Page 39 of The Falconer

‘Aileana—’

‘Furthermore, I can’t believe I had to hear it from Kiaran rather than you. You live in my bloody dressing room.’

This time, he doesn’t spew his usual tirade of insults about Kiaran. He simply says, ‘I’m sorry.’

When Derrick says it like that, as if he’s rather ashamed of himself, I begin to soften. He changed me after my mother died. When I met him, it was the first time I realised that some faeries might be good. That some are worthy of friendship. I can’t stay mad at him for long.

I release a resigned breath. ‘I forgive you.’

He lands on my wrist, tiny feet warm against my skin. I brush my fingers over his wings once and he flashes a smile that’s gone so quickly. ‘I have more news.’ He speaks tentatively, as if gauging how I’ll respond.

My urge to fight rises, an impulse I’ve never been able to quell no matter how often he tells me that she’s killed again. The looming battle with the underground fae should be my priority – should scare the daylights out of me – but it’s difficult to suppress the instinctual urge to hunt for her and only her. Until now, nothing else mattered.

I stand and Derrick follows me to the wall, watching quietly as I press the button to reveal the map. ‘Where?’

‘Glasgow. Two this time.’

So close now. At the rate thebaobhan sìthmigrates, she’ll be here within a few days, before the midwinter eclipse. God, if I can kill her before then, I won’t have to choose which fight takes precedence. I could go up against all those fae with her defeat so fresh in my mind that I’d feel invulnerable.

I remove a pin from the leather pouch and stick it right beside the other already marking Glasgow. A pin from more than a year ago. She’s done nearly a full loop around the country, with only Edinburgh remaining.

I knot two ribbons around the pin. One hundred and eighty-six kills now. I can only hope these will be her last before I find her.

Returning to my work table, I resume my task of completing the fire-starter, more focused than ever. I attach one end of the valve to a metal plate and the other to the fuel reservoir. ‘Can you light a wee bit of fabric and bring it to me?’

Derrick stares at me a moment, wings fluttering. A golden halo has begun to spread around him again. He flies to the fireplace, pulls some ribbon from his bag and dips it towards the flame. I set the plate on the table and twist the small fuel reservoir’s control button a touch.

‘Hover it above the metal plate,’ I say.

He lowers the flaming fabric, and just before fire touches metal, a small flame ignites in the centre, where the gas escapes. Derrick tosses the ribbon onto the coals and flies back, to study my invention with fascination.

‘What is that?’ he asks.

I twist the button a bit more and the flame grows even higher. ‘My next weapon.’

‘Faeries don’t burn,’ Derrick points out. ‘What’s your plan?’

I remove a sprig ofseilgflùrfrom the compartment beneath my desk. I’ll test a much smaller amount with this device than I used in the explosive watch fob. Another disaster of that nature would surely send the city into a panic.

Naturally, Derrick retreats from the thistle.

‘Let me ask you something,’ I say. ‘What do you think would happen if I mixedseilgflùrwith whisky and set it on fire?’

Not just any whisky. My father’sbestwhisky. Several bottles of old Ferintosh that he only pulls out in exceptional circumstances.Ah, sweet revenge. . .

Derrick grins. ‘Clever.’

I twist the button again to extinguish the flame. Next I set to work constructing an arm-mount for the weapon. Whether a few minutes or an hour go by, I’m so deep in my work that I jump when Derrick says my name.

‘There was another reason I never told you.’ He glides to my shoulder and tangles himself in my hair. ‘I worried about you, when we met. I could never place such a burden on someone so young and anguished if I didn’t have to. Istillworry about you.’

‘Worry about what?’

‘That you would do whatever it took to kill thebaobhan sìth, no matter the cost.’

‘Why help me track her, then? Why not lie about that, too?’

‘Because you deserve vengeance,’ he says quietly. ‘I would never take that from you.’ He hesitates, wrapping strands of my hair around his hands. ‘Did I make the wrong choice? Does knowing what you are make your mother’s death any easier to bear?’

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