The Shifting Price of Prey

Chapter Twenty-Four

‘What’s it this time: nose, boobs or hips?’

I focused on Mary’s – Detective Sergeant Mary Martin’s – reflection in the full-length mirror in front of us. I’d been so wrapped up in my frustration and anger, and, yes, grief, over Finn, I hadn’t noticed her come up next to me.

Behind us, the mirror showed a plush office decorated in warm creams and oatmeal, and accented with enough pink to make it patently feminine without turning it into Barbie’s living room. The office was one of many in the upscale plastic surgeon’s expensive home-cum-consulting rooms, and was closer to a modern take on a Georgian drawing room than a doctor’s surgery. But then if victims feel reassured and relaxed in their surroundings, it makes them easier to fleece.

Currently, the only victims around were the filing cabinets (heavily disguised as a splay-legged oak sideboard). The cabinets were being disembowelled by two WPCs wearing white paper jumpsuits, with matching shower caps and bootees, who were systematically tagging and bagging their contents. The same thing was happening throughout the rest of the exclusive Harley Street address where another ten witches – who along with Mary, made a full coven – were busily gathering evidence.

And there was a ton of evidence to gather. Virtually every leaflet (of which there were thousands still in unopened storage boxes), every magazine and every reflective surface (from the numerous mirrors, through the framed pictures of satisfied customers, right down to the polished brass doorknobs) was tagged with some sort of Dissatisfaction hex.

The place must’ve been like the eighth circle of hell to work in.

My email to Hugh about the source of Harrods’ mutating Magic Mirror spell had set ‘Operation Nip Tuck’ in motion, and the unsuspecting doctor had received a six a.m. raid from Mary and her girls in blue.

Mary placed a hand on my shoulder, making my own evidence-gathering jumpsuit crackle. ‘So, you going to answer me, Genny, or do I have to drag you into the Skin Stripper?’

I gave her a half-smile. ‘’S’okay, I haven’t picked up another hex.’ The things were virulent, and throughout the morning we’d all spent time mirror-staring and angsting over our hex-induced bodily imperfections, the cure for which was a stint in the torturous Skin Stripper. ‘Just miles away.’

Mary gave my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. ‘Ah. Time for a break, then. Come on, I’ll buy you coffee.’

We headed out into the hall, our paper booties scuffing quietly on the thick carpet as we moved past the leaflet boxes stacked along the wall and into the office set up as a temporary canteen. The Ward on the doorway slipped over me like the tickle of feathers.

As per procedure, the room had been physically emptied (even the carpet removed), ritually swept and magically cleansed, then Warded off from the rest of the house. The Skin Stripper was set up in the middle of the floorboards; a three-foot copper tray, surrounded by a tall circular frame off which hung a glyph-covered shower curtain (to preserve a witch’s modesty) and a modified shower head which rained salt, not water, on the tray’s occupant. Candles flickered in each corner of the room filling the air with the scent of sage, cloves and lemon balm, and along one wall were trolleys containing the Evidence Holding crystals. Against another wall was a stack of picnic-sized cool boxes with ‘Property of Metropolitan Magic and Murder’ stencilled in blue. We had enough food and drink to keep us going for another couple of days, if needed. Same as any other magical evidence-gathering investigation, the whole building had been Warded shut, and until all the active spells were locked up in the Holding crystals, police procedure said that none of us were getting out.

Personally, I wasn’t planning on any of us staying longer than absolutely necessary.

But then speed was one reason why Hugh had called me in as a police consultant. While it took a witch a good five minutes to transfer a spell from its original carrier to an Evidence Holding crystal, it was as quick as snapping my fingers for me. And, of course, the second reason was that I could identify any Magic Mirror spells similar to those used at Harrods.

Mary opened a cool box and handed me an orange juice. ‘Let me guess,’ she said, ‘you’ve got man trouble, or should I say, satyr trouble.’

I raised my brows. ‘I’m that transparent?’

She smiled. ‘I’d love to say no, and that it’s my superb powers of deduction at work. But yeah, you are, especially since Sylvia texted me.’

‘Damn gossiping dryad.’ I jabbed the straw into the drink carton. ‘It’ll be all over London now.’

Mary shot me an admonishing look as she fiddled with the coffee flask. ‘Sylvia won’t say anything; she was just worried about you.’

I snorted. ‘I meant Robur. Sylvia hadn’t got up when I left, so the only way she knows about Finn is if the Wardrobe Freak told her.’

‘Ah.’ She added milk and ten lumps of sugar to her cup. It was excessive even for a witch. Still, Mary was using enough power on the job that she wasn’t likely to suffer sugar-abuse bloating any time soon. ‘Anything I can do?’

I drained the juice box and crumpled it. ‘Lock up DI Helen Crane and throw away the key,’ I said sourly.

‘Wish I could.’ She shook her head in regret. ‘The problems she’s left us with are never-ending, both down the Yard and in the Witches’ Council.’

‘I’m more pissed off about the problems she’s causing now,’ I said, helping myself to a BLT. I’d been relieved to find the cool boxes contained a good supply of the sandwiches and orange juice at break time, since all I’d been allowed to bring in with me was my phone and some liquorice torpedoes (we were all nude under the jumpsuits; good thing it was summer and the paper was the thick, reinforced type). ‘The Witch-bitch has only gone and hitched herself back up with Finn and Nicky in the Fair Lands.’

Mary grimaced. ‘Ugh. That’s a bugger, isn’t it?’

‘Yep. And when he told me, I chucked him out. So he’s probably back there now, trapped in the Witch-bitch’s nasty, sticky web, where I’ve fat chance of doing anything about it.’ I ripped open the sandwich and tossed the packet in the bin in self-disgust. Some friend I was.

She frowned. ‘You’re not responsible for his decision, Genny.’

I pursed my lips. ‘I know. But I’m pretty sure the Witch-bitch has him tagged with a Love spell or a Trust Me crossed with a Compulsion.’

‘Wouldn’t put it past her,’ Mary agreed. ‘But he’d have to be stupid not to realise it after all this time. Those things need to be topped-up to keep working and from what I’ve heard it’s been a while since those two have been a couple.’

‘They’ve got Nicky,’ I said, ‘so they’ll have had enough contact for the Witch-bitch to keep her claws in him.’

‘You’re making excuses for him, Genny,’ she said gently.

I shrugged in defensive acknowledgement. ‘He’s a friend.’

‘And you want him to be more?’

Part of me still did, yes. But it wasn’t that part driving my need to see Finn safe. ‘Not so much now, but that doesn’t mean I want him tied to that bitch.’ Irritably, I picked the lettuce out of my sandwich.

Mary gave me her pensive-cop face as she sipped her coffee. ‘You know we’ve got bacon rolls, don’t you?’

‘BLT’s come with healthy salad stuff,’ I explained deadpan, as I squidged the bread back together.

‘That you don’t eat,’ she replied drily.

‘Hey, I eat the tomatoes.’ I pulled out a slice to demonstrate and popped it in my mouth.

‘Only ’cause they’re smothered in mayonnaise.’ Mary grinned, topped up her coffee, added another three lumps of sugar and stirred. ‘And you know you’re just feeling guilty for throwing Finn out in a fit of temper instead of convincing him of Helen’s evil nature.’

I was. I cut her a frown. ‘You taken a psych course or something recently?’

She gave me a mock-stern look. ‘So, you also know you’ll never convince him she’s evil unless he wants you to?’

Didn’t stop me wanting to try. Or better still, find the Witch-bitch, hitting her over the head with her broomstick and putting us all out of her misery. I sank my teeth into the sandwich, tearing off a large bite.

Mary poked me on the shoulder. ‘So ring him. If nothing else it’ll get the guilt out of your system.’

‘He’s probably back in the Fair Lands by now,’ I mumbled after I’d swallowed.

‘Leave a message then,’ she said. ‘Calling him is for your benefit, not his, capiche?’

I chewed thoughtfully. Mary was right. Finn and the Witch-bitch Helen and their relationship weren’t my problem to sort out, even if I had wanted me and Finn to be more than friends. But leaving him a message to let him know I was still his friend and here for him, if or when he came back, would at least make me feel less like I’d thrown him to the wolves.

I dug my phone out.