Remnants of Magic (28 page)

Willem thought about that. “Then, most likely, we all die.”

“Lovely.” London slung an arm around Willem’s shoulders and drew him along. “Then let’s work a little faster, shall we? Find those relics you need? I don’t fancy dying.”

Chapter Seven

Initially, when Lugh sent her into the museum with Willem with the directive to keep the Scribe ‘on task,’ London just figured Lugh wanted to avoid any more probing questions regarding the state of his health. The Scribe was a tenacious fellow and tirelessly curious. Even Lugh’s attempts to change the subject didn’t last more than a minute or two before Willem was right back to the issue of Fading and the dangers of dark magic. And the truth was, Lugh’s flat refusal to discuss the topic only seemed to confirm Willem’s assumptions.

That’s what she’d figured, anyway.

Twenty minutes into the conversation between Willem and Quinn, and London had a whole different perspective.

The two Scribes chattered as fast as thirteen-year-olds hyped up on Pixy Stix. Exhausting pleasantries and introductions, which seemed almost a resume and a curriculum vitae rolled into one long dissertation, morphed into extensive genealogy comparisons to determine if they might be distant relations.

Finally, London interrupted, “Artifacts? Fey realm? The Fade? Any of that ringing a bell?”

“I was getting to it.” Willem waved her off, but then sighed and consented. “Fine. Fine.” He opened his satchel and drew out a small glass vial with half a teaspoon of gold dust glittering in the bottom. “The purpose of our quest is to locate relics from the first realm of fey.”

Willem held aloft the vial and then gave the glass a shake and a tap to stir the dust up into the container. The sparkling dust floated and spun like the glitter in a snow globe. Gradually the shape formed into a twisting mini tornado. “And this wee thingy will lead us right to them.”

Turning this way and that, Quinn and London followed the Scribe out from the office and into the museum. “This is quite exciting, isn’t it?” Quinn grinned up at London. “So like a treasure hunt without the bother or danger of leaving home.”

London just smiled. They trailed behind Willem as he led them to the back display room. A few suits of armor guarded the back wall. Glass display cases occupied the floor space with ample room for visitors to wander between them. Not that she’d seen even one visitor since they’d arrived.

“I think it’s this one.” Willem tapped the glass, pointing to a flute carved from the horn of a stag. The once brilliant paint had faded and peeled in places.

Quinn patted all his pockets. “My key is in the office. I should have thought to bring it.” He chuckled.

The vibration of her cell phone jolted London, but nothing like the heart attack that lanced through her when she saw the sender. Kieran— one of the Unseelie in Donovan’s stable, the hot young guy she’d abducted for all of a couple of hours before coming to her senses, and one of the reasons she was marked for death.

Fingers trembling from the adrenalin spike, she opened the message.

This is the part where you run.

Oh… shite.

Almost that exact second, Lugh bolted into the room, quick eyes assessing everything.

She blurted, “The Unseelie are here! They’ve come for me!”

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than Unseelie were in the eastern archway. The red-headed boy rotated his hand in the air before him, building a mass of flames as big as a beach ball. He threw his hand forward, casting a stream of fire a meter wide right at her.

Before London could even dodge the incoming inferno, Lugh dove in front of her. Saving her in full Sidhe Champion style. The stream of fire halted between his hands. When the fire Sidhe stopped casting it, Lugh squashed the flame between his palms as if it were nothing. And given that his aspect of magic was the sun, it was no wonder that fire couldn’t harm him.

London jerked out her pistol and charged up beside Lugh. There were only four Unseelie, and none of them the formidable Donovan. Probably Lugh could handle them on a normal day, but if he wasn’t supposed to waste his magic, then she didn’t want him Fading on her account.

Only, he reached over and in an effortlessly smooth motion twisted the pistol from her hand. “No killing Sidhe,” he said, just as calm as you please. He hit the clip release, cleared the chamber, and then tossed the lot to the side. The fact that he even knew how to do that, much less without even glancing at the weapon, floored her. “Stay behind the display. These youths shan’t harm you.”

“Yeah, right.” London backed away, edging toward the gun he’d tossed away, not turning her back on the action.

Lugh lifted a hand toward the Unseelie and gestured for them to ‘bring it on.’ That devious smirk tugged at his handsome mouth again, making him look all kinds of sexy and trouble at the same time. Amusement colored his voice as he beckoned, “Come, children. Show me your skills.”

London had seen their skills once before, and it was nothing compared to what she witnessed now. The dark-haired girl flung a solid column of shadow at Lugh, encasing him within it. Kieran pushed his palms forward and the siren he produced echoed screaming torment that drove London to her knees, clutching her ears. That lasted all of six seconds maybe. And then Lugh snatched up a poleaxe and somersaulted through the air and into the fray. Spinning and striking so fast that she could barely follow him, Lugh dissipated their magic as he overwhelmed the Unseelie.

Grabbing her gun, London glanced around for her clip. It had skid across the room to the far exit. Just behind the feet of one of the Unseelie.

Malcolm.

She knew him far too well, this wiry, dark-eyed lad. He must have slipped away from the others and gone around to the other entrance. And now he glared at her with such intensity that London recoiled instinctively.

As he rushed for her, London scrambled behind the waist-high display case, trying to keep anything between them. He’d not drawn his knife from his thigh sheath, but charged at her with his bare hands. The kid was wild. Tenacious as he could be vicious. He charged up to the display and kicked it over with the force of his momentum, sending it crashing to the floor and shattering the glass.

London scrambled away from the spray of glass shards. She sprinted only a few feet before dropping down to slide across the polished floor over to where her clip had landed. Even as she grabbed it, she glanced up, expecting to see Malcolm charging for her again.

Only he hadn’t.

Instead, he bent over the smashed display, holding something in his hand.

Willem shouted, “The artifact!”

The crash had halted the fighting across the room, and Lugh glared daggers at Malcolm.

The kid gave him a wicked grin, showing Lugh the prize he’d snatched. “Betcha were looking for this.”

The look on Lugh’s face darkened into ‘boy, I’m going to kill you.’

Kieran leapt onto Lugh’s back and shouted, “Run, Malcolm! Run!”

The lad took off like a shot.

London leapt up to block him, but he collided with her, knocking her off her feet.

A couple seconds later, Lugh raced past her in hot pursuit.

London slapped her clip into her weapon and scrambled to her feet again. Glancing up, she saw the other Unseelie taking off for the other exit. All except Kieran, who glared at her. He’d been knocked down when Lugh slipped his grasp. As he rose to his feet he pointed at her. “I saw the temple. You will pay for that.”

Some things you could never take back and never live down. That was one of them.

Kieran rushed off after the other Unseelie, racing toward the front exit.

London cut the other way, chasing after Lugh and Malcolm, who were heading toward the rear exit. They’d already made it outside before she’d hit the hallway. When she reached the back porch, London was just in time to watch a car and a motorbike speed off.

Lugh cursed, “Blasted Unseelie!” And then twisting toward her, he demanded, “Which one was Donovan? The tall one?”

She shook her head. “Donovan wasn’t here. He’s much more powerful. Older. Those are his recruits. Donovan is a warrior.”

For all the action, Lugh only had Malcolm’s leather jacket to show for it. He gave it an angry shake, strangling the collar in his fist. His furious snarl was more feline than fey.

London backed away from the growl that rolled up from deep within Lugh’s chest.

The beast.

The Unseelie set Lugh off big time, and now he looked furious enough to kill. If he’d gotten a hold of Malcolm, he likely would have broken the lad’s neck.

She raised her hands. “Easy now. There should be more relics here. We’re going to get through this. Let’s not blow a gasket.”

His head snapped around and he glared daggers at her. Like he could tear apart anyone right now, not just the Unseelie youths that pissed him off.

Show. No. Fear.

That was a cardinal rule when dealing with predators like the werewolves and the vampires. And no doubt this beast of Lugh’s was just as wild.

London stared him down. “Settle yourself there, Sunshine. You’re Seelie, remember? Civilized. In control.”

That hit him in his pride. Straightening, Lugh hissed through clenched teeth, “You think I have forgotten?” He stomped inside, harnessing his fury just enough to shove past her without another word.

Chapter Eight

Back in Quinn’s office, Lugh tossed the folded leather jacket over the back of a chair. He dropped into the seat with a frustrated growl. Neither of the Scribes noticed, with Willem frantically apologizing and Quinn gushing with excitement. The two Scribes had gone ‘questing’ through the museum after they were certain that the Unseelie had truly gone, coming up with four more artifacts, which now lay on Quinn’s cleared desk. London just leaned against the doorframe and watched Lugh as he ran his fingers through his hair, his control teetering on the edge. She could practically see the ‘beast’ in the hunch of his shoulders. If he lost control, and the beast broke loose with the violence and bloodlust Willem had warned her about, then very likely someone in this room was going to die. The Scribes couldn’t begin to defend themselves. Shooting Lugh with her silver bullets would likely kill him, and nothing in her vows allowed for that. She needed him alive and she needed him sane.

Sane-ish, anyway.

If she were to believe that she was here for some purpose of fate and magic, then finding a way to rein in Lugh’s beast may well be it. Before being cursed, she’d worked with werewolves and vampires. Both violent and unpredictable when their darker natures got the better of them. She knew how to deal with them. How to bring them down when the adrenaline got them fired up.

London unfolded her arms and crossed to Lugh. Testing his reaction, she rested her hands on his shoulders.

They lowered slightly.

Easing into it, she rubbed at the tension. After a minute, Lugh leaned back into the massage, no longer hunched as if ready to pounce. The growling subsided into an annoyed sigh, “So these are all the relics from the first realm of fey, other than the flute that the Unseelie rabble absconded with?”

“Several well-preserved pieces, too.” Quinn grinned. “There may well be more in the Scribes’ library next door.”

“Library?” Willem perked up, pointed fey ears wiggling with excitement. “A Scribes’ Library?”

“We have copies of possibly every scroll and tome lost in the Mounds.” Quinn fairly beamed, utterly oblivious to Lugh’s precarious state.

Willem finally noticed it, though. He’d turned toward them, his excited smile stretching wide. And then it faded. His brows knit together and the hint of terror gleamed in his eyes as he fixated on the way London risked handling Lugh when he was so close to the edge.

That’s when the jacket behind Lugh’s back buzzed.

He twisted around, his expression annoyed and confused. Like he expected the jacket to do something altogether freaky.

London checked the pockets, coming up with a cell phone, and silenced the alarm. She read the message, “Eat.”

“What do you mean?” Willem asked, “Is it time for dinner?”

“Apparently.” London opened the alarm menu. “The alarm was set for three times each day, all saying ‘eat’ and nothing more.”

“How very odd,” Quinn agreed.

At least the phone provided a distraction, which might help break up the building tension. “Cell phones are treasure troves of information. Most people don’t even realize all that could be discovered just from allowing unsecured access to their smartphones.” London began flipping through the applications. “Looks like we’ve got photos, some video, contact numbers—”

Lugh rose from the seat, towering over her. “I wish to contact Donovan.”

She glanced up at him. “You want to speak with him? Now?” That could really be bad. Bad like getting the beast all worked up again kind of bad. “Maybe you should wait.”

“Now.”

She gulped. That wasn’t a ‘now’ that tolerated arguments. “Ok, hold on a moment.” London hit the button to make the call. She listened to the ringing, her gut twisting. Eyes locking with Willem’s, sharing the same concerns. But she’d made a vow to serve Lugh, and she wouldn’t deceive him. She depended too much on his Touch to risk losing his favor.

After a few rings, it connected. Donovan’s deep voice rolled through the phone, his accent similar to Lugh’s, but not so refined. “Well, the phone says ‘Malcolm,’ but I am looking right at him. So who is this?”

“Donovan? Hold one moment, someone wishes to speak with you.” And she passed off the phone to Lugh.

When he just looked at her uncomprehending, London positioned his fingers so he didn’t accidentally hit any buttons, and then moved the phone so it was against the side of his head so he could hear and talk. When he just stood there, looking at her, she said, “Say ‘hello.’”

Lugh repeated mechanically. “Hello.”

She could tell when Donovan started talking, because Lugh quit staring at her and his eyes moved to the side, the facial expression for listening. And when he spoke again, it wasn’t in English.

The conversation didn’t last long, but it didn’t need to. The Scribes both witnessed the transformation as surely as London did, and they recoiled from him. She’d no idea what was said, but didn’t need to. Whatever it was, wasn’t good.

Lugh’s pupils widened, and his irises shifted to such a deep blue they were almost black. The circles under his eyes darkened. Even his skin, which once glowed it was so pale, turned a coppery hue. When he spoke, his lips curled back from his teeth and his voice roughened into a growl.

When the conversation ended, Lugh dropped the phone into London’s hands.