The Queen of Fairy, the Madigan Chronicles book 5

PROLOGUE

FAIRY, A LONG, LONG TIME AGO

The three suns hover in the sky, intermittently blocked when one of the

whale-like creatures that inhabit the sky in Fairy floats by. A gentle breeze

keeps the temperature at a comfortable level. The air is heavy with the sweet

scent of flowers, and insect-like animals buzz from one flower to the next. Eztli,

a human witch, strolls through Oberon’s private gardens. Suddenly, the alarm

bells in her head go off, only seconds before the slender figure of Mab, one of

Oberon’s daughters, steps out from behind a bush, blocking her path.

“My darling! How are you doing?” She grins wildly as her slender fingers

reach for Etzli’s pregnant belly.

Instinctively, Etzli steps back, covering her unborn child protectively with

her right hand, while her left hand’s fingers twinkle with the beginning of a

spell. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she utters.

Mab’s laugh is grating, making Etzli wince. “When are you due?”

“A couple more weeks.” Etzli, as a witch, knows exactly when her time is.

Mab takes a step forward, her tall figure, her wings on full display, towering

over Etzli’s stocky, bronze frame. But the witch holds her ground, refusing to

step back. “I can’t wait to meet my half-sister,” Mab purrs, while her wings

flutter and shimmer in the light.

Unsure how to respond to that, Etzli musters up a weak smile, at the same

time reinforcing the spell at her fingertips.

Mab’s eyes narrow for a moment, before her smile returns. Her next words

are laced with Fairy magic. “With our family thinning out, we need new blood

to play with.”

Her words literally sting; Etzli is struggling to hide her discomfort. “There

will be plenty of time for that. My daughter will be thrilled to have a big sister

who’ll look out for her.”

“I won’t let her out of my sight.” Mab’s sharp nail traces the contours of

Etzli’s cheekbone, enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to draw blood.

Etzli has spent enough time in Fairy to know the importance of keeping a

blank face; she knows she must never show any fear—ever!

Sweat starts to roll down her back, and the tension between them is thick with

hatred. Frightened of being attacked, Etzli lifts her left hand...

“There you are!” Oberon’s warm voice cascades around her, instantly

calming her down.

Mab is now suddenly, magically, five feet away, smiling pleasantly. “Father,

always wonderful to see you. I was just telling Etzli, I can’t wait to have a

younger sister.”

His eyes play over his lover as he throws an arm around his daughter’s

shoulder. “Are you staying? We’re about to share some food.”

“Next time. Unfortunately, I have things to attend to.” With a peck on his

cheek and a last lingering glance at Etzli’s belly, Mab stalks away.

Etzli still can’t relax. “It’s time I go.”

“Don’t overreact,” Oberon whispers, resting his hand on her swollen belly.

“She’s difficult, my little Mab, but I know you can handle her. I don’t want

you to go.”

“Mab wants to be Queen. You know that. You can’t protect me all the time,

and I’m not putting this child at risk being here. You know I must go.” She

smiles gently. “But let’s not waste our last moments together arguing.” She pulls

him towards her, kissing him on the lips.

“You are the love of my life,” he whispers to her. The garden resonates with

the truth being spoken. Eztli zings with pleasure and, without hesitation, she

pulls him even closer, murmuring endearments, showing him what their love

means to her.

“I know, love, I know.” Eztli closes her eyes, drinking in his touch. “But

our daughter will be mostly human; it will be better for her on Earth. And

anyway, I have my duties.” She opens her eyes and touches the ring on her

finger—pain flashes across her eyes when she thinks of those last dying

moments of Colel, her twin. The ring holds their family’s knowledge and

secrets. It’s her legacy.

“Stay,” he pleads with her.

It’s so tempting, but then Mab’s eager fingers also flash before her eyes,

reaching for her child. Her gut tells her that to stay is foolish. “We have mixed

blood, and we’re blessed with a long life. However, not an eternity like yours,

and, more importantly, your daughters won’t like it.”

“I’m King!” Oberon can’t hide his irritation.

Eztli grabs his hand; they’ve had this conversation many times. “Let me

go.” Her soft words are laced with a finality and urgency he can’t deny. “You

will manage to open more portals and it will be easy for you to come and visit

me – us,” she adds with a smile.

Oberon falls to his knees, reverently cupping her pregnant belly. “I love

you, always.”

They think they’re alone. But the Keeper of the Land is doing his rounds;

in his dematerialized state as he tends to the Land, his tiny particles reaching

every far corner of Fairy’s Land. His consciousness senses the gravity of this

moment and is drawn to the secret garden. Still one with living things, he can

see his King with his lover. Unable to let this opportunity pass, he listens in.

One day, this knowledge might prove vital. In Fairy, knowledge is power.



P A R T 1

TEN OF CUPS “FAMILY”

“Being happy doesn’t mean everything’s perfect.

It means you’ve decided to look beyond the imperfections.”

—UNKNOWN

FAIRY

A funnel of ice, steam, and water erupts from the Cup of Plenty, one of the

four elemental power objects. Mab can see it glimmering as the ice shards

pummel her face. The tendrils extending from her fingers connect with it,

pulling her up, making it unnecessary to worry too much about keeping her

eyes open. With her senses heightened, she can feel the temptation of this

exceptional object. The onslaught intensifies and, vaguely, she can make out a

figure close to the Cup; that must be its guardian.

Her mind is racing; she will need to retract the tendrils to be able to grab

the Cup. Scanning around, ignoring the pain from the endless shards of ice

penetrating her skin, she sees one—no, two people. There’s no time to waste.

When she’s just a few feet away from the object, she lets go and grabs blindly

for it. When her fingertips graze the rim, she unleashes all her power, a shield

of massive Fairy magic, flinging it toward her opponents. Her hand locks itself

over the rim of the Cup. But when her wall of magic collides with whatever the

others have sent her way; a loud bang shatters it, hurtling her and a fragment

of it right back into Fairy.

The image freezes, then rewinds, back to the exact moment the Cup splintered.

Mab, Queen of Fairy, steps through the image which hangs in the middle

of her inner sanctum. She walks up to her two opponents who now each have

a fragment of the Cup as well. Snowflake, the guardian of the Cup, and that

annoying witch, Lucy Lockwood, a thorn in her side for many years. With her

long fingers, she touches the memory, and, with a whisper, it folds itself back

into one of the globes. A fairy’s way to preserve the past, allowing her to access

the memory and history when needed.

Mab is in the only place no other fairy, creature, or human has ever been.

Somewhere she can indeed be herself. Today, Mab is in her human form, tall

and sensuous, wearing a tight body suit in her signature red, and decorated with

all the other colors of the spectrum. Fairies love color; it’s something interwoven

in them and their magic. Even though fairies are immortal, she aged in a different

way, the centuries gone by etched in her eyes and the way she holds herself.

Her impressive wings are neatly folded away; they might be beautiful and

intimidating, but they are not always practical.

The room with organic formed curves and rounded corners gravitates

toward a rather disturbing centerpiece. Its eerie form is constructed from the

bones of all sorts of living things interwoven with precious stones. The top

resembles a bowl; in it lays a shard—one third of the Cup of Plenty—one of

the four elemental power objects on Earth. Mab had long coveted one to boost

her powers.

At last, here it is. Or rather, a part of one. She can sense its tremendous

potential. Even though it’s shattered, Mab can still feel the turmoil of the

emotional power of Water. She has been circling it for a while now, and there’s

a problem besides the obvious one—that it’s broken. Mab is a fairy, and the

elemental powers derive from Earth. There are similar elements in Fairy,

guarded and nurtured by the Keepers. Mab, as its Queen, is connected to all

of them. Those are Fairy elements, and they can’t help her to link to this one.

She doesn’t possess any witch magic. Witch and fairy magic are the same and

yet not the same. It’s maddening! Frustrated, she lets out a roar that reverberates

throughout Fairy.

With purposeful strides she exits her room, the door swinging shut behind

her. Swiftly, she walks through hallways full of fairies and creatures that drop

into a deep curtesy when they see her. Mab doesn’t acknowledge any of them;

she has ruled with fear since she came to power. Whoever crossed her was dealt

with severely. For eons, nobody dared to challenge her or question her motives.

Now, she must admit, it has become a touch boring.

This rush she feels after the fight for the Cup is still flowing through her.

After she had returned to Fairy, it had taken considerable time spent in a dematerialized

state, drawing on all things Fairy, to restore her to her full glory. But

now, full of energy, she’s ready for the next step.

Finally, she gets to the courtyard of her extensive palace. In the middle of

the square stands a lone tree without any leaves, its bark intertwined with fairies

and creatures that dared to irritate her. It acts as a public reminder that disobedience

is punished. Slowing her pace, her hand caresses the faces merged with

the tree. Her subjects, despite being stuck, shudder under her touch. Slowly

circling the tree, Mab stops in front of Mara, a young witch, granddaughter of

Lucy Lockwood, who, in order to save her younger sister from becoming Mab’s

minion, has sworn to serve her for ten years. But after Mara attempted to grab

the Cup for herself, she needed to be reminded whom she served and ended up

in the tree.

With a simple command in Mab’s mind, the tree ripples back, releasing

Mara, who falls to the ground. Her limbs do not work after being fixed in the

same position for such a long time. Mab casually wraps her fingers around the

witch’s neck and lifts her up. “Who do you serve?” she asks, looking Mara

directly in the eyes.

A gurgling sound comes from Mara’s throat, but no words come out.

Mab shakes her. “Come on, you’re a witch. You should be able to heal

yourself from a small ordeal like this. Unless, of course, you’re worthless. In that

case…”

Mara closes her eyes, and Mab smiles, sensing the girl draw on her magic.

Whenever anybody uses witch magic in Fairy, the Queen is aware. It’s forbidden

unless she allows it. “Who do you serve?”

“You, my Queen,” Mara manages to squeeze out. But a defiant flicker in

her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by Mab.

“That’s better,” Mab says. She opens her hand and Mara tumbles to the

ground. “Gather yourself, then come to my quarters.” Without looking back,

she walks away.

Mab isn’t in her study long when a confident knock signals Mara’s arrival.

“Come in,” she commands.

Her personal office is a fluent room full of memory globes, manuscripts,

and living entities that stroke Mab constantly. It’s one of the ways she’s connected

to all things Fairy. There are no tables or chairs like a human room would

have; Mab simply floats.

Mara steps through the door looking surprisingly fresh. On seeing the

Queen, she instantly falls to her knees, her long locks covering her face. “How

can I serve you?” she asks.

“I need you to help me connect to the fragments of the Cup.”

“You will need the other fragments first,” Mara firmly answers.

“Look at me!” Mab orders her.

Mara gets up and, with a blank face, she says, “It will only work if the Cup

is whole.”

Mab leans back, clearly enjoying the tickles of the entities in her room.

“How do you suggest we do that?”

“I could go back to Greenland.”

Mara didn’t even see Mab move before her hand is around her throat for a

second time.

“I bet you would love that. You’re not going anywhere, missy.” Mab’s

drawl is laced with venom. “The fragment held by the Guardian will be the

hardest to get, as she’s still connected to it; and Greenland is difficult to reach.

Your Granny, however, is our best bet.” She lets Mara go, floating back to her

spot between the tendrils. “You’ve burned that bridge; your Gran knows you’re

mine. So, we will do nothing. Let them come for my fragment, here. They

don’t stand a chance. Until then, you can figure out how I can attune myself

when the time comes.”

With a wave of her hand, she dismisses Mara, who slinks away. No need to

tell that witch she intends to see if she can get her hands on Lucy’s fragment

herself.

NEW ORLEANS

Tara Madigan, the family matriarch, a woman in her 70s, is sleeping late. The

house has been alive for several hours. The enticing smell from the kitchen

has found its way up to her room, together with the creaking sounds of the

others moving as silently as possible through the house. Not yet! Not yet! Just

a bit longer.

Her room in their Garden District home faces East, so now, with the drapes

pulled open, sunlight warms her body. It has been her room for as long as she

can remember—hers and Lucy’s. Thinking about her twin instantly awakens

her twin bond. Lucy Lockwood has been banned from the family since their

mother passed on the Wand of Wisdom, one of the four elemental power

objects, to Tara. Lucy had attempted to grab the power for herself, but she was

a young witch, only in her twenties, and no match for their mother. It was such

a traumatic time for all of them. Despite their best efforts, the twins lost touch

and their connection waned—until Lucy stole the Dagger of Consciousness.

When this whole race for control over the elemental objects began, it inevitably

awoke her awareness of her sister.

Tara examines the feelings that flow through their special bond; it is like

an invisible birth cord, an open channel through which they can share thoughts

and energy. This morning, Lucy seems to be doing better. Tara senses less energy

is being siphoned from her. Good.

This happy thought is quickly followed by guilt about what she’s doing—

aiding someone who has harmed her family and others. It propels her thoughts

back to several weeks ago when the battle for the Cup occurred in Greenland.

Tara was handling the bar in Under the Witches Hat, the family business. Out

of the loop since she had passed on the Wand to her granddaughter, Bridget,

she had found renewed purpose and joy in her work there. Freed from the

burden of responsibility, she felt almost giddy.

She was brewing some teas and elixirs for the early afternoon crowd when

she doubled over, engulfed by an unimaginable pain coursing through her,

followed by a desperate scream in her head.

“Mom?!” Ron, her son, abandons his paperwork at the bar, and sprints over

to her.

Tara is still bent over, sucking in air.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Ron can’t hide his concern and runs a scan with his

magic, looking for any injury.

“I - I need a moment.”

Ron helps her to a chair in the corner. “Can I get you anything?”

“Water?” Tara musters, more to give him something to do. She needs space.

A second bolt of pain hits her; but this time she’s better prepared, managing to

let it rush through her. What the hell is going on?

“Help me!” A desperate plea whirls around her mind.

“Lucy?” Tara answers silently.

“Help me! I’m hurt badly.” Lucy has thrown open their old twin connection.

Her desperate need must have helped to restore that lifeline, and no words are

necessary anymore. Now Tara understands who’s trying to reach her, she can

make sense of the pain and desperation.

“Here.” Ron hands his mother a glass of water. Her hand is trembling

uncontrollably, and water spills. Ron gently takes it from her and puts it on the

table. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Tara shakes her head.

“This is not right. I’m …”

Tara grabs Ron’s arm. “I’m okay. Let me be for a minute.” Her angry glare

makes him back away. With concerned eyes, he takes over her shift at the bar.

Tara turns inward, trying to figure out which feelings are Lucy’s, and

which are hers. It’s obvious Lucy is badly hurt. Tara’s mind is racing. She

knows Lucy is in Greenland hunting for the Cup of Plenty. Something must

have happened.

“Save me…sister.” Lucy’s life force is waning.

Tara’s first instinct is to send her a boost of energy, but a little voice in the

back of her head stops her. Your sister has caused much harm. Wouldn’t the

world be a better place without her?