by WB McKay
He tucked himself in behind the little car's steering wheel. Once he realized the seat controls were already as far back as they would go, he shrugged his shoulders and smiled over at me. "Where to?"
Absolutely nothing got Art down. I poked at the spot where his dimple hid under his well-groomed beard. He smiled wider but otherwise didn't respond. If someone did the same to me, I'd slap their hand away.
"Drop me by The Arbor. I want to shower and put on some real clothes before I bring this thing in. I smell like dead fish. Don't want to give the office any more fuel for those rumors that I eat carrion."
He laughed. "No one says that."
"Not to you."
A worried crease took hold of his brow, but he promptly shook it off. "What are you doing after you shower and return that necklace? Bad day for surfing. Farmer's market is over."
"Well don't you just have me figured out." He did. There wasn't much else I did with my time. "What are you doing?" Always better to flip such questions around. Art could handle the conversation well enough on his own if I got him started.
"I'm really not busy. If you'd like me to wait around while you clean up, I'd be happy to give you a ride into the office so you can return that necklace."
My hand jumped up to the gold around my neck. I tucked it under the collar of the sweatshirt. This was the second time he'd mentioned me returning the necklace. "I can handle it myself."
"Of course you can, but—"
"No."
"Right, okay." The worried crease was back in his brow, and it stuck there this time. He turned into The Arbor parking lot and drove past several empty guest spots. "Are you okay?" he finally asked.
"I'm fine." The necklace burned my chest. I could feel him looking at it through the fabric of my shirt. "You know I hate working Saturday mornings." It was true. Obviously. I wasn't one of the fae who could lie.
He nodded like that made sense. "Right, I know that." He looked me over, suspicious, and then shook away the tension and let his face revert to its usual smile. "Sorry you missed the market, but there's always next Saturday. And once you wash away the brine with some hot water, pick up your paycheck, and buy yourself that celebratory cheeseburger, it'll all feel worth it."
I couldn't help but smile about celebratory cheeseburgers. "I'm feeling like sweet potato fries today."
"That's the spirit." He smiled wide for me, trying to make me smile back, and I pulled my lips into a wide grimace that showed all my teeth. He laughed. I rolled my eyes. That was our routine.
I hopped out of the car and he called after me, "Just don't let Phoebe get to you."
I grunted and waved him off. Phoebe was a skilled artist. If given the chance, I bet she could even irritate Art.
I hit the button on the elevator that would take me up to the tree houses that composed The Arbor. The barely visible structure I called home was an awesome place to live. Much more awesome than I would be able to afford if there weren't an annoying dryad that used the place like her own and generally treated me like a hostile invader for kicks. At least she was tidy.
The elevator arrived with a cheerful ding. Most days it was easier to fly in, but my borrowed clothes were heavy for my crow form. I fingered the necklace at my throat, still puzzling over how I brought it through the shift. Maybe I was learning. Maybe it was easier to do with metals. Jewelry wasn't something I typically wore. I'd have to test that theory when I got a spare minute.
The elevator opened onto the walkway connecting the community of tree houses. A pair of elves slid past me, their arms linked around each other's waists. They were beautiful, as elves tended to be. If you were into the whole flowing blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and perfectly symmetrical face thing. To me, they looked too much like they'd been photoshopped. Seeing them gave me the urge to poke their cheeks, mess up their hair.
"Good evening, Sophie," they said in unison, their voices like wind chimes. Their expressions held no trace of sarcasm. I'd been rude to them every interaction we'd had. They just wouldn't give it up. "It's going to be a beautiful night."
I'd have liked them better if they weren't so damned nice. They needed a flaw if they were ever going to grow a personality.
"Whatever."
I turned on a heel and stalked toward lucky number thirteen. It rested on the branches of three beautiful redwoods, about a hundred feet from the ground. The bulk of the apartment butted against the trunk of Phoebe's tree. She was the spirit bonded to the tree since it was a seedling, and she would live as long as the redwood did. It made her ancient compared to my twenty-four years. Not that she acted it. Or looked it. The elves said it was a great honor to have a dryad in your house. It was funny how an honor could feel so much like a curse.
I knocked loudly on the door before pressing my palm to the wood. Disengaging the magical lock took two seconds, but I waited a few more to give Phoebe adequate warning. It rubbed me the wrong way to knock on my own door, but after walking in on a dryad fondling herself for the third time, and being unable to convince her to do it some place private, I'd started knocking to warn her I was coming in and it was time to pretend to have some decency. Judging by the smug look she wore when I came up with the system, it was just another thing she was doing to irritate me, but if it kept me from seeing a dryad spread-eagle on my couch when I came home, I'd knock every time.
The lights came on at my presence, which meant Phoebe was probably not in the apartment. Maybe. Sometimes she messed with the magic so she could jump out and scare me when I got home. Asshole. Out of habit, my eyes scanned for things out of place. I didn't find a water bucket above me waiting to fall or slingshots strategically positioned around the room. I was getting better at spotting the traps, but she was also getting better at setting them. Still, there was nothing I could see. Maybe that meant she was taking a break to give her next stunt more punch, or maybe it meant she was being particularly devious. Coming home was always an adventure.
I didn't feel up to playing detective, so I walked straight to the bathroom and stripped off my clothes and set my swords aside. The shower came on with a wave of my hand. I stepped into the warm stream of water that poured out at my desired temperature without having to adjust it. Whenever I felt extra grateful for the luxury of my home, or extra annoyed at Phoebe, I was reminded how I'd never be able to afford it without the dryad problem affecting the rent. I should have known it was too good to be true when I moved in, but I had been eager to get out on my own. Living in a community of my banshee sisters was nice and all, but I hadn't wanted to be a burden to my sister any longer. Not that Belinda would have ever said it to my face, but she hadn't asked to be left with a squalling infant. I left her house at seventeen when I got my first job at the bureau.
While Belinda was technically my sister, she was also the only parent I'd ever known. Neither of us knew who our fathers were, though we assumed they were different. Belinda had only seen our birth mother twice in her adult life, the last time being when she dropped me off with a note instructing her to raise me. A note. That was the last any of us had seen of her. To most of the fae, The Morrigan was an infamous legend. They called her Battle Goddess or Phantom Queen, often in hushed whispers, like she might hear her name. To us, she was someone we'd never met, but could never escape. The legend of The Morrigan followed us everywhere. Or at least, it followed me. Belinda was a banshee, like every other daughter of The Morrigan, and stayed in Wailing Lakes, the banshee community where most of our sisters lived their whole lives. When everyone around you had the same mom, no one bothered asking you about her. It was a difference I hadn't realized until I ventured out on my own. It was safe to say I had mommy issues. Still, I wasn't a banshee. I was "unique", as far as I knew. I had to find a place for myself. Seven years in, I liked to think I was doing fairly well. Belinda didn't seem to share that opinion. She was still waiting for me to come home any day now.
The water switched from perfectly heated to ice cold in the space of a heartbeat, shocking me o
ut of my melancholy thoughts. At least she'd let me wash my hair. "Nice, Phoebe. You monster."
"You're welcome," said the dryad with a giggle as she appeared in the center of the bathroom, a sweet smile on her face.
"Sarcasm, look it up," I retorted.
"Ugh," said Phoebe, crossing her arms over her chest. Her skin looked like the subtly red interior of a redwood tree, down to the grain. When she tried for modesty, her sexy bits were covered with a thin bark. Like now, she rarely bothered. "You want me to leaf through books made from the corpses of trees. Disgusting!"
I scowled at her as I dried off. "Don't pretend that you don't know about the internet. I've checked my browsing history and I sure as hell don't log on to SexyFaeBeasts dot com twice a day."
"You mean the internet is good for things other than looking at pretty men?"
Her genuine confusion made me laugh. "Yes, and don't mess with the hot water again. Some things are sacred. Hot showers are one of them."
She nodded seriously. "You're right. Water brings life. I won't do that again."
"It's appreciated." I finished drying and gathered the borrowed clothes and my swords.
"That's a pretty necklace," said Phoebe, following me to my bedroom.
"Thanks," I replied without thinking. "Damn it!" I knew better than to say thank you. What was wrong with me today?
Phoebe clapped and let out a little squeal. "You're in my debt. I hope you're going to keep the necklace; I could use more favors."
"I'm not keeping it. I have to turn it into MOD. It was a job."
"Well, I think you should keep it; it sets off those dark eyes of yours, gives them a little sparkle."
I nodded. Everybody said I took after my mother, even more than my sisters. We all had dark eyes, but my hair was so black it had a blue sheen. I pulled it over my shoulder and got my first real look at the burnt ends. Phoebe hadn't noticed the uneven strands yet. "Stop complimenting me. I won't owe you any more favors."
"Fine, I was just trying to be nice," she said, full lips pouting.
I ignored her, my thoughts stuck on my mother. Any other time, I'd be flying out the window, or hopping on Bliss, or heading off to catch some waves, or something else to keep my mind away from anything mom relevant. But this wasn't like any other time, and I knew it. My hands balled into fists against the memory of the magic light I'd summoned.
It wasn't a big deal. Just some pretty lights. If you didn't use a power, it couldn't define you, right? That's how I'd always seen it—or used to, anyway. But then I'd been assigned the worst job of my career. A wisp-thin wind worker named Leandra had stolen an enchanted cache of weapons. The memory wrapped around me like the vice-like grip of her magic. No matter how many times I reflected on the incident, I'd never be sure she was trying to hurt me. Maybe she'd only intended to scare me. Maybe if I hadn't killed her, she would have let me go, and we'd have both been fine today. But my hands had lit up. Years of hiding that magic, and there it was for all the world to see. Beautiful balls of light, mesmerizing and clearly harmless. They floated away from my hand at a leisurely pace. Leandra laughed, incredulous. She was killing me, and I was putting on a light show. I supposed that could be funny, if you were without a soul. I didn't have time to think about it. I was too afraid of what my light would do, and trying to breathe, and battling against the urge to let my magic do what it would. The orbs' slow pace as they traveled through the air must have seemed relaxed, but in truth the magic was stiff under the tension of my indecision. I was trying to rein the light back in—truly I was—but looking back, I became convinced that I could have gained control if I'd been sure it was the right thing to do. I didn't want to kill her—but I also wanted to live. I was wrestling with that decision and struggling to subdue my light while she laughed in my face, taunting me. She practically begged me to kill her, but she couldn't have known that I was capable. And then she released her magic, letting me breathe—sweet moment of relief—only to slam the wind around me tighter than ever before. The world grew dark. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
Her skin glowed when the light touched her.
And then she was gone. Dead. She never saw it coming.
I hadn't meant to do it. I was barely conscious. The bureau only cared that it was self defense. Apparently, Leandra had been killing people for a while—one of those details that would have been nice to know before they gave me the warrant. No one would listen when I told them I hadn't meant to kill her. They didn't appreciate the significance of that, of how dangerous I was. Or maybe they didn't want the extra paperwork.
Phoebe slapped my arm. "Hey! No using your fear magic in the house!" Her eyes were wide, but otherwise she didn't show her fear. Still, now that she mentioned it, I could feel that I'd pushed out an aura of magic. It didn't happen every time I was scared. Shame heated my skin. I reeled the magic back in, wondering how it was I'd gotten to this point. Why, after all these years, was I losing control of my magic now?
Months had gone by since Leandra with nothing unusual happening. But then today, with Lou, my hands lit up when I felt the slightest bit threatened by dragonfire. I wasn't safe—Lou was trying to kill me at the time—but I could have gotten away without hurting him. I'd escaped worse situations. Number one rule of Magical Object Division recovery assignments: know your escape route. But my hands had lit up for battle. Battle... like I was the daughter of a battle goddess or something.
Damn.
This had The Morrigan written all over it. I knew that, even if I barely knew anything about her. I'd been hesitantly researching her since the incident, but it was hard to separate fact from fiction where almighty mommy was concerned. I'd hoped the whole thing had been a glitch. Learning about my magic, and therefore the source of it all—The Morrigan—wouldn't be necessary if I never used the death light again. It should have been simple. Today proved it wasn't. I could kill someone at any time, without meaning to. That was scarier than ten Leandras.
No more excuses, no more procrastinating. It was time for my research to get serious. Tracking down information was like tracking down anything else—and that's what I did for a damned living. I could do this. I just had to want to.
Ugh.
I pulled up my note app and looked over the list.
What I Know About The Morrigan:
Has a crow form
Unseelie
Immortal? Really old.
Psychic knowledge about life and death
Drawn to battle
Banshee-like scream, may be more to it for her. Like mine?
Abandons her children. All banshee women. Except me.
Not. Good. People.
And that's where I was at with that.
When it came to The Morrigan, more was rumored than known. How someone could be so famous, and yet full of so many secrets, was beyond me. I hadn't found so much as a hint about a light that killed. It seemed to be the least known magic in existence. I'd certainly never told anyone about it, not even Belinda. I barely acknowledged it to myself. Cowardly, yes, but also very comfortable. Should have known that couldn't last.
"Time to go into research mode," I told the empty room. Apparently Phoebe had finished tormenting me for the time being.
I flicked through my contacts, stopping on the picture of the mousy woman with an octopus on her head. She looked so somber, and yet so silly. Such a weird fae. I pressed call. "Ava, I have a job for you."
CHAPTER THREE
"So, what has the bureau given you too little information about this time?" asked Ava, gesturing to the seat opposite her. Conflicting occult symbols adorned the cloth-covered table. Her usual clientele was human, and she had to give them what they expected when they came to her wanting magic. Anything they lost, she could find. There was nothing normal about Ava, but her business model was the most curious of them all. I felt the weight of unasked questions every time I visited Lost in the Mist. Few fae did business in human territory. The fact that we were within a stone's throw of V
olarus, the fae city, only made it stranger. Ava worked with humans, not because there weren't fae around, or even fae like her, or any other reason I could think of—Ava wanted to work with humans. I wasn't sure how her magic worked, she was tight-lipped about it, but I was pretty sure she was a seeker. I'd never met another, though I'd heard a group of them owned a corporation in Volarus. I was curious why she didn't join their company, but I had a feeling it was one of those things I wasn't supposed to ask, and I didn't want to screw up the working relationship I had with Ava. The mystery was an itch I wasn't allowed to scratch.
I took a seat at the table and worked on figuring out what to say. I'd had a plan before I came, but being in her presence reminded me that mixing business relationships with personal stuff was a horrible idea, mainly because I did nothing but mess up the personal stuff.
But I needed answers. If I wanted to keep my job, or have any kind of life, I needed answers. I couldn't spend the rest of my life scared I'd commit murder.
Ava pushed the tarot cards aside and turned her unsettling peridot eyes up to meet mine. "Big questions today?"
I briefly pulled up a smile and then dropped it. I wasn't good at the forced smiling, and Ava was hardly someone who would appreciate the effort. Her gaze searched me. She probably already knew why I was there. Ava just knew things. It was why I sought her help. Also maybe why I shouldn't.
She clacked her nails on the table. It was hard to tell, but I think she found my nerves amusing.
"This one isn't for the bureau."
"You don't say."
A shiver shook my frame. Visiting Ava was usually unsettling, but not this unsettling. "This visit is personal," I said, like that wasn't already clear.
"You're so human today, Sophie."
"Huh?"
"You typically behave differently around me. So focused. So motivated. So... emotionless. You're my only fae client, you know. My human clients come in here, so lost. So torn. If they're new, they don't believe in what I do yet. I am their last resort to find whatever it is they've lost, and they're not sure they believe I can do it for them. They're so... desperate. A fae wouldn't come see me in such a state. A fae would never want me to see such... desperation, such... weakness." Her tongue lingered on the word, like she could taste it. And it was delicious. "You're so human today, Sophie."
