Bound by Faerie: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Stolen Magic Book 1)

by WB McKay

  My target stepped out of the stall. Casually, I tried to catch her gaze at the sinks.

  "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm into men."

  I laughed awkwardly and mentally cursed my intense stare. "I wasn't checking you out. I just wanted to talk to you about your date."

  "Yeah, he owns the club, and he's hot as hell," she said, washing her hands. "What about him?"

  "I should warn you that he's kind of an arrogant asshole," I said.

  She adjusted her hair in the mirror, pulling the red into more of the blond. Her magic was unfamiliar. The scent mostly reminded me of lemonade, but when she ran her hand through her hair, there was a strong dose of something floral. "The hot ones usually are. As long as his arrogance is justified, if you know what I mean."

  I laughed. "Heh, sex." She blinked at me like I was an idiot. "Yeah, he has a lot of that. I heard he brings a new girl home every night. Nasty."

  "That's what I'm counting on," she said, a wicked grin lighting up her face. "Listen, are you going somewhere with this? I know he's not Mr. Forever. But he's hot, buying all the drinks, and I'm going to get laid, so I'm happy. I know what I'm getting into, so if this is some sisterly solidarity protective thing, you don't have to worry about it. I'm a big girl." She adjusted her breasts and gave me a wink.

  "Fine," I said with a groan, and reached for my tiny purse. I don't know why I bothered trying the talking thing. This had an easy solution. "How much will it take to get you to go home right now?"

  She cocked a hip and looked me up and down. "You don't have enough money to buy me off, honey. I don't get to come into the city often. I really need tonight."

  I pulled out three hundred-dollar bills and held them up. There went that new surfboard I was saving for. "Are we getting close?"

  "Man, you're more desperate to get laid than I am," she said, her brows lifting. Still, she didn't reach for the money. "Does he have magic junk or something?"

  I blushed. "It's nothing like that. I just need to see his book collection."

  Her brows hitched up so high they disappeared under her hair. "Five hundred and I'll let you take a shot at him."

  I pulled out five more bills and said, "Throw in the jacket and we have a deal." And there went the trip to Hawaii to break it in.

  "Fine. And can I offer you one more thing?"

  "What?"

  "So suspicious." She winked, and without answering me, put red highlights through my hair. "Between the hair and this jacket, honey, I have been good for you, even if you don't get laid. And one more tip—next time you go out like this, you should invest in some new shoes, especially if you have money to throw around. No excuse for those clunkers." She slipped out of the coat and handed it over, grabbing the wad of cash at the same time. "Don't be offended." I wasn't. I also wasn't sure why I would be. "I'm trying to help you, so you don't need to buy a girl off next time." She shook her hair out and checked her makeup in the mirror. "I don't know why, but I feel like I have to warn you that I still don't think you have much of a chance with him. You're not his type, from what I've heard, anyway."

  "No, but you are." I grabbed the charm on my wrist and copied her petite nose and amped up my boobs. "That's why I came prepared."

  She blinked a few times and then walked past me. She waved a hand over her shoulder. "Good luck with... whatever it is you've got going on. I'll hit up another club for tonight. Plenty of hot fish in the sea."

  Well, that was done. I slid on the white leather and checked myself out in the mirror. Not a perfect match, but I doubted he'd be able to tell the difference with how blurry his eyes were.

  "Here goes nothing." I ignored the group of girls giving me funny looks a few sinks over and exited the bathroom. I made a beeline for Owen's table, not giving myself a chance to overthink what I was doing. This was a good plan. And the jacket fit okay. Losing that money had hurt, but it wasn't the most I'd ever paid for a book.

  Owen looked up as I neared the table. He grinned sloppily and patted the bench seat. So far so good. I slid into the booth. Alcohol made it more difficult for some fae to keep their magic reined in, and truthfully, some people never put much effort into keeping their magic to themselves anyway. Whatever the case, Owen's magic filled the booth, and I was assaulted with the scent—hot metal and cinnamon. "Dragon," I grumbled under my breath. "I should have known."

  "Sorry?" he slurred.

  "Nothing." I gave him the biggest, dopiest smile I had. He wouldn't care.

  "No. You said something." He leaned even closer, which I hadn't thought possible. The alcohol on his breath didn't cover the smell of onion rings, and none of it did anything to mask his magic. "I wanna know what you said."

  Of course he did. I wasn't about to ruin my chances by talking. Instead, I did the only thing I could come up with, the thing I thought his previous date would have done. I pressed myself against him and kissed him hard on the mouth. If he had a moment of shock, I didn't sense it. His tongue explored with fervor. The alcohol and onion I'd smelled earlier were nowhere to be found. Owen was all magic. Cinnamon washed over my tongue and I let out an involuntary groan. Why hadn't anybody ever told me how good dragons taste? Maybe it wasn't all dragons, just this one, because the cinnamon thing was new.

  The kiss went on far longer than I had planned, and when he broke it, we were both panting for breath.

  "You ready to get out of here?" he asked.

  Afraid my voice would give me away, I nodded and slid out of the booth. When he had trouble getting out of the squishy seat, I took his hands and pulled him to his feet. He swayed drunkenly and then grabbed my ass. Before I gave myself time to consider how I felt about that in terms of the whole fake-seduction thing, I said, "No," and swatted his hand away. I'd never let a boyfriend do that in public.

  I expected him to say something awful, or to say it was okay and then grab me again, but instead he put a little distance between us and said, "I'm sorry. With the way you grabbed me earlier, I thought... never mind what I thought. Did you still wanna go? We can hang out here."

  He waited there patiently.

  "Yeah, yes. Let's go." I stepped toward the door.

  "Not that way," he said. "I've got another way out of here." He put his hand in mine and watched my face for permission. When I nodded, he pulled me toward a door marked "Staff Only".

  I wondered where he was taking us. If he didn't take me to his place, what would I do? This had been the plan, but it didn't seem so smart now that it was in action. I was following some dragon to an unknown location. How was I supposed to figure out if this was the place with the book I needed? I should have asked Ava more questions when I had the chance. No, I should have followed this guy to his place, knocked him out, and dragged him in. No, I should have—

  "I have a personal portal in my office." He pointed vaguely ahead of us, unaware of the dialogue I was having with my anxiety. "It leads directly back to my house." He gave me a sly look, only slightly marred by the lack of focus in his drunken gaze. I was no expert, but it seemed like his disorientation rose and dipped without any prompting. As long as he didn't get too clear-headed before I was gone, it was all fine with me. "It comes in handy at times like these."

  I'm sure it did. He winked, like a slimeball. As far as I could tell, his only redeeming quality was being a good kisser. And maybe those pretty green eyes. Well, I guess he also had convenient taste in books. And really he wasn't— Stop trying to make the guy you're stealing from a good person. I needed to stay focused. I was here to complete a job. If he didn't have a top of the line fae security system, we would have never spoken.

  Owen led me past the staff door and down a wide hallway with several doors on either side. He grabbed the knob of the third one on the right. It glowed red, and the ozone smell of a charm yielding filtered through the air. He staggered into an office that looked like it belonged at the top of a skyscraper, furnished with oversized leather chairs and an enormous mahogany desk. Somebody was overcompensating.

>   He gestured at the opulent room. "Welcome to my home away fr—" His words cut off when he stumbled backward and disappeared into the wall.

  I groped the wall and found nothing more than cold brick. I pulled up my second sight and extended the rest of my senses as much as I could. I detected... nothing. Not a hint of magic. Ava had said I wouldn't be able to get through without him, but I hadn't really believed her until just now. "Well, shit. Now what?"

  I was hopelessly touching the brick when Owen popped back through the wall. "Ooooops," he drawled. He grinned at me and offered his hand, waiting. His smile was so silly and innocent that I had to grin back. "Come along m'lady, and journey with me to my humble abode."

  Touching him, focusing and refocusing every which way I could think of, I still sensed nothing from the wall. It was magic—he was still half in and half out of it himself, so it had to be magic—but nothing registered within me. It was like seeing someone driving a car—moving down the road, turning the wheel, chugging exhaust into the air, singing along to the radio—but not being able to see the car wrapped around them, smell the exhaust, touch the door handle, or hear the radio. I knew it had to be there, but all of my senses told me it wasn't. And I was about to get on the freeway in that car, so to speak. What if it stopped existing while I was in it?

  Good sense told me not to enter the portal.

  Apparently I didn't have any of that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was like passing through the barrier between the club and the restaurant portion of Smoke and Mirrors, but with the intensity turned up all the way. Vertigo spun through me as all my senses fought to catch up with the new environment. The room was dim. The dull thump of the music from the club disappeared, its absence like a weight lifted from my shoulders. A large bed dominated the space, and the rest of the room felt crowded by bookshelves that hid the walls. Well, finding his book collection wouldn't be a problem. I craned my neck and found the room was bigger than I'd originally thought. We were in the sleeping area of his L shaped bedroom. The other half was taken up by more bookshelves, and plush chairs that looked like comfortable reading spots. They were framed by side tables with lamps and a coffee table, properly scuffed up like someone propped their shoes on it regularly. Unlike the office, there was no corporate hubris here. It was an oasis. "Nice shelves," I said before catching myself. I loved books.

  "They try," he said, with no indication that my voice wasn't what he expected. "I love books." He opened his arms wide and flopped on the bed like an overgrown child. "Home sweet home." He raised his head and patted the bed. "Make yourself comfortable."

  "Do you mind?" I asked, pointing at the shelves. I tried to use as few words as possible in case his alcohol addled brain caught on that I sounded nothing like the woman I'd paid off.

  "Not at all." He rolled over on his stomach to watch me. "The scent of your magic changes along with your looks. I like the red hair better, by the way."

  I strolled by the shelves and stumbled at the careless way he drew attention to my looks. My heart thumped in my chest. "Uh huh." He just nodded. Phew. I continued scanning for a book with the words "The Morrigan" in the title. Ava hadn't known the title I should look for, only assured me there was a book. I hadn't questioned her on it because I felt confident I'd figure it out, but that was before I'd seen his collection. Hundreds of thick, leather-bound volumes lined the shelves. Every one I browsed pertained to the fae in some manner, many of them rare, with information too dangerous to have in just anyone's hands. I could think of a dozen places I could sell most of them and make a tidy profit. Who was this guy that he had books like these? He was a dragon—ugh—was this his hoard? And again, most importantly, how'd he get them?

  None of that mattered if I couldn't find the one I needed, and fast. Like, before this guy noticed I wasn't the same girl he'd been with earlier, or started wondering why we weren't getting into sexy times. Sexy times. This is why it's been so long since I... Focus. I needed to focus.

  If I didn't ask some questions, I could be searching for hours. He was drunk. Time to take a risk. "Do you have any books on The Morrigan?"

  His face lit up with excitement. "Several. She's one of my favorite legendary figures."

  I rolled my eyes. It was easy to be excited about legendary figures when they weren't the mother who abandoned you.

  Owen scrambled off the bed and hurried over to a shelf on the far side of the room, where he pulled out a thin book I probably would have overlooked. The fae tended to go on in their histories, with flowery prose and superfluous adjectives. This book wasn't much larger than a standard notebook. Emblazoned on the cover in a flowing red script, it read, Life of the Phantom Queen. Phantom Queen was one of my favorite titles for her, as "phantom" alluded to someone who was there, but wasn't. Like someone who gave you their last name and then peaced out. Still, with the size of the book and the title not being as blunt as her name, I might not have found it if Owen hadn't told me. So helpful of him to assist in my robbing him.

  "This one is my favorite," he said, his words less slurred than they had been a few minutes ago. "It talks about a lot of things that none of the other histories mention."

  "It's so short," I observed.

  "We are talking about The Morrigan, secretive and mysterious." He was so full of awe. It filled me with the most confusing mix of emotions. Envious he knew enough about her to feel that way; furious that this random dragon was the only person I'd ever met to know anything; proud that my mother was someone to inspire such awe; irritated that he thought he knew so much. But did he know she abandoned her children? What was awe-inspiring about that? He tapped the book cover proudly. "This is the most comprehensive book in existence; I'm sure of it."

  Shoving my emotions down where I would hopefully never hear from them again, I acknowledged that Owen was right about her being secretive and mysterious. Under the best of circumstances it sounded like he could have been a great source of information on The Morrigan, which was exactly what I needed. Owen sounded knowledgeable. He also sounded damn sober.

  It was all I could do to keep my face neutral with the book in sight. All I had to do was make sure it was the right book. Each casual step I took crossing the room felt like an eternity. Finally, when I held out my hand for the book, trying not to do the grabby motion, I said as calmly as I could manage, "May I?"

  Maybe he saw something in my face. Maybe my voice gave me away. I wasn't sure what it was, but those two words fucked me. Realization washed over his features. His lips transitioned from a boyish grin to a gaping maw, then settled into a grim line. "You're not McKenzie."

  "Who the hell is McKenzie?" I asked, hoping to buy a moment of confusion so I could think up a plan. There was no point in denying it; I didn't know how well he knew her. As much as I'd been worried he'd figure things out, I should have had a plan for what I'd do when it happened.

  "She's the girl I thought I was bringing back to my room," he retorted, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you?"

  "That's for me to know and you to never find out." And that was enough of a plan for me. I snatched the book from his hand, opened my mouth, and unleashed my magic with a scream. As my volume increased, so did my magic, building into an ear destroying shriek. I didn't know anyone else who could do that; it was a violent twist on the banshee's cry. Maybe his book would give me some answers, though I doubted it if his look of confusion was anything to go by.

  Eyes rolling, he clutched his head in vain. Between the magic and the noise, hands had never been successful blocking me out. My sisters found that out the hard way when I went through the terrible twos.

  Owen sank to his knees. This—this was why I needed the book. Uselessly, I felt the urge to explain it to him. Like that would lessen the transgression. My magic caused misery and death. Who knew what other horrors I was capable of? I had to figure out how to control my magic once and for all, because someone wielding magic that caused such pain should know how to control it. That wasn't so
mething I would ever tell people though. I couldn't expect anyone to understand, especially not some rich nightclub owner I had crying on the floor. Blood leaked between the fingers covering his ears. Good night, Owen. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  I snapped my mouth closed, hoping he had his bedroom shielded for sound. Otherwise, the staff he surely employed would knock down the door any second.

  I knew I should bolt before he woke, or someone came in and caught me. And I would have, if I hadn't seen another book I'd been coveting for years on the next shelf. The kind of information on different types of Unseelie fae and their magic that could get a girl killed just for asking about it. On Unseelie Fae was often cited as the ultimate reference guide, and the pinnacle of rare books. The fae were notoriously cagey about their abilities and limitations. Most copies of the book were destroyed. It might hold the answers about my ball of death if Life of the Phantom Queen didn't.

  What's one more book in the scheme of things, really? More moral bargaining, I knew, but my more logical side was drowned out by the sweet music of covetousness. My hand reached out, and just like that, I was a goner. Snatching the book from the shelf unleashed my covetous side like water breaking through a dam. There was no reigning it in. Good Sophie, that's what you can tell the judge when you're arrested. Before I knew it, I had an armload of books I wanted to keep and a couple I wanted to sell. If I could make myself. I was already making excuses for keeping them all. I really do have the room. If I got rid of the sofa, I could fit another shelf in the living room. A big one.

  I arranged the books in order of importance so that if I had to run I could easily drop the least precious. Life of the Phantom Queen I dropped down the front of my dress. It hit the line of my belt and stopped. There was no hiding it—it stuck out on my stomach and looked as awkward as it felt—but I wouldn't lose it, and that was all that mattered.