But I’m the only witch here. I’m the only representative of my coven here, the only one who bothered to come, to face the Siren who tried to destroy all of us. So, I blast it with every bit of emotion. I let the hungry, snarling feeling of rage and the need for revenge take over.
The thing is, when I’ve finished and we’re all just staring at this small pile of darkened ash and coughing against the smoke, I don’t feel better.
I feel nothing.
I look back up at Portia. “What have you done
with Murrey?”
I’m sick of her talking, but I need answers.
“Ah, your little Vampire friend,” she says, moving nonchalantly towards a phone which is positioned neatly on an end table. She lifts the receiver and daintily dials a number. She doesn’t put the phone to her ear, however, but lays it flat upon the table.
I glare at it, wondering what her game is. “Where is he? Tell me before I start feeling like bursting the pipes in this place.”
“What a little brute your family have made you into,” Portia muses.
“Where. Is. Murrey?”
The last of her pretend nicety slips away. She clearly knows I’m a lost cause. Cunning, wily vindictiveness spreads across her face, and she licks her lips in anticipation of her words. “You’ll never see him alive again unless I get what I want, Ramya.”
I can feel my intakes of breath quickening, becoming too short. “The Fae, up north. They’re hunting something for you.”
She smirks. “Sure. Hand it over and I’ll let your friends go.”
“Why do you want her?”
“Her?”
I freeze. “It. Why do you want it?”
She splays her hands out, collectedly. “I’m building myself a little council. All I want to do is make the trains run on time and clear out some of the trash. If my adored son over there won’t help me, I need a little crew who will. And there’s something in Loch Ness I would so desperately love to have. It’s a nice little hub of magic up there. I’d like a slice of it on my side.”
The front door crashes open, and three members of the Fae are suddenly standing behind Portia, ready to attack or defend upon command. While their entrance was abrupt, there is nothing clumsy about them. They are slick and precise, showing a dexterity of movement I will never have, no matter how hard I try.
That same twitching, prickly anger starts to pulse in my hands again. One Faerie notices and a flash of unease crosses her face. She glances to the back of Portia’s head and whatever she tells herself internally, it steadies her nerve.
“Let me out,” I say calmly enough. “You don’t want to know how I got here today.”
Portia’s piercing blue eyes are amused as she looks down at me. She knows that while I have magic and she does not, she has power. This city is under her control, purely based on the sway of her voice. Freddy and Erica once told me that Sirens had one true weakness. They were incapable of working together. They do not form a secret society or a collective group, like a coven, because they prefer being alone. They can’t control each other, therefore they do not ally with each other. They act alone and choose chaos and power when it suits them. Portia just happens to be the first known Siren in my lifetime to convince other Hidden Folk to help her.
I eye the Fae.
“Careful of this witch,” one of them says. “I’ve heard about her. Water trickery—”
“Shut up,” Portia interrupts coolly. “Ramya knows not to do anything silly. Don’t you, dear?”
I force my face to mirror her unruffled expression. I raise my palms. I fight a slightly foggy and emotional brain to plunge deep and remember what Opal has taught me. I close my eyes and suddenly all I hear is tinnitus. I feel the energy pulse and push, like a shoal of fish trying to break free from a net.
“Heads up, Freddy,” I hiss.
Then I release it all.
Behind me, the bay window suddenly smashes. The tiny fragments of glass break apart, causing a sound loud enough to make the Fae flinch and leap back. Portia’s composure slips. She cries out and covers her eyes, but I don’t send the shards flying towards her. I let them drop, pushing by Freddy to mount the windowsill.
“Hey,” he says quickly, as I raise my fingertips to my lips, about to whistle. “I’m on your side. But it’s not safe for you here. I’ll look for Murrey. I promise.”
We look at each other, as I crouch in the broken window. I glance back at Portia, who is getting to her feet, ready to pounce.
I whistle. Loudly, shrilly and with a strong screech of urgency. I clamber out into the street, careful not to step on the broken glass.
“Grab her!” Portia shrieks, thumping one of her henchmen on the arm. They dive for the window but Freddy bars their path. I throw him a look of gratitude and whistle again.
“Come on, Marley,” I breathe. “Like we said.”
Then I hear it. The swooping, sweeping sound of great wings. A dark shape ahead in the fog grows closer, larger, and more distinct. It is perhaps a good thing at this very moment that the citizens of Edinburgh are locked away under curfew and under a spell, otherwise they would glance out of their living room windows to see a vast, intimidating blue dragon standing on their cobblestoned street.
“Is… is that…?” Freddy babbles, staring up at Blue. He looks agonised by disbelief.
“Let me introduce you all to my dragon, Portia!” I shout, almost feverish with triumph.
One of the Fae screams, a terrified sound that is almost too high for human ears to hear. Portia gazes at the dragon, with Marley astride it, and her hand slowly moves to cover her mouth.
Blue seems to lock eyes upon the two Sirens and proceeds to let out a great roar. Portia’s hair blows back, and she staggers to grab the frame of the window. Freddy curses, covering his ears, but he also manages to look impressed.
Marley wastes no time, leaning down to haul me up onto Blue. I settle into a saddle that is not there and lock eyes with my only Siren friend.
“Call me when your mum’s not around.”