The Bitter Seed of Magic

by Suzanne McLeod

  We stood like statues on the high walkway, the rays of the dying sun turning us golden, and the silence and tension coiled between us until I wanted to scream, to lash out at him— To offer him my body and my throat.

  Instead I fell back on my childhood training and counted: one elephant, two elephants—

  His lips drew back and I stared, transfixed, at his sharp canine fangs. His two needle-like venom incisors were still retracted, which was good, wasn’t it? Donating blood was one thing, getting a venom hit at the same time? Well, if that happened I’d be falling a long, long, lo-ooong way off the wagon. And the last thing I’d want to do was struggle.

  Five elephants …

  Sweat trickled down my spine.

  Seven ele …

  I wanted desperately to drag my eyes from his fangs, to stop imagining the bliss as they pierced my flesh, the delicate pull of his mouth at my throat spiralling pure, dazzling ecstasy into my body …

  Ten …

  A tremor shuddered through him. He leaned closer, his dark spice scent eddying round me, his silky hair brushing my cheek. I angled my head, yielding. His lips pressed against the vulnerable spot under my jaw and my pulse jumped eagerly.

  Thirteen …

  He sighed and the tension slipped away like fast-melting ice, leaving me somehow desolate and bereft. His thumb brushed over his ring on my finger. ‘Why did you use this, Genevieve?’ The words were a bare whisper against my skin.

  Really, really not for the reason you’re thinking. I shrugged, an infinitesimal movement of my shoulders. ‘I was getting bored with the entertainment provided by the police.’

  Seventeen …

  ‘You were concerned that your phone call to Sanguine Lifestyles had not reached me?’ he asked softly, an odd, indecipherable note in his voice.

  ‘Yeah, that too.’

  He pulled back, black eyes opaque as he studied me for a long moment. ‘No other reason?’

  Like maybe I wanted to lose myself in your power? Feel your body join with mine? Not then. ‘No.’

  He released my hand.

  Chapter Ten

  I waited until I was sure my knees were going to hold me, then tucked my hands into my jeans pockets, out of temptation’s way. His or mine, I wasn’t sure. Talking with him was one thing; touching him looked like it blew my self-imposed ‘hands off’ policy into orbit. And what the hell had caused me to react like that to a simple kiss? It certainly hadn’t been anything he’d done – at least, I didn’t think so. I moved to lean against the criss-crossed steel-beam wall of the walkway, putting more space between us.

  A deep frown lined his brow and he turned to stare out at the Thames. The sun had disappeared below the horizon and a parade of bright lights had sprung up along the river’s banks, reflecting oranges, reds and blues down into the water. I knew the walkway had its own lights, but here in Malik’s dreamscape it remained dark, shadows obscuring both its ends.

  ‘You have no need to worry, Genevieve,’ he said finally, speaking calmly, as if nothing had happened. ‘Your solicitor is at this moment speaking to a judge to facilitate your release.’

  Back to business. I relaxed and took a breath. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Details of your arrest have not been notified to the press,’ he continued. ‘You are apparently helping the police as an outside consultant with the investigation into the faeling found dead this morning.’

  Interesting. ‘If they’re covering up the arrest, then why’s it taking so long to spring me?

  ‘Detective Inspector Helen Crane is insisting that you know more than you are revealing to her. It has caused complications.’

  ‘Figured she’d use that against me,’ I muttered.

  ‘Do you know more, Genevieve?’

  ‘Yep, and I’d be overjoyed to tell her everything – except I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t, or won’t?’ he asked. Finn wasn’t the only one who caught on quickly.

  ‘Can’t,’ I said. ‘The info came with a gag clause – a magical one.’

  ‘I see.’ He turned to me, his usual impassive expression back in place. ‘Perhaps you should tell me all you are able.’

  I started talking, beginning with Hugh’s early morning phone call, the dead faeling wearing a Glamour spell, the argument with Witch-bitch Helen, right up to the silver-in-the-circle débâcle. He stopped me now and again to ask a quiet clarifying question, then resumed pacing – well, not exactly pacing, but his movements were enough to make me think ‘agitated’. But as he kept shooting glances into the shadows gathering around the far-away doorway, I didn’t think it was my story making him edgy.

  ‘Now this is where it gets tricky,’ I said, shifting in my perch in the V of one of the diamond-shaped windows to a more comfortable position. I started to tell him about my visit to Disney Heaven, expecting the goddess’ strangling hands to cut me off any second. To my surprise the gag clause turned positively garrulous, and the words came streaming out in one long, breath-stealing rush: ‘—and the goddess wants me to answer someone’s prayers and stop whoever is killing the faelings because of the curse and ultimately break the damn thing.’

  I stopped suddenly, as if released from whatever magical compulsion had kept me talking, and sank to my knees on the rough carpet, gulping for air. I stayed there, relearning how to breathe, awash with relief that I’d finally managed to tell someone about my heavenly trip.

  Malik crouched in front of me, his elegant fingers clasped together. ‘And you have not been able to speak about this to anyone but me?’

  ‘Not so far.’

  ‘Which would suggest that those you have not been able to talk to are connected to these deaths in some way?’

  He’d reached the same conclusion I had about the Goddess’ horned god photofit.

  ‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘Finn’s got nothing to do with this.’

  ‘Genevieve.’ Malik tipped my chin up, his expression gentle. ‘We all have the capacity to justify unimaginable actions when desperation and a belief in a greater good persuades us that they are the lesser evil.’

  I ducked my head and contemplated his bare feet; they were long and elegant too. ‘Unimaginable actions’ added up to when he’d attacked and left me for dead when I was fourteen. And then there was the other time – or times? Did the last one count, seeing as I was already dead? – that he’d killed me. He’d had good reasons, and I’d forgiven him. Hell, I’d asked him to kill me that last time, though to judge by the sorrow haunting his words, he hadn’t forgiven himself.

  I reached out, touched his clasped hands briefly. ‘This isn’t you we’re talking about,’ I said quietly.

  Regret flickered in his eyes. ‘The satyr is no different to any other, Genevieve. And he has shown he has both the will and capability to kill.’

  ‘Finn hasn’t killed anyone …’ but even as I said it I remembered he had once set a trap to kill Malik, and he’d staked a vamp on his horns (the vamp had later vanished, so I didn’t think Finn had actually killed him). Both incidents had been to defend me. ‘Finn wouldn’t kill an innocent, whatever the end result.’

  ‘But you admit the satyr could kill if he thought the death deserved,’ Malik said.

  There was no hint of accusation in his mild tone, but I didn’t like where he was going. I narrowed my eyes. ‘Why are you so hot to blame Finn?’

  ‘I am trying to divine the goddess’ intentions, this is all. Do you believe She means that you should bear a child to break the curse?’

  ‘Fine, side-step the issue then,’ I muttered, not caring if I sounded like a sulky child. Whatever I’d expected him to do after I’d told him about my heavenly trip, this wasn’t it.

  ‘Genevieve, it is not I who is side-stepping the issue.’

  No, it was me. Not that I knew what I’d expected him to do or say differently. I picked at a snag in the blue carpet as I tried to work out what I wanted.

  ‘Genevieve?’

  ‘Yes!’ I ground out, yanking
out the thread. ‘I think that’s what She means.’

  ‘And what would happen if you told the fae about your goddess’ command?’

  I threw my hands up. ‘They’d do what they’ve been doing all along, of course: try and convince me to have a child.’

  He cast a quick look past my shoulder, making my back crawl, then focused back on me. ‘Until now you have refused to bear a child because the outcome – breaking the curse – was not a certainty,’ he said. ‘But if the goddess has provided that certainty, then there is no reason for you to refuse any longer.’

  I scowled. ‘Got it in one.’

  ‘So why do you not have a child as the fae wish, then this will all be over?’ he asked in a perfectly rational and totally aggravating tone.

  I jerked my head up. ‘And what if I’ve misread the goddess’ commands because I’m so fixated on what the fae want?’ Yep, there it was: I wanted him to come up with a different explanation for what She’d told me, one that didn’t involve me getting pregnant. ‘Or what if the reason I can’t tell anyone else is because they’d all jump right into the curse-breaking side of things and no one would look for whoever is murdering the faelings?’ There, side-step that! ‘And even if I did have a kid and break the curse, who’s to say the killer wouldn’t kill again?’

  ‘The police are already looking for this killer, and they will continue to do so, regardless of the curse.’ He studied me, his expression thoughtful. ‘Genevieve, do you not want a child?’

  Fuck, no! ‘I’m only just twenty-five, Malik – I’m too young to be tied up with a kid.’

  ‘Yes, you are young, but the child would be an adult in a few years, and you will still be young. You are sidhe, a near-immortal; you will be young for centuries yet. It is but a small portion of your life to devote to a child, if the end result is one you desire?’

  I jumped up, frustration, fury and fear raging through me. ‘Listen!’ I jabbed a finger at him. ‘One: if I were ever to have a child, then there’s no way I’d let it fend for itself, just because it was a so-called adult. The child would be my kid for life.’ I jabbed at him again, my voice rising. ‘Two: do you really think I haven’t thought all this out for myself? And three: what the hell do you think you’re doing? This has nothing to do with you – you’re not fae. And if Tavish has put you up to persuade me, then you can tell him from me: it won’t fucking work. I do not want a kid, and unless I get something more significant than some iffy photofit and some cryptic clues, then I’m not going to, not now, and not ever. I will find another way to break the curse, even if it kills me.’

  He rose in one graceful, effortless movement, concern and bewilderment on his face. ‘I understood that this situation was not one you wanted, Genevieve, or were comfortable with, but I did not realise that having a child engendered such fear in you.’ He reached out, but I twisted away before he could touch me. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘You’re asking me?’ I clenched my fists, trying to keep from shouting at him. ‘When you know what happened between my mother and father? What he did to her? Talk about a bad start in life!’ I snorted. ‘And it didn’t get any better, did it? Hell, my own father married me off to a psychotic, sadistic sucker, then I spent the next ten years being a pawn in some shitty Prohibition game cooked up between the lot of you, a game I didn’t even know I was playing. Oh, and let’s not forget, I’ve died three— No, wait, that might even be four times now. Four times, Malik! I might be sidhe and nearly immortal, but that’s pushing it for anyone. Next time my death might stick, my body might actually fade, and there will be nothing for me to come back to. No way am I bringing a kid into a world like this, not with all the bad luck and tainted blood in my heritage, even if there wasn’t the damn fertility curse to deal with.’

  He frowned, perplexed. ‘I never met your mother, but from what I heard, your father was besotted with her, and Nataliya with him. I do not know that he ever did anything untoward to her—’

  ‘C’mon, Malik – that story about my father finding her at a fertility rite and the pair of them falling head-over-heels and then her tragically dying in childbirth? It’s just that: a story. One I stopped believing in a long time ago.’

  Like I stopped believing in a whole lot of other things, like my father had my best interests at heart, and vamps were just people with pointy teeth, all thanks to the psychotic vamp my father betrothed me to: a.k.a. the Autarch, Britain’s Top Dog vamp – and Malik’s erstwhile master. I ignored the terrified, sick feeling in my stomach that always accompanied thoughts about my betrothed and glared at Malik.

  ‘It just doesn’t stack up.’ I smacked one of the steel beams. ‘I mean, how the hell did a vamp gatecrash a sidhe fertility rite in the first place, let alone survive long enough to get one pregnant? And then he actually kidnaps her when he escapes? Oh, and not to mention managing to keep her hidden from her queen and court long enough for a child to be born?’

  ‘Ah.’ He brushed his hair back where it had fallen forward. ‘I understand now. You think your father forced your mother in some way—’

  ‘I know he did!’ I yelled. ‘No sidhe would willingly have a child with a vamp – it just doesn’t happen!’

  He stilled. Hot flames flared in his pupils, then snuffed out. The temperature on the walkway dropped about twenty degrees and I shivered in the sudden icy air as my horrified mind caught up with the stupid, thoughtless words my mouth had uttered.

  ‘And you know this how?’ he asked, his voice as chilly as the air.

  I grimaced, my anger fleeing in the face of an insulted vamp – a powerful, dangerous, insulted vamp … a vamp I cared something for, and truly hadn’t meant to hurt. Way to go, Gen! ‘Look, Malik, I’m sorry, that didn’t come out—’

  ‘Quiet, Genevieve.’

  His order snapped into my mind, and my mouth stopped talking. Shock tripped through me, but before I could protest, he added, ‘Sit down and do not speak to anyone but me until you leave here.’

  I half collapsed, half sat on the walkway, disbelief coursing through me that he’d sicced me with his mind-mojo.

  ‘Falling at your feet, is she? Lucky you, old chap.’

  The loud, jovial voice came from behind me, and snapped me out of my shock. I twisted round to see its owner strolling along the walkway, his long platinum hair blowing out behind him like he was the star in a shampoo ad. The blousy red poet’s shirt and tight black trousers he was wearing added a pseudo-romantic flair, as did his dark, hooded eyes. But the manic grin, wide enough that I had no trouble seeing his fangs, spoiled the whole Byronic throwback look.

  Tentative relief settled in me as I realised that Malik’s chilly rage might not be all about me.

  ‘You are not welcome here,’ Malik said, his voice soft with threat. ‘I suggest you leave now.’

  Blondie threw his arms as wide as his grin. ‘Give it your best shot, old boy,’ he called, speeding up to a jog. Smoke-like shadows coalesced around us, drawing into spear-like lines of darkness that shot along the walkway to strike the now-sprinting vamp chest-on. He screeched, a high yipping sound, and the shadow spears vanished as he blurred forward and skidded to a halt a few feet away.

  ‘Dreamscapes are such fun,’ he chuckled, leaping up to hang from the steel rafters like a spider, ‘although I did expect the sidhe to be a tad more graceful.’ He leered down at me. ‘Still, I’m sure the blood makes up for any clumsiness.’

  ‘The sidhe is not your concern.’ Malik’s tone was back to being icy.

  Great, let’s all talk about me like I’m some sort of pet.

  I narrowed my gaze to peer at the vamp hanging above me. I recognised him. Blondie was the vamp Finn had once ‘staked’ with his horns, who’d later vanished. He’d kidnapped a human friend of mine to blackmail me into taking his blood-bond. I’d considered him pretty much a low-life opportunist at the time, so I hadn’t been too worried when he’d disappeared. Now I wasn’t sure quite what he was, but Malik’s spike in tension (which, oddly, I was
picking up again, like I was some sort of radio receiver) suggested Blondie was definitely dangerous.

  Blondie dropped down, smoothed his hair and winked at me. ‘Any chance you’d be up for sharing with an old drinking buddy?’

  ‘Do not even consider it, Maxim,’ Malik growled, his voice vibrating harshly next to my ear. I jumped, startled at finding him crouched next to me. ‘Give me your hand, Genevieve.’ He held out his own, and I placed mine in his, thinking he meant to help me up.

  Maxim gave a barking laugh. ‘Getting territorial over the sidhe, are you? Good God, that’s not going to go down well with His Royal Highness.’

  Royal Highness?

  Malik’s grip tightened on my fingers. I flinched.

  ‘My apologies, Genevieve.’ Malik’s voice was calm in my head. ‘I did not intend to hurt you.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know why I’m here, old man?’ Maxim asked cheerfully.

  ‘No.’ Malik flicked his hand, and the other vamp shot through the bridge’s suddenly insubstantial wall. For a second I thought he was gone, but he popped right back in and hunkered down next to us.

  ‘Good one that, old chap – caught me unawares,’ he said, still grinning, ‘but now you’re in the vicinity, as it were, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about while our esteemed Lord and Master isn’t around. A little proposition about the sidhe here.’

  ‘This is not the time, Maxim,’ Malik said, glowering down at where he held my hand. Then he added in my mind, ‘Genevieve, give me my ring, please.’

  I frowned, adding ‘Royal Highness’ and ‘Lord and Master’ together and getting Autarch. Terrified panic clutched at me and I grabbed Malik’s arm. ‘What’s this got to do with the Autarch?’ I demanded.

  ‘Why, the Turk here is His newest Oligarch … Or should I say “toy”?’ Maxim rubbed his hands together with glee. ‘How long’s it been now, five months? Tell me, is His Royal Brattiness still at the “eviscerating and stringing of guts” stage, or has he moved on yet?’ Maxim gave me a sly look. ‘The rest of us have been greatly enjoying the holiday.’