Bitter Seed of Magic (9781101553695)

by Mcleod, Suzanne

  ‘The milk’s in a carton,’ I said, frowning.

  ‘How many cow farms do you think there are in London?’ He did a yawn-grin and thumped his chest. ‘Not only that, as soon as Ricou here mentioned “goddess” all they heard was sacrifice. Anyway, it’s organic.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ I said, not sure if it was. I raked my hand through my hair, suddenly nervous. Crap, I didn’t have a clue. I peered down at the whitish liquid in the tumbler. ‘What’s in the glass?’

  His headcrest rose. ‘She’s a goddess of fertility. What do you think’s in the glass?’

  Okaay! I decided not to ask who’d made the personal donation. ‘Didn’t the Librarian say something about ears of wheat?’ I asked sceptically.

  Ricou’s face-fins quivered. ‘It’s spring; ears of wheat are a bit scarce just now.’

  Ri-ight. ‘What about the raven feathers?’

  ‘The ones at the Tower all refused, and I couldn’t find your feathered friend. But I got you this.’ His tail swished out over the bronze pool and a gaping mouth with sharp teeth similar to Ricou’s own snapped at it. The mouth belonged to a five-foot-long eel thicker than my arm, twisting sinuously round and round in the shallow water. ‘She’s female.’ Ricou made a clicking sound as he laughed. ‘I’ve checked, so watch your fingers.’ He handed me a piece of rice paper. ‘Here’s the glyph to close the circle, luv.’ He sniffed the air. ‘You’ve got about five minutes until sunset now. Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks, Ricou,’ I said, then I undid Grace’s pentacle from round my neck – I didn’t want to lose it in Between – and handed it to him along with my jacket. ‘Can you give these to Sylvia to look after for me?’

  ‘Sure, luv.’ He took them, hooking the pentacle carefully over a claw, then he hopped out of the circle of weapons and joined Sylvia on her seat.

  Left alone in the circle, I crunched on a couple of liquorice torpedoes and looked round. I’d gained an audience while we’d been talking and the garden was now full. There were a dozen witches, their dark WPC uniforms all merging together. Constables Lamber and Taegrin had been joined by four other trolls. Hugh was standing with Malik, the pair of them almost hidden under the shelter of the memorial building, and sitting next to them was a large silvery-grey Irish wolfhound; looked like Mad Max had turned up in his doggy persona. Hopefully Hugh would get some useful info out of him.

  And all of them were here to see the show. Lucky me.

  Still, once the circle went up, the show would be pretty much over from their point of view, since they’d stay in this world while the circle, with me in it, would be in Between – if I cast it right, of course – apparently neutral ground was needed when calling on a goddess.

  I wiped my suddenly sweaty hands down my jeans, decided not to send any prayers in case the wrong god heard me, and picked up the silver knife. It burned against my fingers. I walked to the edge of the circle. Holding the rice paper glyph in my left palm, I took a deep breath, focused, and sliced the knife through it and my flesh. Pain hit a second later and I stifled a gasp. Then my blood welled, bright and viscous, and the scent of honey and copper and magic filled the air. Hunger – not mine – cramped my stomach, nearly doubling me over, a hot, spiced wind blew my hair back from my face, and I looked around to find Malik, now standing inches from me on the outside of the circle, his hands clenched at his sides.

  ‘Set the circle quickly, Genevieve.’ His eyes were dark, bottomless holes. I glimpsed all four of his fangs as he spoke. ‘The scent of your blood is . . . tempting.’

  Tempting? A perverse moment of retaliation sparked in me.

  I held his gaze, taunting him as I extended my hand and let the blood fall. I felt, rather than saw, the first drop splash on an iron axe-head. It sizzled. His nostrils flared. The second drop hit the tip of the broadsword touching the axe. The tendons in his neck stood out with effort. Time slowed as the third drop splattered onto the black-plumed helmet eating the sword. He snarled and leaped—

  The magic ripped out of me and I fell to my knees, screaming as it rushed round the weapons like wildfire and closed the circle. Above me rose a translucent dome of swirling, liquid blood.

  I lay there getting my breath back, my eyes closed. Hell, I’d never felt a circle, not even a blood one, close like that before. But then, I’d never closed a circle into Between before. When I thought my legs would hold me, I struggled up to my feet. Worryingly, I could still see the garden and its occupants. Malik now stood a couple of feet back, watching with his usual enigmatic expression, and I wondered if I’d imagined him leaping for me. But the silvery-grey Irish wolf hound was standing in front of him, and the dog’s disconcertingly blue eyes twinkled at me as he wagged his long upright tail. His mouth was clamped round Malik’s wrist.

  Behind them both was Hugh, the disapproving crevices that etched his face clearly saying, ‘Goading vampires is juvenile and stupid and wasting time, Genny.’

  And satisfying, I added silently. But Hugh was right. I sighed, and gave him an apologetic shrug—

  Only he wasn’t there to see it.

  The garden had disappeared. Outside the dome was . . . emptiness: not fog, not sky, nor space or anything, just rolling emptiness.

  Horror crawled down my spine.

  I turned my back on it, strode back to the bronze pool and dropped to my knees. Before I could give myself time to think, I thrust my bleeding hand and Aoife’s clothes into the water.

  ‘By my blood, and the blood of her child, in this sacred place of war and death, I call upon the Morrígan,’ I shouted. ‘Hear me, Morrígan, and answer my call.’

  Chapter Forty-five

  The water bubbled, the bronze beneath it turning it into molten gold. The eel reared up, and up, its body long and sinuous, then it twisted down and round and snapped sharp teeth in my face. Adrenalin-laced fear shot through me, but I forced myself not to move, to keep my hands in the water. Magic shivered over the eel’s skin, turning it a pale, luminous green. Its bald head flared, eyes growing large and glinting acid-yellow, skin splitting into holes where her nostrils should be, her slash of a mouth plumping until her lips puckered into a blood-filled pout. Below the face, bumps sprouted into rounded shoulders, extended into long, lithe arms and ended in elegant hands with thin, claw-tipped fingers that clutched and grasped at the air. Under the arms, the eel’s body thickened, morphing into a slender torso with high, full breasts, and then swept down to a narrow waist which tapered into the eel’s dark writhing body. The thin gold chain of tinkling keys was fastened around her left wrist and twisted tightly round her human-shaped half, continuing round the eel’s like a golden vine winding around a willowy tree until it disappeared into the bubbling golden water below.

  ‘Little sidhe,’ she said huskily, looking down at me and smiling. The smile was a predatory pucker of her blood-plumped lips that framed her one protruding tooth. ‘I have long waited for your call. I do not appreciate those who are tardy, or casual with my tasks. It will cost you dear.’

  My stomach tied itself in knots. Damn goddesses and their timekeeping – just because time travels differently in the Fair Lands and she’d spent however many days, weeks or years waiting, it didn’t mean it was my fault. Not to mention that tasks was taking it a bit far. ‘You visited me yesterday, Morrígan.’ I lifted my chin. ‘I’d hardly call that a long time.’

  Her forked tongue flicked out, swiping across my mouth. I tensed, managing not to flinch. ‘You taste of truth,’ she murmured, then she clasped my face, her clawed fingers digging sharp into my skull. ‘I will excuse you this transgression,’ and she lowered her mouth to mine, pressing a hard kiss against my lips. ‘But I fear others will not be as forgiving as I.’ She jerked the gold chain up.

  The water boiled up like a well-spring, crashing over me. The force knocked me flying and I landed flat on my back. I swiped my wet hair out of my face in time to see the sleek green-black shape of the kelpie horse erupt out of the pool. He reared up above me, front legs flailing
in anger, and I froze, not daring to move as he dropped back to all fours, front hooves thudding to the ground inches from my shoulders. He tossed his head, his tangled, beaded mane spraying water droplets in high arcs, then pushed his soft muzzle into my face and snorted. Hot whisky-peat breath seared my cheeks.

  ‘Hello, Tavish,’ I murmured, breathing in his scent, and before I could stop it, his magic. A glorious liquid languor spread through my body, drawing an expectant sigh from my mouth, washing all thoughts but him from my mind and raising my own Glamour. Honeysuckle fragranced the air, my skin glowed gold, and my magic spilled out and rippled over the kelpie horse like a stream in full flow—

  And Tavish in his human form was on his hands and knees above me. He stared down at me, his silver-coloured eyes swirling, his bead-tipped dreads hanging like a curtain around our faces, hiding us from view.

  ‘Hello, doll,’ he said quietly. He grinned, his sharp-pointed teeth white against his green-black skin. ‘’Tis guid to see you, though you took your ain sweet time coming for me. The Morrígan’s been riding me ragged.’

  I grinned back, struck by his Charm, and his magic eddied inside me, sending longing swimming through my veins. I reached up and traced the sharp, angular planes of his alluring face, his long, straight nose, his pointed chin, then stroked the delicate black-lace gills at his throat. His eyes closed, a shudder running through his sleek muscular body, as he murmured softly in encouragement. I looked down between us to see him in all his naked glory. ‘Not that ragged,’ I whispered, my stomach contracting in anticipation. Oh boy . . . Then his words penetrated my mind, and I frowned. This was wrong. I wasn’t here for this, but for—

  A loud screech rent the air, and Tavish disappeared from above me.

  The Morrígan’s anger-etched features replaced him as I stared up at her, stunned into immobility.

  Her eyes bored like lasers into mine as her body writhed inches above my own. ‘You are as addled as the rest of your cursed blood, little sidhe.’ Her husky voice was filled with vitriol. ‘One look and you are prepared to cast all aside for love and beauty.’

  One look? Tavish had hit me with a gut-load of kelpie Charm, and she knew it.

  She reared up and lifted her face up to the heavens and shouted, ‘Clíona, my sister, see what wretched misery you have wrought! My children are dying and your blood lies here, as weak now as it has always been.’ A double-edged dagger appeared in her clawed hand. ‘I will gouge her heart from her body, and destroy your cursed blood, and make an end to this.’

  She raised the knife above her head, started it on its downward curve . . .

  Fucking goddesses and their tests. And what the hell was she talking about Clíona’s blood for?

  I jack-knifed my knees up to my chest and kicked out and up, catching her in her midriff just above where her human-shaped body joined to the eel’s. She flew backwards with another ear-splitting screech and I scrambled up to find her swinging back towards me, like a snake dancing to the charmer’s whistle, tooth bared, knife in hand. I rolled to the side, feeling the knife slice through the skin of my shoulder like—Well, like a sharp knife through flesh. The pain barely registered.

  Desperately I grabbed the nearest thing: the long scimitar-shaped bull’s horn; it was lighter than I expected. Gripping it with both hands, the point curving upwards, I thrust it towards her on her next swing past, but I missed again and stumbled as her blade nicked a stinging line across the front of my throat. I backed up, feeling my blood trickle over my clavicle. I needed to put some space between us, but the Morrígan’s damned eel body kept growing longer and longer, stretching out in zigzags behind her as she slithered menacingly across the grass towards me.

  I reached the edge of the circle, my pulse thundering in my ears and my shoulders buzzing against the static of blood magic. My gut clenched in fear as I wiped my hand over my throat and it came away painted in blood. The honey-copper scent was slightly nauseating. How the hell was I going to get out of this? Plenty of sharp implements at my feet—But grabbing one of them meant breaking the circle, and losing myself in the emptiness outside the circle wasn’t part of the master plan. But then, neither was fighting a goddess. Trouble was, not fighting wasn’t an option, unless I wanted my heart cut out.

  I gripped the thick end of the bull’s horn, calculating her approach, then swayed – and realised, almost too late, that all her shifting about was making me dizzy. She smiled, acid-yellow eyes glinting maliciously as she rose up, twenty-odd feet above me until her pale green bald head brushed the inside of the translucent blood-dome. She angled the knife in her hand, and my legs shook as she gave another gut-wrenching shriek and dived at me. I held my breath, waiting until the last possible moment, then I flung myself forward, turned and stabbed the bull’s horn through the eel part of her body and into the ground below—

  A heart-hollowing bellow rent the air as I scrambled onto my hands and knees, expecting to feel her knife plunging into my back at any moment. I half-crawled, half-ran until I hit the opposite side of the circle, where I collapsed into a panting heap.

  The Morrígan was swaying about, five feet above the grass, and looking down, apparently nonplussed, at the bull’s horn pinning her eel body to the ground.

  Shit. All she had to do was pluck it out.

  I needed another weapon. I looked towards the bronze pool, thinking of the little silver knife with which I’d cut my hand and wondering if I could get to it before the Morrígan did the obvious—

  Tavish was lying next to the pond, his head propped on his bent arm, idly flipping the knife through his fingers. Next to him was the bottle of Jameson’s, now half-empty. Looked like he’d been enjoying the entertainment.

  ‘Telt you nae tae trust me, doll.’ He grinned, but his eyes were pewter-dark with suppressed anger. ‘Telt you, I’m nae longer my own master, but you didnae listen.’

  Chapter Forty-six

  Tavish was right: he had told me not to trust him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on my side. The Morrígan might be using him to test me, or sic spells on me or whatever, but she was still holding him captive, and Tavish wasn’t the sort to just roll over and play slave. He was also tricky enough to give me a clue – which, hopefully, was what he was doing now.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I muttered. ‘I don’t trust you or your fangy friend, or whatever it is the pair of you are plotting.’

  He sat up, and rested his chin on his bent knee. Fixing me with a look, he dragged the silver knife along the gold chain clamped round his ankle. The knife made a faint metal-on-metal sound as it disturbed the tiny keys, setting my teeth on edge. He smiled, a quick baring of his own teeth, then pulled a long length of chain from the bronze pool, coiled it round and stabbed the knife through one of its links. He’d pinned himself to the ground, much as I’d done to the Morrígan.

  Great clue, Tavish – not!

  But his clue, whatever it meant, would have to wait. First, I needed to convince the Morrígan to give me what I came for: two tickets to the Tower of London.

  I frowned at her. She was still contemplating the bull’s horn, bending over so she could peer at it from just a couple of inches away. She seemed to find it fascinating. Hopefully she’d stay that way, since fighting her wasn’t going to work; there was no way I could win against a goddess, not in the long run, so I needed to think of something else, and fast. I pushed myself to my feet, blinking as my head swam and the scene in front of me went fuzzy. I looked down to find my T-shirt and jeans were soaked with blood. Crap, I was wearing my last clean pair too. I touched my hand to my throat and stared uncomprehendingly at my blood-drenched fingers. Then I got it: she’d nicked a vein when she’d sliced me, and if it didn’t heal soon, fighting would be the last thing I needed to worry about.

  What I really needed was Tavish’s fangy friend right now. Still at least this way, when Malik healed me, I’d end up with a two-for-one deal.

  I tore the sleeve off my T-shirt and tied it round my neck in a m
akeshift bandage, then checked my shoulder, but compared to my throat, that was a scratch. I staggered over to the bronze pool, picked up the carton of milk and the crystal tumbler, but left the silver knife. Taking it would’ve put me within grabbing distance of Tavish and never mind anything else, he was still tied to the Morrígan. I continued my stagger until I was a couple of feet away from the Morrígan – not that the distance made much difference, not when the eel part of her body could keep extending, and extending . . .

  She moved again, this time so her upper body was upright. ‘You have spirit, little sidhe,’ she said haughtily, ‘and more than I expected.’

  ‘You want something from me, Morrígan,’ I said flatly. ‘And I want two things from you. I’m willing to bargain.’

  ‘A sidhe bargain?’ She licked her blood-plumped lips, considering my words. ‘It has been sixty years since I was last offered one of those. The taste still rankles.’

  Whatever. Cards on the table time. ‘First, I want the ability to pass into Between without using an entrance, for me and one other.’ I paused, then added what I hoped would be the clincher. ‘Specifically, I want to get into the Tower of London.’

  ‘This is not a small thing you ask . . .’ She trailed off, then reached down and pulled out the bull’s horn, which came away with a loud sucking sound. The eel part of her body spasmed, and the wound gushed blood that hissed as it hit the grass. She held her hand out imperiously. ‘Give me the milk, little sidhe.’