Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Daisy’s claws dig into the carpet as she scrabbles around the bed.
How can one small dragonette make such a racket?
When she gets to my side, she stands on her hind legs and her front claws rest against the box frame.
She wiggles her nose. I smile, lean down, and gently scoop her up.
She settles next to my leg in the centre of the crisp white duvet and the softness of her scales helps to calm me.
I close my eyes for a second and force myself to breathe. I survived another fun phone call—that must count for something. At least I didn’t tell her to fuck off. Not that I can, with the anti-swear mind control.
“I love you, little zig-zag,” I whisper. My voice cracks and I rub my face.
Gosh, I shouldn’t have let the conversation end like that.
Every time we speak, I always seem to mess it up.
I love my mum. Guilt churns in my tummy like black sludge.
I know she is worried, and rightly so. Gah, I sink into the pillows.
I could have handled that better. Perhaps I should have gone straight to the coven?
I glance around the hotel room and shrug.
It is telling that my first action was to go to a hotel.
Not a friend, or my sisters, but a hotel.
Okay, Tuesday, enough of the coven drama.
You need to check what’s happening at home.
I drag my laptop bag, which is at the end of the bed, towards me and log into my building’s security cameras.
I start the feed before the mercenaries enter the lobby.
The building’s ward chimes with distress on the computer’s small speakers and then the main door crashes open.
A puff of plaster dust rents the air as the door hits the wall.
Like I’ve seen in countless action films, the group of men—dressed head to toe in their odd gear, so they can’t be identified—tactically rush the building.
My face scrunches up in a frown as one guy doesn’t conceal himself.
He follows behind the others at a nonchalant pace, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers.
It’s as if he’s out for a winter stroll window shopping.
“What a cocky motherfudger.” Where did he come from?
I can’t believe I didn’t spot him when I was watching at home.
Heck, how could I have missed him? He certainly stands out, and it appears he is the boss of the motley crew. I pause the footage and take a few stills, then email them to my Dad.
Why does this man feel comfortable showing his face when his colleagues don’t?
“Flat eight, on the third floor. Harris, you take point,” says the gruff voice of what would be the Red Power Ranger.
Two men stay on the ground floor, while the rest head upstairs. They clear each floor—military style—and make their way slowly up the building.
They move fluidly, like shifters… or vampires? I rub the back of my head. To guesstimate their height using the door frames of the hallway, they are big, so perhaps I was right the first time and they are shifters.
The guy—the boss?—doesn’t rush. No. He slowly makes his way, strolling along without a care in the world, still shopping. I grind my teeth as I follow him with the cameras.
Who are you?
I speed up the footage until the group of mercenaries finally get to my flat and I watch as they clear the way for the boss guy. Look at that—they move aside and let him deal with the ward. My eyes widen. He is the magic user who took down the wards?
Well, I am surprised. He’s a witch? I lean closer until my nose presses against the screen. He doesn’t resemble any witch I’ve ever seen. I tilt my head to the side. The witch community is small, and male witches are incredibly rare. I would have remembered this guy.
With my mouth slightly open, I watch as he rips my sister’s ward apart.
’Ecky-thump, the guy is packing some power.
The ward is complicated, yet he rips it apart like it’s tissue paper.
He could have at least made it look difficult.
What should have taken him hours, took him, what, fifteen—I check the timestamp—no, twenty minutes?
Nerves flutter in my belly. Crap, I’m lucky I got out of the building when I did. With a swipe at my keyboard, I copy all the footage and again email it to my dad. The Hunters Guild will want to see this.
What the heck is he? Who is he? I nibble a nail.
I need to find out more about him, about all of them.
Where did they come from? I skip the footage to the camera in the street before they entered the building, but—no, that can’t be right.
It can’t. Something is blocking the security feed.
I stab at the keyboard, but nothing I do fixes the issue.
I growl in frustration and glare at the mysterious man.
I send the entire file to Ava. Tech is her thing.
I will have to let Ava, Dad, and the hunters deal with this.
I’m okay with computers, but I am not an expert in CCTV.
I skip to the live camera inside my flat: Daisy Cam. I only have it so I can check on Daisy when she doesn’t want to come to work with me.
Wow, they’ve already broken into the safe room.
Shocking. It’s also kind of disappointing that what should have taken them all night, took this mystery guy only forty minutes.
I shiver. The other mercenaries I can hear through the camera are tossing my place.
The laptop bumps against my abdomen as I wave my hands in the air and squirm on the bed. Monsters. They are breaking my shit.
“Nice to see the Hunters Guild has rushed to my flat,” I grumble. Everything can be replaced. It’s only stuff. I concentrate instead on the witch. He turns his head towards the Daisy Cam and smiles.
He smiles at me.
I yelp. What the friggity-fig-frig was that? I jerk away from my laptop and slam the lid closed. But not before I see him disappear.
The witch Stepped.
Stepping is an old, powerful fae thing. A teleporting thing.
Witches don’t bloody Step. “Not a normal witch,” I squeak out.
“Not a witch at all.” With my heart pounding, I shove the laptop back in its bag and shoulder it.
I scoop Daisy into my arms and cradle her against my chest as I scramble to my feet.
“We need to get the hell out of here. We are not safe.”
Every instinct I have is lit up and screaming danger. I don’t know why, but I am sure he knows where I am. The guy is coming for me. Did he trace the security feed? My phone? Both are encrypted. It shouldn’t be possible.
Yeah, it also shouldn’t be possible for him to rip through wards like he’s walking through cobwebs. Or Step.
Oh no. Oh no. Heart pounding, I grab my yellow jacket and trousers and stuff them underneath my other arm.
I snatch my boots off the floor, the laces biting between my sweaty fingers.
I will put everything on when I get the heck out of this hotel.
I yank the room door open and narrowly avoid ploughing into a muscular chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” says a deep, heavily accented voice.
An eep sound slips out of my mouth and everything I am holding—except Daisy—thuds to the floor.
I scramble backwards. My bum hits the bathroom door, and it smashes back into the tiles with a crash.
Oh my. He is here.
He strolls into the room and, without taking his blue eyes from me, kicks the room door closed with his heel. I gulp. Without breaking his stride, he walks over my discarded outerwear.
My panicked heart pounds in my ears. How is this possible?
Daisy snarls and snaps her teeth at him.
A puff of smoke comes out of her left nostril, and a lick of orange flame comes out of the right.
I can feel how frightened she is with the rapid beat of her heart as it thuds against my palm.
I love that she’s being brave and trying to protect me, but I cannot put her in danger or allow her to be hurt.
Without taking my eyes from the stranger, I carefully squat, place Daisy on the tiled floor of the bathroom, and click the door firmly closed. I wince at her angry yowl. She growls and scratches at the door, then there are a few thuds.
“Hello, little lost witch,” he says. His full lips tilt up with amusement. “I am told you’re a dud, but you’re more than that, aren’t you? Your coven has hidden you well.”
What? What on earth is he going on about?
I haven’t got a scooby. When all he gets in response is my dumbfounded expression, his mouth clenches and a muscle in his jaw jumps as if he’s grinding his molars together.
What is he expecting, a confession? My eyes drift away from his ticking jaw, and it’s then that I notice his pointed ears.
Aes sídh, he is fae, an elf.
His short hair threw me. They normally wear it long with these pretty traditional plaits. He’s a strong, old fae if he can Step.
“It’s been over a century since I’ve met one of your kind in the real world. Stupid of you, really.” My gaze darts from his ears and I take in the predatory gleam in his eyes. I smell bullshit. He is trying to butter me up. One of my kind? I wrinkle my nose.
It doesn’t take a genius to work out I hate being a magical dud. Nice one, Tuesday, that you know your place. Yeah, I’m the secondary character, even in my own damn story. I swallow down a strange lump in my throat. I know I’m a silent internal badass. I don’t have to be anything more.
But then why do I always feel so disappointed? My bottom lip wobbles, and I suck it into my mouth and chomp on it. None of that.
No. If this elf thinks I am going to fall for his total rubbish spiel of me being some kind of chosen one, ha. He has messed up. Boy, has he ever messed up.