The Bitter Seed of Magic

by Suzanne McLeod

  We had a suspect for the mastermind behind the faeling’s deaths. Mad Max’s son, whoever he was.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Hugh’s ‘talk’ about the note was in fact another round of statement-taking in one of the police vans, complete with a laptop-wielding WPC. We went over the memories the Morrígan had given me again, especially the one I’d had of the little blond-haired boy sliding down the slide in the playpark.

  ‘I’m pretty sure he’s Maxim’s son,’ I said, ‘and the “offspring” Helen Crane is talking about. But I don’t know who the boy is, or even how old he is. I meant to look up when kiddies’ slides were invented to see if that would give me a clue.’

  ‘I think I can help with that.’ The WPC looked up from her laptop. ‘From your description, Genny, my best guess is that the boy is in his mid-twenties to early thirties now.’ She smiled at me. ‘The slide wasn’t a clue – they’ve been around a lot longer – but the description of the lights was. I’m pretty sure they were halogens, which narrows it down.’

  ‘Mid-twenties to …?’ I frowned. ‘I bet Mad Max would want to keep his son near him, if he got him back.’ I flipped through the faces I knew at the Coffin Club and hit on one immediately. ‘Gareth Wilson,’ I exclaimed, ‘the human manager at the club – he’s about the right age, and he’s definitely a natural blond like Maxim.’

  ‘Check the records, Constable,’ Hugh said, ‘but I don’t want any contact with the club until I say so. I know it’s still five hours until sunset, but Maxim appears to be able to move around during the day in his dog shape.’ Hugh contemplated his large troll pen as if it had all the answers, then lifted serious grey eyes to me. ‘Maxim is unlikely to be very cooperative if it’s his son who is killing the faelings, Genny. I think it would be better if we approach the Oligarch privately first, to avoid any possibility of tipping Maxim and his son off and having both of them disappear on us.’ He gave me a quizzical look. ‘I know we haven’t really discussed your association with Malik al-Khan’ – we definitely hadn’t, not when it was an association Hugh worried over like a mother hen – ‘but do you have a way to contact him without me having to go through the normal channels?’

  ‘I’ve got something even better,’ I said, pulling a face as I told him about Malik being trapped in my bedroom. And Hugh was right. The logical way to get Mad Max to talk was to ask Malik as Oligarch to make Mad Max ‘cooperate’. But Malik’s own cooperation wasn’t necessarily a done deal.

  For one, Mad Max didn’t owe Malik his Oath, and two: if there were no external humans involved, the vamps policed themselves. And if Mad Max (a vamp) and Helen (a witch) had something going on between them, it went against the centuries’ old détente between the two species. And then there was the third fact, that Malik had given his protection to London’s fae and faelings. Even if Mad Max’s son was a human, if Mad Max was part of what was going on, that would be a challenge to Malik’s own power-base as Head Fang. So in order to preempt any problems with either the Witches’ Council or the rest of the vamp families, Malik could justifiably rescind Mad Max’s Gift (a.k.a. rip his head off and burn him to ashes) and declare that an end to it.

  Then there was the fact that Malik hadn’t exactly been forthcoming during our post-Coffin Club bedtime chat and had made it quite clear that he didn’t want me involved, so asking him to help wasn’t going to work. But finding some way of forcing him should … not only that, the situation gave me an idea of how to sort out my own problems with the beautiful, dictatorial vamp.

  ‘I think I can persuade Malik to cooperate,’ I told Hugh, ‘but I’ll need your help.’ Then I explained to him what I wanted, and about the flaw in his doppelgänger scheme, and how it could be fixed. And after a lot of concerned dust-puffing on Hugh’s part, we came up with a master plan: one that ensured Malik, as Oligarch, would assist the police; and meant that Hugh’s dopplegänger idea would work with or without the judicial red-tape; and as a bonus, also clubbed Malik’s ‘I Vampire, you Blood-Pet’ declaration on his arrogant buzz-cut head.

  Then I let Juliet Martin take a syringe full of my blood as I chatted to Ricou, so she and Ricou could stir the Doppelgänger spell, and in place of the payment she offered, I asked her to write me a couple of letters on behalf of the Witches’ Council. Juliet finished up, and they both made a dash for the disused mortuary just as the rainstorm came.

  I sat in the van mentally going over the plans, looking for any last-minute hitches in them, as huge raindrops ricocheted off the roof like bullets, and the leaden afternoon turned dark as night. Thunder rumbled and rolled ominously above me and the air charged with nature’s power … then as lightning struck silver fire across the heavens—

  Finn was suddenly there, standing between the van’s open back doors and backlit by the storm like an avenging god out of Greek legend.

  He’d lost his handsome human Glamour. Now he was taller, shoulders and chest broader and more heavily muscled, the angles of his face hard and feral, his horns curving up almost a foot above his head, their points lethal and sharp. My heart thudded – he was gorgeous, and terrifying, and awe-inspiring … and with the rain now sheeting down, it took me a stunned moment to realise that despite his eyes blazing emerald with rage, tears were streaming silently down his face.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  ‘Hugh tells me Helen’s note was addressed to you,’ Finn said, his voice holding an edge of brittleness. ‘That you’re going to see that sucker about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said quietly, my heart thudding for a different reason, as disappointment threaded with sadness rocked through me. I’d expected him to be upset that Helen was missing, but … he’d lost his Glamour, too overcome to hold it, and he was standing there with so much pain and grief radiating off him that it was as if someone had ripped his whole world apart.

  ‘Helen hates the suckers,’ he said.

  ‘I know.’ Or I thought I had, but obviously we were both wrong. I held my hands out to him, wanting to offer him comfort.

  He looked at them, then turned to stare out at the river. I pressed my palms against my thighs, unsure whether to go to him or not. But the tenseness of his shoulders under the drenched suit – which I noted absently still fitted like it was made for him, even without his Glamour – told me to wait.

  When he turned back his horns were back to their usual height, his eyes were dry, and the rage in them was gone, replaced by disbelief and something that looked like … betrayal? He climbed into the van and sunk into the seat opposite, rain dripping off him in rivulets.

  ‘Helen hates the suckers,’ he repeated, as if he was trying to convince himself, ‘so why would she have anything to do with one? Why would she have anything to do with any of this? She’s a police officer; she loves her job – why would she cover up a murder? Why would she—?’ He stopped, a muscle jerking in his jaw, and dropped his face into his hands.

  The Helen I knew didn’t have any reservations about using her police powers to suit her own purposes if she thought she could get away with it. Somehow I’d always thought Finn had known that, but maybe he hadn’t, not until now. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to see that part of her. But I didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to hear it.

  ‘Nicky’s gone, Gen,’ he whispered.

  ‘What?’ I exclaimed, not sure I’d heard right.

  ‘Nicky’s gone.’ He almost shouted it at me as he lifted his gaze to mine. His eyes were dark with fear. ‘She’s taken Nicky with her.’

  She’s taken Nicky— A sick dread roiled in my gut. Helen had taken his daughter. His faeling daughter. Fuck. No wonder he was devastated. Tears pricked my own eyes. I didn’t care about Helen, but I did care about Finn. I sank to my knees and wrapped my arms round him. ‘We’ll find her, Finn,’ I murmured, feeling the panicked thud of his heart beneath my cheek. ‘We’ll get Nicky back.’

  ‘A sucker’s got her, Gen,’ he said, in the same low tone, his arms tightening painfully around me. Again I didn’t tell
him Mad Max’s son might still be human; it didn’t matter if he was, he was still a killer. ‘He’s had her for four days—’ He stopped, shaking, and I knew he was remembering the time he’d been tortured by an ambitious vamp – and he’d been a captive for less than a day. That vamp was dead; Hugh had crushed her skull like a sledgehammer crushing an egg. My heart broke for Finn, and for Nicky, and I resolved to do whatever it took to save her and the other faelings.

  ‘Four days! Gods, I should’ve made her stay with the herd, I should’ve—’ He stopped, terror, and guilt, that he hadn’t protected his child thickening his voice.

  I hugged him harder. ‘It’s not your fault, Finn,’ I murmured.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gen.’ He moved to meet my gaze, his face drawn and desolate. ‘I should tell you not to have anything to do with the suckers. Instead I’m going to ask you … no, beg you, please: do whatever it takes to find Nicky.’

  My throat constricted. ‘I will, I promise.’

  ‘Whatever it takes, whatever they want, Gen,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘I’ll do it. Just save Nicky.’

  I headed home. Hugh gave me an escort of two uniformed police trolls: Constable Taegrin, his polished black face glinting cheerfully with specs of gold, and Constable Lamber, whose mottled beige headridge was rough and cracked with age. Trolls, like goblins, are impervious to vamp mind-tricks, although unlike goblins they can’t sense any magic. But I didn’t need them to. Magic wasn’t going to be the problem.

  In a way, I didn’t think Malik was going to be either, or at least not how Hugh envisaged he might be.

  ‘You’ll be careful, won’t you, Genny?’ Hugh had said, doing his father-figure bit. ‘A bit of advice: I know you’re upset about Finn and his daughter, but put all that out of your mind.’

  I told him I would.

  ‘It’s going to be sunset before everything else is ready, so don’t rush, and remember to keep your wits about you. Don’t let Malik al-Khan make you do anything you don’t want.’

  I knew what he meant. He thought Malik would want blood and sex, because that was what vamps did. Me, I wasn’t so sure, Malik hadn’t exactly taken me up on any offers in the past, in fact he’d been at pains not to. Now I thought that might have something to do with his deal with Tavish, whatever it was. But unlike Hugh, I wasn’t worried if it came down to blood or sex, or both. After all when I’d accepted his protection, I’d sort of expected they’d probably be part of the deal at some point, and it wasn’t like I was totally averse – in fact, part of me, the non-thinking part, would be … enthusiastically ecstatic about it all. Not to mention I was going to do whatever it took to make the plans happen. Which started with climbing up five flights of stairs.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I gasped in answer to Constable Taegrin’s solicitous question as I doubled over and leaned against my front door, trying to catch my breath.

  Taegrin gave me a look that said he didn’t think I was (both trolls had taken the stairs like pros, but then, they hadn’t been half-killed by a rabid vamp last night). But once I was breathing easy again, Taegrin nodded, and he and Lamber followed me into my living-room-cum-kitchen.

  A stiff breeze barrelled through the bedroom door, telling me the window in the room was wide open. I’d left it closed, with the heavy oak wardrobe in front of it. Malik was obviously awake, despite sunset being four hours away. Tension knotted my stomach, and I stopped a good couple of feet away from the bedroom door, with the two constables hovering attentively at my back.

  The rug I’d left Malik wrapped in, Cleopatra-style, was now rolled up tight and sitting neatly on the floor at the end of the bed. Beneath the bed my shoes and boots were (creepily) lined up in what looked like style, heel height and colour, and the heavy wardrobe was back in its original position.

  I looked. The blood-Ward still drifted above the threshold. When I’d drawn the Ward, it had sprung up like a golden fog; now it was as thin and insubstantial as a summer’s mist. But it was still working. Relief slipped through me; with the Ward trapping Malik as well as the daylight, I had a better chance of pulling this off. I stepped further to my left to get a better view of the room.

  Malik was on the bed, propped up against the headboard, looking relaxed and unconcerned, with his leather-clad legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His chest was still bare, and his pale skin gleamed almost unnaturally in the dim room. His pale, perfect face was set in his usual enigmatic expression, and his part-Asian eyes were black and unreadable as they met mine. Damn, but he was pretty – maybe even more so with his shorn hair.

  ‘Genevieve, I am delighted to see you.’ His not-quite-English accent was mocking. His gaze raked over the two trolls. ‘And to make the acquaintance of your … friends.’

  Showtime.

  Chapter Forty

  I lifted my lips in an equally sardonic smile. ‘I hope you’re enjoying my hospitality?’

  ‘I believe I would enjoy it even more if you were to make it less restricting.’ Pinpricks of power flared for a second in his dark eyes and I had to stifle the urge to go to him.

  ‘That’s not something I’m prepared to do just yet,’ I said, in a reasonable tone, ignoring the nervous itch pricking down my spine. ‘First, I want to negotiate a deal.’

  His lips quirked. ‘What if I do not wish to negotiate?’

  ‘Do you remember what I once said to you if you refused?

  ‘Yes.’ The word slipped like cool silk over my skin. Mesma. My pulse sped.

  ‘Same thing still applies, Malik: if you’re not willing to negotiate, then I will kill you.’ Always supposing I can, I added silently.

  ‘How could I forget such a promise, Genevieve?’ he said softly. ‘In truth, I was surprised to wake and discover myself not only undamaged, but also somewhat protected.’

  My eyes flickered to his foot. The burn wound was gone. Briefly I wondered how he’d healed it without blood. And how hungry he might be. Still, not my problem – yet.

  He carried on, ‘Threats lose their force if one does not intend to carry them through to their logical conclusion, Genevieve.’

  ‘Your death wasn’t the most logical conclusion … this time,’ I said in a flat voice, then added with a cheerful note, ‘Nothing personal, of course.’

  ‘No, I imagine it was not.’ He smiled, flashing fang. ‘Of course, with me gone there would be none to stand between the vampires and the fae.’

  ‘That was a consideration,’ I said drily. ‘But there’ll come a time when the fae no longer need your protection, Malik. Then I will make it personal.’

  ‘Ah, but then there would also be none to stand between your sweet blood and the Autarch.’

  I strangled my instinctive terror before it could take hold. ‘I’ll take my chances.’

  Something dangerous surfaced in the dark depths of his eyes. ‘Do not fool yourself that because the Autarch ignores you now he has forgotten you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I hold no illusions about the Autarch,’ I said, ‘just as I no longer hold any illusions about you.’

  He arched a brow. ‘I could order you to take down the Ward, Genevieve.’

  ‘You could, but to do that, I’d have to physically pass through it.’ I lifted my hands to indicate the silent, watchful trolls either side of me. ‘My friends here have been ordered not to let me.’

  ‘It seems I am destined to stay here in your bed then.’ He stretched, raising his hands above his head, and a darkness of a different kind swam in his eyes.

  I stared, transfixed, as lean, hard muscle moved under his pale, perfect skin. Lust coiled in my stomach, need throbbed between my legs and images flashed in my mind about how pleasurable ‘staying in my bed’ could be. I curled my fingers into fists, digging my nails into my palms, and used the brief pain to drive him out of my head.

  He sighed, the sound lancing like sharp sorrow into my heart. ‘Despite your assertion that you do not want me here.’

  I wanted him, needed him, needed to go to him�
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  Two weighty hands descended on my shoulders, holding me in place. I blinked and took a shaky breath. I scrubbed my hands over my face. Damn vamp nearly had me that time. I let the two constables know that it was okay to let me go.

  ‘Maybe you should be more concerned about what you want than about what I don’t,’ I said, struggling to keep my voice level. ‘Now let’s see, what was it? Oh yes, “My value lies in being alive, uninjured, and not in the possession of a vampire”.’ I quoted his words back at him. ‘“By agreeing to keep me that way, you gain a powerful ally in the kelpie”.’ I smiled, baring my teeth. ‘Where do you suppose Tavish stands on me being in the possession of a witch?’

  He stilled. ‘Why?’

  ‘One of them tried to kidnap me today.’

  ‘The attempt was not successful.’

  ‘Obviously not. But the next one will be. I’ve made sure of it.’

  He moved, too fast to see, and was standing in the doorway, hands braced against the wooden jamb, staring at me, his gaze intense.

  I took half a step back before I could stop myself, then gritted my teeth and put my foot where it had been. I stared back at him.

  ‘Explain, Genevieve.’

  The order clamped round my mind like a steel trap and it took everything I had not to babble uncontrollably. Instead I forced myself to calmly tell him the whole story, along with Hugh’s proposal to flush Victoria Harrier out to get answers and enough evidence to get a search warrant to find the missing faelings. I left out one, small pertinent detail: that it wasn’t going to be me as the sacrificial kidnap victim, but my doppelgänger.

  ‘Of course,’ I said finally, ‘you could order me not to get kidnapped, but …’ I looked to the two troll constables standing stoically either side of me. ‘I’ve already agreed to the plan. It will go ahead with or without my cooperation. So you see, it’s going to be difficult for you to keep your valuable property safe when that happens. Especially if you’re still stuck in my bed.’