“There is no royal house of Ravensgaard,” “Siobhan says.
“I may not have known the queen,” he says, “But I’ve been to plenty of demonstrations and regardless of how they call the queen Lady Oonagh and the Grand Dame. There was a royal family and there is a queen. The family was always on display so we could cheer and renew our devotion. I am sworn to the Ravensgaard clan under the leadership of the Queen Oonagh. I am loyal to the queen. I am loyal to her descendants.” He bows his head to me.
I’d take a step back, but squished into the tiny loveseat in this miniscule room, there’s nowhere to go.
“I am loyal,” he continues, “to the orphan child abandoned in Dublin, left lost and alone, who recently lost her entire family.” He stands and bows to me, taking my hand and pressing his paper-thin lips against my fingers.
“I swear on my oath and on my life, that I shall follow you in whatever direction you bid me go. All of my life, all of my family, all of my wealth I commit to you, Davin Murphy, descendent of the Ravensgaard queen.”
I stare at him in shock.
“There must be some mistake,” I say.
“How many people know about this?” Siobhan asks.
“I don’t know. What everyone believes is that the Queen and her son and his wife and,” he looks at me, “their daughter, died in a car accident.”
“My parents died in an auto accident?” I ask.
“Yes. But I do not believe for a second that she died,” he says. “Not the queen, nor the child.”
“But-” I stammer.
“They burnt another child in the ruins of the car. My guess is you were switched out, because I knew when you were brought to me who you were. The only way they could protect you, was to lose you forever. Or so they thought.”
“They saw the mark,” I say to Siobhan. “Riordan and Fintan saw the mark and went to speak to their father.”
“Do you think this is why Master Murtagh betrothed you to his son?” she asks.
“It was a masterful move. Because he knows if it’s ever proven you are the grandchild of the queen, well, if you’re married into his family then his family is safe and more powerful than ever. And if you are not to the grandchild of the queen, then still his son is safe from being married out to California. The fact you’re a fighter from the fringes who battles against the front line, who just lost your entire cabal. Well, it couldn’t be any better for Master Murtagh. He completely wins.”
“I am not going to marry Riordan.” I make it clear.
Walsh cackles. “But you must. You took an oath in front of a room of Ravensgaard.”
“How the hell am I supposed to marry a man whose family is responsible for killing my parents? And doing God only knows what with my grandmother?”
“You have publicly agreed to marry this man. It is your oath, your word. It was a master move. Ravensgaard do not break our word. You have sworn loyalty to him.
“I agreed to become his wife, I didn’t swear fealty to him.”
“Yes, you agreed to become his wife, it is the oath of the highest power. If you break it, all the Ravensgaards will see you as an oath breaker.”
My heart races as I slump back in the small couch. “I’m trapped.”
“There is one way around it,” he says.
“Which is?” I ask.
“Find the queen,” he says. “Find the queen and release her from where she’s held.”
“How do I do that?” I say. “I am a captive in the castle, betrothed to the eldest son, I can’t simply disappear on some adventure.”
“Then take the boy with you,” he shrugs.
“How the hell am I going to do that?” I ask.
Siobhan glances at me. “Come on, that shouldn’t be hard. Have you seen the way he looks at you? He’s quite besotted with you. He’d do pretty much anything.”
“You know what you have to do.” Murphy’s voice rasps as he stands up. Our audience with him is over. “Convince the boy you love him, too.”
As I navigate the narrow dark hallway leading from the tiny chamber where Murphy dwells Siobhan reaches out and grabs my hand. It’s warm and firm in mine. She leans in.
“We may have lost everything,” she says. “But we have found the truth. And that is something worth having.”
“I do not know if we have found the truth,” I say, our steps in sync as we go down the hallway. “If you will come with me we will try to verify what Murphy has said.”
“I have no family other than you,” Siobhan says, and before I can stop her, she steps in front of me on a lower stair, bows her head and grabs my hand, kissing my fingers.
“I swear on my oath and on my life, that I shall follow you in whatever direction you bid me go. All of my life, all of my family, all of my wealth I commit to you, Davin Murphy, descendent of the Ravensgaard queen.”
She raises her head and looks me in the eye.
Mine sting with tears, but hers are clear and true.
I stand here a descendent of a family I do not know, the symbol of a truth I am not sure of. And I know I must rise and find out what has truly happened in Castle Brannach and in my past. But, most importantly, I must find Lady Oonagh, the Ravensgaard queen.
* * *
The End
Continue the Quest for Shifter Magic series in book one, Iron Cage.
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About the Author
Since I was eight I have been writing stories that capture the adventures in my head and the characters strong enough and flawed enough to have them. When I look at an empty field I see a formidable citadel. When I meet a vulnerable old man, I greet an emeritus warrior. When I walk through city streets I feel dimensions hiding around every turn. It has been my lifelong passion to explore these worlds that reveal the pain of loneliness, the joy or self-actualization, and the hope of magic.
I grew up in a place called Potter Valley where the Milky Way is held aloft by a circle of mountains and the central business district consists of a bait store and a saloon. At 19 I moved alone to London and spent the next ten years exploring the world, even becoming an Australian citizen, before I returned to California and found a new home in Los Angeles. My world revolves around my two wee children, storytelling, and my love of travel.
* * *
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Underground Magic
D.D. Miers
Underground Magic © Copyright 2017 D.D. Miers
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Underground Magic
In the sewers beneath London’s streets, it’s not just the sludge and shit that reeks.
Ayn lives for the fight. She spends her days sleeping, and her nights battling other supernaturals in the underground cage matches within London’s sewers.
When a hauntingly familiar face appears in the crowd—a face she long thought dead—Ayn can’t walk away without discovering the truth.
Her search leads her into the hands of a deceptive master warlock. A man who only trades in souls—and this time he wants Ayn’s.
1
Desperation always sme
lled of blood, sweat, and loss. At least, that’s what I told myself every time I dove into the pits of hell. Down here in the old sewers beneath the city’s streets, it wasn’t sludge and shit that reeked but our eagerness to be the first to draw blood so we could line our pockets.
Since these fights put food on the table, I convinced myself that made it okay.
The ring had no ropes, and the circle that had once been crudely painted onto the floor had worn so badly with time, no one cared any longer whether someone was in or out of bounds. When one found a part of the fighting rings in the old maze of the sewers, honor and integrity weren’t really part of the game.
I’d found myself a space against the wall, so I could be certain no one tried to pick my pockets from behind. It was difficult to see the fight going on, given how many people crowded around and screamed whether their fighter was winning or losing. The poor bastards in the ring didn’t just leave caked in blood. They also left covered in spittle.
I would have been in the ring right now, fighting some idiot with a death wish, but he’d already taken a hit that had knocked his lights out. Waiting was the hardest part. It gave me enough time to remember just how much I hated being here.
My side-eyed glare did nothing to scare off the peddler who’d squeezed in beside me. Even down here, in the midst of illegal fighting and underground gambling, the man looked sketchy.
“Already placed your bets?” His breath smelled of rotten fruit and stale cigarettes, and as disinterested as I looked, he still pulled open the side of his coat to reveal a myriad of hand-carved charms and trinkets. “I’ve got all the hexes and charms guaranteed to take your fighter to the top.”
I couldn’t have worn a more flattened expression if I tried. “Why don’t you take your charms and fuck off?”
Luckily, his hesitance wore off as I nudged him away, freeing myself of his absurd illegal baubles of the worst amateur variety. Hell, I think I may have concocted some that looked better with Elmer's glue and crayons. But mine wouldn’t have been imbued with any magic in the least. Infusing wasn’t quite my thing.
A harrowing howl sprang up out of the ring, urging me to my toes so I could peer over the heads of those in front of me. Two shifters danced in the ring, their human forms lost in favor of sharpened claws and speed some of us only dreamed of.
They lunged at each other, their heavy swipes shredding fur and flesh alike. Too slow to dodge, one took a blow to the face so deep and jagged, sprays of blood coated the boots of those watching. The filth did nothing to deter the onlookers from their spots as they cheered more wildly. Either they were excited their fighter had just landed a solid hit, or they were terrified their wads of cash were about to be lost.
Nevertheless, it seemed the wounded beast lunged with enough force that sounded like stone breaking. They both fell to the ground. Hopefully, their brutal fight was worth more than merely money, as it looked like one of them wouldn’t make it out alive.
Through the crowd, a familiar face in its gentle slope of the nose and tight bud lips drew the world around me to a crawl.
The fight could have ended and the sewers erupted with police, and I still wouldn’t have known; not when the woman who drifted by looked exactly like a perfect clone of my childhood friend.
My deceased childhood friend.
2
At least that’s what we’d all presumed. After years of searching, investigations, and dead ends, we’d had to accept she wasn’t coming back. Like so many others before her, the underground had stolen Cassia.
She vanished beyond the sea of heads, but I remained frozen in place.
I’d been there for her funeral.
I’d mourned at her family’s side.
Hell, more than three years had passed without a single glimpse. So, who was this woman?
“Cassia!” I called out again and again, but the horde of people drowned out my words. She’d never hear me down here.
Fights be damned, I had to go look. Had to see for myself if she was Cassia or some perfect doppelgänger.
Through the crowd, a crop of white hair swung my way.
Shit—Emery.
The man who set up my fight schedule and took a share of the winnings, much to my dismay. It was all for the best, though, as I never had been very good with the paperwork side of things.
He glanced around, looking for something, maybe even me as he laughed and bantered with everyone he passed. The peddler from earlier might have learned a trick or two from him. Emery was the best salesman that ever existed.
He’d also have my head if I missed my next fight, but I’d be damned if I blew this chance. Cassia had been like a sister to me, and I’d never fully closed that chapter of my life—maybe for good reason. Besides, I still had twenty minutes, just enough time to determine this woman couldn’t possibly be Cassia.
Into the crowd I despised so much, I slipped, cautious to weave around the swivel of Emery’s gaze. Grateful for my dark hair that allowed me to blend into the shadowed space rather than stick out like a sore thumb.
I’d lost sight of the doppelgänger already, but I knew she’d gone beyond the vendors straight ahead.
Their wares had more class or as much as one could have in a place like this, choosing to display goods atop folding metal tables rather than the inside of one’s coat. At least they didn’t look like flashers as they shoved charms, trinkets, and dried energy paste into my face.
I ignored them, brushing aside their futile attempts the moment I saw the same deep auburn hair drifting through the crowd again.
It was hard to imagine Cassie’s voluminous curls that had been her pride and joy would now be the flattened, lifeless strands walking away from me. She’d always believed there were two things to cure every broken heart: a great hair makeover and ice cream.
Years back, I thought I’d found true love, young and dumb as I was. Jake had embodied everything a young girl wanted. He was charming, handsome, and witty. From the beginning, Cassia had warned me against being with him, but I hadn’t listened.
I never did.
She was there, though, to pick up the pieces when he’d run off. I’d found him in bed with not one other woman, but two. His apology had been a mere shrug. Cassia corralled me into her apartment, far away from my own place where his things would have driven me insane, and focused on solely me.
Not once did she use the “I told you so” card. It wasn’t like her, not with her entirely too-sweet demeanor and penchant for caring for others more than herself. In the middle of her kitchen, I sat at her table, digging my spoon into an entire carton of melting ice cream while she listened to me wail and bitch and moan.
Then, when finally I’d quieted enough, she took me into the bathroom, sat me on the edge of the tub and did my hair. I blindly trusted her as I heard the snip of scissors and sat for an hour letting whatever goop she’d put into my hair process. When she turned me toward the mirror I barely recognized the woman who looked back at me.
Somehow, Cassia had transformed me from a mousy woman with chocolate-brown hair to a femme fatale with a boxy haircut of jet-black tresses. Not something I would have ever picked for myself, but when I turned and pulled her into a hug, I knew everything in the end would be all right.
She’d transformed me, with merely a box of ice cream and a changed haircut. Though years had passed, I still sported the same hair. Whenever I went to get a trim, the stylist tried to persuade me to get it changed, but eventually my venomous snap of a “no” convinced her to stop asking.
Now, I wondered if Cassia would recognize it. I wondered if the moment had made as much of an impact on her as it had on me.
Seeing Emery look my way, I ducked behind the crowd between us and waited. I couldn’t let him drag me into my fight, not like this. Focus was always paramount, and with Cassia on my mind, I’d be a scrambled mess.
I drew odd looks as I moved forward, crouched down to the floor. There was no time to waste, not with my best friend’
s potential life back in the game. Whether she wanted to see me or not, she was going to.
Sedately I rose, pulling back to my full stature in slow motion.
Not only had she finally pulled to a stop, she’d stood in front of one of the most dangerous people in the sewers and smiled.
3
My anger had already reached dangerous levels when Cassia stopped before Mithran, warlock and masterful coordinator of the underground magic trade. The black market was his life, and I’d often heard about his shady dealings. They went well for him but always seemed to drag others down to their doom.
He looked cocky with his lips perpetually quirked and his jet-black hair falling around his eyes. It pissed me off that he wore the same hair color as me and almost did it better.
He dragged the tip of his finger across Cassia’s cheek, leading me to finally see just how horrific she looked.
She wore a deathly pallor, with dark circles under her eyes and sunken cheeks that made it look as if she hadn’t eaten in months. If someone had told me zombies existed, I may have been apt to believe.
To Mithran, she lifted a drink, handing it off to him like some slave.
Had she been in trouble so deep she’d made a deal with the devil? Was it drugs? A huge debt? Maybe some crazy fetish turned blood-magic bond? I tried to imagine a world where Cassia would have willingly accepted anything like this.
My stomach churned with one sudden truth.
Why hadn’t she come to me? She’d helped me through my own troubles, and now here she stood in the depths of something so deep, I had no idea how to pull her back to the surface.
Or maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t wanted me to.
Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection Page 91
