Suzanne McLeod - The Bitter Seed of Magic

A virulent green cover on one of the many unread piles caught my eye: The Esoteric Practice of Malediction Prophecies by Michael Nix. I reached out to pick it up— Then snatched my hand away as a flash of magic revealed that the snot seeping out from its spine was real.

‘Sneaky,’ I muttered. After the first ‘WTF?’ spell I’d unwittingly triggered—the one that transported me straight to Finn; luckily he’d been working the late shift at Spellcrackers, but even so, naked is so not the way to appear anywhere unannounced—I’d taken precautions. I looked up at my chandelier hanging from the vaulted roof and counted another row of blackened beads marring the long strings of amber- and copper-coloured glass drops. The Seek and Reveal spells embedded in the beads had cost me the equivalent of three months’ wages, even using my own crystals, but since it had exposed everything they’d sent—so far, at least—it was worth the expense. I narrowed my eyes at the snot-dripping book and scattered the handful of salt over it; it belched musty orange dust and I grabbed a tissue from my jacket pocket as I sneezed.

‘I can see you’re havin’ a fun day, doll.’ The amused burr came from the bedroom door behind me.

Startled, I turned too fast, and several book stacks avalanched like mismatched dominoes into a cluttered heap around me.

‘Tavish!’ I said, and my heart gave a happy little leap at seeing him. The feeling that all would be right now he was here brought a wide beam to my face. ‘When did you get back?’

He shot me an answering grin, his sharp-pointed teeth gleaming white against the deep green-black of his skin. As his eyes crinkled, the rim of white surrounding the beautiful, brilliant silver of his pupil-less eyes vanished. The grin softened the angular planes of his long face: Tavish isn’t so much handsome—with his Roman nose and pointed chin, his face is a less delicate version of my own, showing the sidhe part of his make-up—but like the kelpie-horse that is his other shape, he is compelling, alluring—

I started to step towards him, then sneezed again, and as I blew my nose, I realised I’d been staring at Tavish like a Charm-struck human. I wiped the silly grin off my face and gave him an irritated glare. ‘You’re doing it deliberately, aren’t you?’

His own grin faded as he placed his hand on his chest. ‘Ach, doll, but it sorrows my heart tae lose your smile.’

I stifled the urge to go to him and throw my arms round him. Damn, I’d had enough of this magical attraction stuff with Finn; I didn’t need it with Tavish too. Suddenly wary, I clutched at the cup with one hand and balled the tissue in my other, needing something real to hold on to. ‘I’ll lose more than my smile if I let myself fall for your charms, kelpie,’ I said flatly.

He threw his head back with a snorting laugh and I glimpsed the delicate black-lace gills flaring either side of his throat. ‘Aye, doll, perhaps—but I wait for the day when you nae longer wish tae resist me, when we shall ride intae the depths together.’ He sobered as the turquoise swirling in the depths of his silver eyes lit an answering curl of desire inside me. ‘And ’twill be a glorious pleasure for us both, my lady.’

I looked down and nudged a couple of books with the toe of my trainer, willing the desire away. Tavish was wylde fae, a kelpie, a soul-taster, and capricious, like the magic—not to mention dangerous, if he was talking about riding into the depths. But he was also my friend. So was it a warning? Trouble was, asking outright wouldn’t get me the answer, just like it was pointless confronting him about the bracelet, or anything else. He could talk round corners for England if he chose to: at my best guess, he’d been doing it for more than a millennium.

‘If wishes were horses, we could all ride away on them,’ I murmured, recalling one of my father’s sayings.

‘If wishes were fishes, we’d all cast nets,’ he replied cheerfully.

And the fishes would be caught. Hmm. ‘You’re looking guid, doll,’ he said, still showing his teeth.

I shot him a sceptical look. I’d spent the night in a police cell; there was no way I looked ‘guid’. Then I realised he wasn’t looking at me, or rather my body’s shell, but at my soul. And it probably did look all shiny and bright to him now the black tint of the sorcerer’s soul was gone. So why wasn’t he asking how I’d got rid of it? Unless, of course, I wasn’t the only one chatting to Malik in his dreamscapes—was that why Tavish was here now? Had the two of them been plotting again? Not that any of that explained his outfit, which was unusual, even for him.

He was dressed Elizabethan-style, his starched white neck-ruff a stark contrast to his green-black skin. His dreadlocks were piled into a spiky topknot, and the beads intertwined with the dreads were a brilliant aquamarine, matching the silk lining of his pantaloons.

‘Nice outfit.’ I raised my brows. ‘Did you escape from a fancy dress party or something?’

He twirled his hand in a flourish of lace as he bowed from the waist, keeping his eyes on mine, and I had the strangest feeling he was wary of me . ‘The queen had hersel’ a hankering tae return tae earlier times, and her court has dutifully obliged her.’

‘Are you telling me that Queen Clíona can turn back time?’ I asked, astonished. ‘By several hundred years?’

He straightened and gave me a thoughtful look. ‘Am I telling you that? I dinna ken, doll—’tis always possible, for time is nae fixed in the Fair Lands as ’tis here in the humans’ world.’ He looked back over his shoulder and I thought I saw the flicker of candlelight instead of sunshine behind him … then it was gone. ‘I returned here tae you at this time as I desired tae do, but who kens where or when in the humans’ world I would be if I hadnae made my choice?’

‘That doesn’t really answer the question, Tavish.’

‘Maebe there’s nae answer to be had.’

An idea started to form in my mind. Was he just being tricky, or was he telling me something I needed to know that he couldn’t divulge? I left the idea to find its own shape and said, ‘So, what’s Clíona been saying?’

‘Her offer of sanctuary is as before, doll, and she’s nae telt me of any change.’

She hadn’t told him of any change, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to tell someone— me —otherwise. Was that why he was here? To arrange for me to see her? Maybe after my trip to Disney Heaven—

‘I want to speak to her, Tavish. I want to ask her if there’s anything she can tell me, however insignificant it might be to her.’

‘She willnae allow you tae visit, doll. Once you join her court, you cannae return.’

‘Will she come here to speak with me, then?’

‘The Ladies Isabella and Meriel willnae open the gates to allow her entrance—’

‘Bullshit! You’re standing here talking to me, so why can’t she do the same?’

‘She’s a queen, doll. Queens dinna loiter in doorways chatting.’

Damn. If he wasn’t here on Clíona’s behalf, why was he here? I stared down at the cup, looking for an answer … and the earlier idea bloomed in my mind. ‘Tavish, you said you chose to come back to me now, but the queen’s taken the court back to the past …’ I tilted my head. ‘Does that mean you can choose a particular time to come back to, as it were?’

He dipped his chin, looking curiously at me. ‘’Tis nae something I’ve tried before, doll.’

‘What if you could go back to when the queen spoke the curse, and persuade her not to?’

He shook his head. ‘’Twould nae be possible, you cannae undo the time that is already passed betwixt two bodies; the queen’s path and mine together are already walked.’