Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

Did that mean Gold Cat wanted to talk to me? So far it hadn’t been very communicative, other than the odd growl or disdainful look, much like any cat really. But if they hadn’t been chatting/plotting, where was Viv getting her info from? Since if all that stuff about shifters was known, if not by me, then by the fae, I was pretty sure Tavish would have mentioned it at some point. And he hadn’t.

I asked her.

‘Knowledge is easy to come by, bean sidhe, if you know where to research.’ Viviane grinned like a Cheshire cat, but unlike the cat she didn’t disappear only stretched her head and neck out like a cartoon character across the cave to where Carlson’s backpack and its contents were strewn on the floor. She stuck her head into the cloth-wrapped package. ‘Let us see.’ Her voice was slightly muffled. ‘Ah yes, pages thirty-two to thirty-eight talk about shifter creation’– she lifted her head and gave me a smug look – ‘with a note from a Witch Whitneyi to say that “animus” as pertaining to shifters bears no relation to Jungian theory, and not to confuse the two. The witch archives contain an amazing collection of knowledge, so vast that even they do not know what insights are to be found within. But I use it often enough that I have become quite proficient in discovering any answer I want.’

Did she expect me to applaud, or something? ‘Anything in there about why the ritual didn’t work?’

Viviane stuck her head back in, then after a moment she snapped back to her previous sitting position next to her cards. She gave me a sly smile.

Right. No more free info. And no way could I get hold of Carlson’s papers on my own— ‘Hey, Gold Cat. Any chance of you getting those papers for me?’

Gold Cat lifted its head, gave me another copper-eyed stare, then rose gracefully and padded out of the cave without a backward look.

‘I’ll take that as a no, then,’ I muttered.

Viviane let out a pleased sound and moved three cards.

I went back to my salt sprinkling . . . and learned that even closing the circle with salt didn’t negate its magic. Frustrated, I chucked the empty salt container at the back of the cave, sighed, sat down, and arranged the chain so it didn’t touch me. I looked at Viviane. ‘What’s the deal, then?’

‘Let us see, bean sidhe.’ Viviane tapped another card. ‘You want to be released from that circle. You want to help your troll friend with his rescue of the victims. You want the satyr safe.’ She gave me another sharp-toothed smile. ‘And you want the last card in the tarot reading so you know how to release the fae’s fertility from the pendant. That card, however, is not part of this agreement, since it is already under contract.’

Left unsaid was that she could fudge the timing of the card’s appearance, to make it less helpful than it might be. But as for the rest, she’d got it spot on.

Viviane shifted a card from the top of one line to the bottom of another. ‘I also get a touch of precognition with the cards. For instance, when it comes to your negotiations with the Emperor, I might be able to help you.’

Help me, or you? ‘What sort of help?’

She frowned, moved another card. ‘I’m not able to say exactly. It seems I might have a conflict of interest.’

‘What does that mean?’

She shrugged. ‘Exactly what I said. Some things I can help you with. Others would negate another bargain I have already made.’

‘Who with?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that,’ she said chidingly.

It was an easy out. Though that probably didn’t make it any less true. And my suspicious antennae said her bargain was with Bastien. The tarot cards had tied in too closely to Bastien’s plans for it to be anyone else. Only Viv’s mention of bargains had my stomach clenching, but if that was what I had to do . . . ‘So you want to make a sidhe bargain—’

‘No,’ she shouted, throwing her hands up in horror, her cards flying round the cave like a flight of panicked garden fairies. ‘Just a small agreement to help each other out the best we can, nothing more, bean sidhe. I do not want the magic involved in this. That is how I ended up enslaved to the cards in the first place.’

I blinked, surprised at her words, and that she’d admitted it. But it also made me happier to go along with her small agreement; it meant no unpredictable consequences for either of us. Of course, it also left a greater chance of loopholes to wiggle out of.

‘So what do you want?’

She clasped her hands in front of her. ‘I want you to get the kelpie to give you the tarot cards as a gift then, at a time and place of my choosing, I want you to burn the cards to ash and transfer ownership of the ashes to the person of my choice.’

She wanted her freedom. With the chain and collar round my neck, I could relate. ‘If I agree, you’ll help release me, help save Finn, help me rescue the victims, and get my answer from the Emperor with no harm to me or mine?’

‘With no harm to you or yours from me, yes. I can’t guarantee what others will or will not do.’

Hmm. Nice qualification for a small agreement. But then loopholes could work both ways. Transferring ownership of the tarot cards was one thing, but she hadn’t said it was to be an unrestricted transfer.

‘Then we have ourselves a small agreement,’ I said. We both held our breath in case the magic decided to chime in of its own accord. Sometimes it can be tricky like that. After a long, thankfully, chime-free minute, we both relaxed. ‘So what happens now?’

Viviane gave me a pleasant smile. ‘We wait.’

‘For what?’

‘Your white knight to appear, of course.’

‘Who the hell is that?’

‘Someone who can release you.’

Crap. She wasn’t going to tell me. I narrowed my eyes. ‘Thought you were going to help?’

‘Incorporeal.’ She waggled her hands. ‘I can look, but not touch. That collar needs someone with opposable thumbs and magic.’ She flashed me her sharp-toothed smile again. ‘But I’ve got it all organised, no need to worry.’

She’d got it all organised? Figured. But then she’d already known I was likely to end up chained in the ash circle. After all, she’d shown me that big grey and black cat on the Moon tarot card, and warned that the beasts were coming for me. Just enough information that I couldn’t call her on it. I was the fool for thinking she’d meant the Emperor’s werewolves. Shame on me.

Forty-odd minutes later, during which I impatiently (and ironically) watched Viviane play Patience, I was pacing the ash circle and rattling my chain like a trapped animal, or the recently condemned.

I stopped as a bellowing noise came, followed by two more. Swamp-dragons on the hunt. And not too far away, judging by the pitch. Viviane lifted her head, focused warily on the cave entrance.

More bellowing. Eager and excited. The swampies had sighted prey.

A loud, angry roar rolled through the air, sounding like the cat roaring on the Moon tarot card. The roar came from right outside the cave.

Gold Cat? Or some other shifter?

I clenched my fists, pacing the circle and listening to the cacophony of noise: growls of warning, the swampies’ excited bellows . . . a sharp yelp of pain followed by a long, breath-holding silence . . . then Gold Cat was backing through the entrance of the cave dragging a body behind it—

Finn.

He was scarily still.

Heart thudding with fear, I slapped my hands against the circle’s invisible wall, shouting at Gold Cat to bring him near. Gold Cat hauled him right to the edge of the ash circle and, sides heaving, let him drop. He fell on his front, face towards me. His shirt and trousers were ripped and mud-splattered, with a distinct whiff of swampie sulphur. His hooves were rough, his hair matted, his long curving horns bloody, and cuts and bruises marked his cheek, jaw and what I could see of his back. He’d been in a fight; the purple colour of the bruises suggesting it had happened hours ago. There was a deep scratch on his forehead, more recent judging by the fresh blood still trickling. I slapped the circle wall again, but still couldn’t breach the ashes.