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

by WB McKay

  "Well, it might help if you took your hand off that necklace," said Phoebe.

  "What?" Pain bloomed in my right palm. The ridges of the gem settings dug into my skin so deep they were practically rooted. I concentrated as hard as I could, and slowly, with a pain that convinced me I was breaking my own fingers, I unclenched my fist. The necklace dropped to my chest, radiating cold. "What the hell is happening?"

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. "I warned you about that thing."

  I would have glared at Phoebe if my face wasn't locked in wide-eyed panic. Not being able to move my body the way I wanted was tripping all of my claustrophobia buttons. My breath came in ragged gasps. "Not helping," I choked out.

  Phoebe blinked out and reappeared on the coffee table in front of me. "Take deep breaths," she said in a soothing voice. "Lures stop you from acting against them. Most of the time the magic is subtle enough you never notice. It must be strong to control you when you're aware."

  "Still not helping," I said through clenched teeth. This necklace, or lure, or whatever it was, needed to get the hell off of me. The more time I spent thinking about that the harder it became to move. "I can't move my hands. Take it off me."

  "No," she said, her mouth set in a firm line.

  "What the hell?" My shoulders sagged. "Is this whole thing another one of your elaborate pranks?"

  For a moment she looked wounded, then Phoebe lunged at me, her hands grabbing for my throat. My hand struck of its own volition, crushing into her nose. She landed in a crumpled heap on the couch. "Shit on toast! Phoebe, are you all right?" I hadn't wanted to hurt her. "I didn't mean to hit you." No, no, no. Maybe my death light kept popping up because I really was some kind of monster. My magic wasn't the problem. Just me. "I'm so sorry."

  Phoebe rolled over with a groan. "That'll cause a knot in the old trunk." She rubbed her nose, but there wasn't any outward sign of injury. "That necklace has some serious mojo. If I had realized, I wouldn't have let you keep it on when you first got home."

  My hand was still curled in a fist and it took every ounce of my will not to punch Phoebe. "You should probably back away. My hand is not under my control." I shuddered to think what would happen if the necklace made me do magic involuntarily. It was the necklace. Not me. The necklace hit Phoebe. The ball of death light was the problem. Not me. Not me. "You should probably hide out in your tree until I can figure out a way to beat this thing."

  Phoebe stood and planted her hands on her hips. "I am not a coward. I've survived forest fires, plagues of insects, and logging companies. I will not bow to a piece of jewelry! It will take more than a hit to the nose to make me flee in terror." A loud knock shook the front door, causing Phoebe to startle. Her wood grain cheeks burnished a deeper red. "Not fleeing," she repeated.

  "Also not answering the door," I said with a smirk. "I would get it, but—never mind. I seem to be able to move again. Answering the door must be benign as far as the enchantment on the necklace is concerned."

  "Why is there an angry dragon beating down our door?" asked Phoebe, all softness gone from her tone.

  My brow creased in confusion for about half a second, then my gaze dropped to the book in my lap. "Shit. I guess the book collection really was his hoard." Also, I guessed that answered the question of whether they could track their hoard, so that was kind of neat. I'd always wondered. Phoebe didn't look like she'd be interested in that information at the moment, if the way her nostrils flared was any indication. "He definitely seemed more like the gold, guns, and girls type."

  "You stole that book from a dragon's hoard and then brought it to my tree!" shouted Phoebe, punctuating her words with stomps of her foot. "I should throw you out on your feathered ass!"

  "This is my home," I said with a growl. "I'll deal with the dragon."

  "You damn well better. If he so much as puffs a ring of smoke, I will take him down." Vines crept along the walls, like snakes coiled and ready to strike. "And you'll be next."

  Damn, that dryad could be scary when protecting her tree. Stuck between a dryad and a dragon... There was a joke in there somewhere. I doubted anyone would find it funny, but maybe it'd buy me a few seconds. Okay. I can do this. Another knock shook the door and Phoebe cleared her throat, her foot tapping a steady rhythm on the floor. Despite my declaration, I had no idea how I would deal with Owen. I'd knocked him out, provoked him into some sort of fit, and stolen something from his hoard. Honestly, we were lucky he hadn't burnt the door down. I crossed the room and put a hand on the knob, searching for an argument that would allow me to keep the book without fighting him. Nothing was forthcoming, so I opened the door to face his wrath, my other hand ready to grab Epic.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Of all the things I planned to do when staring down the angry dragon, laughing wasn't among them. His eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. He pointed at his head.

  "You bitch," he said, spittle flying from his lips. His hair had been cut and styled to perfection, albeit in a much shorter fashion.

  That only made it all the more funny. I'd forgotten I had to cut his hair in order to get through the portal. It was wrapped in a paper towel and tucked under my bathroom sink in case I needed it again. After a few moments, my laughter settled. Then I thought about the conversation he must have had with his stylist when he called for an emergency haircut and lost it again.

  While I stood there laughing in his face, surprisingly, his mood seemed to improve. By the time I collected myself he'd settled from boiling rage to calm resentment.

  "You ruined my hair and stole my book," he said, pushing past me and into the apartment. "I should eat you."

  Coming from a dragon that very well could have been more than an idle threat. Especially since I'd stolen something from his hoard. "Oh, don't get your underwear in a twist. Your hair still looks amazing."

  "I know it does," he spat. "That's not the point!" His gaze drifted past me and locked onto something with laser focus.

  That didn't take long.

  I snapped my fingers at him. "Hello. I'm over here, not on my roommate's breasts." I glanced over my shoulder at Phoebe and saw her sitting on the back of the couch in a coquettish pose. There was no sign of the bark she usually covered her unmentionables with when I had company over. "I would introduce the two of you, but if you take another couple of steps into the apartment, she's going to pop your head off like a champagne cork."

  His eyes cut to the mounds of vines writhing in the corner and he swallowed hard. Suddenly, he had no trouble looking right at me. "Just give me back my book and I won't press charges."

  "Press charges?" I scoffed. "Like a dragon will be able to prove ownership of anything in his hoard."

  His smirk was about as obnoxious as any I'd ever seen, even if his green eyes were sparkling. "I have a receipt for every book in my library, including the one you stole."

  "Bullshit," I said, not believing it for a minute. He just wanted to get his book back without a fight. "That library would have cost at least a hundred grand."

  "Several hundred, actually." Boy was he pleased with himself. "All bought and paid for."

  "Whatever." I shrugged, not sure what else to say. There was an awkward pause where he expected me to retrieve the book. "Fine, how much do you want for the book?"

  "It's not for sale," he replied immediately, not even considering the offer. "What do you want a book about The Morrigan so bad for anyway?"

  "Are you so dim you didn't figure out who you were chasing before you came pounding on her door?" Or was he just so powerful that he figured he could handle whatever situation he walked into? "I would have thought you'd want to at least know the name of the person who kicked your ass." And left with a large portion of his hair, but I didn't think that was wise to bring up at that juncture; I awarded myself points for having a snarky thought I didn't share with the crowd.

  A slow blush filled his cheeks and his gaze hardened, like the blushing really pissed him off. "I want my book back. I didn
't think it would be a problem to get it."

  So, a little of both then. "Well, I need the book more than you do. So, I guess we'll have to see how hard it is to take a book from Sophie Morrigan."

  It was his turn to laugh in my face. "A banshee?" He bent over and slapped his jean-clad knee. I thought that was just an expression—knee-slapper—not something people actually did. "You think a banshee can take on a dragon and win?"

  "There you go, proving how little you know again," I said, giving him a wicked grin. "First of all, I did take you on and win. Last night. Remember the funny haircut?" So much for me not bringing that up again. "Second of all, does my magic smell very banshee-like, dragon man? And thirdly, The Morrigan's youngest child isn't a banshee. Nobody really knows what she is, but rumor has it she possesses quite a bit of the same magic as the battle goddess. Want to test the theory?"

  He stopped laughing and I got the impression he was seeing me for the first time since we met. "Wait a minute." He shook a finger at my face. "You're the asshole who insulted my club the other night."

  "My opinion still stands. That was a shitty excuse for a burger." Probably not the smartest comment at the moment, but I was serious about my burgers.

  I zoned out while he ranted about his club and the food. It was a good opportunity to think over my options. The necklace felt heavy on my throat. I worried that he'd noticed it, that he'd try to take it from me, and I put my hand around my neck to cover it. Every time I thought to remove it, my hand ached. Owen needed to leave. This conversation was going nowhere, and despite my bravado, I had no desire to test myself against a dragon in my house. I also had no intention of giving him that book. I had to run.

  "What is that around your neck?"

  "None of your business," I said, turning away and stuffing the necklace inside my shirt. I could have shifted—it had gone with me when I'd done it before—but the idea of abandoning my home, and the book, hurt as much as the idea of losing the necklace. The two desires warred through my mind, too loud to think.

  His hand reached out to grab my arm, but it never touched me. One of Phoebe's vines latched around him from wrist to elbow. He gasped. Honestly, it shouldn't have surprised him; he'd been warned.

  "Ah, ah," said Phoebe. "No touching." The vines yanked his arm behind his back. "Should I toss him out, Sophie?"

  "Yes," I replied without hesitation.

  "Wait!" called Owen, his feet sliding back across the floor. "I know what that thing is, and you'll need my help if you want it off." His feet stopped sliding.

  "You have my attention," said Phoebe, ignoring my protests. "What is it and what needs to be done?"

  "Throw him off the walkway," I ground out. "Wait, no, he'll just shift. Crush him like an empty beer can. He's not getting near my necklace." I charged at him, diving for my sword at the last second. My hand clamped around the sheath and I rolled up in a fluid motion that turned me toward my enemy. When I reached for the hilt of the sword I found only empty air.

  "No beheading the dragon before he tells us how he can help," said Phoebe.

  A metallic glint drew my eye to the ceiling. A vine held both my swords with the tips pointed toward Owen. "I told you never to mess with my weapons, Phoebe."

  She ignored me and danced the swords in front of Owen.

  He might not have been afraid of me, but he wasted no time giving Phoebe what she wanted. "That is a lure meant for dragons. It manipulates our covetous natures and convinces us to put it on. Once it has us, it's only a matter of time before we never want to take it off. Eventually, it lures us into Faerie. I don't know what happens from there."

  Clear as if she was speaking out loud, Phoebe's look said, I told you so. "How do we get it off?"

  "That's the unfortunate part. There's only one way I know to remove the necklace, and it's in Faerie."

  "I don't like all this talk about taking off the necklace, but I do like the idea of heading to Faerie," I said. The words were barely out of my mouth before I realized they were proof that everything Owen said about the necklace was true. "Damn."

  Phoebe tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You're being rather vague about the method used to remove the necklace."

  Owen gave her a cunning smile. "I am indeed. The reason is twofold."

  "Who the hell says twofold?" I clamped a hand over my mouth. "I didn't mean to say that out loud."

  "That's the necklace. It messes with your impulse control. That's how it gets you to go to Faerie," explained Owen.

  "Right." Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Just what Sophie needs, problems with impulse control." Owen laughed. "The reasons for your vagueness," prompted Phoebe.

  "The first one is that keeping the method vague will allow Sophie to go toward it without knowing it, circumventing the necklace's enchantment."

  His eyes kept finding the necklace and I considered shifting so I could pluck them from his head with my beak. A vine wrapped around my midsection, stopping me mid step. I hadn't even registered the motion. "Reason number two?" I asked, trying to take my mind off bloody murder.

  "I will be the one to escort you to Faerie." Owen crossed his arms across his chest, telling us he would tolerate no argument. He radiated smug satisfaction. Damned if it didn't make me like him a little. He held all the cards and he knew it. "You'll agree if you don't want me to press charges about my stolen property."

  And that was the clincher. I didn't want him reporting me to FAB. If he did, I'd lose my job at the very least. Depending on the value of the book, I might go to prison. All in all, a very bad day for me and my necklace. "There's nothing saying you won't slit my throat and take the necklace as soon as we get to Faerie."

  "I guess you'll have to trust me," he said, his grin widening.

  Trust a dragon? "Never," I spat.

  "Of the people in this room, you're the only one we know has done something dishonest," countered Owen.

  Damn, he was such a smartass. I didn't care if he was right; he was pissing me off.

  "Why do you want to go with her?" asked Phoebe. "A few minutes ago you were ready to fight her to get your book back and were set on tossing her in jail. Now you're ready to help her save her own ass, all out of the kindness of your heart?"

  "Yeah!" I helpfully added.

  "I need to make sure the necklace is taken care of." Grim determination replaced his smug grin. "My uncle fell prey to one of those things when I was a kid."

  There was more there than what he had revealed; the stress was written all over his face and his magic pulsed, bathing the room in cinnamon. Even so, being a dragon meant he couldn't lie. The answer was good enough for me.

  "You have a deal," said Phoebe.

  "What?" I spluttered. "You can't make a deal like that on my behalf."

  "You're intoxicated. You're not capable of making your own decisions," replied Phoebe with a dismissive wave. "Besides, you're getting to go to Faerie. That's what you want isn't it?"

  "Yes," I said, and did my best to scowl at my own traitorous mouth.

  CHAPTER TEN

  After several false starts where the necklace stopped me from walking out the door, I finally got the proper mindset in place and we made it to the parking lot. Owen stepped up to a motorcycle and reached into one of the saddlebags for a helmet. It was bright pink.

  "You can ride on the back," he said magnanimously. "Just make sure you hold on tight."

  I walked up, took the helmet, and slapped it on his head. Backwards. "I don't think so."

  He pulled the helmet off, an annoyed growl slipping past his lips. "What the hell?"

  My own helmet had a beautiful purple and gray swirly pattern on it. I retrieved it from the storage locker a couple spaces down from his bike and approached my own. I wondered if he noticed they were the same model, only a few years apart. With all the money he had, it might mean nothing to him. One bike of many. Well, he was riding the best today, and that did count for something. Still, he was an ass. "That bullshit line might work on people trying to g
et into your pants, but I think I'll ride Bliss." I straddled the wide leather seat, popped up the kickstand, and backed the motorcycle out of its covered parking space. I waited for Owen to say something, then I started the bike with a rumble, obliterating his words. "Lead the way," I said, a fierce grin sliding into place.

  I heard Owen grumble something, but I didn't care enough to make out the words. Then he started his bike, making any nuanced conversation impossible. The double roar of the engines tickled something deep inside. I needed to go. He slapped on his own black helmet, which had a curious light blue lining, and tucked away the pink one. He peeled out of the parking lot at high speed and I kept pace, delighting in the feel of wind in my face. Riding a motorcycle was the next best thing to flying. In fact, some days, I preferred it.

  We weaved through the countryside. A lot of driving a motorcycle in northern California, especially Humboldt County, was watching out for potholes. A little bump here or there was one thing, but a crater at high speeds was something else. The loose gravel didn't help any. It made it adventurous though. Who wanted an easy drive? Where was the fun in that?

  It was another misty day. Most days were. It wasn't ideal for motorcycle riding by most standards, but I thought it was all right. A good trade off for the green scenery. Of course, I hadn't been anywhere else, so what did I know? I guess I was going somewhere now. Holy crap. I was leaving. And not just to Volarus, where I was here and there and many places at once. I was truly, officially, leaving Earth. I didn't even tell Belinda I was going first, let alone Hammond. Would he fire me? Probably. Maybe I could sell Phoebe's brownies. Go door to door. Yeah, my future sounded bright. The bleaker my thoughts became, the less my hand wanted to turn the throttle. Seriously, what was I going to do without my job? Eventually, Owen pulled over and killed his engine. I followed, but it bristled.