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  Come away, O human child!

  To the waters and the wild

  With a faery, hand in hand,

  For the world’s more full of weeping

  than you can understand.

  W.B. Yeats, The Stolen Child

  Chapter One

  Several Days Earlier

  The boy sat up in his bed, his bedclothes pooled around his waist. The darkness in the room was absolute yet he had seen a shadow pass by the window outside. Which should not be possible.

  From somewhere he could hear music, which wasn’t that unusual, but this music wasn’t the usual kind you’d hear on the estate, where drum and bass and angry rap music ruled. It was fainter, sweeter; the harder he listened for it, the more it felt as if it was slipping away.

  His room was at the back of the flat, overlooking the play area with its broken swings, where no one really played any more. The flat he shared with his mum and older brother was six storeys up and usually he could sit at his desk before bedtime and watch the lights of London in the distance.

  He’d never seen anything go past the window before, especially not at two in the morning. With no trees nearby, and none that grew as high as six storeys, he couldn’t even cling to his first thought – that he’d glimpsed a tree moving in front of his window.

  The flat lay in hushed silence around him. He slipped out of bed, his easy stealth a testament to the many times he’d needed to get up in the past without waking anyone. He didn’t pull on his slippers, instead crossing the floor in his bare feet, his toes curling upwards at the cold touch of the threadbare carpet. Pushing against the desk beneath the window, he leaned forward until he could see out.

  The little play area lay deserted. Deep shadows clung to the areas where the poor lighting couldn’t reach. The usual mob of hoodied kids who hung out at the end of the park weren’t there either, probably doing mischief in the nearby underpass, terrorizing whoever was stupid enough to venture that way at this time of night.

  The boy was about to pull back, still intrigued by the music he could hear so faintly at the edge of his hearing, when something caught his attention. He pressed his cheek against the cold glass of the window and peered sideways, along the side of the block of flats. All the lights were off and so it was hard to see, but there was definitely something there, something that made his breath hitch in his throat.

  There was something hanging off the side of the building a few windows away. He couldn’t quite make it out, but the creature looked nimble and was dressed in a coat that hung around it like torn wings.

  The boy felt fear creep up his spine on soft kitten paws. He stood frozen, watching it press closer to the building, impossibly shifting through a solid wall and disappearing into the room where he knew another boy, Arvind, slept. He would be tucked up in bed, fast asleep and utterly unaware of the monster trying to get into his room.

  The watching boy opened his mouth to scream, to warn someone – anyone – but his throat constricted and a sound like a soft mewl came from him. He shut his eyes and drew a deep breath to try and shake the terror. He knew he had to do something.

  With an effort greater than he could ever have thought possible, he raised his hand and formed a fist. He thumped it against the window. It hardly made any noise. He hit it again, harder this time. The sound was dull and muffled and he wondered if it would be enough to distract the thing and startle it to fly off into the night.

  He did not expect the thing to turn so swiftly or move with such incredible speed; suddenly the creature was right there in front of him, its face pressed against the window, peering in at him.

  Monster and boy stared at one another for what seemed an eternity. The boy moved first, stumbling backwards into the chair and knocking over his wastepaper basket, scattering balled-up pieces of paper and secret sweet wrappers across his floor. A part of his mind told him that his mum would be annoyed at the noise and the mess, but another part of his mind, the part that was trying to help him survive, told him to run.

  He turned to leap for the half-open doorway but something held him fast. He turned back to free himself. As he reached out to grab at the grey-skinned hand, with its strange pearlescent nails gripping his arm in a death grip, he realized that the creature wasn’t actually trying to get into his room. It was trying to pull him through the wall. And possibly kill him.

  That did it. The thought that this monster was trying to steal him away to eat him released the boy from his fear. Adrenalin spiked through him and he threw back his head and screamed at the top of his lungs. He didn’t care that he would be waking his mum, who was working the early shift, or that his brother was studying for his exams and needed sleep. He screamed in terror and annoyance; as he did so, he was pulled backwards and fell down hard, his bum hitting the floor with a loud thwack. The carpet rucked his T-shirt up, burning his back as he was methodically hauled towards the wall. He scrabbled around, clawing at the carpet, trying to catch hold of something to prevent himself from being pulled out into the night. His questing fingers found his spiked football shoe lying halfway underneath his bed. He grabbed it and spun around, using the spikes to hit the creature’s oddly papery skin.

  The thing snarled at him through the window, revealing a range of small white teeth that tapered to sharp points. It spat at the window, and the spittle sizzled where it hit the glass. The monster increased its pull on the boy’s arm and the boy fought, hitting the arm, scoring the skin with the spikes.

  The monster tilted its head and focused on something behind the boy, cocking its head, listening. Then it pulled harder, using more force, and the boy was yanked upwards, several feet off the floor, the creature now gripping his T-shirt. The boy heard the noise of someone behind him and called out, but the cry was cut short as he was slammed into the wall – once, then twice, with violent force – before being dropped to the floor.

  The boy collapsed, unconscious and bleeding, just as his bedroom light flared on.

  As the older boy rushed into the room he let out a shout of his own, peripherally aware of the sound of far-off music, something sweet and soft, like a lullaby, and of something hunched outside the window.

  His gaze skittered away from the shadow and the impossibility of someone crouching there. He dropped to his knees next to his little brother, pushing his fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse.

  Chapter Two

  ‘My la
dy?’

  I bare my teeth at Strach, Petur’s youngest son, and growl at him in warning, but he brushes my behaviour away with a grin. He clearly hasn’t forgotten me telling him not to call me that. Or any of the random titles King Aelfric bestowed on me, long months ago now, as I lay recovering from a multitude of cuts and breaks in the Citadel.

  ‘What?’ I ask him. ‘And don’t call me “my lady” again, under pain of severe death.’

  Strach’s handsome face goes carefully neutral as he reports. ‘The team is in position.’

  As he settles down next to me on his stomach I’m pretty sure I hear him say ‘my lady’ again and I decide to make him walk home from tonight’s raid. He props himself on his elbows, bringing the binoculars to his eyes.

  I turn my attention back to the two warehouses below. They look unremarkable and lie on the outskirts of a mostly residential South London suburb.

  The warehouses are supposedly empty and the owners are deciding what to do with them. There are bids to rezone them and sell them to property developers. All very interesting – if it’s your kind of thing. And it definitely isn’t mine. It’s all background I found out when I moved into the neighbourhood to keep an eye on these buildings a few weeks ago.

  They’ve fallen into ruin pretty quickly after a few months of being empty, but we now suspect they are home to a group of Fae who are selling a drug called ‘Glow’. There are traces of the stuff all around the premises and it’s a nasty mix of hallucinates and something else as yet unknown. Kyle’s been working with someone we know at a research facility to try and figure out the drug’s components, but I’m not holding out much hope – not if the stuff we’re looking for comes from the Otherwhere.

  The Fae High King of Alba, Aelfric, had an epic-scale fit when he found out that Glow had a link to the Otherwhere. His own investigations had shown it was someone from the Seelie King’s Court peddling the stuff in clubs in London and around the Midlands. And after meeting with the Sun King and his Seelie advisers, when the Seelie King professed his innocence . . . things got a bit heated.

  Glow is a nightmare cocktail which seems perfect for clubbers. Similar to ecstasy, the stuff makes you alert and hyper-aware of sound and colour, giving you a high that lasts for far longer than MDMA ever did. But the stuff is also far more potent and addictive than any other drug on the market. It’s far more fatal too. Someone’s baby sister, a girl of thirteen, popped some and is currently lying comatose in a private clinic. The doctors are unable to determine if she’ll make it. If she does, they’re unsure if there’ll be permanent brain damage or not. And she’s not the only one. Two clubbers got hold of some Glow and dropped into spasms on the dance floor, dying within minutes of ingesting the stuff. The police are at a loss because no one can find any dealers, and users just babble about pretty fairies giving them Glow to use. For free.

  It’s strong and crazy, and it’s taken the clubbing scene by storm.

  Aelfric, once he was unable to locate the Fae culprits, called in the Blackhart family. Despite being the most junior member, I was handed the job as no one else was around to take it on. The assignment came with a small team of Fae, made up of his grandson, Strachan, and a further three Fae who have been courteous to a fault in my presence, but coldly aloof. Feeling outnumbered, I had called in Aiden Garrett, who was more than happy to play guard-wolf for me on this.

  ‘How long do you want to wait?’ Strach asks me, offering me the binocs. I shake my head: I can see fine without them.

  ‘Until they show up,’ I tell him. ‘It’s early still, not even midnight yet. Besides, it’s Halloween. What better time to walk among humans wearing their real faces without having to worry about glamour?’

  Strach grimaces and I notice him touch his ear selfconsciously. He lost the tip of it in the battle at Lake Baikal – against Eadric’s forces who had been hell-bent on bringing back the Elder Gods. The damage to his ear was hardly noticeable but he covered it up, using a faint glamour to make it appear to have the sought-after Sidhe tip. It was a status thing and I didn’t understand it.

  He shifts next to me, trying to get comfortable on the roof, and I frown at him irritably. I hate sharing overwatch with anyone, especially someone who can’t seem to sit still for longer than three seconds.

  ‘Where’s Aiden?’ he asks after about thirty seconds of silence.

  I suppress a sigh and point. He sights down the line of my arm. Aiden’s curled up in wolf form in the darkest shadow of the furthest warehouse. I can easily see him using my sight but Strach takes a bit longer using the binocs.

  ‘How do you do that?’ he asks me and I smirk at him.

  ‘Magic,’ I whisper back.

  He snorts and we lie silently side by side watching the empty square of concrete before the two warehouses, which form a T-shape. After a few moments Strach rummages in his bag and hands me a choc chip cookie that I take without comment and munch, relishing the sticky sweetness of it. A few months ago I would have eaten the entire bag of cookies, because the hunger my magic generated would have demanded it. Keeping vigil like this would have required an entire bag full of eats: using my sight while also using magic to create a protective layer of warmth. I would have needed a week’s rest too to recover from abusing my magic, but these days my magic comes more easily and takes far less of a toll than it did in the past.

  Something happened while I was in the Otherwhere, fighting tooth and nail against Istvan and Olga as they tried to complete a ritual to bring back the Elder Gods. I was exposed to powerful magics: a crazy ritual on an island humming with latent ancient magic, and I was drenched in a tide of power that spilled from Olga when I decapitated her. My own magic, sluggish and tired, pulled the new power inside, content and sated for the first time since I discovered my ability.

  It took a long while to get used to how fast my magic now comes to my bidding. I no longer see it as a separate thing I consciously think about using. It’s just there, doing what I want it to do. I spent time with Aelfric’s sorcerers as I lay recovering from my own wounds and they reluctantly taught me how to tap into the well of magic within me. I also learned how, if it’s ever exhausted, to draw on the natural energies of the world around me. They urged me to go to them for proper training, but being in Alba, especially the Royal Citadel, hurt too much. I couldn’t think of being there without thinking about Thorn.

  The High King of Alba’s youngest son entered my life in a mess of blood and tangled truths and I found myself intrigued by him and the madness that surrounded us. A part of me wonders where he is and what he’s doing almost every time I’m not busy with something else.

  I find myself moping around, remembering how he laughed and tried to be polite to everyone and mostly how he hated Aiden making fun of him. More than anything, I remember him saying goodbye to me. I remember how utterly broken I felt as the door closed behind him, leaving me standing alone and hurt in a beautiful room overlooking the gardens of the Citadel.

  Much later, when his mother came to talk to me, she took one look at my face and held me as if I was breaking. Maybe I was. I hated her so much right then. I wanted to push her away and shout and scream at her, but then I saw how deeply she was affected by her son leaving too and I felt vile and selfish, which made me sob even more.

  She sat with me until the sun set, speaking to me about the decision to send Thorn away. How, in their wildest dreams and in her nightmares, they did not expect the duty of the guardianship to fall to one of their sons. The guardian prophecy was an ancient one, one fulfilled over time by various noble Sidhe houses. The tradition had fallen by the wayside and for the past four or five hundred years no guardian had been sent to watch over the worlds, because the prophecies never spoke of invasion. The Fae set great stock by their prophecies, seers and sorcerers.

  I felt angry, but not just for me. I genuinely thought Thorn had been betrayed by his entire family and I wanted nothing to do with them. She left, pressing a kiss to my forehead, with a promi
se to send me Megan, but I had kept quiet, sitting rigidly on the bed, staring at her as she shut the door behind her. She left a small item behind, and I curled my fingers around it. I knew what it was without looking. Thorn’s ring.

  Megan, Marc and Kyle stormed the room, bringing with them laughter, hugs, tears and gossip. I listened, feeling hollow, holding on to the ring. When they left I opened my hand and looked at the plain gold band. It was far too big for me but I slid it onto my ring finger on my right hand and closed my fist over it. A small vibration startled me and I opened my hand to find that it had resized itself, now looking as if it had been made for me.

  ‘. . . not even listening,’ Strach says in my ear, his breath tickling my cheek.

  ‘What?’ I say, jerking back, annoyed that I had let myself wander around my memories while on a job.

  ‘Morika is on her way.’

  I blink at him and frown.

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘It’s after three in the morning, Kit.’

  I pretend not to hear the reprimand in his voice. I lost three hours thinking morbid thoughts rather than paying attention to the job at hand. ‘Who is she bringing with her?’

  ‘Three others. And a human.’

  I nod. I tug the dog whistle out of my pocket and give three short blows on it. Aiden’s head comes up and looks in my direction, but he doesn’t leave the shadows. I can see the blue of his eyes clearly in the darkness and I hold up my left hand, showing him four fingers, then close it in a fist, then show him one finger. Four Fae, one human.

  He swings his head away and sits up.

  ‘Aiden’s ready.’

  ‘We have the team on standby.’

  I flash Strach a grin. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I stand up and stretch, getting the kinks out of my back and legs.

  ‘Let’s do it.’

  I step off the roof and drop to the ground, bending my legs to absorb the impact, my coat swirling around my legs; I feel so Batman right then. With my drawn sword and Strach on my left, a comforting presence with his twin fighting knives and long braid, we slip between the buildings towards the warehouse forming the cross-bar of the T. Behind us other shadows skim the night and fall in behind us. Not a single footstep sounds on the concrete and we ghost into the unlocked warehouse just as Morika walks in with her group. My escort fades into the background to circle them without a sound and I step forward into a beam of light slanting through the broken warehouse roofing.