Disrupted magic shamrock.., p.15
Disrupted Magic (Shamrock Disposal Book 1), page 15
Great. Higher-ups from headquarters. Always a good sign that meant things were going smoothly. Or, you know, the exact opposite.
“As of 0600 this morning, we have confirmed coordinated activity by both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts within city limits,” Mercer continued, activating the holographic display. A 3D map of the city materialized, with color-coded markers indicating supernatural activity—blue for Unseelie, green for Seelie.
There were a lot of markers. Like, a concerning number of markers.
“The Winter Court has established at least seven sumarth surveillance nodes,” Mercer explained, highlighting the blue markers. “These devices are monitoring magical activity throughout the city, with particular focus on certain signature types.”
Her eyes flicked briefly toward me. So briefly most people wouldn’t have noticed. But I did, and so did Alison, judging by the way she subtly shifted in her seat.
“Simultaneously,” Mercer continued, “the Summer Court has accelerated its Bloom Stone distribution, establishing at least twelve enhancement centers throughout the metropolitan area.”
The green markers glowed brighter on the display, forming a loose network across affluent neighborhoods and commercial districts.
“For those unfamiliar with fae court tactics, this level of simultaneous activity is unprecedented,” Deputy Director Yakin interjected, her voice crisp. “Historically, the Courts maintain a careful balance of power, with minimal direct intervention in human affairs. This suggests a significant shift in their strategic approach.”
“Or a specific target,” Smith added, his gaze also drifting my way for a microsecond.
Was I being paranoid, or was everyone in this room giving me the side-eye? Maybe I should have worn a t-shirt that said “NOT A MORPH” in big letters. Real subtle.
“Based on our most recent intelligence,” Mercer continued, “we believe the Seelie Court began this escalation approximately six months ago with the introduction of Bloom Stones through wellness centers and alternative healing practices.”
The display shifted to show images from Harmony Haven and similar facilities across the city.
“The Bloom Stones appear to serve a dual purpose,” Mercer explained. “They provide genuine healing and enhancement to human recipients, while simultaneously altering their magical receptivity to align with Seelie Court interests.”
“Mind control?” someone asked from the back.
“More subtle,” Mercer replied. “Gradual influence rather than direct control. Recipients maintain free will but become increasingly sympathetic to Seelie perspectives.”
“And the Unseelie response?” Alison asked.
Mercer nodded, as if she’d been waiting for that question. “The Winter Court has deployed its surveillance network to identify and track specific magical signatures that might be of value or concern to them. Their approach is less benevolent.”
Images of the sumarth boxes and their victims appeared on screen. I tried not to look at Mrs. Petrovich’s face.
“These devices serve as both monitoring stations and potential weapons, capable of releasing hunter-class entities programmed to eliminate specific targets.”
“Such as?” Agent Martinez asked.
Mercer hesitated, exchanging a glance with Deputy Director Yakin. “Individuals with rare or unusual magical profiles. Particularly those who might be receptive to Seelie influence but haven’t yet been claimed.”
The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Or maybe that was just me, with my special awareness that they were absolutely talking about morphs without saying the word.
“This brings us to our current dilemma,” Deputy Director Yakin said, stepping forward. “We face threats from both Courts simultaneously. The Seelie are building an army of enhanced humans for unknown purposes, while the Unseelie are hunting those who haven’t yet been enhanced.”
“And we’re caught in the middle,” Smith added.
“As always,” Mercer agreed. “Which is why we’re mobilizing all available teams. Agent Smith will coordinate our response to the Unseelie surveillance network. Agent O’Connor will lead the investigation into the Bloom Stone distribution channels.”
She continued assigning tasks, but I was only half-listening, my mind racing. This wasn’t just about maintaining balance between realms anymore. This was a full-blown supernatural arms race, with humans as both the battlefield and the weapons.
And from the way Mercer kept carefully not looking at me, I was pretty sure I was more involved than I wanted to be.
Once the assignments were given, teams began breaking up for their specific briefings. Alison stood, gesturing for me to follow her to a smaller conference room down the hall.
“The sumarth locations are becoming more concerning,” she said as we entered the room, pulling up a map on the wall screen. “They were analyzing the secondary sites—the ones not at major ley line junctions—and noticed something odd.” She pointed to several locations highlighted on the map. “These don’t align with any known magical hotspots or ley lines. But they do form a different kind of pattern.”
“It’s like they’re tracking something specific,” she continued, her eyes studying the map intently. “Something that moves around the city rather than staying in one place.”
“Or someone,” I said quietly, trying to deflect suspicion by suggesting it myself.
I kept my expression neutral, but my pulse was racing. This was bad. Really bad. If Alison was seeing these patterns, how long before she connected them to me?
“That’s a problem for Smith’s team,” Alison said after a moment. “Our focus is the Bloom Stone network. We need to trace their distribution channels, find out how they’re getting into the city and who’s coordinating their placement.”
She pulled up additional data, displaying a map of known Bloom Stone locations. “Harmony Haven isn’t the only distribution point. There are wellness centers, yoga studios, even high-end spas all carrying these crystals.”
“They’re targeting affluent areas,” I observed. “Places where people have disposable income for alternative healing.”
“And influence,” Alison added. “The kind of people who make decisions, set trends, control resources.”
I nodded.
“The Seelie aren’t just creating enhanced humans—they’re creating enhanced humans in positions of power.”
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“We track the supply chain,” she said. “Find out where the Bloom Stones are coming from and how they’re being distributed. Someone’s coordinating this operation, and they’d have to be well-connected in both human and fae circles.”
“We should start with that crystal you got,” I suggested. “The one from Serena.”
I felt the weight of the Bloom Stone. “Right. I was going to turn that in to Analysis.”
“Good. While they’re examining it, I’ll pull records on all businesses receiving shipments of purported healing crystals in the last six months,” Alison said. “I’ll also coordinate with other field teams to set up surveillance on the primary distribution points.” She turned to me. “I want you to go to Analysis with the crystal. Your experience with these artifacts will be useful.”
There was something in her tone that set off warning bells. Was she getting me out of the way while she dug deeper? Or was she genuinely valuing my insights?
Either way, I didn’t have much choice. “Will do. Meet back here in two hours?”
She nodded, already turning to her tablet to coordinate with other teams.
The Analysis division occupied the lowest level of Agency headquarters, a maze of laboratories and testing chambers where the agency’s scientists poked and prodded at supernatural items until they either understood them or created exciting new problems. It reminded me of a morgue for magical artifacts, and partly because I was afraid they’d want to analyze me next.
Dr. Patel met me at the entrance, looking both exhausted and enthusiastic—the universal state of research scientists everywhere.
“Consultant Drexler,” she greeted me. “Agent O’Connor said you were bringing us a Bloom Stone for analysis.”
“Fresh from the source,” I confirmed, removing the small pouch from my pocket and handing it to her. “Picked it up at a wellness center called Harmony Haven. They’re distributing these as healing crystals.”
She led me to a secured lab where several other researchers were already examining larger Bloom Stones under specialized equipment.
“We’ve been studying the ones recovered from Robert Chen’s apartment,” Dr. Patel explained, placing my contribution in a sealed container. “Fascinating artifacts. They’re not just magical items—they’re almost alive in some ways. They respond to human proximity, adjust their energy output based on the recipient’s needs, and seem to learn, for lack of a better term.” She activated a scanner above the containment unit. “Watch.”
On the monitor, we could see the Bloom Stone’s internal structure—a complex crystalline matrix pulsing with energy. As Dr. Patel moved her hand closer to the container, the pulses quickened, the energy patterns shifting.
“It’s responding to you,” I observed.
“To my magical potential, minimal as it is,” she confirmed. “Each person generates a unique response. But what’s truly remarkable is how it adapts over time.”
She pulled up comparison scans showing a Bloom Stone’s structure before and after regular human contact. The after version was more complex, more organized.
“The magical signature is pure Seelie, but with modifications for human compatibility.”
“Custom-made for us,” I murmured. “Charming.”
“Indeed. And far more advanced than anything we’ve seen from the Courts before.” She looked at me with genuine concern. “This isn’t just an escalation of activity—it’s an evolution of methodology. Both Courts are deploying technologies designed specifically for human interaction. The question is why now?”
“That seems to be the million-dollar question,” I agreed. “Any theories?”
She hesitated. “Only speculation. But historical records suggest similar patterns emerge when the Courts are preparing for major power shifts. The last comparable surge was in the late 1800s, right before the Great Revelation event.”
I knew about the Great Revelation—a near-catastrophic breach of the veil between realms that had led to the creation of modern agencies like Shamrock. But that was supposed to be a one-time crisis, not a cyclical event.
“You think they’re preparing for another breach?”
“Or creating one.” She nodded toward the monitors displaying data from both Bloom Stones and sumarth boxes. “These technologies aren’t just for enhancement or surveillance. They’re changing the fundamental magical fabric of our realm. Making it more permeable.”
She pointed to a containment unit in the corner where a particularly vibrant Bloom Stone pulsed with steady rhythm. “That one’s especially concerning. It’s responding even when no one is near it—almost as if it’s connected to something or someone remotely. Like part of a hive mind.”
That was a terrifying thought. The Courts weren’t just fighting over human resources—they were terraforming our reality to suit their needs.
“I should report this to Agent O’Connor,” I said, already backing toward the door.
“Of course. We’ll continue our analysis and send full reports as soon as possible.”
I thanked her and left, my mind racing with implications. If the Courts were preparing for some kind of dimensional shift, then the arms race for human assets made perfect sense—they were establishing beachheads for whatever came next.
I was so lost in thought that I almost collided with Alison as I rounded the corner near the conference room.
“Whoa, sorry,” I said, steadying myself. “Just coming to find you. Dr. Patel had some concerning insights about the Bloom Stones.”
“So do I,” she replied, her expression unusually tense. “Come with me.”
She led me not to the conference room but to a small, windowless office I hadn’t seen before. The kind of space designed for conversations that shouldn’t be overheard.
Not ominous at all.
“I wanted to ask you something directly,” she said, leaning against the desk. “About your techniques.”
I kept my expression neutral. “What about them?”
“You mentioned your father taught you, but your methods don’t match any established breaking tradition I’ve studied.” Her tone was professional, but I could hear the underlying suspicion. “Were there other mentors? Someone else who influenced your approach?”
An interesting angle, not accusing me of being something unusual, but suggesting I was trained by someone who was. I could work with that.
“My father wasn’t traditional,” I said carefully. “He collected obscure techniques, adapted them. Most of what I know came from him, but he had... connections. People who approached breaking differently.”
“These connections have names?”
I shook my head. “Not that he shared with me. My father wasn’t big on introductions.”
She studied me for a moment, clearly weighing my response. “Your approach at the warehouse was particularly effective. That kind of energy redirection isn’t something you pick up from books.”
“I improvise,” I said with a shrug. “When standard methods fail, you adapt or you die.”
“That’s what concerns me,” she replied. “Improvisation without proper understanding can be dangerous. For everyone involved.”
The implication was clear: She thought I was using techniques I didn’t fully understand, perhaps taught by someone with abilities like mine. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was safer than her suspecting what I really was.
“What do you want from me, Alison?” I asked quietly.
“Just clarity. And caution.” She straightened up. “We have work to do. The Bloom Stone distribution network won’t trace itself.”
As she opened the door to leave, I made a decision.
“I need to check something first,” I said. “A contact who might know more about these crystals. I’ll meet you back at the conference room this afternoon.”
She paused. “What contact?”
“My father.”
“The estranged one with the mysterious techniques?”
“Yeah. Him.” I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice.
She hesitated, clearly weighing the potential value against the risk of letting me out of her sight. “Alright,” she said finally. “And I expect a full briefing on whatever you learn.”
I nodded, already planning what I would and wouldn’t share.
As I headed for the exit, my mind was racing. Alison was too close to the truth, her investigation too thorough, her motivation too personal. I needed answers—about the Courts, about the surveillance network specifically targeting morphs, about why all of this was happening now.
I could still hear his voice from that night when I was ten. “They’ll come for you, Cal. When they do, don’t trust anyone who says they’re here to help.” Twenty years later, his warnings were finally making sense.
Whatever was happening, I was tired of being caught in the middle without understanding why. I’d been running and hiding for too long.
Sometimes, to move forward, you have to return to the man who taught you to hide from the world—before the world finishes hunting you down.
CHAPTER 15
“The Courts must be monitored to ensure containment.”—Shamrock Disposal Agency Field Manual, Section 3.3
My father lived twenty miles outside the city in a neighborhood that time forgot. Cookie-cutter ranch houses with faded vinyl siding and cracked driveways lined streets named after trees no one had bothered to plant. The kind of place where the American Dream went to retire on insufficient social security.
As I drove down Oakwood Lane, memories bubbled up like tar—thick, sticky, and impossible to wash off. Dad drilling me on fae court insignias when I was eight. Being woken at three in the morning to practice energy shielding. The first time I accidentally morphed at eleven, absorbing a static charge from the TV, and the look of terror on Dad’s face that I mistook for anger.
Our last argument still echoed in my head. I was twenty-two, fresh out of college, and determined to live my own life. “You can’t hide forever,” I’d told him. “The Agency isn’t hunting us. The Courts aren’t real threats anymore. It’s the 21st century, not the Dark Ages.”
His response had been cold and final. “Your ignorance will get you killed. Or worse—it’ll get others killed. When that happens, don’t come crying to me.”
I hadn’t. For five years, I’d stayed away, checking in with the occasional text message. He would occasionally answer.
Number 1478 looked like every other house on the block—maybe worse. Peeling paint, overgrown lawn, sagging gutters. A rusty pickup truck sat in the driveway beside a collection of weather-worn garden gnomes. To any passing neighbor, it screamed lonely old man who’s given up.
I knew better.
I parked behind the truck and sat for a moment, steeling myself. The shabby exterior was deliberate—a carefully crafted disguise. Like father, like son. We both lived behind facades.
As I approached the front door, my senses tingled with awareness. The yard wasn’t just overgrown—it was strategically planted. What looked like random weeds included nightshade, wolfsbane, and other plants with magical properties. What looked like lawn kitsch was really a defensive perimeter—pixie sentries bound to clay gnomes. Of course.
One turned its head slightly as I passed. Creepy little things.
I raised my hand to knock, but the door opened before my knuckles made contact.
“You’re late,” my father said.
Frank Drexler looked older than his fifty-eight years, with steel-gray hair cropped military short and a face weathered by worry more than time. His posture remained parade-ground perfect, a remnant of his military days before the Agency recruited him. He wore faded jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle. Despite his age, he could still probably kick my ass.
