Faery Dust (Wildcat Wizard Book 2) Read online

  The life of a wizard, and a criminal one at that, was no white collar job. I dealt with the nasties, the scum of the earth, with dangerous items and even more dangerous people, and I was still learning how to be a father. I was set in my ways, crawling through my forties, and she'd just shown up and never left. Not that I wanted her to, I loved her and loved her company.

  Usually.

  This anger was on a whole other level to any of the usual arguments or problems we'd had. We were, rather surprisingly, good friends as well as there being a definite father and daughter boundary, which was as it should be, or so I thought.

  I'd clearly done something wrong though, and this was the catalyst. Memories she'd hidden bubbled up and I felt to blame. What had I done to bring this on? Had I shouted, been dismissive? Rude? Inconsiderate? Probably, but so was everyone, including George.

  "I'm sorry. I don't know how he does that, it's an elf thing.

  "He was an elf?" squealed Vicky, annoyed as hell she'd missed out, but her concern for George outweighed her curiosity, so this was serious. Very serious.

  "You let him freeze us like we were... were..."

  "Insects in amber," I added helpfully. Yeah, I know, slap me now. Hard.

  George and Vicky glared at me.

  "It's a violation. It's... it's... I don't like being made helpless like that." George collapsed against the island and as her blotchy skin faded so her tears fell.

  I can't do tears, it makes me want to pat people on the head and say stupid stuff. I exchanged a look with Vicky and she shook her head, saying she had no idea what it was about. "What happened?" she mouthed silently. I shrugged, feeling lame. George was never this emotional, she never shouted like that either, not once.

  "What's going on here? I didn't mean to boss you about. Can you tell us about the, er..." My words were getting garbled. I didn't know what to think or say, how far I should pursue this, if at all. Knowing I had to try, I stepped cautiously around the island and placed an arm on George's shoulder as lightly as I could, holding back from saying, "There, there, want a biscuit?"

  Her body went rigid and she spun angrily, arm slapping mine away as if I were contaminated.

  "You left me, you left me with her and those... those people. You abandoned me."

  Then she lunged at me and I panicked and put my hands to my face, thinking she would claw me with her long, perfectly manicured nails, painted pale pink with cutesy stars on.

  But she didn't. She wrapped her slender arms around me and hugged and squeezed then clutched me tight and her nails raked not my skin but my shirt, grabbing me, pulling me hard as if to climb inside me and hide from all the bad things in the world.

  This was the moment I had dreaded since she came to me. It was inevitable, and we hadn't talked about it. George refused to say what had happened while she lived with her mother. Now it would come out and it wouldn't be pretty.

  You abandoned me. The words echoed around my skull and I flushed with shame. I wanted to scream, "I didn't know about you, I swear," but that's no excuse, not when your daughter is crying in your arms.

  I should have known. Somehow, I should have known and been there to protect her. But I couldn't do it now so what chance had there been of me doing it then?

  Complications

  George's mum was an addict. Not a drug addict, booze addict, pill addict, sex addict—although I'm sure that's why I stayed with her as long as I did—but just an addict. She had been strong once, a witch amongst witches, but the drive needed to be a powerful practitioner became her downfall. All magic users have something wonky inside, if they didn't they'd never get far. You had to have incredible focus and determination and be prepared for years of grueling study and practice. She was single-minded and addicted to the power, and it turned her against me, against herself.

  We were both mid-twenties when we hooked up, and split up several times, always getting back together. I loved her, what can I say? I put up with the wildness, the temper, the brief descents into madness, and the times when she lost control of herself and drank until she was comatose for weeks on end. Sometimes I joined her.

  Finally it got too much and we broke it off. There was a massive argument and she left. I didn't see her again for several years, never knew I had a daughter until George turned up. Before her mother had died she'd told her about me. Somehow, and it wouldn't have been easy, George found me at the farm. To this day I don't know how.

  From the conversations we'd had, I knew George's life had been hard. Brought up, more like dragged up, by a woman who forfeit magic for other substances to abuse, falling in with the wrong crowds and the wrong men, sinking lower year after year. Drugs, booze, petty crime with what magic she clung to, it would have been ugly.

  I heard snippets about the woman over the years from people in the game, but I stayed away. It wasn't my place. I was just one in a long line of men that came and went with increasing frequency the lower she sank. But I never knew about the kid. She wasn't in my world, was part of the crowds any respectable criminal avoided. Nothing but trouble.

  George told me little of any of it, just that she'd had a tough time and learned how to take care of herself. She immersed herself in magic and that was what saved her. She became strong enough to survive, kept herself clean and got herself to school, but left as soon as she could, which wasn't long after she came to me. Since then she'd focused on magic and learning, but she had a long road ahead.

  All of this meant nothing when I sat at my kitchen table and stared at my daughter, face red, eyes wet, sleeves of her pretty blouse soaked and her makeup running. Her head was down and her shoulders were slumped.

  Vicky sat next to me, both of us across from George, and I said, "Tell me."

  George lifted her head and I could have died from sadness right there and then. She looked truly broken. "I can't."

  "A man did things to you?" I asked. George nodded. "Did he...?"

  "No, not that. But he wanted to. Someone mum knew, a lowlife dealer. He was always around. When mum was zonked out he'd... Ugh. I can't."

  "Arthur, bugger off," said Vicky.

  "Eh, what?"

  "I said go away and don't come back until I tell you." Vicky was in mom mode, and you didn't argue.

  Not knowing what to do, I left without saying a word, the note from Elion still untouched on the table. I went out my missing front door and stared around the courtyard. It felt odd that the world was still spinning, that the chickens—now three missing—were still pecking in the mud and weeds, the sun was shining, and birds were chirping happily at the feeders.

  I milled about for what felt like an eternity but was only a few minutes.

  "Dad? Can you come back in?" said George from the doorway.

  I nodded, and it was with a heavy heart I crossed the cobbles and took my boots off before returning to the kitchen.

  "You have to kill someone. Now," said Vicky. She wasn't joking. I turned to George and saw a hardness under the misery.

  Guess she was just like her dad. Nobody fucked with me and lived either.

  "George?"

  "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to be so mean. That, that Elion, he brought back memories. Bad ones. I'm sorry."

  "No, I'm sorry. For him coming here, for what he did. It won't happen again. I'll see to it. You want to tell me what happened? What you told Vicky?"

  George shook her head, her wide lips pouting, her hair tangled and wild, still beautiful as was everything about my daughter. "I can't."

  "But you want this man dead? He deserves that?"

  George, my darling, innocent, sweet, teenage daughter, jutted her chin and stared at me without blinking. "Yes." She didn't look away, have doubts, or feel bad in any way for what she wanted. All I saw was the pain inside and the pain she knew I felt, Vicky too.

  "Okay. Let's go."

  I have to say, I was rather surprised when she got up and said, "I'll get cleaned up first."

  Vicky and I watched as she left to so
rt herself out.

  When she was gone, I asked Vicky, "What did she tell you?"

  "There are things a father doesn't need to know, Arthur, not about his little girl. Just kill the bastard and never, and I mean ever," she warned, "talk about it again."

  "Okay," I said reluctantly.

  Vicky, all five feet nothing and weighing less than a bag of spuds, got right up in my face and waggled her finger in front of me. "I mean it. I know you, and I know you talk too much and do stupid stuff. But this time you have to do as I tell you. If a man did that to my girls I'd kill him in a heartbeat and smile as he died. Understand?"

  I nodded. I understood.

  I'd kill the man that hurt my little girl and spit on him as he breathed his last.

  This was personal, and The Hat may get up to what Vicky liked to call his gangster games, but when it came to family he didn't play. He went old school on their asses.

  Apologies and Insights

  Finding things was what I did, that and stealing them and selling them for money or doing swapsies—you give me your magical item, I'll give you the one I just nicked from someone who didn't deserve it as much as I deserve what you're offering.

  People were easier to find than a small box containing a magical ring or an invisible cloak, although that's probably stating the obvious. Hell, at this time I was still looking for a shirt I knew was in my wardrobe somewhere, but finding Peter Blakeley was a helluva lot easier although I drew no satisfaction from it.

  It took one phone call to a certain lowlife who owed me big time to track this guy down. He'd apparently gone up in the world since the days when he dealt to strung out mothers and abused their kids, but by all accounts—and my informant wasn't exactly Mr. Reliable—he still liked them young.

  In one hell of a bad mood after my phone call, I took a moment to settle my nerves before plastering a fake smile on my face and leaving my house with George and Vicky in tow. The place was wide open. No door, no wards surrounding the gap where it should be. Our home was utterly unprotected but it would have to wait. Daughters came before possessions. Everything did.

  From the depths of George's designer handbag a tune played and she pulled out her phone, which made more sense than a musical bag. But I was out of touch with da youth so anything was possible. She answered the call, had a brief conversation, then hung up.

  "Smarty will come and fix the door. Said it'll take an hour, but he'll charge just for materials."

  "You asked someone now?" I was shocked, but George had always been practical and efficient when she wanted to be.

  "Yeah," she said, like it was entirely natural.

  "Um, okay." Daughters are the single most perplexing thing in the universe, and I've been about, seen plenty.

  Her phone rang again and she answered with a frown. "Hello?"

  She listened, her eyes growing wide then angry, then said, "Fine." George tapped her phone then growled, "Okay, you're on loudspeaker." She beckoned me over and Vicky and I crowded around her, confused.

  "This is Elion. Before you say anything, please listen. George, I apologize. I can't stand to see one so young in so much pain. You will have told Arthur by now, or some of it at least. Never keep the hurt inside, I know from experience it eats you away. Go deal with your enemy. And Arthur?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Get to work. I am a patient elf, but I have my limits. I did you a favor, now you do me one."

  He was gone.

  "Goddammit, I hate it when he does things like that," I grumbled.

  "He did it on purpose?" asked George, not quite following.

  "Yeah, looks like it. He's an elf, love, they see things, they know things. He may be a Fallen, and a daft cu—"

  "Dad!"

  "Sorry. A dangerous man, er, elf, but he's kind too, in his own annoying way. That's why he's here and not with his pointy eared buddies."

  "You mean he's a Fallen because he does nice things?" asked Vicky.

  "Kind of, it's complicated. Tell you another time. George, you okay? I'm sorry, elves like to play their games."

  "He did me a favor," she said. "Guess I owe him, kinda."

  "No, he did it to get high, feed off your emotions. He'll be standing in front of a mirror now, fondling his nipples and..." I trailed off after seeing the stares I was getting. Guess this wasn't the appropriate time to be saying such things.

  "Dick," said George as she punched me lovingly in the balls.

  While I cried and practiced changing colors and slowly figured out how to breathe, the gorgeous, very smart, oh so wise women in my life got in the car and waited for me impatiently.

  All I could think of was who the hell had a name like Smarty? Was it a boy? Duh, of course. But a friend? New boyfriend? She had one already, didn't she?

  Damn but it was hard being a dad. There should've been a book but I guess it would be too big, and what father would have time when they were busy being punched, shouted at, or saying sorry?

  I'd still have bought it. I could have ripped a fat stack of pages out and stuck them down my boxer shorts.

  Trippy Drive

  I never slept. I would lie down, close my eyes, and worry. Worry about not sleeping. About the lives I'd taken. Stress about death, panic about the countless criminals I knew, and construct devilishly clever escapades where I was sure to come out on top but always seemed ridiculous when dawn broke and everything took on a different tone.

  I'd been that way for years. I don't even recall when I'd last had a proper sleep in that time, and since George entered my life the insomnia took on a whole new meaning. Since that first evening when she appeared at my door and we stayed up all night talking and getting to know each other, I went from sleep deprived to full-blown insomniac. Often I would get up and leave, off to the city to do what I did best. Although I'd always try to get home for breakfast.

  My days were often a blur though. I worked on auto-pilot, going through the motions, sometimes hyped, other times almost comatose.

  Magic fueled me, saw me through until I could take no more and the mini-death of sleep finally wrapped me in its cold, uncaring arms and I found sanctuary and oblivion for a few blissful hours.

  As I drove from the small terraced house where one of the Gates of Bakaudif led to our home in Cornwall, I crashed hard from the adrenaline of earlier and failed to keep my thoughts focused. I was dazed, confused, and well and truly bruised in the nether regions. The night before had been one of the worse ones. My insomnia had been exacerbated by the thing with the vampires. Guilt mixed with anger and resentment at being abused by Cerberus, and Nathan in particular, and I guess there was a touch of self-recrimination in there as well. I was annoyed with myself for my stupidity, for taking something without having all the details first.

  The deep ache in my heart, not to mention my dingle dongle, didn't help me stay focused, and even with potent magic thrumming through my system, almost screaming to obliterate my enemy, I found it impossible to think ahead. Not that I'd ever been big on plans.

  I felt trippy and lightheaded, discombobulated and like I wasn't quite Arthur but was floating above him looking down on his lovely pork pie hat and thinking he should shave and had he remembered his wand. Checking the specially made deep pocket at my right thigh I calmed as I felt hard wood—watch it!—the sigils carved and created by my own hand almost burning into my leg so keen were they for blood.

  I shook my head, my hair tickling my neck and bringing me back to a semblance of reality. To the now, where my daughter needed me and I was to kill a man because she wanted me to. The drive from our home to the barn and the walk through the portal to the city was little but part of a waking dream, and I knew I had to get it together if I was to do what needed to be done.

  "Who's Smarty?" I asked, the concern about the boy a distraction from darker more spirit-destroying events to come. "What kind of name is that?"

  "Arthur!" Vicky slapped my thigh and George groaned from the back seat.

  "What? I don'
t want my daughter hanging around with people called Smarty. That's not a proper name, sounds stupid."

  "Um, Dad," said George already laughing, "you know you're called The Hat, right?"

  I stroked the brim and said, "Exactly. That's a proper name, means something."

  "That you wear a hat," said Vicky, looking at me funny.

  "Shut up." I focused on the driving as we hit a less than favorable part of the city. I knew it well; I spent a lot of time in unfavorable places, most of my life in fact.

  "He's called Smarty because he likes smarties. You know, the colored sweets."

  "I know what a bloody smarty is," I mumbled, knowing I wasn't that past it. "Is he a boyfriend? What happened to the old one?"

  "Dad!" I glanced in the rearview and my daughter didn't cease to amaze me. Here I was trying to lighten the mood and take her mind off things and she was blushing about a boy even though we were off to perform a hit.

  "Just asking," I said, winking at Vicky who smiled back, knowing what I was up to. She had two girls she doted on and ran herself ragged over so knew every trick in the book and had taught me a thing or two.

  Coming back to my senses after the banter, I pulled over to the curb and parked up. "We're here."

  A Father's Wrath

  "That him?" I asked, turning to George.

  She nodded, not taking her eyes off the man. Her face was a mask of fear, her skin so pale I could see blue veins pulsing on her temple. Her eyes were hard and her hands shook so much she clasped them tight. Still they shook.

  I knew her mind would be reeling. That she was confused, scared, angry at herself for feeling that way, and full of hatred for this man.

  Me too.

  I was her father and I would do as she asked, even though I thought it was a terrible idea.

  "Wait here," I said before I got out of the car.

  For once, Vicky didn't argue, knowing George needed the company.

  I closed the door then leaned back in through the open window. "You sure about this?" I asked.