Текст книги "The Shifting Price of Prey"
Автор книги: Сьюзан Маклеод
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
Chapter Forty-Four
Bastien, my psychotic, memory-hijacking betrothed, and Malik’s – son?– smiled at me. A trickle of fear dripped down my spine. I reminded myself that he was just another sucker, not to mention that thisBastien was nothing more than the product of my imagination and the Wishing Web. Surprisingly, my conjured illusion of him looked different from when he’d ‘appeared’ in my Dreamscape daymare.
Now he was wearing jeans and a Blondie T-shirt, of all things. It made him look more like the tall, gangly fifteen-year-old he’d been when he’d Accepted the Gift. His features and skin tone were a mix-up of Mediterranean and Middle East, and I searched them for any resemblance to Malik, disturbed when I realised they had the same shaped mouth, the same sharp jawline, though Bastien’s brown eyes were round, and heavily lashed, in a way that gave him a limpid, almost girlish look.
In fact, now I wasn’t looking at him through panic-warped eyes I realised that, with his unruly dark hair and good looks, he’d probably be a candidate for a lot of people’s wet dreams. If they didn’t know how sick he was inside.
His looks also reminded me of the crush I’d had on him at fourteen.
Bastien grinned. ‘You always did like watching me, my sidhe princess,’ he said, the illusion evidently picking up on my memories. ‘Peering at me from behind curtains, inside wardrobes, all wide-eyed and innocent, like a timid mouse fascinated by a cat.’ He licked his lips. ‘It made dallying with your faeling friend even more exciting, hearing your heart flutter like a trapped bird’s, hearing your breath hitch at the things we did, all the while knowing that soon I would do the same to you, that I’d be the first to pierce you in every way.’
Of course, once he opened his mouth . . . My hand clenched around the sword’s hilt, grateful Dessa and Mary were gone. ‘Her name was Sally,’ I said flatly, tightening my grip on the sword. ‘You killed her.’
He shrugged. ‘I am rash and impulsive. I often regret the consequences. As I did after I dealt with the faeling: she met her death much too soon. I am sure she could have provided a few more days’ amusement for our wedding celebrations, if I had but curbed my impatience.’
I suppressed a shudder. ‘I’m sure Sally would’ve been thrilled to know that.’
‘She thought she could take your place, my sidhe. It was an insult.’
‘You killed her because you got off on it,’ I spat. ‘You got off on torturing her. And you were going to do the same to me before Malik stopped you.’
‘Be ready to run, Genevieve. At my command.’Malik’s voice came out of his mouth. They were the words I’d heard in my head that long ago night when I’d been standing in front of Bastien, in my wedding dress soaked with Sally’s blood, frozen with terror.
I took a step back, surprise and dismay washing over me.
‘Be ready to run, Genevieve. At my command.’ This time Bastien said it in his own voice, his tone bored. ‘You presume, my princess, that I did not know what Malik, my ever-faithful commander, my always-loyal shadow, was doing. He told you to run, ordered you to so you had no choice. Then he chased you down like a frightened rabbit, feasted on your blood and your life, and threw your dead body down in front of me like a sacrificial offering.’ He tapped his head. ‘I was with him in here. Listening, watching, experiencing. So how could I not know what he was doing all along?’
‘No.’ I shook my head in disbelief. The bastard was trying to trick me. Again. ‘If you knew he was saving me, not killing me, you would’ve stopped him.’
‘Saving you?’ He laughed, derisive. ‘Malik wasn’t saving you, princess. He was saving me, from myself. It is what he has always done. What he still does.’
Saving him?Did that mean Bastien really was Malik’s son? I wanted to ask, but couldn’t force the words out. ‘What the hell does “saving you” mean?’ I demanded.
‘We had waited so long for you.’ He shrugged. ‘As such we would have regretted using your death for a mere few days’ entertainment. So Malik prevented me from doing so.’
Icy betrayal slid into my heart. I tried to ignore it, but the voice in my mind said the bastard was speaking truth, that Malik hadn’t saved me out of an altruistic sense of honour, but because it was all part of whatever game he and the Autarch were playing at that time. And were still playing now. If the psycho was right.
Briefly, I closed my eyes, breathed in the scent of smouldering leaves, and remembered this was myfantasy, dragged from my subconscious by the Wishing Web. Was this what I feared deep down? That Malik’s interest in me was all part of some psychotic blood-sucker’s plan? That I was just a pawn? That even though I’d accepted a relationship with him, wanted him, I didn’t trust him? If so then I was seriously messed up about him. Though, if I thought about it logically, nothing about this fantasy made sense. I wanted to kill Bastien. I always had. If it hadn’t been for the feelings of panic and terror that overwhelmed me at fourteen I’d have searched him out in his daytime sleep and, instead of running away, I’d have killed him then.
So, why wasn’t I trying to kill him right now? With the sword, my bare hands, or whatever, instead of discussing the ins and outs of plots that might not exist, and worrying that my psyche, when it came to Malik, was really fucked up. Either this Wishing Web was more sophisticated than most, or something stank. And it wasn’t the burned . . . meat?
No, not meat, but flesh.
My eyes snapped open.
There was a figure on the grass between us, on its back, arms and legs outstretched, the hot sunshine beating down on it. Twelve silver-dipped daggers had been driven through the figure’s wrists, ankles, forearms, calves, biceps and thighs. The blades all missed bone, but sliced through the thickest part of the figure’s muscles. I could tell because the figure looked like one of those anatomical drawings, the ones where the skin’s been stripped to reveal what’s underneath. Except the bodies in those drawings don’t look like over-cooked meat. They don’t smell like it, either. Their eyes don’t roll in their sockets as they look at you. And they don’t have a full set of vamp fangs: two sharper canines either side of the needle-thin venom fangs.
‘Genevieve.’
And they never speak.
Malik?
‘As you can see, my lovely princess, Malik even took your place to ensure I was distracted while you made your escape.’ Bastien smiled like the cat that got the cream.
My stomach heaved, and I lunged away as I doubled over, vomiting on to the grass, and thankfully not on . . . was it really Malik? Had the sadistic prick done this to him back then?
I heaved again. Forced myself to stop, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. I pushed to my feet, reaching in the same motion for the sword I’d dropped—
It was gone.
The Autarch was grinning. A wide fang-filled grin that asked if I’d got the joke yet.
I did. The Autarch was here. In this tent. Controlling what illusions the Wishing Web put out, maybe even adding to them, if that was one of his vamp powers. That realisation settled me. I didn’t care how or why, or that most vamps couldn’t go out in daylight, just that now I’d have a chance at the psycho. The other sword might be gone, but I clenched my hand; I still had my ace up my sleeve, or rather, ring on my finger. Ascalon.
‘So your fantasy is watching me puke my guts out,’ I said flatly. ‘Can’t say I’m impressed by your imagination.’
He flung his arms wide. ‘This is not imagination but another cherished memory, my princess.’
Well, that answered the question of whether the sadistic prick had made Malik suffer . . . He had. I clamped down on my desire to run the psychotic monster through. First I needed to find out what he wanted. Because this was the reason for the phone call telling me ‘my dog’ was at the Carnival. To get me here, to Bastien. The only thing that didn’t mesh with that scenario was Mad Max’s kidnap and subsequent escape, presumably, from the Emperor’s werewolves. Thatsuggested some sort of pact between Bastien and the Emperor . . . Or the werewolves. Which was more likely, since Bastien and Dilek a.k.a. Fur Jacket Girl were apparently brother and sister. And, if Bastien’s words to me in the Dreamscape were anything to go on, he wanted me to save him, Dilek and Malik too, from the Emperor. Bastien was no doubt going to tell me his ‘save us’ plan next. Though whatever the plan was I seriously doubted it was going to have my best interests at heart.
Time to cut through the bullshit.
‘So,’ I said, ‘you and your pet dog have got me here. What’s the deal?’
He threw his head back and gave a fang-filled laugh. ‘You are delightful. Naïve, but delightful, my princess, if you think I’m the one with the plan.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘I see I shall have to spell it out,’ he said. ‘I am the Autarch. I have a certain mercurial reputation, well deserved and well maintained.’ He pointed down at Malik– no, not Malik, just an illusion. ‘When he deprived me of the enjoyment of your body, your blood and your death – in all eyes but his, mine and yours – my subjects would have considered me weak if I had not vented my anger on someone. Malik insisted it be him and no one else. Personally, I always prefer someone else; his constant need for atonement detracts from my own pleasure.’ He gave me a look as if to say, ‘Poor me, no one cares what I want, I have to suffer so.’ I grimaced in disgust. ‘But if terror no longer fills my subjects’ hearts and minds as their thoughts turn to me, they would soon plot for my messy demise.’ He shrugged. ‘And we cannot allow that.’
‘Fine. I get the politics. You’re not the one with the plans. Malik is. You’re the figurehead and he’s the power behind the throne. The kingmaker. Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me?’
He tilted his head, considering. ‘Kingmaker?’ A happy, if scary, smile spread across his young-looking face. ‘Yes. This is true. I was a prince. Malik made me his king. Remind him of that, my sidhe, next time you speak to him.’
I shook my head, not believing him. ‘Why the fuck would Malik make you king? If he was that powerful, he could make himself king.’
He arched a sceptical brow. ‘With his curse?’
I gritted my teeth. ‘What’s his curse got to do with it?’
‘My princess, do you really think that vampires anywhere would accept a revenant, someone who could turn into a bloodthirsty mindless corpse at any moment, as their liege lord?’
‘They accepted a psychotic, murdering bastard like you.’
‘Those that lived did, yes,’ he agreed prosaically. ‘Those that Challenged me to my face died horribly. As did those that plotted behind my back.’ He threw his arms out with a flourish and gave a low bow. ‘You see before you the magician’s assistant, my princess. The pretty distraction to divert the eye. No one sees my loyal shadow coming, not until the darkness takes them.’ He grinned. ‘You see, I am not the only psychotic, murdering bastard.’
Was it true? Was Malik the one in control? Or was Bastien still playing games, trying to make me think that? But why? What did it gain him, to make me distrust Malik? Or was that it? Was Bastien trying to drive a wedge between us? But again, why? Especially after he’d seemed so disappointed we hadn’t had sex. I swallowed back bile at the memory of how the bastard had violated me, and tightened my fist around Ascalon’s ring. And what the hell did it all have to do with the Emperor? Though really, second-guessing Bastien was a waste of time; he was the type to sell his own mother, so anything coming out of his mouth was suspect. Time to poke back.
‘If Malik’s the one in charge,’ I ground out, ‘then he doesn’t want me to know, otherwise he would’ve told me. So why are you enlightening me?’
He licked his lips. ‘The pleasure of knowing you know.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Not entirely. I do derive pleasure knowing this causes you emotional pain, princess. Not as much as I wish; I much prefer to cause physical suffering.’ He plucked a dagger from Malik’s– no, the figure’sleft thigh, held it up so the sunshine hit it. The blood glistening on the blade bubbled, and smoke spiralled. He plunged the knife down into the figure’s stomach. The figure made a strangled noise as if stifling a scream. I stopped breathing for a moment. Illusion, nothing more. Wasn’t it?Bastien met my eyes. His were flat and hard, all signs of insanity gone. ‘You are here, bean sidhe, because when the time comes for you to choose, I want to ensure that you know what your choices are.’
Now we were getting to it. ‘What do I have to choose?’
‘Not what, but who. You think Malik al-Khan is your dark knight, your protector. I am here to tell you, he has taken on those mantles for our sake, his and mine, not yours.’
‘Seriously, if this is meant to make me save you and Malik from whatever you’ve got going on with the Emperor, trying to turn me against him is going the wrong way about it.’
‘It is not Malik who will need saving from the Emperor, it is I, my lovely bride. I have already tried to tell you this.’
I clenched my ring. ‘Well, listen up, buddy, I’m happy to kill you now, and save the Emperor the trouble.’
‘But you will not.’
I released Ascalon and bared my teeth in a smile. ‘Bet you can’t give me a good reason not to.’
Chapter Forty-Five
‘If you kill me, princess,’ Bastien said, ‘you will have lost that which the Emperor wants from you in return for information about releasing the fae’s trapped fertility.’
It was a fucking good reason. It was also a fucking cryptic reason. And it threw up a whole slew of questions. I went for the most pertinent. ‘How do you know what I want from the Emperor?’
‘You told my loyal shadow, did you not?’
A question for an answer. Which meant Malik almost certainly hadn’t told him. ‘How do I know you’re not spinning me a line?’
Glee wreathed his face. ‘I believe you will have to trust me, my lovely sidhe. To that end you will find that I have sent an extremely useful gift to the àrd-cheann. A cybernetic Trojan Horse, if you will, to help you both in your quest.’
What the hell did that mean, other than– ‘You know there’s a saying about not trusting Greeks bearing gifts, don’t you?’
‘Ah. Luckily I am not Greek, but Ottoman.’
Right. And thatwas supposed to make me trust him? Still, he was right, I couldn’t risk killing him. Not yet. I clenched my hand round Ascalon, and as if it felt my frustration, the sword slowly shrank back until it was a chunky emerald ring on my finger again.
Bastien smiled smugly.
Goaded, I snapped, ‘You know Malik wants you dead.’
Bastien shrugged dismissively. ‘He will not act on it.’
I snorted. Malik had already acted on it; he’d made a deal with Tavish for help to do the deed. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that.’
‘My life is worth more to him than any other, even his own, my princess. It always has been.’
He said it with such confidence that I had to ask, ‘Why?’
‘Because I have long been that part of him that he cares for above all else.’
Again with the cryptic. Irritated, I jumped in with the question I’d avoided before. ‘You mean because you’re his son?’ My voice rose slightly as my doubt, or hope, that he’d deny it crept into my words.
‘A question you can ask him when you next see him,’ he replied, not even blinking. ‘When you do, I want you to give him a message.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Why can’t you give it to him?’
‘Malik is not currently taking my calls.’ Impatience crossed his face. ‘And I can no longer reach his mind. There is . . . something preventing me. It may be Malik himself. I do not know. Tell him that too.’
Unease pricked me. Why wasn’t Malik talking to him? Bastien had said Malik was safe from the Emperor, hadn’t he? No, he’d only said that he, Bastien, would need saving . . . ‘What makes you think I’ll see him?’
‘Why, my faithful hound will lead you to his side, my bride. How else will you save me?’
Mad Max would take me to Malik? To save Bastien? Surprise and suspicion washed through me.
‘When he does,’ Bastien continued, ‘tell my shadow these words exactly: I have honoured the agreement between us. I will not harm the bean sidhe, but due to your incessant vacillating, I have made the choice for you.’
Ice trickled down my spine. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’
‘You have heard the message you have inspired, sidhe. It informs all of my decision, now make sure you deliver.’ He reached down to yank the dagger from the figure’s stomach at our feet and lifted it in a salute. ‘Until anon, princess,’ he said, and vanished.
Crap. He’d disappeared too quickly for it just to be vamp speed, so it had to be an illusion. Which meant he was still here. And I had one more question.
‘Come back here, Bastien,’ I shouted. ‘Now. I haven’t finished with you!’
He reappeared, his expression a mix of curiosity and calculation. ‘My, you havechanged from that timid little mouse, princess.’ He raised a brow, and again I saw a resemblance to Malik in his face. I shoved the disturbing image away and said, ‘Tell me how to find that which is lost, and how to join that which is sundered, to release the fae’s fertility from the pendant and restore it back to them as it was before it was taken.’
‘Well, well, would that I could, my princess, it would be a wonderful moment, would it not, if I had something you wanted?’ He threw his head back and laughed, and my heart sank. My growing suspicion was wrong. Fuck. I’d been sure he was in league with the tarot cards, sure he was somehow the ‘Emperor’, and knew the answer.
His laughter cut out and he pointed an accusing finger at me. ‘That mad bitch who is your mother is the one you should be asking, not I.’
Yeah, well, if my fruitcake of a mother ever put in an appearance, I would. Until then, I was being led around the nose by a set of crotchety tarot cards—
Bastien vanished again.
Fuck. I had to catch him. He might not know the answer, but he knew more than he’d told me. I rushed for the exit—
A hand grabbed my ankle.
And I faceplanted into straw-like grass, suddenly realising as I did that the cambion’s illusions were gone. The tent was back. Empty of anything other than a large black cauldron, a small table and the huge four-poster bed. I jerked round to look at the figure lying on the floor, my leg captured in its iron grip, hoping it was no longer a skinned, dried-up body.
A male – small, naked, with a purple tinge to his wrinkled black skin and a pair of short, scaly red horns sticking out of his forehead – was clutching his stomach with his other hand, blackish-red blood bubbling through his fingers every time he sucked in air.
‘It’s not supposed to go like this,’ he whispered.
Crap. Had to be the cambion. And he was injured.
‘Let me go,’ I muttered, tugging my foot. ‘I’ll get someone.’
He did, but not before gasping out, ‘Dog. Under the bed. Hurt too.’
Mad Max!
I went for help.
Outside I found Hugh and five other trolls gearing up for my rescue with saline magic extinguishers (similar to a standard fire extinguisher but painted blue with a silver band). There was no sign of Mary, Dessa, or strangely any other witches, or any of the other tents’ occupants. There were, however, a couple of medic teams from HOPE with their usual mix of mundane and magical fixes. I shouted out the Wishing Web was down, that the cambion and Mad Max were injured, and that the Autarch was hidden inside. Hugh and his constables disappeared into the tent, quickly followed by the medics.
The cambion was carted off to HOPE. He wasn’t injured as such, but was instead hosting a Sagan spider – a sort of symbiotic pet that lives off the host’s blood and flesh in return for a magical boost – which was why the Wishing Web had been so powerful. The creature was half-absorbed into the cambion’s chest, and was the source of the bubbling blood. Either the Autarch had killed it when he’d plunged the dagger into the cambion’s illusion of the sun-tortured Malik, or the spider had died when its Web overloaded with too many fantasies coming too fast. Hugh said they couldn’t be sure until all the evidence had been checked out by the Magic and Murder Squad’s witches, and the cambion was in a position to talk further. He was suffering magical blowback from the spider’s death, and was being stabilised so they could surgically remove the spider’s remains.
‘Ick,’ I said, grateful I’d never got too close to the wrinkled, horny little male. And glad I’d dropped Mary with the Stun spell, even if she, Taegrin and Dessa were also at HOPE getting checked out. I’d told Hugh I’d Glamoured Dessa, but as she hadn’t shown any symptoms once she was out of the tent, he agreed to leave that tiny incriminating detail out of my statement. For now. If it was going to come back and bite me (and no way was that thought Freudian), we’d deal with it when it did. As for my actual bite wound, which had the medics pouncing on me thanks to the blood staining my shirt, I said I’d caught myself on something blunt (Dessa’s teeth!), and that it was already healing (itching like a vamp venom bite as it did!), so was nothing to worry about.
Neither was Mad Max. Injury wise anyway.
A call-out over the Carnival’s loudspeakers had turned up a vet (from Brighton on a day trip with his wife and three kids), who pronounced Max the dog was suffering from concussion, judging by the blood-encrusted egg-shaped bump on his head, and had been given some sort of sedative but was otherwise a ‘fine specimen of the breed, and if his owner was ever interested in putting Max to stud, he knew of a suitable bitch, and would be happy to put Max’s owner in contact’.
Hugh grinned, pink granite teeth shining, as he handed me the vet’s business card and repeated his offer. ‘Thought you might like to pass that on to your cousin, Genny.’
‘Ha ha,’ I said. ‘Even if it were possible, I think he’s got enough offspring already.’
Hugh laughed and settled himself carefully into an overlarge, canvas director’s chair with Mini the Minotaurstencilled across the back. ‘So did you get any useful information from Max?’
I grimaced. ‘Not much, the sedative’s obviously screwing with him.’ Dealing with the crazy sonofabitch was bad enough when he was lucid, but trying to get anything out of him when he was drugged made me want to bleach my brain: I was never going to look at a poodle the same way again. ‘But he did say that the Autarch can astral-project which explains how he popped in and out so easily.’
‘Astral projection is rare,’ Hugh said, taking out his notebook and a large troll pencil. ‘And I understand it is dangerous without the proper preparations to return the spirit to the body.’ He made a note. ‘Does Max know where the Autarch’s body is?’
‘Nope,’ I said, shifting uncomfortably on my makeshift seat, one of the leprechaun’s huge balls of string. I wasn’t sure if a spiritwalking Autarch was better or worse than a daywalking one. ‘But apparently I don’t have to worry about the werewolves coming after me since Max has done some sort of deal to deliver me to the Emperor in return for the werewolves letting him escape.’
Hugh leaned forwards. The director’s chair, while large, still creaked ominously. ‘A trap?’
‘Supposedly. Only Fur Jacket Girl appears to be Bastien’s long lost sister and I think they’re in cahoots. So Max delivering me up to the Emperor is probably something to do with the Trojan Horse thing Bastien mentioned he’d sent to Tavish.’ Knowing my luck psycho Bastien’s plan would involve me sweating it out in an actual wooden horse, which would be hell seeing as Regent’s Park was currently trying to put the Sahara to shame. I chugged back the last of my bottled water as I waited for Hugh to add to his notes, then said, ‘Hopefully we’ll find out more when Tavish phones back.’ I’d called him, and yet again my call had gone to voicemail. Hugh had sent a unit to check on him. Damn kelpie better have a good reason for being incommunicado.
Hugh nodded. ‘But Max can’t tell you what the Trojan Horse is?’
‘Nope. He seems to be blindly following whatever instructions Bastien drops into his head. I can’t work out if Bastien’s got him under mind-lock or if Max is knowingly doing the sheep thing. But that might be down to the sedative.’ Or the crazy sonofabitch’s fixation with poodles. ‘It’s possible we might get more out of him when he pops out of his doggy form at sunset.’
‘And he couldn’t tell you anything about what’s going on between the Emperor and the Autarch?’
‘No, but I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of showdown or attempted takeover in the offing. And Bastien seems to think I’m his winning card . . .’ I trailed off as I realised I’d missed something and slapped my forehead. ‘Crap. You know I asked him about the fae’s trapped fertility?’ Hugh nodded. ‘I should’ve quizzed him about the kidnap victims from the zoo too.’
‘It’s doubtful you’d have learned anything, Genny.’
‘Yeah, but I should’ve asked.’ I picked at the plastic tab on the bottle, angry at myself.
Hugh flipped back a couple of pages in his notepad. ‘What about Malik al-Khan? Does Max know where he is, or what his involvement is in all this?’
‘No.’ Questioning Mad Max about Malik had drawn a complete blank. Looked like the pyscho hadn’t given that set of instructions to his pet dog yet. So I was going to have to wait to find out what Malik’s ‘involvement’ was. Just as I was going to have to wait for answers to the rest of Bastien’s cryptic barbs. ‘Damn vamps and their games,’ I muttered, systematically crushing the empty plastic bottle. ‘All secrets and plots and double dealing.’
Hugh gave my knee a concerned pat. ‘Do you want to talk about it, Genny?’
I dropped the bottle, my anger dissipating to misery. Stupid tears stang my eyes and I scrubbed my face, took a breath and told Hugh about Bastien’s story that he was just the front vamp, and that Malik was the real power behind the throne, and that while I knew Bastien was a lying, psychotic sack of shit, he was right, Malik wasalways the one with the plans.
‘So, looks like Malik’s been playing me for a fool, that he and Bastien are not only fang buddies, but’ – I hugged myself, my heart cracking as I forced the words out – ‘they’re father and son, or whatever, and I’m just a pawn in whatever long game they’ve got going.’
‘Genny.’ Frown fissures bracketed Hugh’s mouth. ‘Good relationships are built on mutual respect and trust. To build that respect and trust you need to get to know each other, learn what matters, and accept each other for who each of you are. It takes time. As does attraction, if it is to develop into love. If that is what you feel you and Malik al-Khan could have together, then my advice would be to speak about this to him.’
I let that sink in. I knew Hugh didn’t like the idea of me getting together with Malik, or any vamp, and that he’d put his personal feelings aside to give me his encouraging words of wisdom. I put my hand on his familiar gritty one, heart full of love and gratitude for him. ‘You’re right,’ I said, ‘and I had planned to talk to him, anyway.’ I gave Hugh a wry smile. ‘Sorry for dumping on you, but thanks for letting me.’
‘Any time, Genny, you know that.’ Hugh returned my smile, then his face hardened. ‘But as soon as this involves more than some personal issues between you and Malik al-Khan, then let me know. And we’ll deal with it together.’
‘Okay, thanks, Hugh,’ I said, happy and even more grateful to know he had my back, as always. ‘I will.’ I grabbed another water – damn sun was like a furnace, even sitting in the shade – and half-drained it in a couple of gulps.
‘You’re drinking a lot, Genny,’ Hugh said, ‘are you sure you’re feeling—’ An owl hoot interrupted him; his phone. He checked the screen, shook his head – not Tavish then – and stood up, walking off as he starting speaking.
I frowned at the water, thinking I wasdrinking a lot, as Constable Lamber, his mottled beige head dusty, ambled over.
‘Hello, Genny.’ He smiled showing teeth worn down from chomping on too many butter pebbles. ‘I just got back from HOPE. That cambion chappy asked me to give you something, said it was important. I should run it by the guv first, but he’s busy, and ’spect you’ll tell him anyway.’ He held out a card.
Tarot card number four.
