Undeniable (The Druids Book 1)

by S A Archer

  Hoping that Lugh hadn’t decided to stop by for a visit again, she opened the front door to the building, and led Granger up the stairs to her second floor flat. “I regret that you got caught up in things. It probably is best to just steer clear of me right now. My life tends to be more complicated than strictly necessary.”

  “I can imagine.” He followed her up the stairs, and waited by the door while she unlocked her flat. “With the friends you keep, I wouldn’t expect it to be any other way.”

  “They meant only to protect me,” she turned towards him, reaching to retrieve the bag from him, and leave him at the door. “Please don’t hold that against them. You won’t press charges, will you?”

  Granger gazed at her seriously, but then only asked, “May I come in? Or are you going to leave me out here like this? Bashed up by your boyfriend and unappreciated for my gentlemanly gesture?”

  Biting her lip didn’t help her come up with a good reply to that. “Yeah, come inside. I’ll get you some ice for your face.” She held the door open as he carried in the groceries, and then locked it behind them. One could never be too careful. When she turned back, he’d already set the bag down on the dining table next to her laptop and was beginning to unload it, sorting the things for the refrigerator from the ones destined for the pantry. Her protest didn’t make it past her thoughts. There was nothing in the bag she needed to hide, and to her relief, a casual glance didn’t reveal anything incriminating lying about. She was trying to be good about putting those things away every time she finished with them, as a precaution. Instead, she started moving the items he unloaded into the kitchen where they belonged. “Can I get you a beer?”

  “A beer would be excellent, right about now.” He crossed back into her living room and flopped onto her sofa like this had been an incredibly long day already. “Nice little club you like to hang out in. I wouldn’t have thought of you as much of a dancer.”

  “I’m really not that graceful,” she admitted, bringing him a bag of frozen peas, “but I like the music.” She handed the bag off to him. “Here, that might work better than ice cubes.”

  Taking the bag, he punched it a couple of times to break up the chunks inside so it could better conform to his face. “I want you to know that you make it really hard for me when you hold back information.”

  “Hold back?” She called; back in the refrigerator for the bottle of beer she’d promised him, and getting one for herself.

  As she set his on the coaster and settled onto the chair opposite the coffee table from him, Granger reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and slapped it down, face up, on the table between them. It was the only show of annoyance; that slap. Then he picked up the beer, giving her the chance to look at what he’d laid out.

  London had an uneasy feeling, seeing the colorful poster from the other side of the table, that she knew what it was. When she lifted it quietly to examine, as if there was all that much to study, her heart nearly froze.

  It was the poster for the Fey Bangers, with Malcolm’s face prominently featured and his name emblazoned upon it.

  As she stared at it, Granger said, “Joe and his buddies weren’t there to protect you, were they? You weren’t even planning to go to the club this evening.”

  Silently, she tipped back her bottle, taking a sip to avoid the conversation.

  “They were there to protect Malcolm,” he concluded. “Just like you were, the night the vampire jumped you. Joe isn’t your boyfriend. He’s a co-worker.”

  Still, she didn’t speak. Granger was crawling all over the truth, and there was nothing she could say at this point to steer him away from it.

  “So, Malcolm’s not just any ordinary fey, I take it. He’s a Sidhe.”

  If Granger was fishing, he was doing a heck of a job.

  “Is that his symbol?” Granger asked. “That one that you wear hidden inside your shirt?”

  “No, it’s not,” she said, refolding the poster and setting it aside, as if that small act could tuck Malcolm away from Granger’s notice.

  “Is it his magic that is in your blood? It showed up on the forensics report. What do they call that? Cursed?” He just kept right on talking, like this was just casual observations.

  London folder her arms. “Is this an interrogation?”

  “How is it an interrogation? I’m doing all the talking.” He pulled the frozen bag from his face to fix his cop-gaze on her with all seriousness.

  London picked up her beer and carried it with her as she walked to the window, where she moved aside the curtain, to see who might be out there. Vampire. Granger’s backup. Zombie apocalypse. At this rate, the latter was feeling like an improvement.

  In a moment, she heard him getting up to move in behind her. “How did it happen?” His deep voice rolled all over her, laced with compassion.

  London didn’t want him to be there. Didn’t want for him to play supportive for the sake of some lie to get her to open up to him. As much as she wanted understanding, she couldn’t accept it from him. Half glancing over her shoulder, but not meeting his eyes, she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  His hand closed over her upper arm. “It matters.”

  She turned towards him, finally gazing into his face. His jaw muscles had tightened, and she could tell it did matter to him. Tilting her head, she considered Granger’s expression, and then pointedly glanced to his hand on her arm. “What is it that you are really asking?”

  Granger didn’t release her. Not yet. “Did they do this to you against your will? Or did you ask to be tainted by their magic?”

  Tainted. That one word said it all.

  Quietly, but firmly, she said, “You should go.”

  Granger’s hand dropped away, as if that was answer enough for him. “Why won’t you just tell me everything, so I can do my job?”

  “Your job is to mess up my life,” she said, trying for bantering again, but it was too much the truth to really pass for it. “The fey were the victims. The crimes being committed against them were atrocious. It’s over now and it’ll never happen again. Can’t you just leave it at that?”

  “It’s not over.” Granger dropped the bag of peas on the table by his half empty beer. “Not all of the wizards died in that attack.”

  London stared at Granger. She’d waited as long as she could, before locking the place down and beginning the mission. Lugh had given her two directives. Protect Malcolm. End the wizards.

  She’d known that not everyone had been there that day, but she’d hoped enough had been to bring an end to the organization.

  But she’d heard it before from Lugh. To allow a wizard to live was to allow the torture and death of the fey they encountered. A wizard would never give up the pursuit of power.

  She could barely breathe, as she asked, “What do you mean?”

  Granger turned from her, aggravation stiffening his stride. “As you said, it doesn’t matter.” He unlocked the door and closed it behind him as he left, not giving her another word.

  London followed him to the door. Her fingertips trailed down the wood, wishing she could have gotten more out of him. Then she locked it. She’d have to find her own answers. And if what he said was true, her mission might not truly be over.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Granger leaned back in his chair, his back to his own desk, as he chatted with Patterson and Peyton, both of whom were half-seated on the desk across from him. His pen flipped between fingers, as he chewed over the case. “Putting aside the fact that she’s a woman, London Eyer is our leading suspect for this fey vigilante.”

  “Except that the DNA at the first scene was male,” Patterson smirked. “There was no evidence that she was there, or even involved with that.”

  “There is her
little friend, Malcolm. He’s one of the Sidhe.” He tapped the pen on the arm of the chair, swiveling side to side just a bit as he thought.

  Peyton’s arms were crossed as he said, “Malcolm is just a kid. He’d just recently been abducted, so he wasn’t there as part of some attack. I’ve seen the video, with him and London and that dramatic dive out the window. I’m betting they just happened upon each other in the chaos, and were lucky enough to make it out alive.”

  Granger snorted. “There is no chance that London, a fey-cursed human, ‘accidentally’ took that job at the largest corporation of wizards known just days before a terrorist attack upon it. Not a single bloody chance.” He rolled the pen between his fingers and thumb. “She’s working with someone. Someone powerful. Probably the very bloke that slit Reginald Brightner’s throat.” He pointed the pen to Peyton. “Your background checks on her were clear? No one suspected she was fey-cursed?”

  “I didn’t do her background check. I was only there for her orientation.” He shrugged. “I didn’t get any sense of anything being off with her, though. She seemed focused and professional.”

  A siren blared over the intercom, jarring Granger from his seat. He tossed his pen back into its holder, and beat the others to the status room outside Fletcher’s office. The operators down in the pit below the large screens were scrambling and chatting rapid fire back and forth as Granger came to the railing just above and behind them. He gripped the metal bar, bracing himself for whatever prompted the alert. A blinking red dot over Keswick was announcing the location, and since it would be a few hours to drive there, the choppers were probably already scrambling.

  Fletcher was pulling on his suit jacket as he joined Granger and the others. His voice echoed over the chaos. “Report!”

  One of the technicians turned to call up to them. “Massive release of demonic energy detected. There’s probably a mushroom cloud, it is so massive.” That was, Granger sincerely hoped, an exaggeration.

  Agent Price had slipped closer to the railing between Granger and Fletcher. “Dylan Eldridge has property in that area.” He paused, and then glanced at them one at a time. “He’s one of the five members of the wizard’s council below Reginald.”

  “Coincidence?” Fletcher muttered.

  “Not likely,” Granger returned. His instincts were blaring.

  “Stranger things have happened,” Patterson murmured, standing close behind him.

  Price glanced towards him. “But, demonic energy?”

  “Gear up,” Fletcher called out to them. “Whatever it is, get to the bottom of it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  London sat on the chair, and even with her knees bending up hard like she was sitting on a kindergartner’s chair, it was better than crouching or kneeling. The dwarf inspected the compass with his jeweler’s glass, making some fine adjustments that she couldn’t see. “This will track the energy from broken fragments of fey magic. Those will always belong to wizards, you see? So this will lead you to their magic abominations, guiding you to them.”

  “Yes, I see,” she agreed. That was what she needed; something to give her a lead on where to find those villains. They needed to die, each and every one of them.

  Every wizard that lived…

  The vision of the fey in cages; missing eyes and fingers. Fairies without wings. Brownies missing their teeth. It had been the beginning of the cruelty. Eventually they would be outright killed to harvest their organs, like their kin before them.

  And they’d had Malcolm.

  Never again. She would never allow that to happen again. Not to Malcolm. Not to any of the Sidhe.

  The dwarf handed her the compass, and at the moment it seemed broke, not finding a direction to point to. “You will need to be within a certain distance for this to pick up the magic signal. The more magic in a concentrated area, the stronger the pull. If there are multiple sources, it will point to the most powerful, but flick now and then toward the lesser ones, so don’t get confused.”

  “Right,” she agreed. “And the enchantment won’t work for a normal human?”

  “It will work regardless. The object itself is enchanted, not pulling from you to activate it.” The dwarf closed the lid, and handed it over to London.

  Her fingers glided over the raised design on the cover; a mountain. An image that held meaning for the dwarves that often lived in them, even if this particular one was living in Belfast. She tucked it into her pocket. “Do I owe you anything for it?”

  He waved her off. “You work for the Sidhe.” He tapped her symbol with his stubby fingertip. “There is no price for the protection the Sidhe give to the fey and that you give in their name. No loyal fey would take a gold coin from you. It would imply that you are failing in your role to protect the fey, and your patron is failing in his service and employment of you. Please, understand, it is an insult to even ask or offer.”

  She smiled. “I’m new to this concept.” It wasn’t the first time that she’d heard that, but it was still taking some getting used to. Not all fey would feel this way, the goblins and Changelings most notably, but those that reverenced the Sidhe as their ruling class would agree with this sentiment.

  London shook the dwarf’s hand, at least giving him that much of a gesture of thanks. “I appreciate this, and you can be assured I will put it to good use.”

  “I know you will.” He lifted a hand, showing her his missing digits. His entire pinkie was gone, two digits from his middle finger and one from his index. “I was there.”

  He’d been one of the dwarves from the Brightner building. She, Peyton, and Malcolm had freed him, and he’d been among those that brought the building crashing down. “I thought you looked familiar.”

  This time, the dwarf gave her a hug. “You do good work.” He patted her on the back. “Keep up the fight.”

  “I promise.” Smiling, she got up to a crouch, and then made her way out the door onto the cobbled alley outside. When the door closed behind her, there was no sign of where the entrance had been at all. It invisibly sealed with the other stones that made up the wall.

  As she turned, the rush of something towards her knocked her completely off her feet and drove her down onto the ground. Not many creatures could move at that speed, but a vampire with the power of a few centuries behind him could. As she reached for her gun, Derek was upon her like a beast. The strike across the jaw sent her head reeling. And the bite into her throat spiraled her into unconsciousness. There wasn’t even the chance to think of a cry for help before she was lost to the blackness.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Granger leaned back in the bucket seat, as the chopper sliced through the air faster than anything that the military currently even had in research. Their department had access to technology and magic beyond anything the average soldier had ever seen. When it banked, they only had the slightest feel of the tilt.

  He buckled the helmet on but left the blast shield up for now. Peyton was across from him, already secured in his gear like a pro. “You experienced with that thing, MI-6?” He smirked a little at the rifle resting on its butt, balanced upright between Peyton’s hands.

  “More than I care to admit.” Price didn’t rise to the bait, sounding all war-weary as he cast his gaze out of the side window. Even with the setting sun, they could still see the mansion they approached, just by the reddish glow radiating off of it. The gages were flickering on the wrist computer strapped to Granger’s forearm. The technology didn’t require the length of his forearm. In truth, it could have fit into the head of a pin. It was just the display that he liked; large enough to show several key indicators simultaneously, and keep a face shot of Fletcher in the upper corner.

  “Better pull out the storm jet,” he said to Fletcher, “Or toss the media some story about the Northern Lights. This one is making
a light show and it’s going to be dark soon.”

  “Scramble the jet,” Fletcher replied, not to Granger, but to the team at the base sitting near him.

  “And I forgot my slicker,” Patterson grumbled. “I hate being wrapped in metal body armor with lightning striking all around.”

  “It’s enchanted not to hit you.” Granger knocked his gloved hand to Patterson’s face shield, which was already flipped down. “More likely we’re going to discover there is some radiation and your nuts are going to shrivel.”

  Peyton snorted, “That would be doing society a favor.” Then he gave Patterson a good-natured wink. “It’s a win-win for everyone.”

  “Laugh it up, mate,” Patterson grumbled. “Your nuts are about to get just as irradiated.”

  Granger chuckled with them, letting the tension break a little, as they hovered over the manicured lawn surrounding the palatial home in the country. ‘Home’ was hardly the word for it. This was a mansion. Being a wizard clearly paid some serious money. Likely, all of it ill-gotten. Enchanters periodically managed to slip through, making billions on the stock market, but they usually caught them and brought that to an end pretty quickly. Other private businesses were harder to manage. Who could say if success was from a high degree of business savvy and luck, or if it was magic-born cheating? It wasn’t just about a sense of fairness, although that was a factor. It wasn’t just about the stability of society and business, although that was something to consider as well. No, mainly, it was about keeping non-human terrorist from building the wealth to get away with whatever diabolical plan they were scheming.