The deep patch of darkness behind the high curved back of the bench made the hair on my neck stand up, but something told me the skirmishes were over, for now at least. I sat down at one end of the horseshoe, sinking into the plush green velvet decorated with its tiny red shamrocks.
Declan sat opposite, a half-smile on his mouth. ‘You’ll have been to see my boy then.’
‘Yes, I saw your boy.’ I tilted my head. ‘You could’ve used the phone, you know. It would have saved all the drama.’
He chuckled. ‘But all those shenanigans make it so much more interesting, me darlin’.’
I pressed my lips together. Maybe for him they did.
‘And you’ll not deny it’s an interesting situation we have,’ Declan carried on. ‘There’s my boy accused of killing Melissa, the poor wee bure.’ Sadness filled his face. ‘A pretty girl she was too, nearly twenty-one, getting ready to make some big changes in her life, if you take my meaning.’
Twenty-one. The legal age of consent for the Gift. I frowned. ‘And your point is?’
‘The boy knew those changes were planned, he and the wee girl were looking forward to them. He wasn’t about to try offering her the Gift himself. Why would he be taking that risk, when he knew there was no need?’
‘Declan, no one in the know believes the story the papers are touting,’ I said, then realised something. He didn’t seem to be ‘in the know’ about how Melissa had been killed, that her death was nothing to do with a botched Gift, otherwise why try and convince me. Did that mean he hadn’t searched Bobby’s memories for her death? Or did it mean Bobby had no memories for Declan to find because he hadn’t killed her?
‘But,’ I said slowly, fishing for answers, ‘that doesn’t mean your boy didn’t kill her. Maybe he just got greedy?’
‘Why would you be thinkin’ I wouldn’t know if he killed her, me darlin?’ He smiled. ‘He’s mine, after all.’
That told me, didn’t it?
‘So if the boy didn’t do it, someone else did,’ Declan carried on.
I narrowed my eyes as I considered him. ‘Whether your boy killed her or not, involving me in this situation isn’t part of our bargain, Declan.’
‘Now why would you be thinkin’ that?’
I leaned forward. ‘The agreement was you’d notify me when a fae or faeling needed help, and in case it’s slipped your mind, your boy isn’t fae: he has a nice shiny set of fangs. So you’ll have to find someone else to be your own personal private detective.’
A broad smile widened his mouth and he flashed his own sharp set of pearly-whites, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Damn. There was something else, some catch. I sighed inwardly. Telling him I wasn’t going to do the job because it didn’t meet the terms of our bargain had been a long shot, but at least I could console myself with the thought that I’d tried.
‘But what about the wee bure?’ he said softly. ‘Surely you wouldn’t deny her your assistance, not when she’s got the blood of the fae in her?’
Melissa was faeling? Why hadn’t Hugh mentioned that? Still—
‘Even if she was,’ I said, ‘I think she’s past helping, seeing as she’s dead.’
‘Is she now?’ he said, the smile still on his handsome face.
‘The police and the pathologist seem to think so,’ I said. ‘Are you saying she might not be?’
His smile disappeared, replaced by a puzzled frown. ‘Did you not see her body?’
‘No, her mother’s got the Soulers involved.’
His frown deepened. ‘Now why would she do that?’ he said, more to himself than me.
‘Who knows?’ Fiona joined in the conversation as she slid a heavily laden tray onto the table. ‘Maybe she got one of their silly mailshots.’ She twisted the cap off the bottle of vodka and poured a generous amount into a heavy-based crystal glass which she placed in front of me. ‘The woman is a flake at best. She probably believes all that rubbish they spout.’
Beyond Fiona I could see the Asian witch-waitress, standing at the top of the stairs. She wove her fingers in a complicated dance and the ward shimmered back into being. The noise from the bar fell silent again. For a moment, I felt a pang of envy at her effortless spell-casting.
Fiona splashed whiskey into another glass and offered it to Declan. He swirled the toffee-coloured liquid, nostrils flaring as he sniffed. ‘Jameson’s in Waterford crystal: two of Ireland’s finest.’ He saluted me. ‘Slàinte
,
Genevieve,’ then with a sly expression he added, ‘that’ll be me, wishing you your continued good health in the Gaelic.’
I picked up my own drink and acknowledged the implied threat. ‘Likewise.’ Draining the glass, I savoured the cold burn. Pleasantries over, I asked, ‘So is Melissa alive, or not?’
‘The wee girl was ready to accept the Gift. There’s always a possibility I could still perform the ritual ...’ He paused, then continued after a moment, ‘If the boy and his father have the right of it, and there’s some sort of spell involved, without knowing what the magic is, the ritual would be too risky.’
‘The police say there’s no magic involved,’ I said.
‘Me darlin’ Genevieve, as to whether there is magic or not, it’s your word I’ll be trusting over that of the police.’
I put down my glass. ‘What about Roberto? Our bargain doesn’t extend to him.’
‘Well, if you find the wee bure died from magic, then he’ll be innocent, and it’ll be a joyful time for everyone,’ Declan pointed out. ‘But the sooner the ritual’s done the better for the wee girl.’ He stared into his drink. ‘We’ve maybe a night, two at the most.’
So, no pressure then. A question popped into my head. ‘What was Melissa doing working at the Blue Heart anyway?’
Fiona smoothed her dress with one crimson-tipped hand. ‘Melissa was working temporarily at the Blue Heart whilst Roberto was making appearances there.’ Her nail polish matched the large princess-cut ruby ring she wore. She’d taken off her long evening gloves. I frowned, uneasy. ‘Melissa was to have returned here after accepting the Gift. Declan was to be her sponsor, weren’t you?’ Her tone was so neutral that it almost disappeared into the background.
‘So I was, me love.’ His voice matched hers and upped the stakes.
I looked at them with interest. Was I sensing an undercurrent here?
‘So once you get to see the poor wee bure’s body, you’ll come back and tell me all about it, won’t you, me darlin’? And in the meantime—’He leaned forward, a sly expression on his face, ‘Maybe you’ll be telling me how you do it?’
‘How I do what?’
‘Why, how you’ve been rescuing all these poor fae and there’s never been even so much a whisper about you. I was hoping you’d be regaling me with your secret.’ He waved his glass towards Fiona and the bottles. ‘And we could be toasting your continued success.’
I gave him a happy smile. ‘I’d be delighted to toast my future success, but sadly, I can’t divulge my secret.’
‘And why’s that, me darlin’?’
I leaned forward, and said in a low voice, ‘Because then it wouldn’t be a secret any more, would it now?’
His eyes lost their warmth for a moment, then he threw his head back and laughed. ‘Fiona, me love, another drink for the sidhe, if you please.’
She hesitated, then held out her hand for my glass. Whatever she was feeling was buried deep beneath a smile of pure courtesy. ‘Ms Taylor?’
As I gave her the glass, our fingers touched.
She shuddered, eyes going wide and unfocused, hand spasming, dropping the expensive crystal—
In one quick move Declan caught the glass and placed both it and his own back on the table with a soft thud.
My throat tightened. I’d felt nothing other than the heat of her skin.
‘Me love?’ There was a thread of something like command riding beneath his quiet concern.
Fiona sank onto the seat next to him, her face pale as rice-paper. Another shudder racked her body and she gasped, drawing in a deep breath.
He took her hand in his. ‘Show me.’
She hesitated, shooting me a fearful look from under her lashes, then she leaned in towards him and kissed him full on the mouth.
I got the feeling it was way more than just your standard kiss.
I stared at my glass, sitting unbroken and empty on the table, and finally remembered what it was about rubies. Witches use gems to store their spells, but some humans use them to enhance and control other talents. Rubies were for intuition, empathy, clairvoyance: with a touch Fiona might see the past, or pluck a memory from a mind, or - more rarely - perceive the future. And right now I was betting Fiona was one of the rare ones. And Declan would be able to taste her ability in her blood. Add that to Declan’s handy knack for stealing memories and the old adage
You are what you eat
had to be working overtime between the two of them. The look she’d given me had held fear and horror, but underneath there had been a gloating satisfaction.
Fuck.
What had she seen?
‘Blood—’ Fiona’s voice was a harsh whisper. ‘So much of it...’ She trailed off with a quiet whimper.
Declan stroked Fiona’s face with a gentle hand. ‘Forget, me love. Sleep and forget,’ he said quietly, insistently.
She relaxed against him, her head dropping to rest in his lap, her eyes fluttering closed with a soft sigh.
This was not good. Picking up the vodka, I poured myself another drink and knocked it back.
‘Well, this was
nice
.’ Shame I’d have to drink at least another full bottle before the alcohol had any effect on me. Damn sidhe metabolism. I slid the glass onto the table. ‘Sorry to break up our little tête-à-tête, Declan, but it’s time I was going.’
He looked up at me, the blue of his eyes as chilled as the vodka. ‘A warning for you, Genevieve.’ He trailed a finger down Fiona’s neck, hooked it under the ruby choker she wore. ‘Your bargain is with me.’ He twisted the necklace. The stones dug into Fiona’s pale flesh. ‘So you’ll be staying away from the Earl and Malik al-Khan.’
My heart thudded in my chest. I got his message loud and clear - Fiona might be important to him, but after all, he considered her his property and he’d hurt, or even kill her if he felt the need - and he’d try and do the same to me.
‘Let’s get one thing straight, Declan.’ I clenched my fists. ‘We may have a deal going on here, but that’s all we have. It doesn’t give you any rights. I belong to no one but myself. Is that crystal-clear enough for you?’
He smiled and gave another sharp twist to the ruby choker.
Fiona whimpered in her sleep, one arm half-lifting in supplication.
I stood up. ‘Thanks for the drink, Declan.’
‘Slàinte, Genevieve. You’ll be sure and let me know as soon as you discover anything.’
The band played ‘Danny Boy’ as I left.
Chapter Thirteen
F
ive flights of stairs, the after-effects of too much G-Zav and a visit with Declan at the Bloody Shamrock, never mind the dread weighing me down after Fiona’s little fortune-telling show are not the best way to end an evening. I set myself at the last flight of stairs and clutching my keys, grabbed the wooden handrail and climbed. As I stood at the top, head down and heartbeat pounding like a bass drum in my ears; I tried to get my breathing back under control. This was one of those times when I wished I lived on the ground floor instead of in a converted two-room attic - never mind that the night wasn’t over and I still had miles to go—
‘You look like you could use a few more visits to the gym.’
I yelped and dropped my keys.
Finn was leaning next to my door, shoulder propped against the wall, arms folded. ‘Sorry, Gen.’ The faint moonlight through the landing window cast a tall shadow of his horns and gave him a slightly menacing air. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you, I thought you’d realise I was here.’
I would have -
should’ve
sensed him - if it wasn’t for the G-Zav. Damn stuff always screws me up. I looked at him, but the usual stupid thrill of seeing him was muted by other things: Hugh’s little lecture, the mess I was in, and the fact it was getting harder and harder to say no to him.
‘Now’s not a good time,’ I sighed. ‘I’m too tired, Finn.’
He frowned. ‘You do look sort of hot and bothered.’
Yeah, well, so would he if he was halfway to another venom-induced blood-flush.
‘Anyway,’ he pushed himself upright, face concerned, ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘If it’s about dinner or—’
‘It’s important, Gen.’ He bent and picked up my keys. ‘I’ve found out what the trees have been talking about.’
Oh right. In all the excitement I’d forgotten about them. ‘You’d better come in then,’ I said, resigned.
He unlocked the door and stood back to usher me through. ‘After you, my Lady.’
I flicked the light on and as I walked across the room, I reached up out of habit and set the light’s long strings of glass beads tinkling, then headed for the run of white cabinets along the one wall that makes up my kitchen. I pulled open the fridge, snagged the vodka from the ice-box and grabbed a glass. Then I remembered my guest. ‘Want a drink, Finn?’ I asked, turning round.
Finn was looking round, taking in the surroundings with interest. I gave the room, my living area, a quick once-over. It all looked as I’d left it - the mound of cushions and throws heaped against the wall, one of Katie’s glossy mags lying on the rug, the bundle of bills and junk mail piled next to my computer on the floor - not that I’d expected it to look any different, of course. I didn’t have the benefit of a resident brownie, like Agatha ...
... the memory of gift horses bearing crystals and way too much brownie magic surfaced and I frowned at Finn, doubts crowding my mind.
‘Great place, Gen.’ He grinned and waved up at the vaulted ceiling with its black wooden struts. ‘It reminds me of being in the woods on a clear winter’s day.’ He set the light tinkling again and the long drops of amber and gold and copper beads flashed kaleidoscopic colours over the white-painted walls. ‘You know, when the sun shines and sparkles through the naked trees.’
‘You didn’t come round to look at my décor, Finn,’ I said slowly as the doubts tripped into suspicion. ‘Just tell me about the trees.’
‘Hey,’ he grinned, ‘I like the place, it’s cool—’