‘Yes, I understand.’ Complying was a different matter entirely.
‘Perfect.’ A smile as bright as polished steel lit her face. ‘Now we still have certain matters to discuss, so I’d like to offer you a lift home, if you have no objection?’ Her smile didn’t change, but it wasn’t a request.
I gave her a considering look. No doubt she wanted to outline exactly what would happen if—or rather, when—I screwed up on the terms of the caution. But while she’d got me out of clink, and quickly, she was a witch, and that had my suspicious antennae twitching like mad. Still, she had one thing in her favour: DI Crane appeared to hate her almost as much as me; a feeling Victoria Harrier reciprocated, if the nearly tangible animosity between the two of them was anything to go by. At one point I’d been expecting broomsticks at dawn, or whatever it was that witches did.
But I had another more curious and perturbing question: why was a witch working for a vampire? Something that just didn’t happen, not with the ancient live-and-let-live-but-ne’er-the-twain-shall-meet covenant the two species shared. I didn’t have an answer. Yet. But I was going to find out.
‘Sure,’ I told her. ‘A lift would be great, thanks.’
Finn was waiting outside, leaning against the black-painted railings, hands stuck in his pockets, the afternoon sunshine making sharp silhouettes of his horns as he contemplated the pavement. Surprise and pleasure that he was waiting flashed through me, then my heart took over, leaping in my chest as the memory of his magic and his kiss stunned me and left me staring at him like some Glamour-struck human. Damn, that was so not a good reaction. If it kept up, I was going to have problems talking to him without drooling. I forced myself to look past him to the black stretched limo waiting next to the kerb. A uniformed chauffeur was holding the door open—Victoria Harrier obviously travelled in style—and, feeling cowardly, I wondered if I could make a run for it.
A loud caw distracted me and I looked up at the arched stone entrance at the top of the short cul-de-sac. There was a large raven sitting atop it. The bird cawed again, bobbed its head in acknowledgement, as if it had been waiting for me to appear, then launched itself into the clear blue sky—
‘Gen.’ Finn’s voice snapped my attention back to him as he pushed away from the railings, his smile wide with obvious relief, and came towards me. I tensed as he wrapped his arms round me and pulled me into a hard hug instead of his more usual greeting, a brief touch on my arm. Then as I breathed in his warm berry scent, the tension washed out of me, to be replaced by yearning and need. I forgot everything and hugged him back, succumbing to the heat of his body against mine, the quick thud of his heart, the sharp tug of his magic at my core … wanting him.
He buried his face in my hair. ‘Gods, Gen, I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, his warm breath feathering along my cheek and curling desire deep inside me. My own magic stirred, and the desire fanned hot, turning into lust, and I pressed myself against him, eager to get closer, not caring about anything other than being with him. His arms tightened. ‘I’m so sorry. I tried to explain about the dryad and the spell, but Helen—’
Reality crashed over me like a cold shower and I jerked out of his arms, blinking as I stepped back. I stared at the pavement, getting my heart and my libido under control. Shit, what the hell was wrong with me? It was only one kiss! But even as I asked myself, the answer came: it wasn’t just the kiss. There was Tavish’s Sleeping Beauty spell, and whatever spin he’d added to it. Damn kelpie. And who knew what other magics the goddess had sicced on me? Still, looked like Helen Crane was good for something: the mere mention of her name was a sure-fire passion-killer.
I fixed her beautiful patrician face in my mind and carefully lifted my eyes to Finn’s, relieved that the urge to throw myself into his arms was nothing more than a bad idea. What was it he’d been saying?
Oh yeah. ‘Finn, this isn’t about me stealing the spell,’ I said, ‘or about me using it. For whatever reason, Helen is out of control. And she’s abusing the powers of her job.’
‘Hell’s thorns, Gen’—he ran an agitated hand through his hair—‘don’t you think I don’t know that?’
‘Hugh thinks you could maybe talk to her, make her see sense?’ I said tentatively, then promptly forgot everything else as I watched him rub his left horn. My own fingers itched with the need to join his, to see if his horns were as hot and responsive as I remembered …
‘Helen’s having a rough time just now,’ he sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’
Helen equals passion-killer: check. ‘Complicated!’ I pulled a ‘heard it all before’ face.
‘Yeah, I know. But this really is.’ He hesitated, looking at the police station behind me for a moment, then lowered his voice. ‘It’s about Helen’s son. He turned up a few months ago and it’s causing a lot of problems.’
‘Helen’s got a son?’ Confusion filled me. ‘When did that happen?’
Finn’s perplexed expression told me I should know what he was talking about. Part of me thought maybe I did, but the rest of me was more interested in his broad shoulders, and in him losing the suit jacket, oh, and the moss-green shirt that matched his eyes, and where that might lead …
… and my mind filled with images of a cute baby satyr with green eyes and tiny horns. Though, of course, the baby would only have horns if it was a boy. If we had a girl, she’d be sidhe, like me. Then again, I’d have to make a conscious decision to have a little girl, otherwise the magic would default to the father’s—Finn’s—genes for sex, species and magic. In fact, I’d have to make a conscious decision to become pregnant (unless there were some truly extraordinary circumstances and a fertility rite involved) … So, a baby boy with cute horns, tiny hooves and a fluffy tail, or a baby girl with my own amber-coloured cat-like eyes—
‘—and Helen gave him up to the sidhe when he was born, so he’s a changeling,’ Finn finished. He looked at me like he obviously expected me to comment. When I just stared at him, bemused, he added with a touch of exasperation, ‘Hell’s thorns, Gen, you want me to talk to Helen, and I’m trying to explain why there’s a problem. Helen’s having difficulty dealing with it. It’s a very emotional time for her, and I know that’s not an excuse …’ he added quickly, seeing my expression.
No, it’s not, I thought, breaking eye contact with him before the broody baby nightmares started up again. I stared at the stone archway at the end of the road. It was safer. So Helen’s son was a changeling—not that I was entirely sure what being a changeling changed about a mortal, other than being brought up in the Fair Lands from birth. Briefly I wondered how old he was if he was back and causing problems? Mid to late teens, maybe? But regardless, why was I standing here listening to Finn go on about Helen, his ex, while thinking about having his baby? Either I’d turned into a total idiot without noticing—or someone, like maybe, oh, a certain goddess, or the magic?—was messing with me.
And why the hell was Finn so concerned about Helen’s kid, anyway? After all, he’d told me there was nothing between them any more—maybe I really was an idiot to believe that?—and that the baby wasn’t his the last time this had all come up … my gut knotted as I suddenly realised he hadn’t. He’d clammed up instead.