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

by WB McKay

  And I was already too late to save that pixie anyway.

  She dipped her fingers into the mixed blood on her palm and drew lines on the scythe. Once she was done, she held her hand over her work. The scythe released an eerie green glow that flowed into Clarissa.

  Bad.

  "Sophie? Are you listening to me?"

  "No." I pushed on Owen's chest, urging him to back up. "Go away!"

  He laughed a little, smoke puffing out his nose, and then his human form was enveloped by flame.

  "Shifting is not going to help you win arguments with me!"

  I had the good sense to put space between us before the dragon appeared.

  Owen once told me that he preferred putting fires out, while his dragon enjoyed setting the world on fire. And yet, in a moment that seemed to stop everything else in the world, he clenched a claw and extinguished the flames that had been dangerously working to consume the barn only a moment before. He gave me that look. Were all dragons so smug?

  "Well, I think you've got that handled then."

  As much as I loved arguing with Owen, there was something about the glare of a dragon that had me shutting my mouth.

  And anyway, I had a job to do. The dragon was a little big to fit through the side door, and I'd have to trust that was a good enough deterrent. Still, before I slipped inside, I hissed, "Go check on Ava at the car." He nodded. Like I said: good enough.

  Smoke hung heavy in the humid air, obscuring the battle going on inside. My hands itched to bring out my death light and end this in one swift go—protecting Art, the pixies, and anyone else Clarissa ever ran into—and the bloodlust worried me a little. I'd arrest Clarissa, as fair and simple as I could… still, I kept Haiku out. I knew she wasn't going to make it easy.

  Art stood in the center of the barn, his hands out at his sides as he searched around himself. Clarissa was nowhere to be seen. Bales of hay—some burnt, all soaking wet—and old farm equipment littered the barn floor, making it easy for Clarissa to hide. I considered shifting. Even when people knew I was a shifter, they didn't think anything odd of seeing a crow, especially in an old barn. It would make finding her easier. But I'd need to be in human form to attack her, and there was plenty to hide behind, so I crouched by an old ATV and waited for something to happen.

  "We can talk about this," Art called out. "It's not too late to stop what you're doing."

  I rolled my eyes. It was a good try, and Clarissa might have some strange ideas—becoming fae near the top of that list—but she wasn't a fool. She'd killed people. It was too late to hold up her hands and say she was sorry.

  "You think you can become fae?" asked Art. "That's an interesting idea, though, I have a hard time imagining why you'd want to. You have to know you can't guarantee how that's going to turn out. Even if it works, you might end up with pus spewing pores, or hooves for feet. I once met a—"

  "Shut up," yelled Clarissa, revealing her location on the opposite side of the barn. Carefully, keeping to the shadows and ducking behind things, I made my way toward her.

  "Why?" Art asked her. "I think it would be a great idea for us to talk this out. Obviously you have a lot going on."

  "Stop talking like you understand. You don't understand."

  "Do you feel that way a lot? That no one understands you?"

  "I said, shut up!" She shot out from behind one of the hay bales, her glasses knocked askew. Art shot a stream of water at her, but not fast enough. She threw out what looked like an inch tall box, and when it hit the ground by Art's feet, it exploded into a three foot wide pool of black ichor. He backed away as the thick liquid bubbled and ate at the dirt and hay that made up the barn floor.

  Um, well, that was new. MOD wasn't going to like that. Damn witches.

  Art shot streams of water at the hay bale she'd been behind, breaking it into an explosion of straw and water, but Clarissa was already gone. Luckily, I could see her. She was tucked between a tractor and more hay. She didn't have her sword or her scythe with her. I tucked Haiku away. I could arrest her, if I could knock her to the ground and keep her from tossing out any more of those dangerous squares. It was the perfect opportunity. If I came at her from the left, she could only go right. I tried to catch Art's eye to signal to him, but he didn't see me. Hopefully I'd get her myself, but if she got away, well, Art would just have to be quick on the draw.

  "What is it you think people don't understand, Clarissa? Is it why you want to become fae? Because I'd like to understand. Why don't you explain it to me?" There was a big stretch of nothing between Clarissa and me, so I'd be out in the open. I waited for Art to say something interesting enough to keep her eyes on him and away from me running at her. "Do you honestly believe we'll accept you even once you become fae?" Yeah, that oughta do it.

  Clarissa emerged from her hiding spot, fury burning in her eyes and mouth open, ready to yell obscenities at Art. My legs pushed me forward as fast as they could go, and then I leapt.

  She hit the ground hard beneath me, her head bouncing on the hard dirt. Most of the time I'd feel bad about something like that, but most of the time I'm arresting fools playing with dangerous toys. Not killers. "You're under arrest," I choked out, scrambling to hold her wrists firmly above her head. Suddenly, she stopped wriggling and met my gaze.

  I couldn't read her expression quickly enough in the moment, but fear gripped my chest tight.

  She unclenched her fist, exposing a small box in her hand. It looked like normal plastic, but with tiny, detailed glyphs painted over the surface.

  "No!" I slid up to the grab the thing, and she used my new position against me, knocking me off her to the side. Then she flicked the bit of plastic at me, and all I knew was pain.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The black goo exploded from the box like it was a living thing come to grab me. I jerked back, but there was no time. Pain exploded through my hands, my arms, and then it hurt so much I couldn't have told you where I was hurting and where I wasn't. I was burning.

  When I gasped for air between screams, I heard other people screaming, too. I didn't process it.

  I was burning. The fire consumed. Why wasn't I dead yet?

  I gasped again, and this time I heard someone yelling words with no meaning.

  "Shift, Sophie! Crow! Shift!"

  Not even my name made sense, yet the urge to fly away tightened in my core. I slipped into new skin.

  The new skin felt hot, but I was alive.

  The fire was gone.

  I flapped my wings and moved away from the fabric of my shirt and bra in terror.

  "Stay still!" Art said. He was panting, shaking. Tears streamed down his face. "It's okay, it's okay."

  I crooked my head at him. He didn't appear to be hurt. If he'd been hit by the magic goo, his pain would have been more obvious, I was sure.

  Clarissa writhed on the ground. Between the fingers clutching her face a splotch of the bubbling ichor clung to her cheek.

  Good, I cawed at her. The pain seemed enough to hold her still for the moment.

  Art was curled in a ball on the ground, and I realized belatedly that he was scared.

  He wasn't burning…. Maybe he was scared for me.

  I looked myself over, but it seemed that shifting had removed the goo. The hot sensation must have been residual. I preened my feathers, checking myself over. I wasn't perfect, I hurt, but I was okay.

  "Sophie?" asked Art, teeth chattering.

  And that's when I realized what I was doing, and I tried to reel it back in. That was always more difficult as a crow, so I backed away from the black goo still eating at the ground—wanting at least a mile between me and that stuff, but settling for a few more feet—and shifted back to human form. I took a deep breath and pictured my fear as a cloud I could pull back into my body. On the exhale, my muscles relaxed.

  "I'm sorry," I shouted over Clarissa's screams.

  "S'okay." Tears continued to stream down his face. "I've never been that scared. I knew it was mag
ic, and still."

  "I know." My hands and forearms were a little red and hot, but were otherwise fine. Was that all the ichor had touched? It had felt like it was all that existed at the time.

  It was disconcerting to go from complete and total agony to basically fine, but that was the job.

  That's right, I thought, it's time to get back to work.

  My shirt and jeans were a rumpled pile on the straw-covered ground, but I was wary to pull them on in case some of the black stuff was on them. The same reason had me scared to touch Clarissa, but I wouldn't let myself be too afraid to do the job, so I stepped closer and looked down at the screaming witch.

  "Hey, Clarissa, hey." I bumped her leg. "Is there a way to make it stop?" She deserved her pain, but it would be easier to question her if she stopped screaming. "Why are you doing this?" More screaming. "What does it have to do with The Morrigan?" Nothing. "Art? Do you have any restraints for her?"

  He nodded and forced himself to stand.

  "It can take a little while to feel right again," I told him. I'd exposed him to my fear aura before when I needed to use it on a case, but never without warning him, and never so strong.

  "I know." He handed over the enchanted restraints and then ran his hands over his arms. Normally, Art would have offered me his shirt by now. He was good about stuff like that. But these weren't normal circumstances by any means, and he was still twitching with fear. I knew from past experiences that he still had the feeling something was wrong. Being terrified under my magic was always awful, but it seemed to hit people harder when they weren't a hundred percent sure what they were scared of. Often, their minds came up with something, but because Art knew it was magic he'd faced all of those reasons and firmly told them No, it's just the magic, and in response, his mind continued offering him more fears. He'd explained all of this to me before, so he knew very well what he was feeling, but it didn't stop him from jerking from the force of the shivers racing down his body. I must have hit him hard.

  "Sorry again."

  "It's all good." His head whipped to the side to catch sight of a threat that wasn't there.

  I decided the best thing I could do for Art was to ignore his fear until he got over it, so I focused my attentions on Clarissa. Her screams were quieting. My guess was from a sore throat, not because the pain had lessened. Her hands still clutched her cheek. I bent down and worked on figuring out how to secure her wrists without touching her hands or cheek. It didn't look like she was making a break for it any time soon, but the restraints would make sure she wouldn't be able to manipulate any more magic until a FAB agent removed them, which meant no more ichor bombs. I wasn't interested in transporting her until I got the restraints on her, but how to do it? While I'd been suffering through the agony of the black ichor I wouldn't have been able to think to do something like twist my wrist and spread the goo onto someone touching me, but I wasn't willing to bet on Clarissa having the same issue.

  A tarp covered one of the machines in the back. It looked sturdy enough that I should be able to wrap my hands with it, pull back her hands, and if Clarissa tried anything, I'd have time to jerk away.

  Or not. The idea lent me a little bravery, and that would have to do.

  "Art," I slapped his arm, "watch her, okay?"

  I stepped away, and when I turned back around, Clarissa was wiggling across the mud and straw, closing the distance between herself and Art. Typical Art, he actually looked like he pitied her. I'm not heartless, but she did it to herself. It was only fitting that an attack that vicious backfired on her. But that wasn't how softhearted Art thought about things. He crouched down in front of her and asked, "What are you doing?"

  She was turned away from me so I couldn't make out what she said, but Art smiled at her.

  "Ugh! Art? Really? Stop smiling at the—"

  A blinding white light devoured Clarissa. Art jumped back in shock, but I dove for her, landing on the straw she'd been on a moment before. I slapped the ground in rage. "What the fuck?" I got on my feet and kicked the straw away, only then realizing the ground felt harder than it should have. Like wood. I picked up the piece of plyboard, examined the glyph painted on its rough surface, and threw it back down and jumped on the ridiculous drawing. How did it work? I felt no magic. When Clarissa activated it, it looked like all she'd done was slap it. I bent down and did the same to no effect. With my palms against the wood, I considered flooding the glyph with my fear magic, and if that didn't work, trying my death light. It seemed unlikely to work, with the magic so unspecific, but who knew how witches chose what magic to put where in all their manipulations? I'd see what it did and go from there.

  "Stop that right now," Art ordered.

  "I have to try!"

  "You do not," he said. "Get off of that right now."

  I gritted my teeth and did as he said.

  "We have to assume those are dangerous," he explained. I already knew that, I just didn't care. "You don't know what will happen if you manage to activate it. It could be a trap. I have the MOD office gathering info on the glyphs you saw at the first crime scene, and the homicide office is on it as well, but they aren't familiar with the magic." He looked me in the eyes and said, "No touching." Seeing that I wasn't fighting him, he went back to his usual calm manner and said, "That must be how she got here in the first place."

  "Fascinating," I spat, and then shook my fists at the ceiling. I did not have a calm state to revert to. "We had her. We had her." I couldn't believe it was happening. Not again. Not after she'd killed all those pixies. Not after she'd attacked me. Not after everything. I looked down at the restraints still clutched in my hand and tossed them back to Art before I gave into the urge to tear them to shreds. "Well, Hammond's definitely going to fire me now."

  "He's not going to fire you." Art pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to me. "He'll give you a desk job first."

  I snorted. "Right. Like that'd work."

  "This is on me, Sophie. I'm in charge here. Remember?"

  "You'll be fine," I told him. I was the one who went to put the restraints on her and chickened out. And the reason I was the one doing it was because I'd lost control of my damned magic and rendered Art unable.

  I couldn't believe I'd done this.

  "I guess that answers how she's been getting around," I said. "Teleportation glyphs." I should have thought of that, but seriously, it was still hard to wrap my head around. No one would have guessed how much Clarissa was capable of. No one.

  I did the awkward dance of pulling off Epic's harness, pulling on my shirt, pulling Epic's harness back on. I was sure I looked silly with the straps over the bunching fabric of the oversized shirt, but we weren't exactly fashionistas in our dirty old barn. I still didn't trust my jeans, but I figured my boots, being made of tougher material, were safe enough. Once I was ready to go, I just stood there, lost and waiting for whatever happened next to come at me. It had been a long couple of days.

  Art patted me on the shoulder.

  "Cut it out with the comfort shit. You know that doesn't work on me."

  He pulled out his phone and pointed to it. He didn't need to tell me he was going to call Hammond to give him the full report, and I didn't need to tell him that I wasn't sticking around to hear him do it. I stepped out of the barn into the early morning gloom, and squinted so I could make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.

  Owen was back in human form. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was biting his lip and generally looking like a nervous child.

  I wordlessly pointed at the car behind him.

  "I don't know what happened." Owen ran a hand through his hair. "I panicked?"

  "And you thought the car looked suspicious?" I asked. I'd seen people do some weird things under the influence of my fear magic, but no one had ever smashed in a car before.

  "Dragons." Owen shrugged.

  I didn't think it was possible after the pain I'd just gone through and the frustration of losing Clariss
a—again—but I laughed. "Oh, oh my." I reeled my laughter back to a chuckle I kept hidden behind my hand. "Sorry about that. I got hurt, and I sent out a lot of fear, I guess."

  "Are you okay?" He shortened the distance between us. "Once the panic passed and I shifted back to myself, I remembered hearing you scream while I was a dragon. I think it… I think it made the panic worse. I don't know. It was hard to think straight. I was going to go in and see if you were okay, but Ava told me to stay out of it. She said you were fine. I thought maybe you'd done your wailing-ear-bleeding thing."

  "If I'd done that, you'd have known," I told him. "No, I can make people afraid." I'd done it to him before, when I was stealing a book from his apartment, but I'd never explained it.

  "Like, magically?"

  "That, too," I said, baring my teeth at him in a frightening manner.

  "Ooooooh, scary little bird," he teased.

  "Don't you forget it." I leaned around him to get a better look at the car, expecting to see Ava somewhere inside. Most of the damage had been done to the back half. The hatch didn't look like it would ever close again, but the car would run. Ava wasn't anywhere to be seen though. "Where's Ava?"

  Owen pointed to a tree about fifty feet away, where Ava was talking to people we couldn't see. "I guess the pixie, Xandra, died."

  "Shit." I wondered if she was the one who'd been cut by the scythe in front of me. There had been other pixies dead inside, two that I'd seen. I wasn't sure where the living pixies had run off to.

  "It's okay," said Owen, and I rolled my eyes at him. "Yes it's sad that she died, but her soul wasn't absorbed, or consumed, or eaten—whatever we're calling it. Well, some of them seem to have been, but not Xandra. From what I understood before Ava went off on her own, she's arguing with the pixie ghosts. There are a lot of them, more than normal haven't 'moved on'. Ava figures that's due to the shock of seeing the souls of their friends and family be absorbed, and from having their soul cut from their body as a means of death, which is abrupt and confusing and, as Ava told the pixies, 'not the natural order of things'."