The Bitter Seed of Magic

Chapter Four

After an infinitely long moment of disorientation, the oddly light feeling in my bones told me that I’d been plucked out of the humans’ world and was now somewhere in Between.

Between is the gap that links the humans’ world and the Fair Lands. And unlike those places, Between is still malleable enough that with enough power and will, you can mould it into whatever you desire. Of course, depending on the magic’s mood, its interpretation of your desires can be unpredictable at best, probably nightmarish at worst.

Much like the owner of the pale gold eyes, with their vertical, cat-like pupils, into which I was looking. I recognised the eyes and their owner, of course—hard not to when she was the only sidhe I’d ever met. Not that recognising her was going to help much. She wasn’t exactly the type you could get any meaningful answers from, not being fully compos mentis. Which might account for her … outfit.

Her head was crowned with a corona of yellow and white honeysuckle flowers, and long stems of golden heart-shaped leaves twined through the hip-length curls of her silver-blonde hair. Her dress was a flowing robe of yellow silk which billowed around her like sails in a nonexistent wind. That same wind riffled the feathers on the huge gold wings that spread out from her shoulders and framed her slender form. She looked like the love-child of a Rossetti painting and a Russian icon.

The angelic love-child raised her hands and suddenly we were standing in brilliant sunshine. Tiny cartoon-like cherubs, complete with rosy cheeks, golden wings and glittering halos, zipped around our heads like sugar-hyped garden fairies, white fluffy clouds nipped our ankles like a litter of playful puppies and the scent of honey, cinnamon and sweetened vanilla fragranced the air. Above us curved a twenty-foot-high dome of magic, painted the sapphire blue of a clear summer sky. Etched into the blue was the smiling image of a benign old man with a long white beard.

I’d been beamed up to Disney Heaven. Lucky me.

The angelic sidhe looked to be in her late teens (although since she was virtually immortal, gauging her physical age by her looks was a guessing game I was never going to win) and she was staring at me with the expectant look of a young child who knows she’s done something clever and is eagerly waiting for the pay-off: adult amazement.

I got the hint: I was supposed to do something—only I didn’t know what … I flashed back to the last (and only) time I’d met her: I’d been knocked out by magic, and as I’d come round she’d been leaning over me. That time she’d been dressed up like an angel from a colouring book: Cinderella’s Christmas Spectacular, and so I’d called her ‘Angel’ when she’d refused to tell me her real name. Obviously the Disney Heaven scene was meant to jog my memory, and it did. It was also starting to scare the crap out of me. I couldn’t begin to imagine how much juice it took to make this huge patch of make-believe exist, let alone to bring me here. Nor what an über-powerful sidhe who had the mental age of a five-year-old could do if she decided to throw a tantrum … like the one about to hit any moment now, judging by the speed at which her expression was turning sulky.

‘You’re supposed to say the magic words.’ She stamped her foot. ‘You said them last time!’

Last time? I dredged my memory, then crossed my fingers behind my back. ‘Does this mean I’m dead?’ I said, hoping the words weren’t prophetic.

She gave a delighted giggle and clapped her hands. ‘Do you feel dead?’ she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

It was the same answer she’d given before—so we were obviously following a script. Trouble was, my copy was blank. I ad-libbed, ‘Not really. But then I didn’t feel dead the last few times it happened either.’

Her laugh cut out and she peered closer, a small frown marring her delicate features, then she lifted her hand and poked her finger at my forehead. A jolt of raw power knocked me flat on my butt. ‘Bad!’ she exclaimed, her bottom lip sticking out in a sullen pout. Then she twirled away, humming tunelessly.

I sat there, winded. ‘Nice to see you too, Angel,’ I muttered, wondering what the hell she could possibly want with me. Or maybe it wasn’t her that wanted me?

Angel was one of Clíona’s Ladies. She’d gone AWOL from the Fair Lands last Hallowe’en and ended up in London. Clíona had been desperate to get her back, so in exchange for some information I’d needed, I’d found Angel and returned her safely to Clíona. In gratitude Clíona had granted me a boon: an offer of sanctuary at her court, the offer open for a year and a day, so long as I didn’t ‘bear a child’. Of course, if I did get pregnant then she’d kill me. Faerie gifts are to die for.

But if it was Clíona who wanted me here, why wasn’t she putting in an appearance?

‘What I really need is a clue,’ I said under my breath.

Something brushed against my hand, and when I looked down, the playful clouds were littered with black feathers.

Goosebumps pricked my flesh. I quickly scanned the dome but could see no one other than Angel. Carefully, I gathered a handful of feathers and waved them at her. ‘Don’t suppose you know anything about these?’ I asked, keeping my tone light.

She dashed over, bent down and peered into my face again. Something old and sly and dangerous shadowed the pale gold of her eyes and I froze, instinct turning my bones liquid with fear. A scream lodged in my throat and I had to force myself not to scuttle away and hide—

Then It was gone and I sagged in relief as she squealed with excitement, snatched the feathers and tossed them into the air. They morphed into a murder of black crows and soared up to join the cartoon cherubs in their zipping flight paths. She flexed her long wings, gathered up her yellow robe and skipped away again.

I huddled among the playful clouds, getting my adrenalin-spiked pulse back under control. Damn. Angel was little Miss Looney Tunes, but even she was preferable to whoever her hitchhiker was. Still, I’d got my clue, now I just had to decipher—

Something wet dripped down the bridge of my nose and I swiped at it. Blood? I sniffed. It was sweet and coppery, but it didn’t carry the liquorice undertone of 3V infection. So not mine then, thankfully.

I wiped my hand on my jeans and squinted up into the light. Slowly circling through the rosy-cheeked cherubs and the glossy blue-black crows like they were part of a gigantic cot mobile was a parade of soft toys: a plush polar bear, a mermaid with a glittering tail, and a fluffy rust-coloured bull passed over me as I watched. I flinched as blood splashed my face again. A beribboned unicorn and a copper-scaled dragon followed. I dodged the next splatter and frowned up as a pair of horses, one silver and one black, trotted before a well-stuffed brown teddy bear …

The crows were dive-bombing the toys, spearing them with their beaks, making them bleed.

The hair at the back of my neck stood on end.

Was this another clue, or just a gruesome game?

Suddenly Angel shrieked in anger and whirled down towards me. Heart racing, I jerked my arms up in defence, but before I could stop her, she punched her hand deep into my chest. Her eyes gazed into mine, the molten heat of her sun-bright pupils burning me as her magic seared my soul. Pain detonated in my centre as she ripped something from me and the world turned to grey mist, filled with gaping, hungry mouths and desperate, far-away screams—

—and then I was back in Disney Heaven, staring in shock as she lifted her hand triumphantly to display a squirming tangle of shiny entrails hanging from her fist. I clutched my stomach, convinced she’d gutted me, but as reality trickled through my horror, I realised my body was still whole and undamaged. I looked back at her, and the wriggling intestines resolved themselves into a nest of angry, hissing snakes.

‘It is a soul, child,’ a voice growled low in my ear, startling me even as I recognised the rank butcher’s shop breath accompanying it. ‘Not yours, you will be reassured to know.’

I was—but only by the information, not by the speaker. I twisted around to look warily at the large grey dog almost the size of a Great Dane looming at my shoulder. An unworldly glow emanated from its sleek coat like a silver aurora borealis as it regarded me steadily out of eerie grey eyes. The phouka, in her doggy guise, a.k.a. Clíona’s bitch.

Crap, this really wasn’t turning out to be such a good day.