Wicked Magic Page 2

  After a fine meal of fresh cornbread drizzled with honey, roasted chicken, spinach, potatoes, and bread pudding, Keir made his way to his cabin in the woods outside the village.

  Rather than living in the barracks with many of the D’Danann warriors, or in a treetop home, and certainly unlike members of the court who resided in their great mansions, Keir had long ago chosen a simple cabin in the woods. It was difficult to be away from all the other D’Danann, but he chose to ignore the Dryads, Pixies, Faeries, and any other beings that might be nearby.

  Sometimes that was not so easy to do.

  Tonight, though, he thanked the gods the Pixies were not up to mischief around his home, decorating it with flowers or some odd nonsense. Not one of the mischievous Fae had dared to enter his sanctuary, but they had no compunctions about the area around his cabin.

  Wood scraped wood as he opened the door and then slammed it shut behind him. The three-room cabin was large and airy. He didn’t require much … just an open-beamed great room, a bedroom, a place to take a piss and a bath. All the furnishings were large, comfortable, and made for a man.

  He strode to his bedroom and grabbed his haversack, intending to pack some of his own supplies. The last time he was in the San Francisco Otherworld, he had been forced to use the perfumed soaps and shampoos of the witches.

  The moment he opened his pack, a tiny Faerie poked her head out.

  “Godsdamnit, Galia.” Keir scowled and opened his pack wider, releasing her lilac scent.

  The blond Faerie rose out of his haversack with a mischievous expression on her perfect face. Pink Faerie dust sparkled in the air from her wings. She was no longer than his hand from the tip of his middle finger to his wrist, and her long blond hair reached past her knees, covering both her naked ass and her bare breasts. “What in the Underworlds are you doing here?”

  She fluttered up to his eye level and grinned. “I thought I would come for a visit.”

  Keir turned away and stomped to his bath chamber. “Out of my home.”

  Her laugh was like tiny bells. She darted ahead of him and landed on a cake of soap. It slipped and she giggled as she skated on the soap the length of the wooden shelf. She wove in and out of his bath items, barely missing his body gel and shaving gear, but knocking off the brush he used for his teeth. When she reached the end of the shelf she placed her palm out and threw up a shield to keep herself from sailing off and onto the floor.

  “Galia!” He jabbed his finger in the direction of the doorway. “Out!”

  After coming to an abrupt stop, the Faerie hopped off the cake of soap. “Are you going back to that Otherworld? The one called San Francisco?”

  “In the morning.” Keir grabbed the brush from the floor and jammed it and the other bath items into his bag. “Now, leave.”

  She fluttered after him as he packed extra clothing and weapons. Pink Faerie dust glittered wherever she flew, and she darted just about everywhere, exploring his cabin despite his orders for her to leave.

  When he finished shoving items into his haversack, he tossed the bag by the front door. He yanked the door open and pointed out into the growing darkness. “Back to your Sidhe. Now.”

  Galia fluttered up to his face and startled him as she kissed his cheek with a feather-light touch before using her delicate wings to back away. “Such the big, bad warrior. You need to have a little fun.”

  “Out,” he growled when for some reason he wanted to smile. That thought had him scowling again.

  The Faerie giggled, then swooped out of his home and into the twilight, pink sparkles and the scent of lilacs following in her wake.

  Keir shook his head. Galia had teased him often outside of his cabin, but like other Fae she had never been in his home. What made her trespass today? Apparently her desire to go to the San Francisco Otherworld.

  Pink dust. Damn. It would be weeks before he got the female-smelling lilacs out of the air.

  But he had far more pressing matters to be concerned with than one of the mischievous Fae.

  Ceithlenn.

  Keir was tempted to rouse his warriors and head to the San Francisco Otherworld tonight, but his men and women needed at least one good night’s rest before they went to war.

  After removing his weapons belt and setting it on a table, Keir went to a small corner of the great room to a chair positioned by the window where carved wooden figurines perched on the sill. Among the small figures were an elk, a squirrel, a hawk, and a raven. Keir settled into the chair, leaned forward, and reached for the box where he kept his tools.

  When he was but a boy, a Dryad had shown him how to bring the creatures to life that “lived” in the wood. No one, save for his Dryad teacher, was aware of his aptitude for this art form. It was simply something he chose to do to relax.

  Keir removed a large piece of cedar from a pile of assorted wood the Dryads had given him, grabbed one of his carving tools, and slid the metal into the cedar. He concentrated on bringing it to life.

  Only this time, for the first time, it was not an animal he carved, but a face. As the features formed he found himself shaping the head and shoulders of a woman he had never met.

  He couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was as if the face had to be released from the cedar before he left in the morning.

  When Keir was finally finished, the wood polished until the features shone in the dim candlelight, it was late into the night. He blinked his tired eyes and stared at the face for a while. He stroked the cheek with his thumb, the polished wood as smooth as a woman’s skin.

  Why had he carved a face? The face of a woman he did not know?

  He shook his head, put away his carving tools, and set the face on the windowsill before heading to his bed. Despite the urgency he felt, he needed what rest he could get before leaving come morning.

  They were going to war.

  Chapter 3

  SAN FRANCISCO

  With a grunt of exertion, Rhiannon helped Sydney physically move a long table from one end of the once closed-off common room to the other. They set the table down with a loud thump and Rhiannon put her hands on her jean-clad hips, rolled her shoulders, and moved her neck from side to side to relieve some of the stress. Her chin-length auburn hair swung as she moved her head.

  It was only the night before last that she’d had the vision of Ceithlenn and the images still turned her stomach and caused the Fomorii scars on her cheek to burn.

  The common room was filled with the chatter of witches, warriors, and Paranormal Special Forces—PSF—officers all working together. As much as she wanted more D’Danann to get here and get here quick, she had no idea where they were going to put them. They’d probably have to sleep on the floor of their shared apartments until more rooms were ready. She and the others would have to make the basement into a living area.

  Yeah, they needed more space. Never mind the friggin’ grocery store and cookie factory they needed to buy to feed the warrior Fae. Thank the goddess for the wise investments most of the witches had made over the years.

  Dirt streaked Rhiannon’s cheeks and sweat rolled down the side of her face. But she felt the satisfaction of a job well done as she gazed around the room where everyone was working to move out old furniture, boxes, and assorted other items.

  Jake Macgregor, the PSF Captain, had inherited the apartment building, which was in the Haight-Ashbury district, and had opened up the common room just today. The witches and D’Danann had used a combination of magic and muscle to set the room to rights in record time. With all the additional D’Danann warriors on the way from Otherworld, plus the warriors, officers, and witches already stationed in the building, they needed the space.

  “Much better,” Rhiannon said to Sydney. Spirit, Rhiannon’s cocoa-colored cat, jumped onto a nearby couch. Her familiar gave a loud meow, perhaps agreeing, perhaps not.

  “Just a few things to take care of.” Sydney leaned one hip against the table and adjusted her chic glasses. “Hopefully we’ll be done
before the new bunch of warriors arrive.”

  Sydney had gorgeous raven hair and violet eyes that were only partially hidden by her glasses. She was the CEO of an advertising agency on Market Street in downtown San Francisco and usually wore fitted suits. Today was Saturday and she still managed to look great, dusty or no, in a pair of designer jeans and a lilac polo shirt.

  Next to her, Rhiannon felt frumpy in her snug purple jeans and her bright yellow “I heart San Francisco” T-shirt. It had been a little warm today, the sun out from behind the fog, and her skin was a bit red from having been in the sunshine. She was so fair that the slightest exposure to sun went a long way.

  She wiped her palms on her jeans and gave a big sigh. So much done, so much more work to do. Other rooms needed attention, and she was certain they weren’t going to get it all done before the additional D’Danann Enforcers arrived. There was no way they’d be able to use the kitchen of Enchantments, the metaphysical shop they owned that was next door, as a meeting place any longer. They’d been pushing it as it was.

  Sydney’s Doberman familiar, Chaos, bounded into the room, headed straight for Sydney. The moment he reached her, he jumped up and planted his front paws on Sydney’s belly, leaving two dirty prints on her shirt. She laughed and rubbed the big lug behind his ears.

  Spirit hissed, laid back his own ears, and arched his back. “Oh, get over it.” Rhiannon shushed the cat, who had never taken to the Doberman. Much like he wasn’t crazy about Janis Arrowsmith’s mouse familiar, Mortimer. Rhiannon had been concerned more than once that Spirit would forget the “familiars don’t eat familiars” rule when it came to Mortimer.

  Chaos was harmless—but unfortunately lived up to his name. Well, he was harmless unless his mistress was threatened in any way.

  A cheer rose up as Cassia strode in with trays of food followed by Copper and Silver, who were laden with platters as well.

  The Doberman loped toward the witches carrying the food. Sydney groaned. “Pain-in-the-ass familiar,” she said as she went after him, leaving Rhiannon alone.

  Rhiannon grinned as Tiernan, one of the D’Danann, took the tray Copper was carrying despite her insistence that she could do it herself. He was having the hardest time getting her to take it easy and stay off her ankle cast. The copperhaired witch had broken her ankle in Otherworld when she went to battle to keep a door to Underworld closed.

  Tiernan ignored Copper’s protests and carried the platter to the table that Sydney and Rhiannon had just moved.

  Copper hobbled after him, her long braid slipping over her shoulder. “Dammit, Tiernan. I was doing just fine.” After he set the tray down he kissed her soundly and Copper melted into him.

  A twinge of envy gripped Rhiannon before she brushed it aside.

  Nothing lasted forever. People left. They left all the time. Her birth parents had abandoned her on Aunt Aga’s doorstep when she was only two. Growing up, she had learned almost nothing about them, let alone how she had inherited her Elvin blood. Aunt Aga was her mother’s much older sister, and she had made it very clear that she resented the burden of raising her niece.

  Rhiannon leaned her hip against the table laden with food and sighed.

  When Rhiannon’s strange ability had appeared, Aunt Aga had been so horrified, Rhiannon knew that the power was something bad. Maybe even something evil. When she turned eighteen, Aunt Aga had been only too happy to tell Rhiannon that she had to leave. Rhiannon had been able to move onto a houseboat owned by a nice elderly couple she had befriended, until Silver gave her a job at the Coven’s metaphysical shop.

  Over the years, Rhiannon had dated here and there and had had two serious relationships. One had ended with her catching the guy with another woman. The other ended with the man leaving her for a woman who had kids. The only thing in her life that had seemed to last was her love for her Coven sisters and their love for her … Well, there was an exception to the rule, Hannah. That witch rubbed her the wrong way. Always invading her personal space—her “little box,” as Hannah liked to call it.

  Her Coven sisters loved her in return, but what if they found out about Rhiannon’s ability? She looked around the room at her friends. She had worried about that more than once.

  It was one thing to turn to dark magic.

  It was another thing to carry the darkness inside.

  What if they found out about the Shadows lurking within her? Would her chosen family still feel the same or would they react with disgust and horror the way Aunt Aga had?

  Rhiannon never intended to find out.

  Her stomach churned at the thoughts. She couldn’t begin to summon an appetite, no matter how good the food smelled on the table beside her.

  She shook her head as all the D’Danann and PSF officers dug in to the food. Trays of turkey sandwiches, huge bowls of Boston baked beans, potato salad, and macaroni salad. Platters of deviled eggs, fresh-baked rolls, large arrangements of assorted vegetables and dip, bags of potato chips, pitchers of iced tea, soda pop, and orange juice. And not to forget the dessert—chocolate, red velvet, and marble cakes. Oh, and the witches never left out the chocolate-chip cookies, a huge favorite of Hawk’s. Cassia was having to cook full-time these days.

  Yeah, the D’Danann warriors definitely lived up to their legendary appetites. Now, if they would only find their Cauldron of Dagda, the witches wouldn’t have to fear going bankrupt trying to feed them. The god Dagda obtained a cauldron from the city of Murias and used it to feed his army of Tuatha D’Danann. The food in this magic cauldron never ran out and it had healing powers, as well as restoring the energy and strength of anyone who ate from it.

  Damned if they couldn’t use that all the way around.

  A large commotion started at the doorway to the common room and Rhiannon looked casually over to see a new group of leather-clad warriors entering the room. The D’Danann already stationed in San Francisco greeted the men and women with slaps to their backs and the kind of handshakes people used to do way back when—hand to elbow grips. Rhiannon liked the way they spoke with unusual accents, mostly thick Irish brogues.

  “Godsdamnit, Keir, what took you so long?” Hawk growled when he strode up to one of the warriors Rhiannon had never seen before. Her heart thumped a little more than usual when she looked at the stranger. “You should have been here two days ago.”

  “Always jumping into the fray without preparation, brother.” Keir’s scowl and the way he fisted his hands told Rhiannon the term “brotherly love” might be a bit lost on these two. He tossed a worn leather pack against the wall and Rhiannon thought she heard a faint “oof.” She shook her head as she swung her attention back to Keir, who was saying, “Seems you have yet to learn your lesson about planning.”

  Silver came up beside Rhiannon, carrying her full plate. “There they go again,” Silver said.

  Rhiannon glanced at Silver before looking back at the arguing men.

  “He had to ensure these warriors were ready.” Tiernan pushed his way between Keir and Hawk. Tiernan had selected a couple of sandwiches and placed them near a pile of potato chips on his plate. Having been born to a high D’Danann Court, Tiernan’s Irish accent sounded more refined than the others. “This group is young,” he added.

  Hawk grumbled something Rhiannon couldn’t make out and then he turned his back on Keir. She hadn’t known Hawk had a brother. Or maybe it was just one of those things—all the D’Danann called each other brother and sister. But it was the way Keir had said the word brother that made her think there was more to the situation.

  She wanted to turn and ask Silver if they’d figured out where all these men and women were going to stay, but she couldn’t quite take her gaze off the new warrior.

  And then, for some reason she caught his attention.

  Their eyes met and she couldn’t even blink, she was so mesmerized. A connection sizzled between them that made her heart beat even faster.

  The man studied her in a way that made her feel like he was stripping off
her clothing layer by layer. Her cheeks heated as his gaze slowly perused her from head to toe and then his eyes met hers again. He had the deepest, darkest eyes she’d ever seen.

  His black hair reached his shoulders, and goddess, what impressive shoulders he had, not to mention that broad chest. His sleeveless leather shirt showed his finely carved biceps and his forearms had a light scattering of black hair that led down to strong hands. What could he do with those hands …

  Rhiannon’s belly did a little flip.

  Like the other warriors, he was clad in leather pants and wore a weapons belt with a sword on one side, a dagger on the other. His snug pants, showing muscled thighs, were tucked into scuffed leather boots that reached his knees. And what an impressive package was outlined against those leather pants.

  When her gaze met his again, she saw that his expression was fierce, proud, and arrogant. Definitely arrogant. He wasn’t what she’d call handsome. He was rugged, unruly, untamed-looking. He had a scar that slashed one cheek and reminded her of her own scars.

  This warrior was a bad boy. Definitely a bad boy.

  Rhiannon tried to think of other things—like playing her favorite video game and killing spiders with little blue swords. And tried really hard to not think about how hot that guy was. But for a long moment they held each other’s gazes. Rhiannon couldn’t breathe. Her nipples tightened beneath her grubby T-shirt and she felt a shaft of desire shoot straight down through her belly to the place between her thighs.

  With a tremendous effort, she cut her gaze away from the warrior’s and was able to suck in a deep breath. She was positive he was still staring at her—her entire body burned.

  Rhiannon cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose you know who that guy is with the scar? The one Hawk called Keir,” she said to Silver, who was still standing beside her.

  Silver pushed her long, silvery blond hair over her shoulder. She was “eating for two” as she said, now that she was pregnant. She’d already eaten half the food that had been stacked on her plate.