‘The king of the Fear used it.’
‘You met their king?’ She went so still, all her attention focused on Izzy. ‘You met Eochaid?’
‘Yes. He said I was promised to him. What does that even mean?’
An awkward silence answered her, weighing on all of them until Silver replied. ‘That’s something you need to ask your father. But Míl … Míl was Grigori, like you. And he was the one who sealed Eochaid away. Only one of them could survive, if the Shining Ones were to be defeated. It’s an old story, and not one for me to tell.’ She sighed, the sound ragged, and sat forward. ‘Jinx, call my messengers. We need to alert the Council and summon them. Immediately.’
A jangling tune interrupted Silver, silencing her and Izzy started. They all stared at Izzy as she flushed red.
‘My phone.’ She pulled it out of her pocket and answered the call, not caring who heard her relief. ‘Dad! Are you – yes, yes fine. I’m in the Market – Yes.’ She looked up, her eyes filling with doubt all of a sudden. ‘Yes, Silver’s here.’
There was a pause and then she held the slim phone out to Silver. ‘He wants to talk to you.’
It didn’t escape Jinx’s notice that when Silver took the phone, her hand was shaking.
‘Grigori,’ she said. The deferential tone made Jinx uncomfortable, but he knew exactly why she used it. Even talking to David Gregory at a distance wasn’t exactly easy. And Silver didn’t like confrontation. ‘Yes, we’ll send her home at once. But I need to talk to you.’ She spoke cautiously. ‘I must call a meeting of the Council. Under the Grand Compact, I request that you join us.’ She paused while Dad replied. Whatever he said, she didn’t look happy. ‘Of course. But – yes, Isabel can relate the details when she’s back with you. My deepest respects.’
The Market was already peopled with diplomats and henchmen serving one of the council members. At least one of them, often more. They were each summoned and despatched with sealed letters, written in code despite the heavy wax seal the colour of blood. No fae trusted another completely.
And there was no one to act in such a way for the Grigori. No one but Izzy herself.
‘Now we just wait to see if they will come,’ Silver muttered, gazing across the now hushed and fearful Market. There was no hiding what they were doing. Not here. ‘They have to.’
All of which left Izzy the unenviable task of telling her dad. It was too important to trust to a phone call. At least she knew he was okay. Not that he’d bothered to tell her that, or how he’d talked his way out of trouble. No, he’d see her at home and that was that.
Where she’d have to ask him to come to a fae stronghold and meet all the senior Aes Sídhe.
Jinx muttered something about needing to see someone before they left and, not having anything else to do, Izzy followed him, trying her best not to look like a stray puppy in search of a home. It didn’t seem to bother him. In fact, he barely seemed to notice.
He walked through the Market with the air of someone on a quest, but headed for the fringes, those dark and ratty corners of the hollow where the stalls looked bleak, dirty and disreputable and the stall holders even worse.
‘Don’t say anything, okay?’ he told her as they approached a stall staffed by a small red-haired fae dressed in a green hoodie, with the shiniest shoes Izzy had ever seen. ‘He’s a lep, and if they lose it there’s hell to pay.’
‘A lep? Do you mean a leprechaun?’ She smiled. ‘But aren’t they … I don’t know … lucky? Jolly?’
Jinx looked at her as if she’d never said anything so stupid in all the time he’d known her.
‘You saw them at the museum, didn’t you? Cudgel and his mob? Did they seem jolly? Look, ever seen a poltergeist?’ She shook her head. ‘Well, anyway, doesn’t matter. He’s way worse.’
The leprechaun scowled at them and proceeded to shove more things into a backpack.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Jinx.
‘Puck’s Castle,’ he said. ‘It’s the only safe place. Something terrible is happening in this city and I don’t want any part of it.’
‘Oh, come on, Art,’ Jinx began, but the leprechaun glared at him, then stared at Izzy, as if noticing her for the first time. He shook his head, blinking, and took a step back. Afraid. It was unmistakable.
‘You need to stay away. I don’t know what it is, but it feels wrong and it all centres on you. On the two of you, but mainly on you, Cú Sídhe. You’re all about hollows, kith and kin, but we’re not. My kind, I mean. We’re solitaries, only tolerated because we’re useful and do the jobs the mighty Aes Sídhe don’t want to sully their hands with. When the shit hits the fan we’re first against the wall. That goes for all the wanderers, the outsiders, the ones who don’t belong. But listen, mate, the Cú Sídhe are usually next to get it.’
‘But why Puck’s Castle?’
‘Don’t you know anything? Puck’s Castle? Puck? The Púca, Jinx, king of the wanderers, lord of wild magic. First among us? Hell’s bells, Holly did a job and a half on you. Did she beat our stories from you? The Sídhe had their gods and we had ours. They’re all gone, but they linger on. They can be called back. Sometimes. Some say they’re just sleeping under the earth or in a hollow in the hills.’
‘The Púca’s a story.’
‘Yeah,’ said Art, zipping up the rucksack and swinging it over his shoulders. It was almost as big as he was, but didn’t impede him in the slightest. ‘And I’m off a bleedin’ cereal packet. There’s a lot of it about. Try to keep up, doggy.’
He pushed by Jinx.
‘Hey!’ Jinx caught him by the shoulder, stopping him.
‘What? I’ve paid you all I owe you. My books are clear. No debts, Cú Sídhe.’
‘I know.’ He released the leprechaun and nodded to him. ‘Just … take care, okay?’
It took Art by surprise. He stared for a moment, mouth hanging open. ‘You too,’ he said. ‘Try to, anyway. Stay out of trouble, Jinx.’
And then Art was gone, lost in the milling crowd of the Market. Jinx stood there, almost looking bereft. If you didn’t know he didn’t have feelings, which Izzy did. Obviously. But he looked like he’d just lost his only friend. And perhaps he had.
‘Jinx?’ she said tentatively.
He turned sharply, his metallic eyes hard again.
‘What?’
He hated it when she saw vulnerability in him. Izzy knew that, but it still hurt.
‘I should go,’ she said and Jinx took on that guilty, hunted look that made her squirm inside. This wasn’t his fault. So why did he have to look like she was blaming him for something?
‘I’ll accompany you,’ he said, all stiff and formal again.
‘It’s okay. I’m sure Dylan will come with me. He’s heading home anyway.’ They made their way back to Dylan and Silver in silence, Jinx mulling over Art’s departure no doubt and Izzy wondering why his mood changed so quickly all the time. ‘Dylan, ready to go?’
‘Of course, whenever you’re ready,’ her friend replied willingly enough. ‘Unless Silver—’
‘No,’ Silver interrupted sharply. Dylan looked devastated until Silver spoke again in a softer voice. ‘You go home. And stay there. It’s safer. Especially now. Jinx will go with you both. He has to see Izzy’s father.’
‘Fine,’ Dylan replied. ‘I’ll be coming back with Izzy anyway. You need me here.’
‘No, I don’t.’ But he only smiled at her. He was the source of her power. Of course she needed him when she was summoning the Council. ‘Dylan … you must be careful. You know my people are not … not kind.’
‘If one of your charming family tries to eat me again, I’m safer with you anyway, amn’t I?’
Silver shook her head, more in defeat than denial. ‘Take Jinx with you, Izzy, I beg of you. As a gesture of goodwill towards you and your father. He is my emissary. He shares my blood, my kinship, and he will keep you safe should anything untoward befall you on the way.’
Izzy didn’t tell her about savi
ng Jinx from the Fear. It didn’t seem fair. Silver was adamant about this. And so formal it was getting worrying. What could she do but accept?
What would Dad say? He’d been freaked enough about Jinx turning up at the Leprechaun Museum. Who knew how he’d react to her bringing him to the house? Whatever was going on there, she’d need to get to the bottom of that as well. She wasn’t looking forward to it. ‘Well, okay then, I guess.’
Silver smiled. ‘Please impress upon the Grigori how much my people need him right now. He must help us or the balance of all the realms will be in jeopardy.’
‘I will,’ Izzy promised solemnly, still not sure how this worked. But that was the role of the Grigori in a nutshell, to keep the balance of the realms. And she was, as everyone constantly reminded her, a Grigori now.
They left the eerily silent Market, its people huddled together whispering, their glances so very sharp. Those who hadn’t already left like Art. Anyone who felt threatened had gone, and they were many. She saw the way they glared at Jinx and the way he struggled to ignore it. It had always been like this for him, or so he’d once told her, long ago. Now, all of a sudden, it seemed worse.
‘Who’s Osprey?’ she asked softly.
‘Holly’s assassin.’
‘And he didn’t kill you?’
‘No. Which could be worse for me.’
‘What do you mean?’ But he didn’t answer.
There was no sign of the Fear outside, not now, just some drunken early Halloween revellers at the far end of the square, all face paint and fake blood. Jinx opened the gate to the Sídheways in Smithfield square. It was weak here, still damaged from Sorath’s assault on it. The edges were frayed and ragged. On a sunny day it was almost visible to human eyes, an iridescent blemish on the surface of reality, like the little flecks of too-bright flashes in the field of vision before a migraine.
They entered the pathway between places and worlds, Jinx leading, Izzy and Dylan following close behind. He knew these paths, could navigate them without thinking about it. Izzy wondered if she got lost in here, would she ever find her way out again? And if she did how long would it take? The Sídheways twisted time, borrowing seconds here, hours there, and repaying them in complicated ways she couldn’t make out.
Jinx was watching her again, glancing back at her from time to time, his gaze finding her whenever they paused. Izzy shivered because her Grigori tattoo’s reaction to Jinx had always been warm and comforting. Never cold, never until now.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
He blinked, as if waking from a dream, and frowned at her. ‘What?’
The cold faded away, replaced by the more familiar warm tingling.
‘You were staring at me.’
‘I was?’ The frown turned puzzled and he had the good grace to look contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
Oh, lovely. Such a compliment. Concern drained away to irritation. Of course, he couldn’t say sorry. None of them could. Except that he had, that night on the hill.
‘It’s rude to stare.’
He forced a grin. ‘I’ll remember that if you will.’ That sudden teasing tone was going to get them both into trouble. But at least it sounded – and felt – like him again. Izzy wasn’t sure what she had sensed looking out at her from the depths of his eyes, but for a moment it hadn’t felt like Jinx at all.
The light bled and shimmered on the pathways. She could just catch snapshots and moments of the world beyond, snippets of sound amplified too loud, or delivered in a dead whisper. They stepped from place to place, an impossible route that made no sense, cobbles or grass one minute, concrete slabs and tarmac the next, while overhead strange birds reeled in the sky. The same sky turned black as night and stars shone far too brightly in complicated patterns. In the blink of an eye it turned grey as slate, the sky of a storm in the offing.
Izzy stumbled and Dylan caught her. She’d been looking up for too long and a wave of dizziness caught her.
‘You okay?’
Jinx glared back at the two of them and opened the next gate, stepping out on to College Green. The clouds parted overhead, drenching the city in autumnal sunshine. He led them up the length of Grafton Street, making the crowds part before them by will alone.
‘What was she talking about, Jinx?’ Izzy asked, catching up with him outside Weir & Sons, ‘What are the Shining Ones?’
‘A fairytale,’ he grunted. ‘Made up to frighten children a long time ago. She can’t really mean it.’
‘She seemed dead serious,’ Dylan said.
‘I know,’ the Cú Sídhe replied, doubt making his voice leaden. He reached up and rubbed his neck, where Silver had been examining the new tattoos. ‘But it isn’t possible.’
‘What are they?’ Izzy asked again. She was almost forced to run to keep up with his long strides now, he was so eager to be away from her.
She grabbed his arm to slow him down. He glared at her until she released him, but he didn’t exactly pull away. Once he was free again he slowed his pace for them and finally, he started to talk.
‘Old gods. Crazy gods. Killed and buried when mankind were still living in a garden paradise protected by angels. Well, not killed perhaps. Imprisoned. They were powerful and terrible, angels above angels. And after the war in heaven they went wild, feral. They knew nothing could stop them. And they didn’t want to share with anyone, let alone each other. They only wanted to feed. Gods of chaos and darkness, gods of the void. They couldn’t be controlled, only contained. No one could bear the thought of another war, so they were tricked, trapped. Because nothing could stand in their way except another god.’
‘Like the Titans,’ Izzy said.
‘Every pantheon has them in some form. The first gods. Beautiful and terrible. We called them the Shining Ones and they were our gods. All the Sídhe loved and feared them. It hurt to look on them for too long. Their beauty burned the eyes from your head, the sanity from your mind. It was a time of blood and death. A time of horror outside of Eden. It’s where we found ourselves. That’s all I know.’
‘She said the Grigori were there.’
‘Yes. Or one of them was anyway, along with the Fear. That’s the story. Eochaid and Míl … They were blood brothers, sworn to defend each other. But Eochaid became a monster, living off the terror of others. Míl had no choice but to overthrow him too. The Fear were imprisoned along with the monsters they’d fought against.’
‘And now Holly has let them out.’
‘So it seems.’
They turned into St Stephen’s Green, walking by the duck pond and over the little humpback bridge to the central area of the gardens. People sat in sunshine, laughing, talking, reading in silence or just lying there, eyes closed, drinking it in. They could hear children in a nearby playground.
Suddenly, Izzy imagined ancient, hungry gods descending on this, gods too beautiful to look on, too terrible to endure. Phantom screams rose in the back of her mind. The tattoo chilled like ice or acid burrowed into her spine. She shook the sensation away. Or at least she tried to. It didn’t want to go.
‘Here,’ said Jinx. ‘There’s another Sídheway gate up here. It’ll take us most of the way Southside and we can pick up the next.’
But before they could reach it, the shadows surged out of the bushes like a wave of night. It wasn’t the Fear this time. The sickening feeling in her stomach told her that.
‘Shades!’ Izzy shouted, and tore open her bag, reaching for the knife. Not to attack. For defence. The only way she knew how. She didn’t hesitate, not for a second, dropping to her knees and driving the iron tip into the grass, drawing a circle just as she had on the hill when she first met Azazel. ‘Dylan, here. Jinx—’
But Jinx had already shifted, a huge hound standing in his place, those long elegant ears, gleaming with silver studs and rings, flattened back against his head in anger. His green-black fur bristled, marked with the same dark-blue designs as the tattoos on his skin. Only his silver eyes remained the same, th
ough they were narrow slits now. He snarled, all rage and muscles, long claws raking through the ground as he placed himself between Izzy, Dylan and the approaching shades.
The demonic creations hissed and writhed, unwilling or unable to come close, surrounding them all the same. Jinx prowled outside the perimeter, keeping them back. In the protective circle she’d drawn, Izzy stood up again, aware of Dylan at her back. She could feel him trembling, his breath harsh in his throat.
Elsewhere in the park, life carried on, oblivious to what was happening here, on this narrow patch of grass between trees and bushes, away from the path. A hidden corner that she feared would not remain hidden much longer. And when someone human stumbled on to the shades …
‘Well, now,’ said a smooth, cruel voice. ‘Here’s an interesting mix.’
The figure stepped out of the middle of the shades, shaking off shadows like dust. She looked like a girl Izzy’s own age, sleek in the way the Queen Bees at school were, but with an innate sense of malice about her that they’d never hope to match. She was dressed in a school uniform very like Izzy’s own, though it hugged her figure in ways it was never designed to do, and the skirt skimmed the top of her thighs. Her hair was a glossy sable, her skin deeply tanned and her eyes so dark they appeared black. Kohl rimmed them, making the shadows they contained so much more sinister. She parted her full, plum-coloured lips in a smile.
‘What are you meant to be?’ Izzy blurted out, belatedly relieved to hear her voice didn’t shake as much as she would have expected. ‘Lolita or something? Bad choice, it isn’t on the lit course this year.’
The demon’s smile didn’t falter. It was a touch too wide, showing too many glistening white teeth. ‘I was going for something a little more contemporary. I like your dog. Does he howl? If you don’t call him off I’ll have mine rip him to pieces, Isabel Gregory. I have a whole pack.’
‘Who are you and what do you want?’
Jinx growled as the shades edged closer, driving them back. Despite her boast, they weren’t eager to engage him. But they severely outnumbered him. If they really did all attack at once, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Izzy reached out a warning hand, and he stilled, drawing closer to her, circling their position again. There was something eerily familiar about his presence. She’d missed him.
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