Bound by Faerie: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Stolen Magic Book 1) (3 page)

While Belinda was technically my sister, she was also the only parent I'd ever known. Neither of us knew who our fathers were, though we assumed they were different. Belinda had only seen our birth mother twice in her adult life, the last time being when she dropped me off with a note instructing her to raise me.
A note
. That was the last any of us had seen of her. To most of the fae, The Morrigan was an infamous legend. They called her Battle Goddess or Phantom Queen, often in hushed whispers, like she might hear her name. To us, she was someone we'd never met, but could never escape. The legend of The Morrigan followed us everywhere. Or at least, it followed me. Belinda was a banshee, like every other daughter of The Morrigan, and stayed in Wailing Lakes, the banshee community where most of our sisters lived their whole lives. When everyone around you had the same mom, no one bothered asking you about her. It was a difference I hadn't realized until I ventured out on my own. It was safe to say I had mommy issues. Still, I wasn't a banshee. I was "unique", as far as I knew. I had to find a place for myself. Seven years in, I liked to think I was doing fairly well. Belinda didn't seem to share that opinion. She was still waiting for me to come home any day now.

The water switched from perfectly heated to ice cold in the space of a heartbeat, shocking me out of my melancholy thoughts. At least she'd let me wash my hair. "Nice, Phoebe. You monster."

"You'
re welcome," said the dryad with a giggle as she appeared in the center of the bathroom, a sweet smile on her face.

"Sarcasm, look it up," I retorted.

"Ugh," said Phoebe, crossing her arms over her chest. Her skin looked like the subtly red interior of a redwood tree, down to the grain. When she tried for modesty, her sexy bits were covered with a thin bark. Like now, she rarely bothered. "You want me to leaf through books made from
the corpses of trees. Disgusting!"

I scowled at her as I dried off. "Don't pretend that you don't know about the internet. I've checked my browsing history and I sure as hell don't log on to SexyFaeBeasts dot com
twice a day."

"You mean the internet is good for things other than looking at pretty men?"

Her genuine confusion
made me laugh. "Yes, and don't mess with the hot water again. Some things are sacred. Hot showers are one of them."

She nodded seriously. "You're right. Water brings life. I won't do that again."

"It's appreciated." I finished drying and gathered the borrowed clothes and my swords.

"That's a pretty necklace," said Phoebe, following me to my bedroom.

"Thanks," I replied without thinking. "Damn it!" I knew better than to say thank you. What was wrong with me today?

Phoebe clapped and let out a little squeal. "You're in my debt. I hope you're going to keep the necklace;
I could use more favors."

"I'm not keeping it. I have to turn it into MOD
. It was a job."

"Well, I think you should keep it;
it sets off those dark eyes of yours, gives them a little sparkle."

I nodded. Everybody said I took after my mother, even more than my sisters. We all had dark eyes, but my hair was so black it had a blue sheen. I pulled it over my shoulder and got my first real look at the burnt ends. Phoebe hadn't noticed the uneven strands yet.
"Stop complimenting me. I won't owe you any more favors."

"Fine, I was just trying to be nice," she said,
full lips pouting.

I ignored her, my thoughts stuck on my mother. Any other time, I'd be flying out the window, or hopping on Bliss, or heading off to catch some waves, or something else to keep my mind away from anything mom relevant. But this wasn't like any other time, and I knew it. My hands balled into fists against the memory of the magic light I'd summoned.

It wasn't a big deal. Just some pretty lights. If you didn't use a power, it couldn't define you, right? That's how I'd always seen it—or used to, anyway. But then I'd been assigned the worst job of my career. A wisp-thin wind worker named Leandra had stolen an enchanted cache of weapons. The memory wrapped around me like the vice-like grip of her magic. No matter how many times I reflected on the incident, I'd never be sure she was trying to hurt me. Maybe she'd only intended to scare me. Maybe if I hadn't killed her, she would have let me go, and we'd have both been fine today. But my hands had lit up. Years of hiding that magic, and there it was for all the world to see. Beautiful balls of light, mesmerizing and clearly harmless. They floated away from my hand at a leisurely pace. Leandra laughed, incredulous. She was killing me, and I was putting on a light show. I supposed that could be funny, if you were without a soul. I didn't have time to think about it. I was too afraid of what my light would do, and trying to breathe, and battling against the urge to let my magic do what it would. The orbs' slow pace as they traveled through the air must have seemed relaxed, but in truth the magic was stiff under the tension of my indecision. I was trying to rein the light back in—truly I was—but looking back, I became convinced that I could have gained control if I'd been sure it was the right thing to do. I didn't want to kill her—but I also wanted to live. I was wrestling with that decision and struggling to subdue my light while she laughed in my face, taunting me. She practically begged me to kill her, but she couldn't have known that I was capable. And then she released her magic, letting me breathe—sweet moment of relief—only to slam the wind around me tighter than ever before. The world grew dark. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

Her skin glowed when the light touched her.

And then she was gone. Dead. She never saw it coming.

I hadn't meant to do it. I was barely conscious. The bureau only cared that it was self defense. Apparently, Leandra had been killing people for a while—one of those details that would have been nice to know before they gave me the warrant. No one would listen when I told them I hadn't
meant
to kill her. They didn't appreciate the significance of that, of how dangerous I was. Or maybe they didn't want the extra paperwork.

Phoebe slapped my arm. "Hey! No using your fear magic in the house!" Her eyes were wide, but otherwise she didn't show her fear. Still, now that she mentioned it, I could feel that I'd pushed out an aura of magic. It didn't happen every time I was scared. Shame heated my skin. I reeled the magic back in, wondering how it was I'd gotten to this point. Why, after all these years, was I losing control of my magic now?

Months had gone by since Leandra with nothing unusual happening. But then today, with Lou, m
y hands lit up when I felt the slightest bit threatened by dragonfire. I wasn't safe—Lou was trying to kill me at the time—but I could have gotten away without hurting him. I'd escaped worse situations. Number one rule of Magical Object Division recovery assignments: know your escape route. But my hands had lit up for battle. Battle... like I was the daughter of a battle goddess or something.

Damn.

This had The Morrigan written all over it. I knew that, even if I barely knew anything about her. I'd been hesitantly researching her since the incident, but it was hard to separate fact from fiction where almighty mommy was concerned. I'd hoped the whole thing had been a glitch. Learning about my magic, and therefore the source of it all—The Morrigan—wouldn't be necessary if I never used the death light again. It should have been simple. Today proved it wasn't. I could kill someone at any time, without meaning to. That was scarier than ten Leandras.

No more excuses, no more procrastinating. It was time for my research to get serious. Tracking down information was like tracking down anything else—and that's what I did for a damned living. I could do this. I just had to want to.

Ugh.

I pulled up my note app and looked over the list.

What I Know About The Morrigan
:

• Has a crow form
  
• Unseelie
  
• Immortal? Really old.
  
• Psychic knowledge about life and death
  
• Drawn to battle
  
• Banshee-like scream, may be more to it for her. Like mine?
  
• Abandons her children. All banshee women. Except me.
  
• Not. Good. People.
  

And that's where I was at with that.

When it came to The Morrigan, more was rumored than known. How someone could be so famous, and yet full of so many secrets, was beyond me. I hadn't found so much as a hint about a light that killed. It seemed to be the least known magic in existence. I'd certainly never told anyone about it, not even Belinda. I barely acknowledged it to myself. Cowardly, yes, but also very comfortable. Should have known that couldn't last.

"Time to go into research mode," I told the empty room. Apparently Phoebe had finished
tormenting me for the time being.

I flicked through my contacts, stopping on the picture of the mousy woman with an octopus on her head. She looked so somber, and yet so silly. Such a weird fae. I pressed call
. "Ava, I have a job for you."

CHAPTER THREE

"So, what has the bureau given you too little information about this time?" asked Ava, gesturing to the seat opposite her. Conflicting occult symbols adorned the cloth-covered table. Her usual clientele was human, and she had to give them what they expected when they came to her wanting magic. Anything they lost, she could find. There was nothing normal about Ava, but her business model was the most curious of them all. I felt the weight of unasked questions every time I visited Lost in the Mist. Few fae did business in human territory. The fact that we were within a stone's throw of Volarus, the fae city, only made it stranger. Ava worked with humans, not because there weren't fae around, or even fae like her, or any other reason I could think of—Ava
wanted
to work with humans. I wasn't sure how her magic worked, she was tight-lipped about it, but I was pretty sure she was a seeker. I'd never met another, though I'd heard a group of them owned a corporation in Volarus. I was curious why she didn't join their company, but I had a feeling it was one of those things I wasn't supposed to ask, and I didn't want to screw up the working relationship I had with Ava. The mystery was an itch I wasn't allowed to scratch.

I took a seat at the table and worked on figuring out what to say. I'd had a plan before I came, but being in her presence reminded me that mixing business relationships with personal stuff was a horrible idea, mainly because I did nothing but mess up the personal stuff.

But I needed answers. If I wanted to keep my job, or have any kind of life, I needed answers. I couldn't spend the rest of my life scared I'd commit murder.

Ava pushed the tarot cards aside and turned her unsettling peridot eyes up to meet mine. "Big questions today?"

I briefly pulled up a smile and then dropped it. I wasn't good at the forced smiling, and Ava was hardly someone who would appreciate the effort. Her gaze searched me. She probably already knew why I was there. Ava just
knew
things. It was why I sought her help. Also maybe why I shouldn't.

She clacked her nails on the table. It was hard to tell, but I think she found my nerves amusing.

"This one isn't for the bureau."

"You don't say."

A shiver shook my frame. Visiting Ava was usually unsettling, but not
this
unsettling. "This visit is personal," I said, like that wasn't already clear.

"You're so
human
today, Sophie."

"Huh?"

"You typically behave differently around me. So focused. So motivated. So... emotionless. You're my only fae client, you know. My human clients come in here, so lost. So torn. If they're new, they don't believe in what I do yet. I am their last resort to find whatever it is they've lost, and they're not sure they believe I can do it for them. They're so...
desperate.
A fae wouldn't come see me in such a state. A fae would never want me to see such...
desperation
, such...
weakness
."
Her tongue lingered on the word, like she could taste it. And it was delicious. "You're so human today, Sophie."

Leaning back in my chair, I exhaled heavily and stared Ava and her creepy eyes right the hell down.

Ava leaned back and dusted her dark bangs from her face. "What can I help you with?"

Going home wasn't an option. She was right. I was desperate. And it was a horrible idea to let her know that, but damage done. I was desperate to believe I wasn't a murderer, that I wouldn't kill again, and learning control was the only way to make sure that was true. "I need information on The Morrigan."

Her eyes gleamed. My name was Sophie Morrigan; she knew what I was asking.

"The Morrigan is a mystery. To everyone, it seems."

"Wow, that's really the kind of insight I came for, Ava. So helpful of you."

"Hmm." Ava stared off to the side. It wasn't unfocused like she was spacing out; it was like she saw things I didn't. Her magic didn't swell, though, so I knew she wasn't doing anything. When Ava did whatever it was that she did, the room smelled briny, with a hint of smoke, like burning driftwood. Everything about Ava reminded me of the ocean. "She's ancient, The Morrigan. Such a life has many secrets. I'm not sure which of them you're after."

"Anything would be helpful," I said.

"The Morrigan has many titles. Battle Goddess."

"Phantom queen. Yeah, I know. Even The Morrigan is a title, don't you think?"