The Bitter Seed of Magic s-3

by Suzanne McLeod

  ‘I am aware of how you react to me physically, Genevieve.’ His frown deepened. ‘But you care enough for Darius to take responsibility for his existence, and to put yourself in danger in order to save him. He is by all accounts very … talented, and yet you say you have not taken him as your lover. You have not taken any lovers among the fae either, and this suggests that you do not give yourself lightly, therefore the only conclusion I can come to is that despite your evident physical desire for me, you are not truly willing. I do not wish to take advantage of you.’

  My mouth dropped open in shock. ‘Okay, this is just way too strange. One: no way am I going to take a lover from the fae, not with a fertility curse hanging over my head, and two: this seduction was all your idea. You started it, I just went along for the ride’—ha, ha, and wasn’t that a Freudian slip? Not that I was getting one—‘I did not come here to seduce you. I mean, why would I even think I could? It’s not like you’ve ever had a problem resisting either my body or my blood before. Or now.’

  He opened his mouth—

  —and I slapped my hand over it, wishing I’d done the same to my own a few seconds ago. ‘Oh no.’ I shook my head. ‘We are so not doing this any more. And don’t you dare think about giving me any orders. You’re the one blowing hot and cold and playing games, so this conversation is over.’

  I ducked out beneath his arms, stalked to the wardrobe and threw the doors open. I stared blindly into the dark interior, wondering if I could just crawl in there and hide as the adrenalin high of anger and arousal dissolved into embarrassment. Did I really have to tell him exactly how I felt? And what was that crack about Darius being talented? And what the hell just happened? Other than he’d rejected me—again. And, hello, why was I even hot and bothered about that? It’s not like I really wanted any sort of actual relationship with him … did I? Shit, I should have gone straight to Plan B instead of giving into a stupid impulse.

  Well, I was damn well putting Plan B in action now. I shrugged off my jacket and glanced over my shoulder. He was standing there, arms crossed, a pensive look on his face. I flipped my hand, indicating he should turn round. He didn’t. Bastard. ‘I want to change, Malik,’ I said sharply, flipping my hand again.

  ‘I wish to see how your injuries are healing, Genevieve,’ he answered coolly, as if nothing had happened, ‘and I have seen you without your clothes before.’

  ‘Not by my choice,’ I huffed, ‘and you just lost your chance at that ever again, so either turn round’—I grabbed a long-sleeved T-shirt and flapped it at the window—‘or I’ll change outside on the roof.’

  His nostrils flared and I tensed, then he turned and gave me his back.

  I swapped the silk top for the T-shirt. Damn irritating vamp. I tugged off my high-heeled boots and kicked them under the bed in annoyance. They knocked over the tidy rows he’d left with a thud and I saw his shoulders flinch. Score one for me. I dropped my velvet jeans and caught sight of the Chastity handprint spell on my stomach. Crap, I’d forgotten all about it—weird that the spell hadn’t kicked in when things started getting all steamy with Malik. I grimaced and pulled on a pair of black denims.

  ‘It was truly not your intention to seduce me, Genevieve?’ Oddly his question sounded … regretful? Or maybe that was my stupid, wishful imagination. And did the damn vamp never give up?

  ‘I came here with a plan,’ I said through gritted teeth, ‘and a half-assed idea that you could help me. But I knew you wouldn’t just say yes, that would be way too easy; you’re a vamp, after all, so I brought my insubstantial carrots and sticks. But then you decided to change the game, and for one stupid, idiotic moment of total insanity, I thought, why the hell not?’ I blew out an indignant breath. ‘I should’ve known better. Oh, and you can stop communing with the wall now. I’m decent.’

  He turned, his brow lined in a frown. ‘Why are you changing?’

  ‘These are my best jeans’—I shook the velvet jeans out and hung them in the wardrobe—‘and so far they haven’t got any blood on them. I’m hoping to keep it that way.’ I bent and fished under the bed for some more practical footwear. I slumped on the bed and shoved my feet into the flat ankle boots.

  He sat next to me. ‘I am sorry, Genevieve.’ He touched my cheek, a brief, gentle trail of his cool fingers. ‘But I cannot let you leave on this suicide mission.’ His dark spice and leather scent curled round me consoling and remorseful. ‘I have given my word to protect you.’

  ‘I know. You’ve told me. More than once. But that’s between you and Tavish and whatever the two of you’ve got going on together, it’s got nothing to do with me.’ I stood. Time to leave. ‘Unless of course, you’re prepared to tell me what that is?’ I paused, but he didn’t enlighten me. Figured. ‘Fine, I’ll see you around then. Maybe.’ I took the couple of steps to the door and reached for the handle—

  —and, vamp-fast, he was standing between me and the door. ‘Do not force me to do this, Genevieve.’

  ‘I’m not forcing you to do anything,’ I said flatly. ‘You can come with me and protect me, or not. Your choice.’

  ‘It is too dangerous.’ Pinpricks of power lit in the depths of his dark eyes. ‘You will not go.’

  I winced as the order slammed into my mind. Time to let the beautiful vamp in on the limitations.

  ‘Malik, even if I appreciated the whole macho-vamp-protection thing, you can’t keep ordering me about. It’s not enough to do the job. Your protection only works when it comes to vamps, and it’s not going to make one iota of difference to anyone else who is determined to come after me. Like, if the two trolls out there came in and took me bodily away, even if the Ward wasn’t there, you couldn’t do anything until after sunset. Come dawn tomorrow you are going to be defenceless, and about as much use as a bodyguard as a leaky boat on the Thames. You’re daylight-challenged, and you always will be.’

  Frustration flared in his eyes.

  I carried on, ‘Once the killer and Victoria Harrier find out they have a substitute, what do you think they’re going to do? They’re going to dump my doppelgänger and come after who they really want: me. London’s only sidhe. It’s only common sense to stop them before they decide to do that.’

  ‘This is a matter better left to the police, Genevieve. I will not agree to your participation.’

  I laughed: it wasn’t happy. ‘You still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about you agreeing or not agreeing. You were just my first choice. You’re not the only vamp in town, and if you’re not prepared to go with me, then I know a vamp that will.’

  ‘Darius is too young and too weak to aid you, Genevieve,’ he said dismissively.

  ‘I’m not talking about Darius, my liege.’ I stuck my hands on my hips and gave him a ‘so-there’ look. Childish, I know, but hey— ‘I’m talking about Francine. All I have to do is ask for her help in your name and she’ll give it me. And she’s a kick-ass lady who does a mean line in illusions. Not to mention she hates Maxim, so she’ll be thrilled to coax him into telling the police and me whatever we want to know. Then let’s not forget Cousin Fyodor, and whatever stories he’s got to tell.’ I mimed pulling out a stake. ‘He’s old enough that it won’t take long to get him back into talking order again. Oh, and don’t think your little order about staying out of Sucker Town will make any difference; the police can take me there by force if need be.’

  ‘No.’

  I shot him an impatient glare. ‘What does “No” mean?’

  He brushed a hand over his shorn head. ‘No, you do not need to ask Francine for her help,’ he said, conceding with obvious reluctance. ‘I will accompany you, and I will do all in my power to assist you. On two conditions.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘One: your safety is my prime concern,’ he said firmly. ‘And two: if you are putting yourself in danger, then you should be better prepared physically. You will allow me to heal your injuries first.’

  Take his blood? My pulse quickened in anticipation. I wanted
to say it wasn’t a good idea, except it was, and we both knew it.

  ‘Agreed,’ I said, adding, ‘Just being practical,’ at his surprised look. Reaching down to the threshold, I wiped away some of the dried blood and broke the Ward, then opened the door. I nodded at the two trolls standing to attention. ‘We’re going with Plan A,’ I said.

  ‘Right-o, Genny,’ Constable Lamber said.

  ‘Plan A, Genevieve?’ Malik raised an elegant, enquiring brow. ‘You are aware that I had ordered you not to leave, and therefore these two gentlemen would not have been able to pass your blood-Ward to retrieve you until it dissipated?’

  ‘Not true, sir.’ Taegrin held out his hand to me.

  ‘Plan B,’ I said, taking the red jellybean from his palm, and the green one that Lamber gave me and showed them to Malik. ‘Ward-Key spells.’ I’d had a lo-oong chat with Ricou about blood-Wards. ‘A drop of my blood and will in the sweets means they can cross the Ward without breaking it, in the same way I can.’ I tossed the sweeties in my mouth and ate them and their magic with a smug smile. ‘Therefore rendering them able to retrieve me while still leaving you trapped.’

  ‘Bravo, Genevieve.’ He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Speaking of practicalities, how do you intend to take us inside the Tower?’

  I pursed my lips. ‘Actually, that’s the difficult bit of the plan. I know someone who can help, but I’m not sure if they will.’ Or what it was going to cost me. I gave Malik a sideways look. ‘We’ll leave off the healing bit until after they’ve agreed.’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I hunkered down in my seat and contemplated the vampire daylight travelling kit, a.k.a the zipped body bag provided by the police. It was made from leather, not the more usual thick plastic. Apparently leather stops vamps from being more than just victims of fashion. The bag—or rather, Malik—was stretched out on the floor between the two rows of seats in the back of the police van.

  Malik and the two constables had treated the whole ‘getting into the bag and being carried out to the van’ project like it was something they did half a dozen times a day. The tourists in Covent Garden hadn’t been so laid-back. The mobile phone/camera brigade had been out in force. I’d cringed and hurried, head down, into the van; I just knew I was going to end up with the media hounding me again after all this. Still, better that than dead. And at least I hadn’t blown up any bridges this time. Not yet anyway.

  A half-heard voice made me look up.

  The headlights of the passing traffic glinted on the specks of gold in Constable Taegrin’s polished black skin. He was sitting with his feet propped up on the opposite seat, as I was, to leave room for the bag. Had he said something? But he caught me looking and just winked. I smiled back, thinking I must’ve imagined it. And that my life would be so much easier if I could just unzip Malik and force him to tell me whatever it was he and Tavish had going on, and what it was the pair of them were hiding. Yep, like that was ever going to happen. But the main thing was, I’d got Malik to agree to what we wanted, which was a big relief. I closed my eyes, hoping Hugh and his crew had been just as successful with the rest of our master plan preparations—

  ‘—understand you have a son, Maxim.’ Malik’s distant not-quite-English voice popped into my head.

  There was a short silence, then Maxim’s voice muttered, ‘Bleeding sidhe. Knew nothing good would come of her slurping up my blood.’

  I briefly wondered how I was picking up their conversation—Mad Max’s blood maybe?—and how they were managing to have it; then scrunched my eyes tight shut and concentrated on listening.

  ‘Where is the boy, Maxim?’

  Hmm, why isn’t he asking who he is? Does that mean he knows, or that he doesn’t think it’s important?

  ‘Haven’t a clue, old chap,’ came the breezy answer.

  ‘This is not the time for your games.’ Malik’s tone was impatient. ‘If it is he who is behind these disappearances, then he needs to be stopped, and if it is not him, then he could be in danger.’

  ‘All that ruckus with the faelings is the fae’s problem, especially now you’ve stopped us sticking our fangs in,’ Maxim said bitterly. ‘And my son’s safe enough without your help. So bleeding safe I haven’t seen him for twenty years. That bitch won’t let me.’

  ‘Ah.’ Malik’s voice was soft. ‘So you do have another child.’

  Mad Max has two kids? There was another, longer silence. I waited with Malik for Mad Max to answer.

  Finally Malik gave up and said, ‘The witch has left a note, Maxim, saying she cannot protect your dog’s offspring any longer. If she is not protecting your son, then you must have other offspring. The witch has now vanished.’

  ‘I saw the new hairdo, old chap,’ Maxim said cheerfully and seemingly at random, ‘so I take it His Brattiness has been enjoying himself at your painful expense again. Still on the old eviscerating kick, is he? Or is it the old starvation diet? Must be hard when you can’t snack on any passing pigeon and have to rely on His Princely Benevolence. Bet his little royal heart jumped for joy when you made yourself Oligarch and dropped yourself back in his bloody little hands again.’

  Terror rolled through me at the mention of the Autarch, and the thought of Malik being in his clutches. I clutched Grace’s pentacle at my throat, and swallowed the fear back. Was that why Malik was so hungry—he could only feed off other vamps and the Autarch wasn’t letting him? I shuddered and tuned back in.

  ‘—nothing to fear, Maxim. I will not give up your secrets,’ Malik was saying calmly.

  ‘No, you bleeding won’t,’ he replied angrily, ‘because you’re not getting to know them.’

  ‘Maxim, this situation is as a result of the curse; it could be what we have all—’

  ‘No! Not my problem any more,’ Mad Max interrupted sharply. ‘I’ve washed my hands of the whole sodding business. I’ve lost too much already assisting you and your horsey friend. I told you both, don’t ask me again.’

  We? Who did he mean by we? And what had Malik and Tavish asked Mad Max to help with?

  ‘I understand,’ Malik said gently after a moment’s silence, then added briskly, ‘There is another concern. Genevieve knows about the faeling, the one you took from Francine.’

  ‘So what? The little bitch is under the protection of the witches now.’

  ‘But it appears there is a vampire interfering with the family. This was not what we agreed.’

  ‘You’re not laying that one on me, mate. Oh, no, nothing to do with me. I haven’t been near the little cow, not since she took a fancy to that pipsqueak of a wizard.’

  ‘Francine?’

  ‘Your butt-licking little illusionist? Doubt it; she’s too busy playing with the girls she’s still got.’

  ‘Fyodor?’

  ‘The old man?’ Maxim gave a barking laugh. ‘Good God, you’ve got to be joking. He’s so trussed up in all his promises to everyone and her dog, he has trouble managing a nibble without checking what night it is.’

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘I’m not a bleeding oracle, old chum. If you’re all fired up about it, ask my nutter of a cousin to sleuth for you. She’s the one who’s pally with the fae. But then, you’re not her type, are you?’ His voice took on a taunting tone. ‘She likes them a good bit younger and a good bit more impressionable, like our yummy Darius. Quite a feat that: jumping bodies. Old Francine’s got the heebie-jeebies about it, not surprising, really, but it makes you wonder just what my cousin and her pet-fang have been up to, doesn’t it?’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘I suspect they’re a tad closer, if you know what I mean, than we all thought. Not that I’d want to get that close to her; the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree with that one, my bleeding face still hurts like the devil—’

  ‘Maxim, who is Andy?’

  My ears perked up: Andy was the name Darius had been thinking of when I’d wanted to know why Mad Max was taking my bagged blood.

  ‘Maxim?’ Malik’s voi
ce came again, but however they were communicating, Mad Max had obviously gone offline.

  After a few more minutes of silence, I opened my eyes. We were driving past the Gothic towers of Tower Bridge, its brightly lit walkways flashing colour into the heavy grey sky. Not far now. I frowned down at Malik in his bag, resisted the urge to kick him and ask what the hell he wasn’t telling me, and tried to work out what I’d learned by eavesdropping. That Mad Max had two kids was the obvious one, not that the info got me any closer to finding out how Mad Max and his kids were involved with Helen and the missing faelings. The only thing I did know was that Mad Max was afraid of the Autarch finding out—not that I blamed him—which suggested Max wasn’t quite as mad as he seemed. Then Malik had asked about the fanged cuckoo nesting in with Ana’s family, and while Mad Max had denied having anything to do with Ana, hadn’t in fact appeared to like her much, he hadn’t seemed surprised, so I was betting he knew who the vamp was—

  The van braked, and I winced as Malik’s body bag slid into the back doors with a soft thud.

  I looked up to see we’d arrived at our destination: the War Memorial at Tower Hill.

  Hugh was waiting on the pavement outside, in front of the long stone-built corridor with its Greek-looking columns and huge engraved bronze wall plaques. I grinned as an idea hit me. Maybe Hugh could get Malik to reveal his secrets—after all, the annoying vamp was going to have to do something while he was waiting for me to collect our ‘Tour the Tower’ entry tickets. I jumped out, thankful that the rain had stopped. We said our hellos, then Hugh silently watched as the two constables carried the bagged-up vampire through the gate and into the vaulted building.

  Finally he said, ‘I see you managed to convince Mr al-Khan to cooperate.’ His ruddy face creased into a concerned frown. ‘I hope he didn’t cause you any problems?’