by Helen Harper
She raised an eyebrow. ‘De rigeur? My, my. Your vocabulary is coming up in the world.’
I stuck out my tongue and shook out the cloth. It was a tiny purple dress which glimmered with sequins.
‘Pretty, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose,’ I said grudgingly. ‘But...’
Lexie appeared from the restroom in an electric-blue jumpsuit. ‘I love this!’ she squealed.
Chandra grinned. When Speck appeared wearing a similar get-up, I almost choked.
‘Aw, Specky!’ Lexie beamed. ‘We look like the perfect couple!’
He looked like Elvis Presley on an acid trip. I flicked a look at Brochan who was still wearing his normal clothes. ‘Are you...?’
‘No.’ His face said it all.
I stifled a smile.
Taylor’s new clothes at least were slightly more sober, although his white suit with its giant lapels and shoelace-thin tie certainly weren’t designed for a shy and retiring wallflower. I arched an eyebrow at Chandra. ‘You just happened to have all these outfits lying around?’
‘I’m branching out,’ she said, flicking back her hair and adding a saucy wink which somehow still managed to be laced with danger. ‘I can’t be an assassin forever. It’s murder on my knees.’
I couldn’t begin to imagine what her knees had to do with it. It was probably better not to. ‘You’re going into fancy dress?’
‘Fashion, darling.’ She waved a hand. ‘I designed all of this.’
‘So you want us to be walking adverts for your new line?’
‘Well, it’ll be great publicity. You’re not exactly inconspicuous, are you? Not with that long white hair.’ Her eyes gleamed.
Without thinking, I touched my hair. Then I realised what I was doing and quickly dropped my hand. ‘I’ll try it on,’ I told her. ‘But I’m not promising anything.’
Bob coughed. ‘Do you have anything in my size?’ he asked hopefully.
Before I could see what Chandra might come up with for the fashion-conscious genie, I vamoosed into the bathroom. It was small, with only a single stall, a sink and a frosted window, but thankfully it was clean.
It was surprisingly difficult to get the dress on. I turned it this way and that. There was no zip. Under or over? I frowned. If I pulled it down over my head, I could probably manage to wriggle it on ‒ if I held my breath. I stripped off, hanging my own clothes over the door to the toilet stall.
I found the right end of the dress, yanked it over my head and began an awkward shimmy to pull it down. Unfortunately for me, the dress somehow got completely twisted.
‘This is what things have come to,’ I said to myself, my voice muffled by the flimsy fabric. ‘Chieftain of the Adair Clan stuck in a dodgy pub bathroom, half naked and with a dress wrapped round her head.’
Unwilling to yank too hard in case I ripped the damn thing, I carefully unwound it, ready to start again ‒ except a bone-chilling scream from somewhere outside stopped me in my tracks. A dark, heavy shape fell against the window with such force that it shattered, spraying glass everywhere. I yelped and darted back, pressing myself against the wall. There was another scream and the shape collapsed. Shite, shite, shite. This day was just getting better and better.
I grabbed my shoes, hauling them onto my feet to avoid getting cut by the glass, and peered out of the window. An older-looking man wearing a bulky coat was lying on the ground outside. I couldn’t tell whether he was breathing or not. I leapt out, scraping my side against some shards of glass, and bent down to check him. He was gasping, his fingers scrabbling at his face as he tried to suck air into his lungs. I grabbed the collar of his coat and dragged him up to a sitting position. From somewhere further down the street, there were several more shrieks.
‘What’s wrong?’
His face was turning purple. ‘Can’t ... breathe...’
Heart attack? I had some pretty good first-aid knowledge from my stint with mountain rescue but I was far from expert. I reminded myself to keep calm while I fumbled to unfasten his coat and loosen his shirt.
‘Does it hurt? Your chest?’
He half shook his head then he half nodded. Damn it. Which was it?
People were spilling out of the pub door. Several idiots already had their mobile phones in their hands, no doubt more concerned with filming the action so their mates could gawp at it on social media than with the chaos that appeared to be descending.
‘Taylor!’ I yelled. ‘Call an ambulance!’
He appeared by my side. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t know. Might be a heart attack. Might be a panic attack. Keep him calm and don’t let him go into shock.’
‘What are you going to do?’
I jerked my head grimly at the distant shouts and screams. ‘I’m going to find out what the hell that is.’ Without wasting any more time I took off, pelting down the street. I heard Taylor shouting behind me, something about ‘underwear’ and ‘naked’ but I ignored him. I wasn’t any good in a fight but I was a Sidhe Chieftain. Keeping the Highlands safe was supposed to be my job, even if right now all I was capable of was telling truth from lies and growing pretty little flowers.
It wasn’t hard to find the source of the problem ‒ there was a trail of horror-stricken people to follow. As I rounded one corner, I grabbed a cowering guy who was close enough to reach. ‘What is it?’ I demanded. ‘What is causing all that noise?’
He gaped at me. I wasn’t sure whether it was because of what he’d seen or the fact that a white-haired Sidhe in her lacy underwear was standing in front of him. I didn’t have time for this. I tried again, hardening my tone to encourage him to snap out of his daze. ‘What is going on?’
He found his voice. ‘Fomori demon,’ he stuttered. ‘I’m sure of it.’
For one long second, I stared at him. He was telling the truth; he definitely believed that was what he’d seen. If I’d been anyone else, I probably would have thought he was delusional but I’d been across the Veil and I’d seen thousands of the bloody things. I knew how distinctive they looked – and I could see the expression in this guy’s eyes. I couldn’t begin to imagine why one was here now after all these years, but I couldn’t run away and hide either.
I spun round and began to run faster. I didn’t feel the cold; I didn’t feel anything other than the first vestiges of true panic. I splashed through dirty puddles and ignored the wind whipping round me. The streets were now almost deserted; everyone with any sense had already hurried inside for cover.
‘Which way?’ I yelled at an apron-clad shopkeeper who was standing, frozen, outside a small greengrocer’s. Judging by the large set of keys he was holding, he’d been locking up for the night.
He didn’t move, he was so terrified that he couldn’t, but his eyes flicked slightly to the right. I took the hint and continued in that direction. When I rounded the corner and the River Tay came into view, I saw the creature.
There was no doubting it was a Fomori demon. It stood bow-legged by the side of the river, hairless and naked. Its skull bulged grotesquely and, where there might have once been ears, there were now only scarred holes. It hadn’t seen me but its jaws were lolling open wide and its head was swinging heavily from side to side like a dog’s. For a moment I was tempted to throw a stick and see if it would run panting after it. But this was no friendly Labrador ‒ it wasn’t even a trained, vicious guard dog. This was a thing of pure evil and I had absolutely no idea what to do.
I sidled closer, trying not to make any sudden movements which might draw the demon’s attention. Unfortunately this part of Perth was fully pedestrianised; that was great if you were out shopping and having lunch but wasn’t so helpful when you were hunting the most vicious beast known to man. I couldn’t even be grateful that it was dark; from what little I’d gleaned from my journey beyond the Veil, the Fomori lived in semi-darkness. I’d probably have more luck sneaking up on it in broad daylight.
A thought struck me: I might not be able to wie
ld any power over the sun but light was something I could manage. It was unfortunate that I’d left Bob’s scimitar with the rest of my stuff and, in my virtually naked state, I didn’t even have my phone. But there was a hardware shop directly opposite which was bound to boast powerful torches in its inventory. If I could break in, I should be able to find one. The trouble was, that meant leaving the Fomori demon on its own.
I had no idea why it had stopped moving but I bet that it wouldn’t linger by the river for long. Surely the police would be on their way soon? Unless they were taking their time because they didn’t want to get munched. Given that I was trembling with fear myself, I could hardly blame them.
I waited for the right moment to dart across the street. Now that I was no longer moving, I noticed the chill. My skin was covered in goose bumps; whether they were from fear or because I was standing in sub-zero temperatures in my knickers and bra, I wasn’t entirely sure.
I prayed desperately that the demon wouldn’t take off again. Fortunately, it lifted its head up and sniffed and an expression of what could only be puzzlement traced across its gaunt features. As it sniffed once more, I pelted across. I didn’t look back again until I was safely on the other side of the street. I had no idea what scent the demon had caught but it was certainly finding it interesting. Interesting enough not to notice me.
Pressing my back against the glass of the shop front, I edged over to the door and wiggled the doorknob. It was too much to hope that it had been left unlocked and I cursed under my breath. The fastest way in would be to break the glass but that would alert the demon to my presence. I made a quick decision and pulled out a bobby pin from my now-less-than-perfect hairstyle. It would be a lot quicker with a real lock pick but my days of secreting one of those in my hair were long gone, more’s the pity.
I kept glancing over my shoulder and checking on the demon. It was still sniffing the air and it still wasn’t moving. I tried not to question my good fortune and concentrate on the matter in hand but it was bloody hard.
It took a few tries but eventually I heard a click and the lock slipped into place. I breathed a sigh of relief, opened the door and my gaze immediately fell on a large industrial torch on special offer on the front counter. I’d barely taken a single step inside, however, when the entire place lit up and sirens shrieked.
‘Arsing hell!’ What kind of shop had a crappy door lock that could be broken in less than thirty seconds but invested in a state-of-the-art security system inside? I twisted round, ready to throw myself on the floor in a last ditch bid to hide. It was too late; the demon was already there.
I’d been right about the light. The demon was covering its face and keeping its head down as if even electrical light would burn the skin off its sinewy body. It knew I was there, though; it couldn’t fail to see me, illuminated as I was like a damned naked mannequin.
I lunged for the torch, grabbed it and flicked on the switch. Nada. It might have been on display but it didn’t have any batteries. So much for running out of the shop blasting torchlight into the demon’s eyes.
As I watched, the demon edged a few inches closer. It was still shielding its face but was showing a steely determination. I was relatively safe here within the light but sooner or later it would gain enough confidence to come after me. Or it would leave and I’d have no way of stopping it from whatever other chaos it decided to create.
I took a few steps backwards, wondering if there was something else that I could use. A range of expensive hammers hung along one wall. Despite the obvious danger of my current situation, I couldn’t imagine myself using one to smash a hole in the demon’s skull. Besides, as far as I could tell, the demon hadn’t done much yet except look threatening.
It took another step, then another. My eyes travelled up and down its body as I tried to assess it for vulnerabilities. I spotted a dark shape on one arm – a tattoo just like the one I’d seen on May, the demon I’d saved in the Lowlands. It was also just like the concealed ornament I’d found in Aifric’s quarters. Something about the design clarified my thoughts. There was only one thing left to do.
I wrenched the door open again and stepped into the street, facing the demon head-on. It stiffened and recoiled. Was it afraid? I lifted one arm behind my head, then thrust the other one forward. In my mind, I looked like Bruce Lee, ready to perform some outstanding kung fu. Or so I hoped. I needed the demon to fight me – and I needed it to use its Gift to do so. If it had been sent here from beyond the Veil, logic dictated that whatever magical skill it had at its disposal was violent.
It was still afraid of the light cascading onto the street from behind me and barely peeked at me from underneath its smooth arm. The siren continued to peal but there was no sign of the cavalry.
‘It’s just me and you,’ I called out. ‘Why don’t you use your Gift? I know you have one, just like me.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Let’s make this an even match. I’m Sidhe, you’re Fomori.’ I smiled humourlessly. ‘It’ll be like old times.’
I couldn’t tell whether it understood me or not. It blinked once and I gritted my teeth. Come on, you bastard. Use your freaking Gift so I can steal it and throw you off balance. It’ll hurt but it won’t kill you. It’ll be best for both of us.
The demon didn’t move ‒ I needed to do more to goad it. I took a tiny step towards it. It hissed in response and that’s when I felt it, a light brush, nothing more than a probing touch against my mind. Psychometry. Just like Jamie Moncrieffe’s Gift. The Fomori was looking into my very soul and assessing what I was. A shudder rippled through me.
Three things happened almost at once. I stared hard at the demon, wishing for its Gift; if I could wish hard enough, perhaps I could rip it from its body and make it collapse. As I did that, however, it turned to flee, a glinting expression I didn’t recognise crossing its eyes. At the very same time, from out of nowhere, came a bloody fireball.
It slammed into the demon’s back, sending it flying with a hard smack onto the concrete. The heat was almost as searing as Chandra’s car trap had been. How many times was I going to be subjected to having my damned eyebrows singed off? I ran forward to the sprawled demon, averting my eyes from the massive hole that now gaped from its spine. Glassy dead eyes stared up at me. I grimaced and turned away, my stomach heaving.
Footsteps sounded from behind but I didn’t look up. Somehow I already knew who it was going to be. His musky scent wafted over, intermingling with that of the demon’s. ‘I had that under control,’ I muttered.
‘It didn’t look like it from where I was standing,’ Byron said. His voice was tight and controlled. ‘It looked like it was about to swallow you whole.’
I closed my eyes, blocking out the image of the curl of bronzed hair which fell across his forehead and the clinging cashmere sweater which was more appropriate on a Paris catwalk than on a dirty cold street in Perth. Violence with style. I shuddered and wondered if I should be happy that he was speaking to me. Last time I’d seen him, he’d done everything he could to avoid looking in my direction.
‘I was taking its Gift from it so it would faint,’ I said. ‘Then it could have been captured alive.’
His expression went stony. ‘Yes, stealing the magic essence of people is right up your alley, isn’t it?’
He was pissed off about that? He killed the damn thing. I wouldn’t have done that. I wouldn’t resort to playground taunts either. Apparently Byron still had a streak of spoilt playboy running through him. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly that when another thought struck me. ‘How did you know that Fomori demons have Gifts?’
He shrugged. ‘I just do. Everyone does.’
I wasn’t so sure about that. I filed it away and let it go for now and pointed at the demon. ‘It was running away.’
Byron snorted. ‘Bullshit.’
I twisted my head and met his eyes, the green searing into me with almost the same heat as the fire. ‘Where did the fireball hit?’ I asked.
He glanced down.
‘It’s a Fomori demon, Integrity. If you’re going to suggest that it was cowardly to strike it in the back then perhaps you need to check your history books.’
I shook my head. ‘The sins of the father. That’s what it always comes down to with you lot, doesn’t it?’
His jaw tightened. ‘Are you suggesting that I should have been nice? Invited it round for tea, perhaps? With you standing there naked and vulnerable as it...’ His voice trailed off.
I pressed my lips together and tried not to react. ‘It hadn’t hurt anyone.’
‘There’s an old man who’s just been taken to hospital.’
‘It didn’t hurt him, Byron. That old man just saw it and had a panic attack. Or a heart attack. Or something.’
He stepped towards me. ‘And that makes it alright?’ He pointed at the body. ‘A Fomori demon? Here? Next to my Clan Lands? Did you really think I’d just let that pass?’
I dropped my shoulders. He might be acting petulant and bristling with far too much self-righteous anger but he was right: a Fomori demon next to the Moncrieffe Lands couldn’t be a coincidence. I pushed aside my own internal irritation. There were more important things than verbal tit-for-tat with Byron Moncrieffe.
‘How did it pass through the Veil?’ I asked. Three hundred years ago, we had created the magical barrier which separated the Highlands from the Lowlands to keep out the Fomori demons. Was it failing? I felt sick. Or was Aifric responsible for more than just the attempts on my life?
Byron shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
He was telling the truth. I mulled it over. The demon must have been here on Aifric’s behalf; Byron’s father could have done something to let it cross. Out of everyone, he probably had the power to achieve such a feat. And the most to gain. Was he planning a secret meeting, some kind of alliance? Fear shivered across my skin. In any other scenario, I might have managed to keep my mouth shut. This, however, was too important. ‘Where’s your father?’ I demanded.
