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

by WB McKay

  "It doesn't have to be this way, Sophie."

  "Trying for a bargain now, are you? A little late, Clarissa."

  "You dishonor yourself by not fighting me one on one. You promised. Undo these restraints, and we will fight as we should have from the start."

  I shook my head, my brow creased. "I offered you a deal so you could have your little fight. You didn't take it. We've already fought. I've got my friend and the scythe. Like you said, I hold all the power now, and we both know that. You're done."

  Clarissa stumbled a few steps, veering us dangerously close to one of the glyphs. I got a firmer grip on her cuffs before we resumed our pace. The light from the half-moon was enough for my night vision to watch our steps, but Clarissa was having a hard time of it.

  "I warned you," she said, her superior tone firmly back in place. "I want you to remember that."

  "Okay, I'll bite. What did you warn me about?" I leaned around to get a better look at her face when she didn't respond. Her eyes were shut tight and she cringed like she was in pain. "Clarissa?"

  Dark blood dribbled from her mouth and when her eyes opened, she looked elated. She threw back her head and spit hard. "The Morrigan comes."

  My mind reeled, and she saw it, laughing even harder. There, on the ground, where Clarissa had spat her blood, was an intricate design. It wasn't a glyph. There were feathers and sticks in a pattern I couldn't decipher, not with the shock freezing up my brain. "You summoned her," I accused.

  "Well, yes, I did," said Clarissa, proud of herself. "But I couldn't have done it if you hadn't let me get so close to the ritual. I give credit where it's due."

  "Do you have a death wish? Because I can handle that for you, you don't need to bring The Morrigan into this." No one who summoned The Morrigan survived. There may have been a lot of questions surrounding the legend of The Morrigan, but this wasn't one of them.

  Clarissa let loose one of those cackles evil people were so well known for.

  "Great evil laugh," I commended her. "It's a horrible shame you'll never have the opportunity to audition for Wicked on account of you being dead and all."

  "Quite the opposite," she said when her laughter subsided. "I will live forever at The Morrigan's side. She'll show me all that Faerie has to offer and bestow upon me great gifts of magic."

  "Yeah, good luck with that." I waved at Owen and Ava as I ran at them, not giving two thoughts to what Clarissa did now. "Go!" I shouted. "Go now! Run!" Owen cocked his head at me, curious like a crow. "Get out of here!"

  I couldn't hear him over my own yelling, but I knew him well enough to know he was asking "Why?"

  "Just go!" I yelled.

  He met my eyes as I ran at him, and he knew me well enough to know what my wheezing lungs called out to him next. "You promised."

  He backed away a few steps, still shaking his head when the smoke cleared and he was a dragon once again. He bent down and Ava jumped on his back like she'd done it a hundred times before, which maybe she had. She was careful to hold the scythe away from his scales.

  They took off, and I collapsed with relief. At least if I was going to die, I wouldn't be dragging the people I cared about with me. At least there was that.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  There wasn't time for the relief to fully set into my bones.

  The hair on my arms raised. Magic filled the air.

  Clarissa clapped with excitement.

  "She's definitely going to eat you." The only question was: would I be eaten, too? I didn't have the time to run. Letting go of Clarissa would have been fine with me, but if I ran now, The Morrigan might come after me, and if she did, she'd go after Owen and Ava next. Familial loyalty was a foreign concept to The Morrigan, and definitely not something likely to save me. She'd been to my apartment and left behind a feather. That didn't make us pals. "How about we fight first, then if you win, you can show her my corpse. See how that goes?" I was just talking to fill up the space where panic was trying to take hold, I knew that.

  "You don't long for answers from your mother?" she asked, hitting me right where it hurt most.

  I stood firm and drew both Epic and Haiku. The time for fear was over. I tensed my leg muscles to remind my shaking knees, and to my relief, it stopped. Whatever was going to happen would happen.

  Cacophonous shrieking grew louder, seeming to come from all directions, gradually resolving into the flapping of hundreds of wings and the calls of crows. A whirlwind of black feathers swirled around us, blocking out all light until they coalesced into a humanoid shape a few feet to my right. A pale naked woman stepped through the feathers, some of them clinging to her body, covering her breasts and nether regions, a spot on her stomach, and half of one leg. While it made her appearance somewhat more acceptable for the public, it only served to make her look more sexualized. The rest of the feathers gathered at her back, forming massive, rich black wings.

  When she spoke, her voice was cool and aloof. "Now, children, if you're going to fight, use swords."

  Not even I was brash enough to let loose a sarcastic comment in that moment.

  "You came, Mistress." Clarissa had ignored her parents' warning and climbed onto the roof to catch Santa Claus, and though she teetered precariously on the edge, she didn't notice. Her eyes were for The Morrigan alone. "Have you found me worthy?"

  "Absolutely not." Ouch, that was cold. She looked at Clarissa like a medical examiner would a corpse during an autopsy. Cause of death: cold-blooded indifference.

  "But—but I've made myself fae. I've stolen a scythe. I've battled banshees and reapers and the daughter you favor." Her voice was husky with unshed tears. "What more would you have of me, Lady Morrigan?"

  "What is that you're blathering?"

  "What more do I need to do to be worthy, Mistress?"

  "Nothing."

  "But… what do you mean?"

  "No human could ever be worthy of The Morrigan. I am death incarnate. I enjoy playing with humans from time to time, I don't pretend they're my equal."

  Well, she was a goddess. It wouldn't make much sense for her to be afraid to tell us how she really felt. No manners for The Morrigan, no ma'am.

  It wasn't the only commonality between us. I knew she was ancient, but as with many fae, she appeared to be in her mid-twenties, like me. Her skin was pale to the point of looking like she was carved of marble, close to my white girl pale. Her hair was the same black as mine, with just a hint of a blue sheen. It was her face, though, that had me transfixed. She could have been my twin. Only a subtle difference to the curve of her jaw set us apart. Somehow, that tiny variation made all the difference. While I'd heard about my resting bitch face more than once, The Morrigan looked ready to kill. Cruel and beautiful. Death with purpose. There was nothing maternal in her gaze when she turned her dark eyes to mine. I was suddenly, truly glad she hadn't been involved in raising me.

  As I watched, the cruel aloofness lifted, giving way to a dark twinkle in her eyes and a devious smile. If anyone watching this transformation hadn't been scared before, they'd know to piss their pants now.

  I didn't expect her idea of mischief would be anything like Phoebe's.

  "Your features appear similar to those of my children, yet your magic is askew." She looked me up and down. "What use are you?" Her head tilted to the side in a distinctly bird-like gesture. I knew better than to trust my mouth in such a deadly situation, so I stayed silent. It took all I had to keep an impassive face while The Morrigan described me like a stranger seeing me for the first time. We'd met only weeks ago. "A crow shifter, clearly, but there is more, isn't there?" She made a show of sniffing me. "So peculiar." Her eyes sparked with interest when she said, "And you carry the swords." She quickly adjusted her expression, like she didn't want me to know the weapons interested her. Did she remember them? She'd left them with Belinda when she'd dropped off my newborn self. "You will fight. With no suitable opponent around, the witch will do."

  Clarissa's jaw flapped. Santa's beard was
peeling back, and she did not like this new reality. Not one bit. Predictably, she reached for the always-ready friends: bargaining and denial. "But I'm fae now. I absorbed the magic of the pixies, and now I'm one of you. I'm worthy."

  The Morrigan didn't bother looking Clarissa's way when she said, "The fae magic will fade. I've seen your like before. If you want to become something more than your miserable self, go ask one of the wolves to gnaw on you. Even so, no effort could ever make you worthy. If I cared what you said, I'd punish your blasphemy." She flicked her fingers toward the ground at her feet where the scythe had appeared. "Retrieve the scythe and fight my daughter."

  "Yes, Lady Morrigan. I will kill her and absorb her magic. That will complete my transformation."

  The denial was strong in that one.

  The Morrigan scoffed, but didn't bother to correct Clarissa again. "Humans," she muttered under her breath. "Destroy her, and then we will talk," she said in a voice loud enough for Clarissa to hear.

  The Morrigan snapped her fingers, and Clarissa's magic restraining handcuffs unlocked and dropped to the ground. That was… not good. I'd heard many of the legendary fae had grown magic that seemed infinite in ability and use, but I thought that was part of the legend, not reality. There was no telling what The Morrigan could do.

  Clarissa's lips set in a thin line. She pointed the scythe at my chest. "Is magic allowed?"

  "Of course," said The Morrigan. "There is only one way to fight: with everything you have." She said it with a conviction that resonated in my chest, but it rang all wrong.

  "I think we'll have to agree to disagree," I said. I never fought with everything I had. Actually, scratch that—I fought with everything I had when I was fighting our way out of Faerie. Otherwise, my magic was too terrible to use. I didn't want to hurt my allies, and both my shrieking and my aura of fear would affect everyone around me. And my death light, well, it had scared me too much before, but even now I recognized that not every problem could be solved by hitting it with a glowing ball of death. "Self control is a valuable skill in a fight. If you take a hammer to an orange, all you'll have is pulp."

  The Morrigan said nothing. I suppose there was no motivation for her to respond to the likes of me.

  Clarissa began the dance of sword fighting, warming up her feet, thinking through her plan of attack, but it felt dangerous to take my eyes off The Morrigan. Clarissa wanted to kill me, but The Morrigan was the bigger threat.

  But she wanted me to fight Clarissa.

  As soon as I looked her way, she charged. Without a thought, death lights appeared over both my palms. I closed my hands, quashing the lights, and drew my swords. I wasn't sure how to get out of the fight without killing Clarissa, but I'd avoid it if I could. It took little effort to block Clarissa's strike. The clang of steel helped focus me, though The Morrigan's attention burned like a spotlight on my side.

  I used Clarissa's momentum to throw her off balance and slashed Haiku across the back of her thigh. She let out a howl of pain, but didn't fall. The cut wasn't deep enough to disable her leg. She turned toward me. Her eyes glowed with fury.

  "You'll pay for that," she ground out.

  "You're already planning on killing me and eating my soul," I snapped. "What else are you going to do?"

  Clarissa growled and lunged at me. Apparently she didn't have a good answer. I swiped aside her anger-fueled strike with ease. This wasn't going to be hard if she didn't get her emotions in check. I kicked at the back of her knee as she passed by, putting her down hard in the grass. She barely avoided impaling herself on the scythe.

  "You're really not very good at this," I said, more of an observation than an insult. It felt wrong to seriously fight someone so desperate, and with so little skill. She had the scythe, and the ability to cut my soul from my body and end me completely, and yet the fight was… pathetic. Knowing how much she'd hate that evaluation, and that The Morrigan—whose opinion mattered so much to her—was making the same one, only made me feel worse. "We shouldn't be fighting."

  Clarissa howled with frustration, hauling herself to her feet. When she turned to face me, she lobbed a small black ball at me. "I may not be the best at fighting with weapons, but I make up for it with magic."

  I dodged left and the glyph bomb sailed over my shoulder. It hit the scorched earth and a cloud of scalding steam burst into the air. That would have been unpleasant if it had hit my chest. "You never learn do you?" I asked, pointing to her face. Her scars from the black ichor had healed considerably, but were still there. They might always be. "Got healed up and you're back to playing with fire."

  Her feral snarl only made me feel worse for her. Screw this. I'm ending it. When I parried her next attack, I opened my mouth and screamed, pushing my magic into it. I wanted it over as quick as I could manage. Clarissa dropped to her knees, ears bleeding, and then, suddenly, it was like I'd been blocked off from the place I pulled my magic wail from, and I was merely screaming, like a human.

  The Morrigan clucked her tongue. "The fight will be over too soon that way. Unfair advantage."

  "But she can use glyphs?"

  "She's a witch."

  Clarissa ignored this slight. She reached into her shirt and chucked another glyph bomb at me. This bomb landed at my feet, splashing liquid flame. Well, I'd kind of asked for that, hadn't I? Some of it landed on my shoes with a hiss as I jumped back, but thankfully it wasn't enough to catch. It did ruin my shoes though. "Damn it, you know how hard it is to find a nice pair of shoes light enough to carry in my crow form?"

  "Are you kidding me?" She circled me. "You're nearly incinerated and still mouthing off?"

  I shrugged, keeping my feet moving to match hers. "What can I say? Some people scream in terror, I fire up the snark."

  "Let's see how that goes for you when I cut out your tongue," said Clarissa, snapping into action.

  She took quick, controlled steps, keeping her blade angled toward my chest until she swiped at my feet. That was a better move, and her proud smile said she knew it. She looked to The Morrigan, hoping for approval she didn't find.

  Poor kid.

  Of course, that poor kid had just about cut me. She didn't have to be great with a weapon to draw a little blood. From what I'd seen her do to that pixie in the barn, she only needed my blood and some time to work magic on the scythe. I needed to do us both a favor and end this soon, before I tired out. Fighting in the movies looks easy. It's not. It wears you the hell out, and fast. I was still doing okay, but I didn't want to risk exhaustion with the scythe coming at me and the threat of The Morrigan looming. I smashed a ghost charm against my chest. With relief, I found a crowd of ghosts watching, Patricia and the pixies among them. I nodded in greeting.

  "This has been real, kid, but I don't know that it's me you should be fighting. I know some people who'd much rather fight you themselves. They deserve some revenge, I think."

  "I like how you think," said Patricia.

  "Here." I tossed one of the ghost charms, hitting Clarissa squarely in the chest.

  Clarissa coughed and waved away the small puff of smoke. "What the hell was that?"

  I didn't bother to respond. Instead, I focused on my magic and pulled up the memory of having the life crushed out of me by a wind worker named Leandra. In my panic I'd tossed out a death light and killed her. The terror of being surrounded by wind as hard as steel filled me and I pushed it through my aura in a widening circle. This time Clarissa crumpled to her knees, her eyes wide. My fear magic was cruel and unusual punishment defined, but I wasn't about to stop there. Without direction, there was no telling how someone might interpret their fear and decide to react. That fight-or-flight instinct was tricky. That's where Patricia and her friends came in.

  While I watched, the ghosts gathered around Clarissa, moaning and shrieking in the cartoonish way ghosts in human television shows behaved. The pixies enjoyed it more than the rest, circling her like a school of sharks. Soon, Clarissa's screams joined theirs. When the ghos
ts passed through her body, she began to flail, scratching at her skin.

  Clarissa flopped backward on the ground, kicking like she was having a seizure. "They're inside of me! Get them out! Get them out!"

  The Morrigan stepped up beside me, a thin smile on her lips. "Well done," she said. "Now finish it." As if her intent wasn't already clear, she added, "Kill her."

  I rounded on The Morrigan, pushing into her space, my face inches from hers. "You are the death goddess here, not me. I may share some blood with you, but that doesn't make us the same." By the time I finished, my voice was pitched to a shout.

  Unflappable as a goddess should be, The Morrigan didn't so much as wipe my spit from her face. "You have my gifts. My shriek. My fear aura. We are the same. You hunger for her death, I can feel it. Why don't you slake that thirst?"

  I shook my head, denying everything she said even though I did want to kill Clarissa. She'd killed one of my sisters and utterly destroyed innocent pixies. But I didn't need to, so I didn't.

  "You disappoint me," said The Morrigan. She held out her hand and Clarissa's short sword appeared. She pointed the blade at me, her footwork smooth in a way that stopped my heart. It was beautiful, enviable, and spelled absolute disaster. "Unacceptable." She spun and slashed the weapon.