The Bitter Seed of Magic (A Spellcrackers Novel) (13 page)

‘Ri-
ight
,’ I said, getting it. Oliver had blackmailed them – and, surprisingly, it had actually worked. Ana had been lucky after all; except something about the story felt off . . . I clasped the pentacle at my throat and frowned out the tinted window, absently noting we were driving through Trafalgar Square.

‘You were expecting a tragic ending after such an awful beginning.’ Victoria Harrier derailed my thoughts. ‘So far it hasn’t transpired. I intend to see that it never does. For the sake of my daughter-in-law and my grandchildren, I am going to help you to put an end to this terrible curse.’ She held out a box of tissues. ‘You’re crying . . .’

‘Sorry, didn’t realise,’ I muttered absently as I grabbed a couple and swiped at my face.

She frowned, then decided to ignore me. ‘My aim is to give you any practical help I can.’ She picked up a manila folder and pushed it towards me. ‘Jane Bird’ was printed on the white label stuck on the front. ‘I know you’re convinced that the faeling found dead this morning is something to do with the curse, so this file contains photocopies of the police reports. The faeling hasn’t been identified as yet, but she is thought to be late teens, early twenties. She doesn’t match any missing person on the list – I’ve put a copy of their latest list in for you – but going by “Jane Bird’s” appearance, it’s possible she is related to the ravens at the Tower of London.’

Her mention of the ravens reminded me of the bird at Tower Bridge this morning, and the one bobbing its head at me from the stone archway outside Old Scotland Yard. He/ she/they had to be something to do with ‘Jane Bird’, it was too much of a coincidence otherwise. But I realised the raven – easier to think of it as only one bird – couldn’t be from the Tower: the Tower ravens agreed to have their wings clipped when they took the job and couldn’t fly for the duration of their contracts. Although that didn’t mean ‘Jane Bird’ wasn’t a relative. Something definitely to look into, I decided, and flipped open the file. The top sheet had Hugh’s signature on it.

‘That’s everything I’ve been able to obtain so far,’ Victoria Harrier said, her efficient tone suggesting that I should find it impressive. It was, sort of, if I hadn’t known that Hugh would’ve given me the same info soon anyway. ‘I’ve also arranged for you to meet with the Raven Master and the ravens tomorrow lunchtime. I will, of course, be with you, to forestall any future problems with your Conditional Caution and DI Crane’s own investigation.’

A meeting with the Raven Master?
Nice!
Victoria Harrier’s practical help was, well, practical, except . . . I tapped the file as I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘You have to know that DI Crane doesn’t like me’ – an understatement, but I was being polite – ‘and while I noticed you and she don’t get on . . . well, to be blunt, you’re a witch, and you detest vamps, so how do I know you’re not just stitching me up in some way?’ Okay, so maybe I wasn’t being that polite.

‘A valid question, Ms Taylor.’ She smiled. ‘I hope I can put your mind at rest, if you’ll bear with me. I take it you’ve heard of the Merlin Foundation. But do you know what it does?’

The Merlin Foundation financed the HOPE clinic where I volunteered, and others like it, plus it was into schools and other things. Its bureaucracy was something you had to experience to believe when it came to asking for funds: the doctors at HOPE were forever complaining about it. ‘I’ve heard it described as a sort of Magical Masonic Society devoted to charitable works,’ I said, going for diplomatic.

She laughed. ‘I know it’s sometimes seen as secretive, but then, it’s been around a long time. And you’re quite right that it’s devoted to a tremendous amount of valuable charitable work, but it is the older, more private side of the Foundation that I want to tell you about.’ She smiled, and proceeded to give me a history lesson. ‘The Foundation came into being back in the fourteenth century, when the witch persecutions were at their worst. The Witches’ Council devised a plan: a select number of witches would marry into the higher echelons of our country’s ruling classes and produce sons – more wizards, of course: Great Wizards, who would grow up to occupy positions of influence, able to protect their witch relatives, and who would also marry witches chosen by the Witches’ Council, to ensure our magical legacy would continue. That tradition still carries on today, albeit in a somewhat different form.’

I had a vague memory of my old boss, Stella, mentioning the Witches’ Council had approached her about marrying a wizard when she’d been younger, and offering to pay her a Bride-Price, a kind of huge reverse dowry, but she hadn’t liked the guy – he was a stuffy prig – so she’d said no.

‘Now the Foundation is far-reaching, and with its backing, and that of their own families, many of its members occupy positions of power throughout the government, financial and legal sectors.’

‘In other words, nepotism rules.’

‘Exactly, Ms Taylor,’ she said. ‘My husband is a wizard, as are my sons. With their connections in the Foundation and my own in both the magical and legal communities, I can assure you that Helen Crane will not cause you any more problems, even if she didn’t have her youthful indiscretion to count against her.’

It sounded good, but—‘
What
youthful indiscretion?’

‘H
elen’s son, of course,’ Victoria Harrier said, ‘the one Mr Panos was talking about. Like me, Helen Crane is from a powerful witch family; she was chosen to marry a wizard, but instead she—Well, Helen developed an infatuation with some boy, and in the age-old way she found herself pregnant. The boy apparently took fright at the responsibility, and once Helen’s son was born, her family, backed by the Witches’ Council and the Foundation, agreed she should give him up to the sidhe.’

I frowned. ‘But her son was still a wizard?’

‘One with no significant family connections. So you see, she’s not looked upon kindly by the Foundation.’

Part of me was starting to feel some reluctant sympathy for the teenage Helen, if not the current one. Another part of me was still trying to assess just what Victoria Harrier’s true priorities were.

‘I hope that reassures you, Ms Taylor, that I have your best interests at heart when it comes to dealing with any problems you might meet, especially if they pertain to the fertility curse. I have my grandchildren to consider.’

There was still something not quite right about what she was saying; I just couldn’t pin down what it was.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘I understand that despite not being able to tell us why, you are convinced that “Jane Bird’s” death is to do with the curse?’

‘Yes.’ Damn goddess and her gag clause.

‘And of course, I understand your reluctance to leave the investigation of “Jane Bird’s” tragic death to the police, so I will do all I can to help you with it. The sooner her cause of death is discovered and settled, the sooner you’ll be free to move on to other more certain solutions to stop the curse.’

The penny finally dropped, with a loud splash. She didn’t just want to help; she was a fully paid-up member of the ‘get the sidhe pregnant’ brigade. And with her daughter-in-law being part water fae . . .

‘Let me guess. Lady Meriel is one of your connections in the magical community?’

She leaned forwards and patted my knee in what I was supposed to believe was motherly concern. ‘Lady Meriel appreciates that it is only natural for you to be worried about having a child under the circumstances, and that you are not going to make the decision to become pregnant until you’ve exhausted all other avenues. If I can help expedite those avenues for you, maybe it will make the final decision easier and quicker for you.’

The limo slowed to a halt and I glanced out the window. Trafalgar Square again. The driver had to be deliberately going in circles so Victoria Harrier could take her time talking to me on Lady Meriel’s behalf. Figured. Absently, I scowled at the crowd of tourists gathered round one of the huge bronze lions. They were roaring with laughter at the pixie pack dancing a jig along the lion’s broad back. Automatically, I made a mental note: about a dozen of them. Another week and Trafalgar Square would be overrun and the council would be calling Spellcrackers to banish them. Pixies are sort of ugly-cute, even if they are a pain to catch, and I always got the job—Except this time I wouldn’t. Not now I’d resigned. A sick feeling roiled in my stomach. But it wasn’t only the loss of my job making me feel ill, it was the goddess’ command:
You will give them a new life.

If the fae knew that, I’d probably end up pregnant within the hour. Now that was a scary thought. But they didn’t, and ironically, it was thanks to the goddess’ totally wonderful gag clause.

I grimaced and turned back to Victoria Harrier. ‘In that case, why don’t we start by looking into those other avenues now, seeing as I’m not going anywhere?’ I said drily, and settled back against the seat – it was either that or force my way out of the limo. I was saving that option for later.

‘Perfect.’ She pulled a notepad and pen towards her, unable to hide the hint of triumph in her eyes. ‘Lady Meriel is concerned at the lack of information available to her. I’m told the kelpie, Tavish, who lives in the Thames has been absent since Hallowe’en. The consensus of opinion is that he’s gone to the Fair Lands to speak to Queen Clíona on your behalf. Has he had any success?’

‘Not that I’ve heard.’

She made a note. ‘I understand that your father is a vampire; have any of the fae commented that this could cause a problem, or made any objections?’

I frowned. ‘Why does Lady Meriel want to know that?’

She blinked at me as if surprised I was asking, then tapped her pen and said firmly, ‘Please answer the question, Ms Taylor.’

‘As far as I know they don’t care,’ I said slowly, curious as to what was going on.

‘Good.’ She made another note and underlined it. ‘Now, I think we should talk about your 3V infection.’ A vaguely familiar gleam lit her eyes for a moment, sending an uneasy tingle down my spine.

‘Well, it’s not exactly a secret any more, but I’m not sure it’s any more relevant than your last question.’

‘I believe it’s relevant to you, Ms Taylor. You have stated your reasons for not wanting a child are because of possible implications for the child’s future, an entirely understandable and commendable concern.’ She nodded in approval. ‘But as I told you, Ana, my daughter-in-law, also has 3V; she controls it using G-Zav’ – the vamp junkies’ methadone – ‘yet Ana is expecting her sixth child – her sixth
healthy
child – and I can reassure you that all of my grandchildren are completely clear of 3V: there’s no sign of V1, V2 or V3 in their blood at all. 3V is not passed on from mother to child in the womb. She’d be delighted to chat to you about it all, and it might help to put your mind at rest.’

‘I volunteer at HOPE,’ I said, ‘and believe me, it’s not the physical implications that worry . . .’ I trailed off as the picture of her happy, smiling,
very
pregnant daughter-in-law came back to me, and several things hit me at once. She had 3V. She was faeling. She was on G-Zav, had been for at least ten years – and while she wouldn’t have quite the same problems using G-Zav as a full-blood fae would, that was a major feat in itself. The only place she could get G-Zav was HOPE, and if any faeling was a regular there, I’d know them.

And I didn’t know her.

My tingle of unease grew fangs and took a bite out of me. I looked around the plush car at the expensive equipment: wealth and power and magic are as attractive to vamps as blood. This family had it all . . . and it was beginning to look like there was a distinct possibility there was a blood-sucking fanged cuckoo squatting in their well-feathered family nest. Not only that: I now realised what had been bothering me about Victoria Harrier and her faeling daughter-in-law. Witches and wizards were fanatical about their magical human lineages. Marrying a faeling would be well out of a wizard’s comfort zone.

‘Something’s worrying you now, isn’t it, Ms Taylor?’ Victoria Harrier’s probing question focused my attention back on her, and on the familiar gleam in her eyes.

‘Yes, it is,’ I said. As she waited expectantly, I decided to test my theory and
called
my own magic. It uncurled from my centre, up and out into my fingers, dusting them with a golden glow. I reached out and clasped her face, pushing the golden magic into her as soon as our skin touched. She jerked with surprise, then relaxed into smiling compliance, her pupils lighting with pinpricks of gold as she succumbed easily to my Glamour.

Too easily.

Glamouring someone isn’t much different from a vamp mind-lock: the aim of both is to control the victim. Vamp mind-locks can be like magical Rohypnol – more humans end up as a quick snatch-and-suck than you’d think; they just don’t remember. Add in a side order of vamp
mesma
along with the mind-lock and vamps can play pick and mix with their victims’ senses and emotions, making them believe anything for a time. But siccing a mind-lock on a human outside of licensed premises is illegal, and can end in a one-way trip to the guillotine. I sincerely doubted Victoria Harrier, a well-known witch, had ever set foot inside a vamp club, licensed or otherwise.

Of course, Glamouring a human was just as illegal and carried the same sharp-edged consequences.

The hair at my nape rose in an ominous and not-so-subtle reminder of that as I gazed into Victoria’s adoring, Glamoured eyes. Tentatively, I checked the tangled net of her mind, dusting it with golden magic, and found just what that familiar gleam in her eyes had told me I would: a looping skein of hard blackness, worn smooth and even like a well-trodden path. No wonder she had succumbed so quickly; she was pre-programmed. Whoever the vamp was, he or she had been reinforcing their commands for years, which wasn’t a mind-shattering discovery after hearing the daughter-in-law’s history. But trying to remove the command
would
be mind-shattering; it was too deeply embedded. The much simpler option was to remove the vamp, but that was a job for later. For now, though, I just needed to take my Glamour back without disturbing anything.