But yearning after him like a Glamour-trapped human wasn’t going to get me any answers. Or stop the killer. Or crack the curse.
‘You will stop this. You will give them a new life.’
If I took Danu’s command to mean what I thought it meant, and if I ignored all the problems that came with me having a child, then me getting pregnant should crack the curse and stop any more faelings dying because of it. They were pretty big ‘ifs’, especially considering the life-altering consequences involved. But even if they turned out to be not so iffy in the end, the faeling from three weeks ago and the corvid faeling today would still be dead, and whoever killed them would still be free. The murderer might be motivated by the curse – which wasn’t in any way a justification – but that didn’t mean once the curse was gone, that he’d stop killing. Odds were he’d find another reason to justify his actions. And faelings could still end up as victims, even without a curse making them easy targets. So before I changed my mind and got all positive about the whole baby-making/ curse-breaking business, I needed to find the murderer.
And that meant I needed to talk to the police and tell them about my tête-à-tête with The Mother.
And that meant talking to DI Helen Crane.
Yeah. Like that was going to work. The Witch-bitch wouldn’t give me the time of day, even with Hugh backing me up, so I was going to need help: someone she wouldn’t ignore. And that someone was sitting right next to me.
I rested my cheek on my knees so I could look at Finn. ‘The faeling’s death is to do with the curse,’ I said quietly.
His hand on my shoulders stilled. ‘How do you know?’
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out – not because I didn’t want to tell him, not because he wouldn’t believe me, but because The Mother’s commands obviously came with a gag clause, one that currently had invisible hands around my throat doing their best to strangle me. Why the hell would she do that? Unless . . . she didn’t want me inadvertently tipping off the murderer.
‘Sorry,’ I finally gasped, ‘can’t tell you!’
‘“Can’t”, or “won’t”?’ Finn was good. He caught on quick.
I reached out, squeezed his knee and shook my head.
A thoughtful frown lined his forehead and I studied him as the invisible hands relaxed their hold on my throat. He was worth studying. With his strong, clean-cut human features, his short bracken-coloured horns standing about an inch above his dark-blond wavy hair, his broad shoulders and honed muscular body, he looked like every human’s wet dream of a sex god – if their idea of a sex god was dressed in a dark chocolate-coloured business suit, with a cream shirt open enough at the neck to offer a tantalising glimpse of luscious tanned skin sprinkled with sleek sable hair, that is. But the handsome-human look was just that: a look, or rather a Glamour – not a spelled glamour, like the one on the dead faeling, but a true Glamour, made from his own will and self-perception.
Finn’s fae self is wilder, more feral, more gorgeous . . .
At the thought, magic bloomed inside me and lust and longing spread a rising heat through my body, catching me by surprise. A faint sheen of gold rippled over my fingers where they still rested on Finn’s knee as the magic reached out to him and I snatched my hand back in horror before he noticed. This so couldn’t be happening – not now, not after the magic had been quiet for so long. Crap. The last thing I needed was for it to join in and play matchmaker. I screwed my eyes shut, determined to push the feelings away.
It felt like trying to push back an incoming tide.
Trouble was, the magic liked Finn; it always had done. Of course, it didn’t help that he didn’t just look like a sex god; he was one, or at least descended from one, since his long-ago satyr ancestors were worshipped as fertility deities – until the archetypal horned god image was relegated to the dark side and characterised as all that was evil.
Oh, and renamed Satan.
Damn it! If The Mother thought I was going to suspect Finn, the ultimate white knight and all-round good guy, of having anything to do with the faelings’ deaths, then She was nuttier than Angel.
But there was more than one satyr in London, and Finn’s herd, like the rest of London’s fae, were desperate to hear the pitter-patter of tiny hooves – so desperate that nine months ago they’d shelled out big-time for the Spellcrackers.com London franchise, and made Finn the boss – my boss – as a pre-emptive nuptial gift, to give us time to get to know each other (and making Finn their number one prospective curse-cracking daddy in the process). I didn’t know how much money was involved, but I knew they were up to their eyes in hock to the Witches’ Council. That amounted to a lot of desperation.
I opened my eyes. ‘Finn, what’s the head count of the herd?’
‘Ninety-three.’ His gaze sharpened. ‘Why?’
Too many suspects. I needed some way to whittle them down. ‘Just wondering.’
‘Wondering what?’
The invisible hands grabbed my throat. I shook my head again.
He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘Okay, then.’ He slid his phone open with a quiet click. ‘Then if you can’t tell me, maybe you can tell Helen.’
Stupid irrational jealousy spiked as he said her name. I wanted him to call her: it was the right thing to do, to tell the DI in charge about a clue that could help solve the faelings’ deaths, and maybe prevent more. That was a solution I wanted more than she did, going by her recent stonewalling. The fact that Helen was still Finn’s number one speed-dial, despite being his ex for however many years, and that she never seemed far from his mind despite him saying it was over between them? Well, actions speak louder . . .
He snapped his phone shut. ‘Helen wants us to meet her at Old Scotland Yard’ – the Met’s Murder and Magic squad HQ – ‘and she needs you to give a statement about today.’ He gave me a sympathetic look. ‘Do you think you’re able to get up yet, Gen?’
‘Sodding hell, satyr, stop mollycoddling the bloody sidhe.’ The loud, sneering words snapped my head up. ‘She’s got to be taken care of, and if you’re not up to it, then I am.’
Damn. I’d forgotten about the dryad.
Chapter Seven
I glared past Finn’s broad shoulders at the tall, thickset dryad. His arms were crossed, and he was smiling down at me with too many bark-stained teeth showing in his mahogany-coloured face for it to be anything but menacing. To be honest, he could’ve been sitting on the floor crying into the purple bandana wrapped round his clipped scalp and I’d have still felt threatened. Five months ago Bandana and his vicious little dryad gang had tried to kidnap and rape me. He’d used the fertility curse as his extenuating circumstances.
I stifled a shudder, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’ I demanded.
‘He was here first, Gen.’ Finn shot him a scathing look. ‘Apparently he walked in and pulled you out of the circle as it imploded.’
Bandana grinned wider. ‘You should thank me, sidhe. You tried to swallow too much magic and it was ripping you apart. If it hadn’t been for my hold on you, you would have faded.’ His long ankle-length brown coat split into a cape of thin whip-like willow branches that shifted in the spring breeze. I suppressed another shudder as the sensory memory of his branches tightening around my arms and legs surfaced. My stomach roiled. I pushed Finn away and hunched over, vomiting up a stream of brackish-tasting liquid.
‘Oh, and I poured salted river-water down your throat while you were out of it,’ I heard Bandana say happily through the noise of my own retching. ‘Didn’t want the magic to have any nasty lingering after-effects.’
Sadistic bastard.
‘You’re the only nasty lingering after-effect round here,’ I spat out when I could, wishing, not for the first time, that I’d blasted the whole of Bandana into wood shavings when he’d tried to kidnap me, instead of just his appendages.
Finn held out a bottle of water. He’d just called it, so it
was ice-cold from the fridge. I thanked him, rinsed my mouth and gave it him back – and it disappeared. Clasping his offered hand, I hauled myself up and stood swaying as another bout of dizziness hit.
I shrugged on my jacket, glad of its warmth against the chill breeze, and held on to Finn as I willed the lightheadedness away. The Thames rushed past behind us, its waters slapping loudly against the concrete dock, almost blotting out the background buzz of tourists and traffic. A raucous caw drew my attention up to Tower Bridge above us. A large raven perched on one of the parapets, head cocked to one side, watching. Was the bird something to do with the dead faeling? There were ravens at the nearby Tower of London—
The bird dived down and past us and my gaze caught on the high railings fencing off the dock from the public, behind which a snap-happy contingent of paparazzi were clustered, their cameras flashing like a mini electric storm. I froze in panic until I realised the cameras weren’t pointed at our little group but at the half-dozen uniforms – Constable Martin among them – gathered by the police cruiser tied up at the dock.
‘The dryad cast an Unseen spell,’ Finn muttered, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
Relief filled me, then Bandana being first on the scene clicked in my mind. His presence wasn’t likely to be a coincidence. Ignoring the fear that sliced through my gut, I shot him a disgusted look. ‘You’ve been following me, haven’t you?’
‘No one ever notices a tree, unless we want them to.’ His cape of branches rustled proudly. ‘Not even those who stand in our shadow.’ He spread his arms out and turned a slow circle, magic dripping from his fingertips like raindrops from twigs. ‘Something else you should thank me for, sidhe.’
My attempted rapist was stalking me.
I swallowed, hoping I wasn’t going to vomit again. I had to stop him.
Finn let go my hand and took a step forward, his fists clenched. ‘You and the rest were to keep your distance until the Summer Solstice, dryad. That was what was agreed.’
I had to get him to leave me alone. Just as soon as I could move without falling over.
‘That was before dead faelings started clogging up the river,’ Bandana sneered. ‘What happens if she’s next? You might be first in the queue, satyr, but snagging pole position means sod all if the sidhe’s dead. We have to protect our future.’
I needed a plan.
‘Gen’s more than capable of protecting herself most of the time, dryad,’ Finn growled, and I mentally cheered him on, ‘but if she does need help, you’d be last on her list.’
Bandana wasn’t even on the list.
I took a steadying breath and nudged Finn’s arm, telling him to stay out of it, then, moving slowly, I walked towards the dock’s handrail until I was out of sight of the press, not wanting to rely on Bandana and his Unseen spell. I looked down at the river – the tide was in, and the water eddied brown and murky just below the dock – then turned to face Bandana. ‘I want you to take a message to Lady Isabella,’ I said calmly. Lady Isabella wasn’t high on my list of BFFs, but since she was Head Dryad and Bandana’s graft-mother, I knew he’d pay attention.
He strode over and stood next to the railing, legs apart, branches flexing, leering down at me. ‘What’s the message, sidhe?’
‘Tell her I don’t want you or any of her other thugs following me.’
He made a noise like branches creaking in the wind: laughing. ‘You forget I just saved your life or something, sidhe?’
Talk about bigging himself up! My life hadn’t ever been in danger, not that I bothered to tell him that. Instead I focused on the group of uniforms by the dock and called the Stun spell from Constable Martin’s baton. She didn’t notice as the green firefly of magic shot towards me. Luckily, I caught it easily this time and held it up between us. ‘Now, I can be civilised if you think you can persuade Lady Isabella I’m serious. Or I can leave you here for her to find.’ I hit him with a ‘just give me an excuse’ look. ‘I’m easy, so it’s your choice.’
‘Lady Isabella won’t be happy if you do anything to me,’ he sneered, the tips of his whip-like branches flaring warily around him.
I shrugged, bouncing the Stun spell on my palm. ‘That’ll make two of us then, seeing as I’m so not happy right now.’
‘You’ll be even less happy if something happens to you,’ he said, keeping a watchful eye on the Stun spell, obviously calculating whether he could dodge it from this close.
‘A point I happen to agree with,’ I said matter-of-factly, ‘which is why there’s a more interesting part to my message.’
He stopped watching the spell and frowned at me.
‘So here’s the deal: I’ll agree to the dryads courting me’ – his yellow eyes widened, and behind me I heard Finn stifle a groan – ‘but I won’t accept you or anyone else in your gang who took part in your little “rape the sidhe” excursion. Got it?’
Bandana’s expression turned sullen for a moment, then he nodded sharply. ‘Got it, sidhe.’ He looked over my shoulder at Finn. ‘Well, satyr, seeing as the sidhe’s all hot for some real wood in her bed, looks like you’re missing more than sap in your pencil.’ He laughed, and the mocking, creaking sound was repeated by the nearby trees. ‘But hey, no hard feelings; drop by sometime and I’ll give you some tips on how to get it up.’
Anger and disgust ripped through me. He really wasn’t worth the ground he was planted in.
‘Try keeping it up like this,’ I muttered and before he could react I slapped the spell on his chest. Burned mint scorched the air as green lightning arced around him, shoving him back against the railing as it stunned him. Impulsively, I dropped to a crouch, hooked my hands behind his ankles and used his own momentum to heave him up and over the railing. The splash as he hit the water echoed through the loud buzzing in my head as my legs gave way and I collapsed onto my knees, gasping; the exertion was too much, too soon after being jerked around by The Mother. I knelt there, watching in a satisfied daze as the fast currents of the Thames whisked Bandana’s unconscious body away. Lady Isabella would still get my message, just not quite so quickly.
After a few minutes, I realised Finn was again offering me a hand. I looked up to meet his gaze.
‘Lady Isabella’s not the only one who’s not going to be happy,’ he said quietly, belying the flash of anger in his eyes.
No, she wasn’t. I wrapped my fingers round his and let him help me up. ‘He’s a willow; a trip down the river isn’t going to kill him. Unfortunately.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant, Gen.’
‘I know,’ I said, reluctantly pulling my hand from his and stepping back.
‘Why, Gen?’ A muscle twitched along his jaw, but beneath the anger, I could see the hurt, and remorse pricked at me. ‘Why did you do that, why agree to let them near you, when I’ve done everything in my power to keep them away from you? To keep you safe?’
He had. For the last five months he’d kept a gentlemanly distance from me, while managing to convince the rest of London’s fae he was my boyfriend/lover/whatever. He’d also convinced everyone to respect our privacy after the trauma of Hallowe’en and Grace’s death – ‘privacy’ being a nice euphemism for: no, we weren’t going to have sex in the middle of a public fertility rite for all to witness, no matter how much they all considered that a great idea. I owed him a hell of a lot for that, and I’d find some way to repay him, but—
‘I’m sorry, Finn.’ I held my hands out. ‘I wish things were different, that we could work this out just between us, but two faelings are dead because of the curse. I’ve got to find out what’s happening and stop it. It’s time I started talking to the rest of them.’ And why the hell I hadn’t done that before now was something else I needed to find out.
‘Hell’s thorns, Gen, they’ve been desperate to talk to you. The only reason they haven’t is because every time I asked you, you said you weren’t ready to deal with them yet.’
‘I did?’ I said, astonished. Damn, there was too much that I seeme
d not to be doing. Almost as if it wasn’t me in control . . .
‘You should’ve told me you’d changed your mind.’ Finn raked his fingers through his hair, his expression troubled. ‘We could’ve organised things, kept it all on a formal basis. But now you’re going to have every dryad in London turning up on your doorstep. And they’re going to want to do more than talk. Then there’s the naiads; they’re going to send their own candidates to court you once they hear. I’ll talk to the herd Elders, see if . . .’
His voice faded as suspicion dragged an elusive memory from a dark hole in my mind. There was something about a . . . spell around my wrist? Yeah, that was it. I pushed my jacket sleeves up and looked at my arms. The right was clear. The left was patterned with a blood-coloured band of rose-shaped bruises that encircled my wrist like a monochrome tattoo. The ‘tattoo’ marked me as Malik al-Khan’s ‘property’ and protected me from other vampires. As vamps go, Malik was a good guy . . . although my recent memories of him were a bit on the hazy side, which was never a good sign around vamps; it probably meant he’d been using his vamp mind-mojo to make me forget what I was only now remembering. But that was a problem for later. As for his mark, well it was a convenient thing to have – if I ignored the whole ‘he hadn’t asked, and I wasn’t any sucker’s damn property’ issue. I’d got so used to it that I never even noticed it now, but as I squinted at it sideways, I found what I was looking for: the spell, hidden beneath the rose-shaped bruises. As I focused, the spell grew brighter, twisting up my forearm like the stem of a briar rose, its multitude of tiny thorns pricking painlessly into my flesh and vanishing into my body.
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