The Bitter Seed of Magic (A Spellcrackers Novel) (42 page)

She indicated the feathers. ‘Your boon, little sidhe.’

I picked them up. They felt like ordinary feathers; there was nothing magical about them that I could discern. ‘How do they work?’

‘You will know when the time comes,’ she said dismissively. ‘But remember, the boon will only work for this one night. Now’ – she squeezed Tavish more in excitement than anything else, eliciting another muffled groan from him – ‘show me.’

I tucked the feathers safely in my back jeans pocket. ‘You need to let him go,’ I said, pointing at Tavish.

She obligingly lifted him up above her head height, then threw him down as if she wanted to drive him into the ground. There was a loud cracking noise and he let out an agonised yell. She released him and he collapsed, panting, onto his side, his legs bent at odd angles. Damn. She’d shattered his shins.

I gritted my teeth and told myself he’d heal, and that broken bones were still better than dead. Then, my stomach roiling with nausea, I gave him a hard kick that shoved him onto his back. From the corner of my eye, I saw the Morrígan lick her lips in delight.

I crouched next to him, mentally crossing my fingers that I was right, that the reason Tavish didn’t want me pregnant, whatever it was, was powerful enough to make him go along with me. ‘Okay,’ I said, gripping his face so he could see mine. His eyes were muddy-grey with pain. ‘This is how it’s going to go. If you stop me, or alter in any way what I do, or allow it to be altered by anyone other than myself or the Morrígan before sunset tomorrow, I give my word it will be as if I have already drunk this.’

‘Doll! You mustnae drink—’

‘Up to you, Tavish,’ I interrupted him. Then keeping my eyes fixed on his, I lifted the bull’s horn two-handed and slammed it down into his gut. He roared, the sound filling the blood-dome, his face contorting in agony. I clamped my lips together, desperately swallowing back the bile that rose in my throat. Then using my will and brute force, and ignoring the sickening squelching sounds, I twisted the horn until it was firmly embedded into the ground beneath him, pinning him in place. It wouldn’t hold for ever, but maybe just long enough to stop her dragging him off. Another wave of dizziness blurred my vision, and I forced myself to look up at the Morrígan.

She wasn’t looking quite as happy as I’d hoped. ‘You present me with a conundrum, little sidhe. If I say I am not pleased, you or I will have to remove my son’s horn for you to drink. But I cannot deny the truth of the matter; I do feel some satisfaction at the kelpie’s discomfort, even more so by how you have caused it.’

Behind my back, I crossed my fingers, for real this time.

‘Because of that, we will conclude our bargain tomorrow at sunset. I will leave you to your business now.’ She bent over Tavish. Shoving her arms under his shoulders and thighs, she tried to pick him up.

Shit. I’d expected her to drag him by the chain, which would’ve given me some time.

She smiled at me, a smile that said I should know better than to try and fool a goddess, and she kept on pulling at him, the muscles straining in her slender arms. He struggled against her, screaming, and kept on screaming and struggling as the horn embedded itself further in his body to keep from being torn from the ground. I clenched my fists, trying not to heave. She lowered her mouth to his in a kiss and thankfully, he fell limp and silent. This time when she lifted him, the horn slid easily from the ground.

Fuck. That wasn’t what I wanted to happen.

‘Until sunset tomorrow, little sidhe,’ she said, and slithered quickly towards the bronze pool.

The gold chain trailed after her, then tautened.

I staggered to my feet and shambled frantically as fast as I could after them.

She coiled herself round into the pool.

I shambled faster. I had to reach him before she took him into the water.

Her head and torso began shrinking, the pale green colour darkening to match the eel part of her body.

My vision blurred; there were two Tavishes in her arms now.

The pool erupted into a geyser of water and they disappeared.

The water smoothed out into stillness.

Desperate, I fell to my hands and knees next to the silver knife pinning the gold chain to the ground.
Please let me be right.
Gripping the chain with my left hand on one side of the knife, I cupped my right as I delved inside myself. The small gold key that I’d found after the Morrígan’s visit popped into my right palm.
I had to be right.
I carefully scooped up the chain from underneath and closed my fingers round it. I pushed my magic out through my skin . . .
please let it work
. . . and the link around the knife shivered, then as I held my breath, it split and broke.

‘Yes!’ I shouted.

I looked at the broken ends of the gold chain, one end in each hand. One linked to Tavish . . . the other to the Morrígan.

I pulled the left one, the one nearest my heart.

A strong wind buffeted me whipping my hair into my eyes, a thundering noise filled my ears and darkness descended around me. Sharp talons closed around my arms, piercing my skin and then I was lifted, dangling, into the air. Yelping with shock and fear, I looked up. A huge raven had me by the wrists.

The Morrígan’s boon.

And my trip to the Tower – but I didn’t want to go yet, not without Malik.

It flapped its wings, and as we started to ascend, I looked down at the grassy ground and bronze pool receding into the distance. A long black figure was now lying half-in, half-out of the pool. Was it the eel? Or—?

The figure flung its arms out.

It was Tavish.

Heartfelt relief and guilt filled me. He was free – if you could call being stuck in a blood-circle in the middle of nowhere in
Between
freedom. Now all I had to do was hope he’d leave the Old Donn’s horn where it was, or I’d be the one with something I didn’t want thrust inside me. My stomach curdled, a combination of that thought and what I’d done to Tavish.

Space wavered as the raven flew us out of the blood-circle.

Nothingness closed round me, leaching into my eyes, drifting up my nose, crawling down my throat. Unseen hands with odd-shaped fingers and claws grabbed at me, pinching, pulling and yanking. Something jerked at my legs, and one of the bird’s talons ripped through the skin of my left wrist, its grip loosening—Then I was hanging by only one arm and I screamed, the sound muffled in my own ears as fleshy, muddy-tasting lips stole the scream out of my mouth. Above me the raven gave a loud croaking caw, half warning, half desperation . . .

Space wavered again.

And we flew into the night sky over London, the heavy feeling in my bones telling me this was the humans’ world. Stars glittered in the sky above, rain splattered my face, and the cold spring wind cut through me, raising goosebumps over my body.

Beneath me the Tower of London came into view.

My throat constricted with trepidation. It was where I wanted to go . . . but the boon had been for two trips, one for me, the other for Malik. Without him, I had no back-up.

The raven sped towards the Tower, its talons digging painfully into my wrist as the noisy downdraught from its wings buffeted me, and sent me twisting in its grip.

Briefly closing my eyes against the vertigo, I shoved my hand in my jeans pocket, clutching for the feathers. There was only one left.

I peered down. We were over the grassy moat.

I rubbed the feather over my bloody neck and dropped it, shouting out with my mind for Malik to find it, to use it.

The thick grey stone of the Tower’s curtain wall flashed beneath us, then we were above the open space of the interior.

I shouted for Malik again.

The raven flew straight at the bluey-grey walls of the White Tower, the oldest part of the castle, and I swallowed, half-wanting to close my eyes, as the solid stone filled my vision—

—and as we passed through the wall as if it didn’t exist, the sudden lightness of my body told me we’d once again left the humans’ world and were now back in
Between
.

The raven dropped me.

The stone-flagged floor hurtled up to meet me, too fast. I tried to tuck myself into a ball and roll, but instead landed hard on my shoulder. Pain shot down my arm and across my back, the breath whooshed out of my lungs, and a whole Milky Way of stars spun in my vision.

A hand touched my face—

And the memory rushed into me.

She squirmed lower in the bed, the memory of Old Big Ears doing
it
to her as disgusting as ever – but for once she was tired and desperate enough that she almost didn’t care that he was here, didn’t care that his face held that same suspicious expression it had ever since she’d told him she was expecting after that one time. She’d put up with him if it meant keeping her baby.
Nothing
was going to stop her keeping her baby
.

She glanced from one to the other in embarrassment. It didn’t matter that they’d both watched avidly as she’d given birth, or that Old Big Ears had done
it
to her. She didn’t want them watching now. She rocked the baby, too fearful to ask them to leave, but hoping they’d get the hint and go anyway.

But deep down, she knew they wouldn’t. Witch Harrier wasn’t going to be denied any moment of her new ‘grandson’, and Old Big Ears was the school doctor. All the girls in her class knew what he was like, they’d all commiserated with her when he’d bought her Bride-Price, and gossiped with relief behind her back. Of course, she’d always known someone would buy it; she was a ninth-generation witch, the most powerful in her year. She hadn’t worried about it much, not after her mother had told her what to do so they wouldn’t have to give the money back if she didn’t get pregnant within the year, like a lot of the girls had to; wizards were more infertile than witches a lot of the time. But why did it have to be Old Big Ears, that disgusting pervert? When she’d found out, she’d decided to put her mother’s alternative into action straight away. She hadn’t wanted Old Big Ears doing
it
to her more than was necessary. He was even worse than the other girls knew, too; he’d spent the last week ‘instructing’ her with hands-on demos; pinching and squeezing, until she’d wanted to cry. She hadn’t, though, but now she hunched her shoulders at the memory. With that and the awful sickly-sweet fenugreek tea Witch Harrier had made her drink to bring her milk on, her breasts were like two aching, swollen boulders sitting on her chest.