Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

‘I wonder what misfortune will befall them from the gold coins,’ Gold Cat said, as the smiling image of the leannán sidhe, twirling her lavender parasol, took the pair’s place on the card.

‘Oh, I would not worry about them. I hear she has connections in low places. Very hot, low places. Like one of the lowest levels of H.E.L.L.’

‘Hell is a place I have never visited,’ Gold Cat said.

The leannán sidhe laughed. ‘You should work on your delivery. You don’t sound like the bean sidhe at all. You need to add some attitude. Oh, and your breasts are too big. The bean sidhe’s are smaller.’

Gold Cat scrutinised her generous proportions. Were they too large? The sliver of Genny thought so, though something else seemed to be encouraging Gold Cat to add to Genny’s slender curves. But she couldn’t afford to draw attention to her Glamour. Reluctantly, she adjusted her shape and size down. ‘I appreciate the advice,’ she told the leannán sidhe. ‘What befell— happened to the other two lots?’

The leannán sidhe tilted her head. ‘Now, who else didn’t give you their coin? Oh, yes, the selkie. His ex-wife kept it. She didn’t want to lose her shot at revenge after he abandoned her and their kids to go back to sea. But she didn’t barter for him. A man from the Golden Hind bought him.’

‘I am confused. Has the selkie not been . . . squatting in the Golden Hind for the last few months?’

‘The ship on the River Thames, yes. He’s been quite the tourist draw. But his purchaser owns another replica, one in Devon. He wants the selkie so he can use him to drum up trade down there. Which is where the selkie’s family lives anyway.’

‘Why is . . . what’s the catch in that?’

‘Well done! That sounded more like the bean sidhe,’ Viviane nodded approval. ‘The catch is the selkie’s wife will keep his skin, and all his wages as alimony. Wrong decision, really, she should have let him go. This way neither of them will be happy.’

‘That is unfortunate.’

‘Oh, he’s got a better outcome than lot number nine. One of your pride’s ailuranthropes, I believe. No coin-holder turned up for him.’

‘Yes. Steve Dean. My pride memories tell me he was a human turned accidently by a Bite. He was given a position as one of the pride protectors.’

‘Well, Mr Kaito, International Purveyor of Rare Epicurean Delicacies, bid the highest at the auction for Steve Dean, so Steve is now on his way to the next Töhoku Fukushima Annual Charity Banquet. He is to be the main course.’

Gold Cat frowned. ‘Can he be rescued?’

‘He’s already on ice.’

‘Ice? Does that mean he is dead?’

‘Yep.’

‘This makes me sad,’ Gold Cat said. ‘It also makes me glad I consumed the gnome.’

‘How was he?’ the leannán sidhe enquired.

Gold Cat hawked and spat. ‘Ancient, big power, but bad taste.’

‘What about the satyr?’

A satisfied smile spread across Gold Cat’s face and she purred before she could stop herself. ‘The satyr is a good mate.’

‘Glad it worked out for you,’ the leannán sidhe said, her tone envious. ‘Well, I shall return to my cards now. I have one last reading to do for the bean sidhe then I shall gain my freedom. I wish you good luck.’

The world around Gold Cat unfroze and she plucked the tarot card from the air before it dropped. ‘Good luck to you too, leannán sidhe’ she murmured. I owe you one, as Genny would say.

‘Everything okay, Gen?’ The satyr’s concerned voice was warm against her ear.

She smiled at him. ‘Soon will be.’ She waved at the hive of activity in front of her. ‘Once we sort things out with Hugh and this is all over. Then we can go home.’ Which would be the second test.

She’d already passed the first test when the kelpie – Tavish – the one who could taste souls, had shown himself as the coin-holder for the small fluffy dog – Freya, niece, sort of, the sliver of Genny reminded her – though that sliver had been surprised and intrigued that Tavish was the one who’d come for the little shapeshifting faeling. Gold Cat hadn’t been interested enough to ask why. An oversight, she realised now, and something she’d need to rectify. Soon. Consuming the ancient gnome had given her power and living flesh. Shaping that flesh to replicate Genny had been easy, coating her spirit with the sliver of Genny’s soul not much harder, but the true test, as the leannán sidhe had pointed out, lay in aping Genny’s personality.

A human male approached – Bangladeshi ambassador – and Finn gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leading Katie away.

‘Ambassador,’ Gold Cat said, injecting her tone with interest and sympathy; two things she did not feel, but the sliver of Genny did. ‘How can I help?’

The ambassador, his grey suit crumpled, orange and black striped tie loose about his neck, bowed in front of her, relief plain on his lined face and offered ‘Genny’ his gratitude for her part in rescuing his wife and their son. As Gold Cat listened, she shaded her eyes against the glare from the bright mechanical candles on metal sticks – halogen lights – the sliver of Carlson’s soul that she’d retained informed her. The world had moved on since last she’d walked it in human skin rather than fur, and with her own spirit almost intact. She had a lot to learn from the slivers inside her.

‘. . . we would be delighted to grant you a boon, Lady Genevieve,’ the ambassador finished quietly, ‘should you require one in the future.’

‘That’s very kind,’ Gold Cat said, echoing his deep bow, then felt a prickle of irritation as Genny’s sliver noted she wouldn’t have bowed; too archaic. ‘Thank you, Ambassador.’ Gold Cat forced her mouth to smile. ‘And thank your wife too.’

‘My wife and I wish to extend our gratitude to Mr Jonathan Weir, the zoo’s employee, for his heroic attempt to save our son, Dakkhin. We would not want Mr Weir to suffer for his actions. Unfortunately, the magic in the Bite cannot be taken back. However, Dakkhin is a godling; the grandson of Byaghradevi, the guardian of the Sundarbans, the beautiful jungle. Dakkin wishes to repay Mr Weir’s sacrifice by offering him his blessing. It will ensure Mr Weir will survive the shift. My wife would also offer to care for Mr Weir during this difficult time.’

Byaghradevi, the guardian of the Sundarbans. One of the minor Indian goddesses. A part of Gold Cat remembered meeting her once, millennia ago. Inwardly, she licked her lips; they’d feasted well together on the jungle’s two-legged inhabitants. She searched Genny’s sliver for the appropriate answer to the ambassador.

‘Fine by me, Ambassador,’ she said. ‘But maybe you should check with Jonathan Weir and his partner, who gave up his gold coin. It should be their decision, really.’

The ambassador gave his agreement to do so and moved away, his place taken by the five swan maidens dancing gracefully up to her with their thanks. The three dwarves who had been their collective coin-holder milled anxiously around the scantily feathered girls, getting affectionate, if somewhat sharp pecks on their bald pates for their fussing. The two centaurs came next and offered their own gruff gratitude, then after a mildly suggestive twirl of their ’taches, cantered off towards the Carnival where a spontaneous celebratory party appeared to be getting under way.

Mini the Minotaur stomped up and proffered her thanks by way of a free chase in her labyrinth to the pot of gold, then swung her coin-holder, the leprechaun, up on to her shoulder. The leprechaun gave a long-suffering sigh and grabbed one of Mini’s horns, and they too strolled off in the direction of the party, with a saucy flip of Mini’s tail.