Bound by Faerie: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Stolen Magic Book 1) (9 page)

"This one is my favorite," he said, his words less slurred than they had been a few minutes ago. "It talks about a lot of things that none of the other histories mention.
"

"It's so short," I observed.

"We are talking about The Morrigan, secretive and mysterious." He was so full of awe. It filled me with the most confusing mix of emotions. Envious he knew enough about her to feel that way; furious that this random dragon was the only person I'd ever met to know anything; proud that my mother was someone to inspire such awe; irritated that he thought he knew so much. But did he know she abandoned her children? What was awe-inspiring about that? He tapped the book cover proudly. "This is the most comprehensive book in existence; I'm sure of it."

Shoving my emotions down where I would hopefully never hear from them again, I acknowledged that Owen was right about her being secretive and mysterious. Under the best of circumstances it sounded like he could have been a great source of information on The Morrigan, which was exactly what I needed. Owen sounded knowledgeable. He also sounded damn sober.

It was all I could do to keep my face neutral with the book in sight. All I had to do was make sure it was the right book. Each casual step I took crossing the room felt like an eternity. Finally, when I held out my hand for the book, trying not to do the grabby motion, I said as calmly as I could manage, "May I?"

Maybe he saw something in my face. Maybe my voice gave me away. I wasn't sure what it was, but those two words fucked me. Realization washed over his features. His lips transitioned from a boyish grin to a gaping maw, then settled into a grim line. "You're not McKenzie.
"

"Who the hell is McKenzie?" I asked, hoping to buy a moment of confusion so I could think up a plan. There was no point in denying it; I didn't know how well he knew her. As much as I'd been worried he'd figure things out, I should have had a plan for what I'd do when it happened.

"She's the girl I thought I was bringing back to my room," he retorted, eyes narrowing
. "Who the hell are you?"

"That's for me to know and you to never find out." And that was enough of a plan for me. I snatched the book from his hand, opened my mouth, and unleashed my magic with a scream. As my
volume increased, so did my magic, building into an ear destroying shriek. I didn't know anyone else who could do that; it was a violent twist on the banshee's cry. Maybe his book would give me some answers, though I doubted it if his look of confusion was anything to go by.

Eyes rolling, he clutched his head in vain. Between the magic and the noise, hands had never been successful blocking me out. My sisters
found that out the hard way when I went through the terrible twos.

Owen sank to his knees. This—this was why I needed the book. Uselessly, I felt the urge to explain it to him. Like that would lessen the transgression. My magic caused misery and death. Who knew what other horrors I was capable of? I had to figure out how to control my magic once and for all, because someone wielding magic that caused such pain should know how to control it. That wasn't something I would ever tell people though. I couldn't expect anyone to understand, especially not some rich nightclub owner I had crying on the floor. Blood leaked between the fingers covering his ears.
Good night, Owen.
His eyes rolled back in his head.

I snapped my mouth closed, hoping he had his bedroom shielded for sound. Otherwise, the staff he surely employed would knock down the door any second.

I knew I should bolt before he woke, or someone came in and caught me. And I would have, if I hadn't seen another book I'd been coveting for years on the next shelf. The kind of information on different types of Unseelie fae and their magic that could get a girl killed just for asking about it.
On Unseelie Fae
was often cited as the ultimate reference guide, and the pinnacle of rare books. The fae were notoriously cagey about their abilities and limitations. Most copies of the book were destroyed. It might hold the answers about my ball of death if
Life of the Phantom Queen
didn't.

What's one more book in the scheme of things, really?
More moral bargaining, I knew, but my more logical side was drowned out by the sweet music of covetousness. My hand reached out, and just like that, I was a goner. Snatching the book from the shelf unleashed my covetous side like water breaking through a dam. There was no reigning it in.
Good Sophie, that's what you can tell the judge when you're arrested
. Before I knew it, I had an armload of books I wanted to keep and a couple I wanted to sell. If I could make myself. I was already making excuses for keeping them all.
I really do have the room. If I got rid of the sofa, I could f
it another shelf in the living room. A big one.

I arranged the books in order of importance so that if I had to run I could easily drop the least precious.
Life of the Phantom Queen
I dropped down the front of my dress. It hit the line of my belt and stopped. There was no hiding it—it stuck out on my stomach and looked as awkward as it felt—but I wouldn't lose it, and that was all that mattered.

Books in hand, there was nothing left to do but flee. But how to do that? The front door wasn't an option. I pulled up my second sight, scanning for the portal on the wall Owen had brought me through. Nothing.
Balls.

There was a faint groan from the vicinity of my feet. Owen was coming to faster than I'd expected; dragons were tough—or I'd grossly underestimated how long I spent pilfering his books. I nudged him experimentally with a toe. Upon touching him, the faintest hint of magic hit my nose. I recognized that smell. Squinting, I made out the fuzzy edges of the portal in the wall. It was easier to see now that going through the portal had given me a feel for the magic. It disappeared when I pulled my foot back.
Ugh!
It was some damn pricey magic to key a portal to a single person. It was also horribly inconvenient since Owen was about thirty feet away from the portal and quickly pushing toward consciousness.

I was strong, but I wasn't going to drag someone twice my weight across that much carpet while carrying an armload of books. I carefully placed the books on a table and looked around the room for something to help me out of my predicament. If only I had my swords. He hadn't done anything to warrant cutting off a hunk of his flesh, but I had no doubt he would when he woke up. Preemptive justice, or something. There was rationale in there somewhere, I was sure, I just didn't have time to think on it.

A desk was tucked in the corner, partially hidden behind the bulky shelves. Several books in disrepair graced its surface. Someone had been working on restoring the bindings, and they'd left a pair of scissors behind. That would have to do. I snagged the scissors and grabbed a handful of his thick brown hair
. I took plenty in case there was a certain amount of contact needed. He wouldn't be happy when he woke, but at least I hadn't snipped off an ear. At least, not yet. I'd have to see if the hair worked before I made any promises.

The door to his bedroom still hadn't opened. Maybe no one else was around. Or I was having a huge run of luck. Best not to test that.

My hand full of his hair, I was able to see the portal. Not ready to call it good until I'd tested it, I stuck my hand through. It still
looked
like my hand was in a wall, albeit, a somewhat fuzzy one. Amazing.

I scooped up my plunder and headed out, a satisfied smile spreading across my face. My arms were already aching from the weight, but I couldn't stop myself from casting a wistful glance at all the lovely books I was leaving behind. That's when I noticed Owen was no longer in a heap on the floor.

"No you don't!" he shouted, moving between me and the portal. One strong hand hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer, knocking me on my rear and sending my precious tomes tumbling across the room.

The books.

I let out another of my magical wails, prepared to watch him kneel to the agony I unfurled. He threw back his head, body shaking, but when he dropped his gaze back to mine what I saw made no sense. He... he was laughing at me
. He tapped the large things covering his ears. "BEATS HEADPHONES." He shook his head. "NOT FALLING PREY TO THAT TRICK AGAIN." I cringed away from his yelling. Headphones? Seriously? I gave up wailing. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, TRYING TO STEAL FROM ME?"

I scrambled to my feet and rubbed my aching chest. There had to be a way to get around the angry dragon bearing down on me. "Is that a rhetorical question?" I asked, scooting to one side when he lunged at me. He was obviously still intoxicated if that was the best he could do. I bolted for the portal, but was brought up short by the iron grip of a hand on the back of my neck. Or maybe he wasn't so intoxicated after all.

He spun me around to face him. "What did you think you were going to do, anyway?" Assuming my hearing still worked after his earlier shouts, he'd dropped his volume enough to avoid alerting the whole city. "You can't leave here without me." His handsome face contorted in rage; spit splashed my face.

By way of an answer, I held up the large hunk of his hair and waggled it in his face.

Anger and confusion warred on his features, confusion finally winning. He released one of my arms to pat the top of his head. That was all the opportunity I needed. I slid one leg behind his and shoved with all of my strength, sending him sprawling. After how quickly he grabbed me the last time, I knew speed wouldn't be enough to get me through the portal before he recovered and decided it would be easier to light me on fire. I pulled all the fear coursing through my body into a tight ball and expanded it in one push, willing it to distract him long enough for me to get away.

Unfortunately, all I do is spread an infection of fear. I don't choose what their mind decides they are in danger of, and I don't decide how they react. If I could have asked for a magical power upgrade, that's what I would pick.

Halfway to the portal a scorching ball of flame flew by my head. The wall ignited. His fight-or-flight response had come down hard on the side of fight.

Dragons.

I spun around fast enough to give myself whiplash. I didn't dare continue running when I couldn't see the next burning ball of death headed my way. And it was a good thing I hadn't tried. The second fireball was aimed square at my middle. I barely avoided it by throwing myself to the floor. Without a thought, one of those unassuming, shiny white balls of death appeared in my palm. It took all the willpower I could muster to quash it. I wasn't about to murder someone who was defending his home after I tried to rob him, dragon or not. It was too fitting that the death light struggled so hard to stay lit when I was on a mission to learn how to control it once and for all. My palm safely dark, and hopefully remaining that way, I rolled to one side, anticipating the next strike. It never came.

"No, no, no." Owen paced back and forth, fire wreathing both his hands. "Not again. I won't do it again." He looked at me, abject terror turning his features boyish once more. "Run!"

He didn't have to tell me twice. I darted through the portal and out of his office without so much as a backward glance. It wasn't until screams erupted in the club that I realized I hadn't stopped projecting fear. I swallowed the magic down, though I still felt the dread. Who knew how far behind Owen was? The screaming stopped and the club returned to normal, though I garnered a few stares as I crossed the building and ducked out the exit. I gave myself a moment to check my body over for obvious wounds and didn't find any. Relief washed through me. I took a deep breath and scented the magic filling the city, crisp night air, and burnt hair.
Again?
My hair had started the evening tightly secured to my head. It should have been safe. I couldn't be too upset about it though; it wasn't flesh.
Another few inches and I would have been toast. Burnt toast.

Life of the Phantom Queen
had fared well in the top of my dress, even if the corners had jabbed me a few times during the fight. I felt a twinge of longing for all the other books I'd lost, but it was silly greed, and I let it go. I had acquired the target. It was a win, there was no doubt about it. So why didn't I feel inclined to celebrate? No one was behind me. I'd gotten away safely. Still, something felt off. My hand drifted to my neck and I felt the curious sensation of cool metal, then it was gone. I shook my head. No, I wouldn't let some vague feeling kill the buzz. I unlocked my phone and called a cab while I walked back to the entrance to the mortal realm. Volarus was technically part of Faerie, but some fae young enough to care had performed magic way above my pay grade that allowed phones to work; a fact I was continually grateful for.
Best not to hang around with a crazed dragon on my tail. That was becoming a pattern: me fleeing from dragonfire. Fucking dragons.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I stepped off the elevator at The Arbor, already dreading what Phoebe had done in my absence. Now that the adrenaline had burned away I was feeling the full extent of my injuries from the brief battle. That was the polite way of saying that my
body ached like I'd been hit by a troll fart. Talk about concussive force. I wanted to climb into a hot bath and relax while I leafed through my new book.

I opened the door and sighed with relief when I found Phoebe sitting on the couch, watching a medical drama on TV. When she was into TV, she forgot about her mission to make my life a living hell. "Hey, Phoebe," I said, careful not to be too loud. I'd learned the hard way not to startle a dryad. I had no desire to be choked out by vines moving at roughly the speed of sound, thank you.