‘Third time’s the charm, Gen,’ he murmured.
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding, and pressed his hand hard into my stomach and the spell. He thrust a larger, hotter ball of magic into me, and I screamed at the promise of ecstasy, my spine arching, my back lifting from the seat. Liquid warmth filled my body as green light blinded my vision. I collapsed back, panting, and reached out to fist my hand in the soft cotton of his shirt, my pulse jumping in my throat, wanting him—
—scorching fire ripped through my belly—
—and as I screamed again, this time in excruciating pain, I heard a deeper, agonised yell echo mine. I convulsed into a ball, desperate to make the pain stop. Hands grabbed my shoulders, burning like silver against my skin—
And I disappeared in a blaze of white-hot flames.
Chapter Thirty-four
‘She’ll come round in a minute.’ Ricou’s familiar voice said.
A breeze of chill air shivered over my skin. The pain seemed to have gone, but just in case, I pulled my jacket closer and stayed curled up on the grass . . . Why was I lying on grass? Confused, I slitted my eyes open.
Finn sat on a low stone wall nearby, his tanned face ashen, hugging himself like he was cold, or hurt. Johnny Depp a.k.a. Ricou crouched halfway between us, and behind him I could see Sylvia. She stood with her eyes closed, a focused expression on her face and her arms stretched wide. Her pink cycle helmet was badly dented and sitting askew on her head. The grey stone outer wall of the Tower of London rose up behind her.
‘What happened?’ I said, surprised my voice didn’t croak.
Ricou looked over his black glasses. ‘A fertility fae trying to remove a Chastity spell with a bit of the old slippy slippy, that’s what happened. Are the pair of you insane? You could’ve killed each other. Luckily it knocked you both out before you really got down and wet.’
That didn’t sound good, but I was still trying to work out how I’d got here from the limo.
‘Also luckily,’ Ricou said, ‘Blossom’s got more curiosity than a whole forest of silver birch, otherwise we wouldn’t have been following you, and then where would you be?’
I sat up, still bemused. We were on the grassy moat bit outside the Tower. There were tourists everywhere; four lads were rearranging backpacks not five feet away, a smartly dressed Japanese family were pointing cameras at each other, and a group of school kids were gathered around a couple of teachers, the kids at the back patently ignoring them . . . just as everyone appeared to be ignoring us, which was a good thing, seeing as all I had on was my leather jacket over my underwear. I looked and saw a ten-foot-high wall of slightly creased cling film encircling us, hiding us all from view.
‘Sylvia’s cast an Unseen spell.’ Finn’s voice did croak. He pointed a shaky hand at me. ‘Your clothes are there.’
‘Thanks.’ I grabbed my velvet jeans and started pulling them on, looking from him to Ricou for an explanation. ‘How did we end up here?’
‘Well, as I said, luv,’ Ricou said, ‘Blossom here thought we should follow you, so we did. Once the fancy car got here, it stopped right over there.’ He pointed to a private entrance. ‘The chauffeur rolled down his window and stared out down at the river while the witch just nattered away on her phone. Me and Blossom were waiting for you two to surface, then all the magic started kicking off inside the car – like Fireworks Night, it was – Blossom thought we should check on you.’ He shrugged. ‘Then it all quietened down, so we didn’t. After ten minutes, the chauffeur chap, he gunned the engine, and yonder gate opened. Then Blossom thought she saw a veil lift and clicked the gate wasn’t opening into the Tower, but somewhere in Between. So we set up a rescue mission.’ He grinned and tipped his trilby. ‘All part of the service, luv.’
‘They think she was trying to kidnap you,’ Finn said, his voice still hoarse.
‘Kidnap me?’ I said, taken aback. ‘Why the hell would my lawyer want to do that?’
‘Dunno, luv,’ Ricou said cheerfully. ‘She’s a witch; they’re always a bit odd.’
‘Did you see anything?’ I frowned at Finn.
He shook his head. ‘Sorry, I was out of it too.’
‘I know I’m right, Genny,’ Sylvia’s voice was soft, as if she was far away. ‘I saw one of the ravens fly through the gate and vanish with a pop.’
‘There’s been no Between in the Tower for the last forty-odd years, not since MacCúailnge, the Old Donn, was killed,’ Ricou said, sotto voce, and jerked his head towards Sylvia. ‘She says you were talking about him yesterday, so it probably jogged her mind . . . she does have a bit of an imagination at times.’
‘I heard that!’ Sylvia bristled. ‘And I know what I saw.’
I checked my watch. I was supposed to be seeing the Raven Master now. Maybe Victoria Harrier would turn round and come back when she discovered I was missing. Trouble was, after my little mind-order, Victoria Harrier would probably sit there for ages, waiting for me to get out of the car – or until someone insisted she check.
‘How long has the car been gone?’ I asked, shooting a frustrated look at the closed gate.
‘Five, ten minutes at the most,’ Ricou said.
Which probably wasn’t enough time for anyone to have discovered that I wasn’t in the car. But as my mind started catching up with what they were saying, I decided maybe I should figure out if Victoria Harrier really had been trying to kidnap me before she did discover I was missing. She was Malik’s lawyer, but he hadn’t picked her, nor had Sanguine Lifestyles, she’d chosen to represent me herself because of the curse and—
‘My lawyer said she was working for the Lady Meriel,’ I said, shooting Ricou a questioning look.
He rocked back on his heels. ‘Nah, she’s having you on. The Lady wouldn’t work with a witch. She thinks they’re incompetent. Not only that: if she wanted to snatch you, then I’d be the one doing it.’
‘Which isn’t exactly a resounding vote of confidence in you,’ I pointed out.
‘He’s right, Gen,’ Finn said tiredly. ‘None of the water fae would get a witch to do anything for them.’
‘But, Ana, her daughter-in-law, she’s a water faeling,’ I said, still doubtful.
Ricou gave his high clicking laugh. ‘Ana hates all of London’s fae. She’d have no more to do with any of us than those religious nuts, the Soulers. Blossom told you what the Old Donn did to her grandmother, didn’t she? Well, Ana’s mother would’ve loved to’ve blasted us all to the bottom of the sea if she could. She held everyone to blame. Ana’s just the same. She’d be delighted to stick a spear in our guts just for a bit of fun.’
‘Exactly,’ Sylvia huffed. ‘I bet she’s resurrected the Tower’s Between just to spit on the Old Donn’s remains.’
‘But if she’s faeling that’s not possible, is it?’ I asked. ‘She wouldn’t have enough power.’
‘Gosh, Genny!’ Sylvia pulled a ‘don’t you know anything?’ look. Evidently I didn’t. ‘It’s not just about power, but how much the magic likes you. And she’s got royal blood.’ She gave an exaggerated pout. ‘Anyway, I told you what I saw, but see if I care if you don’t believe me. After all, I’ve just saved you twice in two days, so what do I know?’
‘Sorry, Sylvia,’ I said, ‘I really am grateful, but after what Bandana – sorry, Algernon – tried to do, you can’t blame me for being a bit wary.’
‘Mother ordered them all back into their trees after yesterday,’ she sniffed, and stuck her chin in the air, only slightly mollified.
Relief ran through me: they definitely wouldn’t be lurking around me any more. ‘So, let’s say Victoria Harrier is up to something, and that it doesn’t involve the fae, or at least no fae other than her daughter-in-law.’ I stripped off my jacket and snagged my top. ‘Anybody got any ideas—’
Finn doubled over, groaning in pain.
I leapt up to go to him, but Ricou grabbed me round the waist, stopping me. ‘Might be better if you leave him be, luv.’
‘But he’s hurt,’ I said.
‘Well, it’s his own bloomin’ fault,’ Ricou said, without much sympathy. ‘He should’ve kept his horns under wraps.’
‘I was trying to break the Chastity spell,’ Finn said straightening up slowly, like he was still hurting.
Ricou gave his high clicking laugh. ‘With a bit of slippy slippy? Pull the other one, mate.’
‘Sex is how you break the spell,’ Finn muttered.
‘Yeah, but only if you’re the one keyed to the spell,’ Ricou corrected him.
‘I’m sorry, Gen.’ Finn grimaced. ‘Since Tavish tagged you with the spell, I thought that with the curse, and because I was on his list, it would be okay.’
‘Obviously not, mate,’ Ricou said in a reproving tone.
I gaped at them both, stunned, then anger at Tavish and the Morrígan took over. I pulled away from Ricou, yanked my top back on and stuck my hands on my hips. ‘So, what you’re saying is this: the only way I can lose the spell is to have sex, and with someone specific, and the only person who knows who that is – well, that would be either Tavish or the Morrígan, depending on whose fucking stupid idea it was.’
‘That’s about right, luv,’ Ricou said. ‘’Course, if whoever it is dies, then the spell’ll disappear on its own.’
I ground my teeth. If I found out who was keyed to the Chastity spell, then their dying was going to be a serious option. And if it was Tavish’s idea and not the Morrígan’s . . . his precious computers were toast.
Ricou tapped my shoulder. ‘Mind if I have a butcher’s?’ He looked over his dark glasses and winked at me. ‘Professional interest, of course.’
‘What?’ I said, still furious.
‘The spell. I want to look at it.’
‘Sure, why not,’ I snapped and yanked my top up. Finn groaned and closed his eyes.
‘Don’t mind him,’ Ricou said as he bent and peered at my stomach. ‘It’s the after-effects of the spell; a nasty reminder to keep his . . . hands to himself whenever he looks at you. It’ll wear off in a while.’
I frowned sceptically at Finn, who was sitting still with his eyes closed. ‘I feel fine.’
‘He’s the one who tried getting happy with it.’ Ricou licked his finger and touched it to the handprint, making me flinch. He stuck his finger in his mouth, then nodded. ‘Thought so. Cinnamon’s been added to the spell. I’d have picked up on it this morning if it hadn’t been for Blossom’s maple syrup.’
‘Enlighten me,’ I said flatly.
‘You add cinnamon oil to Chastity spells to stop any baby buns cooking in your oven.’ He eyed the handprint narrowly. ‘It makes you temporarily barren.’
‘Hell’s thorns,’ Finn muttered, his shock matching my own.
A rustling noise like a high wind through the trees whistled around us and Sylvia’s eyes snapped open. ‘Genny,’ she said urgently, ‘the police are on their way. I think it’s because of you. I’m going to drop the Unseen spell.’
I jerked round to find three of the large high-top police vans the trolls used driving down the road, sirens off, but their blue lights flashing, drawing the attention of the crowd. The vans stopped, the back doors opened and Detective Sergeant Hugh Munro of the Metropolitan Police’s Magic and Murder squad jumped nimbly out of the first. Behind him were two female police constables, both witches. Eight more uniformed police constables – all trolls – jumped out of the second and third vans and all of them strode towards us.
The hair at the nape of my neck prickled with prescience – not that I have any precognition skills, but I watch the movies occasionally. This looked too much like where the police corner the bad guys and catch them. I stifled the urge to run. We weren’t the bad guys.
‘Genny.’ Hugh towered over me, his ruddy face creased into worried fissures. ‘I’m sorry, but I’d like you to come with us, please.’
‘Why?’ I said, suddenly wary. ‘I’m not under arrest again, am I?’
‘No, but I need you to come with us.’ He gestured to the van. ‘Now, please.’
Chapter Thirty-five
I sat in the back of the police van, gripping onto the edges of the hard seat, the lap-style seatbelt digging uncomfortably into my bruised and be-spelled stomach. The painkillers were wearing off, as was the shock over the Chastity spell. I’d find a way to get rid of it, but as I really didn’t want any buns in my oven either, I shoved it to the bottom of my to-do list.
Hugh was sitting stoically across from me, despite the anxious red dust puffing from his head ridge and settling on his black hair and massive shoulders.
‘So what’s up, Hugh?’ I asked.
He didn’t answer, but held up one large finger to silence me: the uniformed witch next to him was casting some sort of spell. I nodded and settled back in the seat. The van smelled of sage, urine and rotten meat, a distinctly unpleasant combination. I wrinkled my nose and gazed out of the window, wishing I could open it.
After a look at Finn, and a quick, lurid explanation from Ricou, Hugh had split us up. I ended up in the first van with Hugh and the WPC. Finn was in the second van, and somehow a charming Ricou and a blushing Sylvia had ended up in the third. My guess was that Hugh was in a hurry and didn’t want the hassle of leaving them behind. We’d all made quite the spectacle as it was, the event immortalised for avid speculation on the news by the hundreds of mobile phones held up and pointed our way until we’d all disappeared inside the vans and the protection of the one-way glass.
More tourists cast curious looks our way as we drove past Tower Hill, where they used to carry out public executions – a cheerful thought while riding in the back of a police van. Of course, nowadays executions are carried out in the remote wilds of Dartmoor, with random members of the public invited to attend. As we passed by the War Memorial, a large raven perched on one corner caught my eye. Was it Jack? And if it was, was Jack the same raven Sylvia had seen flying through the Tower entrance; the one she’d thought had flown into Between? Hard to know really, as one raven looks pretty much like another from thirty feet away.
Then there was the other mystery: if the gate had opened into Between, had Victoria Harrier really been trying to kidnap me? And if she had, then why? And there was Sylvia’s other strange comment, about Ana spitting on the Old Donn’s remains. Why would Sylvia say that when fae don’t have remains? We fade, literally: our bodies disappear when we die. Was Sylvia just being metaphorical, or was the Old Donn not as dead as everyone kept telling me? And what did it all have to do with the curse?
Magic tingled over my skin as the WPC finished up whatever spell she was casting. I turned round and studied her: black hair in a neat bun, attractive face and full, plump lips that looked like they’d just been kissed, in spite of the determined way she kept them pressed together. After a moment I recognised her: Constable Martin, the WPC who’d been guarding the crime scene at Dead Man’s Hole, the disused mortuary under Tower Bridge, where the dead raven faeling had been found.
She had a small glass globe about the size of a tangerine cradled in both hands. It swirled pink, shot through with fainter threads of red. I looked, checking out the globe’s magic, but the colours didn’t change, so whatever spell was inside, it was keyed for anyone to use, an advantage for trolls with their lack of magical abilities. As we all watched, the colour drained out of the globe, leaving it full of misty grey clouds. ‘Okay, Sarge.’ Constable Martin tucked the globe away. ‘We’re clear.’ She caught my eye and gave me a suggestion of a smile. ‘Anti-Surveillance Ball. It monitors for Remote Listening spells. You just can’t trust the press nowadays.’
‘Neat,’ I said, impressed, then looked at Hugh. ‘So, what’s with the dramatic police pick-up then?’
‘We had an anonymous tip, that you were in danger,’ Hugh said quietly.
I narrowed my eyes. ‘What sort of danger was I supposed to be in?’
‘They weren’t specific,’ Hugh said.
‘Who are they?’
‘The tip
was anonymous, Genny.’
‘C’mon, Hugh, I’m not stupid! Anonymous tips don’t have you turning out half the force’ – okay, a bit of an exaggeration, but three vans? – ‘otherwise you’d be spending all your time chasing your own tails.’
‘Our source was anonymous,’ Hugh rebuked me quietly; ‘we’re not even sure if it’s male or female. But whoever it is, is a trusted informant in another case – the one involving the dead faeling. But, before we get into that, Genny, I want to know what you were doing at the Tower.’
‘Going to visit the Raven Master and the ravens, to see what I could find out about the dead faeling,’ I said, giving him an odd look. ‘Like who she was, for a start.’
Hugh frowned, deep fissures creasing his forehead. ‘We already know who she was: Sally Redman.’ He fished his notebook out and flipped a couple of pages. ‘She was nineteen last August, her mother is the landlady of the Rose and Punchbowl, a pub in Whitechapel. The father’s name is Grog. He left the Tower back in 1981, took up residence at the pub, but disappeared a few years after Sally was born. The ravens at the Tower haven’t seen or heard from Sally for at least three years, nor do they want to. She’s been working in various clubs in Soho and they disapprove. All that information was in the report your solicitor removed from my desk.’
‘It wasn’t in the report I saw,’ I said drily, thinking Hugh was being uncommonly free with his info in front of his WPC sidekick. I gave him my own news. ‘Sylvia thinks my lawyer just tried to kidnap me, and Finn too.’ I paused, considering, ‘Although Finn wasn’t supposed to be in the car with me, so he was possibly just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
Hugh just nodded as if I’d confirmed something, but Constable Martin leaned forward, excitement animating her face. ‘Are you saying Victoria Harrier tried to kidnap you?’
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