Faerie Blood: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Changeling Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

I’d call the necromancers, but they lived on the other side of town. This was mage territory, and they had as little to do with necromancy as I did. If I didn’t dismantle this circle before the changeling came back, this house might turn into a portal to hell.

Just for once, I’d have preferred a weekend lie-in like a normal person.

Doing my best to avoid stepping in the blood, I skirted the first, blackened spell circle, stopping momentarily to examine the damage. Someone had used a spell with those dead rats, but if the circle had burned out, either the spell hadn’t worked or the effects were gone. I’d have noticed if any magic surrounded this place before I came in.

I wasn’t stupid enough to touch the circle itself. I reached into my pocket for one object I always kept on hand—salt. Didn’t do a thing for faeries, but after the infamous zombie night five years ago when an idiot necromancer apprentice had left the doors of the local cemetery unlocked, the local council still advised everyone to take precautions. Carefully, I sprinkled the stuff around the circle’s outskirts.

Blue-green light flared up, without warning. I jumped back, shielding my eyes.

A chilling shriek rang out, and a thin line of blue light appeared, leading from the circle out the room’s door.

“What the hell?”

Then I saw the second circle, hidden so thoroughly beneath the first that I’d have needed super-sensitive eyesight to spot it.

A high-pitched scream came from downstairs. Swanson’s wife.

Oh, shit.

CHAPTER FOUR

I vaulted both circles and ran downstairs without pausing for breath, my sword already in my hand. Whatever attacked them, Irene and I could take care of it. Swanson shouted out, and I leaped the last two stairs.

Mrs Swanson ran from the living room, pursued by something big, black and furred. Sharp teeth snapped and I swore, pushing myself between her and the monster. Or rather, hellhound. I hadn’t had the pleasure of dealing with that particular branch of faerie for a while.

I slashed with the blade, catching the creature’s nose. Blood spurted at my head in a crimson fountain. Yeuch. The dog hissed between its teeth, shaking droplets onto the thick carpet and staining the white wallpaper. Goddammit, that’d be a bitch to clean out.

I glanced over my shoulder to find Swanson had opened the front door and he and his wife had fled outside. Normally that’d be the sensible decision, except the wards only covered the house, not the street.

Damn. I backed away, glaring at the creature, goading it to follow me. It did, of course, and I moved my blade in a figure-eight motion to make sure its eyes focused on the sword until we were safely outside. I kept walking backwards, keeping one eye on my feet and the other on the dog.

“Guys,” I said to Swanson out of the corner of my mouth. “Get behind the iron ward. There might be more than one of them.”

I didn’t see if they did as I asked, because the hellhound chose that moment to try to take a bite out of my face. I stepped to the side and stabbed, not holding back any longer. Blood poured from the wound, thick and reddish-blue. Its teeth snapped again, and I ducked, bringing my sword in an arc to sink into its thick neck. Flesh gave way beneath Irene’s silver and crimson blade, and the hellhound fell with a pained squeal—as a second one appeared in the alley at the side of the house, red eyes aglow.

Crap. How many were there? They were rejects from the Wild Hunt, and there might be a thousand of them. They sure as hell didn’t come from this realm.
Someone had drawn them here.

That summoning circle.

I had three seconds to make up my mind. Innocent people lived in the other houses here, and there was no option but to run into the nearest alley. Faces appeared at the windows to stare at me. A camera flashed. The hellhound’s body lay slumped in the middle of the road, and when the second saw its fallen companion, it roared.

I was ready. The alley was wider than I’d expected, easily big enough to accommodate the huge beast, and I drove it backwards with quick slashes. These creatures were all bite, unless they banded together. In no time, blood spattered the alley, but it kept dodging when I tried to deliver a killing blow.

Right on cue, a third one appeared as if from nowhere, behind the other, like it had popped into existence. But that wasn’t possible.

I blinked, my vision suddenly hazed with blue. They were using some kind of concealment spell. Which meant there might be a dozen hiding here. And I’d walked right into the middle of the alley.

Oh, shit.

I swung the blade in an arc that sent the hellhound rearing back, then I went for the throat. As it collapsed, two others appeared, surrounded by bluish smoke. They seemed bigger than the first one, and the obvious conclusion slammed into me like a truck.

One hellhound alone wasn’t magical, but they were Winter beasts that gained power from death. And I’d killed two of them.

Blue smoke swirled from the body of their dead companion. Each hellhound grew, before my eyes, into beasts so big their huge flanks scraped the alley’s sides. But it wasn’t their size that froze me.

Every muscle in my body locked into place as a wave of icy fear swept over me. Manufactured fear conjured by magic, but potent enough to still my blade in its tracks.

The hellhounds stalked towards me. I was paralysed like a fish caught in a net, unable to move.

No. Come on—you have faerie magic. Use it.

Easier said than done. My magic only surfaced in life or death situations, and the paralysing wave carried all the power of Winter. But my power came from a darker place. And when the hellhounds got close enough that their warm, foul breath brushed my face, it struck.

Energy surged up my arms, wrapping me in blue tendrils. My grip on the blade tightened as my reflexes went sharp, and suddenly I moved faster than I ever could under normal circumstances. In one movement, I’d leaped impossibly high, and cut the hellhounds’ throats in a single, devastating strike.

Two bodies slumped down. I landed on my feet, barely drained. Buzzing, actually. Threads of blue surrounded me like water turned to smoke. Not Summer magic, or Winter. My power came from the place between, where the usual laws didn’t apply.

“If there’s any more of you, come and fight me,” I called into the now empty alleyway.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

I froze—not literally this time. The voice was… human. A tall broad-shouldered man followed, wearing a long black coat that stopped at knee-height, short enough not to get in the way, but long enough to leave an impression. He stepped out of the smoke, hardly a hair ruffled by the magic potent in the air.

Oh my god
. It was Lord Colton himself—the head of the mages.

“And who are you?” he asked me, eying the bodies of the fallen hellhounds. “A human couldn’t possibly have killed those monstrosities.”

“Pleasure to meet you, too,” I said. I’d never reckoned on meeting the guy face to face, but I like to meet on my own terms. Covered in blood in an alleyway, possibly still glowing with faerie magic… definitely didn’t count as my own terms. “I’m here to help the Swanson family deal with magical difficulties.”

“The Swanson family,” he repeated. “I was under the impression they’d requested assistance from the Mage Lords.”

“I was under the impression you didn’t give a shit about them,” I said, before I could stop myself. Oops. I was still high from the faerie magic, though the buzzing feeling faded by the second.

Confusion flitted across his face before he regarded me with eyes cold as pools of icy water. My heart sank a little. I didn’t scare easy, especially where humans were concerned, but the guy had me frozen to the spot. Possibly because of the giant blade he kept hidden somewhere nearby.

Or maybe the fact that he might kill me if he knew where the magic I’d used had come from.

I drew myself up to my full five-foot-four height—not that it made a difference considering he was at least six-two—and said, “I’m a private investigator the Swansons hired to investigate their son’s disappearance. They came to me after you turned them down.”

“Is that so?” The Mage Lord gave me a once-over. “Show me your licence.”

“Ask me nicely first.” Dammit. I hate being ordered around. Especially by people who don’t have any authority over me.

“If you weren’t already aware,” said the mage, “I am Vance Colton, head of the Mages in this region, and it’s required by law for all magical practitioners to come to me for a licence.”

“I have a licence,” I said, digging in my pocket. “But I’m a consultant and freelancer, not a magical practitioner. I don’t work with mages.”

“That’s unfortunate, because this situation has drawn my attention. It seems there’s more to the situation than a simple missing person’s case.”

“The hellhounds didn’t give you a clue?”

I fought back a laugh at the incredulity that crept into Mage Dude’s—Vance Colton’s—expression.
But all he said was, “Your licence.”

Resisting the impulse to roll my eyes, I handed the damn paper over. His eyes roved over it, a crease appearing between his brows.

“Yes, I usually don’t have blood in my hair, but the person in the photo is me.” I held my hand out pointedly. He handed the licence back, not taking his eyes off me.

“Two witnesses saw you use magic,” he said.

“Witnesses can be mistaken in times of trauma. Can I go now?”

“No,” he said. “You’re to come to my office for an interview.”

“Er, no.” What the hell? “I have a job to do. I’m on this case. And I said I don’t work with mages.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you? More than a hedge witch, if that stunt proves anything. I just watched you jump ten feet into the air.”

Damn. He must have seen the tail end of the fight. “Yes. It’s a temporary spell for speed and accuracy.”

He had nothing on me. Mages and witches weren’t mortal enemies. More like dogs and cats made to live in the same house. We stayed out of each other’s way, but occasionally, being humans, accidents happened. Mages I’d met were without exception rich aristocrats, presumably because their ancestors had used their skills to their advantage in the old world, banded together and made a fortune. ‘Witch’, however, was a label that applied to any non-mage with a rudimentary magical talent, and no one particular skill. The result was an implied hierarchy. Mages practically owned the town. Witches like Isabel could barely scrape together rent payment. As for half-faeries and shifters, they lived in their own clans under their own rules. Except when it came down to it, everyone in the region was subject to the mages’ rules. To this man’s rules.

One piece of information to file away for later… the Mage Lord, for all his talents, didn’t have the Sight. He couldn’t see my faerie magic. I mean, I practically glowed blue, even underneath all the blood. A faerie would have spotted me a mile away.

“Then I’d like to interview you. Come to Number Fifteen, Oak Drive. Clean yourself up first. It’s tiresome getting bloodstains out of the carpet."

I laughed. “You’re not serious.”

He frowned, then his eyes widened as he looked over my shoulder. “Step aside.”

Normally I’d have told him to quit ordering me around, but anything that could startle the Mage Lord, I didn’t want behind me. I spun just in time, and a huge furred body leaped down from the wall.

I jumped back on sheer instinct, raising my sword. The hellhounds’ bodies must have attracted more of them. This one bared its teeth at me, drool flying from its jaw, and I brought my sword up to strike it.

The dog blurred and reappeared some five feet away. Mage Dude stepped to my side so we blocked the alleyway. The hellhound snarled at us, knowing it was outnumbered.

Of course, that’s when the second one appeared.

Dammit. I didn’t dare push my luck with faerie magic this time, but with those corpses stinking up the alleyway, any of the hellhounds could draw power again. I needed to finish this fast.

Climbing onto one of the fallen bodies to better reach my target, I stabbed its leg then went for the neck. The hellhound roared and flailed, and my sword remained stuck in its neck. Power thrummed through its huge body, almost shaking me off.

“Watch out! They get stronger the more of them you kill,” I yelled at the mage—he might be a dick, but I didn’t want to watch him get his throat torn out. I stabbed the one bearing down on me and the hellhound slumped. I’d forgotten I was using its body for balance and fell to the alley floor, landing at a crouch that made my legs protest at the impact. I looked up to see the second leap at my face.

And then the mage was suddenly in front of me. The giant sword appeared again—if I hadn’t moved, the blade would have sliced my head off. He moved
fast.
And—holy shit. For a moment, I gaped as what looked like black scales slid down his hands, encasing them around the sword’s hilt.

He wasn’t only a highly adept mage and swordsman. The guy must be part shifter, too.