The Cold Kiss of Death

by Suzanne McLeod

  I reached down again and wrapped my fingers around the fish statue’s tail. The railing stayed hard beneath my other palm, but as the magic pressed solidly against me the traffic noise, the chill autumn wind and the ozone scent of the Thames disappeared. The world shifted around me, not as movement that could be felt, but something deeper, as if space itself was being reshaped. The magic took me out of the humans’ world.

  And into Between.

  Below me, the river was gone, replaced by an abyss so deep and dark my head spun with vertigo. Slowly I straightened, still staring down, unwilling - almost unable - to take my gaze from the chasm. There was something seductive about it; I felt as if I could launch myself into it and find what I sought ...

  I forced myself to turn, to put my back to the emptiness. Between is the gap that links the humans’ world and the Fair Lands. It’s a dangerous place, the magic that fuels it is fierce and untamed, and persuasive enough that the legends about those who stray from the paths are full of wonder or terror or death.

  Or nothing at all.

  The sky, deepest blue and curved like a huge bowl overhead, brightened. A hot yellow sun blazed like a furnace and in seconds sweat slicked between my breasts and down my spine. Inside me, the Knock-back Wards I’d absorbed at the bakery flared, the magic lifting its nose like a dog snuffling around this new place. I dug inside the jacket pocket for a couple of liquorice torpedoes and stuffed them in my mouth. As soon as the sugar hit my system, I used the extra boost and willed the Knock-back Wards into quiet sleepiness. Mixing spells with the magic here, even those as basic as the Wards, could be a hit-and-miss affair: sometimes it worked, sometimes it was like putting a match to a touchpaper.

  I scanned the area. Before me was a beach of golden sand that stretched further than I could see. On one side was a white cliff with a sand-coloured camouflage tent pitched at its base, shadowed by the overhang: Tavish’s home, or at least its current façade. On the other side of the beach was a glittering, mirror-dark sea, but the water was still and silent, and probably as deep as the abyss.

  Tavish was in the water - in his human shape - but still in the water.

  Damn, that so wasn’t a good start.

  He was sitting at the water’s edge, half-submerged, with his back to me. I could see his long legs stretched out in the shallows, his arms braced behind him on the sand as he raised his face to the sun. The bottle-green dreads that streamed down his back looked like seaweed hung out to dry, the silver-beaded tips glinting in the sunlight. He didn’t acknowledge me. Ignoring the nerves still twisting in my stomach, I shrugged out of the jacket and sighed in relief as a cool breeze teased around me. I almost ditched the jeans too - the T-shirt Joseph had given me was long enough to pass as a baggy dress - but instead I just removed the baseball cap and ran my fingers through my shorter hair. I kicked off the old trainers and walked down the dozen steps to the beach. The sand was pleasantly warm beneath my feet, not as burning-hot as the fiery sun would suggest ... but this was Between. And expecting Between to follow the rules of the humans’ world was a recipe for disaster.

  When I was close enough to see Tavish’s delicate gills flare like black lace fans either side of his neck, but far enough away - from him and the water - that I almost felt safe, I stopped.

  ‘Hello, Tavish.’

  ‘Long time nae see, doll.’ He turned to look at me over his shoulder, his face breaking into a welcoming smile, his sharp-pointed teeth white against the darkness of his skin - not black, but the deepest green found where the sunlight just penetrates the depths of the sea. ‘But you took your ain sweet time getting here. I’ve been expecting you this last two days.’

  I smiled back, couldn’t help myself as my magic exalted at the sight of him and the nerves inside me settled. I sat where I was, crossing my legs Indian-style, and trailed my fingers through the soft sand. Tavish might be centuries old - he’s cagey about how many - but like most fae he didn’t look like he’d reached thirty yet. He’s the most fae-looking of all those I know, and yet somehow he still easily passes for human without using a Glamour. His long, angular features, Roman-straight nose and almost pointed chin are a less delicate, more male face than my own, but with enough echoes of my own face that anyone can see the sidhe in his make-up. I’d often wondered if he wasn’t a lot older than anyone guessed, maybe even born in the Shining Times, when the sidhe would procreate with any living thing that attracted their attention. Only Tavish doesn’t have our cat-like pupils - or any pupils at all; his eyes are a brilliant silver with a rim of white, like the horse that is his other shape. He wasn’t so much handsome as compelling, alluring ...

  I dragged my gaze from him, realising I was staring like a charm-struck human - one that would unwittingly follow the kelpie anywhere, even into the treacherous water - and made an effort to look at the rest of the scenery.

  ‘The place looks different,’ I said as an opener. ‘More tropical than your last.’

  ‘Aye, well, I fancied a wee change,’ he said, his accent soft and warm. ‘This time o’ year the Highlands can be a wee bit blowy, for all the heather colours the hills with nature’s own beauty.’

  I waved back at the abyss. ‘So what happened with that?’

  ‘Hmph,’ he snorted, ‘t’was nae in the plan, though you’re in luck, for it had a hankering tae be this side of the steps, got itsel’ all decked out with one of those rope and plank bridges. It took me a heck of a while tae convince the magic tae move it over there.’

  Which is Between all over. It’s malleable - unlike the humans’ world or the Fair Lands - in fact, malleable enough that anyone with enough magical mojo can impose their will. But sometimes the magic comes up with its own quirky interpretation of what it’s asked for. Tavish had forged his patch a couple of centuries ago, but even after moulding it to his own desires for all that time, it looked like the magic could still leave him living on a knife’s edge - or rather, a cliff ’s edge ...

  ‘It wants something,’ I murmured, frowning.

  ‘Aye, doll, don’t we all!’ He laughed, the sound a soft snicker. ‘Doesnae mean we’re going tae get it, though.’

  Disappointment slid inside me. I lifted a handful of sand, letting the grains fall through my fingers. Maybe he wasn’t as welcoming as his smile had suggested. ‘Does that mean you’re not going to help me?’

  ‘Nae, doll, it means I mayn’t be having the answers you seek.’ He rolled onto his front to face me, propping himself on his arms. The water surged over his wide shoulders and streamed down the muscled indentation of his spine, sparkling aqua and turquoise against his skin. ‘But ask away.’

  I blinked away the afterimage of the bright water, then said slowly, ‘You know the CCTV recording they’re all showing on the news? Is there any chance it’s been tampered with, or that there’s a clue that the police haven’t shown or picked up on yet?’

  ‘There’s naught on the recording tae see, other than yoursel’ going intae that shop.’ His gills flared. ‘And the explosion.’

  ‘Really not what I was hoping to hear.’ I pursed my lips.

  ‘The wonder of it is why you chose tae go in anyway, doll.’ He drew a wavy line in the sand and the breeze picked up, ruffling the sea behind him.

  ‘No wondering about it, Tavish.’ I frowned, trying to work out why he was asking. ‘I’ve been in there nearly every morning for the last couple of weeks.’

  ‘Why?’ he persisted, scooping a deep sand-basin in front of him.

  I drew my knees up and hugged them, not happy about his tone. ‘The baker was having a few witch problems - milk turning sour, bread not rising, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Sounds more like brownie problems, but’ - water trickled into the sand-basin - ‘you get where I’m going wi’ this?’ He looked at me enquiringly.

  ‘Someone’s set me up,’ I stated, hoping he wasn’t asking me anything else, like was I guilty. ‘Yeah, I managed to work that one out for myself. Trouble is, while Tomas - the dead
baker - told me it was a witch, I never actually met her.’ I gave him a wry smile. ‘Maybe you can see where I’m going too?’

  ‘Aye, t’is true: witch or sidhe, there’s nae possibility of a human telling the difference betwixt them if the sidhe doesnae want them tae.’ The small puddle in the sand overflowed in front of him. ‘But then there’s nae sidhe in London other than yoursel’, doll. Hasnae been this last eighty-odd years.’

  Which was when there’d been a falling-out between London’s fae and one of the sidhe queens, and the queen had sealed the gates.

  A hundred years past, the queen in question had fallen in love with a human and chosen to bear a son. Of course, her son had been human, as are all children born of sidhe and human, so she’d left him behind when she’d returned to the Fair Lands. But she loved him, and visited him as he grew up, and she charged London’s fae to watch over him when she wasn’t there. Then one day he fell in with a bad crowd, and he ended up being lured to his death by the vampires. The queen blamed London’s fae and not only did she seal the gates, she also laid a droch guidhe - a curse - on them that they should also know the grief in her heart.

  Which explains why so many of London’s faelings - humans with lesser fae blood - end up victims of the fang-gangs in Sucker Town through no true fault of their own.

  Of course, no one likes to air their dirty laundry in public, so the accepted reason for the sidhe not visiting London when they were known for putting in appearances elsewhere was that they preferred to live in the Fair Lands rather than have to deal with the hustle and technology of the capital city.

  ‘Maybe one of the gates from the Fair Lands has been opened?’ I said, resting my chin on my knees. ‘If so, then another sidhe could’ve come through ...’ I trailed off and watched Tavish and the water in front of him from under my lashes. I built a small ridge of sand in front of me with my toes.

  He snorted again, and waves crested far out in the dark sea. ‘There’s nae one o’ us could open our gates wi’out the others knowing.’

  I’d been hoping for a more informative answer than that, like whether the gates had actually been opened, but Tavish was wylde fae, and the wylde fae can be tricky. They can talk around things when they want, sometimes for no other reason than a bit of mischief.

  I tried another tack. ‘What if it was a sidhe who opened one of the gates? Would you know then?’

  ‘There’s naebody like the fae when it comes tae carrying ill will.’ His smile had a hard edge to it. ‘And lately the Ladies Meriel and Isabella have been refusing even tae treaty wi’ the queen’s ambassador.’ He lowered his head, the silver beads tinkling as his dreads fell forward, and blew ripples across the overflowing pool in front of him. ‘Should another sidhe take it intae their minds to visit, they’d find nae entry through. The gates are sealed from this side now.’

  Damn: so the gates were a dead end. Still, the CCTV footage had to be worth a look. Warm water slipped past my little ridge and over my toes, swilling sugary sand about my feet. ‘Can I watch the recording then?’ I asked, inching back. ‘I might be able to see something.’

  ‘’Course y’can, doll.’ He smiled and slipped back beneath the water’s surface. ‘Come for a swim wi’ me first.’ He whispered the words in my mind.

  I pushed myself to my feet, moving as slowly as I dared, feeling the pull of his magic. ‘Swimming with you isn’t a good idea, Tavish.’ The water swirled around my ankles, soaking my jeans. I looked towards the tent, knowing I should walk out onto dry land, but the water wanted me to stay, and there was something wistful in the way it crept like a curious fish around my knees. I gazed down at Tavish, floating under the water, a trail of turquoise and aqua bubbles rising from his gills. Fascinated, I watched as they flashed like shooting stars over the dark surface of the sea.

  ‘Come intae the depths wi’ me, my lady.’ His eyes were glowing silver orbs. ‘Death clings tae your heart.’ His voice turned soft, cajoling. ‘Let me hold you close, sing tae you o’ the everlasting rhythms of the sea, let me taste o’ the darkness that stains your soul, steal those sweet breaths as they leave your soft lips.’ He reared out of the water, glorious and naked, his muscles lean and firm under the shining wetness of his green-black skin. ‘There is kindness in the depths, and peace.’ He offered me his hand and his pledge: a pledge to lift the sorrow that fell about my shoulders, to pull away the heavy cloak of self-blame and grief and despair for those that I’d hurt, for those I’d lost ... for those I’d killed. He tossed his head, the magic cascading over him in rainbow hues that glittered and sparkled in the brightness of the sun.

  And he took his other shape.

  My pulse sped with wary excitement. He was still Tavish, but not. In his horse guise his nature ruled him, stripped away his civilised veneer, made him wild and feral and more like the magic itself.

  The kelpie horse whickered softly, nostrils flaring, and stepped closer. He butted his nose against my chest, his whisky-peat breath warm against my T-shirt. I stroked the softness of his muzzle, his chin whiskers tickling along my arm, and reached up to trail gentle fingers over the black-lace gills that fluttered under my touch.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ I whispered, the water sliding around my thighs. ‘Beautiful and beguiling—but you know that already.’ He whinnied, mocking, derisive, his two-toed hoof pawing a groove in the sand. I ran my palm down his sea-slick neck and moved to rest my hand on his forequarters. ‘It’s tempting, to think of riding into the sea with you, to give you what I feel, to let you take that from me ...’

  His head swung round, ears pricking expectantly forward, tail flicking impatiently over his sleek, muscled rump. I leant against his side, my heart pounding with anticipation. His magic tugged at me like a strong current, urging me to go with him, to let him take me into the sea’s warm embrace. He nudged my hip and I licked my lips, tasting not salt, but peat and fresh-water sweetness. I tangled my fingers in the knotted dreads of his mane, feeling my own magic rise to join with his, and light more dazzling than the sun misted from my skin, gilding his green-black coat with shimmering golden dust.

  I rubbed my cheek against his neck, placed my lips against his warm skin. ‘Yes, I’ll swim with you, kelpie’ - his ears twitched back and I started to draw away - ‘one day, but that day hasn’t—’

  Green lightning arced around us, sizzling into steam as it hit the water. The kelpie horse screamed with rage, rearing up and lunging towards the beach. The turbulent wave that spread out behind him knocked me off my feet and I sank below the dark sea. I kicked out with my legs, reaching for the surface above me. A hand wrapped around my ankle and I kicked, panicked, until it loosened. I burst out into the air above, heart pounding, gasping for breath. The shore was further away than I remembered - time and space and magic conspire to deceive in Between. I started swimming, annoyance and fear fuelling me. Damn kelpie! And stupid me - I knew better than to let myself get seduced with his magic. Now I had to swim for my foolishness. Ahead of me the kelpie cut through the water, a charging water-horse, and galloped out of the crashing waves onto the shore. His angry screams sliced the air. Another flash of green lightning hit the sand next to him and it exploded in a cloud around him, obscuring him from view.

  Someone was throwing Stun spells around like they were firecrackers at a troll’s New Moon party.

  Panic hit me before I remembered no one could pass Tavish’s entrance without his say-so. He knew whoever it was attacking. And he wouldn’t have let them in if he didn’t think he could deal with them ... I just wished he’d remembered that he’d left me struggling in his rage-lashed sea. Arrogant bastard. I clamped my lips tight together and doggie-paddled towards the shore, doing my best not to drown. Within minutes my arms ached and the jeans were like lead weights around my legs, determined to drag me under. I trod water as I struggled with the zip and finally managed to push the jeans down over my hips - then promptly panicked again as I followed them under into the depths below.

  Water ch
oked my throat and burned down my nose as I struggled back up to the surface and then gulped for air like a stranded fish. Then trying to ignore the cramp stabbing into my left thigh, I pushed out again. But hard as I swam, the shore was still too far away, and I realised that something - either the kelpie or the magic - was holding me back. Anger filled me, giving me another burst of energy. No way were they going to keep me out here any longer. As soon as I thought it, the sea became calmer and easier to swim through, and the beach suddenly got a lot, lot closer.

  The kelpie’s screams grew louder in my ears, and other, deeper roars of anger and challenge slashed through them. As my hands and knees scraped against the sandy bottom, I lurched to my feet in the shallower water, then stared at the fight before me. The kelpie reared up, still screaming with rage, his forelegs thrashing through the air, then thudding down discordantly into the sand. A heavy-built silhouette of a satyr rose against the brilliant blue of the sky, horns curving sharp above his head, ready to charge. Finn? What the hell was he doing here? An angry wave crashed into me, taking my legs from under me, and I fell back. I scrambled forward out of the water again, struggling to get my breath, until I was beyond the tideline.