Faerie Blood: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Changeling Chronicles Book 1) (23 page)

“You’re joking.” He paused. “How many?”

“At least a dozen. I don’t have enough salt. I need a necromancer, ideally, but you’ll have to do.”

“How flattering,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Smoke swirled at my side, and suddenly Vance stood beside me.

“Dramatic, much?”

The undead broke through the circle. A dozen pairs of hands grabbed at me. Vance’s sword appeared at the same time as I swung mine. Three undead fell back then kept coming, some missing arms, all bearing deep slashes that didn’t bleed.

“They won’t die,” I said unnecessarily. “Even when you cut their heads off.”

“In that case…”

He stepped forward and decapitated one of them. Before I could say a word, its head disappeared as it touched the ground, leaving its body to collapse onto its front.

I stared. “You displaced it?”

“Elsewhere within these walls,” he said. “We don’t want them getting outside.”

“Good thinking.”

Really
good thinking, actually. I wished I’d thought of it.

At least we had a strategy now. I cut the undead, while Vance displaced their body parts so they couldn’t pull themselves back together. Within a minute, harmless pieces of zombie surrounded us, bloodless and stinking, but mercifully not trying to gouge our eyes out. I gagged a little when a severed hand attempted to pull itself along the ground, but Vance displaced it before it could grab my ankle.

“Good riddance,” I said.

“How did you end up here?”

Oh, crap. I didn’t want to bring up the ghost. Or its plan. Using
my
magic to open a way back to Faerie. It explained a lot—explained too much. But if I dropped out of this case, nobody would be able to solve it.

Except Vance.

No. He couldn’t fight the faeries. Nobody could.

Pushing aside a fresh wave of guilt, I explained how Isabel and I had fought the hellhounds, and that I’d used the tracking spell to come here. Guilt over abandoning her replaced the guilt I felt over lying to him. Or at least omitting very important information.

“So you called me.” The hint of a smirk showed on his face.

“I’m not incapable of admitting I’m in over my head. I did find another clue, though. The man buried here—was Swanson’s ancestor. They’re part necromancer.”

His expression turned serious. “Which is significant… why?”

I shrugged. “No idea. I wish I knew. I mean, faeries rarely take anyone for no reason.”

Too late, I realised what I’d said. But he didn’t seem to hear the implied meaning. The faeries had had no reason to take me…not before. The patterns here were beginning to make sense in a way that I didn’t care for.

I opened my mouth then closed it. Hell, I knew lying would come back to hit me, but if he knew I was apparently the cornerstone of the faeries’ plan, he’d—do something to stop me being involved. Like locking me up, or putting me under house arrest. Vance might be skilled, but he wasn’t Sighted. He couldn’t see the full extent of the menace we faced.

“Necromancy,” I said. “It’s not usually associated with faerie magic, but somebody set up that necromantic circle in the Swansons’ house.”

Could necromancy have summoned those hellhounds? The trail did lead back here…

Something told me that was important. But why take children? Even necromancer kids just coming into their power wouldn’t know…

“Hang on,” I said. “Did you find your missing people?”

“I did,” he said. “It seems our friend in the factory had an accomplice.”

“Wait. What? You battled faeries without telling me?”

He tilted his head on one side. “I had the impression you were a tad preoccupied. I wasn’t aware you had a monopoly on all faerie killings in town.”

“Very funny. What happened?”

“We put the faeries down.”

“Good.” One problem down. A million more to go.

“Are you really that bothered you didn’t get to kill the faeries yourself?” His eyes gleamed with amusement.

I didn’t see anything funny in the situation. I should be home, making sure Isabel was safe.

“Or,” he went on, “are you concerned I can’t cope with a few spider webs without you around?"

Yes.
Okay, ‘concerned’ was a strong word. Like hell I’d let on how relieved I’d felt when he’d appeared to take down those zombies. I’d never live it down.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Not going to thank me for saving your neck again? We ought to keep a tally.”

“I’d be more inclined to be polite to you if you didn’t make a point of acting like an ass every time you bailed me out.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If I hadn’t shown up, you might have joined those poor fools in the ground.”

“I’m aware.”

A pause. “Has it ever occurred to you that you need to think before you go off alone?”

“Frequently.” If he thought I was a reckless idiot, so be it. I couldn’t let anyone else end up in as deep shit with the faeries as I had. “I didn’t realise I needed to ask for your permission before I did anything. Especially as you’ve been dealing with the faeries by yourself.”

He sighed and brushed some of the dirt from my shoulder. “Just think next time. Please.”

I froze at the surprisingly intimate gesture. His hand moved slowly, deliberately, down the side of my jaw, leaving a trail of goose bumps. I became aware of the sound of my heartbeat, still racing from the battle, and the same masculine scent I’d picked up on before, underneath the decaying smell of the undead. It drew me to him, one step, then another. His fingertips lingered on the side of my jaw, his gaze deep. Not cool, but the kind of warm that preceded a tropical storm. My breath stopped, like my lungs had decided I didn’t need oxygen anymore. Two more steps would close the distance between us. One step.

His hand dropped to his side. “You’re covered in dirt and your clothes are torn.”

Just like that, the spell was broken. “So I can’t afford a twenty-four/seven dirt repellent spell like you can. If it’s a problem, you don’t have to stand in a ten-mile radius of me.”

The words snapped out even though I didn’t give a shit what he thought of me. I was comfortable in my own skin, dirt, scars and all. But worry for Isabel clawed at my insides, along with a fair helping of guilt that I’d let myself get sucked into whatever the hell magic this guy possessed. Or just post-battle lust. Whatever it was, I wanted it gone. I scooted back a few steps, putting a respectable distance between me and those blasted temperamental eyes.

Vance’s brows lifted. “I didn’t intend to offend you. But you might want to think about replacing those jeans. They’re a tad distracting.”

I looked down to find the seams had split down both legs, revealing my dirt-stained legs. Heat flushed my cheeks. “Bloody zombies.” Guess I’d taken one fall too many.

He smirked at me. “I’m not complaining.”

I stepped back. “You’re a total ass, you know that? Also, in case you’ve forgotten, we’re trespassing.” And there was a half-faerie ghost somewhere here, probably watching us.

That thought was pretty effective at stopping all wayward ideas of him touching me again.
Oh, shit. The dead are probably laughing at us.

“Yes,” said Vance. “We are. And this place… nobody should have raised the dead here. The necromancers know better. The energy levels here are unstable.”

“Because of the invasion.”

“Exactly.” He met my eyes. “The purpose of necromancy is to converse with the dead, not raise them. This is no necromancer we face.”

He didn’t know the half of it. I couldn’t tell him the truth. However powerful he might be, the weakest faerie would always triumph over the strongest human. Even a predator. Even the Mage Lord.

Only I, a weak human with faerie magic, might be able to stop them.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Even outside the gates to the necromancers’ place, the creeping feeling of being watched remained. The autumn chill in the air didn’t help, nor did the faint breeze sending tattered leaves skipping by, or the stark lines of the building beside us etched against the pale grey sky. All we needed was darkness and a full moon and we had a serious contender for a horror movie scenario. At least Vance had re-locked the gate to the cemetery. Though if he wanted to confront the necromancers about their out of control zombies, he’d have to admit we’d been trespassing.

I couldn’t give an airborne shit-factory what they thought. “Well?” I asked Vance, once he’d hung up the phone and walked back over to me.

“We have an audience with the necromancers tonight,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“It’s a date.” Then I realised what I’d said.

Vance smirked. “I’ve had worse propositions.”

“It’s a figure of speech.” I turned away, my face heating up.
Nope. Not going there.
“I’m going home to check on Isabel.” I’d texted her but hadn’t received a response. She was probably still asleep, but worry gnawed inside me all the same. I’d dragged her into danger then ran off. And if Larsen moved the wards around my house again…

It’s not possible. They’re stronger this time.

That faerie—the one with the ash blade, who I’d never seen in person—had ordered the mercenaries to bring down the wards. Faeries couldn’t counter witch magic themselves, but with Isabel incapacitated, I couldn’t risk leaving her alone a moment longer. With Larsen against me and every half-blood open to the influence of whoever this faerie was, the list of people I could count on had shrank to almost nothing.

I asked Vance to drop me off at the street corner. The ruins of the summoning circle had been cleared away along with the bloody remains of the dead hellhounds, though the stench of faerie blood still hung in the air and clogged my throat. I swallowed bile, imagining all the horrors that’d erupt on our doorstep now the incompetence of the clean-up guild had left a giant neon sign to the faeries behind.

I’d have to clean up the mess myself. But I needed Isabel’s spells to do it.

Worse, now the changelings were dead, we’d lost our leads. They were pure faeries, so once they died, it was forever. They wouldn’t come back as ghosts like the half-faerie. Which meant we had to rely on the necromancers.

I really
hated
relying on those creepy bastards.

Inside the flat, found Isabel still passed out on the couch.

“Isabel?”

I walked over to her, waving my hand in front of her face. No response. Her pulse beat fainter than before. And she was unconscious this time, not sleeping. Her puncture wounds had turned an angry red despite the healing remedy I’d used.

Shit. Shit.

If her home remedies hadn’t worked, the only option was an ambulance. I dialled the number with shaking hands, skipping over Vance’s number. No, she needed medical attention, not a mage. Once the call was done, I ran to my room and swiftly changed out of my ruined clothes, but I didn’t have the time to take a proper shower before the ambulance showed up. I ran to get the door, pushing my hair over my shoulder. Apparently I looked pretty scary, because they didn’t ask too many questions. I carried Isabel to the door myself, unwilling to invite anyone inside. I didn’t dare let down the wards, not now.

Even accompanying her to the hospital, I didn’t let my guard down until I heard the words,
she’s
stable.

I’d have stayed longer—hell, it tore me apart to leave her—but I had only half an hour before I was due to meet Vance. On the way back, I bought something to eat even though I felt sick. I’d need the energy.

Dead on seven o’clock, Vance appeared on the doorstep. I already stood outside, having locked the door and gathered my weapons ready.

“What happened?” Vance asked. “You’re wearing that look.”

“What look?”

“The look you get right before you stab someone.”

“If this night goes how I expect, I probably will.” To my horror, tears pricked at my eyes. “The hellhound bite was poisonous. Isabel’s in hospital. I was too late with the healing spell.” I swallowed, eyes watering. I would
not
cry in front of him.

“You could have come to me.”

“Like you can solve everything,” I snapped. “I never said I wanted you to interfere.”

His mouth parted in surprise, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he took my hand—his was warm, burning against mine—and transported us to the road leading to the necromancers’ place.

The necromancers’ leader waited for us outside, as grim-faced as ever. The door to the cemetery at the side was open, guarded by more black-robed figures.

“Come,” he said, beckoning us behind the gate. He was a man of many words, clearly.

“Hang on,” I said. “You’re taking us back—there?” Where we trespassed?

And where the half-faerie ghost appeared?
Had the necromancers seen him? Probably not, if they were inviting us in. If the half-faerie could choose to reveal itself to me, of course it could hide itself from the necromancers.