The Bitter Seed of Magic

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

The noise beat insistently inside my head and I turned over, trying to get away from it. Instead, I came face to face with Malik’s dark, staring eyes.

I blinked, then realised three things almost simultaneously:

Malik had somehow missed leaving before dawn, and was now in his ‘dead for the day’ state.

A thin sliver of sunlight was hitting the bed like a laser-beam, and it was inches from his bare foot.

And something huge and black was perched outside my window, tapping on the glass with a very large and very sharp beak.

My pulse speeding with apprehension, I leapt up—

—and a swooshing sound thundered in my ears as the black thing flew through the window, knocked me flying, and crash-landed almost on top of me.

Feathers.

My mouth was full of feathers. I spluttered and spat them out, scrabbling at my mouth with my hands while something cawed loudly and indignantly next to my ear. There was a panicked flapping of wings as it moved, and a huge raven stared down at me from alien blue eyes, its long, grey, very sharp beak only inches away from my throat.

Was it the Morrígan?

The raven started to grow, and within seconds the monstrous bird was looming over me, blocking any escape. Keeping a wary eye on that beak, I scrambled backwards and wedged myself in between the bedside table and the wall.

The raven gave another loud caw—

—and exploded in a snow-storm of black feathers that spun and fell through the air, dissipating into the ether before they reached the wooden floor. Instead of a raven, there stood a naked man. His mouth opened as he let out one last impassioned caw, then he collapsed, shaking, onto his hands and knees, his head hanging down, his wheat-gold hair feathering out over the floor.

‘Goddess,’ he gasped hoarsely, ‘that hurt.’ Then he curled into a ball, moaning.

Okay. So not the Morrígan.

And not much of a threat either, judging by the moaning, which sounded a bit excessive, like he was putting it on. I unwedged myself from my corner, hauled myself up and ignored the moaning naked guy in favour of Malik.

The sunlight might be weak, but if it hit him, it could cause a serious problem. I kept a wary eye on Mr Moaning Raven as I skirted past him and yanked open the wardrobe. Malik’s long leather coat was hanging neatly next to my own leather jacket, just as I’d known it would be. At least the neat-freak vamp was predictable in that area anyway. I grabbed them both, and flung the coat over Malik’s top half and my jacket over his feet. It wasn’t perfect, but I was pretty sure he was old enough that it would protect him for now.

Then I turned to give my newest uninvited visitor the once-over.

His back view was well worth looking at: broad shoulders narrowing to a taut butt, long, lean-muscled legs, and all covered in tanned skin sprinkled with fine golden hairs that glinted in the weak morning light. A twining tattoo encircled his left ankle, climbed up his calf and twisted around his thigh. It was a complicated pattern of stylised feathers and glyphs, none of which I recognised. The tattoo itself was etched in gold ink that was barely noticeable against his skin tone. A scattering of small diamonds were sprinkled along the tattoo and melded into his skin. When I looked, the tattoo and gems glowed with enough power to fill the room with golden magic, hotter than the summer sun.

I’d bet my last liquorice torpedo that the naked man in my bedroom was the raven who’d been following me: but was he a messenger from the Morrígan, or something to do with the dead raven faeling, or both?

Not that he was looking particularly competent for a messenger.

Of course, there was another reason he could be here. I could’ve snagged myself another hopeful suitor like Sylvia. Damn fertility curse.

‘You know,’ I said, raising my voice slightly to be heard over his moans, and prodding his shoulder with my toe, ‘turning up naked in a girl’s bedroom isn’t the relationship starter it’s cracked up to be. Not to mention that the naiads have already tried it … unsuccessfully, I might add. Oh, and if you’re thinking of it as a fast track to courting me, you can think again. It takes more than pretty looks to get me into bed.’

He stopped moaning and lifted his head to peer at me over his bent arm. He looked about my own age. His face was every bit as pretty as the rest of him: high, angled cheekbones, sharp jaw, straight patrician nose and large indigo eyes with slitted cat-like pupils that gleamed more red than black as they twinkled at me.

I stared at him, shocked. He was sidhe.

‘I think you’re maligning my good character here, my lady.’ He rested his chin on his arm, regarding me quizzically. ‘After all, I did just rescue you. But I’m prepared to forgive you for’—he grinned—‘a drink. Don’t suppose you’d care to pass me the vodka there, would you?’

I blinked at him. ‘What?’

‘Saving damsels in distress from going up in flames with unconscious vamps is thirsty work. There’s the shifting, that takes its toll, even without flying through your window while not physically breaking it. Then I did have to stretch your Ward a bit, but seeing as it was already partially cracked, I didn’t think you’d mind. I think I deserve a drink after all that, don’t you?’ He winked mischievously, his grin widening to show straight white human teeth. ‘Oh, and pass me a pillow, will you? I can’t quite manage clothes yet, and I’d hate to stun you speechless with the rest of my pretty looks.’

‘It’s not your looks,’ I said slowly, tossing a pillow at him in bemusement. ‘It’s your eyes.’

‘Ah, I forgot.’ He closed them, muttered something under his breath, then opened them. The indigo irises were the same, but the pupils were now round black and human. ‘Is that better?’

Oddly, it was. ‘Um … yes. Who are you?’

He sprang to his feet, clutching the pillow strategically in front of him, then did an odd bird-like hop towards me. He stopped and shook his head in irritation. ‘Sorry, takes a while to get rid of the mannerisms. The name’s Jack, my lady. Pleased to meet you, at last.’ He held out his hand, an expectant look on his face, as if I should know who he was even if I didn’t know him.

‘At last?’ I echoed questioningly.

‘Ah, she hasn’t told you.’ He dipped his head, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, which made him look a good few years younger than the mid-twenties I’d originally guessed. ‘Well, that puts the hawk among the pigeons, doesn’t it? About that drink …’

Not a suitor, then: a messenger, as I’d previously thought.

I handed him the vodka bottle from the bedside table. It was still a third full. ‘Who hasn’t told me what?’ I offered him a glass.

He did a little dancing jiggle with the vodka and the pillow, managed to get the top off without losing his modesty, then, ignoring the glass, he tipped the bottle up, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank, and he continued drinking until the bottle was empty.

‘Good stuff, this’—he checked the label—‘Cristall. I’ll have to get some. Thanks, my lady.’

‘No problem,’ I said, giving him an expectant look. ‘Okay, Dutch courage time over, Jack, back to the question: who hasn’t told—?’

A loud knock on my bedroom door and a voice interrupted us. ‘Genny?’ Sylvia called. ‘Are you all right in there? I can hear talking—’

Damn. I’d forgotten about her. Again. ‘I’m fine, Sylvia—’

The door opened.

‘Ah, look, I’ve really got to go.’ Jack shoved the pillow and empty bottle at me, catching me by surprise and knocking me back onto the bed. I rolled onto my side out of his way as he launched himself at the window. His body concertinaed, folding back in on itself as he sprouted glossy black feathers and shifted into the huge raven. The bird flapped his wings once, the backdraught blowing my hair back from my face, then he flew straight through the glass as if it wasn’t there and soared away into the sky.

‘Gosh! Nice arse!’ Sylvia exclaimed from the doorway. She smiled at me. ‘Whoever was that?’

‘That was Jack, apparently.’ I pressed my lips together, frustrated he’d got away before he’d given me an answer to my question. Who was she—the Morrígan?—and what hadn’t she told me?