Immersed in Faerie (Stolen Magic Book 4)

by WB McKay

He didn't have help, or he would have said that. He didn't just stumble into it either, or he'd have said that, too. "You'd thought this out for a long time," I said. That's how he did it so fast. He'd already planned all the things he would do if he had the chance.

  "Not this, specifically," he said. "But a research library? Or a lab, as the case may be. Yes." He nodded and met my eyes. "I always wanted that, but I didn't imagine I'd get it."

  "Why do you call it a lab instead of a library?"

  He held up a finger and then walked off. I followed him down a maze of halls, walked through rooms of books.

  "How many books are there really?" I asked.

  "A lot."

  "Are we still at MOD?"

  "Oh yes," he said. "But we are below the main building."

  "I figured that out with all the stairs." I looked back the way we'd come. "This place is huge."

  "I know," he said, his voice full of wonder. He opened a door to a room the size of a gymnasium. Glass walls broke many of the spaces up into smaller rooms with the same white tables from the main entrance we'd come in through. "There's not much in here yet, but once I hire some people, this room will be for testing the objects you collect."

  "Wow." Previously, we tested some of the objects we knew the least about. If it was very old, even if we knew little about it, it was typically toted off to permanent storage. The newer objects represented something someone had recently created, and could create again. Those took top testing priority. We needed to see if anyone had developed new magics or brought back old ones, like Clarissa had done with the glyphs she'd distorted for witches. The testing team was small and overworked. They had an offsite lab, and while MOD considered them part of our own department, they were really a Faerie Affairs Bureau testing lab. Other departments made demands on their time for their own uses regularly. As an agent, I was meant to go out there, remove dangerous objects from the streets, and be done with it. Answers weren't part of the job. "This is so great."

  His smile would have blinded the sun. "You really think so?"

  "Yes."

  "It's a start." He nodded at the room.

  "That's mind-blowing," I said. "It's no wonder Hammond was so proud to introduce you to everyone. This is the start." I slugged his arm. "Who knows what you'll do."

  He blushed again and avoided meeting my gaze. "We should probably be getting back."

  "Right, sure," I said to his retreating form. I spent the walk back trying to think of something good to say. He was right in front of me. Wasn't this my chance to say the right words and make things good between us? But since I was standing right in front of him, lost for words, I knew I wasn't ready yet. Without having a succinct reason I'd put us through this, anything I said to him would sound like bullshit. The more days that went by, the truer that got.

  When we returned to the tables by the door he turned around to look at me, and I almost told him the most honest thing I had to say--I miss you--but I kept my mouth shut. Sometimes, I was learning, it really was better to wait for the right time to speak your truths. That time would have to wait until I had an explanation for what was going on in my head.

  "If you need any help with your research, let me know," he said.

  "Oh, right, my project," I said. "I'm hoping to make progress on that tonight. I should have answers soon."

  "Good luck," he said. "And my offer stands."

  With stiff movements, I waved and walked away. It was time to go do something easy and familiar. Spying on pirates had never sounded so good.

  CHAPTER TWO

  In the early days of partnering with Art, I realized that his seafaring ways opened the door to cases involving pirates. As a young agent, I naively believed this to be the door to every exciting case I'd ever wanted. Pirates stole the best stuff, I figured. They had to be swimming in dangerous magical objects! Objects I could only dream about! In reality, pirates weren't a big draw for MOD. They stole things and encountered FAB frequently, but perhaps centuries of stealing had taught them a thing or two about the kinds of objects to avoid. If I dealt with a pirate, it was likely a novice, someone not entrenched enough in pirate culture to know what to grab and what to avoid. Dealing with such pirates rarely made for an exciting case. All of this meant I hadn't shown my face at The Hairy Barnacle but a few times, and it had been years. Perfect for blending into the background of the bar.

  The Hairy Barnacle was a large, canvas tent. Sometimes it was in the woods, sometimes it was on a rocky cliff, but most often it was on a lonely stretch of beach. The glamour was keyed to never conceal the sight from any fae eyes, but the sound was concealed from anyone not within the boundaries of the bar. Part of being a pirate was showing your face, but still saying, "No, you can't know the secrets I know." It meant flying to a nearby tree and listening in as a crow wasn't an option.

  Thirty boisterous pirates were living it up inside. The sandy beach was crusted with the stale ale of pirates too busy growling at each other to notice their spilled drinks. The growling wasn't because they were angry, at least not most of the time. It was its own kind of pirate language.

  One of them growled to say, "Hey, I haven't seen you in a while!"

  Another growled back to say, "I've been busy with a job, but I missed your ugly face."

  And the other replied, "You're here now! Let's drink and catch up. After, we can plan an illegal job together, or perhaps play a round of pool. We'll see where the night takes us!"

  And the other growled back their assent.

  I watched this conversation happen by the bar, the tables, the pool table in the back, and the hopscotch competition happening outside the back patio, just inside the glamour's boundary. The sand, and the alcohol, made the hopping more difficult. So did the driftwood lit with dragonfire marking the lines of the boxes. If I hadn't been there for work, I would have been all up in that game.

  My targets weren't players though. They gathered around a table against the far wall. The larger group came and went on different nights. I'd set my attentions on the girl with the tattered vest, knee-high socks without shoes, and dreadlocks that reached most of the way down her back. I'd never spotted a fae like her before; I couldn't read her magic. I couldn't read the magic of around a third of the pirates in the bar, typical of pirates. Many unique fae on Earth chose the pirate life. It offered a sense of community they wouldn't find elsewhere. I guess I'd never put much value in the idea of community. If I had, I was sure I would have developed a wicked growl.

  The girl with the tattered vest looked grumpier tonight than usual. Her chair was pulled back from the group and she watched the rest of them like she had somewhere better to be.

  Their position against the tent wall was convenient. Blending in required I held my head high and let everyone see me. Wearing my hair in my face or hiding against the wall were not options. Sitting at my own small table with my back to them kept me facing the majority of the room, without staring my targets in the eye.

  I sloshed the liquid around in my glass. It smelled like honey. I didn't dare drink it, both because I was on the job and because I didn't trust the bartender. She'd looked at me a little too long tonight. This needed to be my last night at The Hairy Barnacle. If things went as they were supposed to, that should be the case. Tattered Vest claimed to have a meeting with The Boss--Supervillain extraordinaire, Erik Bresnan--earlier in the day. She'd told the others to show up at the bar tonight for details on the next job.

  If everything I'd gathered so far proved true, he was hiring criminals to steal dangerous magical objects for him, like he'd recently done with the Scepter of Sight. With the scepter, he'd had a clear goal in mind, even if I only knew pieces of what that was. I had to imagine the other objects weren't for an idle collection but also part of some grander scheme. If I could prove he was stealing these objects, whatever else he was up to would come tumbling down.

  I had no proof that his plans tumbling down was for the best. I didn't know what he was up to. Recent events
had made clear to me that I wasn't built for playing a role in political plots. I didn't know what was better or worse and I didn't want to be responsible for large groups of people. This wasn't my business. My boss would hate me for it. I could be fired or thrown in jail for meddling in a council member's business. I had nothing but reasons to get up and walk out of The Hairy Barnacle and call this whole thing a temporary mental break.

  But I had my gut, and my gut said to stay in my seat. So that's what I did.

  "Elnora isn't coming," said one of the nymphs.

  "And what is her excuse this time?" Tattered Vest smashed something on the table. I knew it was her because of the direction it had come from, and because I'd seen her do this several times before. She'd smash whatever she was holding into things, and if her hands were empty, a fist would do. Whatever kind of fae she was, her knuckles were always healed before leaving the bar.

  "I didn't ask."

  "How kind of you." She paused to spit. "So when it comes to a fight between Elnora and I, you'll be on her side, will you?"

  "I didn't choose a side."

  "You did when you let her get away with those games. Between Elnora hiding her face and you aiding her in the effort I have to wonder what kind of crew this is. Are we pirates or should I pack it in? You'd fit in with the Volarus crowd at this rate."

  "You swallow those words or I'll…"

  "You'll what? I thought you weren't taking sides. I thought you were being polite. Are you going to turn your face from me now? Will you take a walk to the east and leave the sea behind?"

  The growling and spitting and slamming of things began around the table.

  That was the thing about spying; it was mostly a lot of listening in on boring shit. There was no way of telling when something would come in handy, though. Maybe I'd need to play up the rift between Elnora and Tattered Vest. Maybe they'd spill details of the job during their bickering. I had to soak up every detail like it was a precious clue, even though most of it was just more of the blah blah blah boring inanities lives are made up of.

  Spying required a lot of patience. Building a long term case of information before taking any action required even more patience. Patience made me cranky.

  "We have to be there at first light," Tattered Vest announced. "Elnora's out on this one."

  "What'd The Boss say?"

  "To be in place at first light."

  The table my hand was resting on disappeared along with my drink. I blinked and narrowed my sights on the fae across the room with three curly horns in his hair. One of his orange eyelids winked at me. I sneered, which only amused him further. His magic was unfamiliar, another unique fae in this bar, and apparently one who could blink my table and drink out of existence.

  Ignoring the guy wasn't an option, but I couldn't figure out what to do about him and catch everything being said behind me at the same time.

  "To be where at first light?"

  "You'll know when we get there."

  "Did The Boss tell you to keep it a secret?"

  The orange eyelids guy hollered words I didn't understand. The language was human, my best guess was French, but my best guess was rough. Three of my sisters had tried to teach me one language or another, and all three of them had given up.

  I stood from my chair before he decided to blink that out of existence, too.

  "...Highlander's Point doesn't even make sense."

  I let each of my boots fall hard on the sand. It didn't make much noise, but it was how pirates walked. Rude and noisy and leaving their mark.

  "...go right ahead and tell The Boss that, then. I dare you."

  The guy tented his fingers in front of his chest. His smile was expectant. I think he thought he was flirting. I started to wonder what in the world could make him think I appeared in the flirting mood, but then Tattered Vest's face popped into my mind. Maybe irritated worked for pirate flirting.

  "Let's get to the point already!" one of the pirates behind me yelled. I would have had to look to know who, the voice was unfamiliar in its current high pitch.

  I pasted on a smile but hoped the I-wish-you'd-use-your-magic-to-make-yourself-disappear look in my eyes remained shining bright. I stopped at the edge of his table. "Neat trick," I told him.

  "Mmm," he said, like that was sufficient. He'd done all that work to get my attention and now he was wasting it. So. Typical.

  There was a clatter as chairs at the table behind me fell over. A glance back revealed several of them standing up to yell at each other and accidentally kicking their chairs too far back in the process. Or I guessed it was probably on purpose--pirates making noise and all that. One of them said, "Just because you're the one talking to The Boss doesn't mean you're in charge. It means you're the messenger. Tell us the damn messages."

  Tattered Vest remained in her seat. "Not here." She growled the words, but that wasn't different from any other time she talked. She didn't seem extraordinarily annoyed.

  "Interesting, aren't they?" asked the guy across from me.

  "Why are you bothering me?" I asked him.

  "Am I bothering you?" He took a swig of his drink. "That sounds like a personal problem. You should work on your inner zen."

  Inner zen. Inner. Zen. I wanted to kick his table over, but I… No, I decided. I was playing the role of a pirate, after all. I walked calmly around the table. He watched me with interest as he teetered on the back legs of his chair. I kicked out and knocked him on his ass.

  "Furniture can be unpredictable," I told him.

  I glanced around the bar, trying not to look nervous and expecting everyone to be staring, but only a few of the closest tables were even looking our way. No one from my target table even turned their heads. I walked back to my seat, and quickly caught up. Their argument had wound down; Tattered Vest was giving in.

  "I'm not repeating myself again. We need to be in place underground before first light. Only two of us can go into the cave. Be ready."

  "I still don't understand why he'd hire us to go after the Golden Fleece. If he's such a big shot he should have his own team for this kind of thing, shouldn't he?"

  First of all, they had a good point. It would have made more sense for the Supervillain to have his own tried and true team of minions. It would seem like less of a risk to hire one team of people to handle all his dirty work and keep his secrets confined. But his game was more complicated than that, I'd learned. He was hiring out different criminals for different tasks. This made it extremely difficult for anyone to put together the full story. I was getting bits of information here and there and trying to make a picture with most of the pieces missing. The worst part was I had no way of knowing how many pieces I'd need. Second of all, what was 'the Golden Fleece' code for? I tried not to look too excited as I listened on, desperate for more pieces of the puzzle.

  "Volume."

  "It'd draw more attention if I was quiet in here."

  "Why are we meeting here?"

  "Because we always have."

  "Everyone shut up. You, be ready. The rest of you, be ready for whatever happens next. Let's not muck this up. Things go right, we're looking at the best payday we ever had."

  "I'll drink to that."

  The conversation descended into growling and glass clinking and talk of all the money they'd soon have. I waited for a while after that, hoping someone would slip and let loose more details, but eventually Tattered Vest ordered them out before they got too drunk for work.

  The guy never gave my table back, but he did start bothering the bartender instead. I considered doing something to deter him before I left, but she didn't seem altogether displeased with him, and I didn't need to draw more of the bartender's attention. I decided that working at The Hairy Barnacle, she could likely handle herself. Me? I had research to do.

  I repeated the facts to myself the whole way home: Highlander's Point, the Golden Fleece, two of them going to a cave before first light. Halfway home it occurred to me that I'd also learned Tattered
Vest was the messenger for the group, not necessarily the leader of their little band of criminals. I'd been assuming that before, but the conversation confirmed it.

  I was trying to work this case slow. I was trying not to make assumptions or rush things. I was trying to be smart about it. I needed to remind myself of these things more often than I needed to remind myself of the facts of the case. Do this slowly. Have patience. It would make me a better agent, if I survived it.

  A dozen party poppers went off when I opened my front door. I walked through them, barely noticing.

  "What gives?" asked Phoebe. "Who died?"

  "That's never a good question to ask, Phoebe."

  "Oh no! Who died?"

  "No one yet," I said. "Leave me alone. I'm thinking."

  She popped out of sight. I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to realize until much later that she'd never listened to me without putting up a fight before. I wasn't sure what that was about, but I suspected it had something to do with my attitude lately. Years and years of trying to scare Phoebe into submission, and a few pictures on the walls was what did her in? I doubted it. It seemed too easy for something I considered to be impossible. I'd long ago learned that trying to make sense of what Phoebe did was a pointless exercise.

  I brought out my maps of Highlander's Point. A glamoured peninsula, hidden from human eyes, Highlander's Point was a rocky bit of hill that pirates were once rumored to have used as a place for hiding treasure. This rumored history turned it into a popular pirate hangout for a time, but it was now more of a spot where pirates sometimes met up for an hour or two to do deals, graffiti rocks, and pretend to be more impressive than they actually were. It was a dump, basically. And there was no underground access.

  If the maps were wrong, Art, the only agent I sometimes partnered with, might know. As a selkie, his pod knew more about the secrets of the Pacific Northwest coast than any map was likely to reveal. I was putting off making that call, though. There had to be another way.

  I got on my computer and checked the FAB files on Highlander's Point and found nothing new. Then I took a look at the Golden Fleece, possibly because I was desperate, but I liked to believe it was because I was being thorough. I knew enough about the Golden Fleece to know it had to be a code word. The Golden Fleece was a Greek thing, it was a symbol of kings, and it wasn't real. As code words went, it had the potential to be very, very bad. A guy on the council--a guy I just knew was up to bad things--wanted something that meant "I rule over all of you"? I wanted to think I was overreacting; I tried to shove all the scared feelings deep in my belly, but this little voice kept creeping up and saying, You are in over your head, Sophie. You are going to screw this up, Sophie. You should have been a dentist, Sophie.