A few seconds later I heard irate shouts of ‘Watch it’ and ‘Hey, man!’ and ‘Getoutheway!’ behind me: sounded like Bandana Guy hadn’t managed to dodge quite as quickly. I raced on—but the trouble was, I could keep running, but I needed somewhere to run to, somewhere where a dryad couldn’t go. Dryads were fae, so a threshold wasn’t going to stop them like it would a vampire. A gust of wind blew past me, and in seconds rain started pelting me in the face like an ice-cold shower. Iron and steel would stop most fae, but the dryads were born in this world, their trees grew in the soil, drank whatever chemicals polluted the rain. My arms pumped and I could feel the wet blonde ponytail of my Glamour slapping against my leather jacket as I ran. Dryads had no problem with cars, but trains ... they didn’t like trains. None of them used the Tube. And there were no trees to spy me out; underground I’d be safe from the tell-tale whispers of the rustling leaves.
I reached the fork in the road: the left went round underneath London Bridge, but it took me further away from the nearest station and kept me out in the open. To the right was the quickest way to the Underground, but as I veered to go that way, I realised right wasn’t an option: two tall, gangly men were racing towards me with long, ground-eating strides. Both wore turbans wrapped around their heads. Maybe if they hadn’t been running, or if their faces hadn’t glowed with an odd pale luminescence like freshly stripped wood, or if their leaf-rustling cries hadn’t whistled past my ears, I might not have seen them—but seeing them wasn’t going to make them disappear.
‘Shit,’ I breathed out as I changed direction, sprinting left. ‘Pulling in reinforcements is so not fair, guys.’
The road curved in a deep bend and I took the straight quick line across pavement and grass and jumped a low-walled frontage. Rounding the corner I saw the quiet street stretching under the bridge and away into the distance. Three sets of echoes matched the pounding of my own feet. The driving rain stung my face and soaked cold into my shirt. Ahead I could see the green and blue flashes of the pavement lights under the bridge: straight on took me into the City, an area the dryads were uncomfortable in because of its lack of trees and multitude of hard surfaces, but it wasn’t the smart option, not when I didn’t know it well. But if I remembered right, there was a way up onto the bridge and back to the nearest Underground: Nancy’s Steps.
A ferocious snarl raised every hair on my body. In the gloom ahead a large dog—almost the size of a Great Dane—appeared as if from nowhere and stood stiff-legged in the middle of the road, barring the way. My pulse leapt in my throat and I nearly skidded to a stop—then, with uncertain relief, I recognised the unworldly glow that emanated from the dog’s coat like a silver aurora borealis. The dog was Grianne, the phouka: she had got the message from the crap game after all, even though I’d called it wrong. The only problem was, I didn’t know if she was on my side or not; things were never straightforward where Grianne was concerned. But hey, it’s not everyone that ends up with a faerie dogmother who hates them.
She barked, loud and insistent, a sound that reverberated through the quiet street around me. Humans would only hear the bark; I heard: ‘Hurry up, child, the trees are gaining on you.’
Like I really needed her to tell me that! I gritted my teeth and pushed my legs harder.
The phouka snarled again, baring long black fangs that a true dog would never have, then turned, loping towards the steps this side of the bridge, and disappeared. I caught up; the steep flight rose up to the road above. I grabbed the handrail and flung myself after her, half climbing, half leaping. My lungs were starting to burn. Above me the phouka bounded, sharp claws scratching loudly on the stone and the silver glow from her coat casting welcome light back into the dim stairwell.
Second landing. Behind me I heard shouts, then more of the whistling, rustling noise grated against my ears: the ground-eating legs of the tall pale-faced turban guys were taking the steps two at a time. Shit. I swallowed back an edge of panic and, my heart hitting against my ribs, my thigh muscles bunching with effort, I concentrated on getting to the top.
As I reached the last few steps, vicious snarls and growls erupted, quickly followed by horrified yells and human screams, which almost drowned out the growling. I ran onto the pavement to find the phouka crouching over one of the beanie-hatted dryads on the ground, savaging its throat. The other Beanie Hat was screeching in rage. It kicked out, catching the phouka in the stomach. The phouka yelped and went flying, landing in a scrambling, whining heap at the feet of stunned bystanders.
‘Hey, you!’ I yelled, pleased in some detached part of me that I still had enough breath. ‘Leave that poor dog alone!’
The yellow Beanie Hat whipped round, lips curled, face twisted in a snarl that would have done the phouka proud, and sprang at me. I half-crouched, judged my moment, then shifted low and let Beanie Hat’s own momentum help me heave her over my back. She crash-landed against the bridge’s stone parapet with a noise that sounded like branches snapping in the wind and lay still. The other Beanie lay moaning on the ground, yellow-tinged sap trickling from the wounds on his throat. The onlookers stared, huddled under their umbrellas and muttering, their eyes darting from Beanie to Beanie to me, indecisive.
‘Quickly, child,’ the phouka said as she trotted to my side, ‘tell me where the faeling you’ve rescued is hidden before these vermin regain their senses.’
‘It’s not a faeling this time, Grianne.’ I looked down at the phouka. ‘There’s another sidhe in London, and a human has been murdered. I need to know who’s opened a gate—’
‘Enough, I will attend to this.’ The phouka growled, ears flat against her skull. ‘Meet me here tomorrow as the sun is cresting.’ A wet nose pushed into my hand. ‘Now run, child, the other trees are coming. I will detain them.’
For a second, I laid my palm over her rain-wet silky head, wondering what her help was going to cost me, but—‘I owe you one, Grianne.’ Her eyes blazed yellow and feral as she dipped her muzzle in acknowledgment, then I turned and raced towards the Underground.
Chapter Twelve
I hit London Bridge Station still running, slapped my Oyster card over the reader and raced down the escalators into the rush of warm air that signalled a train arriving: Jubilee Line westbound to Waterloo and Stanmore. I tucked myself in by one of the doors, my feet braced, my body swaying with the juddering carriage. My heart slowed and I started to feel uncomfortable, my sweat-and-rain-damp clothes feeling sticky in the hothouse air of the packed Tube train. I wrinkled my nose, hoping I didn’t reek too much of exertion and panic, a smell that would be all-too-attractive to any vamps out on the prowl.
I doubted the dryads would follow me underground, but they hadn’t looked like they were going to give up their kidnap the sidhe idea anytime soon, so just to be sure, I scanned the packed commuters searching for anyone in a hat. My gaze skimmed a big man in a homburg, bushy grey hair poking out round his ears, and automatically dismissed him as human. I passed over a couple with matching camo berets, and a group of Jews in their kippah skull-caps. Why were the dryads chasing me? And why had Cosette warned me about them back at the Clink? Not that I wasn’t grateful; if it hadn’t been for her, the dryads might have cornered me, but ...
I swallowed back my frustration at the delay. Still, if nothing else Grianne should have some info for me in the morning.
We reached Waterloo and I jumped off and started running again, speeding through the curved roof tunnels, heading for the Northern Line. I wasn’t the only one; half a dozen other commuters raced with me, desperate to catch their own trains. I was just desperate to get somewhere safe, and fast, and I didn’t stop until I had flung myself, panting, into the next train. The next stop was Embankment. The doors parted with a clunking sucking sound and I got off, peered up and down the platform and made my way up to the exit. Then I hesitated; I’d been heading back to Tavish almost on autopilot, thinking I’d stay there until it was time to meet Grianne the following morning, but once I was there, doing nothing but hanging around would be a complete waste of time. Not to mention there were a lot of trees to pass between the Underground and the RAF monument.