Faerie Magic (9 page)

I pushed away from the wall, facing her. “Hold on,” I said. “Can we talk—”

Another gust of wind hit me. This time, I braced my arms, trying to find my own magic. I still didn’t fully understand the Sidhe lord Avakis’s power, but I did know it drew on negative emotions. And I was all kinds of pissed off.

Blue smoke curled around my wrists and formed a barrier between me and her. I moved forward, no longer in danger of being caught in a whirlwind. I’d never tried this before, but my magic seemed to be stronger here in the half-faeries’ territory and reacted almost before I moved. I shoved outwards, pushing the shield at Alain, and she flew against the opposite wall behind a swirl of light blue smoke.

Alain screamed. “Bitch. Let me go!”

“Promise not to attack me again and I will.” If it was too late to cover up what I’d done, I’d make damn sure I walked away with some answers.

“I’m not telling,” she said, like a sulking kid.

“I’m trying to save lives!” I yelled back. “Because someone’s selling a serum that turns people into murdering psychopaths. Whoever they are, they turned your boyfriend into a killer, and if you want to stop it from happening to anyone else, then I need you to tell me the truth. I know you lied to me when you said you didn’t know he was the killer.”

“How—how?” She gaped at me.

“Because I’m a witch,” I said. “It isn’t important. Who’s the person selling this crap, and where are they getting it from? Are they telling you it’s faerie blood?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s what he said. He said it was a prize given to the winner of the Trials.”

I swore. “Is there any other way to find out who gave it to him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He mentioned a private party for the winners. The whole point is that it’s a surprise. Nobody knows where it is.”

Damn.
“The Trials… when do they take place?”

“One round each night,” she said. “Last night was the final round of last week’s tournament, so a new one begins tonight.”

Oh, boy.
All my thoughts went in a single direction. I couldn’t trust anyone else to spy on my behalf. I’d have to sneak in somehow.

“Okay,” I said. “Who can enter the contest?”

“Anyone,” she said.
That means, ‘anyone with faerie blood’.

“And there’s one winner?”

“It’s one-on-one combat in each round,” she said. “Starting with thirty-two entrants.”

“Damn.” So many people? Every week? Who the hell authorised this? Surely not the Chief… hell, faeries didn’t play by the rules anyway, though. I should have suspected they’d have their own magical contests. The mages did, come to think of it. Annual Olympic-type shows of power and prestige. It wasn’t illegal, but offering fake faerie blood as a prize sure as hell was. “Exactly where does this take place?”

“Mulberry Road. Number Twelve.” She frowned. “Hang on. You didn’t hit me with a witch’s spell. Your magic’s different.”

Crap. “Don’t tell anyone,” I said warningly. “Not a single word. Otherwise you’ll regret it.”

I hated threatening someone who looked so beaten-down, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Turning my back, I shoved the door open.

Wait. Shit.
My disguise had gone. I had to walk through half-blood territory as a human.
Damn faeries
. Bloody hell. I risked a peek through the keyhole and didn’t see anyone, so I bolted outside. Then I speed-walked along the path towards the gate, inwardly cursing temperamental half-faeries to high heaven.

Miraculously, nothing blocked my path. The same subdued atmosphere surrounded the place, from the wilting flowers and dying plants, and the chill of autumn in the air. Maybe it was the faeries’ shock at the deaths reflected in their surroundings. That kind of weird magic happened in Faerie disturbingly often. Like the night Avakis came back from hunting in a towering rage and the entire castle turned into a swamp. Faeries were capable of behaving like toddlers throwing tantrums. Even Sidhe lords.

I stopped at the gate, which didn’t open for me this time. Crap. No disguise, no free pass. I tugged at the edges, but it didn’t budge. I checked my pockets, but I hadn’t thought to bring any unlocking spells. Dammit.
Think.

Only one thing for it. I reached for my sword and sliced at the hedge. I held my breath, expecting someone to appear and attack me, but nothing did. Really weird. Suspiciously so. Maybe I’d used up my bad luck quota for the day. A girl could dream.

Didn’t make climbing through the hedge any less messy. Once I’d cut a good-sized hole, I half-crawled out, my clothes snagging on branches. I pulled leaves from my hair and turned to look behind me. Half-faerie territory looked… kind of empty from this angle. Like everyone had left the area.

Not another death?

I didn’t dare go back in there now, not without a disguise. So I sent Vance a message:
Did the killer mention anything about underground battles during the questioning?
I assumed someone had asked for the murderer’s account of what happened, before the Mage Lord had skewered him.

No response came.

I really needed a drink. A night at the Singing Banshee sounded like heaven right now. Never had I needed to be around ordinary, imperfect humans so badly. Except that’s not where I was going tonight. No, I intended to check out these Trials. Just to spy, not to interfere. The disguise had melted away, and I didn’t want to waste all Isabel’s ingredients in case I needed to use it again.

With all other options gone, it looked like I had no choice but to do some snooping around over at the Trials.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Please, please don’t let this be a mistake.

I crept through the alleyway, inhaling the sickly scent of garbage mingling with something rotten. At first, it smelled like a dead animal, but then a familiar undercurrent joined it. The smell of decaying magic, tinged with the coppery smell of freshly spilled blood. Darkness shrouded everything, faint moonlight dimmed by clouds.

Pausing behind the squat red-brick building, I crouched underneath the windowsill, frowning. I hadn’t seen any half-faeries use the front door, so there must be a hidden entrance. This had once been a mechanic’s shop, which seemed a hell of a weird place to hold an underground faerie tournament. But the smell—and the lingering traces of blue smoke around the back—signalled this was where I needed to be.

Well. Where I probably shouldn’t be, if I had any kind of sense.

Isabel had given me a cloaking spell she’d thrown together, but it was like the cheapskate’s version of an illusion. It blurred me around the edges and turned me into a human-shaped silhouette if I dialled it up high enough. Good for hiding in shadows and poorly lit areas, bad for hiding anywhere else. I twisted the band on my wrist, turning the spell’s settings up to max, and my body went blurry around the edges. Not quite invisible, but good enough for me.

Tendrils of blue smoke clung to the damp bricks. A glimmer caught my eye, and when I looked closely, the outline of a door appeared, shimmering.
Gotcha.
My Sight probably wasn’t as strong as a faerie’s, but I could see through most glamours.

I reached to touch the door and it solidified, opening to reveal a staircase. I paused. Clearly, nobody was watching this one, but there might be an ambush lying in wait. Still, the stairs were dark, cloaked in shadows. The illusion would turn me virtually invisible unless I walked into a spotlight.

Unfortunately, it also made it damned difficult to climb downstairs. I took them slowly, squinting in the dim light cast by the faintly glowing magic around me, but I didn’t dare use a spell. Of course I was properly armed this time, but even magic wouldn’t spare me from a broken neck. Luckily, the stairs ended soon enough, and an equally dark corridor beckoned. I froze as lights sprang to life along the walls, but they cast plenty of shadow. Like a spy, I edged down the corridor towards the sound of voices.

A pair of blue-painted wooden doors lay open, revealing a room the size of an auditorium, with a big space cleared in the middle of the floor. Kind of like a night club, except nobody was dancing. Crowds mingled around the edges, sipping cocktails in neon colours, but the bare space in the floor’s centre remained empty.

Had to be an illusion. The building I’d walked into was tiny. But then, every single person in this room was faerie-kind.

I slipped through the shadows around the room’s edge. There were at least a couple of hundred half-faeries in here, but I didn’t see who might be running the place. All were dressed as though going to a fancy dinner, which made the few who wore armour stand out. I counted a few of them, including a tall, handsome faerie warrior surrounded by females cooing over him. Were the half-faeries wearing armour the contestants? Maybe. I crept behind a group of gossiping female fey-kind, listening to their conversation.

“Is Hilla competing again?”

“No, she said she wanted to come back next week instead.”

Okay. I’d reached the right place, then. I listened to their debate over which contestant stood a better chance for a couple of minutes, then slipped away.

All the eyes in the room turned to the entrance as a huge guy stormed in. Half-troll, I thought. He was at least six and a half feet tall and half as wide, his huge fists swinging at his sides when he crossed the room. I watched, figuring he must be a contestant. One who probably didn’t often lose. Then again, though, trolls didn’t usually have much magic.

“I want to register.” His voice sounded like tyres screeching on concrete, but he’d inadvertently given me a clue as to who ran the show. Surreptitiously, I crept through the shadows until I saw who he spoke to.

A short, ugly-looking faerie stood surrounded by thug-like half-bloods. I smothered a laugh. The faerie hardly came up to my knees. Not a brownie… a hobgoblin. The half-troll could easily have squished his head between the palms of his hands.

“Name?”

“Crusher.”

I bit my lip, trying to hold in another wild giggle.
Hold it together, Ivy.

“Noted,” said the hobgoblin.

I hovered on tip-toes, debating. I looked human, aside from the shadowy illusion. I’d planned to throw my name into the hat, but figured I’d check out the competition first. I could always back out if there was a way to find the guy selling the fake faerie blood without having to take part in a magical tournament for half-faeries. If I dialled down the disguise a few notches and walked up to the hobgoblin, he’d see the shadowy outline of a person. Hopefully not enough to recognise me as human. There were weirder creatures hiding in the shadows.

Another half-faerie approached the hobgoblin, this one a more standard faerie—a young woman wearing silvery armour, with daggers strapped to her thighs. They wouldn’t be iron, but the glittering sheen told me they weren’t cheap.

“I’m Pixie, and I’d like to enter the Trials.”

Were stupid nicknames a requirement? I paused, waiting for her to walk away, then took my chance.

The shadows moved along with me. Luckily, the room wasn’t particularly well-lit, though I kept out of range of the artificial faerie lights hanging from parts of the ceiling. Instead, I called the faerie magic, while dialling down the shadow charm.

This time, the magic took a little longer to work. Fear was a powerful emotion, but not in a particularly helpful way. From my brief experiments since learning what emotions fuelled my power, anger was the most potent. Right now, I was more nervous than angry, but I thought about the deaths, the people the half-faeries had killed. Alain’s tear-stained face rose in my mind’s eye. My hands clenched. Blue smoke swirled around me, cloaking my shadowy form.

I walked towards the hobgoblin. He looked up at me, frowning. I hoped the combination of the shadow illusion and magic hid my otherwise human appearance. As far as most people knew, humans didn’t—couldn’t—have faerie magic. He’d never guess the truth.

“I want to enter,” I said. “Give the name… Shadow.”

I’d join in their silly game. The hobgoblin nodded. A symbol flashed in the air, then disappeared, as though blown away. Probably him making a note of my name. Faeries used magic as a substitute for nearly everything.

“You’re listed. We have one opening left. Go and wait over there.” He pointed to the shadows. “Half the matches will take place tonight.”

I hoped I wouldn’t get picked. My illusion would hold up for hours, but wouldn’t be a great defence against a troll. Crusher. Didn’t quite seem so funny anymore.

Calm down. You can kill faeries in your sleep.
I also had my sword, but couldn’t use it. If the faeries got too close, they’d sense the iron and scream.

“When does a match end?” I asked the hobgoblin. Surely not in death.

“When one participant surrenders,” he said. “Have you never come to the previous Trials?”

Shit. “I’ve been watching… from the shadows.” The illusion masked my voice a little, making it lower than usual. Didn’t sound like a faerie, but then again, as I looked around the room, there was a variety here. Gnomes, hobgoblins and brownies ran between tall faeries’ legs, while sylphs hovered—literally, seeing as they didn’t have corporeal forms—at the edges. Half-trolls stood like living boulders, while half-red caps huddled in groups, talking in shrill voices. Other faeries with more questionable shapes hung from the ceiling like bats or crawled up the walls with long-fingered hands. This place didn’t look like it belonged to either Summer or Winter but an odd mix of both.