The Cold Kiss of Death

Could my night get any worse?

‘That’s the fifth time he’s done that,’ I said, drawing a little Edvard Munch face, mouth wide open in a scream. ‘I was sort of hoping he’d catch on that there was something in his way by now.’

Finn looked up absently from the book he was reading—a history of London Bridge—and my heart did its usual stupid leap inside my chest. I gave it my standard lecture. Sure, Finn looked great; his handsome, clean-cut features always had plenty of females—and not a few males—drooling, never mind the broad shoulders and honed muscles that stretched his old navy T-shirt. Even his bracken-coloured horns that stood an inch or so above his hair and marked him as a satyr just added to him being a gorgeous hunk of male. But it was just a look. He was wearing his usual Glamour, one that made him appear more human, so even in his snug, washed-out jeans there was no hint of his sleek furred thighs, or the tail I knew he had. It’s just a look, nothing to get worked up about. Yeah, and I didn’t believe myself either. Not that his true form was any less gorgeous, just different—wilder, more feral. But his Glamour made things easier when dealing with humans. A bit of Otherness is tolerable, even sought after, but show too many differences between our species and monsters like prejudice and bigotry raise their ugly heads and the humans start reaching for their not-so-metaphorical pitchforks.

Damn, running into bitchy witches’ daughters and tangling with paranoid neighbours was turning me into a pessimist.

‘Who’s done what?’ Finn asked, a faint line creasing between his brows.

I sighed. Or maybe it was spending time with a hot satyr who didn’t seem to notice me any more. Previously he’d asked me out often enough that I’d wished he’d stop. Oh, not that I hadn’t wanted to say yes—maybe not for Happy Ever After, but I’d definitely wanted a chance at Happy for Now with him—but keeping my secrets meant I’d always said no. Then the Mr October thing happened. Finn had been determined to play the white knight, and in a desperate attempt to scare him off and end his sacrificial tendencies, I’d told him that saving me from the vamps was really a moot point seeing as my father was one, and my ending up back with the suckers was probably inevitable. He’d gone quiet at my confession, an expected but still painful rejection, then in the end we’d both sort of saved each other and ourselves. But afterwards, when I’d been sure I’d lose everything now he knew—my job, my home and most of my friends—he’d kept my secret, and done some smart talking for me with the Witches’ Council. But as for any sort of relationship other than work, knowing about that half of my parentage seemed to have been the kiss of death. Not that I didn’t understand why.

The old adage of being careful what you wish for was never so true.

Or so disheartening.

‘Gen, who’s done what?’ Finn repeated the question, his moss-green eyes losing their vagueness.

‘Scarface just passed by.’ I pointed my pencil at the ghost disappearing into the distance down the tunnel nearest to Finn, one of a row that led off at right angles from the one we were in, areas between the foundation supports once used for storage, until they’d started to dig the place up and turn it into a tourist exhibition. We sat at one of the T-junctions facing each other, watching for ghosts from all directions. ‘He bumped into the circle again,’ I added, pleased my voice came out steady.

Finn cast a professional eye over the eight-foot circle. He’d drawn it—literally and magically—in the clearest part of the site, using salt for binding, shredded yew to keep out the dead and sage for clarity and protection. When I looked I could see it enclosing us like a huge bubble—not a comforting thought when bony fingers kept poking at it.

‘Hell’s thorns, Gen, the circle’s fine,’ he said, pushing a hand through his dark blond hair and scratching behind his left horn in faint exasperation. ‘It’ll take more than a couple of knocks from a ghost to break.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ I lifted up the laptop to give my jeans a chance to cool down and balanced it on the chair’s frame. It wasn’t just the circle, though; I felt like I wanted to warn Scarface or something, tell him to walk round the side.

Finn gave me a reassuring smile, teeth white against his tanned skin. ‘I know you’re worried, but just try and relax, okay?’

‘Sure,’ I agreed, and he went back to his reading.

Except relaxing wasn’t an option, not with the sweat still itching down my spine. So instead I stared down the brightly lit tunnels, watching for the next ghostly spectre, telling myself yet again it was irrational to be scared. Scarface was just a soul-memory trapped by a traumatic death, stuck on replay like a faulty DVD, nothing more. If he’d ever felt anything like fear or panic, or wanted anything from the living, those feelings were long gone. I flashed back to Cosette waiting for me in the rain. Despite her wounds, she was angry, not frightened or distressed. Damn, I really needed to find out what she wanted. My phone call to Constable Taegrin had been a part success; he’d been happy to chat to Mr Travers about polishing tips, but his voice had turned disapproving when I’d mentioned my ghost problem and asked about necromancers. He’d not refused outright, but I wasn’t pinning my hopes on him. I thought about asking Finn if he knew any necros, then decided against it. Cosette wasn’t work, and Finn was snowed under seeing as he’d only recently taken over the franchise and become the boss for real. The laptop flipped over to the screensaver—Spellcrackers.com ~ Making Magic Safe—and tired of balancing it on the chair, I leaned over to settle it on my backpack.

‘Here, let me.’ Finn reached out to help and his fingers touched mine. Green and gold magic—his and mine— flashed where our skin met like excited sparklers going off.

I froze. The magic was doing its usual, urging us to get together like we were the last two fae in the world. And even though I knew it wasn’t going to happen ... a foolish hope still surfaced that this time he might say something, anything other than—

‘Sorry,’ he murmured, carefully removing his hands from mine and letting go of the laptop.

The magic fizzled away into nothing.

‘No probs,’ I said readily, making sure I kept the disappointment out of my voice and carefully placing the laptop on my backpack.

He settled back in his chair and concentrated on his book.

I tried to settle back in mine, and decided that focusing on the ghosts was marginally better than angsting over might-have-beens, so I checked out the spreadsheet for who was next. Posy. Right on time, the hairs on the back of my neck rose and Posy—a dirty bandage hiding most of her face, the hem of her skirt in rags—ambled by clutching a withered bunch of flowers. I marked her details on the pad and tapped them into the laptop, fingers trembling slightly. Something about this ghost job had me spooked—even without the bad pun—and not just because of my phobia. But when I’d mentioned my vague suspicions to Finn, he’d dismissed them.

Chewing the end of my pencil, I scanned the underground site again. Bare bulbs in their yellow hanging cages lit the place brighter than the midday sun, even though it was past midnight. The bright lights didn’t make me feel any better: they cast weird shadows over the abandoned builders’ tools, turning them into hiding places full of staring eyes, watching. Thick cobwebs stretched across the arched brick roof and damp stained the walls with algae-slimed patches. And it smelled old and musty, with an underlying whiff of putrefying flesh—a smell Finn had assured me existed only in my overactive imagination, not that his assurances made the smell go away. The place was creepy enough even without the steady stream of ghosts drifting by. Finally my gaze skittered over the more modern breezeblock wall blocking the River Thames end of the tunnel and landed on the cordoned-off area in one corner. An avalanche of grey human bones spilled out over the floor. The very bones I’d been trying to ignore all night, especially as I had an odd notion that they kept whispering my name.

‘Tell me why we’re here again?’ I asked, more to shut the whispers out than anything else.

Finn briefly looked up, a flash of irritation crossing his face. Hell, irritated was better than half-heard whispers, so I prodded a bit more. ‘I mean, they’re developing this as part of the tourist attraction and they want the ghosts to hang around to add to the spooky ambience, but apparently something is frightening them off.’ I could sympathise with how they felt right now even if I didn’t like them. ‘What I don’t understand is, why hire Spellcrackers? I mean, we find magic and break or neutralise spells, right? And ghosts are nothing to do with magic, so why doesn’t Mr Developer just get a medium down here to check them out?’

‘I told you, he doesn’t want that, Gen,’ Finn said, smoothing out a page. ‘He’s worried that any contact might disturb the ghosts even more. He just wants them watched, to see if we can discover why they’re disappearing.’

Happy Head limped past, half his skull missing, a vacant smile on his face, his body transparent as a reflection in a glass window. Suppressing another shudder, I leaned over, tapped the laptop and keyed in his info.