Текст книги "The Cold Kiss of Death"
Автор книги: Сьюзан Маклеод
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
When he put it like that, how could I refuse?
‘Sure.’ I clenched, then unclenched my hand, having to pump the blood out now.
Two pints would probably take Joseph’s body about six weeks to make the red cells up. 3V halved that timescale for a human. With 3V turbo-charging my own fae metabolism, I’d make the red cells up in around a week—yet another reason the vamps are so hot for a fae to snack on. Fae really are their ultimate fast food.
I looked into the bucket. That should do it. ‘I’m done here, Joe,’ I said, and gave him a quick smile. Now to find out how much of a jailer he intended to be. ‘So how are you fixed for lending me some clothes and letting me use the phone?’
‘You’re leaving?’ His expression behind the mask turned worried. ‘But what about Malik?’
‘I’m sure you can look after him better if I’m not here.’ As I stood I saw the wound on my arm was already scabbing over. ‘And anyway,’ I gave him a rueful smile, ‘I’m not the nursemaid type.’
‘Okay.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Clothes should be no problem, but I’m afraid I can’t let you use the phone.’ His face creased up in awkward embarrassment. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help, but you’d be phoning your friends, and I don’t want any calls to get traced back to me or here. This is one of Malik’s safe houses.’
I frowned. ‘Aren’t you being just a tiny bit paranoid?’
‘Maybe,’ he shrugged, ‘but you’re wanted for murder, and they can monitor phones, especially mobiles, if they know the numbers. I saw it on that film, the one where the spy who’s lost his memory is on the run.’ He gave me a sheepish look. ‘Of course, it could just be dramatic licence, but I’d rather be paranoid than find out I’m right when the police are knocking on my door.’
Fine, no point wasting my time arguing with him, not when I’d been lying around comatose for three days. I had enough other things I wanted: a shower, some food, scissors to sort out my hair—and it was about time I started looking for Tomas’ murderer.
And I knew just where to start.
With the kelpie that lived in the River Thames.
Chapter Eight
The wind rippled the surface of the River Thames, pushing it into choppy grey ridges. I traipsed along Victoria Embankment, keeping close to the low stone wall that overlooked the river. Russet and brown hand-shaped leaves from the sycamore trees blew along the pavement, a smattering of cold raindrops hit my face and the river scent freshened the ever-present traffic fumes clogging the late-afternoon air. The constant line of cars, taxis and buses rumbled along, stopping and starting again with each quick change of the lights. I shuffled my way past camera-toting tourists, chattering school kids and an overweight jogger who was puffing and stopping as often as the traffic.
No one paid me any attention—but with the too-large parka I was wearing almost reaching my calves and the baseball cap hiding my tell-tale amber hair, I looked like any other homeless youngster wandering around aimlessly, even without the rolled-up jeans and old trainers stuffed with newspaper. Oddly enough, although Joseph’s mirrored wardrobes had been full of women’s outfits, it had all looked more appropriate for a night out at an S&M club than for wandering the streets of London incognito. Joseph had mumbled something about a friend and blushed red to the tips of his ears, then offered me some of his own clothes, but he still wouldn’t let me use his phone. I’d phoned Grace from a public box and told her everything; it hadn’t been an easy conversation, but in the end she’d agreed with my plans.
I slowed as I neared the RAF Monument. At the top of its granite column, the golden eagle gleamed in the grey afternoon light as it stared out across the river towards the slowly revolving Ferris-wheel of the London Eye. The waist-height gates on either side of the base were padlocked shut; behind them steps led down to a landing platform jutting into the river, then the steps turned and disappeared beneath the brownish murk of the water. It’s not an obvious entrance to someone’s home, but then, London’s fae rarely advertise their presence, nor do they welcome unlooked-for visitors, let alone inquisitive humans. So most tourists stop, read the inscription about the Air Force’s departed servicemen, cast an incurious look over the gates and then move on, none of them conscious of the subtle spell that gently urges them on their way.
I halted in front of the inscription and traced my fingers over the letters, wondering if Tavish, the kelpie I’d come to see, was home. Tavish is a techno-geek for hire—he’s rumoured to freelance for the Ministry of Defence, one of the reasons he keeps his entrance at the Whitehall steps. (Of course, the other reason his home is here is that the River Thames from Lambeth Bridge and down to the sea is his feeding ground.)
Hacking into the news services or even the police files to get me a copy of the full CCTV footage of the bakery that was currently splashed across the country’s TV screens would be as easy as diving for pennies on the riverbed—something else Tavish could do with his eyes closed. And if there were any clues in the recording, deciphering them wouldn’t be much more difficult for him.
Nerves fluttered in my stomach as if I’d swallowed a flight of dragonflies.
Now I was here, I wasn’t sure it was such a great idea ...
Trouble was, Tavish and I had history—if you could call half-a-dozen casual dates history—but the possibility for more had always been there. Not that I’d wanted to end the fledgling relationship, but at the time my secrets were still just that– secret—and I’d been keeping my distance from other fae. I tapped my fingers indecisively on the top of the gate. I’d probably suffered more in the way of futile regrets and disappointment over the break-up than Tavish ever had, but dump any male—or female, for that matter—without a good explanation and their ego isn’t going to be happy. Dump a centuries-old kelpie, one of the wylde fae, and it wasn’t just his ego I needed to worry about.
But I had more important things to concern me than my past personal life, and the CCTV footage wasn’t the only reason I’d come to see Tavish.
London has three gates that join it to the Fair Lands, and Tavish is one of the gates’ guardians. If there was another sidhe in London, Tavish should know ... which meant he should know something about Tomas’ murderer. Even as I thought it, a shiver of awareness prickled my skin with goosebumps. He was home, and he knew I was here.
I took a guarded look round, checking no one was watching me too closely, and then clambered quickly over the gate on one side of the column. Magic clung to me as if I’d walked through a heavy mist. I jogged down the steps to the landing platform, then gripped the iron railing with one hand and crouched, peering into the water swirling a few inches below me. I could just see the top of the old archway, which had been bricked up in the late eighteen hundreds, when the Victoria Embankment had been built to hold back the river. Taking a deep breath, I reached down to touch the tail of the carved stone fish statue mounted on the centre of the arch, but before my fingers connected, I felt the hair rise on my body and I hesitated.
I stood up and turned to look back up at the road. Cosette the ghost was standing on the pavement, watching me from the other side of the gate, an odd, considering look on her childish face. Indecision wavered inside me; should I go up to see her? Then common sense took over; we still couldn’t communicate, so the best thing I could do was sort this mess out first. I gave her a nod and a wave, then turned back to face the river.
I reached down again and wrapped my fingers around the fish statue’s tail. The railing stayed hard beneath my other palm, but as the magic pressed solidly against me the traffic noise, the chill autumn wind and the ozone scent of the Thames disappeared. The world shiftedaround me, not as movement that could be felt, but something deeper, as if space itself was being reshaped. The magic took me out of the humans’ world.
And into Between.
Below me, the river was gone, replaced by an abyss so deep and dark my head spun with vertigo. Slowly I straightened, still staring down, unwilling—almost unable—to take my gaze from the chasm. There was something seductive about it; I felt as if I could launch myself into it and find what I sought ...
I forced myself to turn, to put my back to the emptiness. Betweenis the gap that links the humans’ world and the Fair Lands. It’s a dangerous place, the magic that fuels it is fierce and untamed, and persuasive enough that the legends about those who stray from the paths are full of wonder or terror or death.
Or nothing at all.
The sky, deepest blue and curved like a huge bowl overhead, brightened. A hot yellow sun blazed like a furnace and in seconds sweat slicked between my breasts and down my spine. Inside me, the Knock-back Wards I’d absorbed at the bakery flared, the magic lifting its nose like a dog snuffling around this new place. I dug inside the jacket pocket for a couple of liquorice torpedoes and stuffed them in my mouth. As soon as the sugar hit my system, I used the extra boost and willed the Knock-back Wards into quiet sleepiness. Mixing spells with the magic here, even those as basic as the Wards, could be a hit-and-miss affair: sometimes it worked, sometimes it was like putting a match to a touchpaper.
I scanned the area. Before me was a beach of golden sand that stretched further than I could see. On one side was a white cliff with a sand-coloured camouflage tent pitched at its base, shadowed by the overhang: Tavish’s home, or at least its current façade. On the other side of the beach was a glittering, mirror-dark sea, but the water was still and silent, and probably as deep as the abyss.
Tavish was in the water—in his human shape—but still in the water.
Damn, that sowasn’t a good start.
He was sitting at the water’s edge, half-submerged, with his back to me. I could see his long legs stretched out in the shallows, his arms braced behind him on the sand as he raised his face to the sun. The bottle-green dreads that streamed down his back looked like seaweed hung out to dry, the silver-beaded tips glinting in the sunlight. He didn’t acknowledge me. Ignoring the nerves still twisting in my stomach, I shrugged out of the jacket and sighed in relief as a cool breeze teased around me. I almost ditched the jeans too—the T-shirt Joseph had given me was long enough to pass as a baggy dress—but instead I just removed the baseball cap and ran my fingers through my shorter hair. I kicked off the old trainers and walked down the dozen steps to the beach. The sand was pleasantly warm beneath my feet, not as burning-hot as the fiery sun would suggest ... but this was Between. And expecting Betweento follow the rules of the humans’ world was a recipe for disaster.
When I was close enough to see Tavish’s delicate gills flare like black lace fans either side of his neck, but far enough away—from him and the water—that I almost felt safe, I stopped.
‘Hello, Tavish.’
‘Long time nae see, doll.’ He turned to look at me over his shoulder, his face breaking into a welcoming smile, his sharp-pointed teeth white against the darkness of his skin—not black, but the deepest green found where the sunlight just penetrates the depths of the sea. ‘But you took your ain sweet time getting here. I’ve been expecting you this last two days.’
I smiled back, couldn’t help myself as my magic exalted at the sight of him and the nerves inside me settled. I sat where I was, crossing my legs Indian-style, and trailed my fingers through the soft sand. Tavish might be centuries old—he’s cagey about how many—but like most fae he didn’t look like he’d reached thirty yet. He’s the most fae-looking of all those I know, and yet somehow he still easily passes for human without using a Glamour. His long, angular features, Roman-straight nose and almost pointed chin are a less delicate, more male face than my own, but with enough echoes of my own face that anyone can see the sidhe in his make-up. I’d often wondered if he wasn’t a lot older than anyone guessed, maybe even born in the Shining Times, when the sidhe would procreate with any living thing that attracted their attention. Only Tavish doesn’t have our cat-like pupils—or any pupils at all; his eyes are a brilliant silver with a rim of white, like the horse that is his other shape. He wasn’t so much handsome as compelling, alluring ...
I dragged my gaze from him, realising I was staring like a charm-struck human—one that would unwittingly follow the kelpie anywhere, even into the treacherous water—and made an effort to look at the rest of the scenery.
‘The place looks different,’ I said as an opener. ‘More tropical than your last.’
‘Aye, well, I fancied a wee change,’ he said, his accent soft and warm. ‘This time o’ year the Highlands can be a wee bit blowy, for all the heather colours the hills with nature’s own beauty.’
I waved back at the abyss. ‘So what happened with that?’
‘Hmph,’ he snorted, ‘t’was nae in the plan, though you’re in luck, for it had a hankering tae be this side of the steps, got itsel’ all decked out with one of those rope and plank bridges. It took me a heck of a while tae convince the magic tae move it over there.’
Which is Betweenall over. It’s malleable—unlike the humans’ world or the Fair Lands—in fact, malleable enough that anyone with enough magical mojo can impose their will. But sometimes the magic comes up with its own quirky interpretation of what it’s asked for. Tavish had forged his patch a couple of centuries ago, but even after moulding it to his own desires for all that time, it looked like the magic could still leave him living on a knife’s edge—or rather, a cliff ’s edge ...
‘It wants something,’ I murmured, frowning.
‘Aye, doll, don’t we all!’ He laughed, the sound a soft snicker. ‘Doesnae mean we’re going tae get it, though.’
Disappointment slid inside me. I lifted a handful of sand, letting the grains fall through my fingers. Maybe he wasn’t as welcoming as his smile had suggested. ‘Does that mean you’re not going to help me?’
‘Nae, doll, it means I mayn’t be having the answers you seek.’ He rolled onto his front to face me, propping himself on his arms. The water surged over his wide shoulders and streamed down the muscled indentation of his spine, sparkling aqua and turquoise against his skin. ‘But ask away.’
I blinked away the afterimage of the bright water, then said slowly, ‘You know the CCTV recording they’re all showing on the news? Is there any chance it’s been tampered with, or that there’s a clue that the police haven’t shown or picked up on yet?’
‘There’s naught on the recording tae see, other than yoursel’ going intae that shop.’ His gills flared. ‘And the explosion.’
‘Really not what I was hoping to hear.’ I pursed my lips.
‘The wonder of it is why you chose tae go in anyway, doll.’ He drew a wavy line in the sand and the breeze picked up, ruffling the sea behind him.
‘No wondering about it, Tavish.’ I frowned, trying to work out why he was asking. ‘I’ve been in there nearly every morning for the last couple of weeks.’
‘Why?’ he persisted, scooping a deep sand-basin in front of him.
I drew my knees up and hugged them, not happy about his tone. ‘The baker was having a few witch problems—milk turning sour, bread not rising, that sort of thing.’
‘Sounds more like brownie problems, but’—water trickled into the sand-basin—‘you get where I’m going wi’ this?’ He looked at me enquiringly.
‘Someone’s set me up,’ I stated, hoping he wasn’t asking me anything else, like was I guilty. ‘Yeah, I managed to work that one out for myself. Trouble is, while Tomas—the dead baker—told me it was a witch, I never actually met her.’ I gave him a wry smile. ‘Maybe you can see where I’m going too?’
‘Aye, t’is true: witch or sidhe, there’s nae possibility of a human telling the difference betwixt them if the sidhe doesnae want them tae.’ The small puddle in the sand overflowed in front of him. ‘But then there’s nae sidhe in London other than yoursel’, doll. Hasnae been this last eighty-odd years.’
Which was when there’d been a falling-out between London’s fae and one of the sidhe queens, and the queen had sealed the gates.
A hundred years past, the queen in question had fallen in love with a human and chosen to bear a son. Of course, her son had been human, as are all children born of sidhe and human, so she’d left him behind when she’d returned to the Fair Lands. But she loved him, and visited him as he grew up, and she charged London’s fae to watch over him when she wasn’t there. Then one day he fell in with a bad crowd, and he ended up being lured to his death by the vampires. The queen blamed London’s fae and not only did she seal the gates, she also laid a droch guidhe—a curse—on them that they should also know the grief in her heart.
Which explains why so many of London’s faelings—humans with lesser fae blood—end up victims of the fang-gangs in Sucker Town through no true fault of their own.
Of course, no one likes to air their dirty laundry in public, so the accepted reason for the sidhe not visiting London when they were known for putting in appearances elsewhere was that they preferred to live in the Fair Lands rather than have to deal with the hustle and technology of the capital city.
‘Maybe one of the gates from the Fair Lands has been opened?’ I said, resting my chin on my knees. ‘If so, then another sidhe could’ve come through ...’ I trailed off and watched Tavish and the water in front of him from under my lashes. I built a small ridge of sand in front of me with my toes.
He snorted again, and waves crested far out in the dark sea. ‘There’s nae one o’ us could open our gates wi’out the others knowing.’
I’d been hoping for a more informative answer than that, like whether the gates hadactually been opened, but Tavish was wylde fae, and the wylde fae can be tricky. They can talk around things when they want, sometimes for no other reason than a bit of mischief.
I tried another tack. ‘What if it was a sidhe who opened one of the gates? Would you know then?’
‘There’s naebody like the fae when it comes tae carrying ill will.’ His smile had a hard edge to it. ‘And lately the Ladies Meriel and Isabella have been refusing even tae treaty wi’ the queen’s ambassador.’ He lowered his head, the silver beads tinkling as his dreads fell forward, and blew ripples across the overflowing pool in front of him. ‘Should another sidhe take it intae their minds to visit, they’d find nae entry through. The gates are sealed from this side now.’
Damn: so the gates werea dead end. Still, the CCTV footage had to be worth a look. Warm water slipped past my little ridge and over my toes, swilling sugary sand about my feet. ‘Can I watch the recording then?’ I asked, inching back. ‘I might be able to see something.’
‘’Course y’can, doll.’ He smiled and slipped back beneath the water’s surface. ‘ Come for a swim wi’ me first.’ He whispered the words in my mind.
I pushed myself to my feet, moving as slowly as I dared, feeling the pull of his magic. ‘Swimming with you isn’t a good idea, Tavish.’ The water swirled around my ankles, soaking my jeans. I looked towards the tent, knowing I should walk out onto dry land, but the water wanted me to stay, and there was something wistful in the way it crept like a curious fish around my knees. I gazed down at Tavish, floating under the water, a trail of turquoise and aqua bubbles rising from his gills. Fascinated, I watched as they flashed like shooting stars over the dark surface of the sea.
‘ Come intae the depths wi’ me, my lady.’ His eyes were glowing silver orbs. ‘ Death clings tae your heart.’ His voice turned soft, cajoling. ‘ Let me hold you close, sing tae you o’ the everlasting rhythms of the sea, let me taste o’ the darkness that stains your soul, steal those sweet breaths as they leave your soft lips.’ He reared out of the water, glorious and naked, his muscles lean and firm under the shining wetness of his green-black skin. ‘There is kindness in the depths, and peace.’ He offered me his hand and his pledge: a pledge to lift the sorrow that fell about my shoulders, to pull away the heavy cloak of self-blame and grief and despair for those that I’d hurt, for those I’d lost ... for those I’d killed.He tossed his head, the magic cascading over him in rainbow hues that glittered and sparkled in the brightness of the sun.
And he took his other shape.
My pulse sped with wary excitement. He was still Tavish, but not. In his horse guise his nature ruled him, stripped away his civilised veneer, made him wild and feral and more like the magic itself.
The kelpie horse whickered softly, nostrils flaring, and stepped closer. He butted his nose against my chest, his whisky-peat breath warm against my T-shirt. I stroked the softness of his muzzle, his chin whiskers tickling along my arm, and reached up to trail gentle fingers over the black-lace gills that fluttered under my touch.
‘You’re beautiful,’ I whispered, the water sliding around my thighs. ‘Beautiful and beguiling—but you know that already.’ He whinnied, mocking, derisive, his two-toed hoof pawing a groove in the sand. I ran my palm down his sea-slick neck and moved to rest my hand on his forequarters. ‘It’s tempting, to think of riding into the sea with you, to give you what I feel, to let you take that from me ...’
His head swung round, ears pricking expectantly forward, tail flicking impatiently over his sleek, muscled rump. I leant against his side, my heart pounding with anticipation. His magic tugged at me like a strong current, urging me to go with him, to let him take me into the sea’s warm embrace. He nudged my hip and I licked my lips, tasting not salt, but peat and fresh-water sweetness. I tangled my fingers in the knotted dreads of his mane, feeling my own magic rise to join with his, and light more dazzling than the sun misted from my skin, gilding his green-black coat with shimmering golden dust.
I rubbed my cheek against his neck, placed my lips against his warm skin. ‘Yes, I’ll swim with you, kelpie’—his ears twitched back and I started to draw away—‘one day, but that day hasn’t—’
Green lightning arced around us, sizzling into steam as it hit the water. The kelpie horse screamed with rage, rearing up and lunging towards the beach. The turbulent wave that spread out behind him knocked me off my feet and I sank below the dark sea. I kicked out with my legs, reaching for the surface above me. A hand wrapped around my ankle and I kicked, panicked, until it loosened. I burst out into the air above, heart pounding, gasping for breath. The shore was further away than I remembered—time and space and magic conspire to deceive in Between. I started swimming, annoyance and fear fuelling me. Damn kelpie!And stupid me—I knew better than to let myself get seduced with his magic. Now I had to swim for my foolishness. Ahead of me the kelpie cut through the water, a charging water-horse, and galloped out of the crashing waves onto the shore. His angry screams sliced the air. Another flash of green lightning hit the sand next to him and it exploded in a cloud around him, obscuring him from view.
Someone was throwing Stun spells around like they were firecrackers at a troll’s New Moon party.
Panic hit me before I remembered no one could pass Tavish’s entrance without his say-so. He knewwhoever it was attacking. And he wouldn’t have let them in if he didn’t think he could deal with them ... I just wished he’d remembered that he’d left me struggling in his rage-lashed sea. Arrogant bastard. I clamped my lips tight together and doggie-paddled towards the shore, doing my best not to drown. Within minutes my arms ached and the jeans were like lead weights around my legs, determined to drag me under. I trod water as I struggled with the zip and finally managed to push the jeans down over my hips—then promptly panicked again as I followed them under into the depths below.
Water choked my throat and burned down my nose as I struggled back up to the surface and then gulped for air like a stranded fish. Then trying to ignore the cramp stabbing into my left thigh, I pushed out again. But hard as I swam, the shore was still too far away, and I realised that something—either the kelpie or the magic—was holding me back. Anger filled me, giving me another burst of energy. No way were they going to keep me out here any longer. As soon as I thought it, the sea became calmer and easier to swim through, and the beach suddenly got a lot, lot closer.
The kelpie’s screams grew louder in my ears, and other, deeper roars of anger and challenge slashed through them. As my hands and knees scraped against the sandy bottom, I lurched to my feet in the shallower water, then stared at the fight before me. The kelpie reared up, still screaming with rage, his forelegs thrashing through the air, then thudding down discordantly into the sand. A heavy-built silhouette of a satyr rose against the brilliant blue of the sky, horns curving sharp above his head, ready to charge. Finn?What the hell was he doing here? An angry wave crashed into me, taking my legs from under me, and I fell back. I scrambled forward out of the water again, struggling to get my breath, until I was beyond the tideline.
Then I watched, my heart in my mouth, as the satyr lunged between the kelpie’s hammering forelegs, thrust up with his horns and gouged a bloody wound across the kelpie’s chest. The kelpie’s hooves struck down on the satyr’s back, knocking him down, but as the kelpie reared up again, the satyr rolled out from under the hooves and came up into a crouch. The kelpie thudded back down onto four legs, his broad chest heaving, sweat and blood combining in a pink froth on the green-black of his coat.
The fight was awe-inspiring and terrifying, and I understood why their ancestors had been worshipped as gods or feared as demons. It was also fucking stupid, all the more so because I suspected they were fighting because of me—and by the looks of them, they weren’t going to stop until one or both were unconscious. Being fae, that could take a long, long time, and I had better ways of spending mine than watching two idiot fae pound each other into the sand. Like looking for a murderer! Bad enough I’d let myself get enticed by Tavish’s magic—
‘Stop!’ I yelled, but neither heard me.
Fuck. I was too far away. Frustration rose inside me and the Knock-back Wards shifted uneasily—giving me an idea: maybe I could use them in some way? And even as I questioned it, the magic answered and I felt the weird sensation of a heavy metal bar being dropped into my hand. Almost without thinking, I lifted the bar above my shoulder, holding it like a spear. With the magic vibrating through me like high-voltage electricity I concentrated my will and threw it, aiming for a point in the sand between the two fae.
I held my breath.
Where the spear struck a padlocked door materialised into existence. Buzzing over its surface were the black and grey stripes of a Knock-back Ward. The satyr was on one side, the kelpie on the other, and neither appeared to notice the door. They lowered their heads and charged—
–and as both crashed into the mirage of the door the release of magic exploded out, lifting me off my feet and knocking me back into the water. Again.I scrambled up again and looked towards the sudden stillness.
The fight had stalled. Both fae lay groaning on the sand, the door an incongruous barrier between them.
Smiling in grim satisfaction, I strode towards them, my nose flaring at the sharp, scorched smell that stung the air.
Finn lay on his side, crimson blood staining his horns, deep grazes and cuts marring the smooth tanned skin of his back and shoulders. More blood and sand clogged the usually sleek sable hair that covered his lower body and flanks, and his hooves were ragged and torn.
Tavish lay on his back, arms outstretched, in his human shape once again. His dreads were matted and tangled and bright crimson blood bubbled from the jagged wound across his chest.
‘What the fuck do the pair of you think you’re playing at?’ I yelled. ‘I came here for help, not to be half-drowned, and then end up refereeing a fucking fight!’
Neither spoke. They just glowered at each other, their expressions equally closed.
I kicked at the sand in frustration. ‘Right. So if either of you is going to help me, then do it. If not, then you can just fuck off back into the water, or wherever the hell you came from. But. Stop. Wasting. My. Time.’
Turning my back on them, I stormed towards the camouflage tent. I knew how Tavish’s computers worked; I didn’t need him or anyone else for that. I lifted the fabric door and ducked under it—A wind as fierce as a hurricane blew against me, making me stumble. I grabbed hold of a wooden tent pole to keep from falling. My skin prickled with magic as hot air eddied round me, stripping the water from my dripping T-shirt and wet hair. I’d forgotten that Tavish had his threshold tagged with a Clean-Up spell. I waited until the magic cooled, telling me the spell was done, then stepped forward.
And shiftedfrom Betweenand back into the humans’ world.
And back to my problems.
