‘Stop looking like that,’ I said, annoyed. ‘It was only some of the half-formed in Between and I spat the pieces back out again. They’ll stick themselves back together soon enough; maybe even manage better shapes next time. Oh, and the two that didn’t fight’ – Viviane and Gold Cat – ‘are fine. Same as your soul’ – I placed a hand over my heart – ‘it was here, quiet as a mouse, until you bit me, so why not leave it—’
He shook his head, eyes blazing. ‘My soul is damaged, Genevieve. It will cause you harm. You have seen how Bastien is.’
I blinked. ‘Bastien is a crazy psycho because he had your soul?’
‘Yes.’
I frowned, recalling Malik’s harem memory and the child Bastien ripping his sister’s doll apart. He’d seemed pretty much fully-fledged as a psychopath back then. ‘Did Bastien have your soul as a child?’
Malik swiped an anxious hand over his head. ‘No, he did not. He took it some years after I was cursed with the revenant. Come, we must find him.’ He took my wrist again.
‘Wait!’ I pulled out of his hold. ‘I can’t wander around with a knife-hilt sticking out of my chest. People will freak out.’ I carefully wrapped my hand around the flashing dragon’s tear, hesitated, then, under Malik’s worried gaze, yanked it out. As far as I could tell, my own soul stayed in place, seeing as I didn’t drop down dead or float off with the breeze, as did Malik’s; its claws still had their death-grip on my heart.
I tucked Janan safely in the back of my jeans. ‘Right,’ I said, pleased my voice only shook slightly. ‘Let’s go and find Bastien, but remember, the priority here is to get the info about the fae’s trapped fertility out of him. We can worry about your soul later, okay?’
‘I do not think—’ He stopped, stared up at the heavens as if entreating some god, then just as I was about to push the point, he took a breath he didn’t need. ‘We will do that, Genevieve.’
‘Right.’ I rubbed my breastbone as the pain there vanished. Malik’s soul had sheathed its claws the second he’d agreed and was now back to being a soft ball of silvery light. Damn. It was determined to become a permanent resident. Later.
‘So,’ I said, ‘did you get enough of my blood for whatever it was you were planning to do?’ Not that I thought either of us were up to him trying to bite me again.
‘It is possible, but we shall see.’ His mouth twisted and he offered his hand, wary. I took it just as cautiously, braced for the claws. Nothing. We both sighed in relief.
He held the slashed tent open and we stepped back in together.
Waiting for us was Bastien.
Bastien flashed fangs. ‘Well, well, my loyal shadow and my lovely sidhe princess.’
Malik stepped smoothly between me and Bastien. ‘Our agreement was that you should cause Genevieve no harm, Emir.’ His voice was soft with threat. ‘You will take my soul back now; else I will consider it broken.’
‘You know I have not broken any agreements, Abd al-Malik. The sidhe took your soul of her own volition.’
‘Genevieve would not have been in a position to do so, had you not altered the plan. This is—’
Malik fell silent as Bastien held up one finger then treated me to a gleeful smile. Dread crawled down my spine as I leaned forward to look at Malik. He was frozen, his beautiful face etched with anger and determination.
Crap. Looked like Malik didn’t get enough of the power in my blood. And going by Bastien’s expression, he hadn’t had the juice to trap Malik before. Damn. I so didn’t want to find out what other little extras chomping the Emperor’s head had given the psycho.
He waggled his finger at me. ‘I find my elevation to Emperor is proving to be immensely enjoyable, my sweet bride.’ He gave the statue-like Malik a delighted poke.
‘You mean the power you stole,’ I said flatly.
‘Stealing? Ah, yes, it appears thieves abound. For instance, did you know there is another who looks exactly as you do? I believe she may have stolen your identity.’
Confusion winged through me. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Bastien whirled away, his toga flaring about him, calling, ‘Come and I will show you.’
Heart pounding, I raced after him, barely noticing the four werewolves who had taken up sphinx-like positions around the Empress on her stone, to a spot outside in the lee of the stage.
Bastien waved a hand at the open space with its chain circles and cages. ‘Behold!’
I looked. And stared in horror, my eyes refusing to believe what they were seeing.
The place was a hive of movement. Hugh’s boys and girls in blue had corralled the vamp centurions and a crowd of folk dressed in their designer best, who had to be the auction bidders, into some of the cages. And now they were taking statements from the huddle of Others who were obviously the ‘lots’ from the cages and their ‘coin-holders’ from the chain circles. But despite all the activity under the fierce glare of the halogen spotlights, my eyes fixed on the small group gathered at the heart of it all.
I, or someone who looked enough like me, right down to my black jeans and T-shirt, that I couldn’t tell the difference, was standing talking to Hugh, Tavish and Finn. Bastien said something, but his words didn’t register past the pulse thundering in my ears. Finn had his hand protectively on the imposter’s shoulder, his horns curving up in full threat mode. Tavish had a nimbus of watery power surrounding him like an aura – a personal Ward – and, held securely in his arms, was a bundle of brown fluff that I recognised as Freya, my niece in her doggy form. The imposter had her arm round Katie, hugging her close. And loitering a few feet away from Katie, his shoulders hunched over, was Katie’s treacherous ‘boyfriend’, Marc, the big-cat-shifter.
It was his gaze, fixed unerringly on the imposter, which tipped me off.
She was Gold Cat. Somehow she’d got herself enough power to make herself solid and then Glamour herself up to look like me, then she’d pulled a fast one and taken my place. And none of my friends appeared to know the difference . . .
Gold Cat hugged the trembling girl as she sank into the sliver of ‘Genny’ inside her, searching for— ah, the trembling girl was called Katie, and was much loved. She hugged Katie closer, in spite of the acrid stink of fear, sweat, werewolf and the faint remnants of some disgusting perfume that clung to her. But beneath the stink were the cleaner scents of will and strength and courage. Katie was a good choice to breed the next generation of their pride. Gold Cat looked over at the young male, Marc, nodding her approval. He jutted his chin, angry and frightened for the girl – protective. He’d make her a good mate – and confused for himself, but not enough to tell the rest gathered around them here, on this, the Summer Solstice, that Gold Cat was not who they thought. Not their ‘Genny’.
How’s it going? The voice of the leannán sidhe came in Gold Cat’s head. You finding your paws okay?
Yes. But not every “lot” is here. There are three missing. The gnome continued with the auction in the Emperor’s absence. The part of me that is Genny is worried about the missing, as is her police friend, the mountain troll. Do you know what has become of them?
‘Hmm, let me see . . . Ah, yes, here’s one. Lot number eight, the hairless cat in the blue jumper.’
Everyone froze as a tarot card appeared in front of Gold Cat. The card showed a tall, shimmering gold female, with shapely devil’s horns and a magnificent peacock tail, standing in one of the silver and copper chain circles. As soon as the gnome released her from the circle, the female smacked him on the head with her coin, then ran over, yanked open the cage and scooped the cat up, raining kisses on his hairless head before the pair vanished with a pop.
‘I wonder what misfortune will befall them from the gold coins,’ Gold Cat said, as the smiling image of the leannán sidhe, twirling her lavender parasol, took the pair’s place on the card.
‘Oh, I would not worry about them. I hear she has connections in low places. Very hot, low places. Like one of the lowest levels of H.E.
L.L.’
‘Hell is a place I have never visited,’ Gold Cat said.
The leannán sidhe laughed. ‘You should work on your delivery. You don’t sound like the bean sidhe at all. You need to add some attitude. Oh, and your breasts are too big. The bean sidhe’s are smaller.’
Gold Cat scrutinised her generous proportions. Were they too large? The sliver of Genny thought so, though something else seemed to be encouraging Gold Cat to add to Genny’s slender curves. But she couldn’t afford to draw attention to her Glamour. Reluctantly, she adjusted her shape and size down. ‘I appreciate the advice,’ she told the leannán sidhe. ‘What befell— happened to the other two lots?’
The leannán sidhe tilted her head. ‘Now, who else didn’t give you their coin? Oh, yes, the selkie. His ex-wife kept it. She didn’t want to lose her shot at revenge after he abandoned her and their kids to go back to sea. But she didn’t barter for him. A man from the Golden Hind bought him.’
‘I am confused. Has the selkie not been . . . squatting in the Golden Hind for the last few months?’
‘The ship on the River Thames, yes. He’s been quite the tourist draw. But his purchaser owns another replica, one in Devon. He wants the selkie so he can use him to drum up trade down there. Which is where the selkie’s family lives anyway.’
‘Why is . . . what’s the catch in that?’
‘Well done! That sounded more like the bean sidhe,’ Viviane nodded approval. ‘The catch is the selkie’s wife will keep his skin, and all his wages as alimony. Wrong decision, really, she should have let him go. This way neither of them will be happy.’
‘That is unfortunate.’
‘Oh, he’s got a better outcome than lot number nine. One of your pride’s ailuranthropes, I believe. No coin-holder turned up for him.’
‘Yes. Steve Dean. My pride memories tell me he was a human turned accidently by a Bite. He was given a position as one of the pride protectors.’
‘Well, Mr Kaito, International Purveyor of Rare Epicurean Delicacies, bid the highest at the auction for Steve Dean, so Steve is now on his way to the next T[#333;]hoku Fukushima Annual Charity Banquet. He is to be the main course.’
Gold Cat frowned. ‘Can he be rescued?’
‘He’s already on ice.’
‘Ice? Does that mean he is dead?’
‘Yep.’
‘This makes me sad,’ Gold Cat said. ‘It also makes me glad I consumed the gnome.’
‘How was he?’ the leannán sidhe enquired.
Gold Cat hawked and spat. ‘Ancient, big power, but bad taste.’
‘What about the satyr?’
A satisfied smile spread across Gold Cat’s face and she purred before she could stop herself. ‘The satyr is a good mate.’
‘Glad it worked out for you,’ the leannán sidhe said, her tone envious. ‘Well, I shall return to my cards now. I have one last reading to do for the bean sidhe then I shall gain my freedom. I wish you good luck.’
The world around Gold Cat unfroze and she plucked the tarot card from the air before it dropped. ‘Good luck to you too, leannán sidhe’ she murmured. I owe you one, as Genny would say.
‘Everything okay, Gen?’ The satyr’s concerned voice was warm against her ear.
She smiled at him. ‘Soon will be.’ She waved at the hive of activity in front of her. ‘Once we sort things out with Hugh and this is all over. Then we can go home.’ Which would be the second test.
She’d already passed the first test when the kelpie – Tavish – the one who could taste souls, had shown himself as the coin-holder for the small fluffy dog – Freya, niece, sort of, the sliver of Genny reminded her – though that sliver had been surprised and intrigued that Tavish was the one who’d come for the little shapeshifting faeling. Gold Cat hadn’t been interested enough to ask why. An oversight, she realised now, and something she’d need to rectify. Soon. Consuming the ancient gnome had given her power and living flesh. Shaping that flesh to replicate Genny had been easy, coating her spirit with the sliver of Genny’s soul not much harder, but the true test, as the leannán sidhe had pointed out, lay in aping Genny’s personality.
A human male approached – Bangladeshi ambassador – and Finn gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leading Katie away.
‘Ambassador,’ Gold Cat said, injecting her tone with interest and sympathy; two things she did not feel, but the sliver of Genny did. ‘How can I help?’
The ambassador, his grey suit crumpled, orange and black striped tie loose about his neck, bowed in front of her, relief plain on his lined face and offered ‘Genny’ his gratitude for her part in rescuing his wife and their son. As Gold Cat listened, she shaded her eyes against the glare from the bright mechanical candles on metal sticks – halogen lights – the sliver of Carlson’s soul that she’d retained informed her. The world had moved on since last she’d walked it in human skin rather than fur, and with her own spirit almost intact. She had a lot to learn from the slivers inside her.
‘. . . we would be delighted to grant you a boon, Lady Genevieve,’ the ambassador finished quietly, ‘should you require one in the future.’
‘That’s very kind,’ Gold Cat said, echoing his deep bow, then felt a prickle of irritation as Genny’s sliver noted she wouldn’t have bowed; too archaic. ‘Thank you, Ambassador.’ Gold Cat forced her mouth to smile. ‘And thank your wife too.’
‘My wife and I wish to extend our gratitude to Mr Jonathan Weir, the zoo’s employee, for his heroic attempt to save our son, Dakkhin. We would not want Mr Weir to suffer for his actions. Unfortunately, the magic in the Bite cannot be taken back. However, Dakkhin is a godling; the grandson of Byaghradevi, the guardian of the Sundarbans, the beautiful jungle. Dakkin wishes to repay Mr Weir’s sacrifice by offering him his blessing. It will ensure Mr Weir will survive the shift. My wife would also offer to care for Mr Weir during this difficult time.’
Byaghradevi, the guardian of the Sundarbans. One of the minor Indian goddesses. A part of Gold Cat remembered meeting her once, millennia ago. Inwardly, she licked her lips; they’d feasted well together on the jungle’s two-legged inhabitants. She searched Genny’s sliver for the appropriate answer to the ambassador.
‘Fine by me, Ambassador,’ she said. ‘But maybe you should check with Jonathan Weir and his partner, who gave up his gold coin. It should be their decision, really.’
The ambassador gave his agreement to do so and moved away, his place taken by the five swan maidens dancing gracefully up to her with their thanks. The three dwarves who had been their collective coin-holder milled anxiously around the scantily feathered girls, getting affectionate, if somewhat sharp pecks on their bald pates for their fussing. The two centaurs came next and offered their own gruff gratitude, then after a mildly suggestive twirl of their ’taches, cantered off towards the Carnival where a spontaneous celebratory party appeared to be getting under way.
Mini the Minotaur stomped up and proffered her thanks by way of a free chase in her labyrinth to the pot of gold, then swung her coin-holder, the leprechaun, up on to her shoulder. The leprechaun gave a long-suffering sigh and grabbed one of Mini’s horns, and they too strolled off in the direction of the party, with a saucy flip of Mini’s tail.
The Arabian phoenix flew past with a grateful dip of its wings then joined her coin-holder, the chipped concrete troll with his fast-food cart. The bird landed on the cart’s burner, scoffed down a fireproof bun as the troll turned the flames up, and, whistling off-tune, pushed the cart towards the rest of the Others.
A fae male in a strange pirate outfit approached. He’d been hanging around the giant squid’s tank. Gold Cat licked her lips at the enticing scent of fish drifting from him then gave a small growl of disappointment. The male – Ricou, dressed in his Captain Jack Sparrow Glamour – lived with Genny as a . . . flatmate? – Ah, part of her pride – It disappointed Gold Cat that she wouldn’t be able to eat Ricou either in this guise or the male’s true naiad form. He smelled like he’d taste d
elicious.
‘Hello, luv, how’s tricks?’ the pirate said cheerfully. ‘Hear you’ve had a busy time of it.’
‘Hey, Ricou.’ She twisted her mouth in a grin. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’
Ricou pointed at the giant squid madly waving three of its tentacles. ‘That’s Gustaf, he’s Bertha’s pal.’
The name Bertha produced an image of a huge angry eel in Gold Cat’s mind. An angry eel with very sharp teeth that delighted in terrorising Genny. ‘Bertha’s got a pal?’
Ricou twirled his beard. ‘Bertha got a bit upset when old Gustaf didn’t turn up the other night, so I’ve been out looking for him. Wasn’t till she spat out a gold coin that it clicked what had gone on. She couldn’t come herself, obviously, so I did the honours. Thanks for saving him, luv.’
‘No worries,’ she replied. ‘Maybe Bertha will stop trying to take chunks out of me now.’ And if not, the eel would make a tasty meal in place of the naiad.
He made a high clicking sound: laughter. ‘She might, luv, you never know. I’ll get him home and see you later. Sylvia’s looking forward to catching up on the gossip.’
‘Sure,’ Gold Cat agreed, thinking gossip was not something she was accustomed to. Or overly interested in. Nor was she interested in talking to Sylvia, the other flatmate. Dryads were only useful when it came to sharpening one’s claws.
The kelpie sauntered towards her, the small faeling dog nipping playfully at his heels. Trailing after them was a small black Labrador-like puppy. As they neared, the Black Dog puppy lifted its head and fixed Gold Cat with its red eyes. Fear slammed into her and she almost shifted and killed it before she remembered she wasn’t herself; she’d deal with the Black Dog later. It was still a puppy so there was time to reverse its Prophecy of Death.
The kelpie indicated the tarot card Gold Cat held. ‘I’m thinking that card holds our answer, doll,’ he said, the beads on his dreads flashing an eager green.
Gold Cat forced her attention away from the Black Dog and looked down at the card. Against a blue velvet background it showed two images. The top image was of a Fabergé egg encrusted with sapphires and diamonds. The image below showed the same egg, but open, and nestled inside it was the sapphire pendant that contained the fae’s trapped fertility. The sliver of Genny recognised it as the Fabergé egg the sorcerer had used to trap souls last Hallowe’en, and was surprised and frustrated that she’d let it slip through her fingers more than once.
The Shifting Price of Prey [4] Page 48
