Tavish was silent for a long moment, then something shifted in the depths of his eyes like a fish sliding beneath shadowed waters. ‘’Tis a big ask, doll.’
Impossible more like. ‘Yeah.’ I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ‘But what does what I want have to do with releasing the fae’s fertility?’
‘Told you, doll,’ Tavish said briskly. ‘You’re the key, but you’re nae wanting to find the spell, so the magic’s nae keen on helping.’
I considered that. ‘So, if I decide I want it, the magic will help me find it?’
He shook his head. ‘’Tis nae quite that simple. The magic’s a tricky mistress. You know that.’
I did. Magic wasn’t something you could talk or reason with, yet it still had a mind of its own. Sometimes, when I’d needed it, it had helped me in the past.
‘She likes you,’ Tavish said softly.
‘She?’
‘The magic.’
‘Why are you calling it “she”?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘Isn’t it more like a natural . . . force or something?’
He smiled, turquoise eyes dancing. ‘We all come from The Mother, and she was the first to come from the magic. So what else would the magic be? But now’s nae the time for debating, doll. We want to find the spell, you want to keep Spellcrackers and be your own boss. Help me and I’ll help you, with that anyways.’
‘Tavish,’ I said, more than a little insulted. ‘I don’t need to be bribed.’
‘Och, I ken, but a little incentive never harms a body, now does it?’
‘Fine, I’m not going to say no.’ I shot him a grateful smile. Having him go to bat for me with the satyrs staking their claim was a bonus. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Ask the one who knows.’ He flicked his fingers and a pack of cards, larger than normal playing size, appeared on the desk in front of me.
‘Tarot cards?’ I asked.
‘Aye.’
Curiosity flickered. I hadn’t known he did readings.
‘Pick them up and hold them in your left hand, doll.’ I slid the water bottle on to the table and did as he said. No magic tingled; the cards felt like ordinary card, and oddly both sides were plain white. He took hold of my right hand, lacing our fingers together. ‘Don’t let go, nae for anything?’ he warned. I nodded, and his gills fanned wide either side of his throat, his eyes turning the deep cobalt blue of a midnight sea. Magic, needle-sharp, pierced me, twisting a storm of desire at my core. I gasped, squirmed on the chair before I could stop. Again he didn’t seem to notice. I clutched at the cards, ignoring the feelings. The need would pass. It always did.
‘Shuffle,’ he ordered, Compulsion fuelled his voice.
‘I can’t one-handed—’ But even as I spoke, my fingers did an expert shuffle.
‘Toss them in the air.’
My hand threw the cards. The light in the room dimmed as they fountained up high like a mushroom cloud, before tumbling like glistening snowflakes on a winter’s night. I winced, expecting them to clatter on to the desk, dreading the damage they could do to the fragile fairy body in its sandwich-box coffin, but they dissipated, melting like the snowflakes they’d mimicked, fading away into the ether . . . Soon only five remained. They snapped into a line, hovering in front of me. Still blank.
I looked at Tavish. ‘What now?’
He picked up one of my scalpels, held it out to me, his hand shaking. ‘They need to be fed.’
‘Blood?’
‘Aye, doll. Blood for your question answered. Usual terms.’ Sweat beaded on his forehead.
I frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Feed ’em,’ he urged, shoulders bowing as if with pain.
O-kay. I pressed my left index finger against the scalpel. The edge sliced the tip, dark viscous blood welled, scenting the air with honey and copper, and I readied for the pain but it didn’t come. Odd.
‘Quick,’ he whispered.
I took a steadying breath. ‘I offer my blood solely in exchange for the answer to my questions. No harm to me or mine,’ I said and touched the first card.
A tiny tongue licked at my finger— Startled, I jerked my hand back, or would’ve without Tavish’s Compulsion holding me in place. The tongue licked some more, tickling, then I felt a little mouth press against the cut, lips sealing around it. It started sucking my blood down, hard and fast enough that I could feel the draw on my heart. I shot an anxious look at Tavish. He was hunched in his chair, the cobalt colour leaching from his eyes, leaving them pale and cloudy, his dreads turning dry and brittle, their beads clear as glass. Then a bead shattered, the pieces hitting the floor with a soft ping. Uneasy, I tried yanking my hand from the card. I couldn’t.
‘What the hell’s happening, Tavish?’
‘Channelling.’
‘Channelling what? Something in the cards?’
He grunted.
I took it as a yes. And judging by the way his hand gripped mine, whatever it was, it was powerful. What the hell was in the cards if they could do this to him? And why hadn’t he told me what to expect? Unless this wasn’t it?
‘Harder,’ he muttered. ‘Harder than I thought to stop you.’
‘Stop me? But I’m not doing anything!’
More beads shattered. He crumpled forwards, his head dropping to his knees, his hand a death-grip on mine. ‘The card? Is it changing?’
I dragged my attention back to the card. Thick gold mist topped it like a tiny thundercloud, and on the front the dark bruised red of my blood coloured the card from the bottom up, as if it were litmus paper drawing it up. Which in a way it seemed it was, as there was still a thin white strip at the top.
‘Tell me when.’ Tavish’s words were a hoarse whisper.
The strip turned pink . . .
Brighter red . . .
Then the dark bruised colour of the rest of the card.
Suddenly the mouth released my finger with an audible satisfied sigh.
I cut a troubled glance at Tavish. ‘It’s let go—’
He toppled out of the chair, his hand slipping from mine, and curled into a foetal ball under the desk.
I flung myself to my knees, grabbed his head; his face was lined and shrunken like an old man’s.
Weakly, he pushed at me. ‘Talk to the card, doll,’ he ground out harshly, ‘afore she leaves.’
She? But a stab of Compulsion had my body pulling back into the chair, my eyes fixing on the bloodstained card and my mouth said, ‘Tell me how to find that which is lost, and how to join that which is sundered, to release the fae’s fertility from the trap and restore their fertility back to them as it was before it was taken.’
The tarot card vibrated. The blood swirled away in wisps of reddish smoke until I could make out a picture. A dark-haired, hawk-nosed male in his thirties, dressed in a purple toga, his head wreathed with a crown of golden laurels, lounged on an ornate throne. He held a silver-bladed dagger in one hand, and behind him a large golden eagle perched on a staff-like pillar. The Emperor.
The Emperor on the card laughed; a loud arrogant sound that filled the large room. I started. The ginger tom leaped from the desk, its fur bottle-brush stiff, and at my feet Tavish whimpered. On the card a huge, fanged snake slithered up the staff and hissed at the golden eagle. The bird flapped its wings angrily and launched itself out into the room, soaring up to the ceiling.
I repeated my question.
The Emperor laughed again, pointed his silver dagger out of the card at me and bellowed, ‘He knows! He will tell you! For a price!’
Of course he would. ‘Who’s he?’ my mouth demanded.
‘He is I!’
‘Who are you?’
The Emperor gave another booming laugh. ‘I am the Emperor!’
Great. Was it a tarot card or a pantomime villain? Next he’d be shouting, ‘He’s behind you!’ I gritted my teeth. Specific questions, Gen. ‘What’s the name you were given at your birth?’
‘My father named me—’
An angry screech drowned his words as the golden eagle dived back into the card. The card exploded in a splatter of crimson as if a bullet had hit dead centre. Droplets of blood expanded out in a starburst of brilliant red light, their blinding afterimage searing my retinas.