The Shifting Price of Prey (15 page)

And even if there wasn’t anything for me to find, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do my damnedest to actually discover a clue.

I
nside the big cat exhibit, the roof made the corridor-like place look shadowed and dim after the bright sunshine outside. I wrinkled my nose; it
stank of pine-scented cleaner cut with freshly butchered meat and wet fur. My sense of smell was definitely on overdrive, something I was beginning to suspect was down to drinking Mad Max’s
combination of vamp/doggy blood. Ugh. Hopefully, it was the only side-effect and I wouldn’t start chasing sticks, or poodles wearing bridal veils.

I scanned for anything magical. To either side were U-shaped plate-glass windows, looking out over the tiger enclosure. It was more sparse English woodland than dense jungle and, despite a
covered area near the first window, presumably for the tigers to sleep in as it was padded with straw, the big cat stars of the show were nowhere to be seen.

But as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, there were plenty of people to make up for the lack of tigers. Four WPCs and three uniformed trolls were stationed at intervals along the corridor, while
another troll – Constable Lamber, his mottled beige head a pale beacon against a tall, frothy-leaved potted plant – stood to attention behind four males. The marked similarity of three
of them with their short black hair, dark-skinned faces and closed-off expressions made me wonder if they were related: brothers or cousins, maybe. And all three were wearing the same long kurta
shirts in a deep green, with heavy gold embroidery down the front and sleeves, over loose white trousers with more gold thread around the ankles – standard Indian dress, albeit more formal
than I usually saw in Southall, London’s ‘Little India’.

They stared back at me from behind opaque eighties-style aviator sunglasses.

Being stared at like I was a walking zoo exhibit is pretty much the norm for me as the only sidhe in London, and most of the time I don’t notice so much, but the men’s stares were
predatory enough to raise the hair on my nape. I made a note to tell Hugh, and see if anyone else got strange vibes from them.

The fourth male was older; mid to late fifties going by the silver threading his black hair and the deep lines marking his brown-skinned face. Instead of the Indian dress the others were wearing
he’d opted for city business style with a white shirt, grey hand-tailored suit and a less-than-sartorial orange and black striped tie. The look made him stand out, as did the anxious, haggard
expression on his face. Had to be the ambassador.

‘Mr Bannajee,’ Hugh’s quiet voice confirmed. ‘With his Head of Security and his wife’s bodyguards.’

I nodded as the ambassador came forward and gave a small bow. ‘Lady Genevieve Taylor,’ he said, his accent pure public school English. ‘It is always a pleasure to greet one of
the sidhe fae, even under such difficult circumstances as these.’

‘Nice to meet you too, Ambassador,’ I said, the polite small-talk feeling odd with his wife and kid missing. ‘I’m sorry about your family.’

‘I appreciate your concern. It is devastating that they have been taken.’ They were the right words, but his tone was the same, polite, which was weird considering his eyes had
started darting around like he expected someone to jump out at him . . . Unless it was shock?

‘Ambassador,’ Hugh rumbled reassuringly. ‘As I explained, Lady Genevieve will inspect the crime scene here and then tell us what magic there is, or isn’t. Isn’t
that right, Genny?’

‘I’ve already looked,’ I said slowly, thinking no one was going to like my answer.

‘So quickly?’ The ambassador’s gazed fixed on mine and he leaned forwards eagerly. Behind him the three cool-dude henchmen shifted to high alert.

I gave Hugh an enquiring look. Didn’t he want me to tell him what I’d found first?

He gave a barely perceptible nod. ‘Go ahead.’

Fine. I took a breath, catching that whiff of butchered meat and wet fur again under the stink of pine-scented cleaner, and said, ‘There’s nothing. No magic, no spells, not even a
stray bit of wylde magic. The place has been scrubbed clean.’

Beside me neither Hugh nor Mary reacted, so my discovery was as they expected.

But the ambassador stared at me, his head half shaking, half nodding as if he couldn’t believe what I’d said. Finally he blurted, ‘Nothing?’

‘I’m sorry, Ambassador,’ I said.

‘But there must be something!’ Distress coloured his voice. ‘How else will we find—’

‘My apologies, Ambassador.’ Henchman One appeared at his elbow. ‘But we must take our leave now.’

The ambassador turned to him, launching into a low-voiced passionate tirade in a musical language I didn’t recognise.

Henchman One listened then stepped forward, his expression regretful, and spoke to Hugh. ‘Inspector, I believe we have helped you as much as we can. You know how to contact the ambassador
should you hear any news of his wife and son.’

Hugh nodded, his frustration showing only in his slight frown. ‘I do, of course.’

‘You may choose to leave,’ the ambassador warned Henchman One, ‘but I will stay.’

‘Ambassador.’ Henchman One closed his eyes briefly, as if he didn’t want to deal with the man’s anguish. ‘I am sorry, but you may not pursue this further without
permission from the President and the Prime Minister. I fear to do so would compromise our diplomatic status in this country. Please. We should leave now.’

Anger washed over me. How could the stupid man worry about diplomatic status when a woman and kid were missing?

The ambassador shook his head. ‘The President would agree with me. We must—’

‘No.’ Henchman One cut him off again, his tone soft. ‘We must not.’

I scowled at the defeated slump of the ambassador’s shoulders, thinking it was a damn shame Hugh couldn’t just pull them all in for questioning, without Henchman One the ambassador
seemed like he’d be more talkative.

The ambassador bowed his head in a stiff goodbye aimed at no one in particular, turned and walked towards the exit. Henchman One followed, striding with silent contained steps, almost as if he
were stalking him instead of following him. The sight pricked goosebumps over my skin; despite his regretful stance, there was something off about him, and the other two. As they trailed past us,
the nearest one’s kurta caught a gust of wind. The reek of butchered meat and wet fur intensified, drawing my attention to near his knees. Marring the green silk there, was a tiny pattern of
rust-coloured spots.

Blood splatter.

‘The blood wasn’t human,’ Hugh said thoughtfully, when they’d gone and I told him about it. ‘Are you sure, Genny?’

‘Positive. But I’m not sure what the blood belongs to. I know the scent’s familiar, but I can’t quite place it.’ I frowned, frustrated. ‘The place reeks to
high heaven, so it’s skewing my perceptions.’

‘Reeks?’

‘I’m having a sensitive nose day.’

Hugh frowned. ‘That’s not normal for you, is it?’

I pulled a disgusted face. ‘No, I think it’s a side-effect of something I drank.’

‘Anything I should know about, Genny?’

Hugh wasn’t a fan of vamps, especially where I was concerned, but I briefly told him I’d hurt myself and Mad Max had offered to heal me. And that a side-effect of that healing seemed
to have upped my sense of smell. ‘Still, hopefully it will wear off soon,’ I finished. ‘And at least it helped me find a clue.’

Grim fissures bracketed Hugh’s mouth. ‘Yes. Their insistence on their diplomatic status seems out of place in this situation, and makes things difficult for all of us.’

‘You mean suspicious,’ I said drily, then added, ‘not to mention spooky with them hiding behind those mirrored sunglasses.’

Hugh pulled out his notepad and a large troll-sized pen. ‘Spooky in what way?’

‘Like they wanted a piece of me, or something. Course that might just be because I’m sidhe.’ I looked at Hugh and Mary. ‘Unless anyone else feels the same?’

She shook her head. ‘Not me, sorry.’

‘Ask around in a bit, sergeant,’ Hugh said, making a note.

‘Will do, sir.’

‘Maybe it was just me then.’ I shrugged. ‘And I got the definite impression the ambassador wanted to tell you more, but they weren’t interested in letting him
talk.’

‘Your impression’s right, Genny,’ Hugh rumbled. ‘Though the ambassador did appear to be genuinely concerned for his wife and child.’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘He seemed upset when I said the place was clear of magic. Though that didn’t come as a surprise to you and Mary, did it?’

‘It didn’t. It was the main reason I asked you here. Mary has a theory about it.’ He gave her a nod.

‘The place isn’t just clean of magic,’ she said, ‘it looks like it’s got a flat sheen to it. I was sure I’d seen it somewhere before. So I had a chat to a
couple of the beat WPCs, and we worked out what it was. It looks the same as when you do the magical clean-up after the pixies in Trafalgar Square.’

I blinked. ‘It does?’

Mary nodded.

I squinted round. It really didn’t look like anything to me, other than clean of magic, but then not everyone sees magic the same way.

Hugh laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. ‘We think it could mean there’s another sidhe involved. Which is why I wanted you to see for yourself.’

Anxiety itched down my spine. The last time another sidhe had come to London I’d ended up on the run for murder. Of course, Witch-bitch Helen Crane had been in charge then, not Hugh.
But—

‘To be honest, Hugh, another sidhe hanging around isn’t too likely. The gates to the Fair Lands are still sealed shut and the fae aren’t taking any chances where
Clíona’ – a.k.a. my not-so-dear sidhe queen grandmother – ‘is concerned. They don’t want her getting her hands back on the Fertility pendant.’

‘But it could be possible?’ Hugh insisted.

‘I suppose so,’ I admitted. ‘Tavish would know for certain. I can ask him, if he’s around.’ I explained about Tavish going AWOL last night.

‘I’d appreciate it, Genny.’

I flipped open my phone, turned towards the windows to shade the screen from the sun, then stopped as I saw the tigers had appeared from their hiding place. They were both lying down, mouths
slightly open in the hot sunshine, eyes half closed, obviously relaxed. Had something frightened them away? Something to do with the kidnap? Or was this their normal routine? As I wondered, I
realised that now, unlike the unnatural silence when I’d first arrived, I could hear the background noise of animals out in the zoo. As if, like the tigers, the animals had emerged from
wherever they’d been hiding. Maybe that eerie quiet had been due to whatever magic had been used to kidnap the victims.

‘Hugh?’

He looked up from his notepad. ‘Yes?’

I told him my thoughts. His ruddy face creased with interest. ‘I’ll have someone look into it. No stone unturned is always a good motto.’

I rolled my eyes at his usual mountain troll pun, then called Tavish and got his voicemail. Again. Damn. If the kelpie didn’t answer soon I was going to go round and bang on his door. I
left another message, filled Hugh in, gave a statement and grabbed a lift in one of the police vans adapted for trolls back to Spellcrackers.

Where Katie told me the pixie apocalypse had hit London.

I
hauled myself on to the huge bronze lion – one of the four in Trafalgar Square – and straddled its back haunches. The metal beneath
my legs was still hot from the summer sun, despite it being early evening and the lion in shade. Sitting there, with the musical sound of the square’s fountains in the background, was almost
enough to send me to sleep. Especially after the exhausting day I’d had.

The damn pixies hadn’t left another statue unmoved.

The eagle on top of the RAF monument on Victoria Embankment had taken up dive-bombing the glass-topped pleasure boats on the Thames, leaving scratches on their plastic roofs; the gold
wolf’s head fountain at the Aldgate pump had been howling randomly at passers-by, resulting in one man being taken to hospital with a suspected heart attack; the griffin at Temple Bar had
become an intermittent flame-thrower, leaving scorch marks on nearby buildings; the sphinx at Cleopatra’s Needle had whispered childish riddles, smacking down a heavy clawed paw whether the
answers were right or wrong; Eros in Piccadilly had targeted passing double-decker buses with badly shot arrows, luckily managing to miss anything alive; and so my day had gone.