The Cold Kiss of Death

‘Ach, doll, my heart is full o’ sorrow that I didnae.’ His touch was light over my skin, soothing away my exasperation. ‘I di

Fi

I frowned at Tavish. ‘Fi

‘Aye, so he says, but he di

‘Times change, kelpie,’ Fi

‘Okay,’ I said slowly, suspicion cutting through the odd fuzziness in my mind as I looked from one to the other. ‘Just what is going on between you two?’

‘Di

I smiled happily down at him, then bent to brush my lips across his, tasting earthy orange sweetness. ‘Tavish,’ I whispered soft against his mouth as his hands tightened on my arms, and I was surprised in some distant part of me at the yearning that threaded through my voice. ‘That’s all very pretty, but my wrists are burning up,’ I said just as softly, and without as much longing. ‘So maybe you could leave off trying to sic me with your magic until later, otherwise I might just let mine go and then it’s Goodbye Computer time.’

He looked down and horror filled his face, then he shoved the chair back and dropped my arms like they were radioactive—and maybe they were, since the diamond-chipped cuffs were glowing like small supernovas.

A muffled laugh behind me made me turn. Fi

What the hell was I? Some sort of bone for them to fight over?

‘You’re just as bad as him.’ I strode over to him and jabbed him in the chest, my finger and the cuffs glowing at the same time. ‘You used to try exactly the same thing on me. And never mind your little i

Fi

‘No,’ I said slowly, turning back to Tavish as my memory caught up with what was going on, ‘all I want is what I asked for.’ I turned to Tavish. ‘And just in case you’ve forgotten after that little bit of trickery you pulled on me, that’s a Glamour to change my appearance, clothes, a phone and some money.’ I opened the glass door. ‘And if you feel like trying anything again, just remember: I really will fry your computers next time.’

Chapter Eleven

Istood outside Tavish’s tent and stared up at the tall sand-dune covered in pale pink heather rising before me. It blocked out any sight of the sea.

‘So what happened there?’ I asked, bemused.

‘I think that was you, Gen,’ Fi

‘But I haven’t done anything,’ I said.

‘’Course you did, doll,’ Tavish snorted. ‘When you were digging your pretty toes intae my beach.’ He gave my shoulders a quick squeeze. ‘Seems the magic’s taken a fancy tae you.’

I frowned, I knew Betweenwas malleable, but this was Tavish’s patch. I thought back to earlier, when I’d been watching him scooping out a sand-basin. I’d known he was doing magic, but I hadn’t realised my wishful building of a small ridge of sand would result in anything like this—no wonder Tavish wasn’t impressed, never mind I’d threatened his computers!

I looked down at myself. He’d already got his own back.

I’d asked for a Glamour to change my appearance. I’d been hoping for something nondescript. What I’d got was a blonde-bimbo look with boobs so big that I could fall flat on my face and still be a foot away from the ground. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but hey, Page Three was not going to be saying no to me any time soon. Of course Tavish had denied any ulterior motive, saying that it wasn’t his fault; he’d based the spell on the white bikini-clad model advertising a luxury holiday resort in the same brochure his sandy beach came from. After that little magical hiccough, I’d insisted on real clothes so he’d emailed a local shopkeeper who owed him a favour, then calledthe shirt, jeans, leather jacket and trainers I was now wearing. Mind you, I’d had to keep on the white bikini that had appeared with the Glamour plaited into my hair, since he’d forgottenthe real underwear I’d also asked for. Still, the bikini was better than nothing, and he had calleda brand new pay-as-you-go phone and an Oyster card, as well as giving me a thick wad of twenties.

‘Come see your door, doll.’ Tavish took my hand and pulled me across the sand.

The door that had materialised into being when I’d thrown the Knock-back Ward at Tavish and Fi

—and stepped out of the end of a narrow alley and onto the wider street. Apart from one elderly woman who started, no one noticed me appear out of thin air, but then, they were all hurrying along, heads down against the driving rain. After an odd moment of disorientation, I realised I was on Clink Street and almost exactly where I wanted to be. I stuck my own head down and started dodging the puddles, grateful for the trainers. I dashed past a side road, catching a glimpse of the Golden Hind, the replica Tudor warship in which Sir Francis Drake sailed around the world, and briefly wondered if they’d managed to evict the selkie who’d been squatting in the captain’s cabin for the last fortnight. I reached the Clink and almost slipped down the small flight of worn stone steps that led into the museum. I paid my admission and walked slowly through the exhibits towards the large back room.

A concrete troll sat at a big wooden table, rolling a crapshoot of plastic dice back and forth between his large slab-like hands. He was old—or at least he’d had a hard life; his nose was missing a chunk and his age cracks had been filled with blue-coloured grout, making his pitted concrete skin look like it had a map of wriggling blue lines drawn on it. It reminded me of the blue oxygen-starved veins of a hungry vampire. The troll’s name was Blue, unsurprisingly appropriate, and the info plaque in front of him stated that trolls had been used as jailers at the Clink as far back as the fifteenth century. Of course, being an interactive museum, Blue was dressed for the part in a shapeless woollen frock-coat, ragged knee-length trews and a thick dirty-cream woven shirt. Half-a-dozen roughly dressed humans hovered behind Blue; I wasn’t sure if they were interactive too, or just hanging around in the hope of a game.