The Bitter Seed of Magic

was, had to be über-powerful, which didn’t bode well for Tavish. But then again, Tavish could be slippier than a whole nest of eels when he wanted, so his whole ‘nae longer my ain master’ tip-off might not be as troublesome to him as it appeared. Not that there was anything I could do to help him right now—

‘Ooh, have you seen this?’ Sylvia flapped a magazine—Witch Weekly—in my face. The front cover had a picture of a pretty teenage witch holding a cocktail and sitting in a jacuzzi with half a dozen older guys. The headline read:

SECOND SCHOOLGIRL STAR IN HOT WATER!

IS MORGAN LE FAY COLLEGE CURSED?

‘Such a scandal! The Witches’ Council are talking about axing the show because of it. Which would be such a shame—I love all those reality TV shows, don’t you?’

—not when I had an overly friendly dryad to deal with.

I hitched up my bloodied jeans, trying to make them more comfortable, and pushed the magazine aside. ‘I don’t have a TV, Sylvia, so no, I don’t, and I’m not in a chatty mood, so hurry up and tell me why you wanted to see me, then you can toddle off back to your tree.’ I indicated the rest of the scattered books and the puddle of drying blood we were standing in. ‘I’ve got a busy evening ahead being a Domestic Goddess.’

Her helmet fell forward over her forehead as she frowned around at the mess. She pushed it up absently. ‘Gosh, I forgot: you can’t sort things out with magic, can you? What you need is some help—and I know just the person to provide it.’ She gave me a dazzling smile.

Was I going to take the bait—sorry, turn down a free offer of help? Okay, so it wasn’t going to be truly ‘free’, but since I had an idea that being friendly was the starting price—

I nodded, and she held out her hand; this time a pink iPhone appeared; the small white flower-shaped phone-charm dangling from it glowed with a Buffer spell that made the phone look like it was wrapped in thick, protective plastic. She waggled it, obviously expecting me to comment.

Impressed despite myself, I said, ‘Nice bit of magic. I haven’t seen a Buffer like that before.’ I touched a finger to the spelled charm; it shocked me back.

‘It’s my own blend.’ She beamed. ‘I add powdered rowan berries. The standard spells don’t last long with me calling my phone’—she gave a creaking laugh at her pun, and I lifted my lips in a smile to show I got it—‘you really don’t want to know how many scrambled SIM cards I ended up with.’

I really didn’t.

She thumbed the iPhone’s screen and it started ringing on speaker.

Nine rings later someone answered. ‘I told you not to phone me at work, Sssylvia. I’m busssy.’ The soft, sibilant voice sounded grumpily familiar: the Librarian.

‘Libby, darling,’ Sylvia said loudly, ‘this is work. I’m over at the sidhe’s place and you can’t move for books.’

‘Ssshe wanted them.’

‘Well, we all know that she’s not going to find anything in them, don’t we, Libby, so do me a favour and call them back, will you?’

I looked down at the scattered piles of books. There was one I wanted … I saw it next to the flattened takeaway cup and gingerly picked it up. Underneath was a small gold key. I picked that up too, then promptly wished I hadn’t as it melted into my palm and disappeared. Figured.

‘Told you, Sssyl, I’m busssy,’ the voice hissed down the phone. ‘Cataloguing.’

‘Gosh, Libby, then maybe I’ll have to get busy and put a “Keep Your Thieving Claws Off” spell on my books,’ Sylvia shouted at the phone, then winked at me. ‘Now stop being grouchy and call the books back.’

A sibilant sigh echoed down the phone, and then my ears popped with the sudden pressure as the piles of books vanished.

‘Thanks, Libby.’ Sylvia smiled in satisfaction, then whispered, ‘The old dragon loves my paranormal romance books; she’s just too mean to buy them herself.’

‘I’ve got my hearing aid in, Sssyl,’ the voice grumbled.

‘I thought you said you didn’t need one, Libs,’ Sylvia shouted into the phone again, then tapped it, muttered ‘amplify’ and hung the iPhone on an invisible hook between us. ‘Anyway, I bought a couple of new romances yesterday; they’re on the table in my dressing room. Oh, and don’t forget—’

‘Ask her what she knows about Michael Nix’s book,’ I interrupted, holding up the volume I’d retrieved.

‘Michael Nixsss, The Esssoteric Practice of Malediction Propheciesss,’ the Librarian hissed. ‘He is a purveyor of nightmares and future fears. I did not sssend you that one.’

Nice! I dropped the book. I’d salted it, and its magic seemed to be spent, but holding it for too long probably wasn’t a great idea. ‘Well, someone did,’ I said, ‘then I think they paid me a visit.’

‘What did they look like?’

‘She was green, deficient in the tooth area, wrinkled and over-free with the cryptic threats.’

‘Gosh, that sounds like one of the bean nighe, don’t you think, Libby?’

I looked down at my bloodstained jeans. A bean nighe? Just my luck.

‘A washer woman? Why would a Herald of Death be visiting you, sssidhe?’

Not a question I really wanted an answer for. ‘She was wearing a chain of gold keys,’ I said. ‘Does that mean anything?’

‘Ahh … Ssshe was the Phantom Queen then.’ The Librarian drew the name out with something approaching reverence. ‘Ssshe ofttimes appears as such.’

The name sounded familiar—

‘But I thought Clíona imprisoned her years ago, Libby?’ Sylvia frowned at the iPhone.

‘A sssidhe queen cannot hold a goddess for long. Ssshe may have escaped, or Clíona may have relented, or ssshe may have agreed sssome bargain with the Terror.’

—and my memory clicked in with the answer. ‘Are we talking about the Morrígan? The goddess of prophecy, war and death?’

‘Ssshe is also Anu, the goddess of sssovereignty, prosperity and fertility,’ the Librarian said, her delight and satisfaction evident.

Of course she was the goddess of fertility—after all, that was the theme of my life right now. Not to mention, I must have used up my next ten years’ quota of luck, seeing as I now had not one, but two goddesses taking an unhealthy interest in me.

‘Gosh, that’s right,’ Sylvia said, grinning at me with excitement. ‘Did she show you one of her prophecies? Was it anything to do with the curse? Do tell.’

Telling them might shed some light on the Alien baby bit, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to ‘chat’ about it; for all that it was false, the memory was grief-filled and painful. And I wanted a chance to think it all through. Then there was the fact the Morrígan had chosen to appear as a bean nighe. The bean nighe were dark fae, changelings taken from those mothers who died in childbirth, whose souls were lost. Whether it was the association, or down to whatever magic the Morrígan had sicced on me with her bitter kiss, flashing in my head like a neon arrow pointing ‘victim here’ was the picture of Ana, Victoria Harrier’s very pregnant daughter-in-law.

Questions started piling up in my mind.

I looked at Sylvia and her phone. The Librarian was the local font of all knowledge, and everyone knew that trees were the original gossip girls.

Chapter Sixteen

‘Before I do tell and show,’ I said, ‘do either of you know a water faeling called Ana?’ At Sylvia’s puzzled look,