The Shifting Price of Prey (13 page)

Inwardly I cursed myself. Of course she’d be worried about the flasher, whereas I’d totally forgotten about it. Some friend I was. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I
haven’t had chance to check my messages.’

Katie jumped up and retrieved my backpack. Fishing out my phone she checked, then looked up disappointed. ‘Nothing.’

‘I’ll call a bit later and ask,’ I said, hoping I’d get some sort of answer that would reassure her.

She gave a small nod. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’m pretty sure it’s nothing to worry about. The police said they’d had reports of flashers in the park before, so it was just really bad luck we were there. It’s
horrible, but there’s nothing personal in it.’

‘Yeah, I know. I talked to Mum about it last night. But then when I went over it in my head I realised I’d seen something else.’

Had she seen a vamp? Worry pricked goosebumps on my arms. ‘Something else?’

‘Yeah.’ She stopped snipping and fixed me with an odd expression, half excited, half anxious. ‘Remember I said the man sort of collapsed, and then I saw that weird animal?
Well, I think, instead of the man looking for the animal, I think they’re the same. I think the man turned into the animal.’

I stared at her. ‘You think he was a shapeshifter?’

‘Yes!’ She leaned forward. ‘Is it possible?’

Hmm. I hadn’t seen the naked man, or vamp as I’d thought he was. I hadn’t seen any weird animal. All I’d seen was an odd shadow of movement, and even that might have been
my imagination. And the only pings I’d got on my inner radar had been the old man and his dog, who, when I mentioned them to the police, had confirmed the man was a local, and kosher . .
.

Except, what if the male had been a vamp, and had turned into an animal. It was possible and it would explain how he had vanished so fast, and why my Spidey senses hadn’t pinged him. After
all, Mad Max turned into an Irish wolfhound, and when he did I couldn’t tell he wasn’t anything other than the dog he seemed. Not to mention if someone
was
spying on me, Mad
Max was the obvious candidate.

Only Katie had said the man in the park was dark-haired. Mad Max was blond. But the Autarch was dark-haired, and he’d given Mad Max the gift. Vamp powers ran through the bloodlines, so it
was possible that the Autarch could turn into some sort of animal. Plus, I’d asked Malik if the Autarch could go out in daylight if he stayed in the shade and he’d never answered my
question. Just told me the Autarch wasn’t the Emperor. Crap. Maybe my paranoia was spot on and the Autarch had been spying on me last night.

‘I looked up shapeshifters,’ Katie said, interrupting my worrying thoughts. ‘Did you know the only non-fae shapeshifters are werewolves? There used to be other
animal/human-shifters but they were all hunted to extinction.’

I blinked at her, surprised. ‘You think it was a werewolf last night?’

‘Well, they exist, so it’s possible, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ I said slowly. Possible didn’t mean probable. ‘I suppose so. There aren’t any werewolves in Britain, though.’

‘Not living here, no,’ Katie agreed, dipping her head so her ponytail fell to hide her face, then went on to tell me werewolves had been hunted to extinction in Britain sometime in
the 1700s, as had real wolves which was around the same time the rest of the world’s therianthropes or wereshifters had been killed off. However, werewolves – lycanthropes – had
managed to escape total extinction when they were given ‘full human rights’ status in Russia by Empress Anna Ivanovna, who used them as part of her security police force. Apparently,
there were only about hundred packs left worldwide, which amounted to just under a thousand lycans in total, the majority of those were in Russia. As usual, Katie’s research was thorough and
gave more detail than I wanted or probably needed to know.

‘It also said that once they get the scent of a virgin,’ Katie finished, ‘they hunt them down so they can Change them.’ She stopped cutting, scissors poised above my
foot. ‘I’m still a virgin, Genny.’

Well, your mother will be pleased to hear that!
Not that I’d thought any different. But I’d heard the hitch in Katie’s voice. She was worried some imaginary werewolf
was going to come looking for her. I knew it wouldn’t happen.

‘That’s just an old wives’ tale,’ I said, trying to reassure her. ‘Far as I remember, new werewolves get recruited from long-serving members of the military or
police. I’m pretty sure they’re all volunteers, and I doubt any of them are virgins. You know Wikipedia isn’t always right, don’t you, Katie?’

She snorted and jabbed the tiny scissors back into the knotted sheet hard enough to make me flinch. ‘I didn’t get this from Wikipedia, but from the witch archives in the British
Library.’

‘They’re password protected,’ I said, wondering how the hell she’d got access.

‘Tavish gave me one.’

Crap. ‘Tavish has a lot to answer for,’ I muttered. I wasn’t surprised he’d hacked the archives, just that he’d given Katie the password.

‘So do werewolves hunt virgins?’

I sighed. ‘Told you, it’s an old myth, and even if it were true, I doubt the male was close enough to you for it to be a problem.’

‘Genny! I know you told that policeman something last night, that you didn’t tell me.’

Damn. Sometimes Katie was too observant for her own good. I picked at the knot I was working on for a moment, then sighed; if she was going to worry about something, it might as well be the
truth. ‘I think the male you saw was a vamp who was following me. One that can shapechange. Only I won’t know for sure until I get some answers. When I do, I’ll let you know. And
I’ll make sure that you’re not in any danger this time.’ Whatever I have to do. ‘Okay?’

She stayed quiet for a long moment, head down, blonde hair covering her face. ‘A vampire?’ She glanced up, a mix of anger and fear flashing in her grey eyes, just as I felt the skin
of my face twitching like it had popcorn jumping beneath it. She grimaced and looked down again. ‘Okay. Actually that’s less worrying than thinking he was a werewolf.’

I blinked. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I know you’re sort of half vamp, and I know they’re not all bad. And I know you can deal with the bad ones anyway.’

What was I supposed to say to that? It was good she had confidence in me, but I wasn’t sure I could live up to it. Only if I said that, it might only make her anxious again.

‘And I’ve got these.’ She grabbed her huge designer bag and upended it on the bed between us. In amongst the make-up, hair products, glossy mag and other girlie stuff were
half-a-dozen bulbs of garlic, three tubes of minced garlic paste, one of chilli paste and a bag of red chillies, the tiny super-hot ones, and a thin bundle of what looked like brass chopsticks.

She’d got her very own vamp-repelling kit. Eating the garlic and chilli wouldn’t put them off, but the paste smeared on skin would stop them biting; charred lips are a quick, easy
way to kill a vamp’s appetite.

She waved the chopsticks. ‘Tavish says one of these in the heart will paralyse a vamp. He said I’d probably never need to use it, just wave it around to get their attention and
remind them to behave.’ She leaned forwards and hooked her heart-shaped pendant from inside her top. ‘He also added some spells to this; one that stops the vamps using their mind-lock
on me, and another that makes me smell like a faeling. He said all the fae and faelings in London are under the Oligarch’s protection, thanks to you, so none of them will even come near me so
long as I wear this.’

Wow. Tavish
had
been busy, but in a good way.

Katie gave me a lopsided smile. ‘So, thanks for telling me, Genny. I know you didn’t ’cause you didn’t want to worry me, but I’d rather know. And I know vamps
can’t get me if I stay safe behind a threshold and don’t invite them in. That doesn’t apply to werewolves.’

She had a point. The counselling must’ve done more good than I thought, making her look at things in a practical, proactive way and not just panicking. A lesson I could do with,
particularly when it came to dealing with the Autarch.

‘You’re right,’ I agreed. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. Sorry. I’ll tell it like it is next time.’

‘Good.’ She nodded, packed her stuff away and worked on in silence for a few minutes, then gave a final flourish with her scissors to set me free.

I waggled my foot in relief and she peered at me, grey eyes glinting with mischief. ‘Your face looks better now. Less like you’ve got beetles tunnelling under your skin and more like
you’re hungover.’

‘Nice image.’ I snorted, jumping up to peer in the overdesk mirror. Hungover was about right, but even as I looked, the dark circles were fading. I prodded my ribs, no pain. Mad
Max’s blood had done the business. In fact, I was pretty sure another ten minutes would see me healed of everything other than Malik’s rose-coloured bruises. What I needed now was
something to eat and a shower. Not necessarily in that order. Spying the room service menu, I asked Katie to order us some breakfast, then headed for the bathroom.

I stood under the hot shower, easing the kinks in my muscles and mulling over Mad Max.

Never mind the mystery of why he’d helped me, the real question was: what was he doing sniffing round me like a hound following a scent? Either he was spying on me, or Malik . . . or hell,
maybe Malik had asked him to watch out for me? He’d obviously asked someone to buy me new clothes. And that someone might have been Mad Max.

So, if Malik
had
asked Mad Max to keep an eye on me, that would explain why he’d helped me. Even if his help was the
really
tough-love type. But really, why would Malik
trust Mad Max? He knew I didn’t. And aside from the fact he was a crazy sonofabitch, Mad Max owed his Oath to the Autarch.

Then again, the Autarch might be Mad Max’s liege and master, but maybe crazy Max wasn’t so insane after all, since he appeared to hate and fear the psychotic sadist as much as I
did.

Of course, there was a third option. Mad Max was keeping an eye on me for the sidhe side of the family. Which was almost as worrying an idea as him spying on me for the Autarch.

Shivering despite the steam, I wrapped a towel tightly around myself and grabbed the hotel hairdryer.

The only way I was going to get any solid answers was to do what I’d planned to do before the fertility magic and Mad Max had hijacked my night— speak to Malik in the Dreamscape. I
gave my hair a hurried blast of heat, checked my phone and gauged I had just enough time before work to try now. A plus being that Katie could watch over my sleeping body while she was eating
breakfast.

Decision made, I touched Malik’s rose-shaped bruises on my left wrist, releasing the bracelet hidden there. It appeared with its usual chinking of charms—

Malik’s ring was gone.

My mind skidded to a shocked halt. Malik had to have taken the ring, but why?

Unless it was Mad Max? He’d had enough opportunity, and could do magic, though his ability still left suspicion pricking down my spine. But if it had been him, that still the question of
why. Damn it. Speculating was pointless. All that mattered was the ring was gone and I couldn’t contact Malik that way. I was going to have to speak to him the non-magical way.

And go on the date.

Of course, going on the date could bring me face to face with the Autarch. Something that made me want to run far, far away, and hide.

But I’d already done that once. And I was older now, so maybe, like Katie, it was time for me to deal with my Autarch phobia, instead of letting my terror rule my life. After all, I might
not carry a vamp-repelling kit, but I had something way better— the sword Ascalon.

Heart thudding, I took a deep breath and left a message with Malik’s answering service to say I was accepting his invitation, and I was free any night this week. The woman at Sanguine
Lifestyles politely and efficiently said she’d pass the message on to Mr al-Khan, and rang off.

I stood for a couple of minutes waiting for my pulse to calm, then finished dressing, ate the bacon butty Katie had ordered, paid the hefty hotel bill Mad Max had stuck me with (including two
porn pay-per-view films –
Bitch of the Baskervilles
and
The Brides of Cujo,
images from which made me want to bleach my brain – and which I mentally added to all the
‘debts’ he owed me. I was
so
going to take my pound of flesh using a very large, very blunt blade) and we headed for Spellcrackers.

Halfway there, my phone rang: Detective Inspector Hugh Munro.

‘Morning, Hugh. Social or business call?’

‘Official business, I’m afraid, Genny,’ he rumbled in his gravelly voice. ‘A woman and her son have disappeared, possibly kidnapped, and there appears to be some sort of
strange magic involved. I’d like your help, please.’

Crap. ‘Of course. Where?’

‘London Zoo.’

‘On my way.’

F
orty minutes later my taxi dropped me off in the small car park opposite the main entrance to the zoo. I checked the other vehicles: three of the
police vans designed for trolls (to be expected), about six other parked cars (again, probably usual) and two long limousines with blacked-out windows (definitely not usual). Both limos were backed
into the shade of the scrubby line of trees screening the car park from the rest of the zoo, which butted against Regent’s Park beyond. Two chauffeurs were leaning against the furthest limo,
caps tipped back and smoke curling up between them from their cigarettes. The limos’ licence plates both started the same: 112 D 2. The rest of the number was hidden behind the guys’
legs. Diplomatic plates. The words ‘International Incident’ flashed in my head.