Remnants of Magic (7 page)

Pointing with frantic accusation at the woman, Malcolm stuttered, “Sh-sh-she… Sh-sh-she…”

He hadn’t needed to speak even this much for Donovan to comprehend. Leaning in close to Malcolm, he murmured, “I’ll handle this. Go fetch Dawn and have her meet us at my table. Kieran needs healing.”

The tension eased from the youth’s body at Donovan’s command. His shoulders dropped from their hunched aggression. Malcolm sheathed his blade, turned, and stalked away. His obedience spawned not out of fear or sense of duty, but out of trust. Of this, Donovan was intimately aware. He’d felt it in the boy’s Touch. The loyalty the bloodhound entrusted in him was his only leash.

Turning back, Donovan assessed Kieran and the woman he’d brought with him. The Sidhe had indeed befallen some kind of assault, in that much Malcolm had been correct. Kieran’s bare chest glistened with sweat. Dirt and half-dried blood smudged his skin and his jeans. The seriousness in his young face made him look older than his nineteen years. His hand remained clasped with the woman’s, though Donovan could tell immediately that she wasn’t fey. With her trim black hair swept back, the roundness of her ears showed. Grass stains smudged her slacks and button down shirt. Almost a head shorter than Kieran, she shied behind him, but the sharpness in her eyes told Donovan that she was no defenseless female. And based on Malcolm’s reaction, she was anything but innocent, and yet Kieran brought her to his doorstep. Donovan didn’t need to raise his voice for the directness of the order to be unmistakable. “You two. With me.”

Malcolm’s outburst had silenced the usually boisterous Glamour Club. All eyes followed them as Donovan brought Kieran and his companion to the privacy of his office. “Close the door.”

Kieran obeyed, shutting out the tentative music attempting to bring some semblance of normalcy to the club. With the office door closed, it shielded most of the hubbub of activity and granted him what scant moments of privacy he could steal from the day. Before the Collapse, when this former industrial building was vastly unused, save for his private office, it served him as no more than an occasional base of operations while on the business of the Unseelie Queen. Now it seemed the central hub of activity for the fey in the whole of Ireland. The leather wingback chairs opposite his glossy wooden behemoth of a desk, which before had rarely entertained a visitor’s bum, now already acquired a bit of a shine of wear over the seats. He did not offer them to either Kieran or his companion. Nor did Donovan seat himself, too tense to find even a modicum of relaxation in the office’s cool, dark solitude.

The lad glanced up at Donovan, and there was much turmoil there, needing to be shared. Donovan granted him that permission, “Explain.”

Though he’d spoken to one of his Sidhe, it was the human who presumed to reply. “I just want to start—”

“Not you.” Donovan cut her off. “I want to hear it from Kieran.”

Kieran finally released her hand and leaned against the door. “This here’s London, a human of the enchanted variety. Figured she could take the Touch by force. Snatched me off the street with a gun and a pair of silver handcuffs. Only, turned out a pack of werewolves were squatting in the love nest she planned to use.” He waved toward the wounds on his chest. “We barely got out of there with our skins more or less intact.”

She stammered, “Look, I didn’t—”

“Silence.” Donovan’s voice was cold and commanding. The woman was dead already, and didn’t have the sense to know it. Kieran should have dispatched her, not brought her to him like a cub expecting Donovan to take care of things. “Anything else?”

“She’s mates with a vampire.” Kieran crossed his arms and cut a less-than-friendly look her way. “Not a fan of vampires, just so you know.” Then he shrugged, giving Donovan his attention. “I think that covers the basics.”

“Have Dawn tend to those wounds.” Donovan dismissed him. The lad didn’t need to know Malcolm’s history, and this woman obviously was some part of it.

Kieran spared London a moment’s glance. “Silver burns like hell, by the way.” He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and dropped them on the bookshelf by the door as he left.

When the door closed, Donovan glared at the woman. She stupidly gave no indication that she had the sense to fear him. He asked, “Do you have anything to add?”

London crossed her arms and launched into a half-cocked defense for her behavior. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I was desperate and hurting, but that was no excuse for what I did. I endangered Kieran with my carelessness, but then I risked my life to get him away from there.”

She began to pace, looking at the ground and hugging herself tighter. “Kieran said something to me; that enchanted humans were meant to serve the Sidhe. That’s what Rico demanded of me when he attacked me, Touching me against my will. Now Rico’s dead.” Her eyes lifted to meet his. “A while back, I spoke to someone else who’d been Touched and he said the same thing. That I should seek out a Sidhe to serve.”

So there it was; the fallacy in her logic. The reason she stood here blathering rather than fleeing for her life. After what she did to Kieran, and what he suspected she’d done to Malcolm, this human had the gall to suggest that he might accept her pledge of service and become her patron.

She argued, “I could be useful, you know. I have contacts. Investigation skills. It wouldn’t be charity.”

“How do you know Malcolm?” Donovan demanded, though he harbored no doubts as to the truth.

“Malcolm?” She shifted. “The young man with the knife? I met him just one time. I did a job for him.”

With each word spoken with incredulous fury, he repeated,
“You did a job for him?”

“It’s true. He sent a bunch of us out to kill or be killed. I was one of the few that made it out alive, if that speaks at all to the skills I have to offer.”

As soon as she said it, Donovan knew exactly which ‘job’ she meant. The Changeling that enslaved Malcolm had led the raid on Danu’s temple, slaying the fey sheltered there. This wretched woman had been one of his gunmen.

“It was a high price for just a kiss, but what can I say? It’s just like his Changeling buddy said: what wouldn’t I do for the Touch?”

Donovan snatched London by the throat, lifting her onto her toes to bring her eye-to-eye with him. He’d heard more than enough. For the opportunity to rape Malcolm, she’d slain innocent fey in cold blood.

The human was dead. Deserved to die. Allowing her to live was to condemn the Sidhe she would certainly continue to hunt and abuse. She was no better than a wizard, lusting for magic that was not innate to her.

Killing her was the only recourse. The earthborns needed a test. A practice. Someone well within their capabilities to dispatch. He teleported them both away.

Chapter Three

“I knew it! Didn’t I know it?” Malcolm paced beside Donovan’s usual table in the middle of the Glamour Club. His right hand fiddled constantly with the leather of his left wristband. Sometimes the feel of it reminded him of the shackles, but he still wouldn’t take the wristbands off. He didn’t want people to see his scars. More than that, he didn’t want to see them either. Didn’t want to even think about them. Only, times like now they were impossible to ignore.

“You knew it; now quit pacing. You’re making me dizzy.” Bryce handed Malcolm a Coke and carried his own drink to the table, joining Trip and Dawn. His emotions were running hot, which Malcolm could see in the flames cracking around Bryce. No one else could see it. Not until the magic became real flames, something Bryce wasn’t always good at controlling.

“Malcolm doesn’t need any caffeine. He’s already bouncing off the walls.” Trip snagged the glass from Malcolm and sipped from it.

He didn’t care, just went back to messing with the wristband. More than anything, he couldn’t hold still. Couldn’t even think about holding still when his mind was speeding a thousand miles a second. He wanted to run, or hit, or do
something
. Anything! If he had a cool magic like Bryce the whole place would be on fire. He’d have charbroiled that human before anyone could’ve stopped him. Whoosh! Up in flames in a blink. That would have felt great. To see her, and know who she was and what she’d done, and just fry her to a crisp with one zap of his magic. And not just her, but all those who’d hurt him.

And they weren’t gone either.

Donovan squished a bunch of goblins and a handful of vampires, but there had been others. So many others. Others like this woman.

It wasn’t over. It was never going to be over.

He wanted to run or hit something. Run or hit.

But not stand still

Not stand still.

Malcolm paced. Fiddled with his wristband. Felt all the stinging aches bubbling up inside him like acid. He fixated on the three people inside the office, seeing their magic through the wall. Only one reason why he could see the human at all; she was all lit up with the Touch. Kieran’s Touch. The grey-white illumination was unmistakable. Last time she’d been glowing from Malcolm’s Touch, which had an iridescent gleam like oil. Shards of his magic still glimmered within her, even weeks later. Made his guts twist up just to remember about it, to remember her.

Just remembering her kissing him, drinking in his Touch when he was too drugged up to do anything about it, made his jaws clench so tight his teeth ached. He wiped at his mouth, as if that might rub away the memory. Malcolm glared at her through the wall. The brightest spots of magic still glowed on her face and in her mouth. Kieran’s magic this time.

Only Kieran wasn’t drugged.

Malcolm whispered through his gritting teeth. “They hurt him. Did you see?”

“Kieran’s fine, just a little bloody.” Bryce leaned back, passing a flame back and forth between his hands like a ball. So not worried. So clueless. Clueless to the point of stupid.

Malcolm had been clueless and stupid once. He had the scars to show for it.

Never again.

Not to him. Not to Kieran. Not to any of them.

Never again.

When Kieran finally strolled back into the Glamour Club, everyone started asking questions at once. He waved them off and dropped into the chair next to Dawn. “Easy now.” The other earthborn Sidhe huddled in around Kieran, ready to hang on his every word. Instead, he swiped the Coke from Trip, downed the rest of it, and then balanced the empty glass on his leg. “Give a guy a little healing magic, Dawn? My chest is burning like a mother.”

After wiping her hands on her slacks, Dawn flattened her palm against Kieran’s chest just beneath the collarbone where five puncture wounds formed a semi-circle. Flares of light, like a handful of sparklers all burning at once, flicked around Dawn’s hand and into Kieran. At least that’s what Malcolm saw. Everyone else always denied seeing anything.

“Was there a Changeling?” Malcolm’s palm curled around the hilt of the knife sheathed on his thigh, compulsively clenching and unclenching.

“No Changeling.” Kieran rubbed his fingers over the newly healed skin. “Just vampires and werewolves.” He slumped down in the chair until his head rested back on the cushion. “Werewolves are some bloody, jacked-up nutters.”

“Werewolves?” Bryce extinguished the flame he played with. “No way! Is that chick a werewolf?”

“No.” Malcolm and Kieran answered at the same time.

Everyone looked at Malcolm. He glared right back at them. They didn’t need to know how he knew that. They didn’t need to know anything about that time before Donovan saved him. Nobody needed to know.

Teeth clenched, hand pumping open and closed around the knife, he couldn’t stand to be still.

Run or hit. Run or hit.

Couldn’t stand to be still.

So he paced and fidgeted instead.

Of course, Kieran wasn’t letting it drop. “What was up with you anyway? Going all ballistic with the knife?”

“Since when does Malcolm need a reason to go after someone with a knife?” Dawn piped up. Apparently, she wasn’t over that first day Malcolm woke up in the club. He’d threatened Dawn with a carving knife then. Well, she’d had it coming. Shouldn’t have been messing with him in the first place.

“Who is she then? What happened? Come on, Kie, we’re dying here.” Bryce said.

Malcolm half turned, glancing back over his shoulder, wanting to hear Kieran’s answer. Only, Kie wasn’t saying anything. He was thinking about what to say. What was there to think about? Maybe it was like with Malcolm. Like it was too bad to talk about. Eventually, Kieran said, “Her name’s London. She’s human.”

“Who cares what her name is?” Malcolm scowled when everyone shushed him.

Kieran didn’t have a chance to reply. Donovan appeared in the middle of the dance floor with the woman, lifting her by the throat so only her toes reached the ground. Her fingers clawed at his hand, but Donovan didn’t seem to give a crap. He commanded their attention, “Unseelie!”

Both Kieran and Malcolm pushed through the retreating crowd first. The other Sidhe were right on their heels.

Donovan demanded, “What do you do, Malcolm, with an animal that is diseased and dangerous?”

“You kill ‘em!” Malcolm gripped the hilt of his knife tighter.

“This human has twisted the enchantment into something unspeakably vile. Already she’s attacked two of our Sidhe. She partook in the massacre of the fey of Danu’s temple, desecrating her sanctuary.” Donovan snarled. “What should you have done with her, Kieran?”

Yeah, Kieran.
Malcolm thought, narrowing his eyes at this human.

“Kill her,” Kieran said it in a flat voice. Not even close to the kind of rage burning in Malcolm. The kind of rage Malcolm thought Kieran should feel.

“You say you’re ready to go on missions. You think you’re ready to fight to defend the fey? Prove it!” Donovan flung the human to the ground before him. She landed hard, getting her hands down in front of her just in time to keep from face-planting. Her fearful eyes lifted, flicking to the Sidhe standing over her.

Kieran crouched down, smirking in that cocky way of his, like he was flirting with her. “This is the part where you run.”