The Bitter Seed of Magic (A Spellcrackers Novel) by Suzanne McLeod

He held out his own, and I placed mine in his, thinking he meant to help me up.
    Maxim gave a barking laugh. ‘Getting territorial over the sidhe, are you? Good God, that’s not going to go down well with His Royal Highness.’
    Royal Highness?
    Malik’s grip tightened on my fingers. I flinched.
    ‘My apologies, Genevieve.’ Malik’s voice was calm in my head. ‘I did not intend to hurt you.’
    ‘Don’t you want to know why I’m here, old man?’ Maxim asked cheerfully.
    ‘No.’ Malik flicked his hand, and the other vamp shot through the bridge’s suddenly insubstantial wall. For a second I thought he was gone, but he popped right back in and hunkered down next to us.
    ‘Good one that, old chap – caught me unawares,’ he said, still grinning, ‘but now you’re in the vicinity, as it were, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about while our esteemed Lord and Master isn’t around. A little proposition about the sidhe here.’
    ‘This is not the time, Maxim,’ Malik said, glowering down at where he held my hand. Then he added in my mind, ‘ Genevieve, give me my ring, please .’
    I frowned, adding ‘Royal Highness’ and ‘Lord and Master’ together and getting Autarch . Terrified panic clutched at me and I grabbed Malik’s arm. ‘What’s this got to do with the Autarch?’ I demanded.
    ‘Why, the Turk here is His newest Oligarch . . . Or should I say “toy”?’ Maxim rubbed his hands together with glee. ‘How long’s it been now, five months? Tell me, is His Royal Brattiness still at the “eviscerating and stringing of guts” stage, or has he moved on yet?’ Maxim gave me a sly look. ‘The rest of us have been greatly enjoying the holiday.’
    I shot Malik a horrified look. ‘What the hell is he talking about?’
    ‘There is nothing to fear, Genevieve.’ Malik’s voice came with a heavy push of mesma that should have filled me with reassurance. It didn’t. ‘You will be safe. But now you must go.’ He pulled his ring from my finger—
     
    —my eyes snapped open. I stared up at the white ceiling of the silver-lined police cell, my stomach churning with barely suppressed fear, for me, and for Malik.
    Blondie – Maxim – had said Malik was the Autarch’s new torture toy, and while Malik had looked okay, it had been a dream, and dreams and looks could both be deceiving.
    Damn. I’d known Malik was London’s new Oligarch, and as Oligarch he would have been forced to swear an Oath of Fealty to the Autarch. I hadn’t thought through what that meant until now, no doubt thanks to Malik’s mind-mojo, but I was pretty sure I was the reason Malik had taken on the job. After the events last Hallowe’en I’d asked him to extend his protection to all of London’s fae and faelings until Clíona’s time limit was up, and he’d said yes. But that protection was worthless if all the Autarch had to do was snap his psychotic little fingers and say jump, and Malik would have to say how high.
    It seemed to me to be an utterly stupid move on Malik’s part.
    But stupid was one thing he wasn’t.
    So what the hell was the beautiful, Machiavellian vamp playing at?
    I sat up, my white-paper jumpsuit rustling, and checked out my left wrist. The spell bracelet was still there, half-submerged back into my body. After another few hours it would be totally absorbed. But Malik’s ring-charm was gone.
    Looked like I’d have to find out the non-magical way, and actually ask him in person. As soon as I got out of gaol.

Chapter Eleven
    ‘H ere you go, Genny,’ Hugh said, his ruddy face lined with concern, as he offered me the envelope containing my belongings. We were alone in the small cupboard-like custody room. It was a part of Old Scotland Yard I’d never seen before, or ever wanted to again.
    ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking the envelope and upending its contents carefully on the counter between us. My phone, Spellcrackers ID, wallet, watch and Grace’s gold pentacle all slid