The Bitter Seed of Magic Read online

  I briefly closed my eyes to disperse the afterimage burned on my retinas and wondered sourly why she couldn’t have turned up half an hour later. Now we were going to have to convince her to let me check out the dead girl, a much tougher proposition than the nice fait accompli Hugh and I had been hoping for.

  ‘I gave strict orders to the effect that Ms Taylor’s particular talents’ – the vitriol in the inspector’s voice made it clear it wasn’t my talent with magic she was alluding to – ‘were not required in this case, Sergeant Munro.’ She halted, ramrod-straight, and stood far enough back that she didn’t give the impression she had to look up to Hugh; a stance she’d perfected dealing with the trolls who worked for her. ‘Please remove her from my crime scene before I have her arrested for obstruction.’

  ‘I’m not the one doing the obstructing, though, am I?’ I murmured, annoyed at her attitude, even though I hadn’t expected anything more from her.

  Hugh moved so he was between us. ‘Ma’am, the victim is tagged with a Glamour spell; it’s possible she may not be human—’

  ‘I am fully aware of that, Sergeant, which is why I have arranged for a full coven chapter to remove the spells without damaging them. They are evidence, after all, and will need to be investigated. If – and I stress the word “if ” – the victim is determined “not human” after the safe removal of the spells, then I shall, of course, inform the appropriate persons within the fae communities.’

  ‘The coven won’t be able to get here for a good couple of hours, ma’am, and the spells have been in running water,’ Hugh said in a neutral tone, glossing over the fact that his boss had just admitted to keeping him out of the picture. ‘It’s likely that they will deteriorate before the coven arrives. Ms Taylor can remove them now.’

  ‘Sergeant, your concern is noted, but we will follow procedure on this. Please ensure Ms Taylor leaves.’

  Angry at the way she was treating Hugh and the dead girl, and determined not to let her get away with stonewalling any longer, whatever her reason – and angry just because she was her – I stepped round Hugh and placed myself firmly in front of her, close enough to get into her personal space, close enough to smell her expensive floral perfume and close enough that the spell in her huge sapphire pendant shone like a captive star beneath the pale blue of her blouse, even without using my sight. What the hell was the spell she had stored in it? Oh yeah, something to do with protection from vampires. She had a phobia about them – a phobia that had nearly got me munched on the first time we’d met. Which was the Witch-bitch’s standard operating procedure when it came to me.

  I held up my company ID card. ‘Inspector Crane, I know we don’t see eye to eye’ – a hell of a clichéd understatement, despite the fact I was looking right into the Witch-bitch’s own cold baby blues – ‘but you know I work for Spellcrackers.com. As a company we’ve done consultancy work for the police before. You yourself have even employed us’ – okay so she’d never actually employed me, just Finn: my boss, her ex-husband, and now my sort of … well, Finn’s and my relationship is still in a stand-off position, what with the fertility curse hanging round like an over-eager matchmaking mama – ‘so maybe I should stress that the “following procedure” excuse doesn’t wash.’

  ‘Ms Taylor—’ She paused, visibly composing herself. ‘By the time I get approval to pay your fee, the coven chapter will have been and gone.’

  As excuses go, it wasn’t even as good as the ‘following procedure’ one. I flapped my ID card and trotted out a flat version of my usual work spiel: ‘Spellcrackers.com ~ making magic safe ~ Guaranteed. If you’re not satisfied with the results, then don’t pay.’

  Personally I couldn’t care less whether she paid me or not; not only was removing the spells costing me nothing but my own time, since this was my day off, but this wasn’t about money. This was about the curse. And if this poor girl’s death had anything to do with it, then I wanted— no, I needed to know. No way was DI Crane going to sideline me this time.

  ‘You’re well aware of the Spellcrackers.com guarantee,’ I said. ‘Not to mention my time’s going to be a lot cheaper than a chapter of coven witches – surely your budget approval people can’t complain at that,’ I finished sweetly.

  ‘It’s too dangerous.’ Her lips thinned. ‘The body could well be magically booby-trapped.’

  I laughed. She was getting desperate now. ‘Ple-ease don’t tell me you’re worried about me, Inspector?’ I leaned in closer still and lowered my voice. ‘You and I both know that there’re only the two active spells on the girl’s body, but even if we’ve both missed something … well, it’s not like you’ve ever been concerned about my wellbeing before’ – which was why she’d turned up too late at Hallowe’en, and why Grace was dead— No, don’t think about that now – ‘in fact quite the opposite,’ I carried on in the same low voice. ‘So I would have thought you’d jump at the chance to leave me in harm’s way. Again.’

  Consideration flickered in her cool blue eyes and for a moment I thought I’d won. Then her expression smoothed over and she stepped back. ‘All very persuasive, Ms Taylor, but it is well known that you are unable to cast the simplest spell. Therefore I find I am not confident in your abilities to consider you as a suitable consultant … in this case.’

  I decided that if she ever did employ me to remove a spell for her, I’d make damn sure she hadn’t tampered with it first. But she was right, my spellcasting abilities are nonexistent, despite me being made from magic – the magic’s own little joke on me, I guess. Not that I was going to let her use my handicap to her advantage.

  ‘This isn’t about casting spells but removing them,’ I said, ‘and that I can do. I can even offer you a free demonstration.’ I held out my hand towards Constable Martin, still standing to one side, her gaze carefully averted as she no doubt wished she was anywhere else but here. I focused on the firefly-green of the Stun spell in her baton. I called it— Shit! Too fast! The spell barrelled at me like a shining green bullet and I had a moment’s panic that I wouldn’t be able to catch it before it hit. I gritted my teeth as it skidded to a halt above my palm, millimetres above my skin, and started spinning like a drunken top.

  I held it up, hiding a mixture of relief and triumph. ‘One Stun spell, Inspector.’ I smiled, ignoring the creeping numbness spreading over my palm. ‘Now, I can absorb it whole’ – hopefully without knocking myself out, but hey, I wasn’t going to tell her that – ‘or I can crack it’ – not an option she’d choose; it was way too expensive a spell to be blasted back into the ether – ‘or I can attach it to whatever you want.’

  I tossed it lightly in the air, praying I didn’t fumble the catch. I tilted my head in question and bared my teeth in a smile. ‘So where would you like me to put it?’

  Hugh rumbled a cautionary warning behind me.

  DI Crane clenched her hands, her multitude of rings – a lesser person might call them substitute knuckle-dusters – clinking in fury. ‘That spell is police property, Ms Taylor. Return it to Constable Martin’s baton immediately.’

  I tossed the spinning spell again, contemplating the tempting little thought that suggested zapping her would be a quick – if extremely stupid – way to end this argument.

  As if he’d read my mind, Hugh squeezed my shoulder. ‘That’s enough now, Genny. Do as the inspector says and return the spell to Constable Martin, please.’ He gently pushed me towards the constable, who gave me a disgusted look and held out her baton. I flicked my fingers and sent the Stun spell back into the smooth piece of jade.

  ‘Done,’ I said, turning back to Hugh.

  ‘Thank you, Genny.’ He looked down at the scowling inspector. ‘Ma’am,’ he said quietly, ‘the press are already outside. If Ms Taylor walks out now while we wait for a coven to arrive, there will be a lot of speculation.’

  Crap. The last thing I needed was the papers speculating; I had enough problems being the only sidhe in London without the tabloids taking an interest in me
again. But DI Crane didn’t need any more bad press where I was concerned either, not after she’d all but publicly accused me of murder not so long ago. I’d heard her superiors hadn’t been happy. Of course, they weren’t the only ones; I’d been pretty pissed off too.

  Hugh lowered his voice further. ‘Ma’am, I think you’re allowing your personal feelings to cloud your professional judgement in this matter. It might be wise to take a moment to reconsider your decision and allow Ms Taylor to help with this particular situation.’

  She flexed her beringed fingers as she turned her back on him and moved stiffly to contemplate the dead girl in the circle. Looked like Hugh’s ‘good cop’ routine was working … so maybe one last straw would break her.

  ‘Inspector,’ I said conversationally, ‘if it turns out the dead girl isn’t fully human, do you really want the fae community’ – and by ‘fae community’ we both knew I meant Finn – ‘to know you delayed matters unnecessarily?’

  After a moment she turned, high spots of angry colour staining her cheeks. ‘Sergeant, you and Ms Taylor have made your points. If you can assure me of the undamaged retrieval of the spells, then I’ll authorise Spellcrackers.com to do so.’

  Relief flooded into me. ‘Thank you, Inspector.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, Ms Taylor. Just remove the spells, and then remove yourself.’ She turned on her heel and strode out.

  I narrowed my eyes at the circle. After dealing with Witch-bitch Crane, removing the spells was going to be the easy part.

  Wasn’t it?

  Chapter Three

  Ten minutes later, the authorisation forms were signed, my fee – hardly worth bothering with, if it weren’t for the principle – agreed, and the preparations nearly finished. Once DI Crane had capitulated, she’d gone into whirlwind mode; anyone would think she wanted shot of me!

  I watched as she reached inside her briefcase and carefully extracted a large padded velvet bag. Slipping the bag off, she held up an unframed mirror the size of a dinner plate. ‘This is a solid silver casting mirror, Ms Taylor. I have two of them; one for each of the spells.’ She leaned over and gently positioned the mirror on top of its padded pouch inside the circle. ‘They are extremely costly. Please try not to damage them.’

  I had no intention of even touching them; silver might well be the best way for witches to isolate magic – especially when you want to pick it apart at leisure – but it’s not the easiest to use when you’re allergic to it. My usual method – tagging unwanted spells to a salt block, then cracking the salt block along with the spell – was messy but effective, but it wasn’t going to leave much to investigate. I could think of other things I’d be more comfortable transferring the spells to, like synthetic spell-crystals, or a lump of wood, even a plastic bucket – after all, magic isn’t fussy; with enough focus, spells can be attached to anything – but the DI was the one running the show, so the silver casting mirrors were it.

  She stood up and waved a hand at the circle. The thick white candles standing at the five points – air, earth, fire, water and spirit – flickered into life, the red neon magic in the circle glittered like the Milky Way, and the smudge sticks of smouldering sage flared, their herbal smoke twisting up to gather, cloud-like, against the curved brick roof of the mortuary.

  ‘All ready for you, Ms Taylor,’ she said with a cheerful edge to her voice.

  I stifled a grimace. Never mind the mirrors; I wasn’t happy about the rest of the magic show either, something she was well aware of, judging by her sudden change in attitude.

  Trouble was, while magic might not be fussy – or something you can talk to or reason with – it definitely has a will of its own; and it tends to be unpredictable and capricious at times, especially around me. Being sidhe, and made of magic, has its disadvantages. Of course, witches are human – or at least their DNA doesn’t show the paternal sidhe side of their parentage – and they have their own disadvantage; they need all their textbook rituals in order to manipulate the magic. But, for me, all the DI’s extras just meant added complications.

  I waved my own hand at the circle. ‘Is all the paraphernalia really necessary?’

  ‘Ms Taylor,’ she said briskly, ‘we’re in the centre of London, one of the busiest cities in the world, and I am responsible for its magical Health and Safety, among other things. We have to take precautions against every eventuality, no matter how slight. So yes, “all the paraphernalia”, as you so charmingly put it, is necessary.’

  Probably true, though I was certain if she could get away with making things more difficult for me, she would. Needing more reassurance, I took stock of my audience. Constable Martin was staring studiously at nothing; she wasn’t going to grass up her boss. Hugh watched from near the mortuary’s entrance, his huge bulk almost blocking out the sunlight; he was on my side, but magic wasn’t his forte. The only other person around was on the opposite side of the circle: Doctor Craig, the doctor on police call.

  He was crouched down, scratching his almost unreadable bird-footprint notes on the yellow pad balanced on his tweed-trousered knee. His familiar bald pate, with its halo of grey curls parting over his jug-like ears, gleamed in the candlelight. He looked up, as if suddenly aware I was studying him, gave me a vague smile along with a quick head-to-toe assessment, then returned to his yellow pad. He was famous for his note-taking at HOPE, the Human Other and Preternatural Ethics clinic, where he was doing hands-on research into 3V (vampire venom virus) and where I volunteered, and both his presence and the obsessive, scratchy noise of his pen made me more at ease.

  He hit my internal radar as a straight human, though I knew he could see and sense magic, thanks to a touch of magical blood somewhere in his ancestry. And he’d always made it clear he’d be happier without the consultancy work he did for the police – making life better for the living was his thing – so no way was he in the DI’s pocket. And none of her preparations had fazed him.

  Thinking about Dr Craig’s ethos reminded me why I was here. I looked at the girl; she was dead, but finding out what killed her – whether it was the curse or something else – and stopping it from happening again could make others’ lives better, maybe even save some too. So worrying about DI Crane having it in for me was wasting time. I dug out half a dozen liquorice torpedoes and crunched them quickly: the sugar boost makes it easier to work the magic. I handed my jacket to Hugh for safekeeping, touched Grace’s gold pentacle for comfort and offered up a brief prayer for success to whatever gods might be listening.

  And stepped inside the circle.

  DI Crane muttered something vaguely Latin-sounding behind me, magic prickled over my skin and the circle sprung up around me with an audible crack, like the jaws of a swamp dragon snapping shut. The dome of magic loomed over me like a giant inside-out multi-mirrored disco ball, reflecting my distorted face back at me, and I saw myself blinking in shock. What the hell had she drawn her circle with? This wasn’t standard. It should have been a nice clear dome, like a huge soap-bubble blown by a child. I took a deep, calming breath—

  —it felt like I was trying to inhale a cactus—

  Silver!

  She’d put silver dust in the circle.

  Fuck! She hadn’t just loaded the circle for demons, but for vampires too. My pulse sped up and I looked past the myriad ethereal mirrors to see her watching me with narrowed eyes. Was the silver dust just a normal precaution … or had she used it deliberately, knowing my father was a vampire?

  I shelved the questions. Most of London’s fae knew I had a sucker for a father, so it wasn’t much of a secret, not now, and I didn’t have time to dwell on the Inspector’s possible motives. I wasn’t even sure I had time to deal with the spells before the silver knocked me unconscious.

  Concentrating on slowing my pulse and my breathing to minimise the silver’s effect, I knelt on the floor next to the dead girl. I gently took her damp hand in mine, double-checking she didn’t have any more than the two spells on her: flesh-to-flesh contact mak
es it easier to sense the magic. I frowned. Her skin was wrinkled from being in the water, but it was still soft and pliable; either rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet, or it had been and gone … only the body looked too undamaged to have been in the water long enough for rigor to have passed. Still, time and silver weren’t waiting for me.

  I released her hand and plunged both of mine into the mass of magic binding her, flinching as the dirty-white ropes writhed around my lower arms, feeling like cold slippery eels. Gritting my teeth, I ignored the rest of the circle’s distracting magic and focused on the rope spell. I called it and the ropes pulled away from the body with a nauseating sound like flesh being ripped from bone, and a sweet, rank smell assaulted my nostrils. Shuddering, I gathered the bundle into my arms and tried not to think how they were starting to resemble a mass of rotten intestines; or how the more I pulled at the ropes, the more the girl’s body twisted and jerked like a fish struggling to escape a hook.

  An urgent gasp almost broke my focus. Annoyed, I frowned up at Dr Craig.

  ‘She’s bleeding,’ he shouted, pointing towards the girl’s head.

  Bleeding? I froze in shock. She couldn’t be bleeding, she was dead!

  Wasn’t she?

  But there was definitely a small puddle of blood spreading out from beneath her head.

  ‘Genny, you need to start resuscitating her,’ he ordered. ‘Inspector Crane, you need to open the—’

  The rest of his words were lost as I yanked at the last of the ropes and slid them down onto the nearest silver casting mirror, squashing them on with my hands and my will. A distant part of me registered the stinging burn in my palms, the sharp scrape of silver in my throat as I sucked air deep into my lungs, the brief dilation of the girl’s pupils as I leaned over her head, pinching her nose and tipping her chin. I fastened my mouth to hers and forced my own breath into her body. I averted my head, inhaled, then breathed into her mouth again; watching the girl’s chest rise—