‘Everything okay, Gen?’ The satyr’s concerned voice was warm against her ear.
She smiled at him. ‘Soon will be.’ She waved at the hive of activity in front of her. ‘Once we sort things out with Hugh and this is all over. Then we can go home.’ Which would be the second test.
She’d already passed the first test when the kelpie – Tavish – the one who could taste souls, had shown himself as the coin-holder for the small fluffy dog – Freya, niece, sort of, the sliver of Genny reminded her – though that sliver had been surprised and intrigued that Tavish was the one who’d come for the little shapeshifting faeling. Gold Cat hadn’t been interested enough to ask why. An oversight, she realised now, and something she’d need to rectify. Soon. Consuming the ancient gnome had given her power and living flesh. Shaping that flesh to replicate Genny had been easy, coating her spirit with the sliver of Genny’s soul not much harder, but the true test, as the leannán sidhe had pointed out, lay in aping Genny’s personality.
A human male approached – Bangladeshi ambassador – and Finn gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leading Katie away.
‘Ambassador,’ Gold Cat said, injecting her tone with interest and sympathy; two things she did not feel, but the sliver of Genny did. ‘How can I help?’
The ambassador, his grey suit crumpled, orange and black striped tie loose about his neck, bowed in front of her, relief plain on his lined face and offered ‘Genny’ his gratitude for her part in rescuing his wife and their son. As Gold Cat listened, she shaded her eyes against the glare from the bright mechanical candles on metal sticks – halogen lights – the sliver of Carlson’s soul that she’d retained informed her. The world had moved on since last she’d walked it in human skin rather than fur, and with her own spirit almost intact. She had a lot to learn from the slivers inside her.
‘. . . we would be delighted to grant you a boon, Lady Genevieve,’ the ambassador finished quietly, ‘should you require one in the future.’
‘That’s very kind,’ Gold Cat said, echoing his deep bow, then felt a prickle of irritation as Genny’s sliver noted she wouldn’t have bowed; too archaic. ‘Thank you, Ambassador.’ Gold Cat forced her mouth to smile. ‘And thank your wife too.’
‘My wife and I wish to extend our gratitude to Mr Jonathan Weir, the zoo’s employee, for his heroic attempt to save our son, Dakkhin. We would not want Mr Weir to suffer for his actions. Unfortunately, the magic in the Bite cannot be taken back. However, Dakkhin is a godling; the grandson of Byaghradevi, the guardian of the Sundarbans, the beautiful jungle. Dakkin wishes to repay Mr Weir’s sacrifice by offering him his blessing. It will ensure Mr Weir will survive the shift. My wife would also offer to care for Mr Weir during this difficult time.’
Byaghradevi, the guardian of the Sundarbans. One of the minor Indian goddesses. A part of Gold Cat remembered meeting her once, millennia ago. Inwardly, she licked her lips; they’d feasted well together on the jungle’s two-legged inhabitants. She searched Genny’s sliver for the appropriate answer to the ambassador.
‘Fine by me, Ambassador,’ she said. ‘But maybe you should check with Jonathan Weir and his partner, who gave up his gold coin. It should be their decision, really.’
The ambassador gave his agreement to do so and moved away, his place taken by the five swan maidens dancing gracefully up to her with their thanks. The three dwarves who had been their collective coin-holder milled anxiously around the scantily feathered girls, getting affectionate, if somewhat sharp pecks on their bald pates for their fussing. The two centaurs came next and offered their own gruff gratitude, then after a mildly suggestive twirl of their ’taches, cantered off towards the Carnival where a spontaneous celebratory party appeared to be getting under way.
Mini the Minotaur stomped up and proffered her thanks by way of a free chase in her labyrinth to the pot of gold, then swung her coin-holder, the leprechaun, up on to her shoulder. The leprechaun gave a long-suffering sigh and grabbed one of Mini’s horns, and they too strolled off in the direction of the party, with a saucy flip of Mini’s tail.
The Arabian phoenix flew past with a grateful dip of its wings then joined her coin-holder, the chipped concrete troll with his fast-food cart. The bird landed on the cart’s burner, scoffed down a fireproof bun as the troll turned the flames up, and, whistling off-tune, pushed the cart towards the rest of the Others.
A fae male in a strange pirate outfit approached. He’d been hanging around the giant squid’s tank. Gold Cat licked her lips at the enticing scent of fish drifting from him then gave a small growl of disappointment. The male – Ricou, dressed in his Captain Jack Sparrow Glamour – lived with Genny as a . . . flatmate? – Ah, part of her pride – It disappointed Gold Cat that she wouldn’t be able to eat Ricou either in this guise or the male’s true naiad form. He smelled like he’d taste delicious.
‘Hello, luv, how’s tricks?’ the pirate said cheerfully. ‘Hear you’ve had a busy time of it.’
‘Hey, Ricou.’ She twisted her mouth in a grin. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’
Ricou pointed at the giant squid madly waving three of its tentacles. ‘That’s Gustaf, he’s Bertha’s pal.’
The name Bertha produced an image of a huge angry eel in Gold Cat’s mind. An angry eel with very sharp teeth that delighted in terrorising Genny. ‘Bertha’s got a pal?’
Ricou twirled his beard. ‘Bertha got a bit upset when old Gustaf didn’t turn up the other night, so I’ve been out looking for him. Wasn’t till she spat out a gold coin that it clicked what had gone on. She couldn’t come herself, obviously, so I did the honours. Thanks for saving him, luv.’
‘No worries,’ she replied. ‘Maybe Bertha will stop trying to take chunks out of me now.’ And if not, the eel would make a tasty meal in place of the naiad.
He made a high clicking sound: laughter. ‘She might, luv, you never know. I’ll get him home and see you later. Sylvia’s looking forward to catching up on the gossip.’
‘Sure,’ Gold Cat agreed, thinking gossip was not something she was accustomed to. Or overly interested in. Nor was she interested in talking to Sylvia, the other flatmate. Dryads were only useful when it came to sharpening one’s claws.
The kelpie sauntered towards her, the small faeling dog nipping playfully at his heels. Trailing after them was a small black Labrador-like puppy. As they neared, the Black Dog puppy lifted its head and fixed Gold Cat with its red eyes. Fear slammed into her and she almost shifted and killed it before she remembered she wasn’t herself; she’d deal with the Black Dog later. It was still a puppy so there was time to reverse its Prophecy of Death.
The kelpie indicated the tarot card Gold Cat held. ‘I’m thinking that card holds our answer, doll,’ he said, the beads on his dreads flashing an eager green.
Gold Cat forced her attention away from the Black Dog and looked down at the card. Against a blue velvet background it showed two images. The top image was of a Fabergé egg encrusted with sapphires and diamonds. The image below showed the same egg, but open, and nestled inside it was the sapphire pendant that contained the fae’s trapped fertility. The sliver of Genny recognised it as the Fabergé egg the sorcerer had used to trap souls last Hallowe’en, and was surprised and frustrated that she’d let it slip through her fingers more than once.
‘Yep, this is what we’re looking for.’ Gold Cat held the card up to show the kelpie, twisting her face with worry. ‘But it was lost in the demon attack. It’s in the River Thames somewhere.’ The kelpie’s eyes swirled black with satisfaction. ‘If ’tis in the river then ’tis as good as found.’
‘Good to know.’ Gold Cat handed him the card. And the problem. The only fertility she was interested in was that of her pride.