He threw his head back with a snorting laugh and I glimpsed the delicate black-lace gills flaring either side of his throat. ‘Aye, doll, perhaps—but I wait for the day when you nae longer wish tae resist me, when we shall ride intae the depths together.’ He sobered as the turquoise swirling in the depths of his silver eyes lit an answering curl of desire inside me. ‘And ’twill be a glorious pleasure for us both, my lady.’
I looked down and nudged a couple of books with the toe of my trainer, willing the desire away. Tavish was wylde fae, a kelpie, a soul-taster, and capricious, like the magic—not to mention dangerous, if he was talking about riding into the depths. But he was also my friend. So was it a warning? Trouble was, asking outright wouldn’t get me the answer, just like it was pointless confronting him about the bracelet, or anything else. He could talk round corners for England if he chose to: at my best guess, he’d been doing it for more than a millennium.
‘If wishes were horses, we could all ride away on them,’ I murmured, recalling one of my father’s sayings.
‘If wishes were fishes, we’d all cast nets,’ he replied cheerfully.
And the fishes would be caught. Hmm. ‘You’re looking guid, doll,’ he said, still showing his teeth.
I shot him a sceptical look. I’d spent the night in a police cell; there was no way I looked ‘guid’. Then I realised he wasn’t looking at me, or rather my body’s shell, but at my soul. And it probably did look all shiny and bright to him now the black tint of the sorcerer’s soul was gone. So why wasn’t he asking how I’d got rid of it? Unless, of course, I wasn’t the only one chatting to Malik in his dreamscapes—was that why Tavish was here now? Had the two of them been plotting again? Not that any of that explained his outfit, which was unusual, even for him.
He was dressed Elizabethan-style, his starched white neck-ruff a stark contrast to his green-black skin. His dreadlocks were piled into a spiky topknot, and the beads intertwined with the dreads were a brilliant aquamarine, matching the silk lining of his pantaloons.
‘Nice outfit.’ I raised my brows. ‘Did you escape from a fancy dress party or something?’
He twirled his hand in a flourish of lace as he bowed from the waist, keeping his eyes on mine, and I had the strangest feeling he was wary of me. ‘The queen had hersel’ a hankering tae return tae earlier times, and her court has dutifully obliged her.’
‘Are you telling me that Queen Clíona can turn back time?’ I asked, astonished. ‘By several hundred years?’
He straightened and gave me a thoughtful look. ‘Am I telling you that? I dinna ken, doll—’tis always possible, for time is nae fixed in the Fair Lands as ’tis here in the humans’ world.’ He looked back over his shoulder and I thought I saw the flicker of candlelight instead of sunshine behind him … then it was gone. ‘I returned here tae you at this time as I desired tae do, but who kens where or when in the humans’ world I would be if I hadnae made my choice?’
‘That doesn’t really answer the question, Tavish.’
‘Maebe there’s nae answer to be had.’
An idea started to form in my mind. Was he just being tricky, or was he telling me something I needed to know that he couldn’t divulge? I left the idea to find its own shape and said, ‘So, what’s Clíona been saying?’
‘Her offer of sanctuary is as before, doll, and she’s nae telt me of any change.’
She hadn’t told him of any change, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to tell someone—me—otherwise. Was that why he was here? To arrange for me to see her? Maybe after my trip to Disney Heaven—
‘I want to speak to her, Tavish. I want to ask her if there’s anything she can tell me, however insignificant it might be to her.’
‘She willnae allow you tae visit, doll. Once you join her court, you cannae return.’
‘Will she come here to speak with me, then?’
‘The Ladies Isabella and Meriel willnae open the gates to allow her entrance—’
‘Bullshit! You’re standing here talking to me, so why can’t she do the same?’
‘She’s a queen, doll. Queens dinna loiter in doorways chatting.’
Damn. If he wasn’t here on Clíona’s behalf, why was he here? I stared down at the cup, looking for an answer … and the earlier idea bloomed in my mind. ‘Tavish, you said you chose to come back to me now, but the queen’s taken the court back to the past …’ I tilted my head. ‘Does that mean you can choose a particular time to come back to, as it were?’
He dipped his chin, looking curiously at me. ‘’Tis nae something I’ve tried before, doll.’
‘What if you could go back to when the queen spoke the curse, and persuade her not to?’
He shook his head. ‘’Twould nae be possible, you cannae undo the time that is already passed betwixt two bodies; the queen’s path and mine together are already walked.’
‘Okay, so what about me? I’ve never met the queen, I could go back—’
‘It doesnae work that way, doll. The curse doesnae stem from when the queen uttered it and gave it substance, much as a stream doesnae spring from where it gushes out of the earth. It comes into being long before that; even should you happen on its source and change the path it takes, the stream will still exist—’
He broke off suddenly as a thin green arm snaked around his waist; a fine gold chain hung with chinking small keys trailed from the arm’s wrinkled but obviously feminine wrist. The distant lilt of music—a harpsichord?—sounded, and as Tavish turned his head, his image in the doorway faded as if a sheet of opaque glass had dropped between us.
The glass cleared. ‘She wants you to see what is to come,’ he whispered, his head bowing in acquiescence, his beads turning as dark as his green-black hair. Beyond him I glimpsed a dark, wood-panelled room, candles burning in wall-sconces, a four-poster bed hung with thick tapestry curtains tied at the corners, the mound of covers turned back. A tall, locust-like creature crouched near the bed, carefully and methodically smoothing the pale sheets with a long-handled brass warming pan.
In the middle of the room stood the green-skinned female. She was as skinny as her arm had suggested, and mostly human-shaped, except for the high, hairless dome of her skull, and the flat holes where her nose should be. She was naked, her skin sagging in wrinkled creases and her breasts hanging like empty, pendulous sacks. Her only adornment was the thin gold chain with the tinkling keys trailing from her wrist. Now, I noticed that the other end of the chain was linked around Tavish’s left ankle; rust-coloured stains marred the otherwise pristine whiteness of his hose. She smiled in anticipation—one long tooth protruded from her upper gum—as she lifted the chain and lazily pulled. She might look old, but she was strong, for Tavish jerked and gave a grunt of discomfort, his leg muscles bunching with effort as he fought to hold his position.
Was this Clíona? I tried to ask the question, but found I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move; I was suddenly trapped in that frozen, frightening place like a child in a nightmare.
The green-skinned female slid in next to Tavish, filling the gap he’d left in my bedroom doorway. She smiled, and a long forked tongue flicked out from between her lips and licked across his eyes. He flinched back, knocking his head against the door jamb, as she turned to face me. She slowly slid her hands down her wrinkled body, the air around her shivering with magic, and I watched, transfixed, as her body changed with time-lapse speed: her wrinkles smoothed out, her waist thickened, her abdomen stretched and swelled, her hanging breasts perked up, growing fuller and heavier, their pale nipples jutting out into large turgid peaks, until she stood panting and sweating, her hands cupping her now-massive pregnant belly. After a few seconds, her gasps subsided and she stroked her palms up over her extended stomach and then grasped her breasts, squeezing and pulling the engorged teats, even as she whimpered in pain, until blood seeped out and fell like dark rubies onto the warm honey colour of her enlarged belly. She cried out, the sound eerily familiar, and I looked up to meet her eyes—