Magic Harvest Read online

  Also by Mary Karlik

  THE FAIRY TRAFFICKING SERIES

  Magic Harvest

  Magic Heist

  * * *

  THE HICKVILLE HIGH SERIES

  Welcome to Hickville High

  Hickville Confessions

  Hickville Redemption

  Hickville Confidential

  First Published by Ink Monster, LLC in 2018

  Ink Monster, LLC

  4470 W Sunset Blvd

  Suite 145

  Los Angeles, CA 90027

  www.inkmonster.net

  * * *

  ISBN 9781943858460

  * * *

  Copyright © 2018 by Ink Monster LLC

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To Suzanne Mayer

  When I was fifteen, you loaned me The Chronicles of Narnia, and a world opened to me that I couldn’t quite leave behind.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Magic Heist

  Hickville High

  Deadly Sweet

  To the Reader

  Acknowledgments

  About Mary Karlik

  Chapter One

  It was early morning, but already the sun had filtered through the leaves to warm the fairy cottage nestled between the twisted roots of the cottonwood tree. A cloud drifted away from the sun, allowing a single ray of light to make its way through the window and on to the wooden planks of the tabletop.

  Layla poured tea and slid a cup through the sunbeam to rest in front of her sister’s empty chair. “You’re not going to the fête. The dragons would like nothing more than to make a fine afternoon snack out of unsuspecting fey.”

  “Dragons. Seriously? There haven’t been dragons for years.” Ignoring the tea, Esme stood behind her chair and continued her plea. “It’s the biggest celebration of the year. I’m sixteen. Well old enough to go without you or your permission.” She unfurled her wings adding an extra flip at the tips as if to prove the point.

  Layla choked the cup cradled in her hands—better that than her sister’s neck. Aye, Esme was old enough to go alone and had been for three years, but had never pushed it before. Just the thought of her sister’s going brought a variety of bone-chilling, breath-stealing, heart-stopping scenarios to mind. But clearly, telling Esme she couldn’t go wasn’t going to stop her.

  No. To keep her sister home and safe, she’d have to stay calm and try reason. “The whole thing is madness. Year after year, fairies too drunk and distracted to see danger coming. It should have been stopped after the massacre.”

  Esme jutted her jaw. “Are you really my sister? Because you sound more like a grandmother. Aye, there’s drink and dancing because we’re celebrating the harvest. It’s not meant to be a dirge.” She placed the heels of her hands on the table, dropped her wings low on her back, and bent at the waist until she was eye to eye with Layla. “The rest of the clan has moved beyond the past. Why can’t you?”

  Moved beyond the past? A searing streak of anger flashed through Layla and exploded in a double-fisted pound on the table, rattling the cups in their saucers. “This isn’t a piece of history that should be forgotten!” She hit the table again and tea dripped like a fountain from cup to saucer to tabletop. “How can you dance upon the ground where so many fey died? Where our parents died?”

  Filigreed shadows splashed across the floor as Esme straightened and popped her wings wide. “Because I don’t remember that day or our parents, and especially not their deaths. To me it’s no more than a legend.” The words blasted straight into Layla’s heart.

  “No more than a legend?” Layla’s hands flew to her chest as if they could protect her from the stabbing cold reality that her sister didn’t care. “The mass murders of our people, of our parents, no more than a half-forgotten legend?”

  “Why are you so affected by this? You weren’t even there.” Esme’s voice strained with the drive behind the words.

  How could Esme not understand? Layla wanted to shout, to beat the table again and again, to throw dishes against the wall and revel in the sound of porcelain shattering into shards.

  Instead, she forced quiet into her voice. “Aye. I was. I was there. I was with Mum and Dad.”

  Esme’s wings stiffened as she gripped the top rung of the chair back. “What do you mean? Everyone’s always said you were with Kenna and me.”

  “You were too young to remember. I think Auntie Maeve hoped I was too, or maybe she tried to create a memory for me.”

  The cràdh—the ethereal entity that lived within Layla to feast upon pain, criticisms, and doubt—surfaced in her chest. Anguish poured from it, squeezing her heart until she struggled to breathe. Tingles started behind and beneath her eyes and marched to her nose and mouth. And she knew that as soon as she spoke, tears would fall and sobs would follow. But it was a story that had to be told. “But I was there. And I remember.”

  Layla stared at the dust suspended in the beam of light that washed over the spilled tea as visions of the massacre played in her mind. “It was my first fête. I was so excited. The smell of the food, the sound of the music, laughter, and Mum and Dad on either side of me holding my hands. It was magical. And then it all changed. We heard shouts as a shadow flew over the crowd.”

  “Fauth.” The word croaked from Esme’s throat.

  “Aye. Mum dumped out a citrus crate, shoved me inside, and told me to stay hidden. I lay there among the straw and the smell of rotten fruit with my hands over my ears to block the sound.” She ran trembling fingers across her lips. “But it didn’t block the cries. And, I smelled dragon and blood and death.”

  Esme sat next to Layla. “I didn’t know…”

  Frozen in the moment, Layla couldn’t look away from the puddle of tea and her throat tightened as if it were trying to hold the words inside. “Fauth was so close I felt the heat of his breath. He swiped the crate, knocking me sideways, but I kept low and he didn’t see me. But I saw.”

  The cràdh bloated with the memory of the sorrow Layla had experienced that day and pressed into the center of her chest so hard her shoulders rolled forward. She didn’t want to continue, but Esme had to know—had to understand. “I saw him fling Mum and Dad in the air. I heard screams and more screams, and Fauth’s roar. There was fire, and the snapping of teeth, and then… nothing. Just silence.”

  Tears spilled from Layla’s eyes and her breaths came in short sobs. “I strained to hear more cries, but they didn’t come because they were gone. They were all gone. Just. Like. That. He’d eaten them.”

  Esme closed her wings flat against her back. “You never told me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Layla brushed tears from her cheeks and wished it were just as easy to scatter the memories of that day. “To protect you.” She searched her little sister’s face for understanding. “I will always protect you.”

  “And you’ve done a fine job.” She squeezed Layla’s hands and stood. “What happ
ened was horrible—enough to scar anybody. It was a long time ago and it’s not going to happen again.”

  Layla’s heart wrenched. “Don’t you care what happened our people? To our parents?”

  “Of course I care.” Esme cleared the dishes and wiped the table. “But for you, it’s become a dragon phobia. And I won’t let your fears control me. I need to live my own life.”

  Layla followed her sister to the kitchen. “And what about the ones who’ve gone missing? Five clans have reported missing fey. Five.”

  “And they were alone in the forest—not at a festival layered with protection spells.”

  Layla watched her sister precisely match the corners of the towel before carefully draping it over the sink. “You give more thought to the folding of that rag than to your own safety.”

  “No. I’m just not frozen in the past.” Esme jerked the towel from the sink, wadded it, and tossed it on the counter. “The spells will keep everyone safe. No one has seen a dragon in years. And even if a dragon managed to counter the spells, how are you going to help? I am the one with magic. Not you.”

  Layla fell against the kitchen counter as if Esme’s words had blown her there. If it hadn’t been so pitiful, if it hadn’t been so scary, she might have laughed at the irony. Her purpose in life was to keep her sister safe and yet, she had almost no magic. A mesh of two species—one half human, the other half fairy—Layla could do no more than the schoolyard trick of changing her size to human and back to fey.

  She straightened and the leather bracelet she wore flopped against her wrist. It was the ultimate sign of an outcast. Laced with spells and never to be removed, it had been placed when she was a bairn to protect her from magic. It might as well have been a glowing sign saying pick on this one, she can’t stop you.

  Esme was right. Crippled by her lack of magic, Layla was no protector. “Fine. You can go, but I’ll take you.”

  “The truth is…” Esme winced as she bit her lip and Layla was sure she wasn’t going to like the second part of the sentence. Esme forced the fakest, most over-bright smile Layla had ever seen. “Isla asked me to join her.” She stepped closer to Layla. “I’ve never been asked to go anywhere with anybody.” To add to her little drama, she clasped her hands to her breast. “We’re a small clan. Everyone knows everyone. I’ll be fine. Don’t ruin this for me. Please, please let me go with her. When I’m with you, people stare.”

  Layla had been verbally sucker punched and the feeling was miles worse than if her sister had actually raised hand to her. “So that’s it, then.”

  Esme brushed her hands down her dress as if she were smoothing away the ugly things she’d said. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  “Aye, it is.” Layla’s pulse skittered to hummingbird speed. This was it. Everyone did know everyone, and they would take care of her sister. Esme had friends. A life. She would never have to live on the fringes of fey society. This was what Layla had hoped for, wasn’t it? Then why were there tears in her eyes? “Go, then.”

  “Thank you.” Esme’s wings lifted her off the ground a wee bit before she kissed her sister on the cheek.

  Layla managed a weak smile, but her insides churned with the knowledge that Esme didn’t want to be seen with her. She didn’t want to be embarrassed by her half-caste half-sister.

  Esme hesitated at the door and turned back with flushed cheeks, wide eyes, and a smile that seemed to be on the verge of a giggle. “I’ll be back by sunrise. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

  Layla choked down the rejection her sister had dealt her and nodded with a stronger smile this time. As much as it pained Layla to admit it, being stuck in a lonely cottage on the edge of the village was no life for Esme. It was good for her to be with her own kind.

  And if she repeated that thought enough, she might begin to believe it.

  Layla had never fit in with the other fairies. The only thing that identified her as one of them was the green hue of her eyes and the tint of sage in her wings. It was bad enough that her white hair and pale brown skin didn’t match those of the rest of the clan, but her half-human side made her an aberration—an anomaly that very few wanted to be near.

  Over the years, she’d tried to find out about her human father, only to be met with a tangle of unanswered questions, horrified looks, and assurances that she was better off not knowing. That, coupled with lessons on human history and behavior, had sent a message deep into her essence: All things human were bad.

  Truly, it was probably only because of Esme that she was allowed to enter the village at all. And now it was time to let her sister go. There was only three years’ difference in their ages, but Layla had always been more a mum to Esme than a sister. So where would she fit in now? Would there be a place for her in Esme’s life?

  She poured a cup of tea and then pushed it away.

  She didn’t need tea.

  One of the few advantages to being half-human was her immunity to the sickness full fey felt around metal. And right now, Layla needed to clash metal against metal. She needed a fight.

  She needed Finn.

  It made sense that her only friend didn’t have a drop of fairy blood in him. He was an elf and they’d been friends since he had found her hiding from an ogre her cousin Kenna had conjured to frighten her. He had taught her to fight, to shoot an arrow with killing accuracy, and to believe in herself even when no one else did.

  Aye, she was still working on that one. But, he was more than a friend and mentor. He was her confidant. He would understand how she felt and make her feel better.

  Leaving the cottage, she flew toward the west hedgerow of the property. Her sister didn’t share her metal immunity, so Layla kept her weapons in a box hidden among the hawthorn that grew there.

  She opened the box and lifted her sword from the folds of cloth that protected it. Finn had given it to her on her twelfth birthday. In the seven years she’d owned it, she’d never ceased to marvel at the beauty of the Elvin forged blade. From the words engraved just above the razor-sharp edge to the red and black stone set in the hilt, it was a work of beauty.

  When Finn gave it to her, he’d called it Tormed—which meant courage. Right enough, when she held it, she felt brave. But then, she’d never used it in a real battle.

  As she fastened the belt that held her sword in its sheath, the red stone winked. It wasn’t the first time she’d experienced the illusion, but it always caught her a little off guard. It was as though the sword was asking her to take it on a grand adventure.

  “Not today, Tormed. Just a wee spar.” But like a warrior preparing for battle, she positioned her leather-covered targe over her left shoulder and shoved her sgian-dubh into a sheath in her right boot, making sure the thistle-embossed handle of the knife was barely visible above the leather. Next, she settled her quiver of arrows between her wings, flipped the bow over her shoulder and beneath her right wing, and shot above the trees to find Finn.

  Her mood lightened as soon as she saw the tall, lean figure harvesting raspberries in a meadow at the edge of the forest. He wore his dark hair in a single plait that hung down the center of his back. So much better than the elf bun he used to wear. The belt that held his sword was slung over his right shoulder and the scabbard hung low over his tweed kilt with the tip almost to his bare feet.

  He didn’t notice as she landed behind him and shifted human-sized. But when she unsheathed Tormed, he dropped the bag of berries, pulled his basket-handled sword from its scabbard, and whipped around ready to strike, all in a single move. His eyes had flashed black in preparation for a fight, but as soon as he saw her, they returned to their normal sky blue and his freckled face relaxed into a wary smile. “You look like you want to skewer me.”

  “Not you. Anybody in my way.” Her sword met his with a clang that sent quivers from her wrist to her shoulder. Still, it felt good to release the tension that had bunched in her muscles.

  He shifted his weight in readiness for the next blow. “What’s got y
ou in such a fine mood?”

  “My sister.” She dropped her arm and he almost nicked her shoulder.

  “Let me guess. She went to the fête and you’re worried.”

  Layla rounded. The momentum added power to her swing as she struck his sword.

  He blocked the hit and held his blade against hers. “Ach, you’re angry.”

  She pushed forward. “She’s too young.”

  “It’s natural she’d want a little freedom.” Finn spun away, causing her to stumble.

  She regained her stance and waited for his advance. “But not at the fête. It’s too dangerous.”

  He lunged. “Sweet Layla. It’s full of protection spells. It’s probably safer than your own home.”

  She blocked him with her targe. “She says I have a dragon phobia.”

  “Aye. She’s right. But with good reason.” He winked and prepared for the next strike.

  “I don’t.”

  “You do. When I found you holed up in that cave, you told me you were hiding from dragons.”

  A smirk settled on her face. “Kenna and her lot are dragons.”

  He cocked his head. “They’re not pleasant, right enough. But when I taught you to fight, you bleated on about fighting dragons.”

  She swung hard, wishing she could knock the truth of his words away. “I was ten.”

  “Aye, and now you’re grown and so is Esme. And you know dragons left these woods when Fauth was banished.”

  “I still see him in my dreams…it’s as if he’s waiting for me.” The words sounded as though they’d been squeezed from her throat, as though Fauth’s talons were already wrapped around her neck.