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

by WB McKay

  "Books are his hoard," I explained.

  Owen's lip curled with disdain. "Trove, please." I rolled my eyes. "And not just any books. I covet historical fae texts." He looked so snooty when he said that, I didn't know if I should roll my eyes again or laugh. I guessed that I was probably supposed to do neither and focused on looking away. Belinda would have a hard time forgiving me for enraging a dragon in her living room.

  Art wasn't having such problems. His eyes were wide with interest. "You covet knowledge over gold."

  Art's wording triggered something in my brain, and none of it was funny anymore. I pictured Lou, a dragon I frequently ran into at work. He stored his trinkets in a cave, most of them gold. He had a pile he'd dive in and roll around. I'd walked in on him doing it several times. He wasn't embarrassed by his actions, but if he caught me looking at the gold he'd move to intercept, afraid I'd touch it. Not take it—he was confident I wouldn't take anything not on the warrant. In his mind he believed he was letting me take it, even when I had to get clever with my confiscation techniques—no, Lou wasn't worried I'd take a piece of his hoard, he was worried I'd touch it. He couldn't stand the very idea. His hoard was his and the need for it was painful.

  Owen coveted fae historical texts.

  Owen coveted fae historical texts, like The Life of the Phantom Queen.

  The book I stole from him.

  And then h let me keep it, with barely a warning about taking good care of it for him.

  I couldn't help but stare at Owen now. Why would he do that? I was no dragon, but I had my own covetous impulses. It was worse than the worst food craving. It was… it was painful. And he'd been so casual about it.

  Owen caught me staring, and not even the look of concern on his face was enough to snap me out of it.

  "Did you find anything on the reaper on the internet? Sophie?"

  "Oh, uh, no," I answered Art, dropping my gaze to the floor. "If you know anyone she was close to, I might be able to learn something from one of them online."

  He dropped a stack of folders on the floor at his feet and rubbed his face. "Her file was pretty bare, too," he said. "The homicide agents haven't found anything either. No, I suspect we'll have to work on following Clarissa and the scythe with the little information we've managed to gather." He looked stressed. Art never looked stressed.

  "That's fine," I told him. "We have a working theory on motive. That's something. Now the question is, where would she go if she wanted to collect fae souls?" Even asking the question made me shudder.

  "No," said Belinda, rising from her chair with the squeak of leather. "Now the question is, did I make enough pancakes for everyone?" When we all remained seated, she clapped her hands. "To the table. I have breakfast warming in the oven. You'll all think better with a full stomach."

  I'd always thought it just worked with me, but apparently there was something about Belinda that made everyone follow her orders without hesitation. Art, Owen, and I filed dutifully into the dining room and sat at the table while Belinda served up pancakes and sausages. If she was thinking about Daphne and what might have happened to her soul, she didn't let on. All she let us see was an attentive host, bent on overstuffing her guests. There was still a mound of pancakes in the center of the table when Belinda finally sat down to eat. By some unspoken agreement, possibly the silent force of Belinda, there was no further discussion of the case at breakfast, just lots of chewing and appreciative noises.

  There was a knock at the door, and four sets of eyes jerked toward the sound. My hand twitched toward my hip and Haiku's hilt.

  "All of my sisters know better than to come over at this time of morning," said Belinda.

  "I'll get it." I pushed away from the table and smiled at them all, pulling Haiku free from her scabbard. "Maybe someone else has come to kill me!"

  Belinda harrumphed. "Well you tell 'em they can damn well come back at a more civilized hour."

  It turned out our visitor wasn't there for murder. At least, I didn't think so. She was much too difficult to read.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ava regarded me from the front stoop, her nose twitching like a rabbit's. "Are you going to invite me in? Honestly, Sophie, must you ignore all social convention?"

  "Yes." I stepped to the side and made a sweeping gesture with my sword hand. "What are you doing here?"

  "Are you planning on stabbing me?" asked Ava.

  "Maybe," I said. "You didn't say why you're here."

  "And yet you invited me in." Ava stepped over the threshold. "How bold of you."

  Owen stepped into Ava's view behind me, and I didn't have to turn around to know he was there. The awkward tension was thick enough I doubted anyone was breathing easy.

  Neither of them said anything, leaving it up to me.

  "Hey everyone, Ava's here!" I called out to no one in particular. "She hasn't said why, but it's probably not to kill me." I smiled at her, like things were perfectly normal. "Probably."

  "We'll see what happens," said Ava. "As for why I'm here, I should think that would be obvious to you. I'm your consultant."

  "Yes, you are," I allowed, "but while we're stating facts here, I haven't consulted you on the case."

  Ava looked at me straight on then. "And what a horrible oversight that was. You are working a case with a murdered banshee and reaper and you didn't think to consult me? Here, have a brownie." She pulled a Ziploc bag from her oversized purse and held it out for me. There was no note, but I didn't need one to recognize Phoebe's work. She'd sent Ava with brownies for me. It was so sweet. I looked up to say something to that effect, but Ava had already redirected her focus to Art, who stood a few paces behind me. "So, where are we on finding the murderous little witch?"

  "Uhhh, nowhere?" Art asked her.

  "As I suspected," said Ava.

  "More like she knew," I clarified for Art and Belinda, waving vaguely at the empty air. It was likely full of ghosts. "You and your spies are so creepy, Ava."

  "They're not spies, Sophie. They're living their lives to their fullest capacities."

  "Can you call it a life when they're dead?" I asked, and then distinctly felt a cool breeze go through me. Ghosts were apparently more than just great spies—they were vindictive bastards. "Fine, fine, I was only asking." If that breeze thing never happened again I'd be good with that.

  I'd worked with Ava for over a year without ever knowing how it was her magic worked. Prior to my recent trip to Faerie, I'd been hunting down information on The Morrigan and her magic. The Morrigan was a mysterious pain in the butt, and I thought if I could understand The Morrigan's magic, I'd unlock the secrets to my death light. No such luck. But while Ava was helping me track down a book with information—also known as helping me steal said book from Owen's apartment—she summoned a ghost to ask it how I'd done on my mission to seduce Owen and get invited back to his place, where I'd steal the book. It looked to me like she was talking to an invisible person, which she basically was, until she threw a charm at me to open up my sight. She told me to think of it as a third sight, one that let her see ghosts. I tried not to think about how that meant there were ghosts just floating around unknown to us, watching us live our lives and telling people like Ava whatever they wanted to about what they saw.

  Ava was unsettling for a lot of reasons.

  "It's a good thing I've arrived when I have." Ava glided into the living room and, instead of sitting, leaned gracefully against the wall. I never thought I'd describe wall leaning as graceful, but that was because I'd never seen Ava do it. She did everything gracefully. She made it look easy, but merely the idea of imitating her sounded exhausting. "I've heard through the grapevine that a spirit needs help."

  "When she says 'grapevine', she means ghosts show up and gossip with her," I explained to Art and Belinda. I tried not to look at Owen, but kept catching myself glancing his way. I wanted to ask if he was okay or pat his shoulder or do whatever other people did to comfort someone.

  "Well put,"
Ava commented. "If that catches everyone up, we really must be going. This spirit needs help as soon as possible."

  "Catches us up?" I asked. "You haven't even told us anything."

  "I guess I haven't, have I?" asked Ava, as if she honestly hadn't realized. "I've been contacted by a freshly murdered pixie. A short, red-haired witch is terrorizing a flight of pixies. She spent the last couple hours tracking them and has attacked once. They are certain she'll be attacking again, and soon. They can't lose her. A scythe is in her possession, one she has used to cut the pixies' souls free of their bodies. Is this of interest to you?"

  Art and Owen were already on the move, and Ava turned back for the door, sufficiently pleased that we were all following her. For once, I was the one to say, "Slow down," because we had to do this right. "Owen, Ava, you two stay here with Belinda. This is FAB business. You can't come."

  "I'm not staying behind," said Owen.

  "Nor am I," said Ava.

  "Ava, just tell us where we need to go," I said, noting the calm look on her face. She wasn't at all concerned we would leave without her, which probably meant she was coming. She was usually right—to the point that I wondered if she secretly had clairvoyant magic.

  Art squared his shoulders. He was the boss; it was his job to make a ruling on things like this. Still, it warmed me to see him actually stepping up to do it. "Ava can go, she's an approved consultant and could help us locate Clarissa if she flees. But Owen, I'm sorry, I can't authorize you. You're a civilian with no FAB ties, and we're headed to an active crime scene. I hope you can understand."

  Owen sat back down. His face was red and his feet were bouncing, but he wasn't fighting.

  "Let's go," I said, finally sliding Haiku back in her sheath. "And unless we want to move around a bunch of cars, Ava's driving."

  Ava gave me a smug smile and flowed down the driveway like water. "Hurry along, please. Lex is afraid her sister will be murdered."

  We piled into Ava's mint green Subaru. I took the front seat. "So, where are we going?" I asked.

  Art sat in the back, trying to get the homicide agents on the phone. Hammond hadn't answered either, but he'd texted our boss the details.

  Ava, sitting as calm as if she were meditating, put the car in reverse and whipped out of the driveway with the skill of a professional stunt driver. She put the car in drive and peeled off down the road. "Not far. A farm nearby. The pixies were raiding the beehives put out by the farmer."

  "That doesn't make any sense," I said.

  "Of course it does," argued Ava. "Pixies love honey."

  "No, I mean that I left Clarissa—a human—in Michigan. She can't get into Volarus on her own. How did she get back to California so fast? And why would she come anyway? She has to know we're here and looking for her."

  "I see," said Ava. "That's an awful lot of questions for a ten minute car ride."

  "Did another fae help her into Volarus?" I asked.

  Art was unbothered as ever. "Must have."

  "She got away from Wailing Lakes without anyone seeing her, and when I met her, she was driving a flashy sports car," I added. I should have thought to ask some of my sisters if they'd tried to make it to the lake after they had their visions. Now that I thought of it, I was sure someone must have tried. But no one had reported seeing a car, and Belinda had told the others I was investigating.

  "What are you thinking?" asked Art.

  "I don't know." My fingers were tapping again. "Do you really think she can become fae by absorbing fae magic?"

  "I have no idea."

  "She wants to absorb fae magic?" Ava's lip curled. "Is that why she stole the scythe?"

  "How did you put that together so fast?"

  Ava sped up. "How do you know that's what this witch intends?"

  "Oh ho ho, looks like there's something you don't already know."

  "This is hardly the time for humor, Sophie."

  She was right. "We don't know that's her intention, it's only a guess."

  "I see."

  Art stuck his head between the seats. "What do you know about absorbing souls?"

  "That it's evil," said Ava.

  "I could have told you that," I helpfully interjected.

  "I doubt she has found a way to filter the magic she needs away from the soul. If what you say is true, she is truly ending their souls. She works as the filter, absorbing the magic, and eating their soul. She is ending them. No afterlife. A true and final end, and a terrifying one at that." Ava shivered. "Are you sure the witch has figured out how to do this?"

  "No," I said.

  "Good. I do hope you're wrong."

  "Me, too."

  "You really should have called me in sooner, Sophie." I didn't bother reminding her that I hadn't called her in at all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Smoke blew in the open windows as the car skidded to a halt on the rural road. Ava backed up fifty feet to a gravel driveway and zipped around the curves.

  "Hear that?" asked Art. Tiny battle cries rang out in the distance. "Pixies."

  I gripped the door handle tighter as Ava threw the car around another corner.

  "Pixies are assholes, but they don't deserve this," I said, and was blasted with a cold breeze that passed through my body. "Sorry, Lex," I said to the empty air.

  "She'll accept your apology if you'll save her sister, Xandra," said Ava. "Otherwise she says she'll haunt you until the end of time."

  I chuckled, wondering what it said about me that a threat made me like the pixie ghost a little. "Well then, I guess I have some added incentive." I turned to Art. "If you let me go in alone, I could pull my shriek out on her, knock her out, and we could call it a day." My shriek was something like an amped up banshee keen. Victim's couldn't block it out by simply sticking their hands over their ears, it was too loud, and the sound was infused with magic. The pain was so intense it was all the afflicted could think about. Typically, they eventually passed out. Sometimes they bled from their ears. Of course, it affected everyone around me who could hear it, so it had its downsides.

  "As a last resort if she's getting away," he said. I'd hit him with it a couple of times. He looked uncomfortable with the idea, which seemed like chickening out to me, but this wasn't my show.

  "So you got a plan, boss man?" He'd finally gotten ahold of the homicide agents on our way to the scene. We'd expected them to come help, but with Clarissa in the wind, they'd packed up and left Wailing Lakes after talking to me. Art and I were the only FAB agents around, which suited me just fine.

  Gravel pinged against the car as we stopped a hundred feet from an old barn. Smoke trailed out the open door of the barn, but we didn't see any flames. The three of us hopped out before the dust settled and I surveyed the scene. Where the gravel ended, overgrown grass took over. There were a dozen knee-high white boxes, which I assumed were for the bees, and behind them a forest. Nowhere for Clarissa to run. Where was her car?

  Art was eyeing the glyphs painted on the gravel parking area.

  "Just like the ones at the crime scene with Daphne and the reaper," I said, though of course he knew that. "They blew up to destroy evidence."

  "Don't stand on 'em then. All right. I'll deal with the fire," Art promised. As a selkie, he was adept at water magic. "I'll keep her distracted by going through the big door in the front of the barn." He pointed along the side of the building. "You circle around. There's usually a small side door. Ambush her from behind. We're trying for an arrest."

  He didn't need to tell me he didn't think Clarissa was going to make that easy. She didn't have a problem with lethal force, and so we would have to be prepared to respond in kind. I pulled Haiku free from her sheath. "Sounds like a plan."

  "What about me?" asked Ava.

  "You stay here," Art and I answered in unison.

  "Fine," she said with a pout.

  Art and I shared a look, and he took off for the barn. A fireball flew toward his head and was immediately met with a jet of water that
culminated in a puff of steam. "Stop in the name of the Faerie Affairs Bureau," called Art.

  That was my cue. I slipped around the side of the building, peeking through the gaps in the wooden slats that made up the rickety structure. A swarm of pixies dive-bombed Clarissa as she wildly swung the wicked looking scythe and manipulated fire.

  How was she even seeing them? Pixies had great glamours. Maybe not as good as reapers, but almost. You never saw them unless they wanted you to. Glamour aside, I couldn't imagine why they were fighting instead of flying away until I heard a muffled cry. Pixie wings glinted in Clarissa's hand. She'd captured one of them. Art must have realized it around the same time I did, because just then a blast of water hit Clarissa in the face, startling her enough to allow the pixie to escape. I had to hurry before she caught another one.

  As Art had said, there was a side door, but it was on the opposite end of the barn. Once I was finally about to duck inside, loud footsteps stormed up behind me. I whipped around, ready for a fight.

  It was Owen. Not the fight I was expecting, but still one I was prepared for.

  "You have to get out of here," I hissed. "You can't be here. We've got this handled."

  "Handled?" Owen scoffed. "Half the place is on fire!"

  He was right, the fire was getting worse. "More reason for you to get out of here and stop distracting me!" I wanted to run in and help Art, but knew that no one would thank me if Owen followed me inside and wound up hurt. He argued some more, but I wasn't listening to him. Nothing he said mattered; he needed to get out of there. My attention was on Clarissa. Through the old slats of the barn, I saw that she'd hidden from Art's view. I expected to catch her messing with more glyphs or lighting more fires, but she was doing something with the scythe. I moved to get a closer look, just in time to see blood well up from the limp pixie's chest. She drew the bloody blade deep across the palm of her own hand.

  Blood magic.

  She threw back her arm, manipulating nearby flames and casting them in Art's direction. He was too busy with the fires to get her, and if I ran in now, she'd have a clear view of me coming through the door. My job was to sneak up on her.