Black Market Magic

by Amy Sumida

  “Jimmy is a brag,” Daxon said to me. And then to Desmond he said, “Take us to the Black Alley and call in the Elite.”

  “Got it.” Desmond punched a quick text into his phone and then started driving.

  I lifted a brow at Raza, and he smirked. Only the sidhe had mórs. This main magic was what gave sidhe their surnames. It was why my father's last name was Bloodthorn, but mine was Firethorn; our mórs were different. Often, the mór is strong enough to survive the leap from parent to child, and this creates powerful families such as the Thorns and the Bloodburns. The lesser fey are different; they have beags (elemental magic) like the sidhe, but their main abilities are particular to their race. The sidhe believe this makes them superior, but as Raza proved when he took the throne; you don't have to be a sidhe to rule.

  A brag was a type of lesser fey with an ability that was similar to Daxon's mór. The Tromlaighe had several aspects, but its main one was an ability to kill with fear. “Tromlaighe” meant “Nightmares” and that was exactly what Daxon could dole out. A brag had only one aspect to his magic, but it was a doozy; he could take the form that his victim feared most.

  If you're a Harry Potter fan, you'll be familiar with this creature, except you'll think it's called a boggart. I'm sorry to have to break it to you, but a boggart is actually a type of foul-tempered fairy which are closer to brownies than brags. Brags are the ones who shapeshift into your greatest fear. Humans confuse them with kelpies a lot because back when brags had first started coming to HR, they frequented a region where most of the people were afraid of kelpies—and so that's the form they often took. But brags can take on any shape that your fear provides them with, and that fear becomes a connection they can use to access anything associated with it. Because of this, they make great spies and were often sent into Seelie for just that purpose. Brags can't scare humans to death or paralyze fairies—as the Tromlaighe can—but they can get to the root of your fears and really fuck with you. It all depended on what you were afraid of. The fact that this guy was running around LA, dealing magic to humans, was both baffling and unsettling.

  “What about the other guy?” I asked. “Red Dave.”

  “He's a duergar,” Daxon said.

  “Red Dave is a dwarf?” I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

  “Why is that humorous?” Raza asked.

  “Human popular culture,” Daxon explained to Raza. “There's a television show called Red Dwarf.”

  “Is that how Dave got his name?” Raza asked.

  “Hardly.” Daxon rolled his eyes. “Red Dave got his nickname from the color he leaves his victims... and usually quite a bit of the surrounding area. He used to be an assassin.”

  “You're telling me that a brag and an assassin are now magic pushers?” I snarled. “Why put such badasses out to deal with humans?”

  “Because Daxon is the baddest of the bad,” Desmond said proudly. “And they know that once he lays down the law, he enforces it—himself if he has to.”

  “So, only the most powerful fairies are willing to defy you,” Raza said in an impressed tone. “I'm beginning to think that you will make a fine consort for Seren.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Daxon gave Raza a cocky, lopsided grin.

  “What is this Black Alley that you're taking us to?” I asked Daxon. “Another bar?”

  “No; it's an actual alley—one of the public passages for fairies to enter the Underground,” Daxon explained. “As long as you have fairy blood, you can get through.”

  “How many Underground entrances are there in LA?” Raza asked.

  “Eight public entrances and I'm not certain how many private,” Daxon said. “Fairies create their own passages through property they own; it becomes hard to keep track of them all.”

  “Like the one behind The White Lotus,” I huffed.

  “Exactly.” Daxon nodded. “The Black Alley is well known; it's a first-stop for fairies who are new to Los Angeles.”

  “So, it's a busy entrance,” Raza surmised. “We won't bring much attention to ourselves.”

  “The opposite, actually.” Daxon smirked. “We are going to use your notoriety, Your Majesty.”

  “How so?” Raza narrowed his eyes at Daxon.

  “You and I are hard to miss,” Daxon said. “We will walk into the Underground, and all will know what—and who—we are there for. Any guilty party will flee before we can even lay eyes on them.”

  “Then why are we going through that entrance?” Raza asked.

  “So that Seren, Desmond, and my Elite Guard can go in through my private passage, and hopefully snag some of the game we send flying their way.”

  “You're going to flush them out.” I started to smile. “You sure you never joined the Wild Hunt?”

  “Never even crossed my mind; I hate taking orders.” Daxon smirked. “I'm meant to lead, not follow.”

  “You have to follow before you lead, or you won't know where you're going,” I shot back.

  “No,” Raza declared imperiously, breaking into my repartee with Daxon. “I won't have Seren venturing into the Underground without me.”

  “I assure you, King Raza, she will be safe with my men,” Daxon said. “I would not send her with them if I didn't trust them to protect her.”

  “Besides the fact that I can take care of myself,” I added with irritation. “The Firethorn may not be everyone's idea of a nightmare, but it does all right.”

  “Seren, you have no idea what you'll be facing down there,” Raza growled.

  “I live in Fairy, Raza,” I growled back. “I'm Queen of two kingdoms, Princess to a third, Ambassador between the Realms, and an ex-extinguisher to boot. I not only know what I'll be facing, I know how to extinguish it.”

  “This is not one of your kingdoms, Seren,” Raza said grimly. “This is a refugee community; a collection of fairies who were desperate enough to flee their homeworld. They have had to learn to live in this new world and with each other. The Fairy Underground is a magical minefield in which your numerous titles will be worthless. They will respect Count Daxon far more than you or I. In fact, they may try to abduct you just to have something on Tromlaighe.”

  “King Raza is right,” Daxon said. “It is dangerous and wild in the Underground, but my men will be with you, and no one will hurt you while you're in their care.” He turned to look at Raza. “I swear to you; she will not be harmed. I may be dealing with discontents, but my power is secure. They will not oppose me in such a direct manner.”

  Raza stared down Daxon as the car slid to a stop.

  “We're here, boss,” Desmond called back. “And the Elite is waiting for Her Majesty and me at Enchantments.”

  “Thank you, Desmond,” Daxon said as he continued to stare at Raza. “Well; are we going in or not?”

  Raza took a deep breath and looked at me.

  “I'll be fine,” I said. “It's not like I haven't gone on missions alone before.”

  “I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish Killian were going with you,” Raza said.

  “Be careful, Dragon.” I leaned forward and kissed him quickly.

  “You as well, mo shíorghrá.” Raza leaned his forehead against mine and then eased back and got out of the car.

  “We'll meet you back at Enchantments.” Daxon kissed my hand and got out of the car.

  Dax went around to the driver's window and spoke to Desmond in low murmurs. Then Daxon and Raza went toward a dark slice at the far end of the alley we were parked in. The slice was just a few inches between neighboring buildings—too small for even a rat to get through—but it widened as they approached, and both men disappeared within it.

  “Looks like it's you and me, Your Majesty,” Desmond started to back up the car.

  “And the Elite,” I added as I stared at Desmond through the rear-view mirror. “Who I've never even heard of.”

  “Daxon isn't the type of man who points out every advantage he has,” Desmond said.

  “Or
disadvantage,” I muttered.

  Chapter Five

  Daxon's elite team, aka The Elite, consisted of five fairies: three unseelie and two seelie. Desmond was one of the unseelie and was also the leader of the group. The rest of the team was waiting for us in a sitting room in the back of Daxon's nightclub: Enchantments.

  “Her Majesty, Seren Firethorn, Queen of Seelie and Unseelie, Princess of Twilight, and Ambassador between the Realms,” Desmond introduced me in an oddly casual tone. “This is the Elite: Gatik, here, is a naga.”

  Desmond waved to the first man: a dark-skinned, dark-eyed snake-shifter with Indian (not the American type) features. Gatik bowed to me.

  “Then there's Matvei,” Desmond indicated the next dark-haired guy, who had a massive set of antlers rising above his head—28 points easy—set off by a thick beard. “I'm sure you can tell that he's a leshy.”

  I nodded to Matvei. Leshy were Russian forest fairies who could change into any form. He probably had the antlers out to impress me. Horns that big could make walking through a hallway difficult, and yet, there they were; even though he could have easily glamoured them away.

  “Here; we have Rodaidh; he's seelie sidhe.” Desmond pointed to a blond man who looked familiar.

  I took in his tattooed forearms and suddenly remembered my first visit to Daxon's home. We had to pass through a lounging area for Daxon's henchmen—I mean his employees—and this guy had been there. I'd seen him pull a dagger out of one of his tattoos. It made me curious.

  “You can call me 'Ro,'” Rodaidh said to me with a wink.

  “What's you mór?” I asked him.

  “The Cruthaich.” Ro smirked. “Are you familiar with it, Your Majesty?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “It's a type of creation magic,” he explained. “I can bring any two-dimensional image to three-dimensional life.”

  Ro demonstrated his creation mór by plucking a flower out of the painting on his left. He handed the bloom to me with a bow. I took it, and its sweet fragrance wafted up to me. The stem was cool and crisp as if it had just been drawn out of water. I looked at the vase in the painting; it was missing a flower.

  When I'd seen him pull a dagger from his arm, I'd assumed that Ro had enchanted tattoos. Daxon himself was tattooed profusely, and he owned a tattoo shop that specialized in adding magic to their ink. But that wasn't the case for Rodaidh, at all. Ro didn't need enchanted ink; his mór made any picture magical. The tattoos were just for convenience; which explained why he had so many of them. With a magic like his, it could mean the difference between life and death.

  “If I may?” Ro held his hand out for the flower. “Our king would be peeved to find his painting altered.”

  I handed the flower back to Ro, and he replaced it in the painting smoothly.

  “Show off,” the last member of the Elite was a woman, and she rolled her eyes as she muttered.

  “This is Sanna,” Desmond introduced her.

  “Your Majesty.” Sanna nodded to me. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  “You as well,” I said politely.

  “Sanna is an ajata,” Desmond said.

  She was also stunning. With platinum blonde hair waving down to her waist, icy blue eyes, and creamy skin; Sanna was a Nordic angel. Oh, excuse me; I mean a Finnish angel because that's where the ajata got their good looks. They were known to be malicious fairies who lived in the woods and made you ill if you messed with them.

  I wondered why Sanna was a member of Daxon's Elite. Ajatas weren't weak fairies, but they weren't exactly the most dangerous either, especially when sickness wasn't an issue—which it isn't for the Fey. But as pervy as Daxon was, he wouldn't have put a woman on his Elite Guard just because she was pretty.

  “Shall we?” Desmond asked. “Daxon has already texted. They are walking through the Underground, asking questions, and generally causing a big stir.”

  “Lead on,” I said.

  Desmond headed to a door at the back of the room. Ro and Matvei followed, I took a position behind them, while Sanna and Gatik took up the rear. The door opened onto a steep stairwell, and we took it down several hundred feet before coming to another door at the bottom. We exited into a dark room. Desmond led us through without bothering to turn on a light. He opened another door, and light streamed in; illuminating metal shelves with canned food and other non-perishables stored upon them. Desmond took us down a hallway with rooms branching off it, and then into a spacious living room that looked a lot like the area Daxon's employees liked to lounge in at his home... right down to the occupants.

  Desmond nodded to the twenty or so men and women who were sitting around the room. Most of them just nodded back respectfully, but one of them came forward. He was a kappa: a Japanese fairy with a bowl of water set into his head. I'm not kidding; kappas carried water from their home-river in a bowl-shaped depression in the top of their heads. This one had a rubber cap stuck over his bowl, and the water inside sloshed up against the translucent lid as he bowed to Desmond.

  “King Daxon sent word,” the kappa said. “We've been watching the streets and have both a target and a location for you.”

  “Good work, Masa,” Desmond said. “Who were you able to track?”

  “Jimmy the Brag,” Masa said. “He's in the silver Victorian down on Hopper St.”

  “Keep watching for anyone else who looks suspicious,” Desmond instructed the kappa. “We'll check back with you later.”

  Masa nodded, turned about smartly, and went to a ladder in the corner of the room. He quickly began to climb the rungs. Desmond opened yet another door—this one, the main door—and took us out onto a busy street. There were no cars; only foot traffic. Still, there was a substantial amount of fairies walking the Underground. It didn't matter, though. As soon as they saw Desmond, they moved out of his way. We walked the flagstone streets as if they were empty.

  The strangest collection of buildings rose around us, some going all the way up to the curved, stone ceiling above. There were wooden homes with wide verandas, stone and plaster haciendas, modern steel and glass boxes, brick apartments, and then, finally, we came to the silver Victorian that Masa had told us about. It leaned over the street like a Halloween decoration; too disproportionate to be real. Its walls were made of steel—allowing for that odd angle—and its sloped roof was shingled with white tiles. The steps leading to its pale, wooden front door were cement, and a border of lilies lined the path that led to it.

  I glanced up again, wondering how flowers could grow beneath the earth, and saw that the light I'd assumed was from fairy globes was actually coming from magic stripes of light laid across the ceiling. Sunstrips, they were called. I'd only recently read about them. The elves created them for their underground communities, which used to be comprised of both dark and light elves. The Dark Elves did fine without sunlight, but the Light Elves needed it. The strips emitted energy channeled directly from the Sun to keep the Light Elves healthy. But now the Elves lived in Twilight—above ground—and the Dark Elves would be able to enjoy their underground without adding sunstrips for their cousins. Regardless of why they'd been created, it was surprising to see elf magic in the Underground. Though, after some thought, it made perfect sense. The Elves had lived mainly in the Human Realm for centuries. Why wouldn't they barter goods with other Earth-bound fairies?

  Desmond opened a creaking wooden gate—drawing my attention away from the strips of sunlight—and we followed him up to the silver Victorian. I cast a glance over my shoulder and saw the fairies stop in their tracks to watch us. When it became evident that we were going inside the Victorian, they all hurried away until the once-busy street resembled a ghost town. It had taken mere seconds. These folks knew how to make themselves scarce when necessary.

  I turned to eye the Victorian. Up close, its lean was even more distinct, more like a loom, and it gave the disturbing impression that it was about to fall... right on me. I spotted movement in one of the windows and eased to
the front of our group.

  “He's on the upper floor,” I said softly to Desmond. “Right side.”

  “Got it.” He looked me over. “Maybe you should stay outside, Your Majesty.”

  “Desmond, I used to hunt fairies for a living,” I said dryly. Then I added the Extinguisher motto for good measure, “Riamh eagla an dorchadas.”

  “Not in the Underground, you didn't.”

  “I'm not staying outside.”

  “Then at least stay where I put you,” Desmond snarled and pointed back to my spot in the middle of the Elite.

  “I'm not here to sightsee,” I snapped. “Just get me in the gods-damned building, Desmond.”

  “Fine,” he growled; his cu-sidhe nature peeking out.

  Desmond strode across the wooden porch and waved his hand over the handle on the front door. He frowned at it, then looked back at us.

  “Sanna,” he barked.

  Sanna went forward and blew over the silver handle. The silver blackened, became pitted, and then crumbled to ash. I blinked in surprise. Right; so her illness magic transferred to inanimate things as well. Good to know.

  “The ward is gone,” Sanna said to Desmond.

  Okay, more than inanimate things; Sanna could kill magic. I wondered if it were all magic, or just the beags: the minor spells all fairies could cast. I was leaning toward the later, only because a fairy who could kill any magic would either be hunted or revered. They definitely wouldn't be a personal guard to an underground king.

  Desmond nodded his thanks to Sanna and pushed the door open. It swished silently, but whoever was hiding in the Victorian already knew we were there. So, silence was moot. A small creak came from the floor above us, and the Elite ran for the stairs, leaving me in the dust. They had acted on Desmond's irritation; taking it as an unspoken order to see to it that I wouldn't be the one facing danger first. Impressively annoying.

  But something was off about that creak... it sounded strange—like someone had pushed up on the ceiling instead of walking across the floorboards. I frowned thoughtfully as I watched the Elite pound up the wooden steps. They were so intent on getting ahead of me that they hadn't bothered to check if I was following. That was not so impressive.