‘But only if you remember you’re a civilian, Genny,’ she said firmly. ‘No running off on your own again, especially not after what just happened in Trafalgar Square. You’re their intended target and I’m not losing you. I’m bending the rules as it is letting you join the search, so either you agree to stick with me or I’ll take you into police custody for your own safety and lock you in the car until we’re finished.’
Looking into Mary’s implacable face, I saluted smartly. ‘Yes, ma’am!’
‘Okay,’ Mary said, ‘let’s get organised, shall we?’
Chapter Forty-One
I nodded then realised Mary’s question was rhetorical, as she went into full Detective Sergeant mode. She and Dessa scryed again for Mad Max – using a visitor’s map of the Carnival this time – and came up with a possible hit in the north section nearest the zoo. It should have made Mad Max an easy find, if the north wasn’t the section with over a hundred of the smaller shows, all crammed together in what was meant to give visitors ‘a surprise around every corner’. The surprise for us would be finding Mad Max at all, as the search was going to be like looking for a tick on a dog’s back.
Mary snagged some extra manpower from the nearby investigation at the zoo, and within half an hour the section was divided up and five separate search parties, each consisting of three WPCs and a troll – I got to tag along with Mary, Dessa, another WPC and Constable Taegrin: ‘safety in numbers’ as Mary said – headed out.
The Carnival Fantastique has always been a place for Others to make a living, either by exploiting their own, or another’s, rarity. And the north section of the carnival was the area reserved for the less usual acts. So the place wasn’t only crammed with shows but was also chock-full of visitors, the majority human, but with a smattering of fae, faelings and Other folk, all eager to catch sight of something, or someone, different.
Finally Mary’s scrying crystal flashed faster as we turned into a short, dead-end lane with only four stalls, all of which had seen better days, and a corresponding scarcity of visitors: two women at a spell and potions stall looking at a marble pestle and mortar; a burly man buying a phoenix burger (in a fireproof bun) from a fast food bar manned by a chipped concrete troll; no one at the Ring-a-Rat, which wasn’t a surprise considering the weird-looking, two-headed rodents scuttling around the stall’s circular track; and at a herbalist’s barrow near the willow wall making up the end, a young couple who were more interested in each other than any herbs, judging by the way they were lip-locked together.
The tourists (apart from the lip-locked couple) looked round as the five of us invaded the lane. The women’s eyes widened with curiosity while the burly man grabbed his burger and high-tailed it away, to a narrow-eyed frown from Constable Taegrin.
Mary checked her crystal against the map. It pointed at the decorative willow wall blocking the end. ‘We’ll have to double round.’
Something about the location snagged my memory and I jogged to the wall. At its centre was a woven willow arch backed with mirrored foil. A label stuck to the foil quoted: Extend your garden vista safely: won’t scratch, chip or crack. And as I squinted at my distorted reflection, it clicked where we were.
‘We won’t need to,’ I called. ‘This is an entrance to one of the Other areas. It’s got a Look-Away on it.’
Out the corner of my eye, I saw the lip-locked couple pull apart. The girl – a pretty, freckled redhead – nudged her boyfriend, who was well worth the tonsil tangling, if tall, dark and handsome flipped your switch; obviously it did hers—
And Katie’s too.
I stared in disbelief.
Tall, dark and handsome was Katie’s new boyfriend.
Marc. Marc’s eyes met mine curiously for a moment then, as he realised who I was, colour stained his cheeks and he turned away, suddenly very interested in showing his redhead girlfriendwhatever was on the barrow.
I clenched my fists, wanting to grab him and ask him what the hell he was playing at. This was going to break Katie’s heart when she found out. Crap. I knew the guy was too good to be true.
‘You all right?’ Mary said quietly as she and Dessa joined me.
‘Yeah,’ I muttered, glaring at Marc’s back. ‘Sorry—’ I stopped as, from behind another section of willow screen, two more figures appeared: an older male I recognised as Marc’s uncle from their picture on their plant nursery website, and a small, squat and disgustingly familiar gnome: Mr Lampy. The gnome was followed by one of his cats, its tail held high. Marc bent to stroke it, nearly managing to hide himself under the stall as he did so. Well, looked like he hadbeen telling the truth when I’d caught him spying on me, about speaking to one of the gnome’s cats before doing business with Lecherous Lampy. Not that it made me feel any better. Neither did the fact that as the gnome saw me, he waved, mouth splitting into his awful denture-filled leer.
I half-heartedly lifted a hand in greeting then suppressed a groan as he rushed over.
‘Ms Taylor, how fortunate to see you here.’ His beady eyes leered from behind his round glasses. ‘Doing a bit of shopping are you? I’ve got some juicy worms marinated in sugar syrup with deadnettles if you’re interested? Jarred for portability? I know you fairies like those.’
Dessa made a choked noise behind me as I said, ‘I’m not a fairy, Mr Lampy, I’m a sidhe. And I’m not shopping. I’m here on official business.’ I waved a hand at the four police officers. He had to be blind if he couldn’t see them.
‘Of course.’ The gnome nodded his lichen-covered head agreeably. ‘I won’t hold you up, then, but you haven’t forgotten about my licences, have you?’
Out-of-season desiccated dead garden fairies are hard to forget, much as I wanted to. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, Mr Lampy.’
‘Wonderful, Ms Taylor.’ He turned away, then spun back and leaned in way too close to my chest. I stepped back, bumping into Dessa. ‘There was another small item,’ the gnome said in a conspiratorial voice. ‘The pathway on Primrose Hill seems to have developed a problem. Perhaps you could look at it sometime?’
Pathway? I frowned . . . Oh, right, there was a small patch of Betweentagging Primrose Hill to some of London’s other green spaces that acted as a shortcut for a lot of fae. It wasn’t really anything to do with me or Spellcrackers, but . . .
‘What’s the problem?’
He clasped his sausage-like fingers over his pot-belly. ‘I’m not really sure, Ms Taylor. I haven’t seen it for myself, just heard a rumour.’
‘Fine. I’ll look into it.’ Anything to get rid of him.
‘Wonderful.’ The gnome gave me anther denture-blinding smile and hurried back to his stall. The freckled redhead was still there talking to Marc’s uncle. The gnome’s cat had been joined by another, and the pair were under the barrow, ears flat and bottle-brush tails suggesting a spat was in the offing. But Marc had obviously made himself scarce. Damn. I was going to have to break the bad news about him to Katie; so not a conversation I wanted to have.
‘Juicy worms?’ Mary murmured. I shot her a look and she held her hands up. ‘Hey, just asking.’
‘Sorry. Disgusting client.’
‘Yeah, I can see that,’ she agreed, her sympathy only just edging out her mirth, then got back to business and indicated the willow arch with its mirror. ‘How do we get through?’
‘Just walk,’ I said. ‘It’s an Illusion spell designed to stop anyone entering by accident.’ I stepped towards the mirror, only to have Mary’s hand clamped on my arm.
‘Genny,’ she warned, ‘we’re doing this by the book, remember? Which means we need backup.’ She thumbed her radio. It crackled into life.
I sighed impatiently as Mary gave out orders, then pursed my lips at the pretty redhead, wondering if she knew her boyfriend was chatting up seventeen-year-olds on the side. And wondering why she wasn’t slapping the disgusting gnome for so patently leering at her cleavage while bagging up what looked like a sheaf of A4 pages and various concoctions for Marc’s brother. Why on earth would a nurseryman want all those magical ingredients? Curious. I pinged him: human. The girl, though, had a touch of fae, or maybe witch, blood—