Cursed (Touched urban fantasy series) (3 page)

Chapter Four

The lights along the promenade gleamed as bright as a spotlight after the darkness on the pier. London struggled to orient herself. Even at this hour, the late-night weekend crowd still milled about. The volume of conversation and music sounded loud to her unaccustomed ears. Arms still embraced her securely, holding her steady. A solid and warm body pressed against her back. The voice was seductively low, “We are safe. Be easy.”

London glanced back at the elf that held her. She would not have guessed from having seen him cramped in that small cage with the others that he was this tall or toned. Gently, she disengaged his arms from around her waist. “Okay, you’ve copped enough of a feel for one rescue.” The elf laughed at that, but they both knew he’d been getting a bit more touchy feely than the situation called for. Anybody who knew anything about the fey knew they were a casually sexual bunch. A lot like vampires on that score, only without the feeding part. Well, usually without the feeding part, but not always. “What about the others?”

“They escaped.” He placed the handcuff key into her palm. “Rico sent you?”

London closed her fist around the key. “I guess you could say that.”

“I never thought he’d turn to a human for help.”

“Yeah, well. He didn’t exactly ask.” Tucking away the key, London scanned the area. No sign of the Changelings or the wizards. “What’s your name?”

“Kev.”

“Can you teleport us back to Ireland, Kev?”

The elf laughed. “If only I could. ’Tis a bit far of a leap for me.”

“Then we’ll have to wait for the ferry.” London checked the time on her phone. “It’s already pretty late. Should just be a couple of hours. I don’t imagine the Changeling left you with a pocket full of money. Let me treat us to an early breakfast while we wait.”

During the meal and the ferry ride back to Dublin, Kev chattered away… endlessly. The elf definitely had the gift of gab. He went into detail about how Rico had come to the wood elves a little over thirty years ago. As one of the earthborn Sidhe, Rico never lived in the Mounds. The Mounds, London gathered, was the place where the fey came from. Kev’s people had not lived in the Mounds, at least not since the wizards were driven from Ireland.

As one of the “noble elves,” the Sidhe had a superior status in fey culture. Everyone else was “lesser fey” by comparison. Not that all of the lesser fey bowed before the Sidhe. Like Deacon and his Changelings, for example. The wood elves of Kev’s tribe did revere the Sidhe, and were honored to serve Rico, even if he was Unseelie, and the wood elves tended to align more with the Seelie point of view.

Much of what Kev told her London filed away, including the difference between the Seelie and Unseelie. It sounded like splitting hairs to her. Even still, the better she understood Rico and the Sidhe, the better she could fight the curse. So far, she was hanging in there. She suspected her present jitters resulted more from lack of sleep and stress than from the need for another hit of the Touch. At this rate, she might have another couple of days.

A couple days before things started getting bad.

London bit back any comment as Kev sung Rico’s praises. The raids from other bands of various lesser fey had ceased for the most part, with Rico’s power to keep them at bay. His focus of magic was “storm,” so he could bring forth wicked hurricanes against any who outright attacked their settlement. They never had a bad harvest either, since they could always count on just the right amount of rain to fall at the right times.

Their people had enjoyed nothing but prosperity and safety for decades. Deacon’s raids had been unexpected. Why any of the fey would work for wizards was beyond Kev. London refrained from comment.

He leaned his elbows against the ferry’s railing, hands loosely clasped as he gazed at the approaching shore of Ireland. The burn from the silver cuff was still raw around his wrist. London stared at it, debating if she should feel guilty. How much of what the Changelings did for the wizards was her fault, given the way she “introduced” them?

Once they were close enough for a signal, London sent Rico a text. Kev made no secret of reading it as she typed. Holding her smartphone as she waited for a reply, she scanned the other passengers nearby. An older couple huddled together on the bench across the deck stared at them.

“The Brownies had the same idea we did, it appears,” Kev gave them a nod and they quickly looked away. He smiled and then went back to watching the shoreline grow closer. “They are shy by nature.”

“Unless you bring them booze.”

He chuckled, “Or food.”

“Or play music.”

“Mercy, do they like to dance. But then, so do all fey.”

Her phone chirped and she looked down. “Shielmartin Hill.”

Kev pointed to the cliffs just north of Dublin Harbor. “Shall we take the short cut?” His arm curled around her waist and they blinked out.

They reappeared on the grassy hill Kev had been pointing to the moment before. They could see the ferry moving along in the distance, leaving a white foamy wake as it churned up the water. “Aren’t you afraid someone would have seen that?”

He shrugged. “Humans write off what they can’t explain. I don’t bother to hide much of anything when I am around them. Most don’t even notice the slight point to the ears, so I don’t even bother with Glamour half the time.”

The hilltop was bare except for the patches of dry grass. London surveyed the area. The road leading up to them was deserted. In the distance she could see a few buildings, but other than that, there was no one around. She scrubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans. Just knowing that Rico was coming had her desperate for the Touch. The constant jitteriness put her on an impatient edge. “How long will we have to wait?”

“Not long, I’m sure.”

As London glanced back, she saw the older gentleman from the ferry blink into existence behind Kev. With far more agility and grace than any human, he landed on the elf’s back, monkey style. One hand hooked around Kev’s neck. The blade that burst from Kev’s chest glittered with polished silver and streaks of bright red blood.

London’s shocked scream ripped from her. The fey jerked out the blade as Kev dropped from beneath him. As he straightened, the Changeling transformed from an old man back into Deacon. London scrambled to back away. Belatedly, she reached for her gun. Her grasp didn’t even come close. Deacon’s companions descended on her from behind, hooking her arms and twisting them up behind her back. She yelped at the pain, which only made them laugh.

Deacon held his blade out at a downward angle. The blood dripped from the tip. He snatched her jaw and jerked her face up to meet his cruel glare. “Look who is screwing with the elves.” He snapped his teeth just shy of the tip of her nose. “Playing wicked games. Wicked, wicked human.”

“Kill her,” the other male Changeling snarled.

“No!” London struggled against them. “You idiots! You know I work for the wizards. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Deacon’s grip softened, but he didn’t release her. London jerked out of his grip. She snapped, “You are blowing my cover!”

When she jerked her arms, the Changelings let her go. “Who was it that brought you to them in the first place, huh?” London shoved Deacon in the shoulder, a calculated risk. “Now get the hell out of here so I can clean up your mess.”

The female Changeling spotted the approaching car still far down the hill. “The Sidhe is coming.”

Kev rolled to his side, moaning and clutching his chest. Alive… he was still alive. She willed him to hang on. No way she could fight her way out of this. If the Changelings didn’t buy her act, they were both as good as dead. Kneeling down, London pulled off her blazer and pressed it to the wound. She glared up at Deacon. “Go on! Get out of here!”

Deacon didn’t need to say anything. A look passed between the Changelings and they went into motion. The woman shoved a cloth into Kev’s mouth. She and the other Changeling knelt by him, restraining him. A veil of Glamour formed around them, hiding them all within the illusion of a boulder.

London backed away, but Deacon caught her wrist and yanked her against him. His appearance changed, morphing into a near replica of Kev. Only the expression was one of cruel amusement that looked downright evil on the elf’s face. London shoved at him.

“You need to get out of here and leave me the elf. I can use him to endear myself to the Sidhe.”

“Change in plans,” Deacon wrapped an arm around her waist, embracing her tightly against him. “Our masters want a Sidhe. We will bring them a Sidhe.”

London failed to wiggle some room between them. The car pulled up and Rico got out. He spotted Deacon, looking like Kev, hanging on London. She elbowed Deacon in the ribs as hard as she could. “Get off me, Changeling!”

Whether Deacon had trusted her a little or not at all, the jab in the ribs was enough to catch him off guard. She turned and punched him in the soft hollow of the throat as hard as she could. He went down, gasping and clutching his neck. He lost the shape he’d borrowed, the elfish features melted as the gaunt Changeling ones returned.

“Kev’s hurt!” London didn’t stop to see what Rico would do. She didn’t want the other Changelings teleporting the elf away to God knows where. She dove into the Glamour boulder, half expecting to hit some kind of barrier at the edge of the illusion, but she fell right through it, scattering the magic. London crashed into the male Changeling and they both tumbled back.

Thick storm clouds rolled up from the sea. Thunder and lightning tore through the sky. Furious winds cut around Rico’s body, barely ruffling his clothing, and slammed into the female Changeling. The hurricane force gale flung her away from Kev and into the ground hard, before flicking her off the hilltop and toward the water far below.

The Changeling who tangled with London vanished. He reappeared behind Rico. The Sidhe anticipated the move. Rico spun, knife flashing. He drove it to the hilt in the Changeling’s gut. With a pained gurgling, the Changeling dropped to his knees before Rico. Made it that much easier when Rico sliced his throat.

Rico turned away before the body dropped to the ground. The storm clouds still rolled, and the first cold drops of rain began to fall. He scooped up Kev and carried him to the backseat of the car.

London glanced around. No sign of Deacon. “Can’t you teleport Kev to the hospital in Dublin?”

“No human healing can help a fey.” He slammed the back door and headed around to the driver’s side. Eager to get out of there, London reached for the passenger-side door.

The gunshot shattered the air. London flinched. And then she dropped down and went for her gun.

Her holster was empty.

The next two shots sounded. London pressed against the passenger side of the vehicle. Mind racing. She dropped flat on the ground, looking under the car. She saw legs, but they were not Rico’s. Rico was lying on the ground. He was lifted up and unceremoniously shoved into the backseat. The shooter started around the car. London crawled the opposite way, coming up to a crouch.

She was by the hood as Deacon came around the boot of the car. “Nicely played. He never saw it coming.”

He dropped her gun on the ground. “Take the bodies down to the dock. I’ll pick them up there. Gotta handle Jen and Luke.”

Deacon started for the Changeling sprawled on the ground. She didn’t waste this advantage. She snatched up her gun, thought about taking a pot shot at Deacon but figured she better not press her luck, and jammed it into her holster instead. Rico had dropped his keys on the ground. She snatched them up. With shaky hands, London drove off as fast as she could. In the rearview mirror, she saw Deacon watching her go, Luke’s body flopped over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He would know soon enough that she betrayed him yet again.

Human healing could not help a fey? London sped toward the only friendly fey she knew, that Brownie she’d bribed the day prior. Certainly he’d know where to take Kev and Rico. If there was anything to be done for them at this point… other than funeral arrangements.

Chapter Five

London must have looked like she felt when she showed up at Selena’s. The vampire mistress ushered her back into her private chamber, the very place London’s world first frayed into a thousand threads. Ironic, since her life dangled by a single thread now.

“What happened?” Selena brushed her fingers over the dirt-smeared bandage taped to London’s throat.

Shock and exhaustion painted dark circles under her eyes. By the time London reached the small Brownie community, it was too late. With the legendary tidiness of the Brownies, they’d spirited away the bodies and Rico’s car, leaving no evidence. The fey hadn’t questioned her account of what occurred, but they made themselves scarce just as quickly as their work was done, leaving London with the hopeless reality. “Rico’s dead.”

The vampire mistress peeled the bandage away from London’s neck. The cuts from Bain’s claws had only begun to heal. Selena traced them with her fingertips. “I know what you want.” She nudged London’s chin so she could consider the pristine side of her throat. Tangling her fingers in London’s short hair, she forced her to arch her neck even more. “Say it.”

Never once had London permitted a vampire to feed from her. Not even Selena, who made no secret of her desire. Only their history and friendship ensured London the rare gift of choice. With no options left to her now, she said, “Change me.” Even as she spoke Selena lunged with the vicious speed of a vampire.

The bite hurt like hell. London cried out as the fangs lanced her vein. She clawed at Selena’s back, uselessly. With the pain and panic came second thoughts, but it was too late now.

Selena shoved London down against the arm of the couch, just as she had Rico when she fed on him. Only no one would stop Selena this time. This vampire, her friend, was killing her.

Selena give a sultry moan as she drank. London’s blood was laced with Sidhe magic. Bain had said so. With a whimpering gasp, London surrendered. And in the surrendering to the pain, the pleasure finally washed through her. Her pulse weakened. And then it faltered.

Selena jerked her head back. Blood staining her teeth. Eyes wide.

The world blurred. London floated in a cottony haze, awareness slipping away. Falling… Falling into black… glorious oblivion welcomed her.

And then there was a taste…

The vampire blood tasted hot, as if mixed with a dash of Tabasco sauce. Her guts twisted and London retched. Dizzy and weak, London passed out.

The strength came back to her in measures. She blinked up at Selena. The vampire held a blood bag above London, squeezing it rhythmically. The tubing lead down to the needle stabbed into London’s neck. Selena brushed away London’s hand before she could touch it.

The expression on Selena’s face confirmed what London already suspected.

London wiped at her mouth. “It didn’t work.”

“Fey can’t be infected with vampirism. You are saturated with fey magic. It has changed you. Every cell of your body.”

”But I am still human. I am not fey.”

“You are human, but not ‘just human’ anymore.”

London closed her eyes. “You should just have killed me then. There is no hope for me now.”

Selena stroked London’s cheek until she looked up at her. “You may not be a vampire, but your life will be like mine.”

“What life?”

“The life of a hunter.” Selena kissed her tenderly, giving the notion a chance to sink in. “There are other Sidhe in Ireland. Sidhe who have the Touch.”

“So this is what it’s come to? Rico’s curse… His legacy…”

“Do what you must to survive.” The predator in Selena showed in her soft smile. “Huntress of the Sidhe.”

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“Are you sure he’s Sidhe? Not just some other kind of fey?” The very notion that the four young vampires across from her might lead her to a Sidhe catapulted her heart into a frenzied beat. It was all London could do not to reach across the booth and snatch one of them and demand they lead her to him. Knowing that they might still have a wisp of his magic embedded in their bodies had her fingers curling, wanting to tear open their flesh to get at it. That’s how horribly the addiction shredded her. Even the barest notion of Sidhe magic slashed at her sanity. The Sidhe Touch was the only thing that could give her relief from the growing, aching desire. London hated it. Hated that this obsession possessed her so mercilessly, destroying the life she’d once known, eliminating the freedom she’d once taken for granted.

Digging her nails into her palms, London fought within herself to pull free of the fixation long enough to focus on this conversation.

She leaned forward, her elbows on the more-clean-than-not table. The circle of faint light from the hanging bulb overhead left the corners of the booth in partial shadow. The bar catered to parahumans, so was darker than most. Vamps and weres, with their sharp night vision, didn’t require a lot of light to see by. As a human accustomed to the ways of the parahumans, it didn’t faze London. The place had a stripped down appearance -- all dark wood furniture and paneling, hardy furnishings that didn’t break easily. The seats didn’t even have any cushioning. No pictures or what-nots on the walls that would become debris when fights broke out, less to have to clean up. Clearly a bar owned by weres, rather than vampires. Not that they discriminated.

The young vampires in the circular booth glanced at each other, each waiting for one of the others to answer her question. London knew newbie vampires when she spotted them. The lack of confidence was telling. They were separated into couples, which was another giveaway. In another few decades they wouldn’t waste time playing the boyfriend/girlfriend game.

“Well, they said he was a Sidhe, you know? But for real, how would you know if he’s Sidhe or not? Is there some kind of sign?” Charnel, the blonde girl in the white leather bustier leaned forward, giving London a far better view than she wanted.

“All fey have magic in their blood. But the Sidhe, they are something special. Something more.” London understood parahumans. She negotiated their world almost like one of them. Not like the fey. She’d not been prepared for them at all, especially not the Sidhe. Even this barest thought of them sent her mind tripping compulsively back into unwanted remembrance.

Rico had barely brushed her skin with his fingers and London’s world shattered. Just like that. The bastard did it on purpose. Cursed her to enslave her. To make her work for him. Then he went and got himself killed, abandoning London to this endless torment.

She peeled the label off her bottle of Guinness in strips, gave her hands something to do other than tremble. The craving for the Touch twisted within her worse than anything she’d known. Not even a vampire’s bloodlust seemed to compare. She’d never seen a vamp curl on the floor, hugging themselves and rocking, weeping with the need. Then again, they had lots of prey options. For London, only the Touch of the Sidhe would suffice. Only the Touch would relieve the pain. Wash away the anxiety. Make her feel whole and normal for a little while. But the Sidhe were scarce, all but impossible to find.

The closest thing she could compare the curse to was heroin addiction. Now she understood the way the crawling under the skin made them twitch. The circular thoughts spiraled over and over. The nightmares. So close to the fringes of insanity that keeping it together to even fake normal grew increasingly impossible until all you wanted to do was scream and claw your own flesh.

Every day it grew worse. Rico was gone. If he was still alive she’d do anything… anything for relief. He could send her to face a thousand Changelings with nothing but a pocketknife and she’d do it, just as long as he Touched her again.

Shivering as the memories she tried to bury rose once more, summoned by the addiction, London brushed her lips with her fingertips. Rico kissed her once. Just once. Filled her mouth with magic. Made her inhale it. Swallow it. Seep into her body. Awakened her to a pleasure too intense to endure. She’d felt it change her. Curse her. And now bereft of it, she longed for nothing else but to experience the Touch again. Only the power of the Touch could ease her agony.

She had to have it. She had to have it soon!

Struggling to find composure, London raked her fingers through her hair. No time to play games, she tried the blunt approach. “The Sidhe can Touch you with their magic right through the skin. You don’t even need to drink their blood to get high.”

Immediately, the girls squirmed against their guys. The guys had the “going to get laid” stupid grins. Oh, yeah. The fey they’d been telling her about was definitely a Sidhe. “Where is he? This Sidhe?”

“Well, that’s kinda the trick,” Colin, the shorter and darker of the guys, laughed. He was nearly hidden in the shadow of the booth, his arm around his girlfriend, Brandy. Tattoos sleeved his bare arms. A tiny hoop pierced his eyebrow. “You don’t find him. You get magicked to him.”

“Magicked?”

“Yep. Zip zap. There ye be.” Colin snorted a laugh, one a little too gregarious thanks to the shots he’d been downing.

Brandy, his girlfriend-slash-translator, rolled her eyes, which was more teen-dramatic with the glittery eye makeup. “There’s this bloke. Rand’s his name. He does the magic. He brings you there and he brings you back. He makes all the deals. Takes the payment. That kinda stuff.”

“Where do I find this bloke?”

Charnel obliged her by using her eye pencil on a paper napkin. She slid it across the table.

London picked it up and then frowned. “What’s this mean? Twelve thousand?”

“That’s what it’ll cost you.” She smiled, fangs flashing.

“Twelve thousand for the location? I don’t think so.” London dropped the napkin, ready to pretend she would walk out rather than pay the ridiculous price.

“No. The cash isn’t for us, it’s for Rand.” She chomped with her sharp, white teeth. “The twelve thousand buys a party.”

London tapped her finger on the tabletop as she thought. “When?”

“When can you get it?” Charnel laughed.

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The World of The Sidhe

Touched series:

Cursed

As a private investigator specializing in paranormal problems, London Eyer thought she could handle working for the Sidhe. They couldn’t be any worse than vampires or werewolves or wizards, could they? Oh, how wrong she was. One ‘Touch’ of Sidhe magic and she was cursed. Her only chance to survive is to serve the creep that cursed her against the vicious Changelings out for his blood.

Addicted

Suffering from the addiction to the Sidhe Touch, London is obsessed with finding a source of magic that can ease her curse. Unfortunately, premium magic like the Touch comes with one a heck of a high price tag. Working off the debt she’s racked up to the dealer may well terminate her addiction once and for all, because nothing’s more dangerous than doing a Changeling’s dirty work.

Enchanted

All London wants is her life back, not something easy to accomplish with her addiction to the Sidhe Touch constantly gnawing at her. This time she's found an earthborn Sidhe who just might take the edge off her craving. If she can keep the other predators like vampires and werewolves from claiming her prey, that is.