Edge of Magic (Tara Knightley Series Book 1) Page 9

  “Let’s cut through the alley,” I said, pulling my focus back to what we were there to do.

  It was darker in the alley than on the roads, which had street lamps every two blocks or so. Judah and Blake let me take the lead. We stopped in the dark shadow of the side of a shed.

  “I’m going to get closer and see if I can feel the presence of the sword,” I whispered. “Wait here.”

  Blake gave me a thumbs-up. But Judah stepped forward.

  “I want to go with you,” he said. “In case you run into something unexpected.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t need protection. I’ll be fine.”

  He moved closer, so he was looking directly down into my face.

  “Tara, you’re already putting enough on the line for me.” The force and emotion behind his words surprised me. Again, this was a side of Judah I didn’t feel like I’d seen when we were teenagers. Maybe it hadn’t existed back then. “I’m not going to let you take any more risks than necessary. Please, let me go with you.”

  I didn’t need him watching out for me. I’d be safer on my own because I knew how to blend into the dark, how to move without making a noise. And if I did run into trouble, I had plenty of ways to defend myself or get away. Judah couldn’t even shift in Faerie. But with him right there, towering over me and so clearly wanting to be there in case something went wrong, I somehow couldn’t say any of those things.

  “Okay,” I said. “But if I need to go onto the property, I want you to hang back while I check it out.”

  He gave a small nod. “Agreed.”

  Blake had been standing right there, very still as she watched and listened to our exchange. But it was too dark for me to read her expression.

  Judah followed me as I slowly made my way past the back yard of the brightly lit cottage of one of Darren’s neighbors. The windows were open, and traditional Irish music spilled out. Conversation and laughter drifted to us, and several figures were moving around inside. The next house, the one next to Darren’s, was dark.

  We reached Darren’s property, which was surrounded by a waist-high picket fence. The courtyard in the back was overgrown with weeds. The smell of rotting fruit on the ground wafted from the right, where an apple tree’s branches hung thick and heavy. The guy obviously wasn’t into gardening or yard work. A couple of lights were on inside, but there was no movement or sign that anyone was home.

  Narrowing my attention to Darren’s house, I shifted my awareness to the sense that allowed me to perceive magical objects. A distinct throb, like the heartbeat of a large, slumbering animal, sang to me. The signal felt deep and strong in a way that meant it was an old artifact, something that had been magicked very long ago. I needed to get a bit closer to pick up the specific flavor of it, which should tell me whether it was a weapon or a different type of artifact.

  “I think it’s in there,” I said to Judah, my words a bare wisp of sound. “I’m going to get closer to be sure. Stay here. I’ll be quick.”

  I felt him tense and knew he wasn’t thrilled about being left behind.

  My Nikes made no noise as I crept across the alley to Darren’s fence. Not wanting to chance a squeaky gate, I backed up to get a few steps running start and then easily hurdled the splintered and peeling pickets, landing silently on the weed-choked cobblestones of the courtyard.

  Getting closer had amplified the drumbeat of the magical object inside. My pulse quickened in response. Sensing the signal was coming from the right side of the house, I skirted the property, moving around the back of the apple tree, which was positioned in the darkest corner of the courtyard and next to the silent house next door. When my shoe sank into something squishy and slick, I grimaced. My treads were going to be choked with half-rotten apples. The sweet moldy ferment of the fruit filled my nose.

  I got far enough over to spot a window cracked open on the side of the house, and in the line of sight of it, the signal intensified even more. I paused and squinted, zeroing in. It had the hard flavor of threat and violence—the signature of a magical weapon.

  Could Darren have been stupid enough to leave such a valuable object unattended near an open window?

  I sure hoped so, and I was going to find out.

  I flattened myself against the side of the house and silently side-stepped toward the window. Without looking in, I stopped and listened. Soft light spilled out. The Irish music from two houses down floated on the summer air, but I heard nothing from within Darren’s place.

  Slowly, I turned and straightened to get a look into the room. A wall with a slightly crooked painting of a battle scene came into view. I leaned to keep widening my viewing angle. The window sill was level with my forehead, so I could only see the upper half of the room. There was a doorway leading into what looked like a kitchen, where there was a ceiling fixture illuminated.

  Rising up on tiptoe, I continued my careful scan of the room. I was just about to move to the other side of the window for a different angle when there was a garbled shout from within.

  I froze.

  Then came a grunt and a loud snort. And then . . . was that snoring?

  I bit my lip, trying to decide whether I could risk peeking inside. Remembering I had a charm in the shape of a small, crescent-shaped mirror, I dug it out of the pouch on my belt. Lifting the mirror and angling it into the room, I caught a glimpse of a figure asleep in an easy chair. Same hair color as the guy in the picture Ray had sent me. Strewn around the chair were several brown bottles of Faerie brew—very strong beer by Earthly standards.

  Adrenaline zipped through me. Quickly stashing the mirror, I moved so I could look over the window sill into the room. The guy sat with one leg propped on a footstool, his head lolled to the side, and drool darkening a spot on his shirt. This was definitely Darren Baumgartner. And he appeared to be very, very drunk.

  A broadsword—Balisarde, I assumed—rested at an angle in his lap, his hand curled loosely around the hilt. Its song vibrated through my bones.

  If I could swipe the sword from Darren while he was passed out, we could get it to Killian, Laine would go free, and the whole debacle would be over. Neat and tidy.

  I had to get in there.

  Peering around for anything that might aid me, I spotted a metal bucket under the apple tree. It was half-full, as if someone had started the task of picking up the fallen apples or picking fresh fruit. I tipped the bucket to empty it.

  “Tara,” a whisper floated to me.

  I jerked upright, looking around. Judah was crouched on the other side of the fence.

  “Shh!” I hissed. “Wait there. I’m going in.”

  Before he could try to dissuade me, I stuck the bucket under my arm and hurried back to the side of the house. Using the upturned bucket as a stool gave me enough lift so I could swing one knee onto the sill.

  Carefully, I pushed up on the window. It was stiff, but it slid upward with only a soft sigh of protest. I went still, waiting to see if the noise was enough to stir Darren. He didn’t move.

  I opened the window another half-foot and pulled myself in until I was straddling the sill. Light as a ballerina, I stepped to the floor. Again, I waited. Darren only snuffled in his sleep.

  I’d made it halfway from the window to Darren when a muted metallic squeak of hinges from the front of the house pulled me up short. There was the faintest sound of movement—maybe a shoe sole brushing the floor. Then the unmistakable creak of weight on a floorboard.

  Someone else was in the house. And that someone was trying to be very quiet. Did somebody else know the sword was here?

  No. No, no, no.

  Balisarde was mine.

  On tiptoes, I hurried to Darren, careful to dodge the empty bottles.

  Goddess, the guy reeked of brew. Reaching for the blade with careful fingers to avoid touching the edge, I tugged. Darren’s fist tightened around the handle.

  Dammit.

  And I was no longer alone.

  A tall figure filled the doorway
between the room I was in and the adjoining kitchen.

  Letting go of the sword, my hands whipped to my belt. A split second later, a metal shuriken flew from my fingers, hitting the intruder square in the chest.

  He swore in pain.

  Darren began to stir.

  In stereo, two different people uttered my name at the same time. One of them was Judah at the window. The other was the intruder.

  Ignoring Judah, who wasn’t even supposed to be that close to the house, I squinted at the tall man still looming in the doorway. Suddenly, I recognized that lanky silhouette.

  “Ray?” I called, confused.

  What the hell was Ray Artois doing there trying to wrestle Balisarde from a drunk Fae?

  He was trying to get in on something that was mine.

  Bastard.

  Darren was awake. “Hey! Who the hell’re you?” he slurred at me.

  He might have been drunk, but he also had a sword that could cut through anything. And he was on his feet and starting to swing the thing around.

  I jumped back out of reach of the blade.

  “Where did you get this sword?” I hollered at Darren, dodging to the side as he clumsily came at me again.

  “There was a fight over cargo at the doorway, and the dummies dropped it,” Darren said, tightening his grip on his prize and raising it over his head. He listed unsteadily. “I picked it up and ran. Finders keepers. Those are the rules. Mine now!”

  I wasn’t sure who “they” were, but it sounded like Darren’s possession of Balisarde came at the time when the sword was about to be transported across the hedge from Faerie to the Earthly side, probably en route to delivery at Judah’s business. There was some kind of scuffle at the doorway, and Darren took advantage of it, swiping the sword.

  The sound of shuffling footsteps made me turn just in time to see Ray lunge from the doorway, past me, and tackled Darren. It was an easy takedown, as Darren had been listing unsteadily with his back to Ray. They both went down, with Ray on top.

  I threw myself onto Ray’s back. The weight of the two of us smashed down onto Darren, who hollered in pain. He was on his stomach, flattened under us, with both arms stretched out, his fists desperately clenched around the sword’s handle.

  Locking my elbow around Ray’s neck and my knees on either side of his ribs, I flexed my arm.

  “Why are you here, Artois?” I demanded through clenched teeth.

  He responded with a few strangled words I couldn’t understand. But he was still attempting to get Balisarde from Darren’s grip.

  Darren weakly waved the sword, obviously trying to whip it back at Ray, but flattened under two people, Darren’s range of motion was too limited. And he was wheezing like a dying man. Darren groaned and then stopped moving, and Ray redoubled his efforts to throw me off his back. I clung to him piggy-back style.

  Judah had pulled himself in through the window, and he crouched as if ready to spring into the fray.

  Goddess, what a shit show this had become.

  With me still on Ray’s back and trying to squeeze his airway, he managed to work the sword out of Darren’s grip. I reached for one of my knives. Viper-quick, I pressed the cold blade to Ray’s neck. Judah stood with his weight forward, obviously ready to throw himself at Ray if things took a turn against my favor, which would have been a very bad idea considering Ray had gotten a hold of Balisarde.

  “The sword is mine,” I hissed in Ray’s ear. “Drop it.”

  “You’re not going to kill me, Tara,” Ray said calmly.

  But he’d stiffened and stilled, and I knew I had his attention. I applied a bit more pressure with the knife. He could have thrown me off if he truly believed what he said, but struggling might have resulted in my blade accidentally slicing across his throat.

  “If I put the sword down and you remove your knife from my neck, we can talk about this,” Ray suggested.

  “You first,” I said. “Toss Balisarde out of reach.”

  “What about that guy?” Ray asked, gesturing at Judah.

  “He won’t touch the sword. Throw it now,” I said.

  Ray did as I asked, flinging Balisarde four feet away, and the broadsword fell heavily on the wood floor.

  “You sure, Tara?” Judah asked, eyeing Balisarde.

  “Yeah, just leave it there,” I said. I knew Ray had some ugly tricks up his sleeve, and I didn’t want to provoke him. “But if he makes a move, go for it.”

  Judah gave me a tight nod.

  I took my knife away from Ray’s throat and hopped off him, shuffling backward and positioning myself between him and Balisarde.

  “Why are you trying to take the sword?” I demanded angrily.

  I eyed Darren, hoping we hadn’t hurt him too badly. When he moaned softly, I figured we were in the clear. We hadn’t killed him, anyway.

  Ray ran his hand over his hair. “After you mentioned it, I did some more digging. I found out who’s after this sword. I have to make sure he doesn’t get it.”

  I squinted at him, fury boiling through my veins. “You asshole. How dare you try to take this out from under me? Our deal’s off. I’m not helping you with your family thing.”

  He spread his hands. “You’re right. It was an asshole move. Not normally one I would have made, but I . . . I can’t let the sword fall into certain people’s hands.”

  “Why do you care so much if Killian Abernathy gets Balisarde?” I asked, confused.

  Ray’s expression became equally confused. “Killian Abernathy? No, not him. I don’t give a shit about him.”

  “Then who the hell are you talking about?” I demanded.

  “Eric Gilligan,” Ray said. “He’s behind this.”

  “Hey, why are you guys talking about my cousin?” a female voice asked from the window.

  Ray, Judah, and I whipped around to find Blake staring in at us.

  Chapter 11

  BLAKE PEERED AROUND at each of us. “I saw Judah go inside, and when neither of you came out, I figured you might need some backup, so I—” She cut off as she caught sight of Darren, who’d gone still on the floor. “Oh damn! He’s not dead, is he?”

  She looked at me, horrified.

  “No,” I said. “You have a cousin named Eric Gilligan?”

  Blake’s dark brows lowered over her deep-blue eyes. “Yeah, why?”

  A couple of pieces clicked into place. Laine was part of this. She’d probably told her cousin Eric Gilligan about Balisarde, that the sword was in Harmony Legal’s possession. I didn’t know how Killian ended up involved, but I was almost certain that Laine was in on the whole thing. Blake seemed clueless. Or maybe she was just a very good actor.

  I stomped over to Judah and grabbed a fistful of his jacket with my free hand. I still gripped a knife in my other fist.

  “Did you have any idea?” I demanded, seething. “Did you know Laine was part of the setup?”

  His gray eyes widened, but he didn’t get agitated. “Of course not.” He held my gaze steadily, and we locked eyes. “She didn’t either. She couldn’t have.” He meant Blake.

  “What does my cousin have to do with any of this?” Blake asked, her alarm rising. “And what do you mean about Laine?”

  I let go of Judah and turned to her, my hand on my hip. “Your sister isn’t in any danger,” I said. “She and your cousin set up this whole thing.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she blinked. Cutting a glance at Judah, she said, “I-I . . . oh, no. I can’t believe this.” She covered half her face with one hand.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention over to Ray. He was starting to creep toward Balisarde. In a flash, I had a shuriken in one hand and my throwing knife poised to toss in the other.

  “Stop right there, Artois,” I said.

  Seeing the knife in my hand, he raised his arms. “I’m stopped, I’m stopped.”

  “What’s your connection to Eric Gilligan?” I asked Ray.

  Ray’s eyes flicked over to Judah and the
n Blake. “I don’t know them. I’d rather not say, especially if she’s a Gilligan.” His eyes narrowed in anger at Blake.

  Grumbling under my breath, I tucked the shuriken away, brushed past him, and bent at the waist to reach for Balisarde.

  “Don’t worry,” I said to Ray when he started to make a grab for the sword. “I’m just bringing it with us so we can talk in the next room.” To the others, I said, “Keep an eye on the unconscious guy. We’ll be right back.”

  Ray followed me into the kitchen, where I shut off the overhead light in case anyone happened to glance in through the window. When I faced him, I noticed the dark stain on the front of his light-gray shirt—the spot where I’d hit him with the pointy end of a shuriken.

  “Please,” I said through clenched teeth. “Explain to me why you went behind my back about the sword.” I lifted it, brandishing the blade with an irritated shake of my hand.

  He put one hand on his hip, and with the other, he reached up to rub at the back of his head.

  “First of all, I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. It was a shitty thing to do to you. But this is a personal matter for me.”

  “Who is Eric Gilligan to you?”

  By the weak light leaking in from the street, I watched his face tighten.

  “His people were part of a plot against my family,” Ray said in a stony voice I’d never heard from him before. “It’s a long story.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Does it have something to do with the thing you wanted me to help you locate?”

  “In a roundabout way, yes. And I’m not surprised a Gilligan was behind this. The Gilligan clan is nothing but dirty thieves. They—”

  “Watch how you speak of thievery,” I cut in.

  “You’re a retriever. You’re not a thief like they are.”

  I moved my knife hand in a rolling motion. “Anyway. The Gilligan clan and your family.”

  “They helped get the Artois clan kicked out of the Elf kingdom a couple of generations ago,” Ray said. “We’ve been trying to gain back our rightful place ever since.”

  We? I was surprised he felt so strongly about this supposed betrayal of the Fae line of his family.