Reaped from Faerie: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Stolen Magic Book 2)

by WB McKay

  "Maybe sometime, but right now I have to help Belinda with dinner." I headed to the kitchen before he could protest.

  Belinda turned from the pan on the stove, wearing a look I knew all too well. I'd jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. There was no escaping her, so I continued into the kitchen and pulled out some plates.

  "Owen seems like a nice boy," Belinda said, turning back to the pots on the stove.

  "Boy, huh? How old do you think he is?" Belinda had an uncanny knack for telling how old fae were. She said it was something about the way they smelled.

  "I'd say not more than a couple years older than he looks." She turned a sweet smile on me. "Probably about your age."

  I glared at her. "No. Don't you get any ideas in that twisted little head of yours. He's a dragon."

  She clucked her tongue at me. "You think I can smell how old he is, but not realize he's a dragon? I'd recognize that burning metal scent anywhere. The cinnamon is a nice complement to it, too." She rolled her eyes at my scowl. "Oh, stop that. You're the only one who has a problem with dragons."

  "You can stop trying to make this happen now."

  "Mmm." Ah, the classic Belinda "mmm". Her way of saying she was dropping it for now. "You're not in here to help me cook," she stated, melancholy weighing down her tone. "And I'm choosing to believe you aren't avoiding that boy. You need to hear what happened with Daphne. Did they send you after the scythe?"

  "You know about the scythe. So you saw them take it, then?"

  "Yes." Belinda put down the knife and the handful of carrots she'd plucked from the fridge. She didn't turn to look at me, but the tension in her shoulders told me what I needed to know.

  "We don't have to talk about it."

  "Of course we do." Belinda washed off the carrots and started chopping. She'd finished slicing three of them before she said, "I didn't see her face."

  "But female?"

  Belinda raised one of her tense shoulders. "She had boobs. She wore a mask." Belinda cleared her throat. "A crow mask."

  "A crow mask," I repeated. "A mask that looked like a crow's head." Someone wearing a crow mask showed up at the community for The Morrigan's daughters, and killed one of them. Was that some kind of fucked up joke? There had been little question of this being a planned attack, but any doubt on that front went out the window. They didn't kill Daphne because Wailing Lakes was convenient or any other case of happenstance—they were targeting banshees. But why?

  "Yep. And—you'll love this—they fought with a sword."

  I'd seen the bodies, I'd figured as much. Not that Belinda needed to hear that right now, so I just nodded to her back.

  "They killed Daphne quick. Snuck up on her. The reaper showed up—and the killer turned right toward her. The killer could see the reaper. That surprised the reaper long enough for the killer to do what she did—but it's not like any of us expected it to work. I wasn't sure why the vision was going on so long. Daphne had died already. I thought maybe we were going to see the reaper kill Daphne's murderer. But, no. The sword killed a reaper. The reaper she… she just looked so confused when she touched the blood on her chest. I mean, of course she did. Of course she was confused. It was… well." Belinda turned on the stove, shaking her head the whole time. I didn't have to see her face to know her expression. Her lips were pursed to the side, her eyes were downcast, and she looked like she was wondering how it was that the world never made any sense to her. A lot of people assume banshees are experts in death, real philosophers or something. Like maybe Belinda would have special insight into why murders happen. Belinda told me once that the more murders she saw, the less it made sense. She slapped a zucchini down on the cutting board, chopped off its ends, and tossed them across the kitchen to the trash. She offered me a sad smile before turning back to her vegetable prep. "The last thing I saw was the crow-masked killer grabbing the scythe out of the dying reaper's hand." Belinda sighed heavily. "That's all I've got for you."

  "Thanks." I knew she didn't want to be babied, so I didn't give her a hug.

  "Hey!" she yelled when I snatched a couple carrot slices from her cutting board.

  "Yum," I told her.

  "You move away and become a food snatching heathen," she scolded, but smiled while she did so. "Get out of here. Go canoodle with the boy."

  "What's a canoodle?"

  "You know." She twisted her arms so they hugged each other and made a kissy face at me. "It's where you become noodle-like and twist in a loving way. With kissing."

  "On your sofa?"

  "You do your thing, baby bird."

  I lunged for another carrot and jumped away from her swatting hand. "I'm just doing my thing. Like you said." I cackled when she whipped a kitchen towel at me. I'd missed Belinda.

  Owen was right where I left him, looking like he was trying not to laugh. "Eavesdropper," I told him.

  "I can hear," he said.

  "Fair enough." I returned to my seat on the couch and tapped my fingers on the armrest. Belinda wasn't much of an artist, but I wondered if asking some of the others to draw the crow mask would do any good. Likely, it was something the killer made—maybe they honestly thought it was funny to kill a banshee dressed like a crow—or maybe the killer was taunting us. If the killer had known banshees would see the murder, of course they'd want to cover their face. It could be as simple as that. But if the mask had any special properties, I might be able to track down the killer by tracking the mask. A thin lead, but something to look into.

  The sword was the better lead though. A sword capable of killing a reaper. I needed to sort out what could kill a reaper, exactly, before I speculated on the properties of the sword. Research on reapers could also turn up a motive for stealing a scythe. On cases like this, where I thought I knew things from general knowledge, it was best to start with the basics and make sure what I thought I knew was, in fact, truth. This meant starting at the beginning, with research on reapers and what killed them, and scythes and how they worked. Also research on witches, and any history of witches with interests in scythes.

  I could also ask the MOD offices if they had channels for gathering information on the reaper or her scythe, though I doubted that would be fruitful. I could work around that anyway. It didn't seem like a personal attack. From what Belinda had told me, it sounded like the killer had murdered Daphne to get the reaper to show up, but I didn't want to take that for granted.

  That was all book research.

  I also needed to hit the streets and search out anyone fencing a scythe. The most likely black market for witches mingling with fae was in Michigan.

  "Sophie?"

  "Hmm?" I blinked and looked over at Owen. He had the distinct expression of someone waiting for me to say something more, which probably meant he'd been talking. "If you said something, I wasn't listening. I was thinking about my next move on the case."

  "Which is?"

  None of his business is what it was. "What were you saying to me before?"

  He smiled like he knew I was ignoring his question. He pointed at a picture of me on the wall. "Cute picture."

  I was twelve. Belinda was trying to teach me about styling my own hair, and all of my other sisters had taken up the fight. Rebellion runs strong in the Morrigans. I had used up all of Belinda's hair spray and teased my hair into a nest fit for any bird. She'd taken the picture, and then proudly told me that if I had managed all that, I was definitely learning something about hair care.

  What a smug monster she was.

  "Thanks," I said, giving him a genuine smile. "I wore my hair like that for three days. Belinda hated it, but was trying to teach me a lesson about personal hygiene and taking care of myself without her telling me to, so she wasn't going to say a word and I was determined not to do anything about it. I wasn't about to back down and neither was she. It wasn't until I insisted on going with her into town that she gave in and ordered me to take a shower and comb my damn hair."

  Owen eyed me skeptically. "And
this photo doesn't embarrass you?"

  I quirked a brow at him. "Why would it?"

  He shrugged. "People are usually embarrassed by pictures of themselves being silly as children."

  "I was awesome." I gave him a look, daring him to argue. I was still proud of my stubborn antics. I'd never been a pushover.

  Owen nodded like he'd made a decision. "That's good."

  Owen continued asking about my childhood. His surprise at everything I said put into light just how different my life had been. No, there weren't any other kids in Wailing Lakes. No, I didn't go to school—Belinda homeschooled me. No, we didn't go on trips into Volarus, the fae city. No, there weren't any men around. Everyone who lived in Wailing Lakes was a banshee, or me. Daughters of The Morrigan only. By the time Belinda popped out of the kitchen with a delicious smelling pan, I was beginning to wonder if Owen thought I was even weirder than he already had. Nothing was going to help that. Maybe it would help him decide to give up his quest to befriend me.

  I should have felt relieved at that thought.

  Belinda called over her shoulder as we walked into the dining room, "Food's ready." I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was disappointed not to be interrupting some noodling or whatever she'd called it. "Get it while it's hot."

  She'd brought out the nice plates, the blue ceramic with the little flowers. She always served the plates so the flowers were on the right side. I was primed to say something smart about how this wasn't a special occasion—I knew what she was doing with the way she was looking at Owen—but that would only serve to draw his attention to it. I sat on my chair harder than I needed to, tossed the napkin in my lap, and once Belinda met my eyes, I turned the plate so the flowers were on the left. Take that!

  Her answering smile was a little strained—good—but mostly amused—hmph.

  "So, Owen," Belinda offered him a platter of roasted vegetables, "how did things go with you two in Faerie?"

  I tried to keep my face perfectly still. Was this how still I normally kept my face? What did I normally do with my face? This was how Belinda always got me.

  "Good," he said.

  "Whereabouts did you venture?"

  I raised a glass in front of my face and said, "Forest. I told you this. It doesn't do any good to make a meal and not let anyone eat it, Belinda."

  "People converse over dinner, Sophie."

  Gulping down my water and then glaring at her over the empty glass, I knew I was losing. Belinda was such a… such a…. I didn't even know what to call her other than, "You are such a pain in my ass."

  "I love you too. Now, Owen, tell me about this trip."

  "It was only a couple days. I'd hate to bore you. What did Sophie already tell you?"

  Belinda wagged a fork at him. "Oh, you're good."

  With a tight-lipped grin, Owen shrugged and skewered a few potatoes with his fork.

  "All right, fine." Belinda laughed. "I like that you took her side, so I'm not going to break you."

  "I appreciate that," Owen said.

  I looked between the two of them and shook my head. They started talking about weird things, like Belinda's choice of paint color on the dining room walls, and Belinda's plans for tomato plants, and the books they'd both read recently.

  This was not something I ever would have pictured. It was like… Owen, big and smiley and polite and with his wrinkle-free clothes and fancy night club life fit perfectly well in my sister's dining room.

  It was like nothing was wrong at all, and I didn't trust it.

  I ate my delicious meal and watched them volley their polite conversation around, like it was an easy thing to do, and waited for something tense or disturbing to happen. When it didn't materialize before the cookies for dessert, I decided I had too many important things to worry about to waste any more brain cells waiting for it. I decided the meal was over, and once there was a pause in their chit-chat, I leaned back in my chair. "As much as I'd love to get some sleep, I need to look into some leads before they dry up."

  "I'll come with you," said Owen.

  "No," I said flatly. "I'm going to check a black market. It's always a touchy situation there at best." That was true enough, but not really the reason I didn't want him there.

  "I can help."

  He was right, he could. "I need someone to research reapers and their scythes. And anything to do with witches and scythes. Oh, and any and all known ways to kill a reaper. Thanks!"

  Owen glared at me, folding his arms over his chest. "That's just bullshit to keep me busy and out of your hair. I want to help."

  "This is a FAB job, not some craft project. Hammond would lose his shit if he knew I was dragging you along." Also true. Still not the reason. I could handle Hammond if I needed to. "If you want to help, do the research. If not, then go the hell home."

  "What is your problem?" said Owen, jumping to his feet, his chair sliding back with a squeal. "Why can't you accept my help?"

  "I already asked for your help. Take it or leave it." I stood and walked from the room, catching sight of Belinda placing a hand on Owen's arm to keep him from following. If I wasn't so pissed, it would have made me smile. "I'll be back in a few hours," I called back as I opened the front door.

  I stepped out and bumped into a short woman with curly red hair pulled back into a tight bun. She stepped back, her eyes wide with surprise. "Hello," she said. "You must be Agent Morrigan."

  "Who the fuck are you?" I asked, my sparkling personality in clear evidence.

  The woman offered her hand for me to shake. The overwhelming floral perfume masked her scent enough that it took me a moment to parse out what I was dealing with. It was faint, but impossible to miss when it was so fresh in my mind: ozone and wet earth. Witch. A witch who'd manipulated magic recently enough to still smell like it. My hand twitched, torn between taking the offered hand and reaching for Haiku, the sword at my hip. I did neither, wanting to keep my options open until I was sure about what was going on. "I'm Agent Clarissa Stark. FAB human division." She pulled out her badge and flashed it in the professional manner of someone used to doing it a dozen times a day. "Agent Hammond told me where I would find you." She awkwardly lowered the raised hand I'd never shook. "May I come in?"

  We did need a witch on the case, it made sense that Hammond would send her over. I wished he'd told me first, but he was the boss. He could do what he wanted. If I was actually going to be stuck working with this witch, I'd have to get myself a gas mask or something. Between the overwhelming scent of her perfume, and the stink of witch magic, it was hard to breathe standing right next to her. The perfume made sense though. She worked with fae agents everyday, fae agents who would have a lot to say about that magic stink. Muddying it up with some perfume probably seemed like the nice thing to do. I wasn't so sure it was an improvement.

  "Fine. I was just leaving, so you've got two minutes to explain yourself." I stepped inside the house and glared at Owen standing at the end of the hall. Belinda was there too, but I didn't dare glare at her. "It's just a human FAB agent," I said, to let them know there was nothing to worry about. Belinda walked away, but Owen stayed, like some overprotective dick. If I ever needed help to deal with a single witch, I'd turn in my badge. I caught a hint of a snarl from Clarissa before she schooled her expression into professionalism. I waved her into the house. "Come on, I don't have all night. What do you want?"

  "I was assigned to help with the human element of the case, but the homicide agents aren't being cooperative. I was going to ask to be reassigned, but I ran into Agent Hammond. He suggested I work with you on the case from the magical object angle. He thought I could assist in analyzing human behavior so you would be more likely to locate the scythe."

  "I don't need any help," I said. "If that's all, you can go. I have a black market to get to."

  "Sorry, not my choice," said Clarissa, her big, blue eyes dark with some emotion I didn't care to identify. "You're stuck with me unless you want to take it up with Agent Ham
mond."

  "Exactly what I need, someone else who is stuck with me." I cast a meaningful glance at Owen and ushered Clarissa out the door. "Whatever, just don't slow me down."

  "I finished first in my class at the academy," said Clarissa, a sharpness in her tone. I had to fight the urge not to knock her down a peg by reminding her only human agents had to go through an academy. For the fae, a demonstration of a useful talent and a trainer that was willing to work with you was all that were required. "I've had six commendations in my five years at the FAB. I excel at my profession. If you'll let me help, I'm sure we can show up all those homicide assholes." She pointed at the sporty car I didn't recognize. "We can take my vehicle."

  "Do you have authorization to go into Volarus?" I asked. We'd have to take a portal from there if we didn't want to fly to Michigan and still get there too late.

  Her lips tightened into an annoyed pinch I didn't think she was aware of. She pulled out her badge and pointed to the blue diamond in the corner that indicated her level of clearance. Blue was only one level below my own. "Yes, I'm authorized. Can we go now?" She huffed and climbed into the driver's seat.

  She had a bit of an attitude. Good for her. I hoped she was as good at her job as she said. If not, she'd probably end up getting us both killed at the market.

  Another day working for FAB. Fabulous.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It took an hour to get to Volarus. Clarissa pulled over just before we got there so we could switch spots. It was easier to bring a human into the city if I was the one driving, and no matter how many times she said she'd been there, I wasn't comfortable riding in a car with a driver who literally couldn't see our destination. Once I got her through the border, she'd be able to see the city. Well, mostly. Though fae didn't need to glamour themselves to hide from humans in Volarus, for many it was habit to the point that they always did it. That glamour either made them appear human or invisible to human eyes. The idea that Clarissa could run over a fae not visible to her didn't seem to deter her from the idea that she should be able to drive her own car. I took the wheel without bothering to argue. I was on a case hunting down a murderous witch; I was not in the mood to hear of the difficulties humans endured in the fae city.