Extraits

He stood close, and smelled so good, even with the dangerous aura still hovering around him. The hint of a storm, ready to sweep me away in its embrace. That's what he smelled like, too - the air before a thunderstorm. And electrical charge. A warning. A promise.

The image of this black scales and claws flashes through my head The Mage Lord clearly didn't care who saw what he was. That made him the stark opposite of every shifter I knew.

I didn't need every mage in the district to know who I was. No thanks. I got by without anonymity because nobody who knew me before the invasion was still alive. A hell of a depressing was to get a new start in life. However, some to the faeries might still know my name.

The Swansons wordlessly moved aside to let me past. I'd freaked them out, but probably for the best.

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

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

CHAPTER ONE

When I was sixteen years old, I walked out of hell, thinking I’d finally be free of the faeries.

Ten years later, the joke was on me. Instead of spending my Saturday morning sleeping in, there I was, deep in a troll’s lair with a piskie hovering over my shoulder.

“He took my friend’s charm,” whined the piskie.

“Yes, you said.” I hoped the faerie wasn’t mistaken, if just because it’d mean I’d climbed into a troll’s nest for nothing. I gritted my teeth, sorting through the array of junk the troll had gathered, searching for the tell-tale glint of a spell. Charms were notoriously tricky to get right, but given the wad of cash on offer, this one must be the real deal. I’d get a nice bonus if I returned it to its rightful owner.

In the suburbs, you took what work you could get. Even skulking around a troll’s nest. I’d had to wait until it went off hunting before I risked sneaking in. I’d rank the danger level up there with putting a harness on a kelpie. But at least kelpies didn’t smell like a blocked drain. Grimacing, I shoved a heap of what looked like human clothes aside—hopefully stolen, not the remnants of past victims. Trying to make faeries obey human laws was tricky at the best of times, but I was not sifting through troll dung to figure out if it had recently consumed a human being or not. Luckily, that job fell to the clean-up squad, who were one rank below me on the less-than-impressive ladder of poor souls freelancing for Larsen Crawley.

The word “freelancer” sounded like it ought to mean something like “dragon slayer”. In my case, that was almost literally true. But right now, the only things getting slayed were my already tattered new jeans and shoes. The low ceiling forced me to kneel in unappealing wetness to sift through another heap of old junk. Trolls had magpie-like tendencies for reasons I couldn’t fathom. I shoved a pile of expensive-looking jewels aside and found what I was looking for.

“Gotcha.” I picked up the small, glinting cylindrical charm. “What kind of spell is this?”

“Beautification,” said the piskie.

That figured. Damned half-faeries were posers and narcissists, one and all. I slid the charm into my pocket and headed towards the exit.

A shuffling noise ahead made me stop. Oh, shit. I’d planned to confront the creature later on for extra cash, but definitely not here in its cramped nest. Trolls were notoriously territorial. Great job there, Ivy.

Damn. The ceiling was high enough to account for the troll’s hulking frame, but with nowhere for me to hide. Which meant I’d have to break my own rule.

Don’t spill faerie blood in the mortal realm.

I reached for the sword I kept strapped to my waist. I don’t kill if I can avoid it, but it’s amazing how quickly an adversary will back off if you’re pointing a sword at them.

As per usual, I’d hoped for too much. The troll saw the blade and bellowed, swinging a giant fist at me. I ducked, cursing the cave’s tight walls. I needed to get to the exit, but the troll didn’t seem inclined to move out the way. As the light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling landed on the creature, it was revealed in all its ugly glory. Trolls resembled misshapen boulders, which meant none of my hits would do any damage. Its huge, lumpy body was resilient to virtually anything. Except—like all faerie-kind, with no exception—iron.

I repositioned myself, raising my sword, hoping it’d have the good sense to move. Unfortunately, expecting good sense from a troll is like expecting manners from a brain-eating boggart.

Rather than ducking, the troll took the hit. I hadn’t put all my weight behind it, but a few years swinging a blade in defence of your life makes it difficult to judge the impact. Especially with faeries. The bright spray of blood made the troll scream in alarm, stomping its huge, hairy feet. Its fists drove me against the wall, step by step, until I stood ankle-deep in… troll dung.

Worse, the piskie had disappeared into thin air, leaving me to deal with the fallout.

“Take a hint,” I snarled, swinging the blade again. A second spray of blood made the troll fall over its own feet towards me, driving me further back into the dung heap. “I’m sparing your life, you idiotic creature.”

Said idiotic creature aimed another punch at my head. I ducked, and the troll’s fist went through the back wall instead. The troll roared and tried to pull its hand free, sending bits of crumbling rock over my head.