by Amy Sumida
And the fairies don't just visit. Ever since the creation of the Councils, a lot of fey have moved into our world in an effort to support the peace. There was also the issue of the numerous entrances to Fairy which needed to be guarded. So several fey council members have very human jobs with very powerful positions. I think you'd be pretty damn surprised if I told you which companies secretly belong to the fey.
We don't have any of those powerful companies here in Hawaii because, as I mentioned before, this place isn't all that important in the whole fey-human interrelations department. So my life has become a constant preparation for a battle it doesn't look like I'll ever be allowed to join, in a place whose beauty only feels like salt in my wounded heart. I will admit that my anger has lessened over my time here, as the memory of who my mother was slowly overshadows the memory of how she died, but for my father, this exile has only served to make him even more bitter, more vicious, and more intent on killing the entire fairy race.
Chapter Two
“No way,” I looked down at the fax in my hand with amazement. “This can't be right.”
“What is it?” My dad walked into our office, his sea blue eyes narrowing on the piece of paper in my hand like a hawk who's spied a mouse.
It was a small office with just a cheap particle board desk littered with all the necessary items; a computer, a phone, a fax machine, and a copier. There was an old desk chair in front of it, a cracking plastic mat beneath that to protect the boring beige carpet, and a beat up filing cabinet to the right. That was it and with us in the room, the tiny space was almost full. Still, it fit our needs. The office was purely for communication with the Council and for record keeping. The bulk of our work was done outside these bare walls.
“A warrant of execution,” I handed the fax to him. “From the Fairy Council.”
“The Fairy Council?” His narrowed gaze transformed into surprise which returned some vigor to his sorrow-lined face.
“When's the last time you saw one of those?” I asked.
“Never. To get one here is...” he looked up at me, a lock of his black hair falling into one eye. He brushed it away distractedly. He hadn't bothered with a haircut in awhile. Things like that tend to get neglected when you're on a quest for vengeance.
“Suspicious?” I lifted a brow.
“Fortunate,” he began to grin.
“Dad, doesn't this make you at all wary?”
“I get to kill a fairy,” he shrugged, “that it's a request of the fey themselves is simply a bonus.”
“Maybe we should contact our council first,” I glanced at the picture included with the warrant.
A willowy woman with huge mossy eyes and long, hair the color of young pea pods, smiled back at me. Her skin was a deep tawny umber and in combination with that hair, I knew her to be a dryad. So she was probably a member of the Seelie Court. Not that it made any difference, Seelie or Unseelie, Light or Dark, all of the fey were dangerous and her sweet looks could be hiding the heart of a monster. Still...
“It says she murdered a sidhe male,” I held out my hand for the warrant and he handed it back to me so I could read it again. “Dylan Thorn. Aren't the Thorns one of the stronger fey families? The Unseelie King is a Thorn, isn't he?”
“Which is probably why they want this bitch killed,” Dad grinned. “She murdered a royal, they take that very seriously.”
“But how did a dryad kill a fey royal?” I stared at the picture again. “Dryads are generally timid and their magic is low class compared to that of a sidhe, much less a royal sidhe.”
“You should know better than anyone that the amount of magic a person holds has nothing to do with their capability for murder,” my father was already pulling out his Extinguisher gear from the little closet in the left wall.
He laid a mini crossbow on the desk and followed it up with a quiver of iron-tipped arrows and an iron knife. Guns were dangerous around fairies, even when filled with iron bullets. A lot of fey magic was born of the elements and fire used in a particular way, such as igniting all of the bullets in a gun at once, could make the weapon explode, harming the wielder more than the intended victim.
Non-combustible iron weapons were the way to go with fairies. Something about the chemical composition of the metal reacted to their blood and if they were actually struck with a piece of the stuff, it would burn their skin. If they were shot with an iron arrow or cut with an iron knife, the iron would poison their blood and without purification, they'd die. So iron was the metal of choice for Extinguisher weapons and when we used it in combination with our psychic abilities, we did pretty well against the fey.
“Why aren't you getting ready?” Dad asked pointedly.
“So we aren't calling the Human Council?” I tried one more time.
“Not necessary,” he strapped a specially made flat quiver to his back with practiced movements and then layered his coat over the top as I tried to push my unease away.
It wasn't that I didn't want to kill the fairy. I would have no problem extinguishing any fey I had a warrant for. The problem was, this warrant came from the fey themselves and if our Human Council didn't approve of it, we shouldn't be executing. It could get us into a lot of trouble and frankly, if this was just some high up fairy wanting someone else to do his dirty work, I'd rather not help him out.
My Dad began to hum an old Irish tune as we headed out the door. Yeah, getting in trouble with the Human Council hadn't been an issue with him for a long time.
Chapter Three
You'd think hunting fairies would be difficult. Beings with magic at their disposal and the ability to become invisible should be hard to track but when you're an Extinguisher, you're trained to use their magic against them. All magic leaves traces of energy and when combined with the powerful aura of a fairy, the resulting glow reaches up and around its host like the Northern Lights.
Still, you had to find the right sky to search in order to see those lights and tracking the murderess took most of the day. We finally found her hiding amid the crowds of Ala Moana, a massive, outdoor shopping mall on the outskirts of Waikiki. I thought it a strange place for her to be hiding, she would have fared much better up in the mountains, but maybe she'd thought she'd be safer in a crowd.
“I'll circle around behind her,” my dad whispered to me. “You grab her and we'll get her out of here so we can kill her without witnesses.”
“Alright,” I agreed.
Even though most humans couldn't see fairies, when one was killed, they lost their magic, starting with their invisibility. That wouldn't be the issue with this particular fairy, though. She was completely visible, her oddly colored hair tucked up into a baseball cap and her large eyes covered with a pair of celebrity sunglasses. That wasn't too surprising. Using invisibility magic ironically made a fairy even more visible to those of us with the sight. Magic was energy and energy burned brightly to clairvoyants. So if she wanted to hide from Extinguishers, using the least amount of magic was her best option. She hadn't seen me yet but I had no doubt she would soon. Fairies could see Extinguishers almost as well as we did them. All those psychic gifts made our auras stronger than most humans.
She was sitting on the edge of a long, oval shaped, cement planter set in the center of one of the open pathways between the shops. Plants rose up behind her and one of her hands was laid against the slim trunk of a palm tree. The fey liked to be close to nature but that touch was a clear sign that she was scared or at least nervous. Her slim body was hunched in on itself, as if she were pulling away from the humans sitting around her, and her lips were pressed into a thin line. A baby cried and she flinched.
It made sense that she would be scared but usually, a murderer has some kind of plan. They don't just sit in the middle of a group of humans and touch plants. Was she waiting for someone? Maybe she had an accomplice. This could be a lot more complicated than we'd thought. My steps slowed as I searched the area for signs of another fey but there weren't any to be found.
I was about five feet away when her head lifted and she looked unerringly in my direction. Her hand released the plant with a blur of movement and she stood, looking as if she didn't know which direction to run in. I tensed for the chase as her gaze flitted over her shoulder, where I knew my father was coming up behind her. Then she took a deep breath and started walking calmly in my direction.
I was so startled, I froze for a second and a Japanese tourist bumped into me from behind. It jolted me back into action. I pulled the fey handcuffs from my pocket and opened them with automatic ease. They were iron but lined in silicone so they wouldn't burn her, just prevent her from using her magic. When I reached her, she gave me a nod and held her hands out submissively. I put the cuffs on her with complete bafflement.
“Aideen Evergreen, I have a warrant of execution for you from the Fairy Council,” I took her arm and started walking her through the crowds. She was taller than me, as most fey are, probably around six feet. I was five-five and although I was leanly muscled from all the training I did, I'd inherited my mother's curves and next to Aideen's willowy, fragile form, I must have looked like an Oompa Loompa.
“Asylum,” she whispered and I jerked to a halt.
“What did you say?” My eyes slid over to her with the slow slide of incredulity.
“I ask for asylum with the Human Council,” she stated more firmly. “I have information that could lead to the destruction of the entire human race.”
“What?!” I turned to the side so I was facing her. The flow of foot traffic split around us with irritated murmurs. “Did you say...?”
“I'm talking about the extermination of your whole race, Extinguisher,” she hissed. “Now get me to your Council.”
“Yes, Ma'am,” I swallowed hard and started ushering her more quickly through the shoppers, using a combination of telepathy and telekinesis to nudge them out of our way. Possible extermination called for excessive measures.
The Last Lullaby
Book 1 in the Spellsinger Series
Chapter One
I hunched my shoulders in an attempt to lift my coat collar a little higher around my ears. The weather in Seattle was dismal in December. Hell, in my opinion it was dismal during most times of the year. I longed for the kinder climate of my home, where even the rain was warm. But I couldn't go back to Hawaii yet, I still hadn't met with my client, and the payday for this job promised to be worth a little discomfort.
I finally made it to the top of the ridiculously long driveway, my eyes scanning the area surreptitiously behind the cashmere confines of my coat. I'd had the taxi drop me off a little ways down the street so I could do a bit of surveillance on my approach. Even in the gray, grim weather, there were at least eight guards spaced around the front of the house. One of them moved to intercept me, and I acted as if I hadn't seen him.
“Hold on, Miss. This is private property,” the overly muscled man in combat pants held a gloved palm out to me in the traditional “stop” gesture. I saw the gun on his hip, but he hadn't drawn it. That was mistake number one. I was in the driveway already, that made me a threat.
Bad guard, no biscuit.
“I'm expected,” I could have announced myself right then, but I wanted to test Adam MacLaine's security team.
That was my client, MacLaine, or he would be soon. If this guy was an accurate representation of MacLaine's security, it was a wonder the man wasn't dead already.
“Do we have a guest arriving today?” Mr. Combat Pants asked a little microphone clipped to his shirt.
He had to open his leather jacket to access the mic, giving me a flash of the knife he had secured to an inner pocket. Damn this guy was dumb. He even turned away from me to talk into his comm. Like he couldn't conceive of a woman being a threat. I could have killed him three times already. I suppose I should have berated him for his bad habits, but I hated doing other people's jobs. And it was definitely someone else's job to whip this guy into shape. The mere thought exhausted me. I do not suffer fools.
“Name?”
“What?” I asked, completely distracted by his ineptitude.
And the spaghetti stain on his shirt. It was nearly invisible from a distance, but now that I was up close and personal, I could clearly see the crusty red mark on the black fabric. So, a fool and a slob. Definitely not the type of man I'd have chosen to protect me.
“What's your name, Miss?” the slob asked.
“Tanager,” I said, whispering to see if he would make the mistake of coming in closer to hear me.
“What was that?” he sure did. He leaned in close enough for me to stab him in the throat.
Of course I would never deign to dirty my hands in such a manner. My mother raised me better than that. I killed like a lady.
“The name is Tanager,” I said more clearly. “And I'm cold.”
Whoever was on the other side of the microphone heard me, and must have barked something into the muscle-head's ear. He flinched, then straightened.
“Sorry, Ms. Tanager,” he stammered and gestured to the looming house. “My team wasn't notified. Go on in. Someone will meet you at the door.”
“Thank you, Mr...?” I drew it out into a question.
“Ah, you can call me Jake, Ms. Tanager,” he stammered.
“Thank you, Jake,” I walked off, striding quickly to the beckoning warmth of the open front door.
A woman stood within the golden light of the doorway, her features as stern as her severe bun, and her eyes razor sharp. She nodded to me, and shut the door behind me after I entered.
“May I take your coat, Ms Tanager?”
“Yes, thank you,” I slid out of it and sighed.
I had worn my usual getup to greet clients, pencil skirt and modest blouse. But instead of heels, I'd chosen knee-high boots. It was just too cold outside to go without something covering my calves. The woman looked over my prim outfit, and nodded in approval. With my long, dark curls pinned up, I looked very professional.
“I am Mrs. Chadwick,” the woman introduced herself as she hung up my coat. “Mr. MacLaine is waiting for you in his office. I'll take you there now.”
I followed Mrs. Chadwick down a corridor much too wide to be called a hallway. It was lined with expensive artwork, and the sounds of our footsteps were muffled by a silk carpet runner that looked as if it had taken years to weave. It was nice, but I'd seen all of this before. Done better, to tell the truth. My clients were the wealthiest people in the world. They had to be in order to afford me.
“Mr. MacLaine, she's here,” Mrs. Chadwick said as she walked through an open door.
“Thank God,” a man's voice groaned.
It was a pleasant voice, and it matched the office I entered. Not nearly as pretentious as the rest of the house, this room was more personal. It held framed family photos, an old chair that must have come from a time when MacLaine wasn't so wealthy, a wide desk made for function instead of form, and several sitting areas; one before the desk, one before a picture window to the right of the desk, and one in front of a modest fireplace. That's where MacLaine had been, at the fireplace enjoying its comfort instead of working at his desk. In the crowd I normally contracted with, that said a lot.
Adam MacLaine was around forty, with a trim build that suggested he didn't spend all of his time making money. His oak-brown hair was lightly sprinkled with white at the temples, and his skin had a healthy tan, but not the sunbed tan so prevalent in Seattle. His skin had seen real sun. Blue eyes crinkled as he smiled in relief, and came to meet me halfway across the room, hand extended.
“Thank you for coming, Ms Tanager,” he shook my hand firmly. “Could you close the door on your way out, Mrs. Chadwick?”
“Of course, Sir,” she smiled a little, showing a hint of affection for her employer. That said a lot too.
“Would you like something to drink?” MacLaine offered as his hand swept to a sideboard where several bottles waited. Not decanters, mind you, he had straight up liquor bottles ou
t on display. The social elite would be shocked.
“No, thank you.”
“Alright then,” he looked unnerved by my refusal. “Would you care to have a seat?”
“Yes,” I slid into the chair across from his, and he relaxed a little, coming over to join me.
“I don't know how-” he started to stammer, and I held up a hand.
“Mr. MacLaine, who wants you dead?” I cut through the pussyfooting.
“I believe it's a man named Jonah Malone,” he sighed, and sank back into his chair. “His company was failing, and I bought it up at a... well, for a song, really.”
“Uh huh,” I chuckled at the song reference.
With the exception of his ironic wording, my client's stories were always so similar. Someone got the better end of a business deal. Or they were cheating on their spouse. Or cheating on their mistress. Or cheating on their taxes. No, that last one doesn't require my intervention. Not usually. But the issue was often about someone screwing someone else in some form or another.
“I assume you've compiled a dossier on him?”
“Oh, yes,” MacLaine fumbled with something on the floor beside him, and then handed me a manila folder.
“What exactly do you want me to do to Mr. Malone?” This was the line I asked all of my clients. I needed to be very clear with them. A lot of them assumed I was purely an assassin, but that wasn't the case. I thought of myself more as a fixer. I could kill when necessary, but that was the most extreme result I offered.