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

by S. Ravynheart

  He didn’t know. Whatever. Didn’t matter. Lass or bloke, Malcolm meant to find her. Him. Whatever.

  Reaching out toward the fibers of magic flowing all about him like neon gossamer strands of ghostly pixie hair, Malcolm stretched out his hand. Shifting his fingers through the energy like caressing the soft whispers of a stream, Malcolm listened for the music he knew by heart.

  And the thread he sought curled about his fingertips. A fine thread so fragile it might snap if he tugged on it. Rather than pull on it, Malcolm tilted his head to follow it with his blindfolded eyes as far as he could see before it was lost in the ocean of magic. “That way.”

  The solid warmth of Donovan’s hand gripped Malcolm’s shoulder. And in the next second…

  Slip!

  The stretching, sliding sensation of teleportation startled him. The lurching movement nearly upset his stomach. Just like in a dream where the ground suddenly drops out so you jump to catch yourself, Malcolm jolted. Only Donovan’s hand kept him steady-ish on his feet. Malcolm widened his stance, hoping to overcome the sense of tilting. If he could open his eyes maybe he could orient himself better, but he didn’t want to mess with the magic. Not now that he had a grip on the thread he wanted.

  Donovan’s hand stayed tight and when the wooziness settled down, Malcolm whispered, “I’m alright.” But he couldn’t hear himself outside his own head, which was weird and only made him feel even more disconnected from the ‘real’ and more immersed in the magic.

  Malcolm lifted his hand. The thread still interlaced about his fingers. The slack lessened. Turning with it, Malcolm faced the wind. The scent of grass and trees brushed over his face. Other magic sounds reached him through the silence of the headphones, but Malcolm ignored them. Only the music mattered. The fragile, fading song that tugged at him. He pointed toward it. And…

  Slip!

  The ground seemed to slide beneath him, stretching to someplace new, and then snapping into place again. Malcolm pitched backward, losing his balance in the massive sense of moving. They’d teleported a lot farther this time. A lot farther. The slip lasted like forever… or about five seconds really… which was forever in teleportation time. He’d always thought of it before as instant. Only it totally wasn’t.

  Donovan gripped Malcolm tighter, jerking him back to his feet before he fell on his bum. The ground beneath him really did move under his feet this time, as Malcolm worked at getting his footing. It was soft, like sand. The smell of the sea filled his lungs as he caught his breath.

  Taking a moment to orient himself, Malcolm glanced out and then up. Out a ways, maybe a kilometer or so, although he couldn’t be at all sure about that, a massive curtain of magic rose from the ground and arched overhead. “What is that?” The colors flexed and shimmered with a rainbow of hues. He’d seen the curtain of magic in the sky before. For a long time, he’d thought the sky was like a ceiling way, way overhead, but his parents told him ‘no,’ that it just seemed that way. But they couldn’t see like he could see. They couldn’t see magic like him at all. Malcolm had been right. There was a ceiling over them, just made of magic, and it curved into the ground right out there a ways, like they were inside a giant bowl turned upside down.

  The squeeze on his shoulder woke Malcolm out of his pondering. “Right, right. Find the music first. I’m on it.” He sucked in a breath and then blew it out. They’d gone so far, he didn’t keep hold of the thread this time. Malcolm lifted his face toward the sky. Ignoring the bowl thingy, he watched for the current of magic. The thread he wanted drifted along with the others, close to the surface. Malcolm reached for it, and like it had come to anticipate his caress, it floated out of the mass and stroked over his outstretched hand. The music played for him. So familiar now, but no less beautiful for it. “Getting closer now. Just there.” He pointed.

  Donovan’s hand disappeared from his shoulder, and Malcolm turned to see if he’d left him. But he could still see the man, even with the blindfold on. Now he saw the magic of him only. The way it moved and twisted inside him like watching a neon rendering of the circulatory system. The dust moved about him, defining the shape of him. And like always, the magic reached down into the earth below Donovan like a pipeline of power.

  Looking at this magical version of Donovan, Malcolm pointed again. “Just… Right that way a piece. We’re not far now. Just a bit past the curtain-bowl thingy.”

  He felt the headphones being lifted from his head and the blindfold removed. Malcolm blinked against the setting sunlight still sparkling off the water. “I don’t understand.” He frowned, accepting the headphones Donovan handed off to him that he needed to give back to Emma, the Glamour Club DJ. “What’s with the curtain? Why can’t we go past it?”

  “I think you are seeing the Great Veil. It covers Ireland and keeps out the wizards.” He nodded out to sea where Malcolm had pointed. “I know what’s out there, and you’re not ready for it. You’ve done your part, Malcolm. This is as far as you go. I’ll take it from here.”

  Chapter Two

  It didn’t matter the day or the hour, the party never stopped at Tiernan’s place. Donovan appeared in the space beside the pool house designated for incoming teleportation. Popping in unannounced anywhere else on the property was a fine way to get oneself shot numerous times, no questions asked. The evening party lights around the pool provided enough illumination for the armed guards to identify Donovan and acknowledge him. Most of the mansion’s windows were dark, but the grand room opening out onto the patio blazed with light and music. Inside, a dozen or so guests enjoyed the many and varied intoxicating hospitalities of the Unseelie ‘kingpin.’

  Tiernan himself didn’t miss Donovan’s arrival. Leaning against the bar, he surveyed his guests with casual interest, but didn’t partake in any of the delights himself. The drink in his hand was watered down and he’d nurse it all night. His innate charisma usually convinced most that he was as buzzed as his guests. Donovan had known him too long to believe that. Those pale, almost colorless eyes of Tiernan’s missed nothing.

  Subtly, Tiernan made eye contact with Monique, the vampire that he trusted with his back and many of his business concerns. She extricated herself from her donor for the evening, disentangling her long, shapely legs from the groping hands of the man on whose lap she’d reclined and upon whose wrist she’d been feeding. With a confidently sensual sway in her hips, the blonde carried her empty glass to the bar. Only when she’d taken over the watch did Tiernan slide away from the gathering and join Donovan just outside. Tiernan asked no questions, knowing Donovan too well to bother.

  If the Sidhe Donovan meant to find had been anywhere in Ireland, or the threat had been anything other than wizards, he’d have brought the earthborns on this mission. Daily, they improved their skills, both magical and combat, but they weren’t the replacement for his Elite yet. As young as they were, they wouldn’t have been candidates for Elite for another couple hundred years, back when the Mounds existed and the Elites served the Unseelie queen. Now his pack of half-trained Unseelie teenagers were the only Sidhe willing to defend the fey. With the exception of Tiernan, when it served his purposes, and Tiernan was hardly more than a youngling himself, at several years shy of his first century.

  “Ready to handle your wizard problem?”

  Tiernan cocked an eyebrow. “What’s changed?”

  “They have a Sidhe somewhere on the Isle of Man.”

  Tiernan abandoned his drink on a glass-top table before twisting around and getting the attention of one of his men. “Joe.”

  The human straightened from where he leaned against the patio railing. Uncrossing his arms revealed a glimpse of the holstered weapon under his jacket. Wordlessly, he reported to Tiernan.

  “The safe houses on the Isle of Man,” Tiernan murmured to him.

  Joe found what he needed on his phone and then handed it over. “The yellow markers are wizard-owned properties. The red one is the only one with armed guards.”

  The wiz
ards wouldn’t risk imprisoning a Sidhe in anything less than the tightest security. Donovan studied the topographical map and the positions of the markers before handing the device back to the human.

  As Donovan clamped a hand onto Tiernan’s shoulder, the younger Sidhe said, “Let’s do this.”

  Far older and stronger than Tiernan, Donovan handled the task of teleporting them. The pair of Sidhe vanished from the mansion and reappeared almost instantaneously on a hilltop overlooking the port town of Douglas. Donovan turned inland, focused on the farthest hill, and teleported to it. They teleported twice more before arriving close enough to the wizard stronghold to clap eyes on it.

  The building itself appeared no more spectacular than any other modern, two-story home in the country. A den of horror hidden in plain sight. If the wizards used this unassuming place for the atrocities that Donovan suspected, the inside would reek of the carnage.

  Lacking any trees or convenient shrubbery, the open countryside provided no cover. The Sidhe crouched down, making themselves less of a silhouette against the night sky. Donovan’s fingers burrowed through the long grass until his fingertips touched the soil. His awareness flowed through the earth as if it was an extension of himself. Which it was, when his magic merged with it.

  Donovan monitored the percussion of footsteps. “Two guards pacing the perimeter. Two more on the ground floor.” Possibly more upstairs, but his earth sense couldn’t track them.

  With a hunter’s patience, they timed their assault for when the guards crossed paths before them. From his pocket, Tiernan produced two throwing knives, which he flicked carelessly into the air. His dominion over metal caught the blades in mid-tumble and sent them flying.

  Both guards dropped, clutching mutely at their sliced throats.

  By Donovan’s magic, the ground beneath the guards turned as liquid as quicksand, swallowing them before they even ceased their death struggles. Only when he felt the thumping of their hearts silence did Donovan break contact with the soil.

  Tiernan snatched his blades from the air as they returned to him,flicking off the blood with a snap of his wrist.

  Creating a Glamour around himself so watchful eyes, both physical and electronic, would not spy him, Donovan appeared to fade to nearly invisible. Tiernan did the same, and as faint ghostly figures, they jogged across the open field to the building and leapt up onto the porch. Donovan extended a hand toward the door, but felt nothing pushing him back or suppressing his power. “No wards against magic.”

  “Trap?”

  “Possibly.”

  Tiernan covered the electronic keypad with his cupped hand. With eyes closed and head tilted he concentrated until the system made a tone of acceptance. Then he gripped the doorknob. The tumblers moved with metallic clicks and the deadbolt slid open with a soft scrape. Tiernan glanced back. “I’ll go left.” He pushed the door open, and hurried off on silent feet.

  Donovan slipped inside and veered to the right. The interior boasted no attempt at decor with only the minimal of functional furnishings. The odor of medicinal antiseptics covered the lingering putrid undertones Donovan anticipated. A soft murmur of voices from a television droned from the parlor. Inside, a human leaned forward over the low coffee table strewn with the contents from the open bag of crisps. A rifle propped against the sofa beside him. No doubt lazy in his duties because of the false belief that no Sidhe would risk leaving Ireland. Like any bully who goes unchallenged, he trusted that his illusion of intimidation made him invulnerable.

  From his pocket, Donovan withdrew a marble-sized rock. Propelled by his magic with the force of a high powered rifle it punctured the back of the human’s skull. The only sound of his demise was the thump as the body hit the floor.

  Suddenly, the silence shattered with the snarling commotion of attacking dogs, followed closely by Tiernan’s explosive cursing.

  As the clatter of pots and pans crashed and bashed, Donovan sprinted toward the back of the house. He nearly ran into Tiernan, no longer wearing Glamour, hustling out of the kitchen.

  Blood flowed from beneath the torn arm of his leather jacket and dripped from his hand, leaving a trail. “I better not get rabies or I’m going to be pissed.”

  “So much for the element of surprise. Let’s finish this.” Since Tiernan couldn’t maintain his Glamour, Donovan abandoned his. He wouldn’t leave the younger Sidhe as the only visible target. Nor would he allow him to be the first in the line of fire. Without stealth, he hoped to rely on speed. Donovan charged up the steps ahead of Tiernan.

  Just as he reached the hallway on the second floor, thunder exploded, giving Donovan only a moment to dive out of the way of the lightning bolt that lanced toward him.

  The hallway was only fifteen foot long at most, not a lot of room to maneuver. Especially not with the wizard aiming his staff at Donovan for another attack. Donovan rippled the ground beneath the building with an earthquake so violent that it toppled the wizard and sent his next lightning strike wild, hitting the ceiling with an explosion of plaster, instead of either of the Sidhe.

  Hanging onto the stair rail through the quake, Tiernan barely managed to claw his way into the hallway. He reached out a hand as his magic jerked all the metal from the wizard, including the deadly staff with its platinum headpiece.

  The wizard came up swinging. Donovan dodged the blow, but the wizard’s fist slammed into the wall with enough force to crumble a section of it. No novice possessed that kind of magicraft skill. The mass of embroidered patterns on the wizard’s robes enchanted him with an untold variety of stolen magic. No doubt he had far more tricks up his sleeve than just enhanced strength and lightning javelins.

  Wizards like this one were the reason Donovan hadn’t risked his earthborns on this mission. Devious and deadly, there was no telling the concocted tricks up his sleeve. No two wizards were ever alike in power, skill, or creatively brutal enchantments. The longer a wizard fight lasted, the more likely they were to suss out the Sidhe’s aspect of power or exploit their weaknesses, and the more likely the wizard would prevail. Before the end of the Sidhe-wizard war, dozens of Sidhe warriors lost their lives to them.

  Better to end this fight quickly.

  Proximity gave Donovan the advantage. He struck the wizard in the face with the heel of his hand. The blow hit true, sending shards of his nasal bone into his brain. An instant kill. Luckily, the wizard hadn’t enchanted himself with some spell to harden his body against injury, or the battle could have easily gone the other way. Gracelessly, the wizard’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

  The house calmed as Donovan ceased the tremors.

  He stilled, listening for any more signs of movement.

  Only the sound of an electronic beeping persisted. He cast a questioning glance back at Tiernan.

  “Heart monitor.” He nodded to the room to the left. “Loads of electronics in there. I can feel it.”

  The room beyond was indeed crammed with a bank of electronic gizmos. A young woman lay unconscious on the bed, her arms restrained to the sidebars by leather straps. Tubes and wires ran to her on the right side and a line ran from a vein in her left arm down into a blood bag; feeding her fluids at the same time as leaching off her magic-laced blood. Her fair hair was short, only a couple of ragged inches. The Sidhe was so pale, Donovan almost didn’t notice that she was Fading. The fairness of her skin was heightened by the white of the sheet beneath her partially transparent arms.

  “I got this.” With intimate familiarity with needles, Tiernan removed all the tubing while Donovan detached the wires and restraints from the woman’s body. Tiernan taped gauze in place to stop the flow of blood from the puncture wounds.

  “We done here?” Donovan scooped the lass into his arms. She slumped softly against his body. Beautiful and fragile. Her head rolled to rest against his shoulder. Cradling her closer, he gritted his teeth against his fury.

  Someday, he meant to hunt down every wizard alive and crush them. There was no other way. They
would never stop. Never.

  “Hold up.” Tiernan claimed the partially filled blood bag, then checked the mini-fridge and found two more labeled ‘Sidhe.’ He cradled them in his wounded arm, and then gripped Donovan’s shoulder with his good hand. “Let’s go. Get me away from this place.”

  Chapter Three

  Tiernan’s ruined jacket lay across the back of the chair he lounged in. He smirked lecherously at Dawn as she healed his mauled arm. The healer affected boredom at his interest, but when she turned away Donovan caught the hint of her own salacious smile. When she returned to the bedside, her back to Tiernan, he made no secret of checking out her rump with a lazy tilt of his head. The two played at this flirting game periodically, without any real hurry to see it to its eventual conclusion.

  But as Dawn stroked her fingertips over the needle in the young woman’s semi-transparent arm, her expression turned serious. “I’ve done all I can for her.”

  Disconcerting, since the young woman looked no better than she had in the wizard’s stronghold, even with the transfusion of her own blood returned to her. Donovan had feared as much, though. “So it’s definitely the Fade and not something the wizards did to her?”

  “The wizards accelerated the decline, to be sure.”

  Donovan ran his fingers through the girl’s shorn hair. “Fair features, typical of the Seelie. My guess is that she’s Mounds born. If the wizards captured her in the wake of the Collapse and shaved her head, it might have grown out this much by now.”

  “Still has her fingers,” Tiernan observed coolly. “What about her toes?”

  “She’s intact.” Dawn silenced his morbid speculation, though the lass was indeed lucky to still have them. “Though there are needle tracks. They bled her regularly.” Taking the girl’s hair and blood had been only the first stages of the brutal process. The wizards harvested all parts of the fey for their magicraft.