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

by S. Ravynheart

  London leaned toward Lugh. “Is there something I should know?”

  “Jonathan is a formidable man. It amuses Sean whenever people meet him for the first time. Although, I doubt if Sean knows the fullness of Jonathan’s secret.” Lugh saluted Sean from across the tavern with his tankard, waiting until the bartender turned away before sharing in a whisper, “Jonathan is a dragon.”

  “A dragon?” London hissed back. “As in a for-real dragon? Dragons are fey?”

  “Dragons are not fey. And don’t let him hear you call him that, or he might eat you.” He smirked. “And not in a fun way.”

  “Lovely,” she murmured, tipping back her drink and figuring that she needed it.

  Within a scant few minutes the door to the tavern opened and two extraordinarily opposite men entered the establishment. The first would’ve dwarfed even Lugh. The dark featured Goliath that ducked through the doorway easily topped seven feet. Not even his leather trench coat could disguise his mass of muscles. And when he smiled, his lion-like fangs would’ve put a werewolf to shame.

  Squeezing in past him slipped a wide-eyed, slender chap who might only come up to the dragon’s elbow if he stood on his tiptoes. Dressed in a simple flannel shirt, tan slacks, and tweed driving cap, he might have blended in among the humans, if not for the overly wide fey grin and the poorly hidden pointed ears. A Scribe, like the one from the website. He clutched a small leather satchel in his thin arms like it contained all his prized possessions. But at the sight of Lugh the small fey came rushing at him and launched himself into the Sidhe’s arms. “Why didn’t you wait for us to come for the artifacts yesterday? I have been twisted inside out with worry!”

  “Merely matters to attend to, and no offense meant.” Lugh embraced the smaller man briefly.

  Not taking him at his word, the fey cupped his thin hands on either side of Lugh’s face and stared at him. His large eyes flicking about as he searched for something. “What is wrong with your eyes? Is it the Fade?”

  She knew it.

  Something was off with Lugh, and this Scribe saw it, too.

  Rather than answer, Lugh caught the fey’s wrists and drew his hands firmly away from him, offering a stiff smile by way of easing the harshness of his reaction. “Gentlemen, may I present London, my companion and druiditic initiate.”

  London tried not to cringe under the direct gaze of the man she knew to be a dragon in a human form, but failed. She could well believe that such a man might chomp people’s heads off if he took the notion. Even as he pinned her with his gaze, she could see the flame in his eyes. Like actual flame, not merely a reflection.

  “And this is Jonathan,” Lugh gestured to the dragon first and then to the Scribe, “and Willem.”

  Willem reached across the table and shook London’s hand with two firm pumps, like he was unused to the custom, and so performed it with an awkward formality. “I was, of course, the Master Scribe for the beloved and departed All-Mother of the Tuatha de Dannan and former apprentice of Master Scribe Tiberius Laven Davort of the Illustrious Archives in Tír na nÓg. Loyal servant and companion to The Shining One and Champion of the Sidhe on his soon to be legendary quest to restore the glorious, and essential, fey realm.”

  Jonathan snorted, “Have no doubt that epic songs are already being penned.”

  “Have no doubt at all!” Willem agreed with all seriousness. And then with a half nod and a dismissive wave to Jonathan, he added, “And he’s the Dragon Champion.”

  As Jonathan claimed the seat to the other side of Lugh, Willem dropped into the chair beside London. He clutched his satchel in his lap with one arm and then grabbed up his tankard of Guinness and drank a hearty gulp. With a lick of his lips and a contented sigh, he thunked the container back down. “So you’re a druidic initiate? I believed that vocation to be out of fashion.”

  “Uh, I guess I am. I’m sort of a probationary companion while I prove myself. I’ve been enchanted,” she admitted in a whisper. “But, I’m actually a private investigator.”

  Willem patted her wrist in a there-there manner. “Not enchanted. Unseelie say ‘enchanted.’ Any old thing can be enchanted. An old weather-beaten bucket with a hole in it can be enchanted. You’ve been captivated. Isn’t that a much nicer way to put it?”

  “When you put it that way…” she winced.

  “Do you have a gun?” Willem blinked up at her. “I have a gun, but Jonathan stashed it away until I learn to wield it properly. Only, he refuses to instruct me.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” she said, giving his wrist the there-there pat.

  From his jacket pocket, Lugh withdrew a folded sheet of paper. He passed it on to Willem, who smoothed it open onto the tabletop. The printout showed the picture of the historian London had found on the Internet. Lugh asked him, “Are you acquainted with this Scribe commonly known as Quinn Cuidightheach?”

  With a focused intensity, Willem studied the picture and every word upon the page as though gathering every iota of data. His fingers traced the scrollwork design that decorated the border of the website and had been partially printed along the edge of the page before the bottom edge cut it off. Distractedly, he observed, “I don’t recognize the penmanship nor the illuminations.”

  “I printed that from online,” London explained.

  Willem’s large eyes lifted to hers, brows pushed together, uncomprehending.

  Jonathan interrupted the Scribe’s questioning stare, “The typeface and embellishments weren’t handwritten. Ignore them and focus on the content, not the presentation.”

  With a nod, the Scribe reconsidered the printout. “The byname is familiar. The Cuidightheach familial line served Cerridwen for millenia, but left the mounds when she departed, some decades ago.” Willem whispered in an aside to London, “Cerridwen quarreled with the All-Mother over her choice in the Seelie succession. King Manannan was terribly unpopular.”

  “With so many Sidhe departing the Mounds, you would expect to find them somewhere on the surface, wouldn’t you?” Jonathan asked, his question posed to Lugh.

  “I have searched their temples and palaces, such as I have known, and posed inquiries to the lesser fey tribes I encounter, but still they appear to have vanished.” Lugh’s voice held a wistful pain. He reached across and touched the image on the printout. “London believes this Scribe possesses a collection of the artifacts we seek. I want you, Willem, to come and speak with him about entrusting them to us.”

  “An adventure! Yes, of course! I am your man, sir!” Willem brightened, and then added to London, “I am a very accomplished adventurer. This shan’t be my first quest.”

  “Only your second,” Jonathan teased, but Willem waved for him to hush. The dragon raised his empty tankard toward the bartender, who obligingly brought him another.

  In the corner as they were, with the noise of the telly by the bar to cover their conversation, no one at the table seemed terribly concerned about avoiding the discussion of all things magical even in this human establishment. But when Sean glanced around to see if anyone else wanted anything, his gaze fell upon Willem and paused before he turned and walked away. She knew what he’d seen. London twisted toward the Scribe. “Willem?”

  When he lifted his face toward her, she brushed his hair with her fingers to disguise his slightly oversized and pointed ears. The Scribe’s face flushed bright pink and his large eyes widened even more. “Um… Uh…” He blinked and gulped hard at the same time.

  Jonathan chuckled, nudging Lugh, “Your companions are flirting.”

  Now London blushed. “His ears were showing.”

  “Mmmhmm.” And London couldn’t tell if the dragon’s smirk was a tease or serious.

  “I expect to return Willem to your continued hospitality before long.” Lugh gestured for London and Willem to precede him out of the booth. “If London’s scrying is accurate, we should have several more artifacts by then.”

  “London.” Jonathan waved her closer. “Let’s exchange n
umbers, in case it is needed. These fey have no appreciation for technology.”

  The Scribe beamed. He measured a space between his outstretched arms. “Jonathan has a scrying mirror as big as a whole wall!”

  “Ninety-inch flat screen with high-definition 3D and digital surround sound, no less.” Jonathan gave her a wink.

  Chapter Five

  As usual, Lugh folded his arms and stared out of the window whenever London chauffeured him anywhere. His grave dislike of the ‘auto’ as a mode of transportation showed with each kilometer they traveled. “If you’d rather teleport, you don’t have to stick to using the car on my account.”

  Willem leaned as far between the front seats as he could while still wearing his seatbelt. “He can’t. Neither of us should. Not with the Fade upon us.”

  London glanced over at Lugh, who steadfastly watched the scenery flowing by with the same distracted stare as one might watch a fire crackling in a fireplace. “You’re sick?

  “Not sick,” Willem explained, almost as likely to speak as to breathe. “Fading. We all are. The fey. Without the Mounds to renew us.”

  “Oh.” She focused on the road ahead. Mind reaching for the months ahead. To the idea of all fey Fading. To the Sidhe vanishing from the world. To the serious hurting she’d be in without them. “And that’s what this mission is about? Stopping the Fade?”

  “Indeed.” Willem folded his arms so his elbows propped on the backs of the bucket seats before him and his chin rested on his forearms.

  “Hum.”

  “Why did you ‘hum’ about that?”

  “The Unseelie don’t conserve their magic. They throw it around without any trouble. And they’re not sick.”

  Willem twisted toward Lugh. “You’ve seen the Unseelie?”

  “I have not.” Lugh stated flatly.

  “I was enchanted by one,” London explained. “I mean, captivated.”

  “That’s so strange.” Willem wondered aloud, “Nothing could replace a link to a true source of magic, but perhaps they’ve found a temporary respite.” Now it was his turn to make a thoughtful ‘hum.’ “A well of magic, perhaps? Such as one within which Crom cast his dark magic? But a well stagnates rather quickly, making the dark magic poisonous, as well as dangerous. Perhaps the Unseelie, with their darker proclivities, could endure longer against the influence before succumbing, but eventually they would, I should think.” He paused as he considered this. “Were these Unseelie terribly feral? Vicious and violent?”

  “Some more than others,” she agreed.

  “That must be it, then. Some dark store of magic sustains them. But that wouldn’t last forever, nor help the rest of the fey. Only a new realm can save us all.”

  “How are these artifacts going to help create an entire realm?”

  In the rearview mirror she saw Willem shrug. “This is part of the quest, to discover the secret that perished with Danu. The mystery of how she wove such magic as to spawn the Mounds.”

  “How close are you to creating this realm?”

  “As close as we can be,” he sighed. “And yet no closer than when we began. There is some secret we’re lacking. Some key ingredient we’ve yet to discover.”

  London glanced over at Lugh, looking cramped and uncomfortable, yet knowing the legends of him. This champion, this hero of the Sidhe, questing always to save his people. Noble and determined, and yet giving and gentle with her like no Sidhe she’d ever known.

  But the wear of the stress showed on him. It couldn’t be easy, carrying the weight of the world when you were sick and possibly dying. Even with Willem and Jonathan to help him, Lugh bore the brunt of the burden. It had to be horrible. She couldn’t imagine what state she’d been in if all of humanity counted on her to save it. With her luck, they’d all be doomed, no doubt.

  Even if she’d not needed his Touch to survive, she’d respect the hell out of him. He was a big-picture kind of guy. And she was just getting her first glimpses. “You think if the Unseelie understood how important this quest is that they might help you?”

  “Unlikely,” Willem answered instead. “Not if they partake of the dark enchantment. They would care for little else but their own lusts. Even the most noble Sidhe would forget himself in the black haze.”

  “Enough.” Lugh glared at Willem. “If you must speak, speak of something else.”

  Undeterred, Willem stared at Lugh. He breathed, “Your eyes.”

  London glanced over and saw the dark stains beneath Lugh’s eyes in the bright sunlight. They had a purple, black bruised appearance. Darker even than they’d appeared that morning. His irises were midnight blue, deeper than the winter blue that she first recalled.

  Lugh turned away from them, back to the window. “Just fatigued. Trouble me not with such speculation of the Unseelie.”

  In the mirror, London glanced at the Scribe. At how he watched Lugh with his brows pushed together. At the frown on the wide mouth more accustomed to grins. The fey wasn’t hurt by the Sidhe’s snappishness, nor by the way he’d turned his back to them, but rather concerned.

  Chapter Six

  Even with the streams of sunlight angling in the long windows, the shadows inside the museum seemed particularly dark and foreboding. Each footstep echoed with the hollow whispers of a place that felt abandoned. But she knew secrets hid within, like a magician’s storeroom. Perhaps it only seemed that way because she’d come to suspect curtains of Glamour or enchanted mysteries whenever she dealt with the fey. Even though they lived in the ‘real’ world, there was always something of the ‘otherworld’ about the fey. A foreignness that somehow didn’t fully mesh with reality as most humans knew it.

  Lugh waited for them outside, sending in the Scribe and London alone. Once they’d gone several paces down the main hallway, Willem’s hand covered London’s forearm, giving a slight squeeze until she stopped and looked down at him. He wasn’t terribly shorter than her, given that she was on the petite side herself. Those wide eyes of his, with their changeable hazel coloring appeared more intense with the fracture of green and blue hues. It would be easy to dismiss him as childlike, if one judged only by appearance, except the intensity with which he stared at her now was anything but naive. “How long has he been corrupted?”

  The question made her blink. “Corrupted?”

  “With the darkness.” His gaze shifted, searching her face for his answers.

  London thought back. To the disquiet she’d felt. To the shift in Lugh’s mannerisms. “Yesterday, before he went to visit the wood elves, he was different. Brighter, I guess. More…” She reached for a better term, “civilized.” Glancing back through the glass of the front door, she watched Lugh as he leaned on the hood of the car, face upturned toward the sun. “When he returned, he was changed. A little more aggressive. Darker.”

  “The beast has been roused.” Willem’s fingers tightened on her arm. “The eclipse is coming.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” London raised her hands in surrender. “Great! This is just great! Can’t anything just go my way for once? But, no. It’s always something more.” Pacing, she started in, “It’s not enough to get cursed by the Sidhe. It’s not enough to get caught up in the craziness of your politics and your problems. I’m trying here, I really am.” She thumped her palm to her chest with emphasis. “But signing on with a Seelie was supposed to solve my problems, not complicate things more. Not bring on eclipses or rouse beasts. I don’t even know what that means, but I know this much; my life has been nothing but a mess since the Sidhe first crossed my path, and getting worse by the minute. Mr. Sunshine out there was my first ‘ray of hope,’ and now you’re telling me that he’s going to go all bonkers on me?”

  “You think this is about you?” Willem snatched her wrist with more strength than she would have expected from him. “Or about me? Or even about Lugh? It’s not!”

  “Then what is it about?”

  His grip released. “People think that Scribes hide in our libraries with our b
ooks and that we know nothing of the wider world, but that’s not true. We know more than you’d suspect. We see what weaves us all together in the greater tapestry. We know how threads of lives and magic knot together. Nothing just randomly happens.” He waited until she met his intense gaze. “I am telling you this: You are here at this place and upon this hour for a reason. We all have a part to play, whether we want it or not. As an orphaned child, do you think Lugh craved to be yoked with the responsibility as the Champion of the Sidhe? He didn’t. He was groomed for it and lived his life in service to it because that was his place in the scheme of magic and fate. You think you were ‘cursed’ out of some misfortune or some plot against you? It’s not true. You are a part of the weaving and you’ll serve your purpose whether you fight it or whether you accept it with grace. Being happy isn’t about getting what you want; it’s in wanting what you have. And you have a place in the fate of the fey as surely as I do.

  “Think you that I’m not afraid? I’m a Scribe. I crave my own safe archive where I can happily record histories, not be a part of them, but that wasn’t my place in the weaving. I came to be Lugh’s companion because that is where I belong and where I have a crucial role to play. Just as you have.” Willem lowered his voice, moving into the shadows between the shafts of light through the window. “Just as Lugh’s beast has its place in the weaving. Darkness has corrupted him at this late hour for reasons beyond our knowing, but I tell you this: you and I are here for a purpose. Even if that purpose claims our lives. Because it’s not about us. It’s not just about the Sidhe. It’s about the greater whole. Humans and lesser fey, too. We’ll all perish from the world one day and leave only the tale of our lives and our weaving within the tapestry as our only legacy.” He straightened. “Let us at least do it with such dignity and grace as we can muster.”