The Shifting Price of Prey (22 page)

‘Ghosts and blood.’

I frowned. ‘Can you be more specific?’

Robur grunted. ‘No. The language is unknown to me; I only know because you repeated the words “sanguine lemures” over and over. I was irritated to the extent that I searched
for a translation. It is Latin for “the blood of undead ghosts”, or some such nonsense.’

The blood of undead ghosts?
No doubt Malik could explain what it meant, along with how I’d ended up in his dream or memory in the first place. After all it wasn’t like
I’d had his blood during our Jellyfish spell-removing episode, except— the jellyfish had been feeding on him, and it had stung me. Okay, so I’d
cracked
its magic and
killed it, but I’d definitely got some of its poison in me, possibly along with some of Malik’s blood. Was that why I was experiencing his dreams/memories with him? I filed all my
questions away for our ‘date’ tonight— if I ended up going.

Which I would if Tavish didn’t sort the Emperor question first.

‘Right, thanks,’ I said to Robur. The jellyfish scenario could explain why I was gatecrashing Malik’s dream, but it didn’t explain the physical presence of the rose
petals. ‘Are you sure no one’s breached the Wards?’

‘I have informed you already. No!’

‘Then how did the rose petals get in?’

‘That . . . I do not have an answer for,’ Robur said dismissively, his face smoothing back into the wardrobe’s wood.

I resisted the urge to kick the wardrobe. The sneaky dryad had eyes everywhere, supposedly, but those petals had still got in without him knowing. Concerned, I called Tavish and got his
voicemail. I left a brief message about the Morpheus Memory Aid revealing Katie’s boyfriend as the peeping tom, the shadowy animal beneath the trees, which might or might not, have been a
werewolf. Now I thought about it, it looked like the grey crawling-out-the-abyss cat on the Moon tarot card. I mentioned my weird blood and snow dream, the rose petals and Robur’s comments. I
left another voicemail for Katie, and one for her mum too, saying we needed to chat about Marc, a.s.a.p., and for Katie to be sure she wore the werewolf repellent, even if its reek meant she was
likely to repel half of London.

Better safe than sorry, as the saying goes.

I grabbed an orange juice from the fridge, exchanging the stink-eye with Ricou’s dead mackerel. That they were still there meant Ricou hadn’t been home and Sylvia had spent the night
alone. I made a note to talk to the absent naiad, tell him he needed to pay his pregnant partner more attention.

My gaze snagged on the shelf below the fish where the two bags of blood sat, my last two donations ready to go to Freya, my niece. The Wards were keyed to my blood, so maybe that was how
they’d been breached. By someone who had access to my donations. Someone like, say, oh, Freya’s granddad, Mad Max— the Autarch’s pet vamp.

Only Mad Max didn’t need access to my donated blood; he could’ve easily siphoned off a couple of pints while he’d had me unconscious and tied to the hotel bed. Then given my
blood to the Autarch. The blood would be stolen, so its power over me reduced, but there might still be enough for a small breach. And the petals were exactly the sort of sick joke the psychotic
bastard would play. What if Robur, despite his initially reassuring conviction in his own surveillance abilities, was wrong and the Autarch had breached the Wards, even though all the interior ones
looked intact? Of course, I hadn’t checked the ones outside on the roof yet.

I grabbed a handful of dog biscuits from the jar on the kitchen counter, and stuffed them in my pocket as I made a beeline back to my bedroom window. The Steel Shutter Ward moulded like thick,
suffocating plastic around me as I climbed over the low sill and breathed in the scents of honeysuckle, cherry blossom and watercress, undercut with the copper tang of the blood fuelling its magic.
The Ward released me, snapping back in place over the window and sending me stumbling into the summer sunshine. A hot breeze ruffled my hair, and the early morning bustle from the Witches’
Market in Covent Garden five storeys below rode the air like a distant radio.

I tuned it out, scanning the roof.

In the humans’ reality the roof was ten feet deep and stretched in a large squared-off U around the three sides of the Edwardian terraces that hemmed in the garden and cemetery below. The
red-brick entrance to St Paul’s Church closed off the last side of the garden square. The roof was a great place to sunbathe, and all around the U-shape deckchairs and flowerpots had sprung
up as soon as the weather turned warm.

But the section outside my window was nearing thirty foot deep; a new addition thanks to my flatmates. And instead of a few potted plants, we had a peaceful forest glade. Moss and colourful
lichens carpeted the roof’s surface, multi-stemmed silver birch saplings ringed the glade’s edge, and in the centre was a silver-watered pond. If I squinted I could just make out where
the original roof edge bisected the pond; one of the reasons I never ventured in for a paddle. The other was the water’s occupant. Alongside the pond were four wooden sun loungers with
green-and-white-striped cushions. It looked like some luxury holiday retreat instead of a roof garden in the heart of London. It also looked as peaceful and undisturbed as usual.

So far, so good.

Above the glade rose a geodesic dome of magic, the dome’s opaque glass-like panels obscuring the view over London’s rooftops. That dome was the Ward protecting, enclosing and
enforcing the overlay of the forest glade on the humans’ world. I
focused
my attention on the pink-tinged panels, scanning carefully for any breaks or breaches.

Nothing.

Relief settled in me. Robur was right. No one, not the Autarch, and not even Malik, had bypassed the Wards. The rose petals had to be a vamp illusion, however real they seemed. I turned to go
and double-check, but stopped as the shadow of a tall figure appeared outside the Warded dome. Someone was on the roof, and this early it was unlikely to be one of my neighbours, not least because
they usually kept their distance.

Pulse hitching in wariness, I clenched my hand, ready to release Ascalon, and dropped my
sight.

The magical dome winked out.

Finn stood outside the Ward.

‘H
ey!’ Finn’s moss-green eyes sparked emerald, faint lines creasing their corners as he smiled.

Stunned surprise laced with joy at seeing him again made my heart leap, then my anger and hurt boiled up. I started to demand what the hell he was thinking of turning up expecting a welcome as
if we’d last seen each other yesterday—

Suspicion froze me. Finn was supposed to be in the Fair Lands with Nicky, his pregnant daughter, until she had her kid. He wasn’t due back for at least another two months. So he
shouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t be here . . . Unless, while my inner radar pinged him as fae, this wasn’t Finn.

I curled my fingers around Ascalon’s ring, and narrowed my gaze. The sharp points of his horns standing a couple of inches above his dark blond hair were the only thing about him that said
he was satyr and not human, but then he was wearing Finn’s usual clean-cut handsome Glamour. Or almost. The lines at his eyes were new, his face was thinner, and the angle of his jaw was more
defined, making him look early thirties. Though, like any fae, how old he looked was irrelevant, the real Finn (who at a hundred and eight was one of the youngest in the satyr herd) had always
looked around my age: twenty-five.

The fae’s smile faded, and something else . . . disappointment, wariness, or maybe a touch of anger . . . took its place. ‘I thought you’d be happy to see me, Gen.’

He sounded like Finn too. ‘How do I know you’re Finn?’

He frowned, then comprehension lit his face and he touched his palm to the Warded dome. It flashed bright vermilion and he hastily snatched his hand back.

Yeah, the Ward packs a punch.
But then this guy was fae, he’d know that. So why the hell had he hurt himself like that?

‘Third time’s the charm, Gen,’ he said, holding his hand up; his palm was black where the Ward had seared his skin. ‘Except it wasn’t, was it?’ He gave me a
lopsided grin. ‘Ricou said we were lucky not to kill each other. Remember?’

I did. Tavish had sicced me with a Chastity spell that manifested as a black handprint on my stomach. Finn had tried to remove the spell using his fertility magic. We’d been in the back of
a luxury limo cocooned in our own little world by Privacy spells, and the knowledge than no one would interrupt us. If we hadn’t both ended up knocked out by the clashing spells the third
time he’d tried, things would’ve gone a lot further than they did . . . And yeah, only Finn would know he’d said ‘Third time’s the charm’ right before our
‘lucky’ magical coitus interruptus.

The memory lodged a ball of hurt in my chest. Why the hell did he have to remind me of that particular moment; the last time we’d had fun and been happy together? Damn satyr could’ve
picked any number of things.

‘Ricou can be a drama queen at times,’ I said flatly.

Finn’s shot me a searching look but all he said was, ‘So, you’re sure it’s me now?’

I wanted to say no. I wanted to shout at him to go away. But my curiosity spiked . . .
or maybe a moment of errant masochism
: I also wanted to know why he’d cut me off.

I stepped through the Ward, shivering as the recognition magic pricked goosebumps over my skin. There was one last check— skin to skin. Stealing myself for his touch, I stuck my hand out,
‘Nearly.’

He nodded and clasped my hand in his, taking a deep breath and rolling his shoulders like he was shrugging off a heavy cape. The mouth-watering smell of blackberries swam on the air and his
familiar magic bloomed inside me. I gasped as it filled me, then swallowed back a scream as it ripped spiked thorns of desire through my core and almost took me to my knees before Finn gathered me
to him.

‘Um. You okay, Gen?’

I leaned against him, not sure my legs would hold me, breathing in his warm berry scent, feeling his heart echoing my own heart’s fast thudding, and concentrated on crushing the need
thrumming through my body. Bastard satyr had sicced me with enough of his sex-god energy to power-up a fertility rite. Boy, was I thankful that Mad Max’s Poultice spell had done its job. Damn
fertility magic would’ve had me desperate and begging again. Especially as my libido thought Finn was exactly what it needed, and wanted nothing less than to act on the promise of pleasure
still jumping along my nerve endings. Only no way was that going to happen, not when he’d cut me off.

Finally I fought myself back under control, and pushed away from him. ‘What the fuck was that for?’

‘Well, I wanted you to be sure it was me,’ he said sounding contrite, but a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. ‘Sorry.’

Rage sparked. ‘No. You’re not.’

‘Hey, I am sorry, truly, Gen. I’ve . . .’ He lifted a hesitant hand as if to touch me, then let it fall. ‘Okay, yeah, maybe I took advantage. A bit. But I didn’t
mean to hit you quite so hard. The magic’s been playing havoc with me recently, and I’ve . . . missed you. Forgive me?’

I’d missed him too.
The feeling slammed into me, twisting through my anger. And I knew better than most how the magic could play tricks on you.

Finn’s mouth turned down. ‘Things haven’t been easy with Nicky, either. Not that that’s an excuse, but it hasn’t helped.’

Yep, I could imagine that coping with a pregnant teenage daughter wasn’t easy, especially one whose pregnancy had been forced on her by a deranged baby-making wizard. Not to mention Nicky
ending up in the mad wizard’s clutches was down to her own mother, Finn’s ex and my Witch-bitch nemesis DI Helen Crane. Helen’s betrayal of him and their daughter was something
else he’d had to deal with. The Witch-bitch was an evil piece of work if ever there was one.

I shoved my hands in my robe pockets, warring between wanting to hug him for the nasty stuff he’d ended up dealing with, and pounding on him for siccing his magic on me. For bringing back
memories I’d buried. For cutting me off. But concern for Nicky, and for him, made me ask ‘How is Nicky?’

‘She’s fine.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘Well, not fine, but okay,’ he added, then the wariness darkened his green eyes again. ‘We need to talk, Gen.’

Yeah, we did. I clenched my hands in my pockets. ‘You’d better start then,’ I said, trying to keep my anger out of my voice.

Finn flinched, so obviously I wasn’t successful. He waved at my bedroom window. ‘Can we go inside, Gen?’

No.
But the excited rustling coming from the silver birches silenced my kneejerk denial; we’d given the trees enough gossip already. And I did want to hear whatever he had to tell
me.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But I have to go first then pull you through the Ward.’
Only we have to touch again. I’m not sure I’m ready. Or if I want to.

He nodded as if he’d heard my reluctant words or more likely noticed my hands were still shoved in my robe, then he cast an assessing eye over the dome. ‘Looks
complicated.’