Agent of Enchantment (Dark Fae FBI Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  “It won’t do long-term damage,” she said. “I’ll need to break the tip to remove it.”

  He nodded, his jaw clenched tight. The arrow had gone clean though his back, the arrowhead jutting out his front, the rest protruding from his back. His blood drenched the shaft, and a trickle of blood ran down his bare skin to his pants. Crimson drops of blood stained the snow.

  Elrine pulled the tip, trying to force the arrow forward so she could break it off. But her hands were still shaking. She’d been severely weakened by her imprisonment, and terror still coursed through her blood.

  Roan gritted his teeth, completely silent. Her fingers slipped on the blood, her grip weak.

  “Maybe Cassandra should do it,” Roan finally said, through clenched teeth.

  Elrine raised an eyebrow. “The pixie?”

  “She’s a lot tougher than she looks.”

  “I think I look tough enough,” I muttered as I knelt by his side. “This will hurt like hell.”

  He met my gaze. “Do it.”

  I wedged the cat o’ nine tails into my quilted shoulder bag as best I could. Then I gripped the arrow and pulled it forward. The shaft scraped his muscles as I pulled it a few inches out, and he hardly moved, his face strained. Finally, I could see enough of the shaft to break the thing. Gripping it with my left hand, I clutched the tip in my right hand and forced it down. I could feel the arrowhead’s edges biting into my skin, but I ignored the pain. It was only a fraction of what Roan was feeling. Finally, with a snap, I broke off the tip.

  “Nearly done,” I whispered, rising to walk around to his back. With my left hand bracing around the entry wound, I pulled hard on the arrow. It took several tugs until I pulled the shaft from his body. I saw his shoulders sag with relief. He was probably full of splinters, but I didn’t get the impression that would be much of a problem for him, as long as they were wood and not iron.

  Roan clutched his gut, trying to stem the bleeding. “We don’t have much time. Do you think you can find the way back to the cabin?”

  I focused for a moment, picturing the way we had taken in the darkness. “Yeah, I can. But I don’t think we should split—”

  “I don’t care what you think,” he growled, before his eyes softened again. “I’m bleeding, and the hounds will easily follow the scent. I won’t let them get to Elrine. A tribe of elder fae live in these forests, and they will help me deal with the pursuit. Then I’ll join you at the cabin.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I’ve survived out here for five hundred years. I’m not going to die now.”

  My eyes widened. “Five hundred years?” Okay, I didn’t have time to contemplate his age now. I glanced at my palm, at the blood oozing from it. Pain pulsed through my hand. The arrow tip had cut deeper than I thought.

  Roan frowned at my wound. “You’re bleeding as well.”

  Elrine craned her neck to see beyond the trees. “We have to go.” From far away, I could hear the barking of hounds, and the hair rose on the back of my neck. I didn’t like to think of myself as easily scared, but aggressive dogs terrified me.

  I had to staunch this bleeding.

  I dropped to my knees, gripping the end of Elrine’s ragged gown. “I hope you didn’t like this dress.”

  “You must be joking.”

  I tore a strip from the bottom, then tied the cloth around my palm, binding it tightly, to minimize the bleeding. Roan did nothing to staunch his own bleeding, but he stood, clutching his gut. He seemed transfixed by me, his body still glowing with that pale amber. Even now, he seemed to be drawing energy from me.

  “You came back for us,” he said hoarsely.

  “I’m not an asshole.” I wasn’t gonna tell him how close I’d come to running.

  He nodded. “Don’t stop until you get to the cabin.” He turned, and ran from us, his movements so fast I could hardly track them. I took a shaky breath.

  “Cassandra, we have to go now,” Elrine pleaded.

  I was shivering hard in the cold. “Come on.”

  We took off in a fast run for the cabin, though not even half the speed that Roan had been running. We did our best to avoid any patches of snow, minimizing our footsteps. Any mediocre tracker could follow us, but hopefully they’d be too focused on Roan’s trail. I pumped my arms hard, my breath burning in my throat.

  After ten minutes, Elrine began to lag behind. I turned and gripped her hand. She froze for a moment, staring at me.

  “Being touched by a pixie is unnerving.”

  I wondered what sort of feelings she fed off of, but it seemed too personal a question to ask someone I had just met.

  My teeth chattering, I hugged myself. “We still have a long way. Can you make it?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said, her eyes intense. Apparently, she was also a lot tougher than she looked.

  I broke into a sprint again, occasionally pulling Elrine along by her hand. Her grip was weak in mine, fingers still trembling, and I wondered how long she had been in that prison, and what she’d endured there. To my relief, my clothes seemed to be drying as we ran, my body warming them up. After twenty minutes, Elrine stumbled, falling to her knees. I crouched down, helping her up.

  “Just a little more,” I lied, smiling encouragingly.

  She smiled back, a weak, pained grin. And we kept going.

  Chapter 28

  The door slammed against the wall as we stumbled into the dark cabin, Elrine barely conscious, me at the end of my strength. She lay on the floor, her ginger hair fanning out on the hard wood. With labored, wheezing breaths, she clutched her chest, while I scrambled around, searching for matches. I found a matchbox on a rough-hewn table, next to a copper lantern. I struck a match, lighting the half-melted candle in the lantern. Warm light glowed over the cottage’s rounded walls and arched boughs.

  More lanterns hung from the tree in the center of the room, and I lit those, then turned back to Erline.

  She still lay on the floor, shivering uncontrollably.

  “Come on.” I knelt down, scooping my arm under her back to help her up. “Let’s get to the fireplace.”

  She let out a whimper. Pleading and cajoling, I finally managed to drag her to the hearth. A pile of wood lay next to the fireplace, and next to it, to my relief, a small copper lighter. Whatever his opinion of human technology, Roan embraced our fire-starting implements. I quickly stacked a pyramid of logs, with some smaller branches underneath that I ignited with the lighter. The flames caught quickly, and the crackling of burning wood was music to my ears.

  I pulled off my shoulder bag, plopping down on the hearth. Elrine sat by my side, and the heat from the fire slowly thawed the deep chill in my body. I pulled the soft brown blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around Elrine’s shaking shoulders. I envied her the warmth of the blanket, but the grateful look she shot me made it worth it.

  In the wavering firelight, my eyelids began to droop. Both of us were too spent to move or speak.

  But I couldn’t sleep yet—not when I was worried about Roan. And somewhere in the back of my mind, another Cassandra, the one who worked for the FBI, began intruding on my calm, reminding me about the damn serial killer. Oh, and my fugitive status in London. What would I be returning to when I went through that portal?

  Elrine’s stomach grumbled, snapping me out of my looming anxiety attack.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  As she stared into the fire, her violet eyes looked glazed. “Starving. Thirsty, too.”

  “I think he keeps some dried meat and bread somewhere.” I rose.

  “He does.” She pointed to an archway in the back of the cottage, covered in leafy branches. “There’s a pantry through there.”

  I crossed to the oak tree in the center of the room and plucked a lantern from its boughs, then approached a closed door in the archway. I turned the knob and the door opened onto a small room lined with rough wooden shelves, each stacked with jars of dried meat and fruit—s
ome stored grain. A row of glasses stood next to a few corked bottles, which instantly drew my attention. Wine? I held it up to the lantern, watching the light filter through a gold liquid—the same color as the claret I’d had before.

  I looped my wrist through the top of the lantern, then tucked the bottle under one arm and the dried meat under the other. I grabbed three glasses, optimistic that Roan would be here at any moment.

  But before I turned to leave, I paused. Something in here nagged at the back of my mind. I wasn’t sure what it was. A smell? A noise? I stood in place, trying to focus, but could hear nothing but the crackling of fire in the next room, and I smelled only the vernal, woody scent of the cabin. I scanned the tiny space again, but found nothing amiss.

  Pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind, I left the pantry, closing the door behind me with the tips of my fingers.

  As I drew closer to the fireplace, warmth washed over me. I plopped down by Elrine’s side. She turned to smile at me, her eyes sleepy, and she wrapped the soft blanket around my shoulders.

  “What a banquet,” she said.

  “I figured the wine would wash down the meat nicely.” I grinned.

  She shrugged. “Compared to what we had to eat in the prison, dried meat is a delicacy.”

  I handed her the jar, and she opened it. Within seconds, she’d devoured an entire piece. I filled two of the glasses with the golden wine, its aroma intoxicating. I handed one to Elrine, and took the other, sipping. It tasted sublime; a bittersweet, rich taste with a slightly fruity tinge. Even better than Leroy’s wine. As we cozied up by the fire, I pulled a strip of dried meat from the jar, nibbling on it. I felt strangely at home here. Despite the trauma of the whole prison experience, I felt like I could happily stay in this little cottage for a while.

  The dancing flames entranced me, and Elrine and I lapsed into silence. But I couldn’t quite relax without knowing where Roan was.

  “Do you think Roan will be okay?” I asked.

  Elrine arched an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? Yes. He’s tougher than he looks, too.”

  Okay then. I had to wonder at the relationship between these two, but I didn’t want to just come out and ask it. And in any case, it really had nothing to do with me. “How long have you known him?”

  “Since childhood.” She sipped her drink. “So, five centuries. When he was imprisoned, I did what I could to help him.”

  Interesting. “Right.” I did my best to hide my curiosity. “I suppose he needed all the help he could get. Considering the circumstances.” Subtle, Cassandra. Very subtle.

  “Yes. If it weren’t for Roan’s connections with the elder fae, I think the king would have let him rot in prison until death.”

  “The elder fae.” I sipped another sip, looking away. A classic psychologist’s trick—just reflect back a bit of what your client is saying to you. Make them think you understand.

  “Of course. As the last Taranis, he was the only one they’d listen to…” She glanced at me shrewdly. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

  “I know all about the elder fae,” I bluffed.

  Elrine laughed, a sound like glass bells tinkling in the wind. “I like you, Cassandra.” Her face grew serious. “And how do you come to be in Trinovantum?”

  I took a deep breath. I hardly even knew where to begin, and I wasn’t sure how much I should tell her. “Roan and I were investigating the same murder. And I ended up chasing a lead into this city.”

  She nodded slowly. “Impressive. Most pixies wouldn’t have made it as far as you did.”

  I felt an odd flicker of pride.

  “And you and he…” She swirled her drink in her glass. “You are lovers?”

  “Of course not!”

  “I don’t know why you look so horrified. After what I saw earlier, I assumed you’d fallen for the Taranis charms.”

  I cleared my throat. “So. He charms a lot of women, then?”

  “You’ve seen him. What do you think?”

  “Right.” I frowned, staring into the fire again. What did I care who Roan charmed? I needed to get back to the human world and leave this place far behind.

  We fell into a comfortable silence again, and after a few minutes, Elrine’s head began to droop. She lay her glass down, and crawled up to the fur-lined sofa. As she curled up, closing her eyes, I draped the blanket over her. Her ginger hair contrasted beautifully with the green fabric.

  I considered laying down on the floor by the fire to sleep, but something was still nagging at the back of my mind. I crossed my arms, staring into the fire, and the idea sparked in my mind.

  It had been a reflection. That’s what I’d sensed back in the pantry. My magic had felt it, even if I hadn’t seen it anywhere. I got up and picked up the lantern. As I crossed back into the pantry, I raised the light, casting a soft glow around the room. Dusty jars of food, wine, glasses, empty shelves… nothing.

  I closed my eyes, trying to attune my mind to the reflection, feeling for its location.

  After a few moments, I felt a tug in my belly like a cord pulling me to the right. Opening my eyes, I turned in its direction, staring at a rough wooden wall. My body seemed in tune with something just beyond that wall.

  I put my hand against the rough wood. If this were an exterior wall, it should have been a lot colder. And yet, when I racked my mind for the cottage layout, I couldn’t envision a room beyond this wall.

  I ran the light over the walls, pausing at a dark smudge. Someone had touched this spot often. I lay my hand on it, and then pushed. It clicked, and the wall swung open, revealing a dark room, a bit larger than the pantry.

  I walked in, shining the light around what looked like a rustic storage room, until it shone over a bare wooden box on a desk. I crossed to the table, my heartbeat racing. Clearly, I shouldn’t be in here. I was snooping. This was Roan’s house, and he was clearly a very private man, and I had no business rifling through his things.

  Was this—as Roan would argue—because I was drawn to my own adrenaline like a drug?

  I pushed my reservations aside and pried open the box, revealing a hand mirror, a delicate emerald necklace, and a ring. Who did those belong to?

  None of my business, of course. I had a feeling Roan would murder me if he came back to find me prying through some woman’s jewelry in his house, and yet… I kept shining that light around the room.

  The pale blue light glinted off a row of knives hanging from the wall, which sent a shiver of apprehension up my spine. The little circle of light swerved over a long rope and grapple, a few lethal-looking hooks.

  I shone it over a set of shelves, lined with books and papers, a quill and some ink. Listening for the sounds of Roan’s arrival, I crossed to the shelves. Why would he go through all the trouble of hiding a storage room behind a secret wall?

  Pulling one of the papers from the shelves, I glanced at it, and my pulse quickened. It seemed to be a map of our surroundings, with the cabin marked in brown ink, and the nearby prison marked with deep pen strokes, so emphatic they’d almost pierced the page. On the far west of the map, he’d drawn something that looked like city walls, and I was pretty sure this was the walled city of Trinovantum. He’d marked the nearby river on the map in blue, and it seemed to flow from west to east.

  I bit my lip, studying the map. To the northeast of the prison, he’d drawn a grove of trees, one larger than the rest. In the center of the large tree, he’d drawn a circle. And I couldn’t say how I knew, but I was certain this was the portal. This was my ticket out of the city. The warden had said there was a portal to the east of the prison, hadn’t he? He’d spoken the truth.

  I studied the map for a few more moments, considering my route to the portal. Really, I just had to follow the river until it reached a sharp northward bend, then it looked like ten miles to the north.

  I replaced the map before turning to a leather journal. Now this was something I really shouldn’t snoop in.

  But I
wasn’t here as Roan’s friend. I was an FBI agent, investigating a murder. Be courteous, and be prepared to kill everyone you meet.

  So I had trust issues.

  I opened the journal, and when I did, the air rushed out of my lungs.

  On the first page, Roan had drawn a woman, and the familiarity of her face stopped my heart. It was a perfect rendition of my features. On the side, he’d scribbled some text, but I couldn’t decipher the language. It didn’t look like the Ogham letters I had seen before. I flipped the page. The next page was just text, in the same language. The page after it was the same.

  My mouth went dry as I turned the pages to find newspaper clippings—all about the serial killer. Pictures of crime scenes, descriptions of the murders.

  I flipped the page to find a newspaper clipping of a gruesome murder scene—a different one, and my hands shook, my knees going weak. The picture stole my breath…

  It was a picture of my mother’s bedroom, after my father had killed her and then turned the knife on himself. The article described how Martha Liddell’s husband, Horace Liddell, had stabbed his wife to death while their thirteen-year-old daughter, Cassandra, hid in the next room.

  I’d hidden in the next room like a coward, listening to my mother scream. Those painful, primal memories slammed at the bars of their cages.

  The world seemed to tilt under my feet as I read the short article over and over. Roan had written annotations in the corners of the article, in that same strange language. The paper was yellow and worn with age. With shaking hands, I folded the paper and shoved it into my shoulder bag.

  He knew about me. He knew what my father had done, knew that I’d hidden in my bedroom, unwilling to help my mother as Horace had stabbed her again and again…

  I wanted to be sick. All those memories I’d caged in my mind, the wild prisoners of shame and grief, ripped through their prison bars.

  Through a blur of tears, I caught glimpses of more clippings. An interview with me in the Boston Globe from years ago, pictures of me arresting a murderer.