“Fine.”
It smelled awful in there. I wasn’t sure if it was the bottom of the river or the dried demon parts that were no longer dry.
Gina’s brow furrowed, like it always did when she was upset. “All our food is gone. All the Pot Noodle.” She made this sound like an absolute tragedy. “The custard creams…”
I could tell she was hungry. She got emotional when she was hungry. “I’ll get more. Look, the water’s receding already. No harm done.” The place was a stinking mess right now, and I sounded much more optimistic than I felt. “I’ll run out and pick up a few things. We might not be able to stay here tomorrow, but I can make it habitable for tonight.”
My heart sank when I looked at our shelf of ancient, magical texts. The river had soaked them entirely. I wouldn’t be able to fix the gibberish situation, because the ink no longer formed letters at all.
I pulled one of the leather-bound tomes from the shelf and opened the pages to find that the words had turned to tiny rivers of black.
I hadn’t memorized most of the spells, or really paid them much attention. Except for one book—the ancient and rare book of curses. I’d memorized every single page. I’d scoured it from top to bottom, searching for a way to reverse what had happened to me long ago. The ancient words were now midnight streaks on muddy paper.
All that magical knowledge—gone.
Gina was still looking at me. “Don’t suppose you know a cleaning spell?”
I closed the sodden book, surveying the shop. Sadly, it wasn’t just a shop. It was our home, too. We lived in little rooms just down the hall. At one point, there had been a few more witches here, but we were always broke, and they’d moved on.
Now, pungent sludge covered everything we owned. The washer and dryer probably didn’t work. I actually had no idea how to fix this. “No, I don’t know a cleaning spell.”
“Why not?”
“Mainly because I don’t care if things are clean? And I never really learned spells. Magic memorization was never my strong suit. I mostly get by on my charm.”
“Right. The Flayer of Skins is definitely known for her charm.” Gina sat on the countertop, still hugging herself. “How are you going to pay for new food and stuff? Aren’t we broke?”
“I have some money stored away.” Total lie. There just weren’t many witches around anymore, since the assassins killed them all. And the ones that had stayed in London couldn’t find our shop, given that we were literally hiding underground.
Things were bad now, and they would only get worse.
Gina’s stomach rumbled so loudly I could hear it. We’d missed dinner.
“Sit tight,” I said. “I’m going to fix this.”
I had twenty-four quid and seventeen pence left to my name, and I’d have to see exactly how far that would get me in Tesco.
Chapter 4
The value-brand section was my friend. They purposefully made the labels look off-putting—just plain white with black text, like they wanted you to feel bad about the situation. But as the Scourge of the Wicked, I wasn’t going to worry about the graphics on my tins of beans. My boots left muddy footprints on the floor as I walked through the supermarket.
At the self-checkout machine, I stuffed my plastic bags with canned corn and peas. Beans and eggs for protein, whole wheat bread.
Gina had food restrictions—she couldn’t eat any nuts without going into anaphylactic shock. I always checked the labels on everything and made sure nothing was contaminated with peanut dust from the factories. We ate total garbage most of the time—chips and candy—but it was all perfectly safe for her.
The cans of vegetables were for vitamins and fiber, the stuff humans needed. I wasn’t sure exactly why I was worrying about vitamins now, but after the shop disaster I felt a sudden and overwhelming drive to act responsibly.
The woman bagging her groceries to my right shook her head at me, tutting loudly. I looked very much like I’d just crawled out of a sewer. I mean, I basically had.
I stuffed a roll of trash bags into my haul. The trash bags were the centerpiece of my cleaning plan. Admittedly, it was not an excellent cleaning plan. It involved sleeping on plastic bags to stay dry, washing our clothes in the bath, and letting them hang to dry overnight.
And as for what we would sleep in? Lucky for us, Tesco now sold value-brand underwear, size large. Anyway, the important part was that it was clean.
Please remove item from the bagging area.
I snarled at the robotic voice. Right now, I wished I had enough money to take a bottle of wine home with me as well. My mood darkened when I thought of the two assassins, hunting me down. Now they were both dead, and my life had gotten a whole lot more grim.
Item removed from the bagging area. Please place item in the bagging area.
My temper was ready to rip this place apart. I clenched my jaw tight, trying to scan the trash bags again. Didn’t the robot understand these were crucial to my cleaning plan?
Please remove item from the bagging area.
“Go to the sea hell, you robotic tyrant!” I shouted. “I’m just trying to buy some freaking nut-free vitamin corn for my human!”
No one looked up. In a city of nine million, watching dirty people scream at the automated checkout was just part of life.
After a few more tries, I was on my way home again, muddy footprints trailing behind me. I clutched my little bag of food and cleaning products, feeling a bit pathetic. I called myself Flayer of Skins, Scourge of the Wicked. But my life was possibly a bit sad. I’d been a princess once. Now what did I have? No money, no family. Basically no friends, except the teenage human I looked after.
Perhaps I’d spent too long isolating myself, hunting down the wicked and living under the dirt.
As I walked home, an image flashed in my mind—of that angelically beautiful fae. I felt a strange pang, like a loss. I had no idea why. I’d had to kill him to protect myself.
When I reached the rough patch of land above our shop, I thrust my hand into the soil, looking for the roof hatch. I felt around until my fingers brushed against the copper handle. I pulled it up, and the shop’s stench hit me.
I frowned as I slipped into the passage. Maybe my life was slightly sad, but it was my life, and I’d worked to make things fun. I had my record player, my movie nights with Gina. I’d put a life together here in my dark little corner of London.
It just would take a lot of work to get it smelling nice again.
I walked through the dark tunnel that led to the shop. This was the more direct route—unlike the long river pathway I’d taken earlier.
Karen, our phantom guardian, sat outside the door watching soaps on her TV. She stroked the cat in her lap. “Smells a bit off in here,” she said as I approached.
“We were attacked earlier by two sea fae. The river water flooded us.”
“Nasty business.” She shuddered. She wasn’t a particularly good phantom guardian. “Did you pick up any Victoria sponge cake?”
“No. We’re doing healthy stuff now. Like corn.”
“Corn?” she snorted. “What, just on its own?”
“It’s got vitamins. So Gina won’t get scurvy.”
I crossed to the door, and her hand shot out and grabbed me. “Come pay us another visit in a bit, will ya?”