Suzanne McLeod - The Sweet Scent of Blood

My mouth fell open. ‘The sun would’ve fried him!’

He looked at me and smiled, determination in his eyes. ‘Of course.’ Then he leaned forward and pulled the last strand of magic off my boot.

I stared at him, speechless. Somehow I’d never imagined Finn thinking like that, never mind actually doing it. Or even why he would deliberately set a trap to kill a vampire. It didn’t fit with what I thought I knew about him.

Sitting back on his heels, he said cheerfully, ‘Did you want to try the front door next, or can we have a sensible talk like adults?’

I shoved a hand through my hair in resignation. ‘Fine, I admit it, going out the window was a bit childish.’ I shuffled back and leant against the wall. ‘But there really is somewhere I need to be, Finn, so can we make it quick, okay?’

‘Let’s start with this.’ He waved, taking in both the window and me. ‘When did you start inviting suckers over for a bloodfest? ’

‘Please don’t tell me this is all because you’re jealous.’

‘Jealousy has got nothing to do with it. This is about business. ’

‘I take it this is my new boss I’m supposed to listen to?’

‘Yes.’

I drew my knees up and hugged them. ‘And if I don’t want to,’ I said quietly, ‘does that mean I’m out of a job?’

‘Pretty much.’

Damn.

‘Gen, don’t be naïve. You work for a witch company. These are vampires we’re talking about. Keep going like this and it won’t be long before the Witches’ Council make you persona non grata .’

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to work out what would be the fastest way to end this. ‘Finn, you’ve heard what happened at the police station,’ I said, keeping my voice calm. ‘So no doubt the Council know all about it by now too—the new Detective Inspector there is a witch, so she’s probably told them.’ And with added glee, seeing as she really didn’t like me, but I kept that bit to myself. ‘So you see, it’s not like what’s going on is a secret.’

Finn groaned. ‘You see, that’s where you’re wrong. Up until now it has been: the Council don’t know a thing. Friday night at the police station, Helen had permission to use a spell to keep everything under wraps, and after that fiasco with the goblin, the vampires were more than happy to agree.’

So that explained why the goblin’s death hadn’t made the news, and why Old Scotland Yard had been hack-free. It didn’t explain why Finn was calling Detective Inspector Crane by her first name, as if they were old friends, or how he knew so much. And there was something else wrong with what Finn was saying, something about it all being kept under wraps—

Finn leaned over and took my hand in his and I looked at him, surprised. ‘Gen, forget that for now.’ An odd sadness settled on his face. ‘Look, there’s no other way to say this, but I know you’re suffering from salaich sìol.’

I froze, a tight band constricting my heart. He knew I’d got 3V— salaich sìol , as the older fae name it ... I closed my eyes, pulling my hand away from his and dropping my head to my knees. I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t want him to see me. He kept on talking; his words washing over me like a gentle river, then fading away as a dark stream of pain and memory rushed into my mind.

‘I shall not allow her to enter sanctuary, troll.’ Soft sibilant sounds echoed in her voice as a rough palm touched my forehead. ‘The salaich sìol in her blood iss deeply embedded; it hass been there too long.’

‘But she’s fae, and just a child.’ Hugh’s words rumbled through me as I lay half-conscious in his arms. ‘The human tried to gut her like a fish; surely you won’t refuse her aid for her injuries. Does your vow not—?’

‘She iss ...’ for a moment doubt resonated in her voice, then she carried on firmly, ‘she may be sidhe, troll. But she doess not belong here in sanctuary, not with the vampiress’ blood-taint in her. There are the lesser fae to be considered; it would be too dangerouss—’

The rest of her words were lost as the pain rolled over me and I slipped back into the darkness.

‘... just because the suckers can’t trick you or mind-lock you,’ Finn’s quiet concern started to penetrate my mind, ‘that doesn’t mean you can pick and choose amongst them. I’ve seen before how venom addiction affects the fae.’

I tried to swallow past the ache in my throat. It didn’t matter what he was saying; all that mattered was that he knew. The rest was pointless. It was over, everything was finished.

‘Gen, it affects your magic too.’ He stroked a gentle hand over my hair. ‘Think about it, you can’t do a simple casting , even though you can absorb spells that would knock out a fae five times your age. And then there’s your Glamour. Some days it’s as though there’s no magic left in you, and others you almost take me under. It’s been hard to resist this last couple of months.’

Briefly the scent of warm berries curled around me and I took a deeper breath, trying to anchor it in my memory, but then it was gone.

‘I know you noticed it yourself,’ his voice was still quiet, but he was speaking faster, sounding anxious, worried. ‘Every time we got close my magic responded to yours. It was confusing, until I realised you weren’t consciously using your Glamour to entice—’

A loud bang on my front door interrupted him.

‘Hell’s thorns, I forgot—’ He jumped up. ‘I phoned the Rosy Lee while you were getting dressed.’

My mind was numb, empty. I stayed where I was, my head resting on my knees, not even trying to work out what to do, not caring. Out in my lounge, voices rose and fell, but the words made no sense. The breeze brought the scents of lavender and lemon balm through the window behind me. They eddied around my shoulders with a consoling touch and a tendril of soft multi-coloured light unfurled inside me. The brownie’s magic bloomed into gentle, comforting warmth that soothed and slowly eased away the darkness in my mind.

I sighed and lifted my head, rubbing away the dampness in my eyes, my conscience pricking at me. Never mind anything else; there was still something I needed to finish. I looked at my alarm clock. And I needed to do it soon.

The bedroom door opened and I looked up as Finn stood there, a serious expression on his face.

Next to him stood Detective Inspector Helen Crane. Hugh loomed behind them.

The police had come to call.

Detective Inspector Crane stood in front of my window. The afternoon sun cut through behind her, slicing to either side of her black-suited-figure, making it impossible to decipher her expression. Somehow I didn’t think she’d stood there by chance.

‘Ms Taylor,’ she began, her voice almost without inflection, ‘can you tell me your whereabouts at eleven-thirty p.m. last night?’

The question was expected—no way had I thought this a social visit—but if she was here about the headless bodies, the time was all wrong. I took a moment to think exactly where I’d been, and how much trouble the truth might cause me, but I was my father’s daughter, and I was sidhe. Neither gave me the option of straight-out lying.

Finn sprang up to sit on my kitchen counter, the movement catching my eye. A half-smile wreathed his mouth, as though he were completely unconcerned, but under his shirt the muscles across his shoulders and neck were tight with tension. It didn’t take much to realise the strained atmosphere had more to do with the relationship between Finn and Detective Inspector Helen Crane—whatever that was—and the fact she’d found Finn here with me than any official police business.