Suzanne McLeod - The Bitter Seed of Magic

‘My lawyer said she was working for the Lady Meriel,’ I said, shooting Ricou a questioning look.

He rocked back on his heels. ‘Nah, she’s having you on. The Lady wouldn’t work with a witch. She thinks they’re incompetent. Not only that: if she wanted to snatch you, then I’d be the one doing it.’

‘Which isn’t exactly a resounding vote of confidence in you,’ I pointed out.

‘He’s right, Gen,’ Finn said tiredly. ‘None of the water fae would get a witch to do anything for them.’

‘But, Ana, her daughter-in-law, she’s a water faeling,’ I said, still doubtful.

Ricou gave his high clicking laugh. ‘Ana hates all of London’s fae. She’d have no more to do with any of us than those religious nuts, the Soulers. Blossom told you what the Old Donn did to her grandmother, didn’t she? Well, Ana’s mother would’ve loved to’ve blasted us all to the bottom of the sea if she could. She held everyone to blame. Ana’s just the same. She’d be delighted to stick a spear in our guts just for a bit of fun.’

‘Exactly,’ Sylvia huffed. ‘I bet she’s resurrected the Tower’s Between just to spit on the Old Donn’s remains.’

‘But if she’s faeling that’s not possible, is it?’ I asked. ‘She wouldn’t have enough power.’

‘Gosh, Genny!’ Sylvia pulled a ‘don’t you know anything?’ look. Evidently I didn’t. ‘It’s not just about power, but how much the magic likes you. And she’s got royal blood.’ She gave an exaggerated pout. ‘Anyway, I told you what I saw, but see if I care if you don’t believe me. After all I’ve just saved you twice in two days, so what do I know?’

‘Sorry, Sylvia,’ I said, ‘I really am grateful, but after what Bandana—sorry, Algernon—tried to do, you can’t blame me for being a bit wary.’

‘Mother ordered them all back into their trees after yesterday,’ she sniffed, and stuck her chin in the air, only slightly mollified.

Relief ran through me: they definitely wouldn’t be lurking around me any more. ‘So, let’s say Victoria Harrier is up to something, and that it doesn’t involve the fae, or at least no fae other than her daughter-in-law.’ I stripped off my jacket and snagged my top. ‘Anybody got any ideas—’

Finn doubled over, groaning in pain.

I leapt up to go to him, but Ricou grabbed me round the waist, stopping me. ‘Might be better if you leave him be, luv.’

‘But he’s hurt,’ I said.

‘Well, it’s his own bloomin’ fault,’ Ricou said, without much sympathy. ‘He should’ve kept his horns under wraps.’

‘I was trying to break the Chastity spell,’ Finn said straightening up slowly, like he was still hurting.

Ricou gave his high clicking laugh. ‘With a bit of slippy slippy? Pull the other one, mate.’

‘Sex is how you break the spell,’ Finn muttered.

‘Yeah, but only if you’re the one keyed to the spell,’ Ricou corrected him.

‘I’m sorry, Gen.’ Finn grimaced. ‘Since Tavish tagged you with the spell, I thought that with the curse, and because I was on his list, it would be okay.’

‘Obviously not, mate,’ Ricou said in a reproving tone.

I gaped at them both, stunned, then anger at Tavish and the Morrígan took over. I pulled away from Ricou, yanked my top back on and stuck my hands on my hips. ‘So, what you’re saying is this: the only way I can lose the spell is to have sex, and with someone specific, and the only person who knows who that is—well, that would be either Tavish or the Morrígan, depending on whose fucking stupid idea it was.’

‘That’s about right, luv,’ Ricou said. ‘’Course, if whoever it is dies, then the spell’ll disappear on its own.’

I ground my teeth. If I found out who was keyed to the Chastity spell, then their dying was going to be a serious option. And if it was Tavish’s idea and not the Morrígan’s … his precious computers were toast.

Ricou tapped my shoulder. ‘Mind if I have a butcher’s?’ He looked over his dark glasses and winked at me. ‘Professional interest, of course.’

‘What?’ I said still furious.

‘The spell. I want to look at it.’

‘Sure, why not,’ I snapped and yanked my top up. Finn groaned and closed his eyes.

‘Don’t mind him,’ Ricou said as he bent and peered at my stomach. ‘It’s the after-effects of the spell; a nasty reminder to keep his … hands to himself whenever he looks at you. It’ll wear off in a while.’

I frowned sceptically at Finn, who was sitting still with his eyes closed. ‘I feel fine.’

‘He’s the one who tried getting happy with it.’ Ricou licked his finger and touched it to the handprint, making me flinch. He stuck his finger in his mouth, then nodded. ‘Thought so. Cinnamon’s been added to the spell. I’d have picked up on it this morning if it hadn’t been for Blossom’s maple syrup.’

‘Enlighten me,’ I said flatly.

‘You add cinnamon oil to Chastity spells to stop any baby buns cooking in your oven.’ He eyed the handprint narrowly. ‘It makes you temporarily barren.’

‘Hell’s thorns,’ Finn muttered, his shock matching my own.

A rustling noise like a high wind through the trees whistled around us and Sylvia’s eyes snapped open. ‘Genny,’ she said urgently, ‘the police are on their way. I think it’s because of you. I’m going to drop the Unseen spell.’

I jerked round to find three of the large high-top police vans the trolls used driving down the road, sirens off, but their blue lights flashing, drawing the attention of the crowd. The vans stopped, the back doors opened and Detective Sergeant Hugh Munro of the Metropolitan Police’s Magic and Murder squad jumped nimbly out of the first. Behind him were two female police constables, both witches. Eight more uniformed police constables—all trolls—jumped out of the second and third vans and all of them strode towards us.

The hair at the nape of my neck prickled with prescience—not that I have any precognition skills, but I watch the movies occasionally. This looked too much like where the police corner the bad guys and catch them. I stifled the urge to run. We weren’t the bad guys.

‘Genny.’ Hugh towered over me, his ruddy face creased into worried fissures. ‘I’m sorry, but I’d like you to come with us, please.’

‘Why?’ I said, suddenly wary. ‘I’m not under arrest again, am I?’

‘No, but I need you to come with us.’ He gestured to the van. ‘Now, please.’

I sat in the back of the police van, gripping onto the edges of the hard seat, the lap-style seatbelt digging uncomfortably into my bruised and be-spelled stomach. The painkillers were wearing off, as was the shock over the Chastity spell. I’d find a way to get rid of it, but as I really didn’t want any buns in my oven either, I shoved it to the bottom of my to-do list.

Hugh was sitting stoically across from me, despite the anxious red dust puffing from his head ridge and settling on his black hair and massive shoulders.

‘So what’s up, Hugh?’ I asked.

He didn’t answer, but held up one large finger to silence me: the uniformed witch next to him was casting some sort of spell. I nodded and settled back in the seat. The van smelled of sage, urine and rotten meat, a distinctly unpleasant combination. I wrinkled my nose and gazed out of the window, wishing I could open it.

After a look at Finn, and a quick, lurid explanation from Ricou, Hugh had split us up. I ended up in the first van with Hugh and the WPC. Finn was in the second van, and somehow a charming Ricou and a blushing Sylvia had ended up in the third. My guess was that Hugh was in a hurry and didn’t want the hassle of leaving them behind. We’d all made quite the spectacle as it was, the event immortalised for avid speculation on the news by the hundreds of mobile phones held up and pointed our way until we’d all disappeared inside the vans and the protection of the one-way glass.