 22 millimeter bullets. A lot less recoil. Finally, he snatched up the rifle from the coffee table. This was no rabbit-hunting rifle either, but a black military rifle with the expensive sniper sights.

  Rand wasn’t going to get away. Even if Malcolm had to chase him all over Ireland.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “So does this kind of thing happen a lot? Shipments go astray?” Riley asked from the backseat.

  Kieran had wondered the same thing, but hadn’t voiced it. He watched Joe, who drove the Escort at exactly five kilometers over the speed limit.

  “It happens,” was all he said, all hard-ass and serious. Probably, he thought he’d been saddled with two wild cards, not really knowing either Kieran or Riley very well. Probably, being special forces and all, he’d rather go in with a military trained attack squad or something.

  Whatever.

  Kieran wasn’t green and Riley appeared to know how to break a man’s neck with his pinkie. Surely, they could handle this.

  Riley leaned forward to prop his elbows on the front seats and get a better look at Kieran. “You’re an earthborn, am
I right?”

  They hadn’t really talked much last night. Kieran guessed that the details hadn’t mattered to either of them then. Now that they were going on a mission together, and they might have to trust each other with their lives, he guessed that it mattered. There wasn’t any reason he could think of why he shouldn’t tell him, other than it marked him as young. But, he answered anyway. “Yeah.”

  Joe asked the next question, “What’s your aspect, Kieran?”

  “Sound.”

  “Any good with it?” Joe cut a glance at him.

  “I can explode a man’s head like a melon. That good enough for you?” Kieran leveled his gaze right back at him.

  Just a hint of a smirk tugged at Joe’s lips as he focused on driving.

  But Riley’s curiosity was far from satisfied. “So is it true that a lot of the earthborns were abandoned and they’re just wandering? Lost?”

  Kieran felt the frown on his face, but kept it from his voice at Riley’s openly interested expression. “I don’t know about a lot. Some. Most weren’t really abandoned, but were given to other fey to foster. That’s how they did it in the old days and that’s what some do now.” He didn’t answer for himself personally. His parents had vanished one day, without explanation or warning. Kieran’s personal belief was that a predator of one stripe or another snatched them, but he never knew for sure. None of the other earthborns of the Glamour Club had been abandoned. Dawn and Bryce were fostered, and Mal and Trip had been runaways.

  “See? I didn’t learn about the earthborns until I came to Tiernan’s. I thought all of the Sidhe were ancient, like Manannan and Lugh. But if there are young Sidhe who are lost, someone should be reaching out to find them.” Riley gazed out the windshield, thoughtfully.

  “Donovan’s doing that.” Kieran said, then corrected himself, “Was doing that.”

  “The Glamour Club. Right. I heard about that. But, it’s gone now, right?” Riley didn’t seem to have a clue that Kieran was from the Glamour Club. It was weird, hearing him talk about it like it was some faraway place. “I think Tiernan should start an outreach program. You know? And not just for the lost Sidhe, but for Touched humans as well. There is nothing worse than to have this magical need, and not know where to turn. We should start a website.”

  Joe choked on a laugh. “A website?”

  “Yeah. Why not?” Riley shrugged. “Everyone’s online these days.”

  “Believe it or not, not everyone is. I doubt most of the Sidhe would even know what the Internet is.” Joe slowed down as the car rumbled over a low wooden bridge leading down to the docks.

  “A lot of the earthborns use technology.” Kieran plucked his cell from his pocket to make the point. “We use the Internet.”

  “See?” Riley grinned. “Kieran thinks it’s a good idea.”

  Joe shook his head. “I think you’ve been snorting pixie dust, Riley.” He parked the car in a gravel lot next to a small dock where two speedboats were moored. Under his breath he muttered, “Website,” and shook his head. “Come on, druid,” he said, as if he meant that title as a joke. “Stay focused.” As Joe climbed out he grabbed a handgun from the side pocket of the door and tucked it into the back of his jeans. He gave a cursory glance around, leading the way down the dock.

  Kieran and Riley followed a few steps behind. “You’re a druid?” Kieran whispered.

  “I am. Or was.” He shrugged and his gaze slipped away, like it was a sore subject.

  “Tiernan said you would be my druid.” Kieran whispered, as they caught up to where Joe had slowed down.

  Riley gripped Kieran’s wrist and turned towards him. “Really?” A shiny hope lit up his expression.

  That meant something to Riley, being a druid. Something more than just a title. Kieran would have to dig out that book and do more than skim through it. There was a difference between being a druid and just another enchanted human, and Kieran was just beginning to get that.

  “Guys, make out later. Stay on task right now.” Joe held out a hand for them to wait as he jerked the pistol from his waistband and climbed silently on board.

  Kieran listened, but even with his magic augmenting the sounds he only heard Joe’s breathing and his footfalls over the soft slap of the waves. There was no one on board. No living person, anyway. As he eased onto the boat behind Joe, he caught the sharp stench of blood.

  Down below deck the bodies of two men sprawled in a mess of blood.

  “Gunshot wounds,” Joe observed. He made a quick search. “The cargo is gone.”

  “Now what do we do?” Riley stuffed his hands into his back pockets.

  Joe pulled out his phone and started thumbing across the surface. “Now, we activate the tracker, and hunt down the targets.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  There wasn’t any place in Ireland that Rand could go where Malcolm couldn’t find him. Probably no place on the planet. That was the reason they called his magic ‘bloodhound’. Once he got the scent it was nothing to trace the threads of it.

  From across the ravine, Malcolm moved into a sniper position. On the cliff face opposite from him, Glamour partially hid the mouth of a goblin cave. They did a crap job of the magic, too. With tears and holes in it, it fluttered like a ragged cloth in the wind. Three goblins scurried around the entrance; the lookouts. The beastling fey didn’t bother with clothing. Everything about their short bodies were twiggy and green. Their over-sized heads, with their giant, googly eyeballs and gaping mouths full of needle-like teeth followed him into his nightmares. Malcolm sprawled on the ground, raised his rifle, and took aim. With the squeeze of the trigger a crack echoed through the ravine. One down in a spray of red. Two more squeezes. Two more down.

  Having heard the screams of their mates, more came out. Malcolm picked them off as they came. Piled them up as they climbed over the bodies of the dead to come rushing into his line of sight. Goblins never were the smartest of the lesser fey. Eventually, they stopped volunteering for the slaughter. Under his breath he growled, “Come on out, you little rodents. You’ve not wised up already have you?” Donovan had been right about killing goblins. It was like killing ants. You could pick them off all day and it made no difference. There were always more. Down inside that cave. Down in the nest.

  Killing those goblins hadn’t eased his hatred of them. Too remote. Too impersonal. Too easy. These were not the goblins that had kept Malcolm captive. Donovan had killed them. But goblin was goblin, as far as Malcolm was concerned. They all deserved to die.

  Malcolm heard the attack coming. He rolled to his back. Perhaps they were not quite as dumb as he credited them for. A gang of them scrambled toward him with the speed and malicious giggles and grins that made his skin crawl with remembrance. Too close for the rifle already, they swarmed at him.

  Malcolm drew a pistol in each hand and began firing. Each recoil sent harsh tingles through his wrists and numbed his hands, but he didn’t stop. Not when the beasts were right up on him. One goblin fell for each shot, there was no missing at this range, but another rushed in to take its place. They kept coming until their long, narrow fingers clutched at him, trying to pin him down. Malcolm kicked one back, knocking over the ones coming up to join the fun. Malcolm rolled away from the pile up and came up with his long knife.

  This was much more satisfying than the rifle shots at a distance. The goblins came. He cut them down. Using all the skills he’d learned from Donovan, he sliced huge gashes in their green goblin flesh. When too many rushed him at once he used the acrobatics Kaitlin had taught him to dodge away.

  Malcolm cut down the goblins. Could have kept on cutting them down, but after a while there was silence. Silence and the stench of goblin and blood. They littered the ground.

  Flexing his fingers around the hilt of his blade sent a stab up his forearm. The knife tumb
led from his hand, his grip too damaged to keep a hold. He had to use both hands to pick it up and drop it back into his sheath.

  Malcolm knelt by the handguns where he’d discarded them. Just a few bullets left. He holstered the pistols and shook out his hands. The pained tingles from so many assaults to his wrists from the recoil made using the guns a last resort.

  Staring at his hands, he noticed for the first time that he was down to just one wristband. The deep ligature scar about his naked wrist reminded him, warned him, of the dangers. He’d been a prisoner, a slave, inside a goblin nest. The scars were from a year of silver shackles eating at his flesh. If he’d worn them much longer he would have completely lost the use of his hands.

  Raising his face towards the mouth of the cave, its depths still in shadows despite the midmorning sunlight, he remembered. His own screams seemed to echo from that hole. The whips that had torn through his back had been laced with silver, intentionally scarring him with the torture. The goblin beasts laughed at him. Tormented him just to feed their evil glee.

  And Rand was hiding in there among these creatures, counting on Malcolm to be too afraid to face them. Or maybe counting on him to fall to their overwhelming number, like before.

  Malcolm closed his fists, weak as they were.

  He glared at the nest. He’d come for blood. He’d gotten it. A flood of it. He was splattered with it. Except for a few scratches none of it was his. It had been good, too. Real good. He felt alive, surrounded by this death. Powerful. There was no question in Malcolm’s mind.