The Bitter Seed of Magic (A Spellcrackers Novel) (16 page)

‘I’m waiting,’ I said.

‘Oh, well.’ She gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I wanted to see you, but none of your neighbours would buzz me in; they all said I’d have to phone you,’ she said, holding out her hand. A small compact mirror appeared in it. She opened the compact and adjusted her helmet. ‘I mean, can you
believe
it?’

Actually, I could. My witch neighbours might not be overjoyed to have me still living in the building, but after the events leading up to All Hallows’ Eve, they’d beefed up security.

‘I tried phoning, but you weren’t answering, and I knew you were here because the trees outside told me you’d come home. Then I remembered the old escape ladder at the back of your building that leads to the flat roof.’ She waved the compact vaguely at my bedroom. ‘I did intend to knock, until I saw you convulsing on the floor.’ She snapped the compact shut. ‘Your Ward caused me a bit of bother, though. Good thing the window frame is wood and not one of those horrid plastic ones, otherwise I’d never have got in.’ She held out her scratched arms and chewed her bottom lip. ‘It’s going to take a while to mend the damage though.’

I
looked
through my bedroom doorway – now reassuringly back to being the entrance to my own room and not to Tavish’s shadowed bedroom in the Fair Lands. The bottom half of the sash window was raised up – so at least Sylvia hadn’t broken through the physical window – and still framed in the opening was the sheet of metaphysical blue glass – the Ward – which now had a cartoon starburst of a break in its centre.
Damn
. That was going to cost me. But while I was updating the Ward, I might as well do the sensible thing and get one that denied entry to everyone, since Sylvia, Tavish and Lizard Lady were probably just the start of my uninvited guests. Anxiety constricted my chest. Tavish is a centuries-old wylde fae, and let’s face it, no one gets to live that long if they’re stupid and easily trapped, so the Lizard Lady, whoever she was, had to be über-powerful, which didn’t bode well for Tavish. But then again, Tavish could be slippier than a whole nest of eels when he wanted, so his whole ‘nae longer my ain master’ tip-off might not be as troublesome to him as it appeared. Not that there was anything I could do to help him right now—

‘Ooh, have you seen this?’ Sylvia flapped a magazine –
Witch Weekly
– in my face. The front cover had a picture of a pretty teenage witch holding a cocktail and sitting in a jacuzzi with half a dozen older guys. The headline read:

‘Such a scandal! The Witches’ Council are talking about axing the show because of it. Which would be such a shame – I love all those reality TV shows, don’t you?’

—not when I had an overly friendly dryad to deal with.

I hitched up my bloodied jeans, trying to make them more comfortable, and pushed the magazine aside. ‘I don’t have a TV, Sylvia, so no, I don’t, and I’m not in a chatty mood, so hurry up and tell me why you wanted to see me, then you can toddle off back to your tree.’ I indicated the rest of the scattered books and the puddle of drying blood we were standing in. ‘I’ve got a busy evening ahead being a Domestic Goddess.’

Her helmet fell forward over her forehead as she frowned around at the mess. She pushed it up absently. ‘Gosh, I forgot: you can’t sort things out with magic, can you? What you need is some help – and I know just the person to provide it.’ She gave me a dazzling smile.

Was I going to take the bait – sorry, turn down a free offer of help? Okay, so it wasn’t going to be truly ‘free’, but since I had an idea that being friendly was the starting price—

I nodded, and she held out her hand; this time a pink iPhone appeared; the small white flower-shaped phone-charm dangling from it glowed with a Buffer spell that made the phone look like it was wrapped in thick, protective plastic. She waggled it, obviously expecting me to comment.

Impressed despite myself, I said, ‘Nice bit of magic. I haven’t seen a Buffer like that before.’ I touched a finger to the spelled charm; it shocked me back.

‘It’s my own
blend
.’ She beamed. ‘I add powdered rowan berries. The standard spells don’t last long with me
calling
my phone’ – she gave a creaking laugh at her pun, and I lifted my lips in a smile to show I got it – ‘you really don’t want to know how many scrambled SIM cards I ended up with.’

I really didn’t.

She thumbed the iPhone’s screen and it started ringing on speaker.

Nine rings later someone answered. ‘I told you not to phone me at work, Sssylvia. I’m busssy.’ The soft, sibilant voice sounded grumpily familiar: the Librarian.

‘Libby, darling,’ Sylvia said loudly, ‘this
is
work. I’m over at the sidhe’s place and you can’t move for books.’

‘Ssshe wanted them.’

‘Well, we all know that she’s not going to find anything in them, don’t we, Libby, so do me a favour and
call
them back, will you?’

I looked down at the scattered piles of books. There was one I wanted . . . I saw it next to the flattened takeaway cup and gingerly picked it up. Underneath was a small gold key. I picked that up too, then promptly wished I hadn’t as it melted into my palm and disappeared. Figured.

‘Told you, Sssyl, I’m busssy,’ the voice hissed down the phone. ‘Cataloguing.’

‘Gosh, Libby, then maybe I’ll have to get busy and put a “Keep Your Thieving Claws Off” spell on my books,’ Sylvia shouted at the phone, then winked at me. ‘Now stop being grouchy and
call
the books back.’

A sibilant sigh echoed down the phone, and then my ears popped with the sudden pressure as the piles of books vanished.

‘Thanks, Libby.’ Sylvia smiled in satisfaction, then whispered, ‘The old dragon loves my paranormal romance books; she’s just too mean to buy them herself.’

‘I’ve got my hearing aid in, Sssyl,’ the voice grumbled.

‘I thought you said you didn’t need one, Libs,’ Sylvia shouted into the phone again, then tapped it, muttered ‘amplify’ and hung the iPhone on an invisible hook between us. ‘Anyway, I bought a couple of new romances yesterday; they’re on the table in my dressing room. Oh, and don’t forget—’

‘Ask her what she knows about Michael Nix’s book,’ I interrupted, holding up the volume I’d retrieved.

‘Michael Nixsss,
The Esssoteric Practice of Malediction Propheciesss
,’ the Librarian hissed. ‘He is a purveyor of nightmares and future fears. I did not sssend you that one.’

Nice!
I dropped the book. I’d salted it, and its magic seemed to be spent, but holding it for too long probably wasn’t a great idea. ‘Well, someone did,’ I said, ‘then I think they paid me a visit.’

‘What did they look like?’

‘She was green, deficient in the tooth area, wrinkled and over-free with the cryptic threats.’

‘Gosh, that sounds like one of the
bean nighe
, don’t you think, Libby?’

I looked down at my bloodstained jeans. A
bean nighe
? Just my luck.

‘A washer woman? Why would a Herald of Death be visiting you, sssidhe?’

Not a question I really wanted an answer for
. ‘She was wearing a chain of gold keys,’ I said. ‘Does that mean anything?’

‘Ahh . . . Ssshe was the Phantom Queen then.’ The Librarian drew the name out with something approaching reverence. ‘Ssshe ofttimes appears as such.’

The name sounded familiar—

‘But I thought Clíona imprisoned her years ago, Libby?’ Sylvia frowned at the iPhone.

‘A sssidhe queen cannot hold a goddess for long. Ssshe may have escaped, or Clíona may have relented, or ssshe may have agreed sssome bargain with the Terror.’

—and my memory clicked in with the answer. ‘Are we talking about the Morrígan? The goddess of prophecy, war and death?’

‘Ssshe is also Anu, the goddess of sssovereignty, prosperity and fertility,’ the Librarian said, her delight and satisfaction evident.

Of course she was the goddess of fertility – after all, that was the theme of my life right now. Not to mention, I must have used up my next ten years’ quota of luck, seeing as I now had not one, but two goddesses taking an unhealthy interest in me.

‘Gosh, that’s right,’ Sylvia said, grinning at me with excitement. ‘Did she show you one of her prophecies? Was it anything to do with the curse? Do tell.’

Telling them might shed some light on the
Alien
baby bit, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to ‘chat’ about it; for all that it was false, the memory was grief-filled and painful. And I wanted a chance to think it all through. Then there was the fact the Morrígan had chosen to appear as a
bean nighe
. The
bean nighe
were dark fae, changelings taken from those mothers who died in childbirth, whose souls were lost. Whether it was the association, or down to whatever magic the Morrígan had sicced on me with her bitter kiss, flashing in my head like a neon arrow pointing ‘victim here’ was the picture of Ana, Victoria Harrier’s very pregnant daughter-in-law.

Questions started piling up in my mind.

I looked at Sylvia and her phone. The Librarian was the local font of all knowledge, and everyone knew that trees were the original gossip girls.

‘B
efore I do tell and show,’ I said, ‘do either of you know a water faeling called Ana?’ At Sylvia’s puzzled look, I added, ‘She’s married to a wizard.’

‘Oh, you mean Annan,’ Sylvia said, adjusting her cycle helmet as it wobbled.

‘Why do you assk?’ the Librarian said.

‘Someone mentioned her, and I thought it was odd she was married to a wizard. They’re usually all about their magical lineages, aren’t they?’

‘Annan is the great-granddaughter of Queen Clíona. The wizard married her because ssshe is descended from sssidhe royalty.’

Wow, Clíona’s descendents were popping up all over the place, which could hardly be a coincidence. Or a surprise really, with two goddesses on my case.

There was a tiny chiming sound, and a scroll of buff-coloured vellum appeared in the air in front of me, accompanied by a pungent twist of wood-smoke. Its red silk cord untied and the vellum unrolled itself with a definite flourish. ‘This is Annan’s lineage,’ Sylvia said, sounding slightly awed.

I read down the family tree, and immediately recognised Clíona’s daughter’s name, Rhiannon. That was the name that Grianne, my faerie dogmother, had called Angel. So maybe it was Angel/The Mother who was putting ideas into my head about Ana (her great-granddaughter) being a possible victim?

‘Such a tragedy, wasn’t it, Libby?’ Sylvia said.

I peered at the family tree. ‘I take it you don’t mean Ana’s marriage to the wizard, but about her mother being attacked and killed by the vamps,’ I said drily, ‘and Ana herself being caught by them.’

Sylvia gave a choked laugh that sounded like leaves rustling. ‘Gosh, yes, Brigitta was killed by the suckers, wasn’t she? I’d forgotten that. That was a tragedy too. So sad, such a lot of heartbreak in that family, and all because of the curse.’

‘Clíona brought it on herssself,’ the Librarian grouched. ‘If ssshe had not
cast
the
droche guidhe
, it would never have happened.’

‘So, what did happen?’ I asked.

There was another chime, and a yellowed newspaper popped into the air to hover next to the family tree scroll. For a moment it fluttered in the breeze through the open bedroom window, then Sylvia snapped her fingers and it became as still as a board.

I stepped up to it and began to read:

A horrified chill crawled down my spine. I narrowed my eyes at Sylvia and her pink iPhone. ‘So who’s going to explain what that means?’

‘Well,’ Sylvia’s face squinched up like she was in pain, ‘you know what Algernon and his friends tried to do to you?’

Algernon had to be Bandana, the dryad. I hadn’t known his name, nor had I really wanted to. ‘You mean when they tried to kidnap and rape me?’ I said flatly, thinking that Sylvia hadn’t necessarily been blameless in that nasty incident.

‘Fiddlesticks, now I’ve made you cross.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘They weren’t supposed to do
that
. If I’d known
that’s
what they planned, I’d have told someone.’

‘Go on,’ I said, giving her a hard stare as I crossed my arms.

‘Well, it all happened about forty years ago. The Old Donn, he was the one in charge then, he was desperate to find a way to break the curse. As we all still are.’ She gave me a pointed look. ‘Anyway, short version, that’s when the idea of finding a sidhe willing to have a child came up, only Clíona wasn’t prepared to let us court any of her ladies, and none of the other queens wanted anything to do with the curse. So things were at a bit of a stalemate. But then Clíona’s daughter Rhiannon was visiting London. When the Old Donn and two of the other wylde fae found out she was here’ – she pulled another pained face and pointed at the hovering newspaper – ‘well, that’s what they did.’