Like I really needed her to tell me that! I gritted my teeth and pushed my legs harder.
The phouka snarled again, baring long black fangs that a true dog would never have, then turned, loping towards the steps this side of the bridge, and disappeared. I caught up; the steep flight rose up to the road above. I grabbed the handrail and flung myself after her, half climbing, half leaping. My lungs were starting to burn. Above me the phouka bounded, sharp claws scratching loudly on the stone and the silver glow from her coat casting welcome light back into the dim stairwell.
Second landing. Behind me I heard shouts, then more of the whistling, rustling noise grated against my ears: the ground-eating legs of the tall pale-faced turban guys were taking the steps two at a time. Shit. I swallowed back an edge of panic and, my heart hitting against my ribs, my thigh muscles bunching with effort, I concentrated on getting to the top.
As I reached the last few steps, vicious snarls and growls erupted, quickly followed by horrified yells and human screams, which almost drowned out the growling. I ran onto the pavement to find the phouka crouching over one of the beanie-hatted dryads on the ground, savaging its throat. The other Beanie Hat was screeching in rage. It kicked out, catching the phouka in the stomach. The phouka yelped and went flying, landing in a scrambling, whining heap at the feet of stunned bystanders.
‘Hey, you!’ I yelled, pleased in some detached part of me that I still had enough breath. ‘Leave that poor dog alone!’
The yellow Beanie Hat whipped round, lips curled, face twisted in a snarl that would have done the phouka proud, and sprang at me. I half-crouched, judged my moment, then shifted low and let Beanie Hat’s own momentum help me heave her over my back. She crash-landed against the bridge’s stone parapet with a noise that sounded like branches snapping in the wind and lay still. The other Beanie lay moaning on the ground, yellow-tinged sap trickling from the wounds on his throat. The onlookers stared, huddled under their umbrellas and muttering, their eyes darting from Beanie to Beanie to me, indecisive.
‘Quickly, child,’ the phouka said as she trotted to my side, ‘tell me where the faeling you’ve rescued is hidden before these vermin regain their senses.’
‘It’s not a faeling this time, Grianne.’ I looked down at the phouka. ‘There’s another sidhe in London, and a human has been murdered. I need to know who’s opened a gate—’
‘Enough, I will attend to this.’ The phouka growled, ears flat against her skull. ‘Meet me here tomorrow as the sun is cresting.’ A wet nose pushed into my hand. ‘Now run, child, the other trees are coming. I will detain them.’
For a second, I laid my palm over her rain-wet silky head, wondering what her help was going to cost me, but—‘I owe you one, Grianne.’ Her eyes blazed yellow and feral as she dipped her muzzle in acknowledgment, then I turned and raced towards the Underground.
Chapter Twelve
Ihit London Bridge Station still running, slapped my Oyster card over the reader and raced down the escalators into the rush of warm air that signalled a train arriving: Jubilee Line westbound to Waterloo and Stanmore. I tucked myself in by one of the doors, my feet braced, my body swaying with the juddering carriage. My heart slowed and I started to feel uncomfortable, my sweat-and-rain-damp clothes feeling sticky in the hothouse air of the packed Tube train. I wrinkled my nose, hoping I didn’t reek too much of exertion and panic, a smell that would be all-too-attractive to any vamps out on the prowl.
I doubted the dryads would follow me underground, but they hadn’t looked like they were going to give up their kidnap the sidheidea anytime soon, so just to be sure, I scanned the packed commuters searching for anyone in a hat. My gaze skimmed a big man in a homburg, bushy grey hair poking out round his ears, and automatically dismissed him as human. I passed over a couple with matching camo berets, and a group of Jews in their kippah skull-caps. Why were the dryads chasing me? And why had Cosette warned me about them back at the Clink? Not that I wasn’t grateful; if it hadn’t been for her, the dryads might have cornered me, but ...
I swallowed back my frustration at the delay. Still, if nothing else Grianne should have some info for me in the morning.
We reached Waterloo and I jumped off and started running again, speeding through the curved roof tunnels, heading for the Northern Line. I wasn’t the only one; half a dozen other commuters raced with me, desperate to catch their own trains. I was just desperate to get somewhere safe, and fast, and I didn’t stop until I had flung myself, panting, into the next train. The next stop was Embankment. The doors parted with a clunking sucking sound and I got off, peered up and down the platform and made my way up to the exit. Then I hesitated; I’d been heading back to Tavish almost on autopilot, thinking I’d stay there until it was time to meet Grianne the following morning, but once I was there, doing nothing but hanging around would be a complete waste of time. Not to mention there were a lot of trees to pass between the Underground and the RAF monument.
I leaned against the wall and phoned Tavish ... No answer. I tried Finn next, and as he picked up I heard voices humming in the background.
‘It’s me, Finn,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a whole copse of trees chasing after me, wanting to take me to their leader! What the hell’s going on?’
‘Ah yes, I see, that is a problem. Can I ask you to hold for a moment please?’ His next words were muted. ‘Sorry, I’m going to have to deal with this. I’ll try not to take too long.’ A door opened, then slammed shut and the background thrum of voices silenced. Finn came back on the phone. ‘Just so you know, I’m at Old Scotland Yard,’ he said quietly. ‘What happened to the party you were supposed to meet?’
‘I just told you, the dryads.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Embankment Underground. I tried Tavish but there’s no answer.’
‘Unfortunately my colleague isn’t available tonight.’ Voices rose in the background again. ‘Another matter has come up that needed to be dealt with urgently. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to help you either, not until after midnight. I’m going to be tied up until then.’
Not literally, I hoped.
‘Can you get away?’ I asked. ‘Just to let me into Tavish’s? The entrance doesn’t work on its own for me.’
‘That’s not such a good idea,’ he said. Someone else laughed: a deep rumble that sounded like a troll. ‘That particular course of action could be dangerous.’
‘Dangerous! Okay, Finn, stop messing about and get somewhere where you can talk.’
The phone cut off and I stared at it, anxiety churning inside me. Why dangerous—?The phone rang.
‘Okay, I’m outside now.’ He sounded slightly breathless. ‘There’s too much water at Tavish’s; the naiads might try the same thing as the dryads.’
‘What the—? Why the hell do theywant to kidnap me?’
‘It’s because of the human’s murder. They all think you killed him, and they want to take advantage of it.’
‘Okay, now you’ve totally lost me. How can they take advantage of me—?’ I stopped, suddenly conscious of the people in the station milling round me. ‘—of that,’ I finished.
‘Gen, it’s complicated...’ He hesitated, then said, ‘You know about the droch guidhe—the curse—don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ I frowned. ‘The local sidhe queen cursed London’s fae to know the grief in her heartwhen she lost her son to the vamps. But what’s that got to do with anything right now?’
‘Well, after the droch guidhefirst came into being there was a spate of faelings killed by the suckers, and everyone thought that was it.’ His voice was flat, almost detached. ‘But as time’s gone on we’ve all realised there’s more to the droch guidhe.Since it was cast, no full-blood child has been born to any of London’s lesser fae, only faelings, so not only do we have to watch our children die because they live only a mortal lifespan, but if our magic doesn’t procreate, it will start to fade. Once the magic fades it won’t be long before we all follow it.’