Suzanne McLeod - The Bitter Seed of Magic

I spat the key out into my palm. ‘I knew I should’ve clocked you one on the head while you were still asleep.’ Trouble was, I’d been worried I’d wake him up, rather than knock him out.

‘Glad you didn’t, my lady,’ he said, casting a concerned look down at Helen, whose head I’d pillowed on her large leather bag (which contained nothing more useful than water, veggie sticks and cereal bars; I’d drunk the water). ‘Don’t worry, I’m here to help,’ he added.

I narrowed my eyes, wondering exactly how helpful he was going to be, and who he was really working for. Only one way to find out. I held out my shackled arm in invitation.

He reached out cautiously and took the key from my palm. I stifled a relieved sigh as he unlocked the shackle. It fell on the stone floor with a clang.

‘Proof enough?’ he asked. ‘Now, has my mother told you?’

‘If we’re talking about the Fertility spell, then yes.’

He took a deep breath, then asked earnestly, ‘Do you have it?’

I went to open my mouth … and then gave him a horrified look.

‘By the goddess.’ He raked his hands through his blond hair in frustration. ‘She promised she would tell you if you agreed.’

I grabbed his jumper. ‘Tell me what ?’

‘There’s a Protection spell on it,’ he said, clenching his fists, ‘one that ensures anyone who knows about the Fertility spell can never find it, even if they’re staring right at it. And they can’t use force to get her to give the spell up, otherwise it will destroy the fertility in the spell.’

‘Fine, I get the picture,’ I interrupted. So that was how the Witch-bitch had managed to keep hold of it all this time: she’d booby-trapped it. And why no one, like the goddesses, or Tavish and Malik, would talk to me (I mentally forgave them both), and why the only clues anyone would give me were as cryptic as Hell’s worst crossword.

It also explained the pendant’s highly confusing flickering in and out of sight during the dozen tries it’d taken for me to remove it from Helen’s own neck—and why I couldn’t see—or see —the pendant even though it was nestling between my breasts, unless I concentrated on the sad memory of Helen losing the baby Jack. But Jack was Helen’s son and the Morrígan’s bird, so I kept all that to myself.

‘Crap,’ I muttered. ‘How the hell did she manage to cast such a complicated spell? It must have taken her years. But there has to be a way to get it.’ I glowered at Helen, lying on the stone floor. ‘She has to have at least a hundred spells on her.’ Blinging herself up like a goblin queen had no doubt been extra camouflage. ‘It’ll take days to go through them all. But if you can fly her out’—I looked hopefully at Jack—‘and take her to the police, then—’

‘I’m sorry, my lady, I can’t. I have to procure my sister’s safety first, then I have to answer the Morrígan’s call to bring your friend here, as soon as the Time-sync spell runs its course.’ He reached out and touched Helen’s hand, suddenly looking very young again. ‘Why didn’t she tell you, when she promised she would?’

‘Ah,’ I said, grimacing, ‘maybe because I didn’t agree to do what she wanted.’

‘You didn’t agree?’ His mouth gaped in shock.

‘I couldn’t give my word,’ I said, and told him about the Chastity/Contraceptive spell.

He hunched over and hugged himself as he thought it through. I contemplated calling a Stun spell from one of the shackles, but decided he might be more useful awake. So instead I kept a cautious eye on him, in case he decided to regain the upper wing—sorry, hand—and knock me out so he could still swap me for Nicky. Although, to be honest, I had him pegged as more the follow-the-plan sort than a decide-what-to-do-next-when-things-go-wrong type of guy.

‘But what about my sister?’ he said finally with a plaintive look. ‘I gave my word to mother to help her. How am I supposed to get her to safety now if you can’t be traded in her place?’

Mentally I heaved a relieved sigh: I’d guessed right about him. ‘Okay,’ I said to Jack, trying to be reassuring for both of us, ‘it’s not all bad’— yet— ‘and I’ve got a plan worked out’— hopefully— ‘so here’s what we’ll do.’

After I’d finished telling him, I made a carry-pack out of Helen’s cardigan for the shackles with their Stun spells and tied it round my waist, Jack tagged my injured shoulder and arm with another of his mother’s Pain-Numbing spells, then I left him with her in the circle. There was nothing he could do until Nicky put in an appearance.

I headed for the far end of the room, hugging close to the stone wall, and skirting round the various suits of armour that had appeared from nowhere (or maybe the magic had picked them out of my head?), until I reached the Look-Away veil. Behind it was a pair of metal double doors that looked like they’d be more at home on a modern lock-up instead of in the Tower of London. They had a thick wooden beam across them holding them shut, and a large shiny-steel padlock. I looked , and saw the black bars of a Knock-Back Ward buzzing across their metal surface. Lined up by the side of them were half a dozen empty hospital beds like those the smiling Stepford mums-to-be were happily and quietly lying on.

Relief and hope filled me. I’d found the way out.

Now to sort out the time problem.

I made my way quietly to the grandfather clock. Behind the door next to it came the sound of soft snoring. I cracked the door open to find a rosy-cheeked nurse asleep with her feet up in an easy chair: the duty nurse Jack had told me about. Tiptoeing in, I called one of the shackles’ Stun spells and tapped it on her head. It flashed green mint-scented lightning, and she jerked, then subsided into unconsciousness, putting her out of it for a good couple of hours.

I turned back to contemplate the grandfather clock. Cracking the spells on the doors and the clock was a non-starter with twenty-odd pregnant females and half a dozen babies in the room. It would be like exploding a bomb in the place, and they were too close to ground zero. Absorbing the spells was a no-go too; rescuing anyone while you’re unconscious is one of those impossible-to-do things. And teasing the magic apart was too time-consuming (no pun intended).

But if I could get the clock to finish its chime, get everything back in sync and convince the magic to open the doors somewhere useful in the humans’ world, then I could absorb the Wards and take the hit. Trouble was, someone, like Dr Craig or one of his minions was going to notice what I was doing sooner or later. So I needed … an emergency bolt hole.

Wincing, I bit into my wrist and cast a circle of blood drops on the flagstone floor in front of the clock and smeared them together: my own mini blood-Ward, just large enough for me to kneel in. I opened the clock’s long door and pursed my lips at the two hanging weights, neither of which had a handy label. Reaching up I opened the clock face door, then, sending a prayer to both the goddesses who I hoped were listening, I started physically moving the large hand.

As the clock’s hands came together at eleven o’clock, I waited for the end of the chime, but it still didn’t come. Gritting my teeth, I started rotating the large hand, willing the small hand to move faster around the clock’s face. Anxious adrenalin fizzed in me as the magic in the spells started shifting … and the floor seemed to tip sideways like a ship sliding down a huge wave … I hit one o’ clock: the Stepford mums-to-be started moving restlessly. Keep turning … Five o’ clock : the Stepfords were moaning, the babies making small whimpering sounds, and a nauseous feeling roiled in my stomach. C’mon, c’mon … Eight o’ clock : my legs were trembling and I was almost out of time. Turn faster, damn it …Ten o’ clock : a Stepford screamed, the babies were crying, and spots swam in my vision.