Sample Chapters

When Magic Burns

#3 in the Darkly Fae series

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CHAPTER ONE

Peter Duncan stepped through the veil.

He had never done that before. Despite half a lifetime as a seer guard, despite growing up in a family whose service to the unseelie fae dated back countless generations, despite being good friends with several fae of the clan Moraine, he had never once passed through the invisible barrier between the human realm and the fae.

Until today.

As he crossed the magical fence, a border protected by the strongest dark magic around, he clutched the note—the request—the command—tight in his fist. Most people would have turned away in inexplicable terror long before reaching this point. The fear that the veil projected did not affect him as strongly as it would an ordinary human. But it still tickled him. Still urged him to run the other way.

Duty compelled him forward.

Your presence is required at the palace. Immediately.

The note wasn't signed, but Peter knew it came from the Moraine. He recognized Cathair's looping script and excessively formal language. The fox stamped into the wax that sealed the note had been a bit of a clue, too, what with that being the clan symbol and all.

And so he left his post at the sanctuary—immediately—and headed straight for the veil. Of course, Peter had no idea how to find the palace once he got inside, never having been there before, but he was hoping that instinct and an abundance of charm would see him through.

If Peter was being honest with himself, which he tried never to be, he was more than a little nervous about this call to the palace. It wasn't only the magic-instilled fear of the veil, either. It was fear of fae wrath. He couldn't remember doing anything deserving of punishment. But that didn't mean that the fae hadn't deemed him guilty of some offense. And he tended to play fast and loose with the policies of the seer guard. Maybe he had crossed a line.

Fae tended to be fickle creatures who could sometimes change their minds at the whim of the breeze. He'd always had good relations with the Moraine, but he wasn't taking that for granted.

Rather than let his worry show on his face, he did what he always did. He smiled.

What happened next was a blur. One second he was walking toward what looked like a hint of a dirt path in the forest floor, the next he was dangling several inches off the ground with a hand around his throat.

"Who are you, human?" a rough, female voice demanded.

Peter tried to speak, but since his throat was currently being crushed by the vice grip of what he could only assume was a fierce fae guard, he couldn't exactly get the words out.

"What?" she demanded. "Speak!"

Peter wrapped his hands around her wrist and tugged—gently, just enough to (hopefully) indicate that he couldn't speak when she was cutting off his air supply. Whether or not that message actually got through, she dropped him to the ground, spun him to face away from her, and—before he could so much as blink—shoved what felt like a knife blade against the side of his neck.

"You have precisely three seconds to explain yourself," she said, "or your blood will nourish the earth beneath your feet."

"Is that three seconds from now?" Peter asked. "Or three seconds from when you started talking?"