Blood Politics
Page 7

I felt, rather than heard, the presence of the Fae back behind me. Without turning, I pointed randomly up at a tree. “Would you believe that I think there might actually be a red squirrel up there?”
I glanced backwards. The Fae stared at me silently, ignoring the heavy pounding of feet as first the shifter, then the mage appeared.
I shrugged. “Not a nature lover then.”
He continued to stare at me. Bloody hell, give me Solus any day over this silent bugger. Speaking of…
“Can you tell Solus that I want to talk to him at his earliest convenience?”
The Fae blinked.
I sighed. “Lord Sol Apollinarius? Can you tell him?”
He jerked his chin up ever so slightly in acknowledgment. It would have to do. I could, of course, contact the Summer Queen herself. In fact, I had no doubt that she’d take my call, so to speak, but she was rather scary. I also still owed her a visit in Tir-na-Nog itself, one of the promises Solus had extracted from me long ago for his help, and I didn’t really want reminding of it. At least I knew that on my home turf I could handle Solus. I looked over at the mage and the shifter consideringly, then decided I’d get in touch with their respective organisations on my own. At the rate it had taken these two to catch up to me, I could be waiting till next week if I left it up to them. Now that I had a good reason to make them stop trailing around after me like they were the Secret Service, I wanted it done as quickly as was humanly – or, even better, Otherworldly -possible. I flashed a smile at them all, and then turned and headed for home, wondering what on earth I’d done to merit attention from the tree nymphs.
After jumping in the shower, then sitting back down at my kitchen table in a pair of comfy clean pyjamas, annoying gifts pushed to one side, I mulled over who to speak to first. I was obviously going to have to wait to see if Solus showed up, assuming that his silent Fae buddy had the power of speech at all of course and actually managed to convey my message. It would be easy to get in touch with Corrigan, as all I had to do was to initiate the Voice with him. I checked the time and realised that it was getting rather late. I decided to try the Arch-Mage first.
One of the few modcons in my new little flat was a telephone. This was a fairly new experience for me as I didn’t tend to use the phone often. However, the landlord had insisted and had even gone so far as to ensure it was connected in my name. I lifted the receiver, and was about to start dialing when I realised stupidly that I didn’t have the number for the Ministry. I could hardly call up inquiries either. I imagined the conversation in my head. It would go something like me asking the operator for the number of the most powerful wizard in town and her calling the men in white coats in return. If I wandered outside and asked the mage sentry I was pretty sure that I could get hold of the right phone number, but I’d either have to pull on some clothes first or display the fact that the sole terrifying Draco Wyr in existence was wearing a pink Hello Kitty two set. Nope, that wasn’t going to happen. I pursed my lips, then stood up and padded into the living room instead and plonked myself down on the sofa, flipping open my laptop.
I’d been too busy finding somewhere to stay and helping Mrs. Alcoon set up the shop to log onto the Othernet recently. Feeling the tug of curiosity as to what was going on in the world, I cast my eye over the headline pages. For the first couple of weeks after I’d left the mages’ academy, I’d been terrified that some Otherworldly gossip columnist would proclaim the events that had resulted in Brock and Thomas’ deaths to the world, along with my so-called secret identity. As time had gone by, however, and there was nothing to speak of other than a couple of stories detailing the event as a ‘tragic accident’, I’d begun to relax somewhat. Despite the passage of time, I remained nervous every time I logged on, and was immensely relieved that there was still nothing further. The last thing I needed was even more people finding out what I really was. Rather than screaming headlines about dragons, there was something to do with a magical explosion up in Birmingham, that the Ministry had been forced to act quickly to cover up before the local police got too interested, and an unpleasant story about some desecrated Otherworld graves in Paris. I proudly resisted the temptation to click onto the society pages to check out the photos of Corrigan and his various dates to do some investigation into whether Tom was right about them, and instead typed in a query for the Ministry’s phone number instead.
Several answers appeared quickly on my screen, and I scrolled down until I found one that looked like it might be right, then picked the phone back up and jabbed the numbers in.
The phone rang several times before someone picked up. “Charter College,” answered a bored voice.
“Um, hi,” I said. “This is Mack Smith, I’d like to talk to…,”
The phone clicked. I started for a moment, staring at the receiver, then a familiar baritone voice filled the line.
“Mackenzie,” echoed the overly warm tones of the Arch-Mage. “How are you? Did you receive my little gift?”
I thought about the gleaming coffee machine on my kitchen table. “Er, yes. Thanks.”
“I knew you had a penchant for coffee from the time you spent with us, so I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“Yeah, don’t fucking do that again though.”
There was a moment of silence. Then, “I beg your pardon?”
“Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to be nice and all, but let’s not forget that you’re the people who effectively tortured me then forced me to go back to school. That didn’t exactly turn out so well for any of us.”
The Arch-Mage coughed. “Mackenzie, I can only apologise if you feel any antagonism towards us for past events. Let me make it make it up to you.”
“Cut the bullshit,” I said, firmly. “What you should have said is that I deserved to be beaten up by your goons because I broke into your headquarters. And that sending me to the academy was the best way to help me understand my powers. That if you’d known the full truth then things would have been different.”
“Well, I, yes, that’s what…”
“Get a grip. You’re playing all nice now because you want to have me in your back pocket. Well, buying me things isn’t going to achieve that. Neither is following me around all fucking day long either.”
Thankfully for my sanity, the Arch-Mage reverted to his former self and a note of haughtiness exerted itself through the phone. “We’re hardly going to let the shifters and the faeries follow you around and know what you’re doing, when we don’t.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be having words with them too. But I need you to back off. I like you, and I like the Ministry, and I will help you out if you need me to. For now, quit pissing around and give me some peace.”
“Fine,” said the Arch-Mage stiffly.
“Thank you.” I could afford to be gracious now that I had what I wanted. “I read about what happened in Birmingham with the explosion. Is everything alright?”
“We believe the situation was contained.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I wanted to ask him what had happened to the Palladium too, the small ancient wooden statue that had caused so many problems a few months before. I was a bit of afraid of the answer though, and rather worried that, despite my exhortations to the opposite, the Arch-Mage would offer to give it to me as a present. I didn’t want that chunk of wood anywhere near me ever again. I chickened out.
“Well then, I’m sure I’ll be speaking to you soon.”
“I do hope so, Miss Mackenzie.” The Arch-Mage hung up.
I wondered how annoyed he was with me, then put the phone down and decided he’d just have to deal with it. One down. Two to go.
Next up was Corrigan. I took a deep breath and told myself firmly that it was important to retain the same modicum of business-like conversation that I’d had with the Arch-Mage. Easy.
Corrigan? Are you available right now? There. That was an appropriately perfunctory opening.
There was a moment of silence before he answered back in my head. Kitten, for you I’m always available.
Fuck. The way he’d purred the last word made my imagination go to places that I didn’t need it to. Stay focused, Mack. I need you to back off.
Whatever do you mean?
I appreciate that you fixed my door.
Did you like the colour? I thought it would suit you.
It’s great, I shot back flatly. But enough. You can’t just let the pack wander into my flat whenever they want to. It’s my flat. And you can’t give me flowers. And you can’t follow me around any more.
He didn’t immediately reply. There was a knock on my front door, a rap that seemed to be beating out some kind of tune. I walked out and opened it up, and took in Solus standing just on the edge of the threshold wearing some kind of black as night kilt, with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned virtually to his stomach. For goodness’ sake. I beckoned him inside without saying anything. A lazy smile crossed his features and he opened his mouth to speak, but I shushed him and pointed him towards the kitchen table. He shrugged and wandered over, pulling out a chair then flipping out the back of his kilt with a flourish to sit down.
Corrigan? Are you still there?
His reply was dangerously quiet. You didn’t like the flowers?
It’s not that I didn’t like them. It’s that you forced the mages and the faeries into thinking that they had to give me gifts too. I’m not about to prostitute myself out to the highest bidder.
I don’t care what they do. I only care what you do.
Well, what I do is enjoy going about my daily life without constantly being interrupted.
Like you’ve just been interrupted by that faerie?
That explained the long drawn out silence then. The shifter that was watching had clearly informed Corrigan about my visitor.
This is exactly what I’m talking about. You can’t track my every single movement. I need some privacy, Corrigan. And, for your information, he’s here so that I can tell him exactly the same thing that I’m telling you.