The Bitter Seed of Magic s-3

by Suzanne McLeod

  ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ I said, keeping the grimace off my face as he gave me a searching look. Hugh doesn’t have a sense of humour when it comes to vamps. ‘Any news on Finn’s daughter?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘Sorry, Genny, no.’ He gave my shoulder a gentle consoling pat. ‘Finn’s out with a couple of WPCs, canvassing all of Nicola’s friends to see if they can come up with any helpful information. He should be along shortly.’

  I sighed, worried about how Finn was coping, then asked, ‘What about the doppelgänger plan?’

  ‘That one’s not going too well.’ Dust puffed from Hugh’s headridge and settled on his black hair. It was beginning to look like someone had emptied a bag of red flour over him. ‘Constable Martin spent half an hour talking to the Raven Master and six of the ravens, all of whom claim they know nothing whatsoever about the dead faelings, nor are they interested.’ He ushered me through the gate and we walked down towards the Memorial Garden. ‘She is currently chatting with Victoria Harrier and her daughter-in-law, Ana, about the antics of Ana’s large brood of children over tea and cakes in the café in Trafalgar Square.’

  ‘Damn. So Victoria Harrier didn’t buy the switch.’

  ‘Or she is as she seems, and her connections with everything are entirely coincidental.’

  ‘She can’t be,’ I said, ‘unless the vamp’s got her so locked up she hasn’t a clue what she’s doing.’

  ‘It’s possible, Genny, but unless I have proof otherwise, the judge won’t issue a warrant. My hands are tied.’

  Which meant everything rested on my part of the master plan. ‘No pressure then,’ I said, determined to make it work.

  ‘Once Victoria Harrier and Ana have finished their chat with Constable Martin,’ Hugh said, ‘if nothing develops, then we’ll bring them in for questioning. We’ve already had Ana’s husband picked up in New York, and we’ve got Dr Craig down at Old Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Don’t suppose he’s spilled any interesting beans yet?’

  ‘Until we finish talking to him, Genny, I can’t be certain, but so far he is exactly what he appears to be: a workaholic doctor who spends more time at his job than there are hours in the day. Unless that changes, he’s not going to be of help.’

  ‘What about the Old Donn?’ I asked, hoping that one lead might pay out and give us something helpful. ‘Did you find out if he’s really dead, or not?’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  ‘The Old Donn’s definitely dead,’ Hugh stated, deflating my hope. ‘I’ve had it confirmed by the Lady Meriel. After the incident with the sidhe he was executed, along with two other wylde fae, Hallbjörn the White and Arthur Ursa.’

  Executed! Well, executed sounded pretty dead to me, but— ‘What about Sylvia mentioning his remains?’

  ‘The three were decapitated, then burned, and their ashes were mixed with salt on Tower Green. Apparently a spell was cast to stop them from fading until after the execution had been carried out.’ Hugh’s ruddy face paled. ‘The Lady Meriel chose to explain it in detail for me.’

  I patted his hand; his skin felt dry and gritty, a sure sign he was disturbed by what he’d been told. But then, Hugh was a softy at heart. No wonder the Librarian’s old newspapers had called their deaths a ‘Brutal Slaying’. The execution sounded a bit barbaric, but personally, I thought it was well deserved.

  ‘Good to know the Old Donn is a dead end then,’ I said brightly. Hugh rumbled, and I gave him another pat to cheer him up. ‘You know I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘Hmph.’ Hugh gave me one of his patented looks that was meant to have me shaking in my boots. I grinned wider; the last time it had worked I’d been sixteen. He sighed, and pointed towards the garden. ‘It’s not long until sunset, so you need to get going. Ricou has organised everything. Good chap, that.’ Hugh nodded approvingly, then hit me with his ‘concerned’ look. ‘Are you sure calling up the Morrígan for help is the right thing to do, Genny? Goddesses can be dangerous to deal with.’

  ‘She’s been giving me pointers all along, and she’s had her messenger stalking me, so I’m pretty sure the Tower is where she wants me to go.’ Of course, typically, she was now making me do things the hard way, since I hadn’t seen a single black feather of Jack the raven, her messenger, once I’d decided the Morrígan was my back-door way into the Tower’s Between. But hey, that’s goddesses for you. Not to mention she probably wanted something, so making me ask, instead of offering, was just standard negotiating tactics.

  Not that I told Hugh that. Instead I reassured him I’d be fine, and quickly filled him in on the conversation I’d overheard between Malik and Mad Max. Then I followed the path and went down the steps into the sunken garden.

  Last time I’d been in the garden I’d been on Spellcrackers business. It had been high summer, and I’d had to remove a flight of garden fairies attracted by the sunbathing tourists and their picnic lunches. The place had been full of life and noise. Now it was full of hundreds of small jasmine-scented tea-lights placed around the base of the high stone walls that enclosed the garden. The candlelight cast an eerie glow over the tall bronze panels inscribed with the names of those merchant seamen who lost their lives in the two World Wars. And in the darker corners, frail shadows shifted independently of the evening wind, drawn by the promise of ritual magic, shadows I tried not to look too closely at, for fear they’d take on more substantial ghostly forms. I shuddered; ghosts are so not my favourite things.

  Sylvia was sitting on one of the benches in the better lit section of the garden. Her pink and white dress and pink cycle helmet shone brightly in the last throes of dusk. She waggled her fingers at me, but didn’t get up, just gestured towards the centre of the garden.

  I walked towards the middle, careful to step over the collection of weapons that was laid out in a circle around the edge of the grassy area. The weaponry circle was large, around twenty feet in diameter, and consisted of swords, daggers, poles, axes, a metal breastplate, a pair of armoured boots and a black-plumed helmet. It looked like someone had raided a mediaeval armoury.

  Next to the small bronze pool—the centrepiece of the garden—Ricou was waiting for me in his true form. His blue-grey scaly skin shimmered in the candlelight, his spiny headcrest was flat to his head, his fluted fins flared out either side of his face, and his long whip-like tail was wrapped round his waist, securing what looked like a Union Jack flag in place. As I reached him I realised it was another towel.

  ‘Ricou here’s not sure this is such a good idea, luv,’ he said, his membranes flickering nervously over his black orb eyes. ‘Calling up a goddess isn’t going to make her feel too charitable towards you.’

  ‘I think she’s sort of expecting me to call,’ I said wryly.

  ‘Oh, well, on your head be it.’ His headcrest snapped up, then down again. ‘Everything’s been done as per the Librarian’s instructions. She provided the bull’s horn herself.’ He pointed a clawed finger at where the aforementioned bull’s horn, longer than my arm, lay next to the bronze pool. It was curved like a scimitar and the pointed end looked sharp, but the head end was hollowed out enough that my fist could’ve fitted inside. I had a brief thankful thought that it wasn’t the Old Donn’s, since I was calling on his mother. Beside the horn was a short silver knife, a bottle of Jameson’s whisky, a crystal tumbler, some milk and a pile of clothes—the same clothes that had been found pillowed under Aoife’s head when she’d been discovered in Dead Man’s Hole this morning.

  ‘The milk’s in a carton,’ I said, frowning.

  ‘How many cow farms do you think there are in London?’ He did a yawn-grin and thumped his chest. ‘Not only that, as soon as Ricou here mentioned “goddess” all they heard was sacrifice. Anyway, it’s organic.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ I said, not sure if it was. I raked my hand through my hair, suddenly nervous. Crap, I didn’t have a clue. I peered down at the whitish liquid in the tumbler. ‘What’s in the glass?’

  His headcrest rose. ‘She�
�s a goddess of fertility. What do you think’s in the glass?’

  Okaay! I decided not to ask who’d made the personal donation. ‘Didn’t the Librarian say something about ears of wheat?’ I asked sceptically.

  Ricou’s face-fins quivered. ‘It’s spring; ears of wheat are a bit scarce just now.’

  Ri-ight. ‘What about the raven feathers?’

  ‘The ones at the Tower all refused, and I couldn’t find your feathered friend. But I got you this.’ His tail swished out over the bronze pool and a gaping mouth with sharp teeth similar to Ricou’s own snapped at it. The mouth belonged to a five-foot-long eel thicker than my arm, twisting sinuously round and round in the shallow water. ‘She’s female.’ Ricou made a clicking sound as he laughed. ‘I’ve checked, so watch your fingers.’ He handed me a piece of rice paper. ‘Here’s the glyph to close the circle, luv.’ He sniffed the air. ‘You’ve got about five minutes until sunset now. Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks, Ricou,’ I said, then I undid Grace’s pentacle from round my neck—I didn’t want to lose it in Between—and handed it him along with my jacket. ‘Can you give these to Sylvia to look after for me?’

  ‘Sure, luv.’ He took them, hooking the pentacle carefully over a claw, then he hopped out of the circle of weapons and joined Sylvia on her seat.

  Left alone in the circle, I crunched on a couple of liquorice torpedoes and looked round. I’d gained an audience while we’d been talking and the garden was now full. There were a dozen witches, their dark WPC uniforms all merging together. Constables Lamber and Taegrin had been joined by four other trolls. Hugh was standing with Malik, the pair of them almost hidden under the shelter of the memorial building, and sitting next to them was a large silvery-grey Irish wolfhound; looked like Mad Max had turned up in his doggy persona. Hopefully Hugh would get some useful info out of him.

  And all of them were here to see the show. Lucky me.

  Still, once the circle went up, the show would be pretty much over from their point of view, since they’d stay in this world while the circle, with me in it, would be in Between—if I cast it right, of course—apparently neutral ground was needed when calling on a goddess.

  I wiped my suddenly sweaty hands down my jeans, decided not to send any prayers in case the wrong god heard me, and picked up the silver knife. It burned against my fingers. I walked to the edge of the circle. Holding the rice paper glyph in my left palm, I took a deep breath, focused, and sliced the knife through it and my flesh. Pain hit a second later and I stifled a gasp. Then my blood welled, bright and viscous, and the scent of honey and copper and magic filled the air. Hunger—not mine—cramped my stomach, nearly doubling me over, a hot, spiced wind blew my hair back from my face, and I looked around to find Malik, now standing inches from me on the outside of the circle, his hands clenched at his sides.

  ‘Set the circle quickly, Genevieve.’ His eyes were dark, bottomless holes. I glimpsed all four of his fangs as he spoke. ‘The scent of your blood is … tempting.’

  Tempting? A perverse moment of retaliation sparked in me.

  I held his gaze, taunting him as I extended my hand and let the blood fall. I felt, rather than saw, the first drop splash on an iron axe-head. It sizzled. His nostrils flared. The second drop hit the tip of the broadsword touching the axe. The tendons in his neck stood out with effort. Time slowed as the third drop splattered on to the black-plumed helmet eating the sword. He snarled and leaped—

  The magic ripped out of me and I fell to my knees, screaming as it rushed round the weapons like wildfire and closed the circle. Above me rose a translucent dome of swirling, liquid blood.

  I lay there getting my breath back, my eyes closed. Hell, I’d never felt a circle, not even a blood one, close like that before. But then, I’d never closed a circle into Between before. When I thought my legs would hold me, I struggled up to my feet. Worryingly, I could still see the garden and its occupants. Malik now stood a couple of feet back, watching with his usual enigmatic expression, and I wondered if I’d imagined him leaping for me. But the silvery-grey Irish wolfhound was standing in front of him, and the dog’s disconcertingly blue eyes twinkled at me as he wagged his long upright tail. His mouth was clamped round Malik’s wrist.

  Behind them both was Hugh, the disapproving crevices that etched his face clearly saying, ‘Goading vampires is juvenile and stupid and wasting time, Genny.’

  And satisfying, I added silently. But Hugh was right. I sighed, and gave him an apologetic shrug—

  Only he wasn’t there to see it.

  The garden had disappeared. Outside the dome was … emptiness: not fog, not sky, nor space or anything, just rolling emptiness.

  Horror crawled down my spine.

  I turned my back on it, strode back to the bronze pool and dropped to my knees. Before I could give myself time to think, I thrust my bleeding hand and Aoife’s clothes into the water.

  ‘By my blood, and the blood of her child, in this sacred place of war and death, I call upon the Morrígan,’ I shouted. ‘Hear me, Morrígan, and answer my call.’

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The water bubbled, the bronze beneath it turning it into molten gold. The eel reared up, and up, its body long and sinuous, then it twisted down and round and snapped sharp teeth in my face. Adrenalin-laced fear shot through me, but I forced myself not to move, to keep my hands in the water. Magic shivered over the eel’s skin, turning it a pale, luminous green. Its bald head flared, eyes growing large and glinting acid-yellow, skin splitting into holes where her nostrils should be, her slash of a mouth plumping until her lips puckered into a blood-filled pout. Below the face, bumps sprouted into rounded shoulders, extended into long, lithe arms and ended in elegant hands with thin, claw-tipped fingers that clutched and grasped at the air. Under the arms, the eel’s body thickened, morphing into a slender torso with high, full breasts, and then swept down to a narrow waist which tapered into the eel’s dark writhing body. The thin gold chain of tinkling keys was fastened around her left wrist and twisted tightly round her human-shaped half, continuing round the eel’s like a golden vine winding around a willowy tree until it disappeared into the bubbling golden water below.

  ‘Little sidhe,’ she said huskily, looking down at me and smiling. The smile was a predatory pucker of her blood-plumped lips that framed her one protruding tooth. ‘I have long waited for your call. I do not appreciate those who are tardy, or casual with my tasks. It will cost you dear.’

  My stomach tied itself in knots. Damn goddesses and their timekeeping—just because time travels differently in the Fair Lands and she’d spent however many days, weeks or years waiting, it didn’t mean it was my fault. Not to mention that tasks was taking it a bit far. ‘You visited me yesterday, Morrígan.’ I lifted my chin. ‘I’d hardly call that a long time.’

  Her forked tongue flicked out, swiping across my mouth. I tensed, managing not to flinch. ‘You taste of truth,’ she murmured, then she clasped my face, her clawed fingers digging sharp into my skull. ‘I will excuse you this transgression,’ and she lowered her mouth to mine, pressing a hard kiss against my lips. ‘But I fear others will not be as forgiving as I.’ She jerked the gold chain up.

  The water boiled up like a well-spring, crashing over me. The force knocked me flying and I landed flat on my back. I swiped my wet hair out of my face in time to see the sleek green-black shape of the kelpie horse erupt out of the pool. He reared up above me, front legs flailing in anger, and I froze, not daring to move as he dropped back to all fours, front hooves thudding to the ground inches from my shoulders. He tossed his head, his tangled, beaded mane spraying water droplets in high arcs, then pushed his soft muzzle into my face and snorted. Hot whisky-peat breath seared my cheeks.

  ‘Hello, Tavish,’ I murmured, breathing in his scent, and before I could stop it, his magic. A glorious liquid languor spread through my body, drawing an expectant sigh from my mouth, washing all thoughts but him from my mind and raising my own Glamour. Honeysuckle f
ragranced the air, my skin glowed gold, and my magic spilled out and rippled over the kelpie horse like a stream in full flow—

  And Tavish in his human form was on his hands and knees above me. He stared down at me, his silver-coloured eyes swirling, his bead-tipped dreads hanging like a curtain around our faces, hiding us from view.

  ‘Hello, doll,’ he said quietly. He grinned, his sharp-pointed teeth white against his green-black skin. ‘’Tis guid to see you, though you took your ain sweet time coming for me. The Morrígan’s been riding me ragged.’

  I grinned back, struck by his Charm, and his magic eddied inside me, sending longing swimming through my veins. I reached up and traced the sharp, angular planes of his alluring face, his long, straight nose, his pointed chin, then stroked the delicate black-lace gills at his throat. His eyes closed, a shudder running through his sleek muscular body, as he murmured softly in encouragement. I looked down between us to see him in all his naked glory. ‘Not that ragged,’ I whispered, my stomach contracting in anticipation. Oh boy … Then his words penetrated my mind, and I frowned. This was wrong. I wasn’t here for this, but for—

  A loud screech rent the air, and Tavish disappeared from above me.

  The Morrígan’s anger-etched features replaced him as I stared up at her, stunned into immobility.

  Her eyes bored like lasers into mine as her body writhed inches above my own. ‘You are as addled as the rest of your cursed blood, little sidhe.’ Her husky voice was filled with vitriol. ‘One look and you are prepared to cast all aside for love and beauty.’

  One look? Tavish had hit me with a gut-load of kelpie Charm, and she knew it.

  She reared up and lifted her face up to the heavens and shouted, ‘Clíona, my sister, see what wretched misery you have wrought! My children are dying and your blood lies here, as weak now as it has always been.’ A double-edged dagger appeared in her clawed hand. ‘I will gouge her heart from her body, and destroy your cursed blood, and make an end to this.’