—and as both crashed into the mirage of the door the release of magic exploded out, lifting me off my feet and knocking me back into the water. Again. I scrambled up again and looked towards the sudden stillness.
The fight had stalled. Both fae lay groaning on the sand, the door an incongruous barrier between them.
Smiling in grim satisfaction, I strode towards them, my nose flaring at the sharp, scorched smell that stung the air.
Finn lay on his side, crimson blood staining his horns, deep grazes and cuts marring the smooth tanned skin of his back and shoulders. More blood and sand clogged the usually sleek sable hair that covered his lower body and flanks, and his hooves were ragged and torn.
Tavish lay on his back, arms outstretched, in his human shape once again. His dreads were matted and tangled and bright crimson blood bubbled from the jagged wound across his chest.
‘What the fuck do the pair of you think you’re playing at?’ I yelled. ‘I came here for help, not to be half-drowned, and then end up refereeing a fucking fight!’
Neither spoke. They just glowered at each other, their expressions equally closed.
I kicked at the sand in frustration. ‘Right. So if either of you is going to help me, then do it. If not, then you can just fuck off back into the water, or wherever the hell you came from. But. Stop. Wasting. My. Time.’
Turning my back on them, I stormed towards the camouflage tent. I knew how Tavish’s computers worked; I didn’t need him or anyone else for that. I lifted the fabric door and ducked under it—A wind as fierce as a hurricane blew against me, making me stumble. I grabbed hold of a wooden tent pole to keep from falling. My skin prickled with magic as hot air eddied round me, stripping the water from my dripping T-shirt and wet hair. I’d forgotten that Tavish had his threshold tagged with a Clean-Up spell. I waited until the magic cooled, telling me the spell was done, then stepped forward.
And shifted from Between and back into the humans’ world.
And back to my problems.
Chapter Nine
Tavish’s underground living area hadn’t changed since my last visit. The walls were grey blocks of rough granite, much like the RAF monument above, and the floor was flagged with smooth dark-grey slabs. To one side of the high-ceilinged space was a low black suede sofa. A black granite slab sat solidly in front of it on a huge white long-haired skin rug belonging to some animal that had never roamed the humans’ world. I’d never felt comfortable walking on the rug with shoes on, let alone with bare feet—something told me the granite slab wasn’t just there as a convenient coffee-table—so I skirted round it and headed for Tavish’s office. A glass wall divided it from the rest of the space.
The glass wasn’t just a stylish break between his living and working areas. When I looked, the complicated Buffer spell that protected all his computers from getting zapped by magic lit the glass up like a sun-flare. And there was a lot of gear to protect: a three-high by five-wide bank of flat-screen computer monitors curved around a selection of keyboards and rollerball mice posed on flexi-stalks. It looked like a cross between a giant’s electronic bouquet and a hacker’s mega-expensive wet dream.
I pulled open the glass door; the low background hum of the electronics buzzed against my ears and I swallowed back the flat taste of the ionised, recycled air. Most of the monitors were playing sections of one large screensaver—a coral reef with darting shoals of tropical fish, and a pair of sharp-toothed sharks swimming lazily from one screen to another—but the monitor front and centre was paused on the CCTV footage showing ‘me’ standing in front of Tomas’ bakery talking to the florist’s boy.
My stomach did an anxious little jump at seeing it again. I hooked one leg under me and settled into the leather chair, reaching for the nearest keyboard—
‘Tavish says to remember the bracelets and the gloves,’ Finn said quietly from behind me.
I stopped, hand in mid-air. ‘Thanks,’ I said and snagged a pair of the extra-thick surgical gloves from the box under the desk. I snapped them on and pulled them up over my wrists, then gingerly picked up two silver cuffs from the tray next to the box. They were half an inch wide and peppered with industrial-grade diamond chips. I clasped them round my wrists on top of the gloves so the silver didn’t burn my skin. The cuffs and gloves were probably overkill—seeing as each computer had its own individual Buffer spell glowing away—but I wasn’t going to take the chance of frying their hard drives by not wearing the magical inhibitors. Tavish might like me, but not that much.
‘Are you okay?’ Finn’s voice held concern.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, still simmering with annoyance over the fight between him and Tavish.
‘You don’t look fine, Gen.’
I glanced down at the baggy T-shirt that was all I was wearing—Joseph’s boxers had been too large for me, and none of the fetish underwear in the mirrored wardrobes had appealed. Tavish’s Clean-Up spell had dried and de-sanded the T-shirt, but that was it. I sighed. Okay, I didn’t look so good, but hey, what did he expect after all I’d been through? Explosion and deep sea swimming anyone?
I turned to look at Finn. He was leaning against the wall next to the monitors, his arms loosely crossed. His horns had shortened to a couple of inches above his dark blond hair and his sharp feral features were Glamoured back to his more usual clean-cut human handsome. There were no signs of his recent fight; his black chinos and black dress shirt with its thin electric-blue stripes and—I checked—highly polished black boots looked like he’d just taken them from his wardrobe, which he probably had, using magic.
I shrugged. ‘Not all of us have the ability to call fresh clothes whenever we want to.’
‘I’m not talking about the clothes, Gen.’ He came over to crouch by the side of my chair. ‘I’m talking about this.’ He gently touched a pink patch of skin on my forearm. A tingle slipped inside me before the cuffs glowed and shut it down. ‘You’ve been injured.’ Anxiety shaded the moss-green of his eyes.
‘I’ll heal good as new in a few days,’ I said firmly, still furious that he hadn’t thought to check I was okay before he’d started chucking Stun spells around. I narrowed my eyes. ‘What are you doing here, anyway, besides your little spat with Tavish out there?’
‘Hell’s thorns, Gen,’ he said, exasperated. ‘What do you think I’m doing here? You’ve been missing since Tuesday morning; I’ve been worried about you.’
‘And now I’m not missing any more.’ I tilted my head enquiringly. ‘Are you here to help, or is there some other reason?’
A puzzled line creased between his brows. ‘Of course I’m here to help, why else?’
‘Oh, maybe so you can tell Detective Inspector Helen Crane, your ex-witch wife, where I am so she can come and arrest me?’ I said, not keeping the suspicion out of my voice.
‘Helen’s a police officer, Gen.’ He straightened, his face closing up. ‘She has to go by the evidence.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Disappointment twisted through me. Of course he’d take her side; it didn’t seem to matter that she might be looking at the evidence through blinkered eyes gone green with jealousy. I turned back to the monitors, clicked on the play button and started the CCTV footage rolling. The monitor-me stuck her hands on her hips outside the bakery and looked around.
‘She doesn’t need to arrest me anyway,’ I said after a moment. ‘I’ve got an alibi, someone who can prove I wasn’t with Tomas when he was killed.’
‘Who?’ Finn’s reflection appeared in the screen. I blinked as another reflection, Cosette’s, shadowed his. I swivelled the chair round to look and my knees bumped into Finn’s legs he was so close, but she wasn’t there. Damn, it was bad enough being haunted by a ghost without letting my imagination run away with me.