The Magpie's Daughter: Faeries of the Revelations, #1

Acknowledgments

To Michael:

Thanks for being the best alpha reader a writer could ever ask for, and for being the best husband a woman could ever want.

To my Beta Reader Cadre:

Stephanie Barr, Kathleen James, Charles Loprinzo, Maria McManamey, Daniel Santiago, Erin Sloan, Lisa White, and Amanda Young. Thanks for your time and your suggestions on how to make this book even better.

To A.M. Rycroft:

Thanks for the kick-ass formatting and for your brain when things got tough.

To Rachel Bostwick:

Thanks for always making me look good.

Chapter One

March eighteenth was just like any other day. Except it shouldn't have been. People only turn sixteen once in their lives. Sixteen wasn't as big a deal as eighteen or even twenty-one, but it was still her birthday, and Aeryn Walker wanted it celebrated, or at least acknowledged.

Her mother, Jenni, was gone before Aeryn even woke up that sunny spring morning. She’d left Aeryn a note on the dining room table, asking her to make sure the dishes were done and the trash taken out before she left for school. She also said she'd be working late and wouldn't be home until after Aeryn was supposed to be asleep. There was a $20 attached to the note. That was nice; Aeryn knew how tight her mom’s money was and appreciated Jenni sacrificing so Aeryn could eat lunch at school and maybe pick up the last Mary Stewart book, The Prince and the Pilgrim. But there was no mention in Jenni's note of Aeryn's birthday.

Depressed and hurt, Aeryn scarfed down a frosted blueberry Pop-Tart, the remainder of a carton of chocolate milk, and returned up stairs to her bedroom. She dressed in her usual clothes: jeans, t-shirt, funky socks, and tennis shoes. She also made sure she was wearing the amber pendant her dad had given her for her fifth birthday. Before shrugging into a navy blue Snowflake, Arizona high school hoodie, she ran a comb and some gel through her pixie-cut auburn hair, did her makeup, and dashed out the door.

The rest of the day was just as depressing. No one but the school's librarian, Mr. Dorian, talked to her long enough to say more than Get out of my way, nerd. But it was kind of expected that the librarian was nice to her. He was a long-time friend of her mother's; Aeryn was sure he was just being nice to her so she'd report back to her mom about it and not because he was interested in being kind to her.

Aeryn went through the motions at school. She was glad she'd brought a book, her iPhone—last year’s birthday present from her mother, bought third- or maybe fourth-hand off of eBay—and a pair of earbuds; they were the perfect way to tune out the inane conversations going on around her—stuff like plans for prom, and who was dating who, and who had cheated on who, and who wanted to beat up who. She didn’t even notice when the fifth period bell rang and she had to run through the halls to her AP History class. Despite her love of the subject, she hated being the only sophomore in a class of seniors. It just made her feel that much more awkward and unwanted.

After school, she trudged home, her load of homework weighing her down as though her messenger bag was filled with bricks instead of a physics book, three notebooks, and a trigonometry workbook. She was grateful for the mild weather and for her mother’s decision to return to Snowflake from Phoenix two years ago. Phoenix would have been crazy-hot, even in mid-March, while the temperature in Snowflake was a mild sixty.

When she got to her front door, she saw a brown-paper-wrapped package sitting on the front stoop. Delighted by the thought that someone had maybe sent her a present, she scooped it up and glanced at the return address as she fished in her bag for her house keys. There was nothing but her own name and address on the front of it. The stamps were generic Forever stamps with pictures of the American flag on them, and the postmark was smudged, so she couldn't make out where the package was sent from. She thought maybe it said New York on it, which meant it was probably from her dad. He did a lot of business in New York. But still... It was a mystery, and Aeryn was intrigued.

Getting the door open at last, she tossed her bag and hoodie onto the second-hand couch that dominated the small, colorful living room, and headed into the kitchen to use the scissors her mom kept in the junk drawer to open her package. The gift was indeed from her dad, and she was filled with a sinking feeling that questioned why he was sending her something instead of delivering it to her in person.

Despite the fact that he lived in Nova Scotia and they only saw each other twice a year, she could count on him to come out for Spring Break—which usually coincided with her birthday—and for the week between Christmas and New Year’s. When he wasn’t with her, he made sure to call her every Sunday. He hadn’t ever missed a single phone call. She liked that he was so dependable.

She opened the envelope that had her name scrawled across it in her dad's old-fashioned handwriting. There was even a dab of midnight blue wax on the back of the envelope, and a seal in the shape of a long-tailed bird had been pressed into it. She smiled and sniffed the envelope. It smelled like her dad—water-soaked stone, old paper, and leather. She slid her finger underneath the seal and pulled out a sheet of creamy stationery with her dad's monogram across the top—ARR, for Alexander Ryder Ross. The note said:

Aeryn:

I'm sending this to you as an early birthday present. I thought of you the instant I saw it and knew you had to have it as soon as possible. I hope you love it as much as I love you.

See you in a few days. We have so much to talk about when I get there.

Love,

Dad

With a grin that threatened to grow to her ears, she ripped the gold wrapping paper off the box and lifted its lid. Inside, she uncovered an ancient book. The exterior was worn green leather, and the gilt lettering was almost gone. She could just make out the words Le Morte d'Arthur on the spine. A book? It was kind of disappointing; while she did love reading and some of her best friends could be found between the pages of a well-worn paperback, she’d had her eye on this year’s model iPhone and had told her dad about it extensively over the past month in preparation for her birthday. At least the book was about King Arthur, her biggest obsession. She was happy that her dad remembered, not only her birthday but that she loved Arthurian legends, too.

She opened the book. There was a gorgeous painting opposite the title page, and she studied it. It was of the sword Excalibur, driven into its stone. The stone and its sword sat in a beam of sunlight and was surrounded by a dark forest. The sunlight made the blade glow, and the painting was so realistic that Aeryn could almost feel the warmth of the sunlight and the coolness of the blade.

Aeryn looked at the title page and saw that the book had been published in Edinburgh, Scotland, in the early 1800s. Her brows raised in shock. The book was more than two hundred years old. Her dad dealt in old books, but she'd never personally owned something so rare. Closing the book and setting it aside carefully, she put the mystery aside as well. He would be in Arizona in a few days. He could answer her questions then.

She cleaned up the wrapping paper and stood in front of the open refrigerator for a moment, trying to decide what she wanted to make for her solo birthday dinner that night. Since her mother was working, Aeryn didn't have to worry about her mom's weird diet. She could eat cake frosting and Doritos if she wanted—which she didn't—and there was no one there to tell her not to. Instead, she settled on warming up a piece of roasted chicken and slapped some leftover potato salad on the plate next to it. Grabbing her new book and a bottle of orange-flavored Mexican soda, she took her plate and her messenger bag up the stairs to her room.

Pausing for a moment in her bedroom, she dumped the bag on her bed. Performing a feat of amazing balance, she opened the large window opposite her bed and stepped out onto her private patio, carrying her plate, drink, and the book without dropping anything. A table and two mismatched kitchen chairs sat in the tiny space, along with a large wooden flower box that was planted with pink and white tulips and yellow daffodils.

She settled down at the table and ate her dinner while reading the book, taking great care not to smudge the delicate pages or get any crumbs on the covers. Though the language and spelling were weird, she worked her way through the slim volume and discovered it was the full story of Arthur's life, from birth to death. It included stories about Tristan and Isolde, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, tales of the Questing Beast, and even a little about Merlin before he became Arthur's most trusted friend and adviser.

The story was the perfect thing for an Arthurian-obsessed reader, and she lingered over it, entranced by stories she'd never read and facets of the legends she'd never heard. By the time she'd finished reading and eating, it was dark and too cold to stay outside much longer, so she gathered up her things and returned to her bedroom. While her computer started up, she did her dishes so her mother wouldn't have anything to yell at her about when she came home. She locked up the house, hoping Jenni had remembered her house keys, closed all the curtains, and turned on the porch light and a single lamp in the living room.

She returned to her bedroom and sat down at her computer. A quick check of her email turned up no messages from her dad and a look at Facebook revealed the same. It was six o'clock, making it nine in Halifax, where her dad lived. There was still time for him to call or chat on Messenger.

Leaving Facebook open so she would hear the notification if her dad sent her a message, she got started on her homework. Three hours later, she finished the last formula of her trig assignment and her dad still had not called or messaged. It was past midnight in Canada, and she resigned herself to not talking to him tonight. A little seed of worry took root inside her gut.

Even more depressed than she had been earlier, she turned off her computer and got ready for bed, changing into her favorite black, purple, and white plaid flannel pajamas before climbing into bed. She made sure her phone was plugged into the charger on her nightstand and turned off the lamp.

Happy birthday to me, she sang, her voice barely filling the emptiness in her house. She fell asleep soon after, her face still turned towards her phone.

Chapter Two

Aeryn woke the next morning to the smell of frying bacon. She wrinkled her brow in confusion before realizing her mother must be making breakfast. Which meant she was home and not at work already. With a frown, she glanced at her phone. No calls, no texts, no messages. The seed of worry now had a slender, green shoot that threatened to turn into a twisted vine. Her father hadn't missed a single birthday phone call since she was old enough to talk on the phone. Had something happened to him? Maybe her mom knew something.

Aeryn climbed out of bed, showered, and got dressed. Once her hair and makeup were done, she slung her bag over her shoulder, grabbed Le Morte d'Arthur and her phone, and bounced down the stairs into the kitchen.

Jenni was standing at the stove, wearing black scrubs under an apron that had little cherries printed all over it. Her hair was pulled up into a bun at the crown of her head. She was gorgeous, even at forty-one, even with a sixteen-year-old daughter. Looking at her, Aeryn was reminded once again why Jenni was still so popular with men.

Aeryn looked nothing at all like her mother. She was skinny and flat-chested, unlike her mother, who had the perfect petite hourglass figure. A scattering of freckles across Aeryn's nose and cheeks stood out in sharp contrast to her pale skin; her mother's skin was creamy smooth and unblemished except for delicate laugh lines around the corners of her dark eyes. Only Aeryn's hair made it obvious that she was Jenni's biological daughter. They had the same shade of auburn, dark red with copper and gold glints lent by the Arizona sun.

Aeryn thought she looked more like her dad. She was tall—her dad was six-foot-four—and had blue eyes, just like Alex. Alex was blond though and quite muscular. Aeryn always thought he would be a good fit in a movie about Norse gods or Vikings.

Hey, Mom, Aeryn said as she set her things down at the table and slid into a chair. Have you heard from Dad?

Jenni glanced at her daughter over her shoulder and shrugged a bit before turning back to the stove. Not in a week or more. Why? And you like scrambled eggs, right?

"No, I do not like scrambled eggs. I have not liked scrambled eggs since I was seven years old. Fried eggs with hard yolks are how I've liked my eggs for the past nine years."

Okay, okay. Sheesh. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Jenni dumped the eggs on a plate before breaking two more into the skillet in front of her. Why are you asking about your dad?

He didn't call me last night. I need to talk to him about this weekend.

What about this weekend?

God, Mom, Aeryn said, impatience clear in her tone. Dad's supposed to come out this weekend. At her mother's continuing non-responsiveness, Aeryn sighed and rolled her eyes. Yesterday was my birthday. You were there, right? Sixteen years ago? When I was born?

Jenni spun around to face Aeryn. Her face was horrified. Oh, jeez. Aeryn, I'm so sorry. I forgot your birthday! She left the stove and gave Aeryn a one-armed hug and pressed a kiss into the top of her hair. She went back to the stove and flipped the eggs in the skillet. I've just been so busy with work and the overdue car payment and that stupid dishwasher isn’t working again... It skipped my mind. I didn't even realize it was March until two days ago. We'll do something fun this weekend. Maybe go to a spa down in Phoenix or a movie or something. How does that sound?

Yeah, Aeryn said with a vague smile. At least her mom was trying. That sounds good. But only if Dad doesn't come out. If he does, you're on your own. Aeryn got up and got a bottle of spicy brown mustard out of the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of orange juice as well before sitting back down at the table. I got this book from him. She opened to the painting of Excalibur and held it out when Jenni glanced over her shoulder.

Oh, that's pretty. What is it?

"Le Morte d'Arthur. He sent a card, too. Said there's a lot for us to talk about when he's here this weekend. You really haven't heard from him?"

Jenni slid the eggs onto another plate, added two slices of toast, two strips of bacon, and brought it and her own plate to the table. She sat down across from Aeryn and shook her head. I really haven't, baby. I'm sorry. Maybe he's just caught up with work, too. Didn't he say something about traveling to Vancouver for a big conference this month?

It was London. Last month. Aeryn squirted mustard all over her eggs and dug in. Even though her mother was lacking in the maternal skills area sometimes, she was a good cook, despite her weird plain food only diet. Aeryn’s eggs were perfect and so was the bacon. This is great, Mom. Thanks.

Jenni smiled and began eating her own breakfast—a single scrambled egg and a single piece of toast with no butter. I'll bring you a cake tonight, okay? Lemon cake with raspberry filling and butter cream frosting still your favorite?

Yeah. Aeryn wolfed down the rest of her food and cleared her dishes. I gotta go to school. See you tonight?

Yes. I'll try to be home at about seven or so. Call your dad, Aeryn. I can tell you're worried about him. Have a good day at school.

Thanks. She shouldered her bag once more, slipped the new book into it, and set out for school. As she walked the short five blocks to the new school building, she dialed her dad's home number. When it went to his machine, she hung up and tried his work number. It went straight to voice mail. She tried his cell phone, which went to his voice mail as well. She finally left a message there. Hi, Dad. I'm worried about you. You didn't call last night. I got your present yesterday. I love it. It’s perfect. I'm going to school now, but if you call and leave a message, I can call you at lunch. Love you. Bye.

SCHOOL WAS THE SAME as it had been the day before: sitting in class, taking notes, answering questions when called on. No one talked to Aeryn, no one even looked at her. Except for after lunch, in fifth period. Mrs. Beecham, her AP History teacher, was known for her harsh pop quizzes. Aeryn always passed them with at least a ninety percent, because she paid attention, took great notes, and because she had a head for useless trivia and meaningless dates.

Okay, guys, Mrs. Beecham said as she stood at the front of the room. We haven't had a pop quiz in a while. So let's change that, shall we? There was a loud collective groan from the other kids in the class. Aeryn kept her amusement to herself. The quiz is ten multiple choice questions and an essay on how William Wallace's death contributed to the rise of Robert the Bruce's power. The groan grew louder, and this time, Aeryn couldn't contain her smile. You don't have to write more than five paragraphs, guys. Quit complaining. And you have until the end of class to finish. That’s an hour from now. Plenty of time.

Mrs. Beecham passed out the quiz papers, winking when she got to Aeryn, and returned to her desk. Aeryn glanced over the questions. They all had to do with the most recent unit the class had studied, late-thirteenth and early-fourteenth centuries in England, Scotland, and Ireland. Since her father was of Scottish ancestry and her mother's family was Irish and English, Aeryn had a great interest in the history of the countries. The multiple choice questions were easy and she had them done in less than ten minutes, leaving herself plenty of time to tackle the essay.

Following the formula she's memorized during her freshman English Comp class, she knocked out a five-paragraph cause-and-effect essay, complete with introductory and conclusory paragraphs and three paragraphs that backed up her thesis quite well. She finished the quiz with twenty minutes left in the period, and when she brought her paper up to Mrs. Beecham to turn it in, the teacher smiled at her.

Finished already? she asked.

Yes. It was pretty easy, Aeryn said.

For you, yes. It would be. She gave Aeryn a proud smile. Why don't you head on down to the library? No reason to sit around here and wait for everyone else to finish.

Aeryn smiled her thanks, accepted the pass Mrs. Beecham had already filled out, and headed downstairs to the large, circular library at the center of the building. The library was an oasis of calm and quiet. No one dared raise their voice above a soft whisper, not if Mr. Dorian was on duty. He was easy-going—and quite handsome, too; he looked like an older version of the Spanish teacher on that TV show about the high school singing club—but he had strict rules about his library. If he caught anyone violating those rules, they were banned for the rest of the school year.

He was sitting behind the circulation desk when Aeryn walked in. When he saw her, he smiled. Hello, Ms. Walker. Need something? he asked.

Nope, she said. I finished a pop quiz in AP World History early, and Mrs. Beecham said I could come down here and hang out until the end of school, instead of waiting for the rest of the class to finish.

Ah. Smart girl. Well, there's no one else here right now, so you've got your pick of places to hang out.

Thanks, she said and headed towards the center of the main room, between the circulation desk and the front doors. The area was sunken and beneath a large glass dome that let in lots of sunlight. Sectional couches ringed the circumference and a round coffee table of sorts sat in the middle. Scattered magazines covered the top of the table and potted plants sat on the floor, giving the whole space a definite jungle-like atmosphere. It was Aeryn's favorite place in the entire school, and if she could, she'd spend the entire day just sitting there reading or surfing the Internet on her phone.

She collapsed onto a couch and set her bag at her feet. Withdrawing her phone and earbuds, as well as the book from her dad, Aeryn settled in. Once she'd finished reading her favorite parts again, she set it aside and opened Facebook on her phone to check for messages. Still nothing from her dad. Now, she was very definitely worried about him. Glancing up towards the circulation desk, she found Mr. Dorian standing there, typing at the computer. She took out her earbuds and called out, Mr. Dorian?

He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. What is it, Aeryn?

I know it's against the rules, but since no one else is in here, could I use my phone? I want to call my dad.

Mr. Dorian sat up straight at the mention of her father and a weird look crossed his face. Your father? Is something wrong?

She shrugged a little and got up, crossing the distance between the reading area and the circulation desk. He didn't call yesterday and I kinda thought he would, it being my birthday and all. I'm worried about him.

The librarian nodded. Go ahead and call. Just this once, though. You know the rule.

She grinned and thanked him before returning to the couches. All three numbers went to voice mail, but she didn't bother leaving another message for him. She was even more worried about him now.

Mr. Dorian joined her on the couches, sitting across from her with a worried expression. No luck? he asked.

Aeryn shook her head. He always calls on my birthday, she said. And he always comes out to visit for a long weekend. Since spring break is next week, he was going to stay for ten days. We had lots of plans. I'm scared something's happened to him.

What about your mom? Does she know any of his friends? You could call them to check up on him.

I'll ask her tonight. If I see her. The final bell rang and Aeryn gathered up her things to go home. Mr. Dorian picked up her book and turned it to look at the cover. After a second or so of holding it, he dropped it, sucking in a breath and shaking his hand like he'd been electrocuted. An expression of confusion appeared on his face and disappeared so fast Aeryn wasn't sure she'd hadn’t imagined it. The librarian gave her a sheepish smile when he caught her staring and picked up the book again, handling it as though it was a bomb. Where'd you get this? he asked in a strange voice as he handed