Hidden by Faerie: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Stolen Magic Book 3)

by WB McKay

  "That's not what Ava said."

  "She basically did. Owen has a big effect on you."

  "And that's a bad thing?"

  "You seem happy."

  "And again, that's a bad thing?"

  "I'm not sure yet," said Phoebe. "You know, on Medical Heroes, this usually means spending more time at the significant other's home, leaving the treehouse free for a nice dryad like me to stretch her roots."

  "That's what happens on human television?"

  "Same thing." Phoebe uncorked the bottle. She turned the faucet back on, warming the cooled water, and slowly spilled the contents of the bottle into my bath.

  "Is this a prank?" My voice squeaked on the word prank. Having unknown substances poured in your bath will do that to a girl.

  "You need to soak for another thirty minutes," said Phoebe. "This'll do the trick. And, as I understand it, you're seeing Owen later, so you should be extra grateful you'll be able to move around after this. You're welcome."

  "You have no respect for privacy whatsoever, listening in on my phone calls and pouring things in my bath," I griped. "It smells like dirt."

  "It smells like earth," she corrected.

  "Dirt. I'm soaking in dirt."

  She'd already left the room when she called back to me, "Magic dirt!"

  I dried both my hands, texted Owen that I wouldn't be ready for at least forty-five more minutes because I had to soak in magic dirt, set a thirty minute timer, and put on my "Relaxing is a Thing Some People Do" playlist. He texted back "k" without bothering to ask about the magic dirt because that was our lives.

  The playlist kind of helped, but no amount of soaking or magic dirt or soothing music helped the fact that as soon as my mind let down its guard, thoughts flooded in. The case was over, but it wasn't over. I didn't have any answers, and I didn't trust that anyone else would ever piece it all together. I didn't even trust that they knew the right questions.

  It didn't matter how often they had witches running around Volarus, it was no coincidence that they attacked when we were outside the elves' apartment. And why did the elves have an apartment full of trash and nothing else? And where were those elves? And why was the scepter returned with an apology note? A sorry note! Unbelievable. It was stolen from the museum, but also a council member. Was that important? And what about exposure? My mind came up with nothing but more questions, and no connecting lines to make sense of any of them. I needed more information--but no, the case was over, so what I needed was to learn to let it go.

  Why did people always say that like it was so easy?

  I stomped my foot into end of the tub hard enough to hurt my heel, and that's when I realized it didn't hurt to move my knee. Magic dirt, indeed.

  I spent the rest of my bath coming up with other things to think about. I wondered how the harpies' celebrations were going, and if the ogres were working on retaliating against the harpies, or figuring out who had stolen their mascot.

  "Phoebe!" I yelled after standing up and wrapping a towel around myself. "Is magic dirt safe for the plumbing?"

  "Of course it is!" she called back. "And it's safe for the environment, too. What do you take me for?"

  "Too easy to get you on that one," I mumbled. Careful of the wet bathroom floor, I dried off and discovered only a few twinges in my sides and arms as I took inventory. I was in much better shape than I should have been. While I was in a bit of a hurry, I took the time to stretch and test my body out while dressing. I dug out a gray infinity scarf, lavender long sleeve shirt, and clean jeans. That, and a leather jacket, were as warm as I ever dressed. I almost considered leaving my swords at home, which was a strange thought to have. Being prepared for work at any moment was established in my marrow. This had to be Phoebe's influence, her talk of taking days off. Maybe it was something in the magic dirt. With Epic on my back and Haiku at my hip, boots laced and phone in pocket, I was ready to go.

  I wasn't ready to open my door and hear voices, however.

  "These smell like magic," said Owen.

  "Right," said Phoebe. "And chocolate."

  "Uh, I'll pass for now. It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, I'm sure the magic brownies are delicious, but we have dinner plans."

  "Hmph." I poked my head out to see Phoebe retract two vines balancing the tray of brownies she'd offered him. She didn't usually throw her vines around for fun; she was taking advantage of the fact that Owen was still nervous around her. They hadn't exactly met under ideal circumstances: him knocking on the door wanting back the book I'd stolen, her threatening him. They'd worked together to help me, but I supposed he didn't know what to make of my roommate. Most days, I didn't either.

  "You ready to go?" I asked Owen.

  He nodded eagerly.

  "I'll see you later, Phoebe."

  "Don't stay out too late."

  "What are you talking about?" I asked her. "Weren't you just telling me to stay away and give the treehouse space?"

  "Well, yes, but." She pouted. "I thought it was a phrase. They always say it on television shows when people go out on dates, and then they laugh. I thought it was a joke."

  "Ahh," I said. "Well. I appreciate the brownies."

  "You could thank me, you know."

  "I could," I agreed. But I didn't. I'd find a way to do a favor for Phoebe sometime in the future, but one of my own choosing. No blank checks for Phoebe, no more, anyway.

  She was about to say something else, probably a reminder of the tally of favors I already owed her, but her email pinged and distracted her long enough for Owen and I to sneak away. He took my hand the moment the door closed behind us, and we were officially on a date.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Slow dating was nothing like the dating I'd done before. Some of the difference I attributed to Owen himself. His allure was like nothing I'd encountered before. If everyday Owen charm was a twinkling eight on the weak-knees scale, slow date Owen was a sixteen. I couldn't imagine what he would have been like without the "taking things slow" caveat, but I was sure my legs couldn't handle it.

  The sun was about to set when we got to the cliff. He got right to work, laying out a quilt and pillows for me to sit on and watch as he set up the grill and pulled all the fixings for a cheeseburger out of his ice chest.

  He must have had a fair amount of experience with the grill, because he kept up a conversation while he cooked with ease. He told me about the book he'd read on fae artifacts in Greece. I told him the FAB agents who worked most of the Greek cases were actually tolerable--a considerable compliment from me--and he suggested it would be a good spot for our first vacation together--someday in the future, he assured me, because we were taking things slow. The way he winked when he said it felt anything but slow.

  The last sliver of sunlight hovered over the water by the time he sat down with the plates. "I thought I'd timed this better," he told me.

  "This is perfect." I meant it.

  He tilted away from me and bit into his burger. I knew him well enough to know he was pretending to be nonchalant so I wouldn't feel the pressure of the moment. I'd given the restaurant at his bar a bad review for their cheeseburgers; this was a test.

  "You should be the cook," I said through my mouthful.

  He didn't bother to pretend he didn't know what I was talking about. "It's good?" He smiled wide, his teeth clear of food. I knew my own mouth would have no such luck, and put up a hand to cover my smile when I nodded my reassurance. "Good. I have a confession: I took a class."

  "A cheeseburger class?" I asked. "You should have taken me!"

  "And ruin this chance to impress you? Never."

  Cheeseburger tight in my hands, ocean breeze blowing my hair in my face, and Owen looking as perfect as ever: I knew this was it. The moment he would finally lean in and kiss me. We'd been on ten dates. He was staring into my eyes; his smile was dimming; his gaze flickered down to my mouth. I lowered my cheeseburger, leaned a fraction of the way forward, and parted my lips.

&nb
sp; My phone rang.

  I jumped; he groaned and pulled away. I didn't want to get it, but it had to be work. Who else called me?

  I blotted one hand on my napkin and answered the phone. "Morrigan." The screaming in the background let me know it was time to stand up and get the stuff loaded back in the car. "I can't hear you," I said to whoever was talking to me. Owen pushed my hands away from the grill and began cleaning it up himself. He'd only gotten one bite into his burger, after all that work. "What?"

  The noise in the background became distant, but the caller didn't speak again until I heard a door click shut and the line was silent. "The scepter is missing," said Hammond. "You're back on the case."

  "What? How?"

  "They were loading the transport van when it blew up. The scepter was already inside."

  "Was anyone hurt?"

  "We're still assessing the damage," he said, "but yes."

  "All right. Call me when you know more."

  "Are you coming to the office?"

  "No," I said.

  He grunted, and hung up. I was already buckled inside Owen's SUV, he popped in a few seconds later. The quilt and pillows were a knotted mess of disappointment in the backseat. When I'd first started working my job, I wouldn't have noticed something like that while high on a new development in a case. Hell, that was true only a few months ago. I wasn't sure when I'd developed the ability to be excited for a case and not let it overrule any feelings I had about a missed date opportunity, but there I was. Containing multitudes. I stared out the windshield and let this epiphany wash over me. There was a time I would have sworn it simply wasn't possible to do my job well and have a life outside of it.

  But it is possible to do both. I think.

  "Where am I taking you?" Owen tapped his palm on the steering wheel. He'd driven us up the gravel road to the highway, and was paused, waiting for directions.

  "Left. And it's us," I corrected him. "Same case, so you're with me. The transport van blew up. They believe the scepter was inside."

  "Wow," he said.

  "I know. I know." I scrubbed my hands over my face. "They wrote an apology note! Which made no sense. And now they've stolen it again! From a MOD office! That makes even less sense. I cannot picture who is doing this or what they're thinking."

  "This is a weird one. You'll figure it out." He patted my knee. "So we're headed to MOD, then? We'll check out the scene?"

  "No, they have people on that. They'll call if they find anything. I don't expect they will. Whoever wants this thing wants it whole and working. They've got the scepter, and they didn't leave any clues behind at the museum or the apartment. For now, we're still chasing the elves."

  "I'm not going to guess again," he said. "You have to tell me where we're going."

  "I thought the guessing was you trying to learn on the go. It was cute."

  He smiled at me, and it was much cuter than the guessing. "I must be distracting," he said. "You haven't even noticed the cheeseburger between us."

  He was right, both of our burgers were tucked in a Smoke and Mirrors to go box between us. Mine was easily recognized by the two huge bites I'd taken as opposed to his one appropriate-sized nip. He was an awfully neat eater for a beast capable of ravaging cities.

  I devoured the meal with a fervor worthy of its beauty, and once we crossed into Volarus and I'd resolved the thoughts swirling in my brain, I told him, "The harpies tricked me."

  "You think they lied about that being the elves' apartment?" he asked.

  "And you said you were done with the guessing," I said. "No, I don't think so, but they know more than they were telling me. I missed it. They got me to go steal from the ogres without asking enough questions, and the same thing happened with the apartment. I went too fast, and I missed it." Damn. "If we hadn't just been forced to slow down and watch your parents play out their careful lies, I might not have even noticed it at all. Joanna's not your parents, but she knows how to divert my attentions."

  "She pushes your buttons," Owen observed.

  "I'd like to push her buttons," I said. "I'd like to push her buttons right off her face." I felt Owen's side-eye without having to look at it. "Yeah I know that didn't make any sense, shut up about it."

  He had a good laugh about that while I directed him to park a block away. The sign for The Fuzzy Duck shone bright, but the business itself was quiet. The crowd from earlier had gone home, or maybe they were out at The Grinding Bones rubbing in their triumph. Joanna would still be there though, I was sure of it. Probably in her office in the back. Probably alone. Probably laughing at how she'd gotten away without having to really tell me anything. I imagined her holding it over my head, like a prize I couldn't reach.

  "They don't respect me." I'd meant to state it as a fact, but the lilt at the end betrayed my defeat.

  "Hey." He caressed my cheek with the back of his knuckle. "None of them were able to steal the mascot from the ogres, and it sounds like they'd been trying for a while. And they had a whole group and the advantage of knowing the ogres and how they work. You went in, and you did it."

  I could feel his gaze attempting to pry my head his way. I held stubborn and strong. If I didn't, he'd look in my eyes and see how pathetic I was in the face of the harpies.

  "You surprise me. I wouldn't have thought they'd be able to bother you like this."

  "I make no sense. You don't have to tell me that."

  "Sophie. Sophie. Come on." He huffed. "You're Sophie! You don't wait around for anyone else to respect you. Sophie Morrigan goes and gets the job done." He'd got me, I looked up at that one. I had to wonder if he'd come to that conclusion on his own, or if I'd ever said that out loud in front of him before. It was eerily close to the pep talks I gave myself to get my head on straight for a job. He went on, seeming not to notice the way I looked at him. "I've seen you do all kinds of things no one else would do. I guarantee you those harpies have no idea who you are, because you don't go around telling people, but I know you Sophie, and you know you and you know that you don't need the respect of The Fuzzy Duck to go on doing the things you do."

  "Wow," I told him. "That speech was kind of overkill for some nerves about a bar full of harpies."

  "I want to make sure I got the job done," he said. "You deserve the full effort."

  He got a smile out of me for that one, and I was so busy basking in that sweet little line, I didn't see the kiss coming. My mouth caught up before my brain, lips doing what lips do best. He pulled back a few inches and met my eyes--my brain was still stunned, and I don't know if he saw that, but I closed the distance and curled a hand around his neck, finding it impossible to get him close enough. I wasn't sure which of us pulled away the next time, but I was sure we both had the same look on our faces.

  I trailed a finger down his nose. "Goofy. Like cartoon birds should be flying around your head, goofy."

  Always better at these situations, Owen traced my jaw with his thumb. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time."

  "Well, good effort."

  "It's a start," he agreed.

  The sign for The Fuzzy Duck blinked in the corner of my eye, and I jerked back to reality. Hadn't I just been thinking about how I could handle my whole life all at once, and do it well? I must have been delirious. I barely handled Owen when it was him and me and nothing else. I was… not going to ruin the boost of confidence he'd offered me, that's what I was going to do. I straightened my shirt, cleared my throat, and nodded toward the bar. "I'm taking the lead."

  "Did I rattle you, Sophie?"

  "Don't say my name like that."

  "Like what, Sophie?" No one would have thought that voice sounded innocent.

  "Would you like to wait in the car while I go work our job?"

  "You're too fun," he said, and opened his door and climbed out. He stuck his head back in to ask, "Are we going to get to work, or what?"

  "Oh, I'll get to work all right. I'll--" He closed the car door before I finished my sentence, which wa
s for the best because I really hadn't been sure how to finish it. I had a few good things to say to Joanna though, so I opened my door and called Owen back, untied my boots, and got ready to be Sophie Morrigan.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I didn't know if the harpies would notice me, or recognize me if they did, but since I was fresh in their minds I decided to play it as careful as I could, sticking to the shadows and avoiding windows. It wasn't hard. One of the best things about my crow form was the smaller size made it easier to hide.

  My sweep of the outside proved fruitful, but in the name of patience and thoroughness I didn't stop there. The backdoor was cracked open; pots and pans clanged around as someone sang along with low music in the kitchen. Though the place had been crowded earlier, I remembered the door leading down a hallway with an open room to the right side, and past that, many doors leading off of it: two to the kitchen, bathrooms, Joanna's office, and a few doors I didn't know about, but were probably closets. The door was lightweight and I only had to nudge it to make my way inside. The open room to the right held the whiteboard covered in tallies for the prank war. Empty cups littered the top of the table pushed against the wall, but there didn't appear to be anything amiss in the room. I moved on, hopping down the hallway, mindful of my talons clicking on the linoleum.

  Sure enough, Joanna was at her desk. I passed her by for now. The main floor of the bar was mostly empty: two harpies sat at a table in the corner, an employee read a book behind the bar, a hill giant tapped her toes by the jukebox in the corner as she scrolled through the selections. She hollered over to the harpies, pointing at an album cover on the screen. One of them nodded, the other scrunched up her nose with distaste. I took the opportunity presented by the distraction of their argument to cross the room unnoticed. The other side of the bar had public bathrooms and a second door to the kitchen. With nothing there, and the bartender now joined in the great jukebox debate, I hopped under the bar and circled back to the staff hall. Owen's head was poked in the backdoor watching me. I bobbed my head--making more of a show of it in my crow form--and silently positioned myself behind Joanna's desk chair before shifting back to human form.