by Helen Harper
‘You’re right,’ he growled. ‘It’s completely unlikely. In fact…’ His voice trailed off and his brow furrowed. He looked at me, his green eyes all but pinning me in place. ‘Tell me again about when you woke up on the golf course.’
I ran a hand through my hair. ‘What does that have to do with anything? I’ve already been through it.’
Morgan shook his head. ‘You told me what happened. You didn’t tell me how you felt.’
I failed to see why that was important but as long as Morgan wasn’t pointing his finger at me, or hauling me in for torture and interrogation because I supposedly knew more than I was letting on, I figured I shouldn’t complain.
‘Well,’ I drawled, ‘I certainly didn’t feel all zip-de-do-dah. That’s hardly a surprise.’
‘Stop being difficult, Madrona.’
He could be a patronising bastard when he wanted to be. I put my hands on my hips and injected as much sass into both my body and my voice as I could. ‘I’m actually very easy to get along with, once you learn to worship me properly.’
Morgan muttered something inaudible before raising baleful eyes. ‘Be specific. How did you feel exactly? I want to know everything.’
‘Do you?’ I dropped my voice to a low seductive husk. ‘Is that what you really, really want, Morgan?’
He gazed back. ‘Yes,’ he said, his tone flat.
Gasbudlikins. I sighed. ‘Fine. I felt sick.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘I wasn’t actually sick but I definitely felt nauseous. My ribs were sore, as if they’d been cracked. My legs were stiff and it was difficult to walk at first, although that eased off later when people started shooting at me. Then, of course, I cut myself on that stupid rowan-coated sword.’ I shrugged. ‘We all know what happened next.’
Morgan remained watchful. ‘Anything else?’ he prodded. ‘Anything at all?’
I tried to think. ‘I had a bad taste in my mouth. Like wet dog or something.’
He nodded. ‘Get on the bike.’
I cocked my head. ‘Why?’
‘Because there’s a woman we need to see about that wet dog,’ he told me.
‘Julie is still missing. Rubus still has her. I don’t have time for games, Morgan.’
‘This is far from a game. And unless you have any bright ideas about how to find either of them, quit complaining and get on the damned bike.’
I crossed my arms. ‘You know,’ I said in an overly sarcastic voice, ‘I really can’t imagine for the life of me why I left you. Not at all. I mean, it’s so much fun having you ordering me around all the time, or withholding information just because it suits you. I just love snapping to your every order and fulfilling your every whim.’
He swung his leg off the bike and stepped towards me, until our toes were almost touching. ‘Believe me, Maddy,’ he said, ‘if you were fulfilling my every whim then we would not be having a conversation.’
I matched his intense gaze. ‘Then, tell me, Morgan. What would I be doing instead?’
He shook his head, exasperated, then returned to the bike and turned the key. Yet again, the engine roared into life. ‘I’m already visualising duct tape over your mouth,’ he muttered. Apparently he thought I couldn’t hear him.
I shrugged. ‘Sure, if that floats your boat. You can tie me up too, if you wish. Handcuffs are fine.’ I held out my wrists. ‘Then you can have your wicked way with me.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’
Somehow I didn’t think it was a sexy game he was considering; it was probably a cold, damp prison cell and gloopy porridge three times a day. Giving up on trying to flirt, I pushed my hair out of my eyes. ‘Is it going to take long?’ I enquired. ‘This little visit of yours?’
‘No. It might even be worth it.’ He bared his teeth in a crooked smile. The contents of my stomach did an annoying little flip-flop.
‘Fine,’ I muttered. I got back on the bike. ‘Onwards, good knight!’
‘I can get hold of duct tape if I really need it, Maddy.’
Yeah, yeah. I sighed. This would be a far more entertaining chat if I didn’t keep thinking of Julie, who was probably wrapped in duct tape at this very moment. Whatever Morgan was up to, I sincerely hoped it was going to lead to something – for her sake.
***
If I’d thought that Rubus’s abandoned hideout was depressing, I hadn’t been using my imagination enough. Morgan stopped in front of a ramshackle hut near the canal and wasted no time in striding towards it.
I gaped after him. ‘You can’t seriously tell me someone’s inside there.’
‘Someone’s inside there.’
‘Well, you can’t go in. You won’t fit.’
‘I’m going in,’ he flung out over his shoulder. ‘I strongly suggest you come with me.’
I stared at the hut. ‘Into that? A strong gust of wind will blow it over. Not to mention it’s the size of a broom cupboard.’
‘Well then, you should be happy. It means it’ll be a short visit.’ Morgan pulled open the door and disappeared inside.
For a moment, I didn’t move. This had to be some sort of joke; the hut couldn’t be more than two feet square. I was going to waltz inside and Morgan was going to piss himself laughing that I’d been so gullible. When he didn’t re-emerge after what seemed like a long minute, however, I stomped in after in. There’d probably be more cobwebs inside, I thought gloomily. And massive spiders.
I slipped in the door. The sight that greeted my eyes wasn’t anything like I’d expected. I stared round, awestruck, then immediately turned on my heel and left the same way I’d entered. I looked at the exterior of the hut. Nope: it was definitely just a hut. Then I went back inside again. This really didn’t make any sense.
‘Get a move on, Maddy,’ Morgan said, sounding amused. He was standing at least twenty feet away and leaning against a highly polished mahogany bar.
‘Is this some weird faery place?’ I asked, without moving an inch.
There was a loud snort from behind the bar then a young woman stood up and flicked a derisive look in my direction. She had spiky blonde hair that shot out in all directions and, if I wasn’t mistaken, was tinged with blue at the tips. A pair of round glasses was perched on her nose, giving her green eyes an owlish aspect, while the stained denim dungarees she was wearing suggested she had a nursery of small children hiding at her feet.
‘Weird faery place? Seriously?’ She glanced at Morgan. ‘Has this idiot been asleep for the past ten years?’ Then she stared back at me. ‘Wait. I know who you are. You’re …’
‘Madrona,’ Morgan said. The woman flinched visibly, her skin paling. ‘She’s got amnesia,’ he added as if to calm her.
‘You brought her here?’ The strange faery woman pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘Do you have any idea how much trouble it is to relocate myself whenever one of them finds out where I am?’
‘Arty, she doesn’t remember Rubus. She doesn’t remember working for him and she doesn’t remember what she’s done in the past.’
‘Arty?’ I interrupted. ‘Is that name because you’ve been playing around with finger paints?’ I pointed at the multi-coloured daubs all over her dungarees.
Arty’s face twisted. ‘It’s Artemesia to you,’ she said coldly. She turned back to Morgan and started berating him for daring to bring me here. Whatever. I zoned her out and paid more attention to my surroundings. The room really was quite extraordinary.
For one thing, it was large. It might have looked like a tumbledown shed from the outside, inside of which you’d be lucky to swing your hair let alone a cat, but from this vantage point it was massive. It stretched back almost as far as my eyes could see and there was a long narrow room beyond the bar. Each wall was covered in shelves and each shelf was laden with bottles in myriad colours and shapes and sizes. It was as if I’d strolled into Aladdin’s cave; the sight was genuinely dazzling.
The aroma was equally alluring; heady spices mingled with florals and earthy smells. The combination should have been
sickly but it made me want to inhale as deeply as possible. It was exotic and delicious. I shook my head in amazement. This was what being a faery should all be about. Forget the grey streets of Manchester and trailing after Morgan or Rubus or whoever happened to be on the menu; I felt like I could settle in a corner and stay here forever.
To my left, there was a small wooden table with elaborately carved legs. A silver bowl lay on top of it containing a heap of small, jewel-like sweets. I reached for one.
In a flash, Artemesia was beside me and slapping away my hand. ‘Those are for customers,’ she snapped.
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ I said. ‘That makes me a customer.’
‘You couldn’t afford my rates.’ She tossed her head and glared.
I examined her. ‘Is the look you’re going for that of a clown? Because I’m not sure they’re very popular these days. More people are afraid of clowns than amused by them. Not that you’re very scary, but your hair and your clothes and your—’
‘Enough, Madrona.’ Morgan did not sound pleased.
There was a flicker of hurt vulnerability in Artemesia’s eyes and an odd feeling rose inside me. Gasbudlikins. Was that guilt?
‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘I’m under a lot of stress right now and my mouth has a mind of its own.’
Artemesia blinked at me. ‘Good grief,’ she said. ‘You really do have amnesia.’ She looked over her shoulder at Morgan. ‘You know it doesn’t mean that she’s changed. She just can’t remember. And when her memory returns, which it probably will, she’ll go running back to Rubus.’
Actually, I didn’t think I would. Whatever reasons I’d had before for being with him, there was no indication that he was the sort of person I wanted to spend any time with now. Whether I was truly evil or a secret hero, a girl had to have some standards.
‘We need your help, Arty. You should listen to what she has to say about when she woke up. I think there might be something there.’
‘Memory loss or not,’ she told him, ‘if I do this it’s for you, not for her. You know having her here means I’ll have to move again. Otherwise my uncle will find out where I am and I’ll end up screwed.’
I looked at her. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I don’t suppose you do.’ She stepped back, as if the very air around me was tainted, and swept around her arm. ‘This is my shop. I’m an apothecary. All my family are. My uncle and I were here collecting ingredients when the border closed and both of us were trapped. Once it became clear that it wasn’t going to open again any time soon, we opened up a new outlet.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘Under the auspices of Rubus. The things he asked us to do and the potions we were told to make were not … pleasant.’
I had a sudden epiphany. ‘Dust,’ I breathed. ‘You created pixie dust.’
‘To help faeries like us, not to hurt them. To ease the homesickness and lessen the ache.’
I raised my hands irritably. ‘Why doesn’t anyone believe that I sold pixie dust for the very same reason?’
Her mouth turned down. ‘Because my uncle took my recipe and adapted it. My intention was for it to be a good thing, not a concoction designed to hold faeries up and down the country in thrall to Rubus. Not to create addicts. You sell dust and you know full well what effect it has on us.’ Her tone left little doubt as to what she thought of me.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘right now I don’t know much of anything.’
Artemesia frowned at me. ‘Well you’re here now,’ she said eventually. ‘Let’s hear the story.’
Morgan, who’d been watching our exchange carefully but without interfering, jerked his chin at me. ‘Tell her what you told me, Maddy. About how you felt when you woke up with no memory.’
I sighed. ‘Sore ribs. Pounding headache. Stiff limbs. Rotten taste in my mouth. I cut my finger on a rowan-poisoned sword and didn’t receive treatment for it until it was almost too late.’
Artemesia bit her lip. ‘I need more detail.’
I shrugged. ‘It was long and pointy. I only gave myself a small cut but—’
She glowered. ‘Not about that. You’re not poisoned by rowan now,’ she said, as if I possessed the intellect of a wet paper bag. ‘The taste in your mouth. I need specifics. Tell me more.’
Slightly confused, I clicked my tongue. ‘Do we really have time for this? Shouldn’t we be doing something to help Julie instead of worrying about my taste buds?’
‘Just answer Arty,’ Morgan drawled.
I would have snapped at the command in his voice but something about the stiff, unyielding way he held himself gave me pause. He’d also focused on the foul taste I’d described on my tongue. I reminded myself that I was like a minnow floundering in a world full of knowledgeable sharks. What the hell did I know about anything anyway?
‘Wet dog,’ I muttered. ‘I tasted wet dog.’
Artemesia immediately whirled around, speeding back to the bar and hopping over it. From underneath it, she pulled out a massive leather-bound book and began flicking through its pages. ‘It’s just as well that I managed to rescue this from my uncle,’ she said, as much to herself as to Morgan and me. ‘He has to rely on memory while I have the apothecary’s bible.’ She bared her teeth in some sort of a smile. ‘His memory’s not like it used to be.’ She glanced at me. ‘It’s not as bad as yours, though.’
I snorted. Well, that was a given. I walked up to the bar and sat gingerly on a narrow barstool next to Morgan. ‘Why doesn’t the Metropolitan look like this?’ I enquired, while Artemesia continued to flip through the yellowing pages.
‘Some of us choose to maintain a façade for humans,’ he answered. ‘While some of us provide services solely for faeries. The cash the bar makes provides help for many of us. The potions Arty makes do the same, albeit in a different way.’
I pursed my lips. I supposed it made a sort of sense. I knew without asking that Rubus didn’t have the same sort of symbiotic relationships or faery services. There was no longer any lingering doubt in my mind that my old self had chosen the wrong side. I glanced at Morgan. I wanted to tell him that. It might not alter anything between us but I desperately needed him to know. Before I could even draw breath to speak, however, Artemesia spoke again.
‘I’ve got it,’ she said, jabbing at a page. Her eyes danced. ‘Well, well, well.’
Morgan raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you going to share?’
‘From what she’s said, her amnesia wasn’t an accident. It was wholly deliberate.’
I inhaled sharply. ‘Go on.’
‘The taste in your mouth is what gives it away. It’s an after-effect of the potion. Myosotis is commonly termed forget-me-not by humans, for obvious reasons. However when combined with Dragon’s Blood, it has the reverse effect and causes memory loss. If you add a little faery magic into that mix, well…’ She gave a low whistle. ‘The effects can be life-altering.’ She raised her eyes to me as if awe-struck. ‘Cool.’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘Not so much. Let’s back up here a second. Dragon’s Blood?’
‘So,’ Morgan mused, ‘Maddy wasn’t just poisoned with rowan, she was also poisoned with this amnesia-causing potion.’
Artemesia nodded, beaming at him. ‘Yep!’
I held up my hand. ‘Dragon’s Blood?’
‘It would explain a great deal,’ Morgan said.
‘Hello?’ I waved my hand vigorously. ‘I’m still here, you know. Are you trying to tell me that as well as faeries there are dragons? Just strolling around without anyone noticing?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Artemesia told me. ‘Why on earth would you think that? Dragon’s Blood is a type of tree resin. Real dragon’s blood doesn’t do a damned thing.’
I rolled my eyes. How exactly was I supposed to have known that? ‘But dragons exist?’
‘Apparently,’ she sniffed. ‘Not that I’ve ever met one.’
Morgan seemed unconcerned. ‘The only dragon I’ve heard of near here is Chen and he’s an or
nery bastard who hates the lot of us.’
‘Does he breathe fire?’
‘No. He looks just like a human. He can’t fly or perform magic or eat unsuspecting villagers. Generally, all dragons do is collect gold and treasure and moan a lot.’
Boring.
‘Dragons,’ Artemesia scoffed. ‘Honestly! Like things aren’t bad enough with all the faeries and bogles and redcaps around here. At least werewolves and vampires aren’t real.’
I stiffened, shooting her a quick glance; fortunately she was too absorbed with the book in front of her to notice. The same flare of pain I’d felt earlier, when I’d been thinking about mentioning Julie’s ethnicity, snapped through me. I grimaced. That wasn’t fair. I hadn’t been going to say anything.
Morgan, annoying arsebadger that he was, didn’t miss a trick. ‘What is it, Maddy?’
‘Nothing,’ I answered quickly. ‘Except that now I’m more disturbed than ever. You’re saying that someone did this to me deliberately. They wanted me to forget everything I knew.’
‘Not someone.’ Artemesia sounded grimly satisfied. ‘Rubus. The only person on this demesne other than me with the skill to create this kind of potion is my uncle. And he works for Rubus.’
So Morgan’s brother had tried to make me forget something, no doubt relating to something terrible that he’d done. He obviously hadn’t been convinced that it had worked because he’d also sent those blasted Redcaps to kill me. I curled my fingers into the soft palms of my hands, digging in so deeply that I almost drew blood. ‘I’m going to kill him,’ I whispered.
‘The truce—’ Morgan began.
I screeched, ‘Let me have my freaking metaphors! Obviously I won’t really kill him.’ Frankly, I doubted I could. I hissed out a curse and started stomping around the room. A good stomp seemed about all that was left to me.
Morgan watched me for a moment before returning his attention to Artemesia. ‘Is her memory going to return? Or is there some sort of antidote she can take?’