Remnants of Magic (The Sidhe Collection (Urban Fantasy))

by S. Ravynheart

  In this moment… In his Touch… In this kiss…

  She loved him.

  Loved him as she’d never loved another in the whole of her existence. Loved him with all her heart, all her soul, all her body, and all her will.

  And in this moment she desired nothing more than to love him like this forever. Uncomplicated and in totality.

  When he broke the simple kiss the magic ceased to flow. His hand remained upon her face though. The warmth of his breath washed over her skin. His blue eyes, as bright and clear as a summer sky, captured her and she couldn’t have looked away from them if she’d tried. “Now, you shall take me to the Sidhe.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. For him, she would do anything.

  He spoke to her, his voice warm and deep and hypnotic. “If you are loyal, if you are truthful with me in all things, if you are willing to bear my secrets to your grave, then shall I consider becoming your patron. This is no light thing, not for you and not for me. You must prove yourself before I grant such a commitment.”

  London thought she might die from the joy of that. Or collapse into weeping at the mercy of his grace. Far, far away in the recesses of her soul something panged with uncertainty, but it was lost almost immediately with the wave of relief and hope.

  The Sidhe cast a glance back at Selena. “I shall accept your charge as my companion, as long as she remains faithful to me, and provide her with what protection I am able.”

  Could it be? Did he actually agree to take her on? London stared at him, stunned. She barely heard Selena as the vampire told him, “Good. Then if I learn anything that might be worth your blood in trade, I shall contact you through London.”

  “I have no doubt that you will.” He hefted a battle axe from the vanity. Somehow it didn’t seem out of place in his hand. The Sidhe opened the door and gave her a flourished bow. “Shall we away, my lady?”

  London shot Selena one last look, getting nothing but a cheeky finger wave from the vampire, before she slipped out of the room ahead of the Sidhe.

  Chapter Five

  It was impossible that she loved this man she’d just met. She didn’t even know his name, for crying out loud. The things that he’d said, and the way he’d made her feel, left her tongue-tied all the way back downstairs. Across from the bottom of the steps, Trent watched them from behind the bar. Or rather, he watched the Sidhe.

  London reached for the gun that hung under her blazer before she even thought twice. Vampires moved wicked fast, and she’d probably miss him if he charged. Nonetheless, she drew her weapon. Heedless of the fact that he could kill her with a single well-placed strike, she moved between the vampire and the Sidhe. London stared down Trent, the serious set of her face daring him to test her resolve.

  “Don’t need to freak out on me, London lass.” Trent dried a glass with a towel, watching not her, but the Sidhe even now. “No way I’m going to give sunshine there any reason to vaporize my ass.”

  Now that was an unprecedented statement. London cut a glance back at the Sidhe, who just grinned pleasantly, not in the least concerned about the predator across the room. Fueled by the adrenaline that hit her bloodstream, she demanded, “Who are you?”

  It was Trent that answered her. “That there is a genuine sun god. Haven’t you ever heard of Lugh?”

  “Lugh?” Was he kidding? The Sidhe were no gods, though they’d been worshiped as such back in the day. She knew the Sidhe were long lived, but that long? And Lugh, crap, he’d been around since before written history, as far as London could recall from half-remembered humanities class. “The Champion of the Sidhe? Is that right?”

  “The very same.” Lugh brushed down her hand, which still brandished her gun. “You have no need of that here, but your concern was indeed noted and appreciated.”

  The brush of his skin against hers sent a rush of heat through her body, and not in the sexual way that she anticipated when it came to the Sidhe. Well, not only in the sexual way. The compliment and gentle treatment startled her not quite as much as it had before, but nearly so. With effort, she reminded herself again that she didn’t truly love him. That was the magic of his Touch.

  Only, the man impressed the crap out of her. “You’re unlike any other Sidhe I’ve even met.”

  “Then I must be the first Seelie you’ve encountered.” Lugh caressed her hair with a single affectionate stroke, and then encouraged her onward with his hand settling to her low back. “Judge us all not by the behavior of my less civilized brethren.”

  Lugh followed her out to her car. She nodded toward the axe. “You want to drop that off someplace?”

  “In due course.” He tucked it away in the back seat before folding himself into her car. Even when she showed him how to push the seat all the way back, his long legs barely fit inside the Honda.

  London settled into the driver’s seat beside him, awkwardly recalling that she’d kidnapped the last Sidhe that rode in her car. Best not to share that tidbit. She’d gone from ‘huntress of the Sidhe’ to probationary ‘companion’ in two days. And that was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? To work for a Sidhe in exchange for the Touch she needed.

  Overcoming the twitter of nerves, London risked looking right at Lugh. Too handsome, as were all the Sidhe, just looking upon him made her feel inadequate and plain. He was out of her league, no doubt about it. In looks, in magic, and in experience. The man was a legend, and somehow he didn’t look horribly out of place in his modern dress and in the undersized car. To cover her awkwardness, London joked, “I thought you used a spear, rather than an axe. One of the treasures of the Sidhe or something. The Spear of Lugh.”

  He smiled tolerantly. “So I have heard. In truth, I have had a great many spears. As with all weapons, the true power lies with the one who wields it.”

  “Makes sense.” She started the engine. “Fair warning… The Unseelie are not going to be all too happy to see me.”

  He laughed, and it was a good laugh. Deep and warm. Sexy as hell, too. “Nor I, quite likely.”

  “I mean it.” She pulled out into traffic, heading back west toward Kilkenny and the fey-only club she barely escaped from. “They will try to kill me.”

  The smile he offered was brilliant. The man was beautiful, and when he smiled he filled her with a sense of wonder that was unnatural. “Yet another thing we have in common.”

  Chapter Six

  The message we’re coming for you drummed in London’s thoughts, but the Unseelie didn’t even need to bother. She was driving right back to them. How brilliant was that? Right up there with half a dozen other boneheaded choices she’d made in recent weeks. That’s what the Sidhe did to her. Muddled her senses, especially her good sense, which was screaming at her louder and louder the closer they drove to the Unseelie stronghold.

  Sure, Lugh had the reputation as an invincible warrior that dated back to the earliest myths of Ireland. Probably, if he meant to protect her, she couldn’t be in safer hands. Right?

  But he didn’t know about her past.

  About a block away from the Glamour Club all London’s concerns about rushing into a deathtrap exploded into a twisted, screaming nightmare with the force of a shotgun at point-blank range. The terror hit her out of the blue, like a hurricane of razor blades slicing into her essence. London stomped on the brake. Fish-tailed to a stop. Then threw the car into reverse and punched the gas.

  All she knew… all she could think… was she had to get out of there!

  Now!

  “Stop!” Lugh’s command startled her from the depths of the black terror, making her hit the brake out of reflex. They’d reversed a couple yards, but already the panic gripped her less. Her whole body trembled. She sucked in each breath as if starved for it, like she’d just barely escaped drowning. Panic-tears scalded her eyes. And against all that visceral fear, the only lifeline she could cling to was the confidence in Lugh’s resonant voice as he told her, “Be still.”

  To her dismay, Lugh climbed out and crossed to
the front of the car. “This is such a bad idea.” London shifted into park, but left the engine running. Even just opening her door and stepping out required an insane amount of determination to at least fake the courage she’d need to back him up.

  Lugh scanned the buildings around them. His attention settled on an upper corner of the building that housed the Glamour Club. In a language that sounded similar to the rolling cadence of Gaelic he murmured something. From the shadows a reply hissed demonically.

  She muttered, “That is so not good.”

  Over his shoulder, Lugh said, “You mentioned not the sluagh.”

  “This didn’t happen last time.” The sluagh? Weren’t they the souls of the damned that could kill with their screams? This was getting better and better all the time. What can I get you with that order of rampaging Unseelie, sir? How about a side order of winged screaming death? “Maybe we should just get away from here. Fast.”

  Ignoring her warning, Lugh started forward. This, London realized, was going to be the problem with working for a Sidhe with a hero complex. In the face of an obvious epic disaster, he was going to charge in armed with nothing but ego. Before she could even voice a protest, someone else beat her to it. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Seelie.”

  Even as Lugh whipped around, ready for an attack, a Glamour in the doorway flickered and dissipated, revealing not one of the Unseelie like London feared, but a wood elf. The shock of recognition struck London almost as forcefully as the dreaded sluagh scream. “Kev?” Not only did this place feel like a nightmare, it seemed to have the power to resurrect the dead. The last time she’d seen this wood elf a Changeling clung to his back with its sword thrust through his chest. She’d been told that he’d died. Apparently, not so much.

  The hatred in the glare he cut toward her said it all. He blamed her for the attack, and probably blamed her for Rico’s death as well. But his demeanor changed as he started toward Lugh. With deference, Kev asked, “You are Seelie Sidhe, are you not?”

  “I am most assuredly.” No mistaking the pride in the straightening of his shoulders.

  Kev launched himself at Lugh, a smile bursting across his face. He embraced the Sidhe with such vehemence, London thought he might knock Lugh over. “Thank the All-Mother! We feared not even one Seelie made it out of the Mounds! Blessed Danu be praised!”

  Lugh laughed, more real and unguarded than he’d been all morning. “So it is true, then? There are Sidhe here? Children, even? To imagine such a thing, Sidhe youths. I feared it was nothing but a ploy. Take me to them.”

  “Before you go charging in to see the Unseelie, there are some things you should know about them.” Kev glared at London. “And about your companion, if you’ll have it.”

  Crap! No! No! No!

  Lugh glanced back at London, as if considering this.

  “Lugh,” she protested, but Kev cut her off.

  The wood elf shifted to block her with his back. With a hand upon Lugh’s shoulder, he whispered urgently, “We should speak in private and away from here. By your leave, my lord.”

  Lugh retrieved the axe from her car before coming around to London. Whatever she thought he was going to do, it wasn’t for him to gather her into his arms and cradle her against his warm body with a compassion so tender that it caught her heart off-guard. So gentle and yet so strong, he wrapped her into him. London’s eyes closed and a prick in her heart brought a sting to her eyes.

  Since the night she’d been first cursed until this day, no Sidhe had shown her the least compassion. She’d made mistakes, and craved forgiveness. She hurt, and longed for understanding. She fought to stay strong when sometimes all she wanted was to fall apart.

  The way Lugh hugged her now… It was like he really cared about her. “Be not afraid. I shall be safe and shall return as soon as I am able.” He stroked her cheek. “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded, but it was a lie.

  “Your need is not acute and I shall return before it becomes so. Return to Dublin. I shall seek you out soon. Trust that this is so.” Even as he stroked her hair once more, London feared that it would be for the last time. As soon as Kev told him about how Rico died or why the Unseelie wanted her dead, her life was probably all over but the screaming.

  Lugh murmured, “Go now. I shall see you safely away.” He guided her into the car. “Fare thee well, London.”

  Reluctantly, she obeyed. Even as Kev glared at her, she had no choice but to comply with Lugh. She turned the car around and in the rear view mirror she saw the pair of them vanish into thin air. Half of her was convinced that she’d never see Lugh again.

  The other half was certain that if she did, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

  Chapter Seven

  Waiting around in the vain hope that Lugh would return, and not in a homicidal mood, wasn’t London’s style. Not when Joe’s offer to get her in good with his patron was still on the table. He’d set up the transportation and paid the admission in advance. All she had to do was show up on time to take the speedboat ride over to the Isle of Man and accept the keys to the rental car he’d prepared for her. The man was a professional, no doubt about it.

  By early evening, London was wandering between the circle of roughly broken stones of Cashtal Yn Ard at the top of a rounded hill. From here she could see the Irish Sea a little ways to the east. More rolling hills cascaded around them, peaceful and clean looking. The sky seemed huge from here, with the clouds arching overhead in the vivid blue sky. The breeze carried the hint of the sharp sea scent that mingled with the open, green smells of the hills. With the ancient and weathered stones of the site guarding the circle, London imagined that she could feel the reverence of this place. As if she could feel the very spirits of her own ancestors around her. For someone like Riley, who meant to evoke those very feelings in his followers, a place like Cashtal Yn Ard made the perfect venue.

  Even with the five hundred Euro price tag, a good thirty or so people milled about the stones, waiting for Riley to begin his presentation. While others absorbed the ambiance of the place, Riley himself worked the crowd, greeting his followers like old mates, pumping hands and kissing cheeks like a politician. London lingered to the side, feigning interest in the texture weathered into the limestone slab jutting up from the ground like a spearhead.

  Joe arrived separately. At first London hadn’t recognized him. Somehow he didn’t seem at all out of place with his scuffed up hiking boots, khaki field shorts, and the threadbare button-down shirt. On a leather cord around his neck he wore a small collection of mystical tokens: an arrowhead, a quartz crystal, a seashell, some kind of old coin, and a couple different pewter pendants of Celtic crosses and pentagrams. The messy hair and stubble completed his look, which implied that he was too preoccupied with his inward spiritual journey to take much notice of his outward appearance. Joe toted a couple camera bags with their straps crisscrossing his chest. Those, along with the expensive camera he used, transformed him neatly into the image of a professional photographer. Now and then Riley posed for a shot, though he tried to make it look natural, just pausing mid-motion until he heard the snap.

  London’s own choice of clothing stemmed from studying Riley’s website. He did like the ladies, especially the ones that had a fey-look, so London crafted her make-up to give her cheekbones a sharper appearance and used eyeliner and false eyelashes to make her eyes appear slightly larger. The contacts she’d bought transformed her irises into an intense and faceted lavender. Her flowing, gossamer skirt fell in scarf-like folds that revealed a lot of leg when she walked. The crochet tunic didn’t do much to hide her halter sports bra nor her bare midriff. She played up the new age image with a chakra stone anklet, low-heel sandals with leather lacing that crisscrossed up her calves, and a leather choker with an eternity knot clasp in the front. Even as Riley chatted up his followers or posed for pictures, his eyes followed her.

  Playing the coy game like a cat, London cast a noticing glance Riley’s way. They made e
ye contact, which she held for a full breath, before sliding her attention away. With that, she’d revealed all the interest that she intended to show initially. She wanted him to pursue her, which gave her the power. Dressed and acting like she was, London even imagined that she felt fey-like— mysterious and unobtainable, yet alluring.

  She didn’t need to wait long. Riley excused himself from the couple who appeared both eccentric and wealthy in their handcrafted and tailored gypsy-peasant costumes of a style more dramatic even than Riley’s own.

  London allowed him to notice her sideways sliding glance that swept up his body in appreciation as he strode toward her. And if she was honest with herself, Riley wasn’t a bad looking chap. He carried off the Renaissance shirt with the lacing up the V-neck and the bright red sash around his waist, with the trailing ends that cascaded down his right leg almost to the knee, with casual class. With his black-Irish coloring, his dark hair and blue eyes made a naturally stunning contrast. Although he shared a wide, infectious smile, London resisted the urge to mirror it. Her smile, like her favor, should be earned. Otherwise, she might as well huddle with the teenage girl groupies that stared after him, twittering amongst themselves, and who screamed and swooned when he gave them a hug. Which he’d done before working the moneymakers of his following.

  Once Riley reached her, his full attention upon her, London couldn’t deny his charisma. No wonder he’d developed such a following. The effect resonated physically. When she raised her eyes to meet his intense stare, she could only hold it for a few seconds, as if looking into his magnetic gaze stopped her heart. So her focus dropped to his chest and the half-hidden pendants on a golden chain. The runic mark etched into a cabochon of amethyst was unsettlingly familiar. Beside the stone, on the same chain, hung a seashell with the triskele symbol of Manannan. Riley’s hand covered the pendants. “You sense their magic.” His voice resonated with power that coiled around her. The enchantment stroked at her soul, coaxing her to submit. Luring her to forget her resistance. Beckoning her to fall into dream-like acceptance.