She checks to make sure that the door is double-locked.
“This place is a ghost town,” Marley says as she lights some candles. “What’s going on?”
“Sit,” Erica says. “I’ll tell you everything, sit down.”
As the candles are lit, the rest of the bookshop is illuminated and both Marley and I start as we realise there are many Hidden Folk pressed up against the walls and sat upon the floor. They look exhausted
and defeated.
“Erica, what’s going on?” I demand, staring at all their accusing faces.
“Everything has gone wrong,” she finally says, her voice heavy and jaded. “Portia is hunting every last one of us. She’s caught plenty.”
My eyes scan the room. and my heart seizes up in pain. “Where’s—”
“Murrey was one of the first to be taken,” she says, reading my thoughts. “No one has seen him.”
I feel their glares as I take in this horrific news.
“Sit down, Ramya,” Erica pleads. “And we’ll tell you. But it’s not good. Not good at all.”
Chapter TWELVE
Prodigal Son
The Hidden Folk look too exhausted to Glamour so I watch as Marley takes in their appearances. The pointed ears and tails, the claws and fangs. He visibly swallows as the full scale of their difference is laid clear before him.
“It’s all right,” I say under my breath, and he nods shakily, letting me know that he’s heard me. We sit down by the counter at the front of the bookshop and Erica checks the windows.
“There’s a hex on these,” she says quietly. “No one can see in, only out.”
I’m about to reply when she violently shushes me. The whole room grows even more tense, and I can see why. Outside, in the dark and rainy street, two Fae are making their way towards Candlemaker Row, towards the shop. Marley and I stay completely still and silent, as does every Hidden creature in the room. The first of the two Faeries stops to peer through the window, frowning slightly. I am holding my breath in terror, half expecting him to try and smash the glass.
I feel a crackling in my hand, and I look down to see a small bolt spitting and sizzling upon my palm, an electrical charge just waiting to be shot at something. Or someone. Marley and Erica see it too and both noticeably react.
“What are you going to do?” Erica whispers.
I watch as the Fae take one final look inside, and then they move away. Only once they’ve been out of sight for thirty seconds do I close my palm into a fist, extinguishing the spark.
“You’ve been learning?” Erica asks, her voice full of relief.
“Yeah,” I say, suddenly feeling a little ashamed of the lack of studying I’ve been doing. I was so focused on getting back to Edinburgh, I never thought about them needing me to be really good at magic.
“Kind of.”
“What’s happened?” Marley presses.
“Portia’s invaded,” Erica says bleakly. “She’s got the humans under curfew and mostly staying out of the streets. We don’t fully know how. She’s got the Fae on her side, as you saw.”
We all look back to the windows and I shudder.
“Why has she taken Murrey?” I ask, feeling rage seep in as I say the words.
Another Troll moves a little closer. “We don’t exactly have a direct line to Portia, she hasn’t communicated with any of us. But the Fae show up randomly to round up Hidden Folk.”
“My guess,” Erica says loftily, “is that, because most Hidden Folk are far less susceptible to Sirens than humans, she wants us gone. Out of the way, or at least kept away from humans. She needs them compliant.”
“This is creepy,” I utter, peering back out into the gloomy, unlit street. “How has she done this in such a short amount of time?”
“We don’t know. Television?”
“Maybe. That was why Ren was sidling up to my family; because Mum and Dad were on morning television. However, Portia seems cleverer than Ren.”
“Where is the rest of your coven?” the Troll asks.
“All over the place,” Marley replies. “Gran is who knows where, Aunt Cass and Uncle Mike are in London and—”
“Marley,” I say, cutting him off. I cannot explain why but nothing feels safe, even in here. We should not be gabbing about our family. My look tells him as much.
“So, you’re all taking cover in here?” I ask, looking out at the faces huddled inside the Stranger’s bookshop. “All day?”
“The Fae obviously know to find most of us in the Grassmarket,” says a Sprite, speaking with a small and crestfallen voice from atop a pile of law books. “They trashed most of the stalls.”
“The backdoor here leads to the Grassmarket,” I point out, remembering my last time in here, with the Stranger. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“The tunnel was blocked off; we don’t know by whom. We’re safe for now.”
I consider the fact that the Stranger may have blocked it off, to give them a safe place. As ever, I’m bitter that he is not here. Just as he wasn’t there when
