Suzanne McLeod - The Cold Kiss of Death

And did the curse thing have anything to do with Tomas’ murder?

But if someone could convince a sidhe to commit murder, wouldn’t they be able to convince them to have sex? Although in Tomas’ case, they had sort of convinced a sidhe to do both at the same time; any sidhe would know that having full-on faerie sex with a human would result in the human’s death.

Damn. Never mind anything else—kidnapping dryads and scheming phoukas and tricky kelpies—finding the sidhe murderer was more important. Only other than my morning meet-up with the phouka, there wasn’t anything else I could think to do just now. I stared at the HOPE poster again. Grace was at HOPE. She really was a friend, and that was what I needed right now. I trusted her.

I slid open the phone and turned it round, taking a picture of the Glamoured blonde bimbo me, then texted Grace to say I was on my way. I dashed back down the escalators and slid onto a train just as the doors were closing.

I checked the carriage carefully, then settled back, scanning new passengers at each station. At Tottenham Court Road a grey baseball cap moving slowly towards me caught my eye, but the red cross embroidered on the cap meant the poodle-perm brunette wasn’t anyone to worry about kidnapping-wise. Poodle-perm was a Souler—the Underground is one of their favourite hunting grounds for new recruits; there’s nothing like having a captive audience.

A chorus of ‘No thanks’ preceded the Souler, but her smile stayed in place despite the rebuffs and her shoulders were military-straight under her long grey tabard, which was embroidered with its own large red cross. I looked down, hoping not to catch her eye, and saw my Glamour reflected in a pair of black wraparounds. My pulse sped up. Damn.

A Gatherer goblin.

The goblin’s long ski-slope nose twitched like a curious mouse. I looked around for an escape, but it was too late, the goblin had caught the scent of my magic; the Glamour couldn’t hide it. He nodded his head, grey pigtails brushing the shoulders of his navy boilersuit, and slid a knobbly finger down his nose in greeting. My stomach tightened into an anxious knot. What if the London Underground goblin workers had been told to look out for me? Would he give me away as soon as I’d acknowledged him?

But I couldn’t not return the greeting; it was a mark of respect offered to me as sidhe fae, and not something to be taken lightly. Holding my breath, I slid my own finger down my nose, trying to make it look more like I was scratching an itch.

He stamped his foot, making his trainer flash red. I waited for him to give a howl of discovery, but it didn’t come. Instead he snatched up a crumpled paper cup and tucked it carefully away in the pink sequinned beach bag hitched over his shoulder.

I let out my breath, relieved.

He was still following his normal work contract.

‘Are you a member of our congregation, miss?’ the Souler asked, waving a leaflet in my line of vision.

‘What?’ I looked up to find her smiling curiously at me.

‘It’s just Samuel seems to recognise you; he greeted you as one of us.’ She waggled her fingers at Samuel, the goblin. He tapped his hand against his own Souler Red Cross badge, pinned next to his London Underground one.

‘Although they can’t see well,’ she carried on, ‘they’ve got very good memories for people, so I wondered if you were an acolyte?’ Her smile turned questioning.

‘Um, no, I’m not.’ I gave her a wary look. ‘I was just watching him, thinking about the great job they do clearing up the rubbish.’

‘Ah yes, goblins have proven themselves amongst God’s creatures: they see no shame in servile tasks, much as our Lord Jesus took it upon himself to wash his disciples’ feet.’ Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm. ‘He is an example to us all, with his help and guidance we can shed our sins, and our souls can be cleansed of the darkness and evil that abounds in our earthly life and we can join Him in all his Glory.’

Inwardly I sighed, resigned. I just had to speak to her, didn’t I? Still, ignoring her probably wouldn’t have made much difference: all the Soulers were fervent zealots. She’d sensed an opening and was closing in for the kill—sorry, conversion .

‘Goblins aren’t really creatures, you know,’ I said, matter-of-fact, trying to put her off. ‘They’re more a different species.’

‘We are all God’s creatures,’ she jumped in cheerfully. ‘All of us, human, goblin, troll, fae and Other. God does not deny any among us his help or discriminate in his care.’ I stared at her, bemused. Since when had the Soulers changed their sermon tune? They didn’t usually include everyone in their salvation message, just humans, trolls and goblins. The rest of us could rot in hell for all they usually cared.

She gave a closed-lip smile to Samuel—at least she knew not to show a goblin her teeth—as he scraped industriously at a glob of chewing gum stuck to the floor, then carried on, ‘Samuel, like most of the goblin race, may not enjoy the same legal rights as humans’—she tilted her head to one side, jiggling her poodle-perm—‘but that does not stop God or his acolytes from offering aid where it is needed.’

Okay, now she was really starting to creep me out.

‘That’s great!’ I looked up at the map above the windows. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but my stop’s coming up ...’ I edged to the side to stress my point.

‘No problem.’ She took my hand and pressed the leaflet firmly into it. ‘Please, do call us.’ She smiled again, a knowing look that raised the hairs at the back of my neck. Turning to retrace her steps, she added, ‘Remember, when you need us, we can help.’

Was she trying to give me some sort of personal message, or was this just her normal spiel? If so, she was weirder than most of the Soulers I’d come across. Frowning, I skimmed the leaflet; it looked like the usual come-and-be-saved stuff. I dismissed it and handed it to the waiting Samuel.

‘Ta, miss.’ He took it gently between knobbly forefinger and thumb, then, trainers flashing, he clomped along the carriage to give it back to the poodle-perm Souler.

Recycling at its best.

I watched her from the corner of my eye until the train pulled into the next station. The doors hissed open and as I got out a flash made me turn: she had her phone aimed at me and I blinked as it flashed again. She smiled and I watched her with a sense of mounting frustration as the train accelerated away.

Fuck. She had twigged who I was, or maybe Samuel had given her the nod when she’d asked. Question was, who was she going to send the photo to—the police? Her boss? Someone else? And what was all that we want to help stuff about? Still, there was nothing I could do about it right now, other than maybe ditching the Glamour spell soon—it wasn’t much of a disguise if everyone knew what I looked like.

I raced through the streets to HOPE, with the growing feeling I was being followed. I checked behind me a couple of times, expecting to see Cosette again now I’d escaped the dryads. But she didn’t put in an appearance, and neither did anyone else, despite my jitters. Nervous adrenalin fuelled me and it wasn’t long before I reached the welcome lights of the clinic.

The doors swished open and I rushed in. Hari, the night receptionist, stared out from behind his glass screen and gave me the full force of his trademark you better not give me any trouble expression. It almost made my nervousness disappear: a yellow—and brown-streaked eight-foot-tall troll with fists the size of boulders doesn’t have to do much more than frown to cow most patients, but underneath, Hari was a big softie.