Текст книги "The Shifting Price of Prey"
Автор книги: Сьюзан Маклеод
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
T no 3 appeared. Am at LC Mosque, Regent’s Park on spec. All connected somehow. Will ring b4 midnight. If not, come find me.
Backup message sent, I hitched my backpack over my shoulder, hopped out and waited until the money-grubbing taxi driver had driven away. Then I pulled out a grey pashmina I’d liberated from a cloak cupboard at the plastic surgeon’s (no doubt abandoned from last winter) and covered my head. Not only was it respectful, but people tend to ignore what they expect to see. With luck, it would get me far enough into the mosque to find the ambassador, before his henchmen caught my scent and tried to stop me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I walked through the mosque’s entrance gates and followed the short path through the near-hundred-foot-high archway and up the few steps into the wide expanse of paved courtyard. A string of open arches to my right showed a covered corridor leading to the main door; the other sides of the courtyard were watched over by rows of tall, arched windows, their glass plain. The whole building was a mix of blocky sixties concrete architecture married to the traditional patterns of Islam. It didn’t make anything pretty, but it was solid and imposing. The courtyard lights were bright enough to banish most of the shadows without bathing the space in the glare of spotlights. The place was almost empty of people but was filled with the same quiet, weighty peace that infuses most places of worship. A certainty of faith in a higher power. Allah might not be my god, but, nonetheless, his presence was felt here.
As was the ambassador.
He was near the mosque’s main door, huddled in a patch of shadow, hemmed in by a male and female. Briefly I wondered where his henchies were, and why they’d left him alone, then checked out the couple. The male was mid-twenties, tall enough to loom over the shorter ambassador, with the black curly hair and dark complexion of the Mediterranean. The female was in her late teens and petite, a pretty dark-eyed brunette with hair that waved over her shoulders, but unlike her Mediterranean pal, her skin was almost vamp pale. The male was dressed in a vest, shorts and flip-flops, clothes not entirely out of place in midsummer in London. The girl was also in flip-flops, legs bare, but then things got odd. Her top half was draped in a hip-length fur jacket more suited to the depths of a Russian winter.
Even without the jacket’s out-of-season strangeness, its colour would’ve snagged my attention. It was grey-brown; the same shade as the Emperor’s werewolves on his website picture. And the werewolves on the tarot cards. So was this female a werewolf? Wearing a wolf, or even a werewolf-skin coat? If she was, it seemed to be verging on cannibalistic to me, but hey, what did I know?
Nothing for sure, other than that the Tower tarot card had led me here and showed the ambassador being chased by a werewolf. So whatever was going on had to do with the fae’s fertility, the Emperor, and the ambassador’s kidnapped wife and child. But however I joined the dots, I couldn’t figure out what picture they made.
I kept my head down and glided behind a pillar so I could see without being seen, frustrated that I couldn’t casta Listening spell, or at least chance getting near enough to hear without spooking them. Though, really, one look at the ambassador’s face told me he wasn’t getting good news, while the confident calm of the couple said they were entirely happy with whatever was being discussed . . . The female seemed to be doing all the talking . . . a ransom maybe? Except ransom demands weren’t usually delivered in person, were they? Something to ask Hugh’s negotiator. Later. For now, I watched and sent out a careful ping with my Spidey senses.
All three hit me as human.
Damn. My gut still said the girl, and probably the male with her, were werewolves, but then I’d never met any, so maybe I couldn’t tell. Not a particularly comforting thought when I was used to knowingwho was what, no matter what shape they wore.
After a minute or two’s more quiet chat, the girl held her hand out, offering something to the ambassador.
He stared for a long moment, hope and fear warring in his expression, then held his own palm out.
She dropped whatever she was holding with a satisfied smile, and I caught a glint of gold.
He clenched his fist, nodded, then backed away. He quickly retreated through the entrance into the mosque’s interior.
The girl turned her satisfied smile towards the tall dark male, lifted a pale hand to caress his cheek, then the pair headed for a high archway that led out of the courtyard to the far side of the mosque. If I remembered right, there was a gate there that opened out on to the road.
Indecision nipped at me.
Did I go and talk to the ambassador as I’d originally intended, find out what he was hiding, and what the werewolf girl had given him?
Or did I chase the werewolfy pair?
Interrogating the ambassador was the sensible, safe option.
Only he wasn’t going anywhere.
The werewolves were.
But chasing after a couple of werewolves on my own was, well, chasing after the big bad wolves and asking for trouble, especially since I didn’t have my damn phone on me so couldn’t call for help. But if they were the Emperor’s werewolves, then the fur-coated female and her curly-haired pal could lead me straight to the vamp himself. Maybe even to the kidnap victims. And just because I was following the werewolfy pair didn’t mean I had to follow them all the way to their hideout. Or that I was going to be in danger. If things started looking iffy I could turn tail; after all, I knew how to run. Plus, if it came to a fight, well, so long as the pair didn’t take their half-and-half beast form they were as vulnerable to injury and death as any other human or animal.
And I had my ace up my sleeve, or rather my sword in my ring– Ascalon.
But first I needed to leave a few breadcrumbs for my kelpie backup.
I bit at my finger, the one with the nearly healed scab from where I’d given blood to the last tarot card, and touched a drop of honey-scented blood to the pillar.
Then I hightailed it after the werewolves.
The archway they’d passed through led me to another, smaller, paved area, some summer-browned grass, and, as I’d thought, to a short flight of steps and a gate to the Hanover Gate road. Hoping the furry couple hadn’t jumped into waiting transport, I stuffed the pashmina into my backpack, jogged quietly down the steps, took a moment to leave my blood on the gate as I closed it and then checked both directions.
Relief swam through me as I saw the werewolfy pair were nearly at the end of the road, on foot, and heading towards Regent’s Park.
I went after them, not worried about being seen or heard; there were enough folk around and, even at this late hour, the traffic was as busy as ever, not to mention the noisy whistles, clanks and excited shouts drifting over from the Carnival Fantastique in the heart of the park. I kept far enough back that I guessed I was out of scenting distance, in case they could do that in their human forms, while cursing my lack of knowledge about werewolves in general.
The pair turned right on to Outer Circle, the road which runs all the way round the park, and moved at a fast walk until they reached the temporary car park set up for Carnival visitors. For a moment I thought they planned to pick up a car, or head for the Carnival crowds, but instead they took the path past the kiddies’ boating pond and over the two-step bridge to the far side of the boating lake. I hung back as they reached the vehicle-turning space before one of the park’s large and exclusive private houses, watching to see which way they went next.
They took the south path.
It ran along the curving shore of the boating lake, and for a good long stretch had dense bushes to either side, and was pretty much deserted at this time of night. A perfect place for an ambush. Was this their intended route? Or had they twigged they were being followed?
‘Okay,’ I murmured, ‘do I call it a bust and head back to the mosque and the ambassador, or keep tailing you?’
The ‘ambush likely’ path met a crossroads at a point further on where they could choose to head up to the Carnival, go straight on across the park and ultimately out of it into Primrose Hill village. Or they could turn and cross the bridge towards the Inner Circle, the area containing the Queen Mary’s Gardens, a whole heap of the park’s utility and college buildings, and two more large, exclusive private houses. Houses which were just the type a vamp with delusions of imperialism would pick for his temporary residence.
If the houses were hosting the Emperor and his gang, then they would take the bridge at the crossroads. Only I wasn’t stupid enough to head down the creepy, ambush likely path after them.
But I didn’t need to. I could go the long way round through the more open parkland, which would make it easier to see anyone coming and, if I sprinted, still get to the crossroads before them and lie in wait. Yeah, it risked losing them but tailing them was looking more and more like a long shot anyway.
‘But first,’ I muttered, ‘a little added insurance.’
I fished inside my T-shirt, hooked out the chain I was wearing and pulled it over my head. The tiny blue-glass bottle that had contained the Morpheus Memory Aid potion dangled from the chain like a pendant. I’d salt-washed the bottle and filled it with Tavish’s disgusting werewolf repellent. Not that I was planning on anointing myself with the stuff – it stank enough that everyone, including werewolves with sensitive noses, would know I was about – but the bottle was fragile enough that it was easily broken. If anyone came at me with nefarious notions, werewolf or not, I’d crush the bottle and even if the obnoxious smell didn’t drive them away, it would give me a couple of seconds’ distraction.
And a second was all I needed to release Ascalon.
I placed another ‘I went this way’ drop of blood on the ground. Then, gripping the tiny bottle in my left hand, its neck chain wrapped round my wrist, and holding my right hand with Ascalon’s ring at the ready, I started running, sprinting over the summer-dry ground as silently as possible.
The bushes on my right grew denser as I raced past, leeching away the light and shifting with amorphous grey shadows that seemed to be keeping pace with me. Shadows that reminded me of the animal I’d seen on Primrose Hill the other night, the one my Morpheus-Memory-enhanced dream had shown me. My mind told me it was down to my imagination, to being hyper-aware of my surroundings, and that the grey shadows I kept glimpsing out the corner of my eye, and the hair-raising rustles and snaps I could almost hear coming from the thick vegetation, really weren’t a pair of huge werewolves licking their lips as they loped alongside me.
I neared the crossroads and slowed, pulse pounding like thunder in my ears, as I looked for a good spying place.
Shock splintered through me as a familiar presence pinged my Spidey senses.
I jogged forwards warily until I reached the crossroads and could see all four paths.
All seemed deserted.
But I knew there was a vamp nearby.
One I could feel, but couldn’t see.
The taste of Turkish Delight teased my tongue and my heart thudded with anticipation.
‘Show yourself,’ I murmured.
Shadows coalesced from nowhere at the start of the bridge twenty or so feet in front of me, twisting like smoke as they took on line and form and detail, until a figure stood, legs apart, arms loose at his sides, his black leather coat snapping around his leather-clad legs in a non-existent wind; the same wind blew his shoulder-length black silk hair away from his pale, perfect face and I caught my breath at his beauty.
Malik al-Khan.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘Typical flashy vamp entrance, Malik,’ I murmured, knowing he could hear me, and wondering why he’d followed me here instead of waiting for me to turn up to our date. Was it concern? Or something else?
The corner of his mouth quirked briefly. ‘Genevieve.’ His scent of warm leather mixed with dark spice and liquorice curled round me like a teasing summer breeze, making my stomach flutter. Part nerves, part lust. Mesma.
Wary, my fingers tensed around the bottle of werewolf repellent; the stuff stank enough that it would work on a vamp too. I trusted Malik. But only if he was the one in control. And since I’d last seen him, I couldn’t be sure that Bastien the sadist hadn’t been up to his torturing tricks. My gaze skimmed over Malik’s beautiful face, down his long lean body, searching for any new nasty spells or possible injuries. Nothing.
‘Just so I’m clear,’ I said, raising my voice slightly, ‘who am I chatting to? Is it you or is this going to be like the other night, with the Autarch doing his remote string-pulling thing, or whatever was going on with that Jellyfish spell?’
Malik touched the faded delta scar on his forehead as if in a brief salute. ‘I appreciate why you might be concerned, but with the spell’s influence removed, I am the only one who is pulling my strings. I give you my word of honour.’
His word. Good. Neither Malik nor the Autarch would mess around with that. I slung the tiny bottle on its neck chain back over my head.
‘Glad to hear it,’ I said, the knot of worry under my heart easing as I allowed myself a longer, more appreciative stare. And damn, in all that leather he might be wearing the clichéd, dangerous vamp look that all the Fang-Fans drooled over, but hell, I was ready to drool too. In fact, after our close encounter on the table at the hotel, I was ready to do way more than drool. And there’s no reason I couldn’t. At that thought, desire coiled deep inside me—
Malik’s obsidian eyes took on his sleepy tiger look. ‘Are you well, Genevieve?’
Oh, yeah.‘Good, thanks,’ I said, giving him my best innocent smile. He might have vamp supersenses, but just because Malik could tell what my body was feeling didn’t mean I couldn’t at least try to keep him guessing.
His look sharpened. ‘Is there a reason you are jogging in the park and are not at the mosque?’ His question held an edge of disapproval. Hmm. Irritating vamp better not be getting ideas about doing his whole ‘protecting the sidhe’ thing again.
‘I was chasing a couple of the Emperor’s werewolves.’ I shrugged, like it was an everyday occurrence, and started walking towards him. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve seen any sniffing around?’
A fine line furrowed his brow. ‘Were these werewolves in human, animal or beast form?’
He hadn’t denied the possibility that the Emperor or his werewolves might be about. So, did that mean he knew something, but was going to stall me, or what? ‘Human, last I saw, but that was nearly ten minutes ago.’
‘I see.’ He lifted his chin, nostrils flaring, then his frown cut deeper. ‘It is possible they have come this way, but I cannot tell conclusively.’
My frown joined his. It wasn’t the answer I expected. Or wanted. Annoyed, I stopped a few feet away from him. ‘Why not?’
‘A werewolf in human form does not carry enough of their wolf’s scent for them to be identified by smell alone; it is part of the magic that allows them to be two-natured. I would need to have met them in their human form before I could pick out their scent from the myriad of others that permeate the air about us. As for scenting a werewolf in their wolf or beast form, there are a number of scents upon the air that could be wolf, or a large canine of some description, but with the zoo and the Carnival nearby that is to be expected.’
Right. Good that he was giving me chapter and verse without any prevarication. It meant he was on the level and not trying to hide anything. For a change. My irritation dissipated and I took a step closer. ‘So a werewolf in human form smells like a human, and in their wolf form smells like a wolf?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, giving me a look that said he had his own questions but was prepared to answer mine. For now. ‘They are much more easily identified by sight, or by their blood.’
I blinked. ‘They don’t smell different, but their blood does?’
He moved closer; his coat brushed against my jeans. I stuck my hands in my back pockets, resisting the urge to run my fingers down his black T-shirt where it stretched over his hard abs. Later.
‘Their blood has a certain tang to it, yes.’
Malik’s voice was low, intimate and turned my knees weak. Embarrassingly, it took me a moment to catch up with his words . . . Oh right, werewolf blood tasted different. Weird that didn’t affect its smell . . . I got my brain back on to business and looked up at him. ‘Have you met any of the Emperor’s werewolves?’
A conflicted expression crossed his face, part sadness, part . . . anger, maybe? ‘I have. But not in more than five hundred years.’
Werewolves only live a human lifespan. So not much point describing the couple to him. Though really, since he’d tacitly admitted that the Emperor and his werewolves could be about, it wasn’t whatthe couple were that was in question, but wherethey were, and wherethey might be going, so we could locate the victims. But if he couldn’t scent them, we couldn’t follow them.
Damn. Looked like the werewolf trail was a dead end.
I cut Malik an enquiring look, and asked the big one. ‘What about the Emperor? Have you met him more recently?’
His eyes turned cold. ‘I have not.’
Nice unequivocal answer, even if his tone had sent a shiver down my spine. Malik really didn’t like the imperial vamp. ‘So does that mean you don’t know where his lair is?’
‘I do not know where he might be if he is in London, which is the question you are asking, I believe?’
‘Yep.’
He stepped back and disappointment sifted in me. I sighed. Well, Iwas the one who’d spoiled the moment. ‘My question is, why do you want to know, Genevieve?’
‘I told you. The tarot cards say the Emperor has the answer to releasing the fae’s trapped fertility.’
‘But what has that to do with the Bangladeshi ambassador?’
Something, but exactly what I didn’t know. And I wasn’t going to find out staying here. I hitched my small backpack higher. ‘How about I tell you on the way back to the mosque? If I can’t find the werewolves, then I want to see what info I can get out of the ambassador.’
He pushed his hair back, elegant fingers sliding through its long length. ‘The ambassador is no longer there.’
‘Really?’
‘I looked for you at the mosque first. While there I overheard him having an altercation with his security chief. He had received an invitation for an immediate meeting with the British Prime Minster. The security chief did not want the ambassador to go, but moments later the ambassador’s vehicle arrived and I saw him driven away.’
Crap. Tonight was a dead end all round. At least when it came to werewolves, the ambassador and finding his connection to the fae’s trapped fertility. I looked at Malik. Though maybe not when it came to other things, like our date. Not that I wanted to head off to the Blue Heart vamp club, but maybe we didn’t have to. We could stay here. It was way better. Quiet, private, and with the added advantage of no Autarch hanging around to play the psychotic gooseberry.
I gave Malik a bright smile. ‘How about I tell you what the ambassador has to do with this while we take a walk around the lake?’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Malik slipped his coat off and hooked it over his shoulder. ‘A walk would be pleasing, Genevieve,’ he said, his voice taking on its earlier intimate tone.
My pulse sped up. Pleasing wasn’t the half of it.
He moved closer and traced a line along my jaw, setting my skin tingling. ‘Or we could make use of the lake?’ Gentle pressure from his hand turned my gaze down towards the water, to where one of the lake’s small wooden boats bobbed. I hadn’t noticed it before. A boat trip out on the moonlit water was heading into Hallmark romance territory. Not that I had anything against that; in fact, I was all for it. The thought of Malik wielding a pair of oars, in the short-sleeved black T-shirt he was wearing, while I sat back and watched (preferably without any embarrassing drooling on my part) had my heart thudding even faster in anticipation.
‘That would also be . . . very pleasing,’ I said, matching his cool, despite knowing his vamp supersenses had to have picked up the faster tempo of my heartbeat.
‘Shall we?’ He held out his hand, black eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
I gave him a mock quelling look and placed my hand in his. His cool fingers closed around mine as he led me down to the short slope and to the boat. As I stepped in the boat rocked gently then settled. I sat on the low seat, my back to the pointy end (stern or the bow? I wasn’t sure: my knowledge of boats is sadly lacking), and tucked my backpack behind me as a cushion. I stretched my legs out and found the small boat surprisingly comfortable.
Malik jumped in confidently. The boat didn’t move, not even the slightest rock. Dropping his coat behind the middle seat, he sat and faced me, legs either side of mine, forearms resting on his thighs, clasped hands dangling mere inches above my jeans-clad legs. He smiled, a teasing lift of his lips and the boat pushed off and seemed to glide out onto the lake under its own power, quiet ripples in the moon-silvered water following in its wake.
‘Show off,’ I murmured.
His smile widened into a grin with a glimpse of fang and my heart did a little happy flip. Not only was he gorgeous, I’d never seen him so relaxed before. But then most of the time we’d spent together we’d been dealing with some crisis or I’d kept my suspicious barriers up between us. Not without reason; Malik usually knew far more about whatever was going on than I did, and just as usually wasn’t keen on letting me in on it.
But for once, whatever was happening with the vamps, Malik seemed to be as out of the loop as I was.
The boat glided over the water, heading under the bridge towards where the lake narrowed and split around a small island covered in small trees and overgrown bushes. A home to the lake’s herons.
Malik’s hand encircled my right ankle. As I jumped, he said, ‘May I?’
Slightly bemused, I nodded, made myself settle back and look relaxed.
He grasped my trainer and pulled it off. It thudded on the bottom of the boat and I had to force myself not to jump again at the cool touch of his hands on my bare skin. Within seconds warmth spread throughout my body, warmth that turned my bones languid and simmered a delicious heat deep inside me. Gods, if he was this good with just my feet . . .
I swallowed and asked, ‘Reflexology?’ less from interest and more to stop my mouth moaning in pleasure.
‘It is similar. This is Sokushin Do. It is the ancient Indian tradition of foot massage for healing and pleasure, taught by monks in the temples in Japan. “Soku” means foot. “Shin” means heart. “Do” means way.’
Well, his touch was certainly finding its way to my heart. And other places.
‘Now, Genevieve,’ he said, his voice weaving round me like silk, ‘tell me about this connection between the Emperor and the Bangladeshi ambassador.’
Was his Sokushin Do just a way of softening me up? If it were, I’d happily agree to be softened up like this any time he wanted. I stifled a sigh of bliss then, knowing I was probably going to spoil the moment again, lifted my arm and regretfully released my bracelet. It appeared around my left wrist with its usual chinking of charms. As Malik raised one elegant brow I held it up. ‘Don’t suppose you took your ring back the other night?’
His hands stilled in their tantalising caressing of my sole. ‘No.’
Delighted relief that he hadn’t washed through me, quickly followed by annoyance at Mad Max. ‘Then I’m pretty sure Maxim took it. I had a run-in with him after you left.’
‘You ran into Maxim?’
‘Well, it was more the other way round,’ I said, thinking of Mad Max’s roundhouse kick. I propped myself on my elbows and told Malik everything about the leaking Fertility spell and my night with Mad Max (which lit fires of rage in Malik’s pupils, though he didn’t bat an eye at Mad Max using magic, so the crazy sonofabitch had been truthful about keeping his wizarding abilities). Then, after a side discussion assuring Malik I was fine despite Mad Max’s rough treatment and that the Poultice spell was actually working, I asked, ‘So is Max following you or me? And on whose orders?’
‘I do not know.’ Malik’s expression hardened, his hand holding my ankle flexing with restrained strength. ‘Yet.’
For a moment, I was gleeful that Mad Max would end up at Malik’s mercy, then my glee muted to disappointment that whatever Mad Max was up to, Malik wasn’t up to speed with it. Still, if he didn’t know about Mad Max, he had to know about my gatecrashing his dream of kneeling in the snow, and talking to someone about sanguine lemures– the blood of undead ghosts. After all, he’d told me I had to leave the dream, had pulled me out of it, even. But knowing that didn’t make it easier to ask him; not when it suddenly hit me that my dreamcrashing had been a huge invasion of privacy.
‘Something else weird happened last night,’ I said, pulse speeding nervously, ‘I think I accidentally ended up in your dream. Or memory . . .’ I trailed off as the boat rocked, horror crossing his face and he released my foot, too quickly for me to stop it thumping down on the wooden planks. Then the boat settled and his usual enigmatic mask dropped like a shutter over his face.
‘My apologies, Genevieve. I did not intend to bring you into my memories. I imagine that the spell you removed’ – he touched the faint scar on his forehead – ‘and partly absorbed was responsible. The jellyfish organism had been feeding on my blood, which contained the power of Red Shamrock.’ Red Shamrock vamps could share or even steal memories.‘I will take more care in future.’
I scrambled to sit up. ‘I don’t think it was all down to you.’ I told him about the Morpheus Memory Aid and that the bizarre side-effect was no doubt brought on by my usual iffy reaction to magic. ‘So really I’m the one who needs to apologise.’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Then we should both endeavour to take more care in future, Genevieve.’
‘Probably a good idea,’ I agreed with a smile, then said tentatively, ‘Your memory didn’t feel happy . . .’ I trailed off as flames flared in his pupils, then snuffed out, leaving his eyes black and opaque. Damn, was he mad? Or what? ‘I’m sorry, Malik. I didn’t mean to pry’ – the magic pricked at me for sort of lying – ‘well, not in a bad way. Maybe if you want to talk about it, I could help?’
Something indefinable darkened his eyes. ‘Thank you, but the incident happened in the past and it is not one I wish to discuss.’
Hurt flashed in me. Not that he wouldn’t clue me in about his memories, but that his tone was the same chill one he’d used before to push me away. Instinctively, I pulled my feet under me. ‘Fair enough,’ I said, angry at myself, when my words came out less neutrally than I wanted.
He took in a breath, nostrils flaring, then his sorrow and regret slipped like a wisp of shadow over me – mesma. ‘I did not intend’ – he dipped his head, letting his loose black hair obscure his face for a moment, reminding me of Katie when she was anxious, then a brisk wind blew his hair back to reveal his beautiful features set in a grim expression – ‘I will tell you of the . . . memory, Genevieve. But it is one that is difficult for me to recount and I think it is more pertinent that we first talk of those matters that could be of concern to us now. For the rest, we have the night before us, do we not?’
A knot inside me loosened. He wasn’t cutting me off, he was just postponing. And he was right. We did have all night to chat. And maybe more.And sitting in a small rowboat in the middle of a moonlit boating lake was as perfect a place as any to do it. So might as well get the less personal stuff out of the way first.
‘Okay,’ I said slowly, then as he held out his hand in an obvious peace offering, I uncurled my legs and let him lift my other foot and slip my trainer off. I relaxed back as his long fingers started to weave their Sokushin Do magic.
‘It may be that I could help you with retrieving the memory you wished to enhance,’ Malik said softly, ‘if you would allow me to?’
‘Thanks.’ I smiled. ‘I would, but I got what I needed from the spell’ – ID-ing Katie’s treacherous spy boyfriend – ‘but there was something else.’ I told him about waking to find my bed covered in crimson rose petals. His frown let me know, as I’d thought, the petals weren’t down to him. I added that either I’d subconsciously calledthe petals myself (as Finn had suggested, not that I mentioned him) or that maybe Mad Max might have had something to do with them.
‘So what do you think?’ I asked.
‘I will look into it, Genevieve.’ Malik’s mouth thinned, his thumb pressing uncomfortably hard into the ball of my foot. I tensed before I could stop. His touch danced lighter and I gave an appreciative sigh then reluctantly got my mind back onto business as he asked, ‘Can you tell me about this connection between the Emperor and the Bangladeshi ambassador?’
‘You know the ambassador’s wife and kid have been kidnapped?’ The story was splashed all over the news so I’d have been surprised if Malik hadn’t, but it always pays to check. He nodded. ‘Well, I got another tarot card. It showed the ambassador under attack at the mosque by a werewolf, so I went to find out what it had to do with the fae’s trapped fertility. When I arrived I saw the ambassador talking to this couple and my gut said werewolves. So I added two and two, rightly or wrongly, and came up with their being the kidnappers. Then, as the ambassador wasn’t going anywhere, or so I thought, I decided to follow them to see if they might lead me to the victims.’
His hold on my ankle tightened, making me squirm. ‘That could have been a rash decision.’
He wasn’t wrong, but– I held my arm out and released Ascalon. The silver of the sword gleamed in the moonlight. ‘I have this, remember.’ He’d seen the sword once before.
