Cursed (Touched urban fantasy series) (2 page)

London scrambled from the parlor. Yards ahead of her, Selena leaned back against the bouncer. His arms circled her, hands absently rubbing at her silk-covered stomach. They had the vibe of casual lovers, but London knew the Mistress controlled all of her men with velvet-lined handcuffs. They loitered at the end of the hall, where they could watch the party inside the club, but were not a part of it. Selena saw London coming and, from the look of it, she hadn’t expected to see her in this state.

“You let him Touch you?”

“There was no ‘letting’ involved.” London clutched Selena’s upper arms, demanding. “What did he do, Selena? Huh? You know what he did, don’t you? What happened? What is Rico?”

Selena brushed off the man’s hands before drawing London back to the privacy of the parlor. She closed the door, cutting off the music from the club.

London touched her fingers to her lips. Coming back to this room spiraled a mixture of emotions through her belly, making her nauseated like a fun house ride that was never going to end. The kiss hovered ever present on her lips, as if stained by magic. The afterglow of the orgasm buzzed within her, her traitorous body reveling in it even now. At what price, though? What price for this unwanted pleasure?

Other people got themselves into trouble. She got them out of it. She was not the one who stepped on landmines. She found ways to sidestep them. There had to be a way to sidestep this. There had to be! “Tell me what you know, Selena. Please!”

“Rico is a Sidhe, one of the noble elves. His boys are fey, too, but not Sidhe. You can’t mistake anyone for the Sidhe once you’ve encountered one.”

“Sidhe? I thought the Sidhe weren’t around anymore.” London stared at the vampire as realization sunk in. “Oh, don’t tell me. No… No…” She shook her head, refusing to believe, refusing to look at Selena for fear of seeing the truth in her eyes. “No, he did not curse me. No. It is not possible.”

“London…”

“I said no, Selena! I won’t have it!”

“I honestly didn’t think he would Touch you. He’s always dismissed the notion of Touching humans. They aren’t normally to his taste. I can’t imagine why…” she paused, and then tilted her head. “Why did he Touch you?”

“He wants me to work for him.” She heard the waver in her voice.

“Work for him? He shouldn’t have cursed you for that. I wouldn’t have turned someone for a quick job. Only if I had long-term plans and couldn’t cajole them any other way.”

“Not everyone thinks like you, Selena.” London hugged herself. “I feel his power inside me. Feeling all glorious and sexual. Is there no way to get it out?”

“Getting it out isn’t the problem now. The magic will fade in time. When it does, that is when your trouble will begin.”

London cut a sharp glance over her shoulder back at Selena. “That ache?”

“It will only get worse, the longer you’re without the Touch.”

“Until what?”

“You commit suicide, most likely. To end the agony.” Selena never sugarcoated things. The vampire’s thin hand squeezed London’s shoulder. “Unless he gives you the Touch again. But each Touch only buys you time. Each time the magic will fade again.”

London shivered. “Has he Touched you? Is that what was going on earlier?”

“The Touch does not affect vampires as it does humans.” Selena purred, “Their blood holds magic. The taste is like nothing else. Quite addicting. A younger vampire could turn feral if tempted with it. The fey are intensely succulent, and the Sidhe are the ultimate fey.”

“Figures.” London sank onto the sofa feeling boneless. Succulent? Addicting? Those words echoed in her brain, knowing from her experience how perfectly they described the Touch. “How long do you think I have? Before this becomes unbearable?”

“Depends on how much he gave you.”

“I need to find a cure.”

“I don’t know of any cure, London. I can make some inquiries.” She stroked London’s hair until she turned toward Selena. The vampire settled weightlessly beside London. “If I turned you…”

“You know I don’t want that.”

Selena’s arms loosely circle London’s neck. The vampire kissed her cheek, and sighed. “You will do what you must, London.”

London slumped against Selena. The vampire’s ice blue eyes were anything but cold. She kissed London. More than friendship, less than lovers. Selena twisted her fingers in London’s short hair. The vampire whispered. “Do what you need to survive. Whatever it takes.”

Chapter Two

The ruins of Meán Oíche were easy to miss. The hedges lining the winding roads formed a wall of foliage higher than the roof of her car. The break in the brush for the access road was hardly wide enough to drive though, as her scraped-up paint job attested to. London left her car in the shadow of the tower.

Her blazer was a bit much in the heat of the day, but she wasn’t going in without her gun holstered under her arm. Maybe it was the curse that made her feel more vulnerable than usual, or maybe the ease with which Rico had disarmed her that had her questioning her luck-to-skill ratio. The fey were not human and she couldn’t anticipate them the way she could humans and parahumans. In this line of work, what you didn’t anticipate could get you killed. The curse was a case in point.

London glanced up at the arrow slits and caught the glowing glint of eyes before they blinked away. The Ghille Dhu inhabited the ruins, if they could be called ruins. She’d seen a flicker of what was hidden by the Glamour. Beneath the disguising layer of magic, the opulent décor would overshadow the collections in Buckingham Palace. London knocked on the open wooden door that appeared to hang on rusted hinges, aware that nearly everything in this place was an illusion.

“Bain?” She called out into the gloom. They were not skimping on the Glamour this time. Not a careless flicker of the magic gave away the true appearance. It put her on edge. Last time she’d been here, they hadn’t closed her out so completely. “Bain Greim? You remember me, don’t you?”

The prince of the Ghille Dhu had entertained himself with his bratty antics last time she visited the tower. This eerie silence crept over her nerves as threateningly as a dog’s growl. “Come on, Bain. I know you’re here.”

The scuttling sound of claws and scales against stone came from above. London searched the shadows overhead. As the creature hung upside down from the rafters, its huge eyes glistened wetly. Humanoid in basic anatomy, the thing was skeletal thin. Arms and legs half again as long as a human’s and oddly jointed so the knees and elbows angled backward like a mosquito. The flesh, as best as she could make it out, was a nearly black green. The ears pointed a full hand span above the top of its bald head. The rows of teeth it bore in its gaping mouth were needle sharp and inches long.

Show… No… Fear…

London drew her gun. Two-handing the grip she aimed it at the creature. “I brought gold,” she told it, voice steady. Precious metal loosened his tongue before, but this time Bain didn’t even blink at the mention of it. Bain used Glamour to appear human before. This time, not so much. More like the fey equivalent of “get the hell out… or I’ll eat you.”

The creature made a slurping noise as if he was salivating. It blinked those huge, snow globe eyes at her. With a tilt of its head, London knew it was planning to attack.

The thunder of her gunshot shattered the silence. Too late. Bain blinked out, teleporting away.

Where he went was no mystery. The impact between her shoulders sent London sprawling. Her elbows suffered the brunt of the landing, but she hung onto her weapon. Rolling to her back, she brought up the gun again.

Not as fast as Bain. His bare foot caught her wrist and drove it down hard onto the stone floor. The twiggy fingers of one hand circled her other wrist twice and pinned it down above her head. He choked her with the other hand, keeping her down even though she twisted and struggled wildly.

Those evil teeth clicked together as Bain chattered them an inch from her face. His breath was worse than a festering peat bog. “Betrayer,” the word was almost lost to the grumbling hiss.

“What did I do?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She brought up her legs, hooked them around Bain’s head and flipped him over backward. His limbs flailed like a squid in every direction, but in the end his body followed his head and whipped down and away from her.

His claws ripped through the flesh of her neck. London shouted as the acid pain if the razor blade claws sliced thin gouges that bled like crazy down the front of her shirt. Cupping her hand against her throat, she brought the muzzle of her gun up once more. “Some hospitality you show your friends.”

Bain ignored her, too engrossed with sniffing at the blood on his claws. He flicked a serpentine tongue out to wrap around the claw of his forefinger and steal away the blood. After the first taste, Bain curled his claws together and cleaned them like a cat.

London backed closer to the doorway. Running was pointless against a teleporter, but if she made it out into the open he might not risk exposure to follow her. “I need to find the Changeling again,” she stated her business, not sure if Bain paid her any heed.

He paused mid-lick, tongue still coiled around a claw. His impossibly huge eyes blinked at her. Like the dissipation of mist, Bain changed.

Several inches above six feet, Bain appeared as he had before, a human male in elegantly tailored black slacks and a suede beige tunic that reached down to mid-thigh. A sash wrapped his waist in purple silk and draped down one hip. His blue black hair was loosely swept back and tied with a leather cord just below his shoulders. Even though his eyes were shaped as a human’s the color was still the golden green they were before. What his true form was, she didn’t know. Was it closer to this? Or to the creature from a moment before? In truth it didn’t matter.

Either way, London wasn’t falling for it.

“You’ve been Touched.” One last lick at his nails and then he fixed that feral gaze at her bloody shirt.

“You taste it in the blood?” Her gun aimed center mass, right at the solar plexus. Best chance of hitting something if he moved fast.

With an amused snarl, he said, “You will suffer plenty then.”

“Glad someone finds that a comforting thought.”

The curl of his lips lost any hint of a smile. “You delivered the fey into the hands of wizards. The Sidhe enslaved you for it. Nature finds its balance.”

“Enslaved me?”

Bain crossed on silent, leather-booted feet toward her. He did not slow even when she pointed the muzzle right at his heart. She backed away a step as his hand rose, and then she held her ground. Bain only halted his advancement when the gun pressed into his breastbone. Her arm was out straight, but his was longer. He reached up and stroked his fingertips through her hair tenderly. “What wouldn’t you do for the Touch?”

What could she say? There was no point in admitting that it had been the single most intense experience of her life. No point in reminding herself how after only a single taste, she’d ached for more. That ache only hinted at the agony to come. The magic was still in her now, as Bain had tasted. While it lasted, she’d be ok. When it faded… and it would fade… She didn’t even want to contemplate that.

“Deacon meets your wizards on the Isle of Man. In Douglas.” Bain’s fingers trailed over hers, where she still covered her wounds. “Your wizards are growing bolder. For centuries the fey have kept them off the Emerald Isle.”

“I don’t care about your politics.” She watched Bain draw back his hand, a fresh coating of her blood on them. He licked at it once more, savoring the taste as if it were chocolate. “I’m not choosing sides. Just doing the job I’m hired to do.”

“Mercenary.” His eyes moved to her bloody clothing. She could see the thoughts brewing there. Time to make herself scarce. “Slave now.”

“I’m not a mercenary and I’m not a slave.” London backed out of the tower. Bain watched her, but declined to follow. For that she breathed a sigh of relief. A relief she worried would be short-lived.

Chapter Three

From the ferry London watched the Isle of Man come into view. The city of Douglas spread along the narrow patch between the sea and the low hills beyond. In the evening light the promenade glittered like Christmas. Thousands of lights strung along light poles illuminated the waterfront in a festive glow. London wished she could just take it all in with the same excitement as the tourists that crowded against the ferry railing.

This island in the Celtic Sea was the halfway point between England and Ireland. Self-governing, but British dependency, the Isle of Man made a perfect neutral ground for any clandestine meeting between wizards and fey. It hadn’t taken much snooping around to get the scoop. The fey drove the wizards out of Ireland at the end of the Middle Ages, give or take. The power of the wizards in England remained strong, and few fey risked venturing onto that soil. The ones who survived there were extremely good at hiding themselves from notice. The ones who were not good had long since been taken by the wizards. What exactly “taken by the wizards” meant hadn’t been defined even with coaxing. That information had cost her two bottles of wine, a caramel Bundt cake, and the time it took for the Brownie to consume it all.

Before two days ago London hadn’t spent much time with any fey. They were not her usual clientele. They had their own way of handling their affairs and generally didn’t cross swords with the parahumans London did take on as clients.

This crash course on them now only highlighted her vast ignorance. Knowledge was power, and with the urgency of the curse looming, London could no longer afford the bliss of ignorance. If the curse wasn’t proof enough, the bandage on her neck should be.

Consulting her text message from a contact in England, she knew the name of the yachts owned by various prominent wizards. A few bucks to a contact in the transportation authority and she knew which one was currently moored in Douglas and at which pier. Basic investigation work.

Staking out the pier was more in her line of work than figuring out the random psychology of the fey. Others might have found huddling on stinky old tarps and wadded up fishing nets boring, but the spot wedged between some busted-up crates was ideal for people watching without getting undue notice.

It’d been about forty-eight hours since Rico “hired” her. As the magic wore off, a crawling sensation crept over her skin, causing her to twitch restlessly. Long about 3:30 in the morning, the activity finally kicked up. Deacon, along with a man and a woman she didn’t recognize, pushed a handcart down the pier. They all had the fine features of the fey about them. The cart was in the style of a street vender, brightly painted and with wooden wheels. The tarp had been unrolled from the roof down each of the four sides, enclosing the space of the cart. If it were perfectly empty inside, it would be a space of about four-by-two feet, and four feet high.

London used her phone to take a picture of the scene, then zoomed in and got a close-up of each of them. The pier was cluttered with boxes and barrels. Using the cover she moved closer to get a better look.

A couple of men, pretty clearly human and likely wizards based on the off-style clothing, debarked from the boat. They had not been the ones who had initially hired her to find Deacon, but the wizards functioned sort of like a corporation from what she gathered. The ones who communicated with her before had the smell of lower-level errand boys. These two guys before her now had an aura of power. Deacon and the other fey dropped to their knees before the wizards. London leaned out far enough to snap another shot of the scene and then catch close-ups on the wizards.

While they were distracted with each other, London slipped in behind the cart, listening to the words they spoke. The tarp flap on her side of the cart was not tied down. Cool--she’d get a chance to snap a picture of whatever cargo they were exchanging.

“Any Sidhe?” the older man asked Deacon.

“They are scarce, my lord, with the Mounds collapsed. The new generation Unseelie are scattered and hidden. Donovan has begun to gather them to him and his protection is formidable.”

London lifted the tarp, her phone at the ready for a few quick shots before she got herself back to a safer distance.

A huddle of glowing eyes peered back at her. London glanced from the screen of her smart phone into the dark cage within and back at the phone. There were a few shy of a dozen fey crammed within: fairies, pixies, Brownies, a couple elves. She took the photo and then hit send, forwarding the images back to her email account. If something happened to her phone, or to her, she wanted a record someplace where it could be found. She tucked the phone back inside her blazer.

The wizard chided, “You must not let that deter you.”

“Yes, lord.”

London peeked around at them. The younger wizard pulled three containers from his satchel the size of large perfume bottles and distributed one to each of the fey kneeling before him. “If the Mounds have indeed collapsed, this may be the opportune time.”

The elder wizard agreed. “You and I will scout out the situation for ourselves, and report back our finding. The fey of Ireland may finally be ripe for harvest.”

She had a feeling she didn’t have much time. Turning her attention back to the fey locked beneath the tarp, she whispered, “Can’t you teleport away?” She examined the cage for a way to open it.

One of the elves held up his wrist. A single cuff, like a handcuff but without the chain and second cuff attached. The skin beneath it was raw and blistered. “Silver.” He saw her not understanding and he added, “Can’t do magic when silver touches our flesh.”

London patted her jacket pockets and found what she was looking for. She passed the handcuff key through the bars to the elf. “Free yourselves and get away. I’ll distract them.”

Even as she was speaking the elf freed a fairy and she blinked away. London reached through the bars and hooked a finger on the cuff left behind and extracted it from the cage. Tucking the tarp back down in place, London curled her hand around the cuff.

She crept away, staying behind cover until she was a good thirty feet away. With a steadying breath she drew her gun. The wizards headed toward the cart. She doubted the fey within had all escaped yet, so she stood up and snapped off a warning shot.

The wizard gave a shout and a rush of wind slammed into her, flinging London yards through the air before she came down. As she scrambled to her feet, she saw Deacon and his fey friends racing toward her. One flung himself forward and shifted in midair into a wolf. Not Glamour, not an illusion. He shifted. Changeling, like Deacon. London got to her feet and bolted for the more populated promenade.

The female Changeling blinked into existence less than a foot in front of her, but London didn’t slow down. She rugby-blocked her right off the pier and into the water.

The wolf caught up with her and slammed behind her knees, sending London down in a tumble with it. She snapped the silver cuff around a convenient leg and the Changeling reformed back into his humanlike appearance, with prominently pointed ears. He rolled away, hissing and tearing uselessly at his ankle, where the cuff happened to catch him.

Certain that Deacon would be on her before she could run, London brought up her gun, ready to fire.

What happened next occurred almost too quickly for her to process it. The knife Deacon flung at her was already released, already heading for her. She had no chance to dodge. At that exact moment someone flicked into the space behind her. An arm circled her waist, embracing her back against a solid chest. And then they were gone.

Black closed in around them and then almost as quickly it fled away again.