Faerie Wrath: The Changeling Chronicles Book 4 (Paperback)

On light feet, I stalked across the living room floor towards my target. The sword sheathed at my waist was sharper than any instrument that existed in the mortal realm, forged in wood that came from the heart of the faerie realm. I had several daggers in my pockets, too, along with an array of handmade witch charms, and I was no slouch in hand-to-hand combat either.

None of those things were any use whatsoever when the enemy was dead.

I’d had more experience with ghosts than most people in the room, but being buddies with a necromancer Guardian was no help whatsoever against the living.

“It destroyed my house!” screeched the middle-aged woman cowering behind the sofa. “I want compensation!”

Honestly, I didn’t blame the ghost for staying out of sight, given that she’d spent the past half-hour screaming loudly enough to fracture my eardrums, but not being able to see my target was a major downside. If I hadn’t been carrying a saltshaker instead of a sword, I might have looked a little more impressive, but no luck there either. Just call me Ivy Lane, mercenary-turned-exorcist.

“Ivy,” Isabel called across the room. “The trap’s ready.”

“Good.” We’d put a circle of salt around the perimeter and blocked off the hall, but the kitchen and living room were joined by a single door and were crammed with so many antiques that the house might as well have had a sign on its roof advertising the bill we’d have to pick up if our elusive spirit caused any more mayhem. 

I continued on my path across the room, testing every step carefully. Poltergeists were notorious pranksters, and this one had already tripped up the necromancer apprentice, Colby, causing him to face-plant into his own trapping spell. Spirit banishment was usually the sort of job given to necromancers alone, but their guild was swamped with requests to put down wandering undead, so the woman who owned this house had called Isabel and me instead. After a fierce debate with the necromancer guild’s leader, we’d managed to secure an apprentice to accompany us, but Colby occupied such a low spot in the guild’s hierarchy that he was practically squatting in the basement.

“What are you doing?” Mrs Bennet watched from behind the sofa with reproachful eyes. “Where’s the ghost?”

“Same place it always was.” I kept my eyes on the corner where the necromancer apprentice claimed the spirit was hiding. Since he was the one with the spirit sight, I’d have to take his word for it. Unlike the faeries, no bait would work on the dead, so my only option was to use force.

I sprinkled the salt onto the floor near the ghost’s hiding spot. Isabel watched, looking far more the part of an exorcist than I did with the array of witch charms and protective symbols chalked on her brown arms. At her side was the decidedly less impressive necromancer apprentice looked decidedly less impressive. Skinny and pale, Colby was eighteen at most and kept tripping over the end of a coat made for someone half a foot taller than him. If I’d been Lord Evander, I wouldn’t have sent him on his first real mission alongside a former mercenary who had to keep biting her tongue to avoid telling Mrs Bennet exactly where to shove her antique china. I’d also have told him to stop glancing over at the doorway into the hall, where Isabel had employed an illusion spell to hide the trap he’d set up for the ghost, before he gave the game away.

Not that the ghost had anywhere to run. I threw more salt in a diagonal pattern, covering the area near the room’s corner. Salt couldn’t actively harm ghosts, but if a spirit managed to solidify, being doused in salt would supposedly cause it to dissolve into ectoplasm. Not that this spirit was that strong, but instinct would drive the ghost avoid the areas of the room we’d covered in salt. Sure enough, the faint hint of a breeze on the back of my neck indicated my target was on the move.

“You,” said Mrs Bennet, “are ruining my carpets. What are you doing?”

The macarena, I thought at her, sidestepping the pile of stuffing that had once been three cushions. The poltergeist had torn up half the furniture before we’d got here, and I might have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t spent the past half-hour berating us for not performing an exorcism to her satisfaction.

A breeze lifted my hair again, and I turned, my gaze following the flutter of curtains and the faint rattle of cabinet doors. Isabel and I locked eyes and nodded, envisioning our invisible menace nearing the trap. 

“Gotcha.” I stepped forward, and a loud creak halted me in my tracks. 

One of the cabinets gave an alarming wobble, and then an expensive-looking plate clattered to the ground.

“What?” I stared. “The trap’s supposed to negate kinetic energy, isn’t it?”

“The ghost isn’t in the trap!” The necromancer apprentice threw his arms over his head as a plate soared at him and shattered against the back wall.

Mrs Bennet screeched like a fire engine. Tearing her straggling grey hair from its roots, she advanced on Isabel and me. “You vandals.”

“Wait, don’t step in the trap—” Isabel started to protest, too late. When Mrs Bennet reached the doorway, the illusion concealing the trap fell away and vibrant red bars enclosed the old woman.

Another plate flew across the room and hit the back wall in a shower of broken china. Mrs Bennet screamed again. My eardrums burned.

“What—?” I spun on my heel as three plates flew to the ceiling and smashed, trying to pinpoint where they’d been thrown from, but the one person in the room with spirit sight had ducked behind the sofa to avoid being struck by a flying plate.

“Colby!” I yelled at him. “Tell us where the spirit is!”

Isabel, as a witch, couldn’t see the runaway poltergeist, either. She moved towards the screaming old woman instead, while I ducked more projectiles and waved the saltshaker in all directions in the hopes of hitting my target. 

“Stop wrecking my furniture and get me out of here!” screamed Mrs Bennet.

I very nearly said it was an improvement to have her behind bars where she wouldn’t get under our feet, but I somehow managed to hold my tongue. As I marched over to the necromancer apprentice, an armchair swung around and knocked me off my feet. I landed in a roll, coming upright with the taste of salt on my tongue.

Isabel knelt down and began trying to free Mrs Bennet from the trap, while I grabbed Colby by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away from the sofa. “Set up another trap. Or let me do it. How’d you misjudge where it was hiding?”

Another crash. Bits of china showered over our heads and forced Isabel to go into retreat. Mrs Bennet stomped her feet and yelled, but her hands passed straight through the transparent lines forming the cage and she was unable to free herself.

“I swear the spirit was right there.” Colby rubbed his arm where a larger piece of china had struck him. “I don’t know how it tricked me.”

“You’re supposed to be the expert.” Wait a moment. “There isn’t more than one, is there?” Two ghosts tag-teaming would explain how they’d got the jump on us so easily.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I saw something in that corner, though, I swear.”

“Great.” 

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Isabel crouch again. When the trap switched off, Mrs Bennett sprinted across the room and tripped headlong over an armchair. At the side, three mugs left the cabinet and started juggling themselves in midair.

“Colby, give me the spare salt.” I took the saltshaker from him and tossed it to Isabel, who took careful aim at the cabinet. Between us, we might have a chance of salvaging this situation… if Mrs Bennet didn’t thwart us again.

Isabel threw half the container of salt towards the cabinet. There wasn’t much space in the room that was salt-free at this point. Including Mrs Bennet, who remained hunched on the armchair and didn’t seem inclined to get out of our way.

Colby and I edged along the back wall, ducking around the framed pictures of mountain scenery that had somehow remained in place throughout all the chaos. A sudden cold laugh echoed around the room, sharp as a shock of icy water. Mrs Bennet screamed again, this time in pure terror, while the necromancer apprentice lost his head altogether. He broke away from the wall and legged it across the room.

“Don’t!” I yelled, too late. 

A frying pan sailed out of the kitchen and struck him in the back of his head. Colby dropped to the floor like a stone.

“Oh, shit.” From this distance, he looked dazed, not unconscious, but the laughter had sent Mrs Bennet into mild hysterics. She flailed and screamed and tore at the armchair, as though she hoped it’d portal her into another dimension far away from here. 

Enough of this. I took my own salt canister and caught Isabel’s eye. In unison, we took aim, scanning the room. A rustle of wind stirred my hair, telling me that the spirit was on the move again, but we’d lost our one team member with the spirit sight and might as well be fighting in the dark.

Another laugh sounded. A mug shattered overhead, followed by a second, and then a warning creak drew my attention back to the picture frames. Uh-oh. One of the frames began shaking violently, sending bits of plaster dust raining down onto the carpet.

“Watch out!” Isabel ran, and so did I, as the giant wooden-framed landscape on the back wall crashed to the floor in a shower of glass.

“Vandals!” Mrs Bennet howled. “Stop!”

Apparently, the ghost wanted her to shut up, too, because the huge wooden frame lifted upwards and tilted towards the woman cowering on the sofa.

I didn’t stop to think. I pulled the sword from its sheath at my side, pointed it at the painting, and shot a stream of vibrant blue energy across the room. Instead of landing on its owner, the heavy wooden frame was sent flying back into the kitchen doorway in a flare of light that shattered what remained of the glass.

Mrs Bennet whimpered, gawping at me. “What—magic—?” 

“Witch magic,” I said to her in explanation. She wouldn’t know any better. I was the only person in the room who could see and use faerie magic, let alone wield a sword forged by the Sidhe themselves. The pleased hum in my hands reminded me it’d been a while since I’d used it on a job, let alone on a more challenging adversary than a pesky ghost.

I re-sheathed the sword and walked past a shell-shocked Mrs Bennet to Isabel. She crouched in the doorway, checking Colby’s pulse. 

“He’s all right, I think. A healing spell will sort him out.”

“Except he can’t see our ghost.” Even my unusual ability to cross the veil at will didn’t give me any capacity to see spirits in the waking world, and I doubted old Frank would be pleased if I broke my resolution. I’d promised to keep the number of impromptu trips to the other side to a minimum, but in situations like this, it was difficult to resist.

The blue glow from my sheathed sword grew brighter. Okay… that’s odd. The sword was supposed to react to faeries, not ghosts.

I crouched beside Colby, whose eyelids flickered. “Hey. Where’s that spirit sensor of yours?”

He gave an incoherent groan. I sighed inwardly and dug into the pocket of his ridiculously overlong coat. A remote control-shaped device covered in dials bleeped and flashed blue. Spirit sensors were around ten percent accurate, but somehow the necromancers had never come up with something better, so we were stuck with it. The sensor continued to beep, the sound growing louder as another breeze lifted the hairs on my scalp. There weren’t many hiding places left.

The armchair slid across the floor with Mrs Bennet still lying on it. She uttered a squawk of fear, hanging on for dear life.

Isabel lifted her container of salt. I did likewise, giving up on the spirit sensor for now, and we took aim at the armchair from both sides. The chair screeched to a halt as the twin streams of salt sent the spirit fleeing towards the only remaining route of escape.

I didn’t need to have a spirit sensor in hand to see the moment the trapping spell activated again. Reddish bars appeared once more, and a flickering shape materialised within. Greyish and indistinct, it formed a vaguely humanoid outline, surprisingly small for something that had caused so much destruction.

“Finally.” I high-fived Isabel with the hand that still clutched the saltshaker. Job done, and with minimal damage. Well, aside from Mrs Bennet’s house, but she’d caused half the chaos herself by being so bloody obstinate. 

The spirit sensor gave another shrill beep. I lifted my gaze. “Colby, is this thing defective?”

“Maybe it’s reacting to the trap.” Isabel jumped, too, when a distinct thud sounded from upstairs. “Is there anyone up there?”

Mrs Bennet sobbed, clinging to the armchair with both hands. “No! What is happening in my house?”

“Very good question.” There was undeniably a ghost caught in the trap, but the distinct noise from upstairs reawakened my theory that there was more than one spirit present. “Colby?”

He half-lay against the wall, drooling, totally out of it.

Isabel lifted her gaze. “Is there another ghost up there? If there is…” 

“We need a second trap.” More crashing sounded overhead, and I shot Isabel an alarmed look as I sprinted into the hall. 

In its sheath, my sword’s glow grew brighter, illuminating the path through the shadows encasing the stairs. No fucking way. Actual ghosts were supposed to be a rarity anyway, because the necromancer Guardians quickly sent any wayward spirits over the veil. A good job, considering how incompetent the living necromancers were, but to have two spirits in one house was less likely than stumbling upon a cache of gold while raiding a troll’s nest. Let alone a ghost that triggered my fae-sensitive sword.

I took the stairs three at a time and ran out into the landing, hearing more crashes from behind a closed door. I waved the saltshaker, wishing I hadn’t used most of the contents up on the downstairs rooms. “Show yourself.”

The door flew open, and a powerful gust of wind practically shoved me into the bedroom. Drawers flew left and right, spilling their contents on the carpet. A chair flew at me, and when I ducked, it struck the inside of the door frame, its wooden legs breaking off. Another laugh followed, sending chills down my back. The dead were hardly the biggest danger out there in the night, but disembodied laughter would be enough to send even the most fearless mercenary fleeing in the opposite direction.

“Very scary.” I began sprinkling a line of salt along the doorway to stop the spectre from escaping into the landing. Unfortunately, Mrs Bennet had left the window open, so I could only hope that the spirit was getting too much of a kick out of causing chaos in the house to fly off into the night.

“Someone bring more salt up here!” I called downstairs, ducking another airborne desk chair that left a fist-sized dent in the wall where it struck. I didn’t have enough salt to cover the whole room, but I’d start with the window and go from there.

As I ran that way, the bed slid towards me along the thickly carpeted floor. I jumped, using the bed as a spring, and landed in a forward roll, aiming my saltshaker at the area in front of the window. Right. Now I’ve got it enclosed in one room.

The door slammed behind me.

“Ah.” I tensed. “Er… Isabel?”

More laughter sounded, and invisible hands tore at my hair, yanking me backwards.

“Hey!” I swatted at the air, half-falling against the bed. This spirit had some nerve. Most couldn’t muster enough energy to grab onto a living person. All they could do was throw shit around. This one was far stronger than it should be.

I tugged my hair free and flung the saltshaker into the air, but barely a sprinkle escaped. Crap. I was all out. My hands went to my sword instead, though it’d have zero effect against a ghost. Why was it glowing? Mrs Bennet didn’t have a piskie infestation as well as a ghost one, did she?

“Ivy Lane,” hissed a whispering voice.

I froze, my hand on the hilt. “What? You can speak?”

More to the point, it knew my name. Spirits usually weren’t able to communicate with anyone but a necromancer. Hence why people who didn’t know better opted for Ouija Boards and other questionable tactics. Mrs Bennet had only noticed her unwelcome visitor when it started destroying her upholstery. 

“Ivy Lane,” repeated the spirit.

“What?” I dropped my gaze to the blade sheathed at my side, its bluish glow as bright as when I stood nose to nose with a faerie. This was no common spirit.

A flickering shape appeared on the ceiling, upside-down and grinning. Four feet tall, its most dominant feature was its wide mouth full of sharpened teeth. A hobgoblin.

I was right. This was no ordinary ghost. It was a half-faerie.

Unlike regular faeries, half-bloods passed over the veil when they died. Pure faeries could die, in very rare circumstances, but as far as I was aware, they didn’t leave a ghost behind in the same way. My sword’s pulsing glow had never reacted to a spirit before, but I didn’t go out of my way to put myself in situations where half-fae ghosts crossed my path.

“What do you want with me?”

“Entertainment.” The hobgoblin offered me an upside-down grin. “I’ve heard all about you, Ivy Lane.”

“You shouldn’t even be able to speak.”

“Or do this?”

The bed rose into the air, sending me sliding onto the floor. One of the daggers I carried in my pocket came loose and rose upward, forcing me to roll over to avoid being stabbed by my own weapon.

That’s what I get for bringing a knife to a ghost fight. The knife whizzed around in midair, and I ducked again, unable to believe the spirit had that level of control. What the hell kind of power trip was this ghost on?

My blade hummed as I drew on its power to enhance my speed far beyond my normal human instincts, leaping onto the dresser. “Am I entertaining you?” I yelled over my shoulder, as the chest of drawers creaked and tipped, spilling half its contents onto the floor.

Outside, someone thumped on the door. 

“Don’t come in!” I warned. “This one won’t be contained in a trap.” 

Not strictly true, but I was officially over being made a fool of. I withdrew my sword from its sheath in a shower of blue light. The spirit, being half-blood, would be able to see exactly how fearsome the blade looked when I held the sword high, letting the bright-blue light envelop the room. 

“This is your last warning.”

I’d used my magic to knock ghosts around when the veil had been low and death energy had been flying around everywhere. I didn’t have a clue whether it’d work now, but the ghost’s transparent face showed a flicker of fear. “That magic you wield is not meant for humans.”

“Tough shit. Get down from there, or I’ll make you wish you’d never learned my name.”

The door flew open, and Isabel ran into the room. She held up the spirit sensor, which I must have dropped on the way in. “Where is it?”

“On the ceiling, but—”

She hit the sensor. A jet of pure white shot out, and the hobgoblin let go of the ceiling light. The ghost screamed, writhed, and then exploded in a shower of green slime.

“Oops,” said Isabel. “I didn’t know that’d happen.”

Pushing slime-soaked hair from my eyes, I turned to her. “What was that?”

“Necromancer emergency backup weapon. I think it has concentrated salt in it. So that’s what happens when you use it on a ghost. I did wonder.” She gave me a shaky smile. “Now that’s an idea for a new tripwire spell.”

“Ghostbusters, eat your heart out.” I shook more ectoplasm off my sleeve. “How the hell are we meant to explain this to the mage council?”