The Cold Kiss of Death (17 page)
Finn lifted my chin with his finger, a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Want me to try again? I’m sure I could do better now.’
‘No,’ I said slowly, turning back to Tavish as my memory caught up with what was going on, ‘all I want is what I asked for.’ I turned to Tavish. ‘And just in case you’ve forgotten after that little bit of trickery you pulled on me, that’s a Glamour to change my appearance, clothes, a phone and some money.’ I opened the glass door. ‘And if you feel like trying anything again, just remember: I really will fry your computers next time.’
Chapter Eleven
I
stood outside Tavish’s tent and stared up at the tall sand-dune covered in pale pink heather rising before me. It blocked out any sight of the sea.
stood outside Tavish’s tent and stared up at the tall sand-dune covered in pale pink heather rising before me. It blocked out any sight of the sea.
‘So what happened there?’ I asked, bemused.
‘I think that was you, Gen,’ Finn murmured quietly. ‘Tavish mentioned something about you interfering with his magic. He didn’t sound too impressed.’
‘But I haven’t done anything,’ I said.
‘’Course you did, doll,’ Tavish snorted. ‘When you were digging your pretty toes intae my beach.’ He gave my shoulders a quick squeeze. ‘Seems the magic’s taken a fancy tae you.’
I frowned, I knew
Between
was malleable, but this was Tavish’s patch. I thought back to earlier, when I’d been watching him scooping out a sand-basin. I’d known he was doing magic, but I hadn’t realised my wishful building of a small ridge of sand would result in anything like this - no wonder Tavish wasn’t impressed, never mind I’d threatened his computers!
Between
was malleable, but this was Tavish’s patch. I thought back to earlier, when I’d been watching him scooping out a sand-basin. I’d known he was doing magic, but I hadn’t realised my wishful building of a small ridge of sand would result in anything like this - no wonder Tavish wasn’t impressed, never mind I’d threatened his computers!
I looked down at myself. He’d already got his own back.
I’d asked for a Glamour to change my appearance. I’d been hoping for something nondescript. What I’d got was a blonde-bimbo look with boobs so big that I could fall flat on my face and still be a foot away from the ground. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but hey, Page Three was not going to be saying no to me any time soon. Of course Tavish had denied any ulterior motive, saying that it wasn’t his fault; he’d based the spell on the white bikini-clad model advertising a luxury holiday resort in the same brochure his sandy beach came from. After that little magical
hiccough
, I’d insisted on real clothes so he’d emailed a local shopkeeper who owed him a favour, then
called
the shirt, jeans, leather jacket and trainers I was now wearing. Mind you, I’d had to keep on the white bikini that had appeared with the Glamour plaited into my hair, since he’d
forgotten
the real underwear I’d also asked for. Still, the bikini was better than nothing, and he had
called
a brand new pay-as-you-go phone and an Oyster card, as well as giving me a thick wad of twenties.
hiccough
, I’d insisted on real clothes so he’d emailed a local shopkeeper who owed him a favour, then
called
the shirt, jeans, leather jacket and trainers I was now wearing. Mind you, I’d had to keep on the white bikini that had appeared with the Glamour plaited into my hair, since he’d
forgotten
the real underwear I’d also asked for. Still, the bikini was better than nothing, and he had
called
a brand new pay-as-you-go phone and an Oyster card, as well as giving me a thick wad of twenties.
‘Come see your door, doll.’ Tavish took my hand and pulled me across the sand.
The door that had materialised into being when I’d thrown the Knock-back Ward at Tavish and Finn still stood where the spear had landed. I walked a complete circle around it. It had changed. The bars and padlocks and chipped paint had given way to something that looked more like an office door, with frosted glass in the top half. Behind it I could see people-shaped shadows walking past. I reached out and grasped the handle—
—and stepped out of the end of a narrow alley and onto the wider street. Apart from one elderly woman who started, no one noticed me appear out of thin air, but then, they were all hurrying along, heads down against the driving rain. After an odd moment of disorientation, I realised I was on Clink Street and almost exactly where I wanted to be. I stuck my own head down and started dodging the puddles, grateful for the trainers. I dashed past a side road, catching a glimpse of the
Golden Hind
, the replica Tudor warship in which Sir Francis Drake sailed around the world, and briefly wondered if they’d managed to evict the selkie who’d been squatting in the captain’s cabin for the last fortnight. I reached the Clink and almost slipped down the small flight of worn stone steps that led into the museum. I paid my admission and walked slowly through the exhibits towards the large back room.
Golden Hind
, the replica Tudor warship in which Sir Francis Drake sailed around the world, and briefly wondered if they’d managed to evict the selkie who’d been squatting in the captain’s cabin for the last fortnight. I reached the Clink and almost slipped down the small flight of worn stone steps that led into the museum. I paid my admission and walked slowly through the exhibits towards the large back room.
A concrete troll sat at a big wooden table, rolling a crapshoot of plastic dice back and forth between his large slab-like hands. He was old - or at least he’d had a hard life; his nose was missing a chunk and his age cracks had been filled with blue-coloured grout, making his pitted concrete skin look like it had a map of wriggling blue lines drawn on it. It reminded me of the blue oxygen-starved veins of a hungry vampire. The troll’s name was Blue, unsurprisingly appropriate, and the info plaque in front of him stated that trolls had been used as jailers at the Clink as far back as the fifteenth century. Of course, being an interactive museum, Blue was dressed for the part in a shapeless woollen frock-coat, ragged knee-length trews and a thick dirty-cream woven shirt. Half-a-dozen roughly dressed humans hovered behind Blue; I wasn’t sure if they were interactive too, or just hanging around in the hope of a game.
The place has a reputation for gambling, which was why I was here. Only it wasn’t money I was hoping to win.
Blue looked up as I sat down opposite him, his mouth splitting into a thin crevice of a smile that didn’t manage to hide his ill-fitting set of human dentures. ‘’Ello, miss, wot can I do yous for, then?’
I folded my hands together on the table, allowing the edge of a twenty to show. ‘I want to cast the bones.’
‘Can’t say as casting bones is a game, miss.’ He took a blue tea-towel-sized hanky from his pocket and dusted off his bald head. ‘But yous can always ’ave a go at playing the dice if yous like.’
‘I like,’ I said.
Ignoring the plastic set he’d been throwing, he rummaged in his coat pocket and produced three pairs of dice. He laid down the first set; they were a mottled amber shot through with gold. ‘Jawbone of a fire-dragon,’ he rumbled softly. The second pair were black, the corners rounded smooth. ‘Shoulder blade of a mountain troll.’ He handled them reverently, his forehead creasing so deeply that a thin sliver of blue grout popped out and powdered on the table. He set the last pair down, whispering, ‘Hip of Phouka.’ The dice glimmered faintly with silver light; their original owner was still alive.
‘What’s the game?’ I asked calmly, my knuckles whitening with the effort it took not to just reach out and grab the last pair of dice and
call
to the magic in them.
call
to the magic in them.
Blue shook himself. ‘Craps do yous?’
I nodded. ‘Fine by me.’
The air flickered around Blue and in a couple of moments both he and the rough-looking men were surrounded by about twenty more, some more distinct than others. I shuddered. The place was
full
of ghosts. I’d forgotten the museum was a known hangout for them, and this group was way more sentient than the ones under London Bridge. I watched them warily from under my lashes, not wanting to attract their attention any more than I had to. They sported a motley collection of chains, shackles and hangman’s nooses, and one clomped nosily round in a large metal boot. I doubted they were the real deal, just locals who liked the accessories.
full
of ghosts. I’d forgotten the museum was a known hangout for them, and this group was way more sentient than the ones under London Bridge. I watched them warily from under my lashes, not wanting to attract their attention any more than I had to. They sported a motley collection of chains, shackles and hangman’s nooses, and one clomped nosily round in a large metal boot. I doubted they were the real deal, just locals who liked the accessories.
‘You calls an’ I rolls, miss. Three correc’ calls and yous wins.’
The ghosts pressed forward, merging through and past the living men as they gathered round the table to watch the proceedings.
I relaxed slightly. They were here for the game, nothing malevolent. ‘Ready when you are,’ I said.
‘Place yous bets, ladies and gents,’ Blue rumbled. ‘Roller is Blue.’ He laid his hanky carefully on the table on his right. ‘An’ caller is the pot.’ An anaemic-looking man placed a small metal bowl to Blue’s left.
I tossed my twenty into the bowl.
The crowd shuffled and muttered and a pile of translucent coins appeared on Blue’s blue hanky. A few notes were stuffed into my pot, some solid and others less so. The betting system didn’t make any sense to me, but most of the punters were ghosts, so who was I to complain?
‘Wot dice do yous choose, miss?’ Blue peered at me from his small blue-glass eyes.
‘Hip of Phouka,’ I murmured.
The others disappeared back into his pocket. Blue gently picked up the Hip of Phouka bone dice and held them out to me. ‘Yous want to kiss ’em for luck, miss?’
My heart stuttered in indecision for a moment, then I nodded. It was a tradition: if you called on a wylde fae for help, you needed to offer them a promise. The phouka’s preference was for flesh. Bending forward, I kissed my lips to the dice. The phantom taste of raw, bloody meat made my stomach roil with nausea. I sat back, taking a deep breath and swallowing my horror.
The phouka was well known for liking her food überfresh.
Using a tall plastic beaker, Blue scooped the dice up and slapped one large hand over the cup. Shaking it vigorously, the dice rattling around inside like a hangman’s skeleton, he said, ‘Call.’
‘Big Red,’ I called.
The crowd murmured with approval.
Blue nodded sagely and rolled. The two bone dice tumbled out onto the table: a four and a three.
‘Big Red it is.’ He scooped and shook and rattled again. ‘Call.’
‘Midnight.’
The crowd muttered, sounding less encouraging this time.
Blue did the sage nodding thing and rolled again. The dice stopped precariously near the table edge, both showing a six. ‘Midnight is it.’
A collective sigh hummed through the room.
‘Last call,’ Blue rumbled, a fine grey dust rising from the neatly drilled holes in his scalp as he rattled the dice.
‘Snake Eyes,’ my mouth said before I’d made the decision to speak.
The crowd stilled, suddenly silent. Snake Eyes was bad luck, a losing throw; I’d been planning on calling an ace and deuce. I clenched my hands, angry - stupid to have kissed the dice without
looking
first - but it was too late now, I’d called.
looking
first - but it was too late now, I’d called.
Blue rolled, and I watched with sick inevitability as the first die stopped with one dark pip showing, then the other bounced and landed with two pips uppermost.
‘Ace and Deuce,’ Blue rumbled, carefully pocketing the dice and then drawing the pot of money towards him. ‘Sorry, miss, no winnin’ this time, yous lost.’
Fuck. Playing the crapshoot was supposed to be just a formality if you weren’t human. And the Glamour was on the surface only, it couldn’t affect the outcome. Someone had tagged the dice with some sort of spell. I scanned the crowd - living and ghosts - but nobody’s face registered any more interest than was normal.
I produced another twenty and forced a smile. ‘Let’s try again.’
‘No can do, miss.’ Blue shook his head sadly. ‘If yous don’t win first go-round, yous don’t get no more chances ’til next sundown.’
I crumpled the twenty in my fist. Damn. No way did I want to wait until tomorrow night—
A chill hand wrapped its fingers around mine and tugged at my arm. I turned to stare into the big empty eyes of Cosette, the child-ghost who was haunting me. I froze, my heart pounding as I struggled with the urge to tear my hand from hers and jump up and run like the hounds of Hell were after me.
Cosette tugged again, more insistently this time. I got the message; she wanted me to go with her. With a reluctant look at the crap game, I let her pull me away and out to the museum entrance. As soon as I stepped outside, she pointed up to the street, and then flashed out of existence.
A female stood at the top of the entrance stairs. She stared arrogantly down at me from under the dark brim of her fedora hat, her tall, graceful body clad in a smart russet trouser-suit. Her eyes shone startlingly green, the colour of new leaves in spring, no whites, no pupils. Behind her stood a short, chunky male, his brown pinstripe suit at odds with his rain-wilted straw Panama. His eyes shone the same spring green as his companion’s. Neither had any eyebrows, which made their pale faces look oddly unfinished, and both were obviously bald under their hats, but then, pruning the twigs off their scalps was a long-standing tradition. Shit. What had I done to deserve being waylaid by a pair of dryads?
‘Ms Taylor?’ The female tilted her head and her domed forehead lined in a slight frown. ‘Ah yes, I see now,’ she murmured. ‘The Glamour is very good, Ms Taylor; no wonder the trees took some time to locate you.’
Damn tree spirits, they had their spies everywhere. All it took was a breath of air and info could pass from one side of London to the other faster than it took to ask, ‘
What’s that rustling noise the leaves are making?
’
What’s that rustling noise the leaves are making?
’
Fedora spoke again. ‘I am Sylvia. My mother, the Lady Isabella, wishes to speak with you.’
‘What about?’
Fedora’s mouth thinned in disapproval at my blunt question, but she still answered. ‘She is disturbed by the current unrest in London. It appears to be getting less comfortable for fae as the days and nights go by.’
‘Tell Lady Isabella,’ I said flatly, ‘that I’m sorry for whatever problems she is having, but I’m not sure that my speaking to her right now is going to help.’
‘I think you’ve misunderstood me, Ms Taylor. I am afraid this isn’t a request, and if necessary’ - she snapped her fingers, and Chunky in his limp Panama moved to stand at her side - ‘I will have to use force.’ Her smile was more a baring of her brown-stained teeth than anything friendly. ‘Although of course it would be better if you accompanied us quietly.’
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