Hell and High Water Page 6

  ‘Gloriously.’

  ‘Daix, this isn’t a party. I’ve lost a friend, and so has Fi.’

  ‘In point of fact, Fionn lost a temporary employee, not a friend. As for your roommate—’ Why Daix pronounced the word with such emphasis, or such apparent disgust, I had no idea ‘—she we may yet recover.’

  ‘So I’m hoping, which brings me to my next question: where the hell are we going?’

  Daix had led us in a befuddling, criss-crossing route down several streets, not to mention one or two narrow alleyways that shouldn’t have been there at all. I’ve lived in London long enough to be very familiar with it, but even I had lost track of where we were.

  ‘The Puca,’ she said. ‘If we want to talk openly, that’s the best place. No need for glamours or bemufflements.’ She made a dismissive gesture, illustrative of throwing the entire class of enchantments out like garbage.

  ‘Bemufflements,’ I repeated.

  ‘Yes. You know, the thing where anybody who’s listening as shouldn’t won’t hear a word of interest.’

  ‘You mean a muting charm.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Daix nodded.

  The Puca, or rather The Booted Puca. I hadn’t been there in decades, but the name still had the power to cause a twinge of nostalgia — even, regret. It’s an ancient pub situated… somewhere in London. The precise location changes; or rather, it’s the route that changes. The pub’s where it’s been since Robin Hood’s day, if not before, but you’ll never reach it by the same road twice. That explained Daix’s erratic navigation, not to mention the disappearing alleys. You don’t so much walk to the Puca as track it down, like errant prey, and you’d better be tenacious about it, too.

  We used to go there a lot, back in the day. I’d gone there a few times since, but without Fi and Sil and Daix, it wasn’t the same.

  I doubted Fi had gone much, either. Daix, though… Daix is the closest thing to indestructible I’ve ever met. Regret, heartbreak, grief, nostalgia — these things have no power over her whatsoever.

  Sometimes I find that enviable.

  Daix had led us in circles, I thought, for we entered a residential street full of grand-looking properties I was sure we had walked down only three minutes before. But then she took a sudden left turn down another improbable alley, and that was new — and then another left, into an impossible park of aged oaks; — she broke into a run, and so did I, and then there was the Puca, its rickety thatched roof emerging from among the trees like a mirage in the desert.

  Daix ran like mad, and we didn’t stop until she and I had planted both feet in the Puca’s cobbled courtyard.

  ‘Right,’ she said, slightly out of breath. ‘Good.’ Somewhere en route her burgundy ensemble had altered; now she wore a fourteenth-century kirtle, lavishly embroidered, with a band of gold about her brow. Fitting.

  My garments hadn’t changed, which was also fitting. Daix learned long ago not to mess with me in that respect, if in few others.

  The Puca’s a humble building, viewed from the exterior. Stone-built, with cloudy, mullioned windows and an air of mild, tumble-down neglect, it doesn’t look like much. The painted sign swinging over the heavy oak door depicts the Puca, in the shape of a cat, wearing the familiar tall, buccaneer’s boots (there’s more to the legend of puss-in-boots than most people know). Behind the Puca, though, another boot appears, apparently in the process of kicking the maddening creature into the middle of next week.

  Sounds cruel, perhaps, but don’t be fooled by the kitten-cute appearance of those things; they’re ruthless mischief-makers.

  So much for the outside of the pub. The inside… that’s a whole other matter.

  We went in, the trailing hem of Daix’s ridiculous crimson kirtle dragging in quantities of dirt and dead leaves along with us. We were greeted with a blaze of music: something that sounded, to my practiced ear, like an escapee from Victorian musical theatre. Everything inside was dark oak and crimson velvet, with frankly unjustifiable quantities of gilding.

  ‘Burlesque,’ I muttered. ‘Nice.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ said Daix, beaming, and throwing wide the door. ‘Last time I came in they were doing that fifties American diner look, and I just can’t admire it, can you?’ Her kirtle, I perceived, had vanished again already. In its place she’d adopted a cropped black velvet jacket worn over an ivory corset, with skirt and boots to match.

  Becoming aware of an abrupt tightening around my torso, I glanced down, with a sense of dread, to find myself similarly attired.

  ‘Daix,’ I said, through gritted teeth.

  ‘What?’ she said, glancing around. ‘Oh. Yes, sorry. That colour isn’t right for you at all, is it?’ She waved a hand, and the gold-gilded absurdity of my new coat and skirt changed to silver and black. ‘I’ll save the gold for Fionn,’ she murmured, turning away again. ‘Much more her style, no?’

  ‘Daix,’ I began again, but she’d already wandered out of hearing. She began flirting shamelessly with the clurichaun keeping bar, and by the looks of them, they were old friends.

  I abandoned the point, albeit with ill grace. We had more pressing problems than the state of my clothes, and besides, she’d had sense enough to leave my arms and hands more or less unencumbered. I’d have a little more trouble fighting in this get-up; corsets are not good for freedom of movement; but we were unlikely to encounter trouble at the Puca. It’s ancient, neutral ground, and that status is both hard-won and fiercely protected. Anyone drawing weapons in here would find themselves swiftly eviscer— er, dismembered.

  Possibly by me, and that prospect ought not to please me half so much as it did.

  Apparently respectability doesn’t altogether agree with me.

  I left Daix to it, sliding into a seat in an appealingly darkened corner. I watched her for a little while, both awed and appalled by the facility with which she manipulated people. All her brittleness and sharp edges had vanished; she’d become an adorable, pint-sized little princess, winning over the poor bartender with dimpled smiles and an air of kittenish cluelessness.

  I spared a moment’s sympathetic reflection for all the hapless souls who had attracted Daix’s notice over the last several years. Honestly, Fionn and I should probably have been keeping an eye on her.

  Abandoning the bartender to his fate — it was clearly too late for him — I let my gaze wander around the pub. It was quiet at this hour, and most of the tables stood unused. On the opposite side to where I sat, a trio of sluagh slumped, desultorily drinking. It wasn’t the hour for it, and they didn’t look happy about it, either. Besides these three, and Daix, the only other patron was a feorin, seated a few tables away. She sat wrapped in thought and a green coat, periodically scrawling something in the notebook that lay before her.

  Little of interest, then, to occupy me, but I had thoughts enough of my own for that. I should not have chosen this table. The décor might be altered, but this vantage-point I recalled only too well, for this had been my favourite seat. Fi used to sit on my right, Sil and Daix opposite; we’d whiled away many an hour with wine and song, in better days.

  I shifted impatiently, and stood up. Daix was taking too long.

  I took an inordinate amount of pleasure in looming over her as I approached the bar. She’d taken a seat on a high bar stool, but she was still tiny. ‘Daix,’ I growled.

  She awarded me a bright, winsome smile. ‘Tai! You know Tully, yes?’

  ‘We’re unacquainted,’ I said, with a polite nod for Tully. ‘And I daresay I’d be delighted to rectify that another time, but in case you’ve forgotten we’ve urgent business on hand.’

  ‘Oops,’ said Daix, with a giggle. ‘Right. Tully darling, waft us a couple of King Goblins, will you?’ She slipped off the stool without waiting for an answer, heading for the table I’d recently vacated.

  I locked eyes with Tully. He wasn’t a tall man himself, the top of his head only as high as my shoulder. He had an artfully disordered mop of reddish hai
r, a roguish smile, and a mobile face liberally creased with laugh lines. ‘She’s evil incarnate,’ I told him. ‘You do know that, right?’

  He grinned. His green eyes developed an odd, gold flush as he did so. ‘Ah, she’s a darling. Tai, was it?’ The enquiry seemed casual, but the way he was inspecting me was anything but. Somewhere behind his genial smile lurked something intent. Possibly calculating.

  ‘Thetai,’ I said.

  ‘Thetai Sarra Antha.’ He’d turned from me by then, reaching to retrieve a couple of black, silver-labelled bottles from behind the bar.

  ‘How do you know that name?’

  Tully tossed the bottles into the air, one by one. I heard Daix delightedly clapping her hands as they floated their way over to her. ‘Used to run with the Fatales, no?’ he said, nodding meaningfully in Daix’s direction.

  ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Not so very long.’

  By faerie standards, I suppose he was right; eighty years was next to nothing. I couldn’t tell if he approved of my history or not. Whatever his thoughts might be, they were well hidden behind his congenial bar-keep attitude.

  ‘Happen faerie has missed you girls,’ he offered, when I didn’t speak. ‘You working again?’ He glanced around, as though he might see Fionn materialise at any moment.

  That floored me; my eyebrows shot up into my hair. ‘Missed us?’

  He shrugged, drumming his fingers on the polished surface of the bar. ‘You had supporters.’

  ‘And detractors.’

  ‘That’s life, love. ‘Specially if you’re the type to take a stand.’

  I couldn’t argue with that. ‘We do have… business, again,’ I said slowly. ‘Heard anything about selkies going missing?’

  He lifted his chin in Daix’s direction. ‘Your girl there’s just been grilling me on that very subject.’ He chuckled, the creases around his eyes deepening. ‘Fancied herself very subtle.’

  I revised my opinion of Tully. Obviously he was well up to Daix’s tricks. ‘Thanks,’ I said, accepting the pair of glasses he offered me.

  ‘Fionn coming in, or…?’ He was glancing at the door.

  I grinned. ‘I daresay she will, once she knows she’s got fans here.’

  Tully smiled, and — I kid you not — tugged his actual forelock in my general direction. ‘I’m a fan of yours, too, Thetai Sarra Antha. And not just of yer singing. Come back anytime.’

  He turned away, and just as well, for he’d rendered me speechless. A rare happenstance. I walked slowly back to our table, frowning.

  ‘What was that about urgent business?’ said Daix tartly as I sat down. ‘You took your time.’

  ‘I was…’ I set the glasses down, sliding one to Daix. She swapped it for a dark bottle of hobgoblin beer. ‘He’s heard of us.’

  Daix rolled her eyes. ‘Just because you wandered off and forgot about us, doesn’t mean everybody else did.’

  ‘I didn’t forget.’ I dropped into my seat and took a long slug of beer.

  ‘You tried pretty damned hard.’

  ‘I’m not sure why you didn’t.’

  ‘I told you. Someone had to keep an eye on things. Or did you think the whole of faerie has just obligingly behaved itself while you and Fionn were off drowning in self-pity?’

  ‘Harsh, Daix, even for you.’

  She shrugged, and swallowed a huge mouthful of beer. ‘If you think Sil would’ve wanted the three of us to abandon ship on her account, you’re an idiot.’

  I slammed the bottle down onto the table. ‘Do not throw Sil’s name in my face.’

  ‘Why not? Isn’t that what all this shit has been about?’

  ‘We — failed her. All of us.’

  ‘We did. Sil failed, too. None of that means we get to turn in our Fatales badges and fucking retire.’

  Anger roiled through me like a dark cloud. Anger, grief and shame: a familiar mix. I wanted to grab Daix’s enchanting little face and slam it against the table. Anything to make her stop looking at me like that.

  But my mood shifted in the space of a breath, as it is sometimes wont to do, and instead I chuckled. ‘Fatales badges,’ I repeated. ‘As if we’d ever had anything so fucking lame—’

  I stopped, because Daix had shoved a hand into a pocket and retrieved something, which she proceeded to shove in my face.

  A badge. More of a pin, actually, classy enough, with an embossed design: the letter F, shimmering in bejewelled colours, and inscribed inside a black triangle.

  ‘The fuck,’ I said.

  Daix considered the pin with satisfaction. ‘Looks good, doesn’t it?’

  ‘A triangle?’

  She polished up the pin on her sleeve, admiring its shine. ‘Like it or not, Tai,’ she said without looking at me, ‘there are three of us now.’

  I took another long swallow of beer, thinking. ‘How long have you had that thing?’

  ‘Had ‘em made in ‘52.’ She dropped the pin onto the table before me. ‘Thought you and Fi would get over yourselves a bit sooner.’

  I rubbed at my stinging eyes, muttering something under my breath.

  Daix grinned. ‘I know I am.’

  ‘It’s a dumb name,’ I said, flicking a finger at the pin. Fatales. We’d developed the nickname so long ago, I’d just… got used to it. Eventually.

  ‘Hey,’ said Daix. ‘Nobody forced you to name your band after it.’

  ‘Okay. Setting your little jewellery design project aside, perhaps we could focus.’

  Daix toasted me with her half-empty bottle of King Goblin. ‘That’s what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Yeah, shut up. What did Tully tell you?’

  ‘He hasn’t heard of any more mysterious absences,’ she said.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But.’

  I waited.

  Daix grinned, one of her more fiendish smiles. ‘The Puca’s had some new customers lately. Tully doesn’t like the look of them at all. Said one or two patrons overheard the kind of chatter that might interest us a bit.’

  Daix paused for effect.

  ‘You can spit it out, or I can beat it out of you,’ I said, agreeably. ‘Your choice.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. Tully couldn’t absolutely confirm this, but he heard that one or two of these guys have been enquiring about selkie pelts.’

  I sat up. ‘What? As in — buying?’

  ‘Or selling. Maybe both.’

  ‘Neutral ground,’ I said with a sigh.

  Daix nodded. ‘Only place in London all parties could meet without starting a war.’

  The Puca had an unsavoury reputation with some, for precisely that reason. Tully may have applauded me for taking a stand — in a way — but the Puca specialised in the opposite. Everyone was welcome over the threshold, whoever they were, whatever they’d done — provided they left their personal conflicts at the door.

  That made it the perfect place for the transaction of shady business.

  ‘Good call,’ I said to Daix. ‘I should have thought to come here myself.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure you’re still capable of rational thought, once in a while,’ said Daix kindly.

  ‘Thanks. Did Tully say anything else about these people?’

  ‘They’re sluagh.’

  ‘Just once, I’d like it if those fuckers could surprise me.’

  ‘You mean like Phélan?’

  ‘Right, we really aren’t going to talk about Phélan.’

  ‘Then why’d you call him?’

  ‘Daix. You need to get those cameras out of my everywhere.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Or I’ll be shoving them down your throat.’

  ‘You’ve turned violent. I like it.’

  ‘Just repressed. I haven’t gutted anyone in way too long.’

  ‘You’re in luck. We’ve a troupe of sluagh who seem to be asking for it.’

  I smiled. ‘My birthday’s come early.’

  Chapter Seven: Fionn

&nb
sp; Tai’s departure from my studio had the most curious effect on me. As the door closed behind her and the sound of her last words faded from the air, she seemed to leave a vast emptiness behind her; a void, where something precious ought to be.

  I quickly realised that this was not new. The void had been there for seventy-five years; I’d just grown so used to pretending it wasn’t, so adept at navigating around it, that I had stopped noticing it.

  Tai only needed to reappear for fifteen minutes, and that was enough to rip all my careful defences to ribbons. Her absence advertised itself by every possible method, and all my old fears came back new.

  What if this was just a temporary reprieve? Her interest here was on Mearil’s account, not mine. Once that business was resolved, she could disappear again in a heartbeat. Probably she would.

  And we’d go right back to never seeing each other again.

  Daix. Tai was gone in order to fetch Daix. My feelings there were much more complex. Tai wasn’t wrong when she had called Daix our best friend. She and Silise had been exactly that, once, though one rather chose to love Daix than anything else. Maintaining a close relationship with Daix de Montfort is the emotional equivalent of cuddling up to a polar bear: apparent fluffy harmlessness followed by a swift and bloody death, probably in short order.

  I’d missed her, too.

  I had to physically shake myself to disrupt so unhelpful a train of thought. My interest here should be focused on Mearil, too, and Narasel. Permitting myself to become too distracted by personal matters would help no one, not even me.

  I hauled myself out of my chair, feeling intensely wearied. A long night of deep, uninterrupted slumber ought to have refreshed me more. But then, quite a lot had happened since.

  ‘Jane?’ I called, when I opened my door. I knew she would be hovering nearby; the moment she’d seen Tai leave she would have made a beeline for my office.

  ‘Yes!’ said she, and bustled over. I opened the door wider to admit her, and closed it after her.

  ‘Everything’s moving very well,’ she was saying, already talking before she’d even sat down. ‘We have Harrods and Selfridges already on board, I knew they would love this one. Oh, and Liberty’s expressed an interest in the sea-foam silks, didn’t I tell you it was smart to run production on those? There’s a future in textiles for Serenity, I’m telling you, we should run with this—’