Page 11 of Magic Undaunted

In the shadows of the back alleyways of New Orleans, Stryker stood with his pulse thrumming as he waited for the Duvall sisters. He had sent a discreet message, knowing full well the risk of meeting them here, in their territory beyond the High Council’s influence where the fae of the Council dared not tread. But he needed answers, and the Duvall sisters—half-fae demon hunters with their own web of alliances—were his best shot.

The city buzzed with a life entirely different from the polished beauty of Celestia. Here, danger lurked around every corner, magic of all shades mixing in the air, thick and heady. It made him uneasy, but he pushed the feeling aside. He had spentcenturies serving the Council, loyal to its rules, loyal to its cause. Now, after everything that had transpired, he was beginning to see that his loyalty might have been misplaced.

A soft rustle broke through the stillness, and Stryker’s hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his blade. But before he could react, a figure materialized from the shadows as did a blade to his throat.

“Careful, griffon,” a silky voice said from behind him. “You don’t want to pull that unless you mean it.”

He turned to find them there—Geneva, Phoenix, Catalina, and Savannah Duvall, their distinct beauty matched by the fierce magic that crackled just beneath their skin. They moved like wraiths, each sister exuding a dangerous grace that had earned them their reputation as the most feared demon hunters in New Orleans.

Phoenix, the eldest, crossed her arms over her chest, her silver eyes assessing him with cool detachment. “Stryker Landry, of all people,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “What brings Celestia’s golden warrior to our side of the world?”

Stryker clenched his jaw. He didn’t have time for their games. “I need information.”

Savannah, the youngest, snorted, her spiky blue-tinged hair catching the faint glow of the streetlamps. “And why should we help you? Last I checked, the Council didn’t much care for our kind.”

“I’m not here on behalf of the Council,” Stryker replied, his voice hard. “This is about something bigger. Something dark. There’s a rogue mage?—”

“Rogue mage?” Geneva, the quietest of the sisters, spoke up, her voice low and thoughtful. “You mean the one who’s been making deals with the lower courts?”

Stryker’s gaze sharpened. “You know about him?”

Catalina’s expression darkened. “We know enough. The mage you’re after is no ordinary rogue. He’s human, yes, but his power comes from something far older and far more dangerous than any mortal should have access to.”

“What kind of power?” Stryker asked, dread creeping up his spine.

“Blood magic,” Phoenix said, her voice serious now. “And not just any blood magic. He’s been experimenting with fae blood—stealing magic, twisting it, corrupting it.”

Stryker’s stomach turned as the memory of the twisted fae servant at the gathering came rushing back. “He’s turning fae into monsters.”

“Not just fae,” Geneva added, her eyes narrowing. “He’s using the stolen magic to build a weapon. A weapon that could tip the balance of power in Celestia and beyond. If he succeeds, no one—not the High Council, not the rebels—will be able to stop him.”

Stryker’s mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. The disappearances, the dark magic, the creature at the gathering—it all led back to this rogue mage. And if what the Duvall sisters said was true, the mage wasn’t just a threat to the Council. He was a threat to everyone.

“Do you know where he is?” Stryker asked, urgency lacing his tone.

Geneva shook her head. “We’ve been tracking him, but he’s careful. He’s made allies in the shadows, both fae and human. If you’re looking to stop him, you’re going to need more than just the Council behind you.”

Stryker’s jaw tightened. He knew what she was implying, and it was a path he hadn’t wanted to take. But there was no avoiding it now. The Council wasn’t going to help him. If anything, they were part of the problem.

He needed allies—unlikely ones.

“I need to find Elyria,” he said, the words leaving his lips before he could second-guess them.

The Duvall sisters exchanged glances, and Phoenix let out a low whistle. “Elyria Knightshade? The one who was banished?”

“Yes,” Stryker said, his voice firm. “I believe she may know more than anyone about what’s happening. If I’m going to stop this, I need her.”

Phoenix studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Be careful, Stryker. The line between ally and enemy is razor-thin in these times. Elyria’s no longer part of your world.”

“I know,” he muttered, more to himself than to them.

Later, as the setting sun cast deepening shadows over Celestia, Stryker stood atop the highest tower in the realm. The wind whipped around him, cold and sharp, but he barely felt it. His mind was consumed by the choice he had made.

From up here, the city looked peaceful, the twilight glow illuminating the crystal streets and grand halls where the fae lived their perfect lives, unaware of the darkness creeping ever closer. But Stryker knew better. He had seen the cracks in the facade, felt the weight of the corruption that lay beneath the surface.

And now, he was standing at the edge, torn between the loyalty he had sworn to the Council and the undeniable truth he could no longer ignore.

Elyria had been right. She had seen the danger long before he had, had tried to warn him, and he had pushed her away. He had been too blinded by duty, too afraid to face the possibility that everything he had fought for was a lie.

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