Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

Thankfully the ‘sensitive nose’ I’d picked up from Mad Max’s blood had worn off by mid-afternoon. The sensory input had been relentless, distracting and, not a few times, disgusting to the point that eating had been out of the question. Mad Max must have a strong stomach, but then he was a vamp who turned into a dog so I guessed he was used to it.

Now, though, my nose seemed to have rebelled and I was having trouble smelling anything.

I rolled my shoulders and started inching along the lion’s back—

My phone vibrated, making my heart leap; it was late enough to be Malik.

I yanked a glove off, checked the display. Not Malik but Tavish.

‘Hey,’ I said, my disappointment washed away by relief that he was finally returning my calls. ‘I was about to send out a search party. What the hell happened to you?’

‘Och, doll, dinna fash yerself,’ he said in his soft burr. ‘I had a bit of sorting out to do, then I got a mite distracted by a body in the river.’

Tavish is a soul-taster. He long ago promised, under River Lore, not to Charm humans into the water but only to feed on those souls who die in the river, not that he feeds on the whole soul, only the sorrows, guilts and sins weighing it down. But the heavier the soul, the longer it takes, sometimes prolonging his victim’s dying for his own pleasure. Not that I had a problem when those souls were usually drug dealers or the like who were in the river by design, usually not their own. End up in the Thames with death staining your soul and all the kelpie’s promises are off. Whether you want to die or not, you’ve no choice but to ride into the depths with him if he finds you.

But that he’d been doing that now filled me with furious disbelief. ‘You’ve been off playing with your food while I’ve been worrying about your tarot cards and the fae’s fertility?’

‘Aye, well, it’s nae quite like that, doll. The body wasnae truly wanting to die.’ His voice held an odd note, not quite sadness; regret maybe, with an undertow of excitement. ‘Only ’twas a time afore my other self realised that.’

Did that mean he’d tasted an innocent’s soul? Someone who was in the river by accident? And broken his promise? But asking another fae that, or if they’d just taken someone to their death, isn’t the done thing. Not to mention, tragic as that might be, I was more interested in getting answers to my own questions.

‘Have you spoken to Hugh?’ I asked. ‘About the possibility of another sidhe being in London?’

‘Aye, doll. I chatted to him and the witch Mary Martin nae long ago. ’Tis nae possible, the gates are fully sealed.’ Relief flooded through me to such an extent that I realised I’d been more worried than I’d thought; the last thing I needed was any of my sidhe relatives turning up again. ‘But I’ve told him we’ll do a wee double-check on the gates, to be sure,’ Tavish added.

Right. Better safe than sorry. ‘Good. But you could’ve phoned and kept me in the loop,’ I grumped.

‘Aye, and so I am now, doll.’ He ignored my exasperated snort, saying, ‘And I’ve been doing a bit of checking. I’m thinking I’ve found your Emperor.’

My exasperation took a back seat. ‘I’ll bite.’

I heard the soft click-clack of his keyboard. ‘I’ve sent you a screenshot. Tell me what you ken.’

‘Okay.’ I scrolled through to my emails and viewed the attachment, which showed the same image as the Emperor tarot card had. A dark-haired, hawk-nosed male in his thirties wearing a purple toga and golden laurel-leaf crown, sitting on a golden throne, a golden eagle perched atop the Rod of Asclepius behind him. But instead of holding a silver dagger, this Emperor gripped a golden chain. On the end of the chain, reclining at the Emperor’s feet, were two large grey-brown wolves. ‘That’s him,’ I said. ‘But on the tarot card he was holding a silver dagger; he didn’t have the wolves.’

‘Nae wolves, doll. Werewolves.’

‘Werewolves? Really?’ Surprise mixed with trepidation flashed through me. And I had a sudden memory of Katie telling me she thought the flasher from last night was a werewolf. Fuck. ‘Are you sure the two wolves aren’t just animals?’

‘Aye, doll, I’m sure. I’m sending you some more photos.’

I brought the pictures up on my phone. The first showed a cropped close-up of one wolf’s eye; the second showed a front paw. The eye was human, a green iris with a starburst of hazel fanning out from the pupil. The paw was furry but, unlike a normal wolf’s paw, was prehensile with a short but definite opposable thumb. Two sure indicators of a werewolf in their animal form.

I almost asked Tavish if the pictures could’ve been ’shopped, then didn’t. The Emperor was a vamp. No way would a vamp falsely advertise having a couple of werewolves at his beck and call, not if he wanted to keep his blood cred. Of course, the fact that he had a couple of werewolves chained like pets meant he was probably pretty much at the top of the vamps’ blood-tree anyway.

Which was sort of reassuring in a way. If the Emperor was that überpowerful then the chances that he knew how to release the fae’s fertility from the pendant just rocketed up. Not that I hadn’t believed the cards, but a strange vamp knowing the solution to London’s fae’s fertility problem wouldn’t have been my first guess. No, my first had been the Autarch, my very own bloodsucking nightmare. One I might be getting reacquainted with soon, if Malik or his answering service ever returned my call about our date.

I took a calming breath and told Tavish about the flasher Katie and I’d seen. ‘Think it’s related?’

‘Could be, doll.’

I shared Katie’s worries that the werewolves could end up hunting her because she was a virgin. ‘Is she in any danger?’

‘Och, dinna fash yerself about that. ’Tis an old story from the Shining Times, and I doubt there’s a werewolf alive who remembers it, never mind kens the truth of it.’

The Shining Times supposedly came after the dinosaurs but before man first struck cold iron. Which didn’t pin it down much. Though if anyone would know, it was probably Tavish. Rumour has it he’s a couple of millennia old, but he’s always been cagey about his age, and with his angular, almost classic sidhe, features I’ve often wondered if he’s older. Maybe even born in the Shining Times. Which was when the sidhe and magic and the humans’ world first came together, and the sidhe procreated with any living thing that took their fancy – like humans, animals, trees, and even the elements – bringing whole new species into being. Including werewolves, by the sounds of it.

I frowned. ‘Are you saying that werewolves came from the sidhe? Like the rest of the fae?’

Tavish’s snort over the phone was faintly derisive. ‘Nae,’tis different magics that birthed the shifters. And ’tis long lost now.’

‘So Katie’s not in danger?’

‘Nae more than from any Other. And ’tis unlikely these werewolves will bother with the wee girlie, but we dinna ken what this Emperor vamp is like. So to be sure I’ll stir up a scent potion from wolfsbane and mistletoe for her. And for you too, doll. ’Twill encourage the beasts to keep their distance.’

Great. Katie could be in danger because of me. Again. ‘Okay, thanks, that puts my mind at rest.’ A bit, anyway.

‘Mind, ’twill nae smell too good.’

I blew out a breath. ‘Doesn’t matter if it helps keep her safe.’

‘Aye. And ’twill give her something to hang her worries on too, so they dinna bother her as much.’

Like the vamp-repelling kit he’d given her. I told him she’d shown it me, and that I was grateful he’d done that for her.

‘Och, she’s a good wee girlie, ’twas a pleasure to do, no thanks needed, doll.’