Bespelled: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 5)

by Jessica Aspen

  He usually didn’t even venture into the Crimson Court, but Culann had asked him, and in the end, he owed the shifter big time. Culann was the reason he wasn’t dead from drink or begging on the streets. Years ago the shifter had pulled him out of the weeds and given him that elusive kind of friendship that a man never took for granted. So when the shifter asked—Finn obliged.

  Besides, his cash had gotten low and he knew the money would be put to good use. He might not be a hobo in the street, but he wasn’t living the life of the nobility. Everyone had to earn a living, even if it was a dishonest one. So, here he was right in the center of the queen’s territory filching priceless family treasures. How far the mighty had fallen.

  He’d been told that the item he was looking for was hidden in a safe behind one of the pictures in the dining room. Not a very creative hiding place, but what did one expect of a lower fae family, like the Carniff’s. Just enough magic to be in the courts and on speaking terms with the royal family, but not enough to ever be considered royalty themselves, the Carniff’s held onto their social status by the skin of their teeth.

  Ah, here was the dining room. He crept in and dropped his shielding hand from the glowlight. The subtle beam danced around the room. An eye sprang into view, gleaming bright with the light’s reflection. Finn jumped. Behind him, one of the dogs growled.

  Finn sucked in air and calmed himself before shining the light again into the room. This time he wasn’t surprised when the light caught the gleam of a sparkling eye in the silver swan centerpiece. For just a second, Finn’s heart stopped. Then the color and size of the centerpiece absorbed into his brain.

  It wasn’t her.

  Odette. He hadn’t thought of his sister for years. He’d finally put all thoughts of her away, just so he could survive and not go crazy from his failures. But then something would remind him. Something like this. He should leave this demesne. Go somewhere where the royal insignia was something other than the one thing he’d searched for all these years. But every time he went to leave he heard the voice of his father echoing in his ear.

  “You’ll fail. You’ll come running home without your sister. It’s inevitable.”

  So Finn stayed.

  How could he be this surprised, after all these years, in this area of Underhill? Golden swans were everywhere in Gothelston, the small village outside the Crimson Court. Painted on wooden signs. On the banners of the Court. Leave it to the bootlicking Carniff’s to have copied the royal crest in silver and put it on display in their dining room.

  Odette was long gone, and so was his father. It was only his memories that haunted him, making him think that there was still a possibility that he could be anything other than what he was now—a thief. And a failure.

  His hands shaky, Finn phased back into real time and space and reached for the painting. It was heavier than he expected, and he braced his legs, taking the weight.

  A low growl came from behind him. Then another. Two dark shadows filled the cased door opening of the room. The heavy painting slipped. Finn caught it just before it hit the floor, straining his biceps with the weight. Why the fuck was this thing so heavy? Had they painted it with lead?

  The dogs moved into the room and Finn eased the frame down. A shadow leapt, its teeth catching the light as its jaws opened wide. Finn dropped the painting the rest of the way to the floor and ran. The frame hit the floor with a heavy thump.

  Upstairs, a light came on. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s a burglar. Call the guard.”

  Finn didn’t stay to see if they’d seen him. He put on speed, heading for the window he’d left open in the front room, vaulting through seconds before the dog’s teeth sank into the heel of his boot. The dog pulled hard. Finn half-fell. He turned, yanking on the boot and pulling the front half of the dog out of the window. Slobber dripped from the fangs and the growls vibrated his hold on his boot as he awkwardly hopped on one leg, trying to keep his balance as he fought for his boot.

  Upstairs there was the sound of another window opening. A man’s voice shouted, “Guard! Guard! Thieves!”

  Up and down the row of houses, lights came on.

  Finn shoved the dog’s snout back with one hand, the wet nose and teeth grinding on his palm, and pulled harder on his boot. It came loose. He flew back and hit the cobblestones hard, the dog flying towards him. His Gift wrapped around him, phasing him out of this world and partially into the next. The dog passed through his body and they landed on the street as one.

  There was the odd sensation of having the dog inside his body and yet, it wasn’t there. Finn crab-walked back, freeing himself from the dog like pulling a piece of fruit from inside a jelly mold.

  An armored guard came running up to the house, just as the second dog burst out of the window and leapt, his weight toppling the man to the ground with a clang.

  Finn put on his boot, and eased away from the confusion, passing another of the castle guards as he left. His heart pounded in his chest. As he headed to the gates to wait for their dawn opening, he shook his head ruefully. No, he didn’t have anything to show from the night, but at least he had his head.

  He’d be back. He’d promised Culann. And this time he wouldn’t be distracted by the gleam of the swan or the memories that came with it.

  At dawn the main gates opened, and Finn headed down into the tiny village of Gothelston. It was the day before the Fall Festival and, despite the early hour, shopkeepers were up and about getting ready for the biggest shopping week of the year.

  The baker rolled his eyes at Finn as he walked through town in his evening wear and savaged boot. “Morning.”

  “Morning. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” The man said, never stopping his work of rolling out a large blue and white striped awning over the door and window of his shop.

  Around the corner Finn spied the fruit monger’s stall. He phased out of sight, filching a juicy red apple from the top of a barrel. Grinning, he stuffed it in his jacket pocket. Breakfast. He turned the next corner and phased back into view.

  The streets were getting busy, more and more people opening shops. The town was packed. It would get even busier before the big opening day, tomorrow. He planned to be roaming the streets pick-pocketing from the rich as they slummed with the peasants. It wasn’t what he’d been born to do, far from it, but it was all he could do now.

  Thoughts of his home and family, things he hadn’t let himself remember for over a hundred years, floated through his mind. His mother, laughing as the pups played on a rug in her solar. His sister, Odette, in her very first ball gown, spinning and spinning, the white waves of fabric swirling as she danced. His father, glaring at him, no matter what he tried to do.

  “Damn it. Let it go.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” A woman with a basket of flowers gawked at him, her mouth wide open.

  “I’m sorry.” He gave her a quick half bow and moved on, feeling the weight of her stare on his back as he moved through the gathering crowd. He never thought about his family, about the things he’d never see again, and those he didn’t want to. Instead, he’d trained himself to focus on the now. Like Gothelston.

  He’d been a thief for too long not to notice the ins and outs of a village. On the surface, Gothelston was a tidy little village. Beautiful big palace complex filled with lords and ladies towering over the valley. Wide sweeping meadows in the valley to the east. But to the south and west lay the Black Forest, and like a dog on its belly, it crept closer every day. Likewise, the mists from the moors on the northern edge had crept down and started nibbling on the outlying farmers’ fields. The castle and the town were losing ground.

  Not that Finn cared. Some of his best friends were the criminals and outcasts that lived in the forest. In fact, he might someday take up residence there too. Why not? He already lived in a pub on the edge. Give the woods some time and Bertie’s place would be swallowed up too. Just a bump in the belly of the forest.

  Lost in
thought he almost didn’t notice the small hand slipping into his pocket. He clamped a hand on the boy’s wrist. “Whoa, there, son. What’s your hurry?”

  The boy’s pale blue skin flushed. “Let me go.” He ducked his head, and pulled hard, but Finn held on, an easy smile on his lips.

  “Now, why should I do that? You still have a grip on my pocket knife.”

  The tips of the boy’s ears turned bright purple. “Sorry, sir. My mistake.”

  Inside his pocket, Finn felt the boy’s fist loosen.

  “There we go.” He pulled the boy’s hand out and checked to see it was empty. Everything he owned was in that pocket. Ten changes of clothing, including winter and summer garb, extra shoes, knife, sword...you name it, it was in there tidied away with a simple spell. He didn’t need some gutter-snipe stealing him blind. That was his job.

  Finn took the boy’s chin in his hand and turned him to face him. Then he stopped in shock. On the boy’s cheek he had a strawberry mark in the shape of a swan, like a purple bruise on the blue skin. Finn flinched. He saw swans everywhere in Gothelston, but never on a boy’s cheek and after the silver swan of the night before it shook him to the core.

  The sudden tightness in his gut said—it’s a sign.

  He looked harder at the boy. His face was thin and dirty and pure elvatian, blue skin notwithstanding. Bright crystallized eyes skated away from Finn’s gaze like hot grease on a griddle.

  “When was the last time you ate something?”

  The boy shrugged. “I dunno.”

  Finn reached into his other pocket and fished out the apple. “Here.” He handed it to the boy, letting him go at the same time.

  The boy stared at the apple, then at Finn. Without a word he tucked the fruit to his chest and took off running down the street.

  He stopped in the middle of the street and got a hold of himself. Poor boys with swans on their faces were one thing, but finding what he sought, after so many years? He’d stopped believing in such signs years ago. Nonetheless, his heart thumped just a little harder in his chest as he continued walking down the street, ignoring the hard stare of a homeless man huddled against an alley wall.

  It was just a coincidence. Finn quieted the unease in his belly. But he knew—there were never coincidences. Not here. Not in the fae realm of Underhill.

  At the edge of town, he headed south, down a narrow dirt lane past fading farmhouses whose crops withered on the vine as the mists crept in. Just a few miles down the road, the scattered trees drew closer, their trunks thicker, their branches craggier. As ever, when he got close to the forest, he had to shake off the itching between his shoulder blades that told him there was someone watching. But of course, there would be. Trees, fairies, outcasts—the Black Forest was the place everyone ran to. The last of Underhill’s previous elvatian over-lords, the Fir-Bolg, lived here in exile. And of course, it was filled with wild fae and old magic that today’s Tuathan kings and queens left alone.

  Bertie’s pub was tucked just outside the edge, where the huge trees gave way to younger, slimmer versions of themselves and there was still a fair amount of grass. It was a good place for a thief to live, a meeting ground for forest dwellers, local farmers, and the dregs of society who wanted somewhere less regulated to drink and talk and conduct their possibly illegal doings.

  The main road ran by here before heading west and around the forest to the sea. The two-story thatched cottage didn’t look like much, but once you were inside it was warm and homey, with a central fire and fresh beer and aged whiskey on tap. Bertie ran bar while his husband, Floyd, cooked in the back.

  Finn entered by the side door and headed for the back stairs.

  “Where you going, boyo? Don’t ye have something for me?” From about a foot and a half off the floor, the voice snapped out. Finn looked down at the garden gnome standing with his fists on his hips, thick brows drawn together beneath the ever-present red cap.

  Finn paused, his hand on the rail. “Why, of course I do.” He turned and headed back to the bar as if he’d merely forgotten the money, instead of holding onto his gold as long as possible. “Right on time, as usual.”

  Bertie might be small, but no one would dispute that this was his bar, and he ran it his way—for a profit. The garden gnome was tough as nails. Finn respected that. It meant that his room was safe when he was gone. Bertie and Floyd made sure their axes stopped any who tried to rob their guests. Even thieves needed a safe haven from the world.

  “Ye’r late. As usual.” Bertie hopped down from the stool behind the bar and walked up to Finn, palm out. “I’m waiting.”

  Finn repressed a sigh and pulled out his purse. “I’ve got it. Don’t I always?” He tugged open the strings and poured out three gold pieces into his own hand before handing them to Bertie.

  Bertie pulled a monocle out of his shirt pocket and stuck it in his right eye, carefully examining each coin before tucking them away in a fold in his belt. “Hmph. So far, Finn, so far.” He frowned up at him. “Now, where’s your manners? It’s barely seven in the morning, come have a drink with the rest of ‘em, before the lads head off to bed.”

  Finn shook his head. “No, I’m knackered.”

  From the bar came a drunken shout. “Been knackering out the ladies, have you?” Catcalls and laughter followed.

  “Come on.” Bertie turned and headed back behind the bar. “One nip and it’s off to bed with ye.”

  Finn rolled his neck, listening to the cracks. Should he? It had been a long night of thieving with nothing to show for it. All he wanted was his soft feather mattress and a good ten hours of sleep, but he let the sounds of the bar and the smell of breakfast draw him in.

  Only a few of the regulars had made it all the way until morning. A few farmers he didn’t recognize hunched over the bar, and Black Gunther and Wzyn, two of the local dwarves raised their full mugs in hello. Now, the dwarves, on the other hand, looked like they’d been here all night. Their beards were rough and tangled, and their beady eyes were blood-shot. Culann, Finn’s fence and only true friend, nodded at him... Normally, he would have sat with Culann, but the way the wolf shifter and his female table companion sat with their heads close together in intimate conversation looked like something a friend left alone. Business? Or pleasure? Or both? He didn’t know, so he’d leave it alone. He could always find Culann later and fill him in on the failed job. There was always plenty of time for bad news.

  “Almost didn’t see you, Finn.” Floyd stuck his head out of the kitchen. His long gray beard was braided into two braids, with bright pumpkin orange bows on the ends and his shiny bald head gleamed. “Ye want breakfast?”

  “Might as well.” He sat at the bar with the farmers. “You boys been here all night?”

  “Na, we camped out back. We’re from over Copperstone way. Just woke up and came in for breakfast before heading to the festival.”

  Floyd stomped out of the kitchen, a tray of hot food floating behind him. “Scrapple and eggs.” His head didn’t even come to the top of the barstools, but as he called it out a plate floated off the tray, landing in front of a farmer. “Ham-hock special with a side of cooked apples.” Another plate up and off the tray. “And Finn—salmon and eggs on toast.”

  “Thanks, Floyd.” Finn picked up his fork as his plate settled on the bar.

  The gnome grunted and headed back to the kitchen, the empty tray following obediently behind.

  “You from around here?” A farmer asked as he poured syrup over his scrapple.

  “For now.” Finn kept his head bent over his plate. While his Gift let him sneak in and out of houses without notice, it wasn’t good to let strangers get too close an eye. He’d learned that one the hard way during his years on the road.

  “Eh, you won’t get much out of him. Finn’s a close one, he is.” Bertie shook his head while he dried glasses with a white cloth. “You should see his talent though. Or should I say, not see it.” He snorted, and Finn glared at him.

  “What d
o you mean?” The farmer sat up, peering at Finn with more interest.

  “Enough.” Finn shook his head at the gnome.

  Bertie’s grin faded away and his usual scowl took its place. “Never mind. How’s about some fresh cider to go with ye’r breakfast, ay?” The farmers nodded, and Bertie hustled to draw the drinks. Finn finished eating and stood up to go.

  “Hey, Finn.” Culann waved him over.

  “Thank Floyd for breakfast.” Finn gave Bertie a nod, flipped him a coin, and rose, heading over to the shifter.

  “How’d it go?” Culann took a sip of his coffee.

  Finn frowned. “Not well.” He shook his head at the shifter, then nodded at the pretty blonde looking up at him with inquisitive deep brown eyes. We can talk about it later.” No need to spread the word about what he’d been up to, and what he’d failed to do.

  “This is Goldwyn.” Culann nodded at the woman across from him. “Goldwyn, this is Finn. He’s the man I was telling you about.”

  The blonde was petite, and curvy, and pretty, in a very human way. He could tell by the confidence with which she looked up at him that she wasn’t merely human though. Probably a witch—one of the humans with fae blood in their distant past—despite the delicate shell-like curve to her ears.

  “He’s the one? Are you sure?” She eyed Finn’s tight black leather pants and jacket he’d worn for his evening of larceny. “He’s a bit of a dandy, don’t you think?”

  Culann grinned, showing very sharp, very white teeth. “His skills more than make up for the flashy attitude.”

  Goldwyn raised an eyebrow, her face full of doubt. “I need it by tomorrow night. The moon will be at its fullest point and if I don’t get the spell done then, I must wait a whole month. My client will be very unhappy if that happens.”