Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

‘And they’re unharmed?’

‘Yes. Unharmed and with no memory of the missing time. There’s nothing to be seen on the rest of the zoo’s CCTVs. Or on any of the surrounding public CCTV. The three victims just vanish.’

‘Magic,’ I stated. ‘Some sort of Invisibility spell, a Transportation spell or a temporary Portal combined with a Freeze spell . . .’ I trailed off, wracking my mental files for anything else. ‘But to be honest, Hugh, it could be any number of spells and my knowledge isn’t the most comprehensive. I think your best bet is the Witches’ Council.’ I gestured towards Mary, who was standing to attention some feet away, and whose mother was on said Witches’ Council. ‘Oh, and the fae, or the Librarian. Any of them should be able to give you more info.’

Hugh nodded. ‘All avenues we’re following, Genny.’

‘Okay,’ I said, then something struck me. ‘Why take Jonathan Weir, the zoo employee? I mean, if they could keep the bodyguards out of the loop, why not him too?’

‘We don’t know, Genny. It’s another aspect that doesn’t seem to fit.’

‘Unless whatever magic was used didn’t work on him,’ I mused. ‘He could’ve been resistant?’

‘He’s not.’ Hugh flipped over a couple of pages. ‘His partner, David O’Reilly, is one of the zoo’s keepers. He’s stated for the record that Jonathan has no magical abilities.’

‘So, I take it you want me to try and gather up any magic that might be around?’ It was after all, my party trick.

He indicated the entrance to the exhibit. ‘I want you to come in and tell me what you see.’

‘ See , as in magic?’

‘Yes, and as in anything else.’

I frowned. I doubted that I was going to find anything the WPCs hadn’t, and I was beginning to feel that Hugh had got me out here to leave no stone unturned, rather than in any concrete hope that I could do something. That was totally fine by me. He’d been my friend since I was fourteen: he’d put his job and himself on the line for me more than once. If he wanted me here to dot i’s and cross t’s then I would. A good result on this could mean a lot for his career and, more importantly, for the missing victims.

And even if there wasn’t anything for me to find, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do my damnedest to actually discover a clue.

Inside the big cat exhibit, the roof made the corridor-like place look shadowed and dim after the bright sunshine outside. I wrinkled my nose; it stank of pine-scented cleaner cut with freshly butchered meat and wet fur. My sense of smell was definitely on overdrive, something I was beginning to suspect was down to drinking Mad Max’s combination of vamp/doggy blood. Ugh. Hopefully, it was the only side-effect and I wouldn’t start chasing sticks, or poodles wearing bridal veils.

I scanned for anything magical. To either side were U-shaped plate-glass windows, looking out over the tiger enclosure. It was more sparse English woodland than dense jungle and, despite a covered area near the first window, presumably for the tigers to sleep in as it was padded with straw, the big cat stars of the show were nowhere to be seen.

But as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, there were plenty of people to make up for the lack of tigers. Four WPCs and three uniformed trolls were stationed at intervals along the corridor, while another troll – Constable Lamber, his mottled beige head a pale beacon against a tall, frothy-leaved potted plant – stood to attention behind four males. The marked similarity of three of them with their short black hair, dark-skinned faces and closed-off expressions made me wonder if they were related: brothers or cousins, maybe. And all three were wearing the same long kurta shirts in a deep green, with heavy gold embroidery down the front and sleeves, over loose white trousers with more gold thread around the ankles – standard Indian dress, albeit more formal than I usually saw in Southall, London’s ‘Little India’.

They stared back at me from behind opaque eighties-style aviator sunglasses.

Being stared at like I was a walking zoo exhibit is pretty much the norm for me as the only sidhe in London, and most of the time I don’t notice so much, but the men’s stares were predatory enough to raise the hair on my nape. I made a note to tell Hugh, and see if anyone else got strange vibes from them.

The fourth male was older; mid to late fifties going by the silver threading his black hair and the deep lines marking his brown-skinned face. Instead of the Indian dress the others were wearing he’d opted for city business style with a white shirt, grey hand-tailored suit and a less-than-sartorial orange and black striped tie. The look made him stand out, as did the anxious, haggard expression on his face. Had to be the ambassador.

‘Mr Bannajee,’ Hugh’s quiet voice confirmed. ‘With his Head of Security and his wife’s bodyguards.’

I nodded as the ambassador came forward and gave a small bow. ‘Lady Genevieve Taylor,’ he said, his accent pure public school English. ‘It is always a pleasure to greet one of the sidhe fae, even under such difficult circumstances as these.’

‘Nice to meet you too, Ambassador,’ I said, the polite small-talk feeling odd with his wife and kid missing. ‘I’m sorry about your family.’

‘I appreciate your concern. It is devastating that they have been taken.’ They were the right words, but his tone was the same, polite, which was weird considering his eyes had started darting around like he expected someone to jump out at him . . . Unless it was shock?

‘Ambassador,’ Hugh rumbled reassuringly. ‘As I explained, Lady Genevieve will inspect the crime scene here and then tell us what magic there is, or isn’t. Isn’t that right, Genny?’

‘I’ve already looked,’ I said slowly, thinking no one was going to like my answer.

‘So quickly?’ The ambassador’s gazed fixed on mine and he leaned forwards eagerly. Behind him the three cool-dude henchmen shifted to high alert.

I gave Hugh an enquiring look. Didn’t he want me to tell him what I’d found first?

He gave a barely perceptible nod. ‘Go ahead.’

Fine. I took a breath, catching that whiff of butchered meat and wet fur again under the stink of pine-scented cleaner, and said, ‘There’s nothing. No magic, no spells, not even a stray bit of wylde magic. The place has been scrubbed clean.’

Beside me neither Hugh nor Mary reacted, so my discovery was as they expected.

But the ambassador stared at me, his head half shaking, half nodding as if he couldn’t believe what I’d said. Finally he blurted, ‘Nothing?’

‘I’m sorry, Ambassador,’ I said.

‘But there must be something!’ Distress coloured his voice. ‘How else will we find—’

‘My apologies, Ambassador.’ Henchman One appeared at his elbow. ‘But we must take our leave now.’

The ambassador turned to him, launching into a low-voiced passionate tirade in a musical language I didn’t recognise.

Henchman One listened then stepped forward, his expression regretful, and spoke to Hugh. ‘Inspector, I believe we have helped you as much as we can. You know how to contact the ambassador should you hear any news of his wife and son.’

Hugh nodded, his frustration showing only in his slight frown. ‘I do, of course.’

‘You may choose to leave,’ the ambassador warned Henchman One, ‘but I will stay.’

‘Ambassador.’ Henchman One closed his eyes briefly, as if he didn’t want to deal with the man’s anguish. ‘I am sorry, but you may not pursue this further without permission from the President and the Prime Minister. I fear to do so would compromise our diplomatic status in this country. Please. We should leave now.’