Remnants of Magic (26 page)

The magic in his Touch was different this time.

Before, his Touch flooded her with sunlight and the warm joys of summer.

This time, the glow had been like black light reflecting off a white shirt. Stark. Surreal. Disturbing.

When he broke the kiss and released her, London dropped back a step. Getting some breathing room.

Some of the pledge sounded like parts of the traditional wedding vows, and only as she’d spoken them had she felt the weight of what she was saying. A little unnerved, she gathered the hand drawn pictures he’d laid out for her. Perhaps the familiar distraction of work could settle the quivering uncertainty inside. “Here. Let me scan those images in and do a search. See what I can come up with.”

She shivered a sigh of relief when Lugh nodded his agreement and took a journal from his bag to read on her sofa. Even knowing that she needed Lugh, and needed this pledge between them to ease her addiction to the Touch, it all seemed too much. Too real. Too much like a dream world was becoming her reality. She’d already come to terms with the fact that ‘normal’ was never coming back. And that who she was becoming wasn’t who she ever thought she’d be. But hooking up with Lugh was supposed to anchor her. It was supposed to ground her. Give her a foundation to stand on. To give her a handle on reclaiming her life. But right now, it really didn’t feel that way.

It felt like she’d just gotten in way over her head.

Chapter Three

Diving into the familiar territory of Internet research, London lost track of time. Hours had passed without her noticing. The early glow of daybreak warmed the windows and chased away the shivers left behind in the wake of Lugh’s Touch. After all, he’d still Touched her. Still gave her the magic she needed. Still kept his promise to become her patron.

That’s what she needed and wanted, right?

As the printer kicked out the information that she’d found, London rose and stretched her back. Forcing her stiff body to move, she collected the printouts and walked out to the living room. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when she saw Lugh.

He’d stretched out on the sofa, eyes peacefully closed. London silently watched him. His handsome perfection at rest. Memorizing the way his head lay on her throw pillow, and the artistically messy way his hair fell across his smooth forehead. It was impossible to believe that this man had looked exactly like this thousands of years ago, and that time had left no mark upon him, as if even it were in awe of him, of all the Sidhe, she supposed. But this was the first one she knew for certain had to be one of the ancient ones.

He shifted, his arm reaching out. She’d not noticed that his eyes had opened a slit and he watched her as she stared at him. His hand continued to reach for her. An offer. Casual and inviting. Patient.

London left the printout on the end table and then, uncertain about what to expect, she slid her hand into his.

Lugh pulled her to him, both gentle and insistent. He rolled over, drawing her across and over top of him until she lay on the sofa facing away from him. His body curled against hers— his chest to her back, his lap to her bum, his knees tucked in behind hers. As close as lovers. Lugh wrapped her into his embrace so his arms curled over hers precisely.

As cozy as the snuggling might be, London felt intimately trapped. She couldn’t wiggle the slightest without the resistance of Lugh’s body. He nestled his face into the hair by her ear, so his warm breath spilled over her neck, giving her goose bumps. A low rumbling, like deep purring or soft growling, hummed against her throat where his mouth rested and resonated between their bodies. But soon the sound stilled and Lugh resumed his even breathing as if he dozed back to sleep.

She craved the Sidhe; it was something she couldn’t help. Even still, to fall asleep in his arms, embraced like this, would be terribly trusting. London, tired though she was, lay there for awhile considering this. How much did she trust him? How much could she trust him?

He’d not hurt her. In fact, Lugh treated her with a tenderness no other Sidhe had ever shown her. And yet her instincts kept firing off alarms.

Given her trust issues, it startled her to discover that she’d napped. But when he stirred, she knew it had awakened her. So she’d evidently surrendered to sleep and to his embrace at some point. London couldn’t be certain how long she’d slept, but as she awoke, Lugh’s warmth and rich summer scent filled her awareness. With his arms still wrapped around her, he drew her in tighter against him. His face nuzzled to her neck. As he flexed his hips, the trapped awakening of his body rubbed firmly against the curve of her bum, and the soft groan let her know that it ached in an enjoyable way. A flush of desire burned through London to feel him hunching his arousal against her. As his hand glided down her side and hip, London twisted in his arms, lifting her face toward him. Her mouth soft and ready.

But Lugh kissed only her cheek. His deep voice roughened from sleep. “Let us break our fast and begin our labors.” Disentangling himself from London and the sofa, Lugh rose. He offered her a gentlemanly hand, and she hesitated only a moment before accepting. Perhaps the lack of sleep explained his mood the night before. Did the sun Sidhe get grumpy when the sun went down? Anything could be possible with the magic of the fey, and that made as much sense as anything else. That, or perhaps it had been her own innate paranoia when it came to the Sidhe coupled with her exhaustion and Selena’s warning that got her on edge. Lugh certainly seemed as civilized and cultured as ever this morning.

London went to the kitchen to set out scones and tea. Joining her at the table with his breakfast, Lugh asked, “Did you have success with your magicraft?”

“With my what?” With her cream tea, London settled in front of her computer. She caught a glimpse of her tousled reflection just before the black screen came to life. Before venturing out for the day, she’d need to shower and dress.

Lugh tapped the top corner of the computer screen.

“Oh, you mean the laptop. It’s not magic.” She smiled, bringing up the site that she’d saved the night before. She’d made printouts, but the copies were black and white and the resolution hadn’t come out as sharp as she’d hoped. “I scanned the images into the computer and then did an image recognition search on the Internet. See? I’ve found the actual photos of the items from your drawings. This chap has at least five of them.”

Lugh glanced over the web page and then smiled. “He’s a Scribe.”

“A historian and a collector of antiquities, actually,” London corrected. “He’s in charge of the collection of Celtic historical treasures near the University College campus in Cork.”

Lugh repeated. “He’s a Scribe. One of the lesser fey. Myopically large eyes, wide grin, diminutive. You can almost catch the shape of his pointed ears hidden beneath his hair.”

“Oh.” The man had a vaguely fey-look to him. Not as pronounced as the Sidhe or fairies or one of the other ‘uber pretty’ types of fey. Closer to the cherubic features of the Brownies or leprechauns. “So you know him?”

“No, but I know someone who might.”

Chapter Four

The coastal town of Sneem in the Ring of Kerry was one of the many picturesque villages in Ireland. From the traffic circle in the center of town, London could see the rough grass and rocky hills that walled off the town from the rest of the island. The place embodied the peaceful and beautiful Irish setting that tourists sought from the Emerald Isle. Even the tavern into which Lugh strode possessed a seemingly effortless charm, with its old style wooden furnishings and decor.

The barkeeper greeted Lugh by name, and then prepared drinks without even asking what he’d prefer, taking only London’s request for a Guinness to add to a tray of four. As Lugh and London settled into a corner booth, the bartender made a ten-second call, and then delivered the drinks to their table. “Jonathan should be along shortly.” London could swear there was a sparkle in his eyes when he glanced at her, and then gave Lugh an exaggerated knowing wink.

London leaned toward Lugh. “Is there something I should know?”

“Jonathan is a formidable man. It amuses Sean whenever people meet him for the first time. Although, I doubt if Sean knows the fullness of Jonathan’s secret.” Lugh saluted Sean from across the tavern with his tankard, waiting until the bartender turned away before sharing in a whisper, “Jonathan is a dragon.”

“A dragon?” London hissed back. “As in a for-real dragon? Dragons are fey?”

“Dragons are not fey. And don’t let him hear you call him that, or he might eat you.” He smirked. “And not in a fun way.”

“Lovely,” she murmured, tipping back her drink and figuring that she needed it.

Within a scant few minutes the door to the tavern opened and two extraordinarily opposite men entered the establishment. The first would’ve dwarfed even Lugh. The dark featured Goliath that ducked through the doorway easily topped seven feet. Not even his leather trench coat could disguise his mass of muscles. And when he smiled, his lion-like fangs would’ve put a werewolf to shame.

Squeezing in past him slipped a wide-eyed, slender chap who might only come up to the dragon’s elbow if he stood on his tiptoes. Dressed in a simple flannel shirt, tan slacks, and tweed driving cap, he might have blended in among the humans, if not for the overly wide fey grin and the poorly hidden pointed ears. A Scribe, like the one from the website. He clutched a small leather satchel in his thin arms like it contained all his prized possessions. But at the sight of Lugh the small fey came rushing at him and launched himself into the Sidhe’s arms. “Why didn’t you wait for us to come for the artifacts yesterday? I have been twisted inside out with worry!”

“Merely matters to attend to, and no offense meant.” Lugh embraced the smaller man briefly.

Not taking him at his word, the fey cupped his thin hands on either side of Lugh’s face and stared at him. His large eyes flicking about as he searched for something. “What is wrong with your eyes? Is it the Fade?”

She knew it.

Something was off with Lugh, and this Scribe saw it, too.

Rather than answer, Lugh caught the fey’s wrists and drew his hands firmly away from him, offering a stiff smile by way of easing the harshness of his reaction. “Gentlemen, may I present London, my companion and druiditic initiate.”

London tried not to cringe under the direct gaze of the man she knew to be a dragon in a human form, but failed. She could well believe that such a man might chomp people’s heads off if he took the notion. Even as he pinned her with his gaze, she could see the flame in his eyes. Like actual flame, not merely a reflection.

“And this is Jonathan,” Lugh gestured to the dragon first and then to the Scribe, “and Willem.”

Willem reached across the table and shook London’s hand with two firm pumps, like he was unused to the custom, and so performed it with an awkward formality. “I was, of course, the Master Scribe for the beloved and departed All-Mother of the Tuatha de Dannan and former apprentice of Master Scribe Tiberius Laven Davort of the Illustrious Archives in Tír na nÓg. Loyal servant and companion to The Shining One and Champion of the Sidhe on his soon to be legendary quest to restore the glorious, and essential, fey realm.”

Jonathan snorted, “Have no doubt that epic songs are already being penned.”

“Have no doubt at all!” Willem agreed with all seriousness. And then with a half nod and a dismissive wave to Jonathan, he added, “And he’s the Dragon Champion.”

As Jonathan claimed the seat to the other side of Lugh, Willem dropped into the chair beside London. He clutched his satchel in his lap with one arm and then grabbed up his tankard of Guinness and drank a hearty gulp. With a lick of his lips and a contented sigh, he thunked the container back down. “So you’re a druidic initiate? I believed that vocation to be out of fashion.”

“Uh, I guess I am. I’m sort of a probationary companion while I prove myself. I’ve been enchanted,” she admitted in a whisper. “But, I’m actually a private investigator.”

Willem patted her wrist in a there-there manner. “Not enchanted. Unseelie say ‘enchanted.’ Any old thing can be enchanted. An old weather-beaten bucket with a hole in it can be enchanted. You’ve been captivated. Isn’t that a much nicer way to put it?”

“When you put it that way…” she winced.

“Do you have a gun?” Willem blinked up at her. “I have a gun, but Jonathan stashed it away until I learn to wield it properly. Only, he refuses to instruct me.”

“That’s probably for the best,” she said, giving his wrist the there-there pat.

From his jacket pocket, Lugh withdrew a folded sheet of paper. He passed it on to Willem, who smoothed it open onto the tabletop. The printout showed the picture of the historian London had found on the Internet. Lugh asked him, “Are you acquainted with this Scribe commonly known as Quinn Cuidightheach?”

With a focused intensity, Willem studied the picture and every word upon the page as though gathering every iota of data. His fingers traced the scrollwork design that decorated the border of the website and had been partially printed along the edge of the page before the bottom edge cut it off. Distractedly, he observed, “I don’t recognize the penmanship nor the illuminations.”

“I printed that from online,” London explained.

Willem’s large eyes lifted to hers, brows pushed together, uncomprehending.

Jonathan interrupted the Scribe’s questioning stare, “The typeface and embellishments weren’t handwritten. Ignore them and focus on the content, not the presentation.”

With a nod, the Scribe reconsidered the printout. “The byname is familiar. The Cuidightheach familial line served Cerridwen for millenia, but left the mounds when she departed, some decades ago.” Willem whispered in an aside to London, “Cerridwen quarreled with the All-Mother over her choice in the Seelie succession. King Manannan was terribly unpopular.”

“With so many Sidhe departing the Mounds, you would expect to find them somewhere on the surface, wouldn’t you?” Jonathan asked, his question posed to Lugh.

“I have searched their temples and palaces, such as I have known, and posed inquiries to the lesser fey tribes I encounter, but still they appear to have vanished.” Lugh’s voice held a wistful pain. He reached across and touched the image on the printout. “London believes this Scribe possesses a collection of the artifacts we seek. I want you, Willem, to come and speak with him about entrusting them to us.”

“An adventure! Yes, of course! I am your man, sir!” Willem brightened, and then added to London, “I am a very accomplished adventurer. This shan’t be my first quest.”