Remnants of Magic (22 page)

Chapter Six

The message
we’re coming for you
drummed in London’s thoughts, but the Unseelie didn’t even need to bother. She was driving right back to them. How brilliant was that? Right up there with half a dozen other boneheaded choices she’d made in recent weeks. That’s what the Sidhe did to her. Muddled her senses, especially her good sense, which was screaming at her louder and louder the closer they drove to the Unseelie stronghold.

Sure, Lugh had the reputation as an invincible warrior that dated back to the earliest myths of Ireland. Probably, if he meant to protect her, she couldn’t be in safer hands. Right?

But he didn’t know about her past.

About a block away from the Glamour Club all London’s concerns about rushing into a deathtrap exploded into a twisted, screaming nightmare with the force of a shotgun at point-blank range. The terror hit her out of the blue, like a hurricane of razor blades slicing into her essence. London stomped on the brake. Fish-tailed to a stop. Then threw the car into reverse and punched the gas.

All she knew… all she could think… was she had to get out of there!

Now!

“Stop!” Lugh’s command startled her from the depths of the black terror, making her hit the brake out of reflex. They’d reversed a couple yards, but already the panic gripped her less. Her whole body trembled. She sucked in each breath as if starved for it, like she’d just barely escaped drowning. Panic-tears scalded her eyes. And against all that visceral fear, the only lifeline she could cling to was the confidence in Lugh’s resonant voice as he told her, “Be still.”

To her dismay, Lugh climbed out and crossed to the front of the car. “This is such a bad idea.” London shifted into park, but left the engine running. Even just opening her door and stepping out required an insane amount of determination to at least fake the courage she’d need to back him up.

Lugh scanned the buildings around them. His attention settled on an upper corner of the building that housed the Glamour Club. In a language that sounded similar to the rolling cadence of Gaelic he murmured something. From the shadows a reply hissed demonically.

She muttered, “That is so not good.”

Over his shoulder, Lugh said, “You mentioned not the sluagh.”

“This didn’t happen last time.” The sluagh? Weren’t they the souls of the damned that could kill with their screams? This was getting better and better all the time.
What can I get you with that order of rampaging Unseelie, sir? How about a side order of winged screaming death?
“Maybe we should just get away from here. Fast.”

Ignoring her warning, Lugh started forward. This, London realized, was going to be the problem with working for a Sidhe with a hero complex. In the face of an obvious epic disaster, he was going to charge in armed with nothing but ego. Before she could even voice a protest, someone else beat her to it. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Seelie.”

Even as Lugh whipped around, ready for an attack, a Glamour in the doorway flickered and dissipated, revealing not one of the Unseelie like London feared, but a wood elf. The shock of recognition struck London almost as forcefully as the dreaded sluagh scream. “Kev?” Not only did this place feel like a nightmare, it seemed to have the power to resurrect the dead. The last time she’d seen this wood elf a Changeling clung to his back with its sword thrust through his chest. She’d been told that he’d died. Apparently, not so much.

The hatred in the glare he cut toward her said it all. He blamed her for the attack, and probably blamed her for Rico’s death as well. But his demeanor changed as he started toward Lugh. With deference, Kev asked, “You are Seelie Sidhe, are you not?”

“I am most assuredly.” No mistaking the pride in the straightening of his shoulders.

Kev launched himself at Lugh, a smile bursting across his face. He embraced the Sidhe with such vehemence, London thought he might knock Lugh over. “Thank the All-Mother! We feared not even one Seelie made it out of the Mounds! Blessed Danu be praised!”

Lugh laughed, more real and unguarded than he’d been all morning. “So it is true, then? There are Sidhe here? Children, even? To imagine such a thing, Sidhe youths. I feared it was nothing but a ploy. Take me to them.”

“Before you go charging in to see the Unseelie, there are some things you should know about them.” Kev glared at London. “And about your companion, if you’ll have it.”

Crap! No! No! No!

Lugh glanced back at London, as if considering this.

“Lugh,” she protested, but Kev cut her off.

The wood elf shifted to block her with his back. With a hand upon Lugh’s shoulder, he whispered urgently, “We should speak in private and away from here. By your leave, my lord.”

Lugh retrieved the axe from her car before coming around to London. Whatever she thought he was going to do, it wasn’t for him to gather her into his arms and cradle her against his warm body with a compassion so tender that it caught her heart off-guard. So gentle and yet so strong, he wrapped her into him. London’s eyes closed and a prick in her heart brought a sting to her eyes.

Since the night she’d been first cursed until this day, no Sidhe had shown her the least compassion. She’d made mistakes, and craved forgiveness. She hurt, and longed for understanding. She fought to stay strong when sometimes all she wanted was to fall apart.

The way Lugh hugged her now… It was like he really cared about her. “Be not afraid. I shall be safe and shall return as soon as I am able.” He stroked her cheek. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded, but it was a lie.

“Your need is not acute and I shall return before it becomes so. Return to Dublin. I shall seek you out soon. Trust that this is so.” Even as he stroked her hair once more, London feared that it would be for the last time. As soon as Kev told him about how Rico died or why the Unseelie wanted her dead, her life was probably all over but the screaming.

Lugh murmured, “Go now. I shall see you safely away.” He guided her into the car. “Fare thee well, London.”

Reluctantly, she obeyed. Even as Kev glared at her, she had no choice but to comply with Lugh. She turned the car around and in the rear view mirror she saw the pair of them vanish into thin air. Half of her was convinced that she’d never see Lugh again.

The other half was certain that if she did, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

Chapter Seven

Waiting around in the vain hope that Lugh would return, and not in a homicidal mood, wasn’t London’s style. Not when Joe’s offer to get her in good with his patron was still on the table. He’d set up the transportation and paid the admission in advance. All she had to do was show up on time to take the speedboat ride over to the Isle of Man and accept the keys to the rental car he’d prepared for her. The man was a professional, no doubt about it.

By early evening, London was wandering between the circle of roughly broken stones of Cashtal Yn Ard at the top of a rounded hill. From here she could see the Irish Sea a little ways to the east. More rolling hills cascaded around them, peaceful and clean looking. The sky seemed huge from here, with the clouds arching overhead in the vivid blue sky. The breeze carried the hint of the sharp sea scent that mingled with the open, green smells of the hills. With the ancient and weathered stones of the site guarding the circle, London imagined that she could feel the reverence of this place. As if she could feel the very spirits of her own ancestors around her. For someone like Riley, who meant to evoke those very feelings in his followers, a place like Cashtal Yn Ard made the perfect venue.

Even with the five hundred Euro price tag, a good thirty or so people milled about the stones, waiting for Riley to begin his presentation. While others absorbed the ambiance of the place, Riley himself worked the crowd, greeting his followers like old mates, pumping hands and kissing cheeks like a politician. London lingered to the side, feigning interest in the texture weathered into the limestone slab jutting up from the ground like a spearhead.

Joe arrived separately. At first London hadn’t recognized him. Somehow he didn’t seem at all out of place with his scuffed up hiking boots, khaki field shorts, and the threadbare button-down shirt. On a leather cord around his neck he wore a small collection of mystical tokens: an arrowhead, a quartz crystal, a seashell, some kind of old coin, and a couple different pewter pendants of Celtic crosses and pentagrams. The messy hair and stubble completed his look, which implied that he was too preoccupied with his inward spiritual journey to take much notice of his outward appearance. Joe toted a couple camera bags with their straps crisscrossing his chest. Those, along with the expensive camera he used, transformed him neatly into the image of a professional photographer. Now and then Riley posed for a shot, though he tried to make it look natural, just pausing mid-motion until he heard the snap.

London’s own choice of clothing stemmed from studying Riley’s website. He did like the ladies, especially the ones that had a fey-look, so London crafted her make-up to give her cheekbones a sharper appearance and used eyeliner and false eyelashes to make her eyes appear slightly larger. The contacts she’d bought transformed her irises into an intense and faceted lavender. Her flowing, gossamer skirt fell in scarf-like folds that revealed a lot of leg when she walked. The crochet tunic didn’t do much to hide her halter sports bra nor her bare midriff. She played up the new age image with a chakra stone anklet, low-heel sandals with leather lacing that crisscrossed up her calves, and a leather choker with an eternity knot clasp in the front. Even as Riley chatted up his followers or posed for pictures, his eyes followed her.

Playing the coy game like a cat, London cast a noticing glance Riley’s way. They made eye contact, which she held for a full breath, before sliding her attention away. With that, she’d revealed all the interest that she intended to show initially. She wanted him to pursue her, which gave her the power. Dressed and acting like she was, London even imagined that she felt fey-like— mysterious and unobtainable, yet alluring.

She didn’t need to wait long. Riley excused himself from the couple who appeared both eccentric and wealthy in their handcrafted and tailored gypsy-peasant costumes of a style more dramatic even than Riley’s own.

London allowed him to notice her sideways sliding glance that swept up his body in appreciation as he strode toward her. And if she was honest with herself, Riley wasn’t a bad looking chap. He carried off the Renaissance shirt with the lacing up the V-neck and the bright red sash around his waist, with the trailing ends that cascaded down his right leg almost to the knee, with casual class. With his black-Irish coloring, his dark hair and blue eyes made a naturally stunning contrast. Although he shared a wide, infectious smile, London resisted the urge to mirror it. Her smile, like her favor, should be earned. Otherwise, she might as well huddle with the teenage girl groupies that stared after him, twittering amongst themselves, and who screamed and swooned when he gave them a hug. Which he’d done before working the moneymakers of his following.

Once Riley reached her, his full attention upon her, London couldn’t deny his charisma. No wonder he’d developed such a following. The effect resonated physically. When she raised her eyes to meet his intense stare, she could only hold it for a few seconds, as if looking into his magnetic gaze stopped her heart. So her focus dropped to his chest and the half-hidden pendants on a golden chain. The runic mark etched into a cabochon of amethyst was unsettlingly familiar. Beside the stone, on the same chain, hung a seashell with the triskele symbol of Manannan. Riley’s hand covered the pendants. “You sense their magic.” His voice resonated with power that coiled around her. The enchantment stroked at her soul, coaxing her to submit. Luring her to forget her resistance. Beckoning her to fall into dream-like acceptance.

The Sidhe magic within her flared. It snapped the bewitching enchantment before it ensnared her. The reaction of the magic shocked London as much as Riley. His eyes narrowed. Tilting his head, the druid reconsidered her. What he thought, she could only guess, but she felt exposed to those sharp, blue eyes.

A bustling of noise clamored behind Riley. London glanced past him and immediately dropped back a step to put the standing stone between herself and the two men who just arrived.

Wizards.

Chapter Eight

Riley snatched London’s hand. Before she could protest, he shielded her from view with his body. He pressed her palm to his chest, over his heart. So close to the charms that the magic from them crackled like static over her skin. “Promise me that you won’t run.”

London twisted her wrist, but he refused to release her. “What?”

“Stay hidden if you must, but don’t run away.” His grip tightened. “Promise me.”

Fully expecting the wizards to interrupt them at any moment, London shied farther behind the stone. Wizards killed without conscience. The true hunters of the fey. They let nothing stop them in their quest for power. Not even the barrier the Sidhe erected around Ireland could keep them out, sending their Changeling minions on raids to kidnap the fey they needed for their ritual murders. London recognized the two men that approached them now. She’d betrayed them, freeing Kev and a handful of other fey they’d captured, and she didn’t think for a second that they’d forgotten about it.

“Promise me!” Riley demanded in a whisper.

“I promise,” she conceded, just to get him away from her.

Immediately, Riley released her and spun around. From behind the stone, London watched him dramatically raise his hands and proclaim, “Welcome, my friends! Shall we begin our session? Gather ‘round.” Even as he spoke he strode off, drawing the attention away from her hiding spot. When the crowd settled into clusters on the ground, their backs faced London.

Pointedly, Riley never once looked toward London during his presentation. Throughout the entire long-winded and new-age-hyped account of the history of the Isle and of this supposed druid burial site, Riley commanded the unnaturally rapt attention of his following.

All the while, Joe moved about the gathering, taking his endless pictures. Once, when the camera blocked his face, he cut her a glance. London made eye contact. Far too professional to question her change in tactics, Joe returned to his cover as event photographer without sparing her another look.