Magic Harvest

by Karlik, Mary

  They had failed to rescue a single fairy. It was a sloppy attempt. They had to be more careful next time. They had to be better. But it hadn’t been a total wash. They’d discovered where and how the globes were made.

  McIntyre phoned again. Ian tapped Accept and held the phone to his ear. “Cameron here.”

  “There’s been an explosion in Mary King’s Close.”

  “Erm—I’m aware.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “You were there? And were you the cause of the explosion?” The chief’s words were clipped and controlled, but Ian could almost see his face flash red and then deepen to almost purple.

  “Aye. But it was a stink bomb, totally harmless.” And created chaos in an enclosed space.

  “And why did you feel the need to discharge this—stink bomb?”

  “It was a bit of an accident.” The lie sounded lame even to Ian’s ears.

  “Do you want to explain or am I going to have to drag the story out of you?” The chief’s voice was losing its controlled tone.

  “We had intel that the drugs were being manufactured in the underground. The place is a maze of tunnels. We didn’t find anything, and were on our way out when the incident occurred.”

  “Incident. Where did you get a stink bomb?” The chief seemed to be back in control. and Ian wondered how many seltzers he’d swallowed.

  “It’s homemade. One of Jack’s creations.” Ian winced and shot a guilty glance at Jack. “We’re always looking for harmless ways to control the crowd. Believe me, they scattered like rats from a ship. It was excellent.”

  “Excellent! You call scaring a tunnel full of tourists excellent? I’m looking at CCTV now. If it was as harmless as you say, then what are you doing carrying an unconscious lass away from the close?” The chief was ramping up to a full-on rage when the wee fairy moaned.

  Ian looked up at Buzzard and mouthed, Keep her quiet. To the chief, he stammered, “She’s a street performer—one of MacGregor’s friends.” It was a plausible lie; everybody knew Theo had a history working the Mile. “She’s passed out, that’s all. We’re taking her home.”

  As the chief ranted about protocol and the direction of the investigation, Ian nodded and supplied the necessary “Yes, sir,” every couple of sentences.

  Everything Ian had fabricated or out-and-out lied about went against all that he believed in. He was a by-the-book, follow-protocol officer. But this was unprecedented. There was no protocol for magical creatures. He respected his chief, even admired him, but he didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth about what they were dealing with. And that just crawled all over him.

  When the call ended, he leaned the back of his head against the van wall. “I’m to report to his office Monday at zero-eight-hundred. It would be handy if I could get some evidence of the non-magical sort to present.”

  Deep, quiet voices soothed Layla as consciousness came back to her. Thunder rumbled in the distance, bringing her fully awake. She focused on the dingy white ceiling above for a few seconds before realizing she was stretched out on the blue sofa in Ian’s flat. Lowering her gaze, she locked onto Ian and Buzzard in the brown chairs across from her, quietly discussing someone called McIntyre.

  She attempted to rise from the pillow, but as soon as she moved her head, the room took off spinning like leaves in a whirlwind. A moan erupted from her and the two men across from her stopped talking.

  Ian smiled. “Welcome back.”

  She hugged the pillow. “I’m alive.”

  “That you are.” He crouched next to her. “How do you feel?”

  She wiggled her fingertips and prickles of pain flowed up her arm. “Like I’ve flown through a hailstorm.” She wanted to sit up, but her limbs were too heavy to move.

  Grief weighed heavy in her chest too. “We didn’t save any fairies.”

  “No, lass. We didn’t.” He brushed a curl away from her face, and for the first time, human contact wasn’t weird. It was—comforting.

  Then the cràdh rose to the surface and like a second heartbeat, banged a dirge in her chest proclaiming once again that she was a useless half-caste.

  The spirit had helped her survive the cage, only to rejoice in her other shortcomings. This was the second time it had encouraged her in a positive way. It wasn’t something Layla would give much mind to, though, since its whole existence depended on two things: Layla’s survival and the subsequent survival of her negative emotions.

  The cràdh was just another burden that made her different from the other fey. She’d never tried to communicate with it, probably because she’d been too busy trying to ignore it. Now, she wasn’t sure if she should attempt to thank it for helping her or try to smother it back into submission.

  In the end, she did neither and drew in a weary breath. “We failed.”

  Ian dropped his hand and rocked onto his heels. “We learned. We’ll go back better prepared.”

  Buzzard stood with a hard set to his jaw. “You’re weak. You need to eat.” His words were clipped, but they had a soft edge that she wasn’t accustomed to hearing from him.

  “Aye.” It was more of a sigh than an actual word. She tracked Buzzard as he moved around the couch toward the kitchen. “Who’s McIntyre?”

  Ian sat on the coffee table across from the couch. “My boss. When we were carrying you out of the tunnels, we used the ward to clear the main tourist passage. It quite literally caused a big stink.” He averted his eyes. “McIntyre is threatening to take us off the case.”

  Buzzard spoke from the kitchen. “Essentially, we have two days to come up with something concrete, or we’re reassigned.” Thunder boomed closer as if it were validating his words.

  She forced herself upright and held her head until the room quit spinning. “We can’t take that much time. We need to go back now. Those fairies are suffering unimaginable pain. Believe me, I know. I’ve experienced it.”

  “We can’t go now. You’re a weak as a kitten.” Buzzard walked to the couch and thrust a sandwich and a glass of milk at her. “Eat this.”

  “What is it?” She stared at the sandwich before lifting it from the plate.

  “Peanut butter and honey,” Ian answered. “It’s something Miranda taught us.” She looked at Ian for extra encouragement. He smiled. “Try it. It’s one of my favorites.”

  It was thick and sticky. But the flavor was different from anything she’d ever tasted. “This is amazing.” By the second bite she felt her energy beginning to return.

  Ian nodded. “Aye. I told you.”

  She washed down the bite with a swallow of milk. “Tell me what happened when my hand went into that cage.”

  Ian leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “The magic changed you. Your fingers turned to china, then your wrist and arm. I’ve never seen anything like it. I knew I had to get your arm free from the cage, but I couldn’t budge it. I coaxed you. I begged and I pulled until I thought I might pull your arm off. Then, when I thought it was hopeless, you somehow reversed the magic.”

  The memory of the pain made her wince. “Aye. It was horrible. The pain the magic caused was so intense, I thought I’d die. I wanted to die. But that’s not how that magic works. It takes the fairies just to the point of death, but maintains life at the same time. It’s the cruelest form of torture. Those poor fey.”

  Ian straightened. “As soon as you were freed from the cage, you lost consciousness. Do you remember anything from before the cage? Do you remember the room with the globes?”

  “Aye. And the woman.” The cràdh expanded in her chest and heaved doubt through her. “How are we going to save them?”

  Ian tipped his head toward the dining table. “We’re working on it.”

  Layla peered over the sofa. Jack was in the kitchen adding water to the kettle. Theo sat at the dining table tapping on a laptop. Buzzard sat across from him writing on a pad of yellow paper. At the far end of the table was an easel holding a giant paper pad. On the pad was a list.


  * * *

  Connor Davis

  Dark Harvester

  Fairies—in cages, in globes

  Hag—old woman

  Troll

  * * *

  Ian stood. “Those are the players as far as we know. Are you up to helping us fill in the blanks?” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied the list, and Layla wondered if he had as much confidence in the mission as he portrayed.

  Taking his arm, she leveraged herself to stand. “Aye, as much as I can.” Her legs were weak but she managed to carry her glass to the table without wobbling. When she got there, she dropped into a chair at the end, across from the giant pad.

  Lightning flashed and rain slapped the windows as Ian followed her, but instead of sitting, he strode to the lounge and back. “I can’t get the thought out of my mind that I’ve seen that old woman before.”

  “Maybe with Davis?” Jack offered.

  “No. It’s like I know her.” Ian walked around the flat as if the motion would break the piece of memory loose.

  Layla ignored his traipsing and stared at the list until the third line reached right off the paper and squeezed her insides. Her breath hitched and her throat collapsed and she had to take a second breath before she could speak. “To think those fairies are kept in globes like pets in a cage. They must keep them paralyzed to maintain control. No doubt they’re only brought out to grant wishes. They’re slaves to the humans.”

  And then it occurred to her that Ian’s flatmate must have had a globe. “Where is the globe Miranda used?”

  “I never saw one. If she had it, she must have taken it with her to... Davis...” The last two words came out in a whisper, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. The color drained from his cheeks. “No. It couldn’t be.” His words were so strained, Layla could almost feel his pain as he spoke them.

  “What is it?” She stood too.

  Wild-eyed, Ian took in Jack, Theo, and Buzzard. “The old lady.” He took a couple of sharp breaths. “She’s Miranda.”

  Buzzard raised his eyes to the ceiling and back to Ian. “Ach, man. Miranda’s twenty-seven.”

  Layla’s wings dropped low as the reality of Ian’s revelation and the implications associated with it hit home. “She’s twenty-seven without magic.” She turned to Ian. “Didn’t you say that as the magic she was using ran out, she aged?”

  “Aye.” He studied the pictures of Miranda on the wall. “She looked bad the last time I saw her, but nothing like the old woman.” He pointed to one of the pictures. “But that old woman’s eyes were definitely Miranda’s.”

  Buzzard wrote another note on his yellow pad. “No matter how desperate she was for the magic, I can’t believe she’d work for Davis.”

  Layla turned to Buzzard. “I don’t think she had a choice. The stiff movements and dulled eyes—it all makes sense. She’s been enchanted.”

  The rain fell in sheets as Ian moved to the far end of the room and turned his back on his team. She watched his chest expand and contract as he took slow, deep breaths. He rolled his neck and then turned to Layla. “What will happen to her? Can we reverse it?”

  Layla wished she could tell him it was possible, but lying would only prolong his pain. “The thing is, the longer she’s under the spell, the more it will consume her.”

  “What does that mean?” He stood on the other side of the room unmoving, except for the breathing he seemed to be struggling to control as he waited for an answer.

  She bit her lip. “She’s the hag we saw. She’s no longer Miranda.” She looked into his eyes and tried to convey how sorry she was. “Her soul will soon be gone.”

  Ian’s jaw was set hard, his neck muscles strained, and his face reddened. “No. Maybe you’re wrong. You’ve had magic for what—little more than a day? You can’t know everything. We’ll rescue her and make her better.” His words were clipped, as though they had been forced from between his lips.

  Layla walked toward Ian. “I’m sorry. I’m not wrong.”

  He put up his hands and backed away. “Then we’ll save what’s left.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Layla leaned against the sofa back and ducked her head, wishing her answer could have been different. She doubted there was enough left of Miranda to know Ian. There was something else too. Layla had a sense that the old woman was more than a young girl forced by magic into becoming a hag to pose fairies in a workshop. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was like Miranda wasn’t only enchanted. It was like she had been transformed into something else completely.

  Ian stared at her with panic in his eyes. “What does that look mean? You think it’s no use.”

  Layla lifted her gaze to him. “I’m sorry.”

  His drew in angry deep breaths and walked in a circle with his hands on his hips. When he spoke, his whole face trembled. “I’ll kill the bastard.”

  Layla hardened her resolve. “Aye, and I’ll help you.”

  “Then let’s get back to planning.” Buzzard stood next to the easel. “Layla, what can you tell us about the players?” He tapped the paper with the marker.

  “Not a lot, I’m afraid. Trolls are loners and grooming is not part of their culture. Either the one I saw was a one-off or Davis has a hold on him.”

  “Enchanted, like Miranda?” Jack poured hot water into the teapot and brought it to the table.

  Layla took her seat. “No. He didn’t seem enchanted. I think he’s willingly working for Davis.”

  Theo looked up. “When that world-tilt thing happened, I’m telling you, that troll was clearly freaked.”

  “Aye. But I don’t think the two are linked. When I experienced the shift it was chaotic, but the passage was not. Maybe that’s what scared him. Typically, trolls only have rudimentary magic but nothing about this is typical.” Layla reviewed the list. “Fighting them won’t be easy. If the Dark Harvester connects his magic with mine again, I’m sure he’ll take it. Connor Davis didn’t try to harvest mine, so I don’t think he’s a harvester. But he is powerful, more powerful than the Dark Harvester.” A chill ran through her. “He was able to control my mind.”

  She looked around the table and ignored the cràdh’s whisper that she’d fail. “I will have my weapons. I don’t plan on using magic unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  Jack poured tea and passed the cups around the table. “Could we get into the warehouse and steal the fey without fighting?”

  Ian walked to the head of the table next to the pad on the easel. “That would be the best-case scenario.”

  Buzzard dumped a load of sugar in his tea. “What about the globes in the shop?”

  Jack looked at Layla. “Do we need everybody in the tunnel? If you, Ian, and Buzzard can cover the warehouse, Theo and I can hit the shop at the same time.”

  Layla shook her head. “You can’t go up against the magic. At least if I’m there, you’ll have a fighting chance.”

  “She’s right.” Thunder shook the lights and windows. Ian gazed at the ceiling. “Really? We’re about to battle magic to save mythical creatures and You see fit to send a storm? A bit clichéd, don’t You think?” Lightning cracked and the electricity flickered. “Aye, Your call.”

  He rolled his shoulders and took them all in. It was clear to Layla that Ian was back in commander mode. His eyes narrowed in determination and the little lines in his forehead deepened in a way that said, Don’t mess me about. “This seems like an impossible task. But if we let even an inkling of the notion of failure make its way into our thinking, we’re already defeated. We need to believe that we will beat the odds. Failure is not an option.” Ian looked at Buzzard. “The location sucks. We only have one escape route. We could be sitting ducks, but it’s what we have.”

  Jack sipped his tea. “I guess it would be too much to hope we could sneak in and out?”

  Buzzard turned to him. “If we all had your childlike optimism, we’d be dead by now.”

  A huge smile took over Jack’s face. �
��Remember, man, my childlike optimism adds humanity to what we do.”

  Ian flipped the page on the pad and wrote warehouse on the paper. “We’ll go there first. When we get the fairies, Theo and Jack will secure them in the van. Theo, you’ll stay behind to watch them and run surveillance. Jack will join the rest of us at Burnet’s Close. We’ll go to the shop together. Questions?”

  Theo focused on his computer. “No questions, but I may have found something.” His fingers hovered over the keys of his laptop.

  Ian nodded. “Give us a look.”

  Theo turned the device toward them. The screen was filled with pictures of fairies in glass globes. Next to each globe was a necklace, with a glass pendant shaped like an icicle. He enlarged an image of a Lavender fey. Above the picture were the words, Good luck and granted wishes.

  Theo pointed to the computer screen. “Layla, are these like the globes you saw?”

  Her stomach twisted as she leaned closer to the screen. “Aye,” she whispered.

  “Look at the comments. I’m sad to say, I think this is even more sinister than slavery.” He tapped the keys and sentences appeared on the screen.

  * * *

  NewGirl1: My life was changed. Not only is the glass necklace fun to wear, it’s fascinating to watch the colored smoke swirl into the pendant for replenishing. The little fairy even glows for a few hours while the pendant refills. It must be magic.

  * * *

  Anne462: At first it was difficult to fit the pendant in the little slot on the top of the globe for replenishing. But now that I’ve got the hang of it, my life is changed. New job. New car. New love. And the little fairy almost looks real!

  * * *

  Richman12: When my wife bought this, I thought she was crazy. Then we won the lottery.

  * * *

  Theo scrolled back up to the picture of the Lavender fey in the globe. The fairy stood on tiptoe with her hands wrapped around the stalk as though she were taking in the scent of the flower. Theo enlarged the picture. The fey seemed content, almost serene—except for her eyes. They were open wide, as they might be if one were frightened or in mid-scream.