Her helmet fell forward over her forehead as she frowned around at the mess. She pushed it up absently. ‘Gosh, I forgot: you can’t sort things out with magic, can you? What you need is some help—and I know just the person to provide it.’ She gave me a dazzling smile.
Was I going to take the bait—sorry, turn down a free offer of help? Okay, so it wasn’t going to be truly ‘free’, but since I had an idea that being friendly was the starting price—
I nodded, and she held out her hand; this time a pink iPhone appeared; the small white flower-shaped phone-charm dangling from it glowed with a Buffer spell that made the phone look like it was wrapped in thick, protective plastic. She waggled it, obviously expecting me to comment.
Impressed despite myself, I said, ‘Nice bit of magic. I haven’t seen a Buffer like that before.’ I touched a finger to the spelled charm; it shocked me back.
‘It’s my own blend.’ She beamed. ‘I add powdered rowan berries. The standard spells don’t last long with me calling my phone’—she gave a creaking laugh at her pun, and I lifted my lips in a smile to show I got it—‘you really don’t want to know how many scrambled SIM cards I ended up with.’
I really didn’t.
She thumbed the iPhone’s screen and it started ringing on speaker.
Nine rings later someone answered. ‘I told you not to phone me at work, Sssylvia. I’m busssy.’ The soft, sibilant voice sounded grumpily familiar: the Librarian.
‘Libby, darling,’ Sylvia said loudly, ‘this is work. I’m over at the sidhe’s place and you can’t move for books.’
‘Ssshe wanted them.’
‘Well, we all know that she’s not going to find anything in them, don’t we, Libby, so do me a favour and call them back, will you?’
I looked down at the scattered piles of books. There was one I wanted … I saw it next to the flattened takeaway cup and gingerly picked it up. Underneath was a small gold key. I picked that up too, then promptly wished I hadn’t as it melted into my palm and disappeared. Figured.
‘Told you, Sssyl, I’m busssy,’ the voice hissed down the phone. ‘Cataloguing.’
‘Gosh, Libby, then maybe I’ll have to get busy and put a “Keep Your Thieving Claws Off” spell on my books,’ Sylvia shouted at the phone, then winked at me. ‘Now stop being grouchy and call the books back.’
A sibilant sigh echoed down the phone, and then my ears popped with the sudden pressure as the piles of books vanished.
‘Thanks, Libby.’ Sylvia smiled in satisfaction, then whispered, ‘The old dragon loves my paranormal romance books; she’s just too mean to buy them herself.’
‘I’ve got my hearing aid in, Sssyl,’ the voice grumbled.
‘I thought you said you didn’t need one, Libs,’ Sylvia shouted into the phone again, then tapped it, muttered ‘amplify’ and hung the iPhone on an invisible hook between us. ‘Anyway, I bought a couple of new romances yesterday; they’re on the table in my dressing room. Oh, and don’t forget—’
‘Ask her what she knows about Michael Nix’s book,’ I interrupted, holding up the volume I’d retrieved.
‘Michael Nixsss, The Esssoteric Practice of Malediction Propheciesss,’ the Librarian hissed. ‘He is a purveyor of nightmares and future fears. I did not sssend you that one.’
Nice! I dropped the book. I’d salted it, and its magic seemed to be spent, but holding it for too long probably wasn’t a great idea. ‘Well, someone did,’ I said, ‘then I think they paid me a visit.’
‘What did they look like?’
‘She was green, deficient in the tooth area, wrinkled and over-free with the cryptic threats.’
‘Gosh, that sounds like one of the bean nighe, don’t you think, Libby?’
I looked down at my bloodstained jeans. A bean nighe? Just my luck.
‘A washer woman? Why would a Herald of Death be visiting you, sssidhe?’
Not a question I really wanted an answer for. ‘She was wearing a chain of gold keys,’ I said. ‘Does that mean anything?’
‘Ahh … Ssshe was the Phantom Queen then.’ The Librarian drew the name out with something approaching reverence. ‘Ssshe ofttimes appears as such.’
The name sounded familiar—
‘But I thought Clíona imprisoned her years ago, Libby?’ Sylvia frowned at the iPhone.
‘A sssidhe queen cannot hold a goddess for long. Ssshe may have escaped, or Clíona may have relented, or ssshe may have agreed sssome bargain with the Terror.’
—and my memory clicked in with the answer. ‘Are we talking about the Morrígan? The goddess of prophecy, war and death?’
‘Ssshe is also Anu, the goddess of sssovereignty, prosperity and fertility,’ the Librarian said, her delight and satisfaction evident.
Of course she was the goddess of fertility—after all, that was the theme of my life right now. Not to mention, I must have used up my next ten years’ quota of luck, seeing as I now had not one, but two goddesses taking an unhealthy interest in me.
‘Gosh, that’s right,’ Sylvia said, grinning at me with excitement. ‘Did she show you one of her prophecies? Was it anything to do with the curse? Do tell.’
Telling them might shed some light on the Alien baby bit, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to ‘chat’ about it; for all that it was false, the memory was grief-filled and painful. And I wanted a chance to think it all through. Then there was the fact the Morrígan had chosen to appear as a bean nighe. The bean nighe were dark fae, changelings taken from those mothers who died in childbirth, whose souls were lost. Whether it was the association, or down to whatever magic the Morrígan had sicced on me with her bitter kiss, flashing in my head like a neon arrow pointing ‘victim here’ was the picture of Ana, Victoria Harrier’s very pregnant daughter-in-law.
Questions started piling up in my mind.
I looked at Sylvia and her phone. The Librarian was the local font of all knowledge, and everyone knew that trees were the original gossip girls.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Before I do tell and show,’ I said, ‘do either of you know a water faeling called Ana?’ At Sylvia’s puzzled look, I added, ‘She’s married to a wizard.’
‘Oh, you mean Annan,’ Sylvia said, adjusting her cycle helmet as it wobbled.
‘Why do you assk?’ the Librarian said.
‘Someone mentioned her, and I thought it was odd she was married to a wizard. They’re usually all about their magical lineages, aren’t they?’
‘Annan is the great-granddaughter of Queen Clíona. The wizard married her because ssshe is descended from sssidhe royalty.’
Wow, Clíona’s descendents were popping up all over the place, which could hardly be a coincidence. Or a surprise really, with two goddesses on my case.
There was a tiny chiming sound, and a scroll of buff-coloured vellum appeared in the air in front of me, accompanied by a pungent twist of wood-smoke. Its red silk cord untied and the vellum unrolled itself with a definite flourish. ‘This is Annan’s lineage,’ Sylvia said, sounding slightly awed.
I read down the family tree, and immediately recognised Clíona’s daughter’s name, Rhiannon. That was the name that Grianne, my faerie dogmother, had called Angel. So maybe it was Angel/The Mother who was putting ideas into my head about Ana (her great-granddaughter) being a possible victim?
‘Such a tragedy, wasn’t it, Libby?’ Sylvia said.
I peered at the family tree. ‘I take it you don’t mean Ana’s marriage to the wizard, but about her mother being attacked and killed by the vamps,’ I said drily, ‘and Ana herself being caught by them.’
Sylvia gave a choked laugh that sounded like leaves rustling. ‘Gosh, yes, Brigitta was killed by the suckers, wasn’t she? I’d forgotten that. That was a tragedy too. So sad, such a lot of heartbreak in that family, and all because of the curse.’
‘Clíona brought it on herssself,’ the Librarian grouched. ‘If ssshe had not cast the droche guidhe, it would never have happened.’
‘So,
what did happen?’ I asked.
There was another chime, and a yellowed newspaper popped into the air to hover next to the family tree scroll. For a moment it fluttered in the breeze through the open bedroom window, then Sylvia snapped her fingers and it became as still as a board.
I stepped up to it and began to read:
FAERIE PRINCESS RESCUED FROM THE TOWER.
by ‘Thomas the Rhymer’
Our Man in the Fair Lands
A sidhe faerie princess and her child have finally been released after being kidnapped and held prisoner in the Tower of London.
The traumatised princess (age not specified) has been returned to the bosom of her family in the Fair Lands after the ordeal, while her baby daughter (5 months) is being cared for by extended members of the princess’ family in London—
A horrified chill crawled down my spine. I narrowed my eyes at Sylvia and her pink iPhone. ‘So who’s going to explain what that means?’
‘Well,’ Sylvia’s face squinched up like she was in pain, ‘you know what Algernon and his friends tried to do to you?’
Algernon had to be Bandana, the dryad. I hadn’t known his name, nor had I really wanted to. ‘You mean when they tried to kidnap and rape me?’ I said flatly, thinking that Sylvia hadn’t necessarily been blameless in that nasty incident.
‘Fiddlesticks, now I’ve made you cross.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘They weren’t supposed to do that. If I’d known that’s what they planned, I’d have told someone.’
‘Go on,’ I said, giving her a hard stare as I crossed my arms.
‘Well, it all happened about forty years ago. The Old Donn, he was the one in charge then, he was desperate to find a way to break the curse. As we all still are.’ She gave me a pointed look. ‘Anyway, short version, that’s when the idea of finding a sidhe willing to have a child came up, only Clíona wasn’t prepared to let us court any of her ladies, and none of the other queens wanted anything to do with the curse. So things were at a bit of a stalemate. But then Clíona’s daughter Rhiannon was visiting London. When the Old Donn and two of the other wylde fae found out she was here’—she pulled another pained face and pointed at the hovering newspaper—‘well, that’s what they did.’
Fuck, so I wasn’t the first! They’d already tried the ‘kidnap, rape and make the sidhe pregnant’ plan in an effort to break the curse with this Rhiannon— except their plan obviously hadn’t succeeded, since the curse was still in existence … but looking at the family tree, Rhiannon had given birth, to a daughter … and the newspaper had mentioned a baby girl … so—
‘Rhiannon wasss visiting the fossssegrim when the Old Donn took her,’ the Librarian’s voice hissed out of the phone. ‘Ssshe was already carrying hisss child.’
Shit. That meant— ‘They abducted and raped a pregnant woman!’ I said, sickened.
Sylvia cringed. ‘Well, technically, yes.’
‘They either did, or they didn’t!’
‘They performed a fertility rite,’ the Librarian said. ‘Rhiannon agreed to it, but ssshe has never been in her right mind, and ssshe did not understand what it meant. It was a ssstrange sssituation.’
Rhiannon wasn’t in her right mind? Of course, they were talking about Angel—for a moment I’d forgotten Rhiannon and Angel were the same person, and that Angel was Ana’s grandmother.
Two more yellowed newspaper articles materialised in front of me with another chime. Their headlines proclaimed: BRUTAL SLAYING AT THE TOWER OF LONDON, and TRAFALGAR SQUARE’S FOUNTAINS TO BE EXORCISED.
I skimmed down the pieces. They detailed the killing spree that the fossegrim had gone on when he’d become unhinged at losing his lady love to the curse, and the fall-out that followed. Neither story carried any mention of Rhiannon, or their daughter. Those details had obviously been kept out of the news.
‘The fossssegrim exacted hisss revenge on the Old Donn and the others,’ the Librarian said. ‘But once the humanss heard about it, they called for him to be removed. An agreement wass finally reached whereby the fountainsss were Warded ssso that the fossegrim was contained for three decadesss. But he wasss unable to care for the child, Brigitta, so ssshe was given into the care of the witches, for her protection. Ssshe grew up with them, and when ssshe gave birth to Ana, the witches cared for her alsso.’
‘Obviously not well enough,’ I muttered. Damn, poor Ana really was a victim of the curse, in more ways than one. Her grandmother Rhiannon was born to break it, her mother Brigitta was killed by the vamps, and Ana herself had ended up in a blood-house when she was fourteen. And despite her supposed rescue by her wizard husband, Ana was still under the thrall of some vamp, and still a victim of the curse. It was a situation I needed to sort out—once I worked out how to bypass the scary fossegrim. ‘So,’ I said, ‘I heard Ana now lives with her grandfather the fossegrim in Trafalgar Square. Is he really as mad as I’ve been told?’
‘Gosh, yes.’ Sylvia shuddered. ‘I’d stay away from him, if I was you. He likes to drown folk—’
‘He hass never hurt a female or a child, Sssylvia,’ the Librarian’s voice interrupted firmly.
Ah, good to know, since I was going to be visiting his granddaughter.
Sylvia frowned at the phone. ‘But I thought that was why Rhiannon was sent back to the Fair Lands, and why her daughter went to live with the witches?’
‘No, Rhiannon wass allowed home because none wanted to incur Clíona’s wrath again.’
I snorted. Allowed home, my arse. Then something struck me. ‘So if Rhiannon went back to the Fair Lands, why did she leave her daughter in the care of the witches?’ But even as I asked the question, the answer was there in front of me, on the hovering vellum of the family tree. ‘Brigitta was a full-blood sidhe, and you kept her because of the curse. Damn! She was going to be your next curse-breaking experiment. You tried to breed from her, didn’t you? And Clíona just let you.’ Anger welled up in me and I kicked at the book on the floor. It thudded into the wall next to the bathroom door, making Sylvia jump.
‘We are not as cruel as you sseem to think, ssidhe,’ the Librarian said in a conciliatory tone. ‘We had high hopess that Brigitta would break the curse, ssso like you, ssshe was given her choice of father. And ssshe chose one of the water fae, but when Ana, her daughter, was born, it was evident that the husband was not Ana’s father.’
I looked at the family tree again. Ana’s father was down as ‘unknown’, and Ana was a faeling.’ I laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. ‘Brigitta stiffed you by getting pregnant by a human, didn’t she?’
‘Yes. Brigitta held usss all guilty for what happened with her mother and the Old Donn. Ssshe took her revenge thuss.’
I didn’t know whether to cheer for Brigitta or cry. The fertility curse had really screwed up her life, even before she’d been killed, and now it was screwing up Ana’s too. I really hoped I was wrong about a vamp still having his or her fangs in Ana; the poor faeling already had more than enough problems to deal with.
‘Sssometimess a fate cannot be changed,’ the Librarian said quietly, as if she’d read my thoughts, ‘but with forewarning it is posssible. What did the Morrígan ssshow you, sssidhe?’
‘Gosh, yes, do tell.’ Sylvia gave me an eager look.
‘Sorry, no,’ I said, and reached over and pressed the ‘off ’ button on her phone. Whatever the Morrígan/Alien baby show was about, I wasn’t in the mood to discuss it after that sordid little tale. I fixed Sylvia with a look. ‘Thanks for getting rid of the books, Sylvia, but what exactly are you doing here?’
Her phone trilled the theme tune from Dirty Dancing. She cancelled the call and the phone vanished. Two seconds later the hovering family tree and the newspapers did too. The Librarian obviously didn’t want to leave them hanging around (no pun intended). Sylvia smiled coyly. ‘Is that, no, you won’t tell, or no, the Morrígan didn’t show you anything?’
‘You first,’ I said.
‘Fiddlesticks, that’s not fair,’ she pouted.
/> ‘Up to you.’ I shrugged and looked down at my bloodstained clothes. ‘But if you’re not going to talk, then I’m getting cleaned up.’ I turned and headed for the bathroom, saying over my shoulder, ‘Don’t forget to shut the window on your way out.’
‘Wait!’ she called. ‘Wait! I’ll tell. You know you said one of us could court you so long as it wasn’t one of the Twig Gang. Well, here I am.’
I turned to see her standing with her arms outstretched and a big smile on her face. ‘Ta dah!’ She grinned. ‘Although I’m not as pretty as when I started out, thanks to your Ward.’
‘You’ve come to court me? Somehow I don’t think you’re going to be much use in getting me pregnant—not that I want to get pregnant,’ I finished quickly.
‘I’m a dryad, silly,’ she giggled. ‘Depending on our tree—mine’s a cherry, Prunus avium—some of us come with a choice of both’—she patted her breasts, then fluffed her skirt—‘accessories, if you see what I mean. But I prefer to be female, mostly. Especially in the spring. People look at you odd if you’re male and dressed in white and pink.’
Like the Barbie pink cycle helmet wouldn’t do it? ‘You’re a hermaphrodite.’
‘Actually, I’m cosexual, since I’m a tree.’ She gave a delighted laugh and clapped her hands together. ‘No one’s told you, have they?’
Evidently, it wasn’t an aspect of fae life that my faerie dog-mother had decided I needed to know, for whatever reason. And there I’d thought Grianne’d told me everything at least thrice over in her lectures.
‘Right, so … you like girls, then?’ I said, thinking that having a fluffy-headed cosexual dryad hanging around me was hands-down a better option than Bandana, who came with an excess of sadistic testosterone built in.
‘Girls, boys—or both.’ Her grin stretched wider. ‘It’s spring, my sap’s rising, and I just love sex.’
Oh, goodie. ‘What if I don’t love girls?’
‘Oh, but you do! We’ve all seen the YouTube of you kissing that female vamp last year.’ She fanned herself with her hand. ‘Gosh, that was hot.’
The Bitter Seed of Magic s-3 Page 12
