by WB McKay
Books in hand, there was nothing left to do but flee. But how to do that? The front door wasn't an option. I pulled up my second sight, scanning for the portal on the wall Owen had brought me through. Nothing. Balls.
There was a faint groan from the vicinity of my feet. Owen was coming to faster than I'd expected; dragons were tough—or I'd grossly underestimated how long I spent pilfering his books. I nudged him experimentally with a toe. Upon touching him, the faintest hint of magic hit my nose. I recognized that smell. Squinting, I made out the fuzzy edges of the portal in the wall. It was easier to see now that going through the portal had given me a feel for the magic. It disappeared when I pulled my foot back. Ugh! It was some damn pricey magic to key a portal to a single person. It was also horribly inconvenient since Owen was about thirty feet away from the portal and quickly pushing toward consciousness.
I was strong, but I wasn't going to drag someone twice my weight across that much carpet while carrying an armload of books. I carefully placed the books on a table and looked around the room for something to help me out of my predicament. If only I had my swords. He hadn't done anything to warrant cutting off a hunk of his flesh, but I had no doubt he would when he woke up. Preemptive justice, or something. There was rationale in there somewhere, I was sure, I just didn't have time to think on it.
A desk was tucked in the corner, partially hidden behind the bulky shelves. Several books in disrepair graced its surface. Someone had been working on restoring the bindings, and they'd left a pair of scissors behind. That would have to do. I snagged the scissors and grabbed a handful of his thick brown hair. I took plenty in case there was a certain amount of contact needed. He wouldn't be happy when he woke, but at least I hadn't snipped off an ear. At least, not yet. I'd have to see if the hair worked before I made any promises.
The door to his bedroom still hadn't opened. Maybe no one else was around. Or I was having a huge run of luck. Best not to test that.
My hand full of his hair, I was able to see the portal. Not ready to call it good until I'd tested it, I stuck my hand through. It still looked like my hand was in a wall, albeit, a somewhat fuzzy one. Amazing.
I scooped up my plunder and headed out, a satisfied smile spreading across my face. My arms were already aching from the weight, but I couldn't stop myself from casting a wistful glance at all the lovely books I was leaving behind. That's when I noticed Owen was no longer in a heap on the floor.
"No you don't!" he shouted, moving between me and the portal. One strong hand hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer, knocking me on my rear and sending my precious tomes tumbling across the room.
The books.
I let out another of my magical wails, prepared to watch him kneel to the agony I unfurled. He threw back his head, body shaking, but when he dropped his gaze back to mine what I saw made no sense. He... he was laughing at me. He tapped the large things covering his ears. "BEATS HEADPHONES." He shook his head. "NOT FALLING PREY TO THAT TRICK AGAIN." I cringed away from his yelling. Headphones? Seriously? I gave up wailing. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, TRYING TO STEAL FROM ME?"
I scrambled to my feet and rubbed my aching chest. There had to be a way to get around the angry dragon bearing down on me. "Is that a rhetorical question?" I asked, scooting to one side when he lunged at me. He was obviously still intoxicated if that was the best he could do. I bolted for the portal, but was brought up short by the iron grip of a hand on the back of my neck. Or maybe he wasn't so intoxicated after all.
He spun me around to face him. "What did you think you were going to do, anyway?" Assuming my hearing still worked after his earlier shouts, he'd dropped his volume enough to avoid alerting the whole city. "You can't leave here without me." His handsome face contorted in rage; spit splashed my face.
By way of an answer, I held up the large hunk of his hair and waggled it in his face.
Anger and confusion warred on his features, confusion finally winning. He released one of my arms to pat the top of his head. That was all the opportunity I needed. I slid one leg behind his and shoved with all of my strength, sending him sprawling. After how quickly he grabbed me the last time, I knew speed wouldn't be enough to get me through the portal before he recovered and decided it would be easier to light me on fire. I pulled all the fear coursing through my body into a tight ball and expanded it in one push, willing it to distract him long enough for me to get away.
Unfortunately, all I do is spread an infection of fear. I don't choose what their mind decides they are in danger of, and I don't decide how they react. If I could have asked for a magical power upgrade, that's what I would pick.
Halfway to the portal a scorching ball of flame flew by my head. The wall ignited. His fight-or-flight response had come down hard on the side of fight.
Dragons.
I spun around fast enough to give myself whiplash. I didn't dare continue running when I couldn't see the next burning ball of death headed my way. And it was a good thing I hadn't tried. The second fireball was aimed square at my middle. I barely avoided it by throwing myself to the floor. Without a thought, one of those unassuming, shiny white balls of death appeared in my palm. It took all the willpower I could muster to quash it. I wasn't about to murder someone who was defending his home after I tried to rob him, dragon or not. It was too fitting that the death light struggled so hard to stay lit when I was on a mission to learn how to control it once and for all. My palm safely dark, and hopefully remaining that way, I rolled to one side, anticipating the next strike. It never came.
"No, no, no." Owen paced back and forth, fire wreathing both his hands. "Not again. I won't do it again." He looked at me, abject terror turning his features boyish once more. "Run!"
He didn't have to tell me twice. I darted through the portal and out of his office without so much as a backward glance. It wasn't until screams erupted in the club that I realized I hadn't stopped projecting fear. I swallowed the magic down, though I still felt the dread. Who knew how far behind Owen was? The screaming stopped and the club returned to normal, though I garnered a few stares as I crossed the building and ducked out the exit. I gave myself a moment to check my body over for obvious wounds and didn't find any. Relief washed through me. I took a deep breath and scented the magic filling the city, crisp night air, and burnt hair. Again? My hair had started the evening tightly secured to my head. It should have been safe. I couldn't be too upset about it though; it wasn't flesh. Another few inches and I would have been toast. Burnt toast.
Life of the Phantom Queen had fared well in the top of my dress, even if the corners had jabbed me a few times during the fight. I felt a twinge of longing for all the other books I'd lost, but it was silly greed, and I let it go. I had acquired the target. It was a win, there was no doubt about it. So why didn't I feel inclined to celebrate? No one was behind me. I'd gotten away safely. Still, something felt off. My hand drifted to my neck and I felt the curious sensation of cool metal, then it was gone. I shook my head. No, I wouldn't let some vague feeling kill the buzz. I unlocked my phone and called a cab while I walked back to the entrance to the mortal realm. Volarus was technically part of Faerie, but some fae young enough to care had performed magic way above my pay grade that allowed phones to work; a fact I was continually grateful for. Best not to hang around with a crazed dragon on my tail. That was becoming a pattern: me fleeing from dragonfire. Fucking dragons.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I stepped off the elevator at The Arbor, already dreading what Phoebe had done in my absence. Now that the adrenaline had burned away I was feeling the full extent of my injuries from the brief battle. That was the polite way of saying that my body ached like I'd been hit by a troll fart. Talk about concussive force. I wanted to climb into a hot bath and relax while I leafed through my new book.
I opened the door and sighed with relief when I found Phoebe sitting on the couch, watching a medical drama on TV. When she was into TV, she forgot about her mission to make my life a living hell. "Hey, Phoe
be," I said, careful not to be too loud. I'd learned the hard way not to startle a dryad. I had no desire to be choked out by vines moving at roughly the speed of sound, thank you.
"Shhhh." She clutched a pillow excitedly to her chest. "Dr. Dark-and-Broody is being all pensive and emotional. His eyes sparkle."
Why that required silence, I'd never know. Asking would have drawn her attention. It turned out not to matter, because just then, a commercial for dishwasher detergent shattered the atmosphere of the show, ruining my chance of getting in the bath unbothered. "I'm going to take a bath," I said, trying to head off her inevitable tirade about the character's behavior. "Enjoy your show."
Phoebe skipped through the commercials and hit pause. "Are you going to watch with me?" DVRs were both a blessing and a curse. I should have known the show wasn't live, it was after midnight.
"Why would I do that? That show is utterly ridiculous."
I edged toward the bathroom, but Phoebe bounced off the couch and landed in front of me.
"Medical Heroes is not ridiculous," she said with a pout. "You seemed to enjoy it plenty when you were sick last—what happened?" She pointed at the bruises blooming across my chest.
"I had a little disagreement with a dragon," I replied, feeling a wry grin tug at my mouth.
Phoebe gently probed the discolored skin, startling a gasp from me. It was worse than I thought. "Maybe it was a big disagreement," I admitted.
"Take your bath," said Phoebe, shooing me toward the bathroom. "When you're done I'll have brownies ready, and we can watch Medical Heroes."
I opened my mouth to protest and received a fierce scowl that stopped the words in my throat. "Fine."
Phoebe's scowl turned into a cheerful grin and she bounded past me to the kitchen. She sure knew how to work me. It was just as well. I'd tolerate the crappy show if it meant I got some of her magical brownies. And when I say magical, I mean it. Her earth magic was potent. My bruises would heal in a day instead of a week. Also, they tasted like a rainbow made a baby with chocolate.
I soaked in the tub until the water cooled and I was lured out by the smell of baking wizardry. "I hope you made a double batch," I said when I emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my body and another around my hair. My poor, misshapen, burnt hair. "Because I'm going to eat a whole batch by myself. These bruises are a bitch."
"I made a triple batch," said Phoebe, her grin turning up a notch. "I want to have leftovers and Magical Heroes always makes me crave junk food."
I slipped into some sweats and plopped on the couch. Phoebe handed me an enormous plate of brownies and sat down with one for herself.
"I'll start this episode over. It's right where we left off last month," she said. "Do you remember, or do you need a recap?"
"I remember," I said grudgingly. "I wanted to smack Dark-and-Broody because he should have realized that Slutty Nurse was only kissing him to make her ex jealous." Fine, I actually enjoyed the show, but it was mostly because it was fun to watch with Phoebe. Having her as a roommate wasn't all bad sometimes. I took a big bite of brownie and groaned.
Phoebe giggled. "The healing power of chocolate."
I slumped over and leaned my head on her shoulder. "Thank you," I whispered, acknowledging that I would owe her a favor. She pretended not to hear.
The next morning my bruises felt several days old and presented with subdued earth tones, in contrast to the jeweled reds and purples I would have expected. Much better, but I probably wouldn't be showing off my chest at Smoke and Mirrors anytime soon. I snorted. Right. Like that would happen ever again. The nightclub part of the job was over. Now it was time to make that trouble worth it.
A good morning stretch, a few minutes to clean my teeth and wash my face, and I was ready to settle down with Life of the Phantom Queen. And nibble on another brownie. They even tasted good mingled with the mint of my toothpaste. Phoebe's brownies never failed.
The first few pages were a recap of things I already knew, but that was promising in itself. The book was on the right track. Finally, I was getting somewhere.
My phone chirped three times in quick succession. It was my boss, Hammond, asking where I was with the necklace. Confusion knitted my brow. I could have sworn I told him that it had been lost. My hand drifted up to my neck and I felt the cool touch of gold. No, that wasn't right. I hadn't gotten around to turning it in yet. I was busy with getting the book.
Be there in 30, I tapped out.
I dropped my phone on the couch and went back to my book. I had a few minutes before I had to go. My phone rang and I growled. "Yeah," I barked, and then winced. I couldn't be an asshole to my boss because he wanted me to do my job. "This is Sophie," I amended.
"What the hell are you doing, Morrigan?"
"I told you I'd be there in thirty minutes," I replied, my temper barely held in check.
"That was two hours ago," he said, his voice the deadly calm he only used when he was debating firing me. "Care to explain?"
My eyes went wide with shock. I almost pulled the phone away from my ear to check, but I knew he wouldn't be wrong about something like that. "Shit, sorry. I must have dozed off. I'll be right in."
"You better be." The call ended.
I hopped off the couch and brushed away the brownie crumbs. Phoebe would make me pay for that mess later, but I had to get going while I still had a job. Within a few minutes I was dressed and at the door. I smacked my forehead and clamped a hand to my chest, trying to get my racing pulse under control. "You're not late to work, you idiot," I chided myself. "It's your day off." That's what I got for sleeping on the couch. I always woke up disoriented after.
I flopped back down on the couch and plucked a brownie off the quickly dwindling mound.
My phone chirped, announcing a text message.
Art: I don't know what game you're playing, but Hammond is about to have a stroke. You need to get that necklace down to MOD, now.
Me: I'm on my way.
I rolled my eyes. "So dramatic."
I put the brownies in the kitchen, where I wouldn't be tempted. Another few pages, and Life of the Phantom Queen finally revealed something new. Apparently, The Morrigan's crow form varied in size from a regular old crow like me to the size of a bus. To be fair, I was slightly bigger than your average crow. As far as I knew, I could only manage the one size. Maybe I should try thinking bigger thoughts during the shift to see what I could do. Probably not something I should try in the apartment unless I felt like wearing the roof as a hat. That sort of thing would really put a dent in the security deposit. And possibly motivate Phoebe to commit murder.
Also in the section about shapeshifting, there was mention that The Morrigan had an in-between form. Her body had human skin and feathers. And she had wings. There was even a drawing. Feathers were placed somewhat randomly over her body, but symmetrically. It looked wicked, and it could solve my clothing problem. It might require modifications to my back sheath. That is, if I could ever imagine how to attempt such a thing. I folded down the corner of the page so I could find it for future reference.
Chirp
Art: In case you haven't noticed, you're still not at work with the necklace.
No sooner had I read the message than the phone rang. It was Art. I clicked answer. "Dude, what?" I said, not bothering with a greeting.
"Were you in some sort of horrible accident on your way to work? Because Hammond has been waiting on you for hours now. That's the only kind of excuse he'll accept."
I sighed. "No, my stomach hurts and I'm moving slow. I'll be there in a few." My stomach curdled, though I didn't remember noticing the pain before I told him of it. Could too many of Phoebe's brownies mess me up? How many was too many? The plate in the kitchen was basically empty. If there was a line, I'd definitely crossed it.
There was silence on the line for a beat. "You know I only care because I don't want you to get fired, right?"
"I know, Art. I appreciate that. I'll be there. Don't worry
."
"Okay, see you then. Bye."
"Bye."
I dropped the phone on the couch and picked up the book again. The details in the drawing of her in-between form were hard to make out. If I managed it, there was no saying I'd look exactly the same. Maybe I wouldn't have to wear any clothes if feathers were in the right places. I snorted. I could just imagine walking around Volarus like that. People were wary of my strange magic now when they could just smell I was something unusual. If they had to face me down—human skin and feathers and wings with a scowl on my face, Epic in one hand and Haiku in the other—well, I'd like to see them tell me I smell funny then. I'd like to see that very much.
I moved on to the next section. That one was mostly about the people who worshiped The Morrigan. Her fans had died off in most human communities, but there were still persistent rumors about clans that had been so faithful to her they had been given the right to dwell in Faerie. No surprise that every group were vicious, warlike people. The Morrigan wasn't exactly known for being the warm and fuzzy type.
"Why are you lying to Art and your boss?" Phoebe popped into existence on the other end of the couch. She held the last of the brownies from the plate in the kitchen. "Did they do something mean?"
"I'm not lying to them," I said, scowling at her. My mind raced to recall what she might have overheard. The only thing I was keeping from them was my death ball magic, which Phoebe didn't know about either. Or, she better not. "Why would you say that?"
"Um, because you just told them you were on the way to work but you're sitting here on your ass reading that book? How did you manage the lie, anyway? Have you always been able to?"
"Oh." I ignored the rest of what she said, because it was ridiculous, and instead remembered what was important. "I am on my way to work." I meant it, of course. I couldn't lie. But when I leaned forward, grunting with the effort of attempting to stand, nothing happened. "Except I can't seem to get off the couch."
