A Touch of Magic

by Isabelle Adler

  “It’s kind of a big thing to spring on someone, you know?” Sebastian said, a touch plaintively. “It just never came up.”

  Ty bit off a caustic response. Getting mad at Bas wasn’t going to change anything. He didn’t even know who he was truly angry with—Bas, for keeping this secret from him for so long; Leland, for treating him as either a curiosity or a means to an end and discarding him like a pair of old socks while deeming him unworthy of the truth; or some unknown Fae he still wasn’t convinced even existed, for depriving him of the family he’d always yearned for.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Bas said, turning to look at him. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  Who were my real parents? he wanted to ask. Where was I born, and when? Time flowed differently in Faerie. Even different parts of the realm weren’t synchronized with each other, much less with the human world. If he’d indeed spent his early years there, there was no telling when exactly he’d been born. It could have been decades and decades ago. It could be that none of his biological relatives were still alive.

  Bas shook his head. “No. I’m not sure how much he knew about it, really, and he isn’t the man to confide in anybody even if he did possess more information.”

  Ty took a deep breath, willing himself to keep his eyes on the road and his mind focused on the task at hand. A million questions buzzed around in his head, blurring his vision. But now wasn’t the time to try to make sense of it all. Whatever the truth was, it had lain dormant for years. It could wait a bit longer—unlike Cary, whose life expectancy could be measured in hours. Ty would have a chance to grill Sebastian (and maybe even Leland, if he could find him) further when it was all over—assuming he’d make it out alive.

  “I swear to God, you can be such an asshole sometimes,” Ty muttered. Just breathe and let it go, he reminded himself. They had a long drive ahead of them, and they should be using it to come up with a plan that wouldn’t backfire as spectacularly as their last one.

  “But you love me anyway, darling,” Bas said, reclining back in his seat.

  “THIS IS THE place?” Sebastian asked as he got out of the car and looked around.

  The dirt road they’d driven up ran around a hill overlooking a tiny pond. A farmhouse stood on the top of the hill, its roof slightly askew and its wide wraparound porch sagging in places. It had been abandoned for quite some time; the fields around it were nothing but overgrown wilderness, bordering on a natural forest. A tractor and a stripped-down farm truck were rusting away on the slope of the hill, and pieces of machinery were strewn around them, nearly invisible in the tall grass. The red paint on the barn behind the house had turned brown with the years, and the entire structure looked ready to collapse at any moment. The sun had already risen, washing everything in a pink glow that made the overall shabbiness look slightly more picturesque.

  There wasn’t another dwelling around for miles, as far as Ty recalled. The quiet, broken only by the chirping of birds and the rustle of wind in the grass, had a weird, hushed quality about it, but perhaps it only felt that way after the familiar urban bustle. Bas took a few steps toward the rickety house and stopped, eying the porch suspiciously.

  “Why did you pick it?”

  Ty slammed the car door, the loud sound spooking the handful of water birds that occupied the puddle-like pond.

  “It’s remote,” he said, coming to stand beside Bas.

  “Very convenient for hiding the bodies. You’re doing Giordano a service.”

  “He’d never go for anything more public.” Ty started for the house, and after a reluctant pause, Bas followed him. “This works to both our advantage. Besides, I know this place. It was my first solo gig after splitting with Leland.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes.” Ty went up the stairs that led to the porch, running his hand along the wooden rail. His skin prickled with the anguish and screams soaked into the old, sun-bleached wood. It always seemed strange to him that for all his magic, Sebastian could never sense objects like he did, could never read the imprints left in them by past owners and events. It was a gift of sorts, he supposed. Or maybe this was what being Fae-touched felt like, now that he thought about it. “It was one of the spots where Mason Shear held his gatherings.”

  “The cultist?” Bas asked. He ascended the stairs gingerly. Perhaps he couldn’t sense past impressions as well as Ty, but he was uncomfortable, and Ty bet it wasn’t just worry over the possibility of the decrepit house collapsing on them.

  “Yes. It was after he was killed in the police raid. I was hired by the relatives of one of his victims to search for her personal belongings that had been used in his rituals.”

  “That must have been fun.”

  “Considering none of his victims were found in one piece, it really wasn’t.”

  Ty pushed open the front door, which creaked on its hinges. The interior welcomed them with the dank smell of rotting wood and mold. A thick layer of dust covered the floor and what was left of the broken furniture, and shards of glass were still piled under smashed windows. Aside from the advanced state of disrepair, nothing set the farmhouse apart from any other abandoned homestead in the area. At least, what it would appear like to any outsider.

  “What now?” Bas asked, looking around with such distaste it was easy to forget he’d been living in a basement for the better portion of the last decade.

  “Now we have some setting up to do,” Ty said. “Let’s see if we can arrange a warm welcome for Giordano and his posse.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  FLOATING BACK TO consciousness this time around was less painful, but a whole lot more disorienting. Cary blinked owlishly, trying to expel the grogginess. His mouth was parched; it felt as though something had crawled inside while he slept, and died there. He was thirsty, and he desperately needed to use the bathroom.

  Then there was a sense of movement. He was sitting in a car that was speeding down a darkened highway. More accurately, he was slumped on the back seat, his hands tied once again, but this time, behind his back.

  Cary jerked upright, or at least he tried too. His limbs felt heavy and unwieldy, as if he’d been drugged, and his vision swam. The last thing he remembered was getting in the car with the salt-and-pepper-haired stranger in the middle of a deserted forest road, and then…it all went blank.

  Panic laced through him. What the hell was happening? Had Giordano found him again? From what he could see, it was dark outside. Was it still night? Was it the next night? Where was he?

  “What’s going on?” was what he intended to ask, but all that came out of his mouth was: “Ughaa naah…”

  The men occupying the front seats turned to look at him at the same time. The driver was definitely the same older guy who’d picked Cary up, but now he was wearing a beige knit sweater instead of the turtleneck. So, it was probably already Sunday night. No wonder he felt so groggy—he’d been unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours.

  The man in the passenger seat was younger, perhaps in his mid-thirties, with pale blond hair, a slightly weak chin, and a dour expression. He was wearing a dark blue parka.

  “Look who’s up,” the driver commented. His voice was deep and pleasant, almost soothing, like that of a TV news anchor. Or those voice actors who played the parts of fathers in old cartoons. “Did you have a good nap?”

  “Maybe you should knock him out again,” the blond guy said to the driver, who meanwhile had turned his attention back to the road.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of some wannabe illusionist, Vincent,” the older man said dismissively. “He’s practically a child. A lost, clueless child.”

  Vincent? Who the fuck was Vincent? For that matter, who was this man who spoke of him so condescendingly? A lost child?! Like he knew shit about Cary’s life. Wait, how did he know what Cary did for a living, and what did he want with him?

  The indignation and fear sharpened his focus. He breathed deeply,
struggling to expel the dregs of whatever it was that was addling his brain. He worked his mouth before managing to push out:

  “I need to take a piss.”

  His voice was raw, as if he hadn’t spoken aloud in weeks. The various aches from the beating Angelo Rossi had so generously bestowed upon him were beginning to come back in force now that the drugs, or whatever it was, were slowly wearing off. There had been one or two instances in his life when he’d felt more wretched, but this was coming up pretty damn close on the shittiness scale.

  “Shut up,” Vincent told him menacingly.

  “I don’t want to smell his urine for the rest of the drive if he wets himself,” the older man said. Judging by his authoritative tone, he was definitely the one in charge. Without further debate, he swerved and brought the car to a stop by the roadside. “Take him outside.” Vincent didn’t look particularly happy, but he got out and hauled Cary out as well.

  The sudden onslaught of nearly freezing fresh air overwhelmed Cary. He stumbled on unsteady feet like a newborn colt, his awkwardly bound arms making him wobble even more, and fought to keep from vomiting. When his head finally stopped spinning, he risked raising it to have a look around.

  It was utterly dark and silent, save for the soft purring of the running engine and the long beams of the headlights. It was hard to discern the landscape, but it looked like they were on a country road of some sort. Distant hills were black shadows against a vast starry sky, and lonely fields stretched out on both sides of the road behind low wooden fences. Cary had absolutely no inkling as to where they were, but it was clear they were a long way from the lake.

  “You either untie my hands or unzip my pants,” he told Vincent when the man made no move to help him. “Your choice.”

  Vincent scoffed at him, but undid the piece of rope that was wrapped around his wrists. After the cutting plastic zip ties, the rope felt almost old-fashioned.

  Cary flexed his fingers as he briefly considered making a run for it across the fields. But he was still too dazed, and his body was a mess of aches that would surely hamper his escape. Not to mention he’d caught a glimpse of a gun tucked under Vincent’s jacket. He couldn’t outrun a bullet in the best of times, and he certainly couldn’t do it in his current state. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t look for a more convenient chance to escape, of course. Whoever these folks were, Cary doubted he was safe in their company.

  He relieved himself unhurriedly, turning away both from Vincent and the car. The nausea and the sensation of vertigo gradually subsided, and he felt much more alert and in control of his faculties when the other man tied his hands in front of him and shoved him back onto the back seat. The headache and bruises went nowhere, as did the thirst and the hunger, but at least he was fully awake now.

  The driver turned back to the road, and Cary tugged his hands experimentally to test the binding, but he doubted he’d be able to wiggle out of them, given his condition—certainly not without the two men noticing.

  A few minutes passed in complete silence as the car sped down the deserted road.

  “So who the hell are you?” Cary asked when it became clear no further conversation was forthcoming.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the driver said, glancing at Cary in the rearview mirror. “We haven’t been properly introduced, have we? I’m Leland Bernard, and this is my associate, Vincent Graves.”

  Leland’s name sounded vaguely familiar. Usually Cary was good with both names and faces, but now, perhaps thanks to his persistent headache, he was drawing a blank.

  “Did you have to give him our names?” Vincent complained.

  “I don’t see the harm in it.” The airy way he said it sent chills down Cary’s spine. No one threw their name around in front of their kidnapping victim if they intended to let them live.

  “Frankly, I’m surprised Ty never mentioned me to you,” Leland continued. “I’m rather disappointed. But then, he always was an ungrateful little brat.”

  It took all of Cary’s self-control to keep a straight face and not let his shock show. Of course, it was Ty’s old mentor. How could he have forgotten the name? Now he wished Ty’d been a little more open about his past, because all he knew about this man was that he was some sort of sorcerer, a career thief, and that Ty had had a falling out with him years back. This Vincent fellow hadn’t featured in his stories at all.

  That meant his kidnapping hadn’t been random. Leland had sought him out, and he’d known exactly where Cary would be at the right moment. Had he been tailing him and Ty, and then Giordano? Ty had mentioned a white sedan following them in San Francisco, but back then, Cary had thought the idea absurd.

  Despite the fear, there was also a spark of hope. If this Leland knew where to find Cary, perhaps he had more solid information regarding Ty’s fate. If he really was alive, or—

  No. Ty had to be alive. Even Tony and Leticia believed it to be so. Of course Ty being alive didn’t mean he was in the clear and out of danger. Cary just hoped he had enough sense (and selfishness) to refuse whatever proposal Giordano had made. And Cary would much prefer Ty walking away from it all than coming to his rescue only to be killed.

  The realization hit him like a runaway car coming out of a left field. He cared for Ty enough to consciously admit that he wanted him to stay safe more than he wanted to save himself. Had he actually fallen in love with the man over the course of these past days? God, if this was what being in love was like, he was definitely screwed beyond repair.

  “What do you want with me?” he asked. Leland wasn’t averse to talking, and Cary’s best bet was to keep pressing him for more information. Until he knew at least where they were going, he couldn’t form a decent plan of action.

  “Well, it had come to my attention that for whatever reason, Ty finds you, shall we say, appealing,” Leland said. “So you, my little friend, are going to be my leverage. Thank you for sparing me the hassle of having to extract you from that lake house, by the way. That was rather impressive on your part.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Cary said. He risked a quick look at Vincent’s profile. He definitely didn’t look pleased, but perhaps it was a perpetual scowl. Cary hardly cared. He didn’t even mind being called “leverage.” All he could think about was that Leland’s words confirmed Ty was really alive.

  “What do you want from him?” Cary asked, mainly to keep the conversation going. He imagined he had a pretty good idea of what a sorcerer like Leland might be looking for, but every little bit he could glean might prove important later.

  “All I asked was for him to get me that amulet,” Leland said. Vincent shot him another troubled look, but Leland seemed unconcerned by his partner’s apprehension. “And I went through all the proper channels, mind you. Paid that scumbag of a fence in advance, too. Sort of a last act of goodwill on my part—to allow the boy to profit from everything I’d taught him. But of course, he proved as incompetent as I thought. Couldn’t even steal a bauble from a common without getting himself in trouble. Ridiculous! And now, I’m forced to track down where he and that criminal Giordano have set up a meeting. All this traveling has been quite a nuisance.”

  Cary kept quiet during the rant, but the wheels in his head were turning rapidly. So Leland was the mystery client who had hired Ty’s services in the first place, the one neither Ty nor his fence AJ knew anything about.

  He wanted to defend Ty to Leland, to say that he was hardly incompetent, and that he couldn’t have predicted that an actual crime lord would be going for the same prize. But it was painfully clear that nothing he could say on Ty’s behalf would sway Leland’s opinion.

  Besides, wouldn’t it be weird for him to stand up for his robber? It was his heirloom, after all, and he didn’t want it to fall into the hands of either of these vultures. Leland, who’d apparently tailed them this entire time with the skill and efficiency of an FBI agent, knew enough of their relationship to try to use Cary as bait. But Cary wasn’t about to supply him with any more ammunition if he
could help it.

  “Why do you want the amulet?” he asked instead. “You’re supposed to be this great sorcerer, right? What’s the matter, you can’t cast a spell without some magical Viagra to give you a boost?”

  Vincent turned around in his seat in a manner that was decidedly unsafe, given their current speed, and backhanded Cary across the face with surprising force.

  “Ow!” Cary licked his split lip and glared at the guy.

  “No more sass, or you’re going to spend the rest of the way in the trunk,” Vincent warned.

  I’ve been beat up by worse than you, Cary wanted to tell him, but the prospect of being cramped in a confined space yet again kept him from being unnecessarily snippy.

  “Ignorant commons,” Leland said as if nothing had happened. “You had such unique power in your hands, and all you could think of was using it to get folks to see your pathetic magic show.”

  Could he use magic to get himself out of this mess? Surely, if he’d succeeded in picking a lock with magic, he could open a car door. But he wasn’t yet confident enough in his abilities to try anything in front of a sorcerer. Leland would certainly pick up on him gathering magical energy. He didn’t know where Vincent’s talents lay, but it was safe to assume he was some sort of practitioner as well. No, Cary would have to wait for an opportunity when he was alone or their attention was directed elsewhere.

  “That upstart mobster is no better,” Leland continued. “Politics! Who gives a damn about that. Any moron with a dirty campaign can weasel his way into government. And his sister is as obtuse as he is. Worse, for being a sorceress.”

  Vincent was looking out of the window, his slightly exasperated expression reflected in the glass. It would seem this wasn’t the first time Leland had gone on this particular tangent.