The Shifting Price of Prey

Chapter Fourteen

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.

In fact, the only statues that didn’t seem to be hit by the pixie apocalypse were the pixies’ usual targets: the lions here in the square.

Apparently they’d only been two of the little blighters here all day. I’d nabbed the first quickly – it was asleep in the cat carrier ready to get shipped back to Cornwall – and now I was after the last one. Which was currently doing standing back-flips on the lion’s head, to the delight of the tourists below.

I eyed the pixie, wondering how much trouble it was going to be as I adjusted my elbow-length gloves. Made of supple swamp-dragon leather they were thick enough to protect from the pixies’ bites, but the leather’s spongy texture didn’t damage the pixies’ chitinous teeth (the problem with cowhide). I gave the gloves a good sniff, checking the honey scent of the Pix-Nap cream smeared on them was still strong enough to attract the pixie’s attention.

Thankfully the ‘sensitive nose’ I’d picked up from Mad Max’s blood had worn off by mid-afternoon. The sensory input had been relentless, distracting and, not a few times, disgusting to the point that eating had been out of the question. Mad Max must have a strong stomach, but then he was a vamp who turned into a dog so I guessed he was used to it.

Now, though, my nose seemed to have rebelled and I was having trouble smelling anything.

I rolled my shoulders and started inching along the lion’s back—

My phone vibrated, making my heart leap; it was late enough to be Malik.

I yanked a glove off, checked the display. Not Malik but Tavish.

‘Hey,’ I said, my disappointment washed away by relief that he was finally returning my calls. ‘I was about to send out a search party. What the hell happened to you?’

‘Och, doll, dinna fash yerself,’ he said in his soft burr. ‘I had a bit of sorting out to do, then I got a mite distracted by a body in the river.’

Tavish is a soul-taster. He long ago promised, under River Lore, not to Charm humans into the water but only to feed on those souls who die in the river, not that he feeds on the whole soul, only the sorrows, guilts and sins weighing it down. But the heavier the soul, the longer it takes, sometimes prolonging his victim’s dying for his own pleasure. Not that I had a problem when those souls were usually drug dealers or the like who were in the river by design, usually not their own. End up in the Thames with death staining your soul and all the kelpie’s promises are off. Whether you want to die or not, you’ve no choice but to ride into the depths with him if he finds you.

But that he’d been doing that now filled me with furious disbelief. ‘You’ve been off playing with your food while I’ve been worrying about your tarot cards and the fae’s fertility?’

‘Aye, well, it’s nae quite like that, doll. The body wasnae truly wanting to die.’ His voice held an odd note, not quite sadness; regret maybe, with an undertow of excitement. ‘Only ’twas a time afore my other self realised that.’

Did that mean he’d tasted an innocent’s soul? Someone who was in the river by accident? And broken his promise? But asking another fae that, or if they’d just taken someone to their death, isn’t the done thing. Not to mention, tragic as that might be, I was more interested in getting answers to my own questions.

‘Have you spoken to Hugh?’ I asked. ‘About the possibility of another sidhe being in London?’

‘Aye, doll. I chatted to him and the witch Mary Martin nae long ago. ’Tis nae possible, the gates are fully sealed.’ Relief flooded through me to such an extent that I realised I’d been more worried than I’d thought; the last thing I needed was any of my sidhe relatives turning up again. ‘But I’ve told him we’ll do a wee double-check on the gates, to be sure,’ Tavish added.

Right. Better safe than sorry. ‘Good. But you could’ve phoned and kept me in the loop,’ I grumped.

‘Aye, and so I am now, doll.’ He ignored my exasperated snort, saying, ‘And I’ve been doing a bit of checking. I’m thinking I’ve found your Emperor.’

My exasperation took a back seat. ‘I’ll bite.’

I heard the soft click-clack of his keyboard. ‘I’ve sent you a screenshot. Tell me what you ken.’

‘Okay.’ I scrolled through to my emails and viewed the attachment, which showed the same image as the Emperor tarot card had. A dark-haired, hawk-nosed male in his thirties wearing a purple toga and golden laurel-leaf crown, sitting on a golden throne, a golden eagle perched atop the Rod of Asclepius behind him. But instead of holding a silver dagger, this Emperor gripped a golden chain. On the end of the chain, reclining at the Emperor’s feet, were two large grey-brown wolves. ‘That’s him,’ I said. ‘But on the tarot card he was holding a silver dagger; he didn’t have the wolves.’

‘Nae wolves, doll. Werewolves.’

‘Werewolves? Really?’ Surprise mixed with trepidation flashed through me. And I had a sudden memory of Katie telling me she thought the flasher from last night was a werewolf. Fuck. ‘Are you sure the two wolves aren’t just animals?’

‘Aye, doll, I’m sure. I’m sending you some more photos.’

I brought the pictures up on my phone. The first showed a cropped close-up of one wolf’s eye; the second showed a front paw. The eye was human, a green iris with a starburst of hazel fanning out from the pupil. The paw was furry but, unlike a normal wolf’s paw, was prehensile with a short but definite opposable thumb. Two sure indicators of a werewolf in their animal form.

I almost asked Tavish if the pictures could’ve been ’shopped, then didn’t. The Emperor was a vamp. No way would a vamp falsely advertise having a couple of werewolves at his beck and call, not if he wanted to keep his blood cred. Of course, the fact that he had a couple of werewolves chained like pets meant he was probably pretty much at the top of the vamps’ blood-tree anyway.

Which was sort of reassuring in a way. If the Emperor was that überpowerful then the chances that he knew how to release the fae’s fertility from the pendant just rocketed up. Not that I hadn’t believed the cards, but a strange vamp knowing the solution to London’s fae’s fertility problem wouldn’t have been my first guess. No, my first had been the Autarch, my very own bloodsucking nightmare. One I might be getting reacquainted with soon, if Malik or his answering service ever returned my call about our date.

I took a calming breath and told Tavish about the flasher Katie and I’d seen. ‘Think it’s related?’

‘Could be, doll.’

I shared Katie’s worries that the werewolves could end up hunting her because she was a virgin. ‘Is she in any danger?’

‘Och, dinna fash yerself about that. ’Tis an old story from the Shining Times, and I doubt there’s a werewolf alive who remembers it, never mind kens the truth of it.’

The Shining Times supposedly came after the dinosaurs but before man first struck cold iron. Which didn’t pin it down much. Though if anyone would know, it was probably Tavish. Rumour has it he’s a couple of millennia old, but he’s always been cagey about his age, and with his angular, almost classic sidhe, features I’ve often wondered if he’s older. Maybe even born in the Shining Times. Which was when the sidhe and magic and the humans’ world first came together, and the sidhe procreated with any living thing that took their fancy – like humans, animals, trees, and even the elements – bringing whole new species into being. Including werewolves, by the sounds of it.

I frowned. ‘Are you saying that werewolves came from the sidhe? Like the rest of the fae?’

Tavish’s snort over the phone was faintly derisive. ‘Nae,’tis different magics that birthed the shifters. And ’tis long lost now.’

‘So Katie’s not in danger?’

‘Nae more than from any Other. And ’tis unlikely these werewolves will bother with the wee girlie, but we dinna ken what this Emperor vamp is like. So to be sure I’ll stir up a scent potion from wolfsbane and mistletoe for her. And for you too, doll. ’Twill encourage the beasts to keep their distance.’

Great. Katie could be in danger because of me. Again. ‘Okay, thanks, that puts my mind at rest.’ A bit, anyway.

‘Mind, ’twill nae smell too good.’

I blew out a breath. ‘Doesn’t matter if it helps keep her safe.’

‘Aye. And ’twill give her something to hang her worries on too, so they dinna bother her as much.’

Like the vamp-repelling kit he’d given her. I told him she’d shown it me, and that I was grateful he’d done that for her.

‘Och, she’s a good wee girlie, ’twas a pleasure to do, no thanks needed, doll.’

‘So, the Emperor’s got a couple of pet werewolves I need to watch out for,’ I said, digging out a Phone Privacy spell as a group of teens climbed onto the column’s plinth to get a closer look at the pixie, now dancing a passable jig. Their giggles and chatter cut out as I activated the crystal. ‘Any ideas why the tarot card didn’t show them, and why it gave the Emperor a knife instead?’

‘’Tis possible the werewolves are nae important to our question, doll, and the knife is. But how ’tis difficult to say, with only one card revealed.’

Right. ‘So when can I expect the other four to reappear?’

‘Och, when she’s got something more to tell.’

‘She?’

‘The spirit in the cards, doll. Who else?’

I had a sudden duh moment. Of course. ‘But why’s it taking her so long?’

‘Told you. Answers are nae always there for the taking. She has to search.’

I frowned. ‘She didn’t for the first card? That was instant.’

‘Aye, well, you ken I had already asked. ’Twas why I wanted you to have the reading there and then. The cards were after reminding me you were the key.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘so why did the eagle in the card cut the reading short, as if it was holding back info?’

‘Ah, her readings are always a bit abrupt, some things are nae always clear even to her, or a question’s asked she needs to look into.’

In other words, wait and see. ‘So if she’s out looking for answers, how do you know we can trust the spirit?’

‘Och, dinna fash yerself, doll, the cards are sidhe made. Means the spirit’s bound to tell the truth of her findings.’

Disbelief flashed in me. ‘Call me paranoid, but that doesn’t exactly reassure me, Tavish. Sidhe might not lie, but they don’t always tell the truth.’

‘The spirit’s never steered me wrong yet, doll.’

‘Fine,’ I said, deciding I’d reserve judgement. ‘So the knife’s important, but we don’t know why. But you don’t think the werewolves are?’

‘Hmph. Nae to the question’s answer. But you’re likely to be dealing with this Emperor, so they’ll be a consideration. I take it Malik al-Khan dinna say anything about werewolves?’

‘Nope,’ I said, ‘all I got out of him was that there’s a vamp called the Emperor; he’s badass’ – as are most überpowerful vamps, so nothing new there – ‘and he’s not the Autarch by another name.’ I shuddered. ‘But I’ll ask next time I see him.’ On our date. When he confirms it. I stifled my impatience. ‘So anything else helpful you can tell me about this Emperor?’