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‘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 whi
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.