I rolled my eyes, so not appreciating his spouting off about how clever he thought he was. ‘I get it,’ I said. ‘You and Mommie Dearest pulled a fast one on the Emperor. Bully for you. What I was asking, before you so rudely interrupted, was, if Malik’s soul doesn’t bestow immortality, why the hell did you have it?’
He gave me a smug smile that told me I wasn’t going to get an answer.
‘Fine. Don’t tell me,’ I snapped, irritated, ‘I’ll ask Malik myself when he wakes up. So how about you forget your final curtain speech and let’s cut to the deal.’ Then I can kill you.
He flashed fang at me. ‘I would not think you were so eager for my loyal shadow to wake, my bride. Not when your . . . situation will dishearten him so.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
He gave me a sideways look. ‘My loyal commander might not be recovered for some time, even with my blood’ – he lifted his chin and sniffed – ‘so it may be that the stink of the satyr will have faded somewhat by then. Your secret is safe with me.’
Fucking vamp supersenses.
I cast a concerned look at Malik, wondering if he could hear. It didn’t matter that I thought Malik would understand how it had happened; it would still hurt. If it had been the other way round . . . damn it, I’d be hurt too, devastated, even. In fact, I was devastated about Finn, Gold Cat and the whole mating thing: it was a heartrending muddle of epic proportions. But it wasn’t something I’d planned keeping secret from anyone, let alone Malik. It would turn what happened from a muddle that could be sorted into a nasty festering sore that would come back and bite me and everyone else. But I had hoped to pick my moment, not have Malik hear it from Bastien, especially not with the spiteful spin the sadistic prick was bound to add.
‘That.’ I jabbed Ascalon at Bastien. ‘Is none of your business.’
‘I quite agree, my lovely sidhe.’ He stood, keeping his gaze on me as he licked the wound on his arm with obvious enjoyment. I frowned at Malik. He looked as pale and lifeless as before; Bastien’s meagre donation didn’t seem to done anything. Still Bastien wasn’t the only one with blood. If Malik didn’t wake up after I gave him his soul back, I’d feed him myself. And if Bastien was finished—
‘Look,’ I said, forcing a conciliatory tone. ‘You want something from me. I want my question answered. So let’s get things sorted.’
‘I will be delighted to, my bride.’ He lifted a creepy finger. ‘When the time is right.’
‘Which is when?’
‘When the last tarot card appears, of course. Or have you forgotten that part of the proceedings?’ I hadn’t, but since he and Viv were in league with each other, I doubted the last card was going to tell me anything Bastien didn’t already know. ‘Now I must leave you and greet my new subjects. Until anon.’ He turned on his heel, marching away, toga flapping around his knees. The previous Emperor had been about a foot shorter, and, I noted bitchily, Bastien had the legs of a scrawny chicken.
‘You told me you didn’t know,’ I shouted after him. ‘And the Emperor told me the same.’
He swung back, anger twisting his face. Accusing a vamp as old as he was of lying, even if only by suggestion, was a huge insult. Not that I cared if it got me the answer I needed.
‘Knowledge is one side of the equation, bean sidhe, application is the other. Two plus two do not become four until one understands how they should be tallied. A tally, in this instance, that will not be complete until the last tarot card has been read.’
He turned and left, leaving me scowling after him.
In other words, Bastien had known part of the answer but not the whole of it until he’d munched on the Emperor, and now he had to confer with his scheming spirit sidekick. Crap. I wanted to run after him, lop his scrawny legs off at the knees, skewer Ascalon through his sadistic heart and turn him into a magical bonfire. Reluctantly, I let Ascalon slide back into the ring, wondering how long the sadistic psycho was going to make me sweat. And what price he wanted.
‘As if I can’t guess,’ I muttered, glowering at the dead Empress. After all, I couldn’t count the number of times he’d called me ‘my princess’, ‘my bride’, or ‘my sidhe’. Still, he wouldn’t be the first vamp to get my blood-bond and, like the last one, I’d be happy to make sure the psycho’s ashes ended up feeding the fish in the River Thames.
Frustrated and angry, I sighed and took stock. I needed to go and ‘claim’ Katie, Freya and the rest of my bartered auction lots and get them to safety. But first, Malik needed his soul back.
Gingerly, I scooped Janan up, glad my hands had started healing—
A shimmering, transparent figure padded into the tent carrying something in her mouth.
Gold Cat.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Gold Cat padded over and dropped what she was carrying in front of me. It squirmed around then scrambled to its feet. Mr Lampy, the gnome, though how she’d managed to haul him round in her fading state was anyone’s guess.
‘Ms Taylor,’ the gnome spluttered, smoothing the ruffled lichen on his head. ‘I really must object to this animal’s treatment of me.’
Gold Cat coughed. My mind translated the cough as Hungry?
I frowned. ‘Hungry?’
‘Ms Taylor,’ the gnome objected. ‘You can’t—’
Gold Cat batted the gnome off his feet and coughed again. You. Hungry?
Oh, she’d brought me a present, like a cat bringing a mouse. Which was sort of . . . gross. ‘Um, no thanks.’
Mine.
I wrinkled my nose at her, not sure if she was kidding. ‘Are you sure? A juicy steak might be better. He doesn’t look very appetising.’
‘Ms Taylor—’
Gold Cat snarled in his face, baring huge sabre-tooth sharp canines, then when he started squealing like a stuck pig, shut him up with a large paw on his mouth.
Hurt kits.
Ah. She wasn’t joking, and she wasn’t hungry for food as much as revenge. ‘Rather you than me,’ I said, nudging the disgusting gnome with my toe. ‘But if you want him, have him.’ I let Ascalon free. ‘Do you need him skewered first?’
The gnome gave a muffled squeak.
No.
Fair enough. Though really even eaten alive was way too good a fate for him, but . . . I grinned at her. Bon appétit.
Police troll here.
Hugh was here? Heart in my mouth, I rushed to the tent entrance. Sure enough the place was swarming with trolls and witches wearing the Met’s Magic and Murder Squads’ hi-vis yellow waistcoats. The cavalry had arrived.
My knees almost buckled with relief.
And right in the centre of the yellow-waistcoated mass was the solid, ruddy-coloured bulk of a black-haired troll in a pristine white shirt and black trousers, organising the rescue. (Acting) Detective Inspector Hugh Munro. Hugh would take care of everyone. I trusted him with my life. More, I trusted him with the lives of those I loved. I shouted, jumping up and down, waving my arms to catch his attention, then when he saw me I gave him a double thumbs-up to say I was okay, and held my hands up, fingers splayed. ‘Ten mins,’ I mouthed.
As he nodded, Gold Cat padded past me carrying the protesting gnome.
I grabbed her by her scruff. ‘Don’t forget our deal. I save both kits, you tell me how to undo the mating with Finn.’
Her lip curled, copper-coloured whiskers stiffening. Take stronger mate. Break mate-bond with satyr.
I rocked back on my heels, stunned. I had to mate with someone stronger to stop being mated to Finn? That wasn’t exactly a winning solution for me. Damn it. I’d imagined an invocation to the gods, or some sort of spell or ritual—
‘How do I take a stronger mate?’