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

polite and frustrating: they didn’t have one. Mr al-Khan contacted them at sunset. Partially reassured that he did actually speak to them daily, I left a message for him to call me urgently.
    ‘Ms Taylor.’ Victoria Harrier snapped her own phone shut as she saw me finish my call and came briskly towards me, her low-heeled court shoes almost sparking off the green linoleum floor. She halted in front of me, her eyes glinting with the same ruthless competence she’d shown in getting me out of gaol so much quicker than Witch-bitch Crane had wanted. ‘Now, just to reiterate the situation, Ms Taylor: you’ve already pleaded guilty, and paid both the reparation and the fine’ – Ms Harrier had actually paid them, and had added them to my no doubt already hefty bill – ‘but the judge insisted on both a Conditional Caution and a Restraining Order, and that means you must stay away from Detective Inspector Crane’s investigation. You do understand that, don’t you?’
    ‘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 stretch 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