The Bitter Seed of Magic

‘Don’t supposed you’ve heard of, or met Jack the raven before now, have you?’ I asked. ‘When he first appeared his eyes were like mine.’ I waved a hand at my face. ‘Except his were this indigo colour.’

‘He was one of the sidhe?’ She clapped her hands and did a little twirl. ‘How exciting!’

‘So you don’t know him, then?’ I asked again, hoping that since Jack could change his eyes, that there was always the possibility she’d know him as something different from a sidhe.

‘Umm …’ She tapped her cycle helmet, her nails making a little drumming tune as she stared into space. ‘No, sorry, Jack the raven doesn’t ring any bells.’ She gave me a wide smile, then said, ‘Now, I bet you’re hungry, Ge

‘Works for me,’ I said, hiding my disappointment she didn’t know Jack and stepping out the way so she could use the long mirror on my wardrobe.

She whistled and rustled as she pruned her scalp, vanished her excess twigs, calleda fluffy pink mohair cardigan and repaired the broken strap on her pink cycle helmet. Then she cleaned up her snowfall of petals, repaired the holes in my floorboards by blowing them a kiss, and declared herself ready for breakfast. After a quick look at the contents of my fridge—two bottles of Cristall and nothing else—she cheerfully agreed to go to the Rosy Lea Café to get it. Even more amazingly, she equally cheerfully helped me move my heavy wardrobe in front of my bedroom window, a feat I’d never have managed on my own. I might be stronger than a normal human, but Sylvia had the edge on me. The wardrobe was oak, and as soon as she grasped one side and flattened her ‘Hello, boys!’ cleavage against it, the wardrobe almost moved itself.

I didn’t ask.

I just thanked her gratefully, and told her breakfast was my treat.

After Sylvia had gone, I looked thoughtfully down at Malik where he lay on the bed, his black eyes staring sightlessly upwards. In spite of my temporary shielding measures, the narrow beam of sun had caught Malik’s right foot and a diagonal wound now striped his flesh. The wound wasn’t bleeding; it looked more like someone had branded him with a red-hot poker, burning down to the bone, leaving the sides charred and crispy.

Maybe I’d missed an opportunity there.

Throwing the coats over him had been one of those instinctive things: vampire plus sun equals needs protection. But protecting him wasn’t going to stop him ru

Damn tyra

But however dictatorial, a

‘So, I need to find a way to neutralise you, without actually dragging your oh-so-gorgeous, damned arrogant arse out to be barbecued,’ I told him through gritted teeth. ‘But for now, I think you’d be better somewhere less flammable.’

I dragged in the thick silk rug that usually covered my living room floor, then leaning over him, I grasped his arm and pulled him towards me. He rolled easily and limply, and with a quick tug I had him off the bed. He landed with a heavy thud on the rug.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered unrepentantly as I straightened his arms and legs and tugged the rug over him. Grunting with exertion, I managed to roll him up, Cleopatra-style, then I sat on the floor, bracing myself against the wall, and shoved the rug with my feet until it was tucked under the bed.

I hauled myself up, wiped my sweaty forehead and grimaced. The rug was added insurance against the daylight. If he got a few bruises along the way, well, it was only what he deserved.

‘Right.’ I dusted off my hands. ‘A

I tugged off my vest top and sleep shorts and caught my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Not a pretty sight. The mass of purple bruising centred on my midriff didn’t look—or feel—any better, nor did the rest of the multicoloured patches that decorated my arms and legs. But while I might be bruised and battered, I had things to do. I needed to buy a new Ward—Malik couldn’t be left unprotected, however much the angry part of me might want to—but I couldn’t afford a Ward and a Healing spell. I decided a couple of aspirins and a handful of blood-fruit to up my venom levels—I had a brief relieved thought that even after Darius’ attack last night, when he’d venom-stuck me, I didn’t seem to be suffering any ill-effects—and I’d live for another day.

I looked, and ran my fingers over Tavish’s handprint spell where it sat low down on my stomach; it hadn’t changed. It was obviously to do with the fertility curse—but hey, right now everything and anythingwas to do with the fertility curse—but since it wasn’t active yet, that didn’t tell me what it was going to do. Maybe Fi

Can we meet soon, please?

I stared as the little envelope symbol winged off on its way, then stared some more as if that would get me an immediate reply, before telling myself to get on with more sensible things, like checking my emails … which consisted of a load of the usual ‘ no, I really don’t want whatever it is you’re selling’ spam, and one from Hugh saying he’d was looking into my queries about the missing faelings, the Morrígan, Ana and the other stuff, and he’d get back to me.

‘At least someone’s trying to help me,’ I said loudly, nudging the carpeted Malik with my foot (not that I thought he could hear me, but it made me feel better). I picked up Grace’s pentacle from my bedside table, found another chain in one of the drawers to replace the broken one, and clasped it round my neck as I went over my day’s to-visit list.

There was the chat with Fi

And that gave me another more immediate problem: what on earth was I supposed to wear that would be suitable for a meeting with the ravens, a faeling who had royal sidhe blood, and a serious chat with my ex-boss to sort out both the personal and working sides of our relationship, all the while trying to deal with matchmaking magic. In the end I decided on smart, but casual, with just a slight touch of sexy: a green top of silk and lace, black velvet jeans and killer-heel boots.