Bound by Faerie: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Stolen Magic Book 1) (2 page)

I put my hands up, palm out, showing him that Epic was sheathed. I was no threat. "This is just a silly misunderstanding, right?" Lou's magic tasted like hot pennies dug out of an ashtray. I gagged as it pervaded the air. "Hey now—" Beautiful balls of light suddenly hovered in front of my open palms.
No. Go away, go away—
Heat like I'd never felt before sucked the air right out of me. Lou, and his dragonfire, weren't going to give me the time to deal with my own deadly powers before he attacked.
In the periphery I watched his building flames, but I couldn't look away from my hands. Instinct—my long trusted friend—told me the balls of light would reach him first. I could end this before I could blink. But I couldn't kill someone like that. Not again
.
A stream of flames rushed toward my head. I pulled the light back into my palms and fell to the side. As if in slow motion, the burnt ends of my hair drifted in front of my face.

No time to think about that.

Rolling to my feet, not looking back this time, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. I hurled myself off the cliff just in time to avoid the gout of flame that poured from the beast's mouth. I had a moment to think,
The necklace!
, before I felt it thump against my chest. I didn't remember putting it on, but that would have to do.
My feet kicked open air until my mind caught up and I let the change come over me. It wasn't difficult. The crow was always there, like a partner waiting outside a wrestling ring, ready to be tagged in. Shimmering darkness enveloped me. The magic, like thick smoke, was there one moment and gone the next. I was always a girl, and always a crow, but my skin only exposed one of those states at a time, and right now, I had wings.

That would have been a better thing if they weren't tangled in my clothes. Rookie mistake, not adjusting for the fabric, but in my defense, I had just jumped off a cliff. Not that an excuse like that mattered much as I failed to free my wings. I dropped like a feather-covered rock into the churning ocean.

CHAPTER TWO

I flailed my arms, only then realizing I'd shifted back. I hadn't consciously thought to change; chalk another one up for instinct. Crows weren't made for the water. Unfortunately, possessing arms was not enough. My shirt and bra trapped my limbs around
my torso like a straitjacket, my lungs burned with the need to breathe, and I couldn't tell which way was up. I'd escaped the fire, only to drown.

Screw that.

I kicked and kicked and kicked. My body writhed against the force of the waves. Salt water stung my eyes, but I was pretty sure I was facing the surface; it was that light growing dimmer as waves pushed me this way and that—mostly down.

A dark shape stirred below my swishing feet, coalescing into a large, black sea lion. In full panic mode now, legs flailing wildly as my struggling arms remained pinned, I couldn't stop my mouth from opening and sucking in salt water. It seared my insides. The pain was almost enough to distract me from the approaching figure. I knew what a selkie could do to me. Friend or foe? I couldn't be sure. I was never good at recognizing sea lion faces, and the panic and the drowning didn't improve my odds. I landed a wild hit to its chest and received a glare in return.
Art!
My colleague, my friend! Or at least my friendly colleague. Only Art would give me such a glare.

Once my struggling became marginally less violent, Art grabbed a mouthful of my shirt and hauled me back to the world above. The relief of breaking the surface was short-lived as I spewed water back into the ocean. It hurt worse on its way out. I spit up all the water I was going to, but found no solace; I was choking on air, my throat and lungs spasming from the shock of meeting the sea. Water was a fearsome beast when it turned on y
ou.

Gasping and still tangled in my clothes, Art dutifully pulled me into the shallows. I trudged to dry sand and collapsed, too exhausted to move now that I didn't have to. I shivered so hard it felt like I was having convulsions. The water off the coast of northern California never really left the fifties.

I looked around for my rescuer and found Art coming down the beach with a bag. He pulled out a thick towel, a pair of sweatpants, and a sweatshirt. My pants were nowhere to be seen, another piece of my wardrobe claimed by the Pacific Ocean. Good thing I'd emptied my pockets before climbing up there. I pulled off my swords and their sheaths, vowing to clean them of salt water tonight, and freed myself of the soaking shirt and bra that were almost the death of me. Strangely, the necklace was still in place around my neck.

"Thought you said you wanted to take this one solo because you knew how to deal with Lou," said Art, a touch of amusement twitching his mustache and beard. He turned his back to me, watching for people. Modesty was something I'd learned to live without shortly after discovering I could shift, and humans rarely came to this stretch of beach, but I'd still rather not have to explain my undress to some random passerby.
Why yes, human person, I am naked on this windy, cold beach because... Well, see, I got in an argument with this dragon, and...

Yeah, I liked having Art around, if for no other reason than he could handle the talking.

"I do know how to deal with Lou," I told him. "We got along fine. I thought it was a nice day for a swim is all."

"Yes, that's so like you."

"Clearly, you are underestimating my awesome."

"The skies are clear," Art said, noticing the direction of my stare. He was right. No angry dragon in sight.

"We should head out before that changes."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Art took the wet towel from me and stuffed it in his bag. "So what went wrong up there?"

I shrugged. "Dragons."

"Dragons," he agreed with a wink. Art didn't have many dragon opinions, mostly because he didn't deal with them that often. He was more of an expert on fae who lived in the ocean. Between the two of us, there was nowhere that we couldn't get to, be it air, land, or sea. I always enjoyed cases we worked together.

"Whose car are you driving today?" The car in question was a little red convertible. "They can't be from around here. When would they ever put the top down?"

"Beverly." He laughed when I groaned. "She's not that bad."

"If you say so." I didn't really know her, but she made a lot of jokes about me. Art didn't know that. She'd never say that stuff in front of him.

He tossed his bag in the back, where he already had a few boxes loaded. Art didn't have his own car because, like most selkies, his home was in the water. On days where he headed into the bureau's office or took care of errands for his pod, he would borrow a car from someone at work. Art was popular at the office. Everyone was willing to help him out. I'd told him he could borrow Bliss, my motorcycle, whenever he wanted to. He'd politely declined, while looking terrified. Selkies weren't much for motorcycles. Too much open air, I guessed.

He tucked himself in behind the little car's steering wheel. Once he realized the seat controls were already as far back as they would go, he shrugged his shoulders and smiled over at me. "Where to?"

Absolutely nothing got Art down. I poked at the spot where his dimple hid under his well-groomed beard. He smiled wider but otherwise didn't respond. If someone did the same to me, I'd slap their hand away.

"Drop me by The Arbor. I want to shower and put on some real clothes before I bring this thing in.
I smell like dead fish. Don't want to give the office any more fuel for those rumors that I eat carrion."

He laughed. "No one says that."

"Not to
you
."

A worried crease took hold of his brow, but he promptly shook it off.
"What are you doing after you shower and return that necklace? Bad day for surfing. Farmer's market is over."

"Well don't you just have me figured out." He did. There wasn't much else I did with my time. "What are you doing?" Always better to flip such questions around. Art could handle the conversation well enough on his own if I got him started.

"I'm really not busy. If you'd like me to wait around while you clean up, I'd be happy to give you a ride into the office so you can return that necklace."

My hand jumped up to the gold around my neck. I tucked it under the collar of the sweatshirt. This was the second time he'd mentioned me returning the necklace. "I can handle it myself."

"Of course you can, but—"

"No."

"Right, okay." The worried crease was back in his brow, and it stuck there this time. He turned into The Arbor parking lot and drove past several empty guest spots. "Are you okay?" he finally asked.

"I'm fine." The necklace burned my chest. I could feel him looking at it through the fabric of my shirt. "You know I hate working Saturday mornings." It was true. Obviously. I wasn't one of the fae who could lie.

He nodded like that made sense. "Right, I know that." He looked me over, suspicious, and then shook away the tension and let his face revert to its usual smile. "Sorry you missed the market, but there's always next Saturday. And once you wash away the brine with some hot water, pick up your paycheck, and buy yourself that celebratory cheeseburger, it'll all feel worth it."

I couldn't help but smile about celebratory cheeseburgers. "I'm feeling like sweet potato fries today."

"That's the spirit." He smiled wide for me, trying to make me smile back, and I pulled my lips into a wide grimace that showed all my teeth. He laughed. I rolled my eyes. That was our routine.

I hopped out of the car and he called after me, "Just don't let Phoebe get to you."

I grunted and waved him off. Phoebe was a skilled artist. If given the chance, I bet she could even irritate Art.

I hit the button on the elevator that would take me up to the tree houses that composed The Arbor. The barely visible structure I called home was an awesome place to live. Much more awesome than I would be able to afford if there weren't an annoying d
ryad that used the place like her own and generally treated me like a hostile invader for kicks. At least she was tidy.

The elevator arrived with a cheerful ding. Most days it was easier to fly in, but my borrowed clothes were heavy for my crow form. I fingered the necklace at my throat, still puzzling over how I brought it through the shift. Maybe I was learning. Maybe it was easier to do with metals. Jewelry wasn't something I typically wore. I'd have to test that theory when I got a spare minute.

The elevator opened onto the walkway connecting the community of tree houses. A pair of elves slid past me, their arms linked around each other's waists. They were beautiful, as elves tended to be. If you were into the whole flowing blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and perfectly symmetrical face thing. To me, they looked too much like they'd been photoshopped. Seeing them gave me the urge to poke their cheeks, mess up their hair.

"Good evening, Sophie," they said in unison, their voices like wind chimes. Their expressions held no trace of sarcasm. I'd been rude to them every interaction we'd had. They just wouldn't give it up. "It's going to be a beautiful night."

I'd have liked them better if they weren't so damned nice. They needed a flaw if they were ever going to grow a personality.

"Whatever."

I turned on a heel and stalked toward lucky number thirteen. It rested on the branches of three beautiful redwoods, about a hundred feet from the ground. The bulk of the apartment butted against the trunk of Phoebe's tree. She was the spirit bonded to the tree since it was a seedling, and she would live as long as the redwood did. It made her ancient compared to my twenty-four years. Not that she acted it. Or looked it. The elves said it was a great honor to have a dryad in your house. It was funny how an honor could
feel so much like a curse.

I knocked loudly on the door before pressing my palm to the wood. Disengaging the magical lock took two seconds, but I waited a few more to give Phoebe adequate warning. It rubbed me the wrong way to knock on my own door, but after walking in on a dryad fondling herself for the third time, and being unable to convince her to do it some place private, I'd started knocking to warn her I was coming in and it was time to pretend to have some decency. Judging by the smug look she wore when I came up with the system, it was just another thing she was doing to irritate me, but if it kept me from seeing a dryad spread-eagle on my couch when I came home, I'd knock every time.

The lights came on at my presence, which meant Phoebe was probably not in the apartment. Maybe. Sometimes she messed with the magic so she could jump out and scare me when I got home. Asshole. Out of habit, my eyes scanned for things out of place. I didn't find a water bucket above me waiting to fall or slingshots strategically positioned around the room. I was getting better at spotting the traps, but she was also getting better at setting them. Still, there was nothing I could see. Maybe that meant she was taking
a break to give her next stunt more punch, or maybe it meant she was being particularly devious. Coming home was always an adventure.

I didn't feel up to playing detective, so I walked straight to the bathroom and stripped off my clothes and set my swords aside. The shower came on with a wave of my hand. I stepped into the warm stream of water that poured out at my desired temperature without having to adjust it. Whenever I felt extra grateful for the luxury of my home, or extra annoyed at Phoebe, I was reminded how I'd never be able to afford it without the dryad problem affecting the rent. I should have known it was too good to be true when I moved in, but I had been eager to get out on my own. Living in a community of my banshee sisters was nice and all, but I hadn't wanted to be a burden to my sister any longer. Not that Belinda would have ever said it to my face, but she hadn't asked to be left with a squalling infant. I left her house at seventeen when I got my first job at the b
ureau.