“Long story, but the gist is that Nimue’s gone proper all-shall-love-me-and-despair.”
“What?”
“Sorry, ex-girlfriend was big into Lord of the Rings. I mean, she’s kind of embraced the evil side of monarchy—you know, bow before me or be destroyed. She killed Sebastian Douglas and, don’t get me wrong, couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, but it was fucking nasty and I’ve never seen her do anything like that before.”
Tara was quiet a moment. “Sometimes difficult things need to be done.”
“Believe me, nobody knew that better than Nim, but that was the trouble; her idea of difficult things needing to be done was sacrificing herself for the good of the world. Not shredding a guy’s flesh away with magic wind.”
“I’ll admit there’s a different scent in the air. The pack are worried.”
“They should be. How’s your gran taking it?”
There was a pause. Fuck, was she that surprised that I’d actually asked her about herself instead of just going on about my own problems? “Well enough. She accepts that the matter of the Witch-Queen needed to be resolved one way or the other. Her preferred solution would have been to kill her, of course. And I think she’ll advocate that position still more strongly now.”
“Yeah, she might not be wrong on that either. I love Nim but the thought of what she might do if she’s decided to stop holding back seriously freaks me out. What about Yelena?”
“On that matter, grandmama was even more discontented. But I believe the prisoner will prove her worth. And if she does not, she will be destroyed, and we will have our vengeance. It will be better that it happens where all the pack can witness it.”
That should have been at least a little bit chilling, but given how things had been going recently my emotional thermometer had lost a lot of its sensitivity. “I’m still not sure what the hell I’m going to do about Nim.”
“You’ll find a way, Kate Kane. You always do.”
“Yeah, I hope so. And thanks for, y’know, giving a shit.”
“It’s against my better judgement, I assure you. And better advice.”
That was fair. I was a terrible person to get involved with, as evidenced by the fact that one of my closest friends was still a statue and another had been in a coma right up until the point where my attempt to save her had instead literally turned her evil. We said our goodbyes and I got changed into something less soaked in river-water and slept in—thinking about it, I’d need to take a look at my sheets sometime soon as well—and set out to meet Dr Bright at the office.
My complete lack of desire to take this meeting despite the fact that it could, theoretically, lead to one of my closest friends getting her actual life back was partly my usual selfishness, and partly a consequence of my still having no idea how I was going to explain to a perfectly ordinary academic why I wanted her help incanting a magic spell around a statue.
Ah well. Bridges, crossings, all that jazz.
I got into the office about half ten which, given everything I’d been through lately, qualified as damned together of me. And it left me with just enough time to stick some coffee on so I could look all settled in and knowing-what-I-was-doingey when she arrived.
It was still raining, I noticed. The weather forecast hadn’t said anything about rain.
Dr Bright arrived at eleven sharp, sat down in the chair opposite me, and offered me a cigarette, which I took gratefully and she lit without being asked.
“So,” she began, “tell me about your friend.”
I wasn’t in the mood for spinning complex lies, but I did my best. “Not a lot to say. She had some kooky religious beliefs, and while I didn’t agree with them I think it’s still important to honour them.”
“And you wouldn’t”—Dr Bright’s eyes met mine with a wicked glint—“in any sense be intending to transform a statue into a living woman and take her as your lover?”
I’d love to say my poker face was flawless, but in truth it was pretty fucking flawful. “That would be skeevy and impossible.”
“Perhaps my studies have skewed my perceptions.” Dr Bright was looking strangely amused. I hoped that was a good sign, although I had to admit I wasn’t quite sure how it could be. “But I tend to think that few things are impossible. Either way the text is exact—it seeks to recreate the magic of