Chapter Nineteen
In which Fee and Alec entertain guests.
Fee…
Since Grandad and Da had gone back to the farm the Davies’ sprawl had been quieter, mostly because Fintan wasn’t there to spend his time insulting Alec, scaring the security, and unsuccessfully flirting with Magda, who I was unable to explain to him probably didn’t like boys and hated all of us because of Noreen.
Most of my time was spent sending encrypted information and funds to my allies anywhere near a property owned by Leevil.There were massive supply disruptions in the Netherlands, employees walk-outs in the Philippines, and an incident involving Nelson Cave spiders in New Zealand that years later would probably be turned into a low budget, ‘based on a true story,’ horror film.
I always remind myself, and anyone else that’s listening, that spiders are an important part of ecosystems from around the world, that their appearance was part of how they evolved to do what they do efficiently, and it wasn’t to be held against them that they were creatures from the deepest nightmares of an uncaring universe.
Alec was doing his own side of things, involving negotiations with different criminal organizations that had invested with Leevil or outright backed some of his businesses that could be used as cover or for money laundering.As I had predicted, he was far dirtier than even the Davies’ organization was prepared for.
Charles - Alec’s High Priest/personal assistant - was worn ragged, the poor little fella, with moving money and trying to keep up with the demands of Terrence and Lucy.They were in constant need of new computer parts and cases of Celsius Heat, tag teaming each other on who could slag the most of Leevil’s servers. Then they moved on to sending viruses to other companies he did business with, leaving trails that made it look like his systems were the source.
They cackled like sugared up nine-year-olds at a Christmas party and high fived constantly. When they crashed it was going to be heard in space.
Ol’ Lee’s people were exhausting themselves playing and failing at a 24-hour a day game of hacker whack-a-mole and a number of them had quit in frustration, making his corporate interests even less secure.
I hadn’t had such a good time in ages, and I feared it was making me soft. Every now and then I’d be in the study with Alec and he’d look across the room at me from his desk and I’d feel something.
Something above the waist that is, and not nausea. Well, above and below the waist, and the only way to distract myself from it was a new idea for playing with our buddy Leevil or for the two of us to fuck the stuffing out of each other.
A few days into our funfair of attacks, I was out front of the house to let Noreen take a shit on the street where the locals walked their poor, over-bred fashion victim dogs, when an SUV that could have doubled as a two-family home pulled up. Whatever fossil fuels were left after our jet trip to Massachusetts it had probably used up.
From the drivers’ side Alec’s friend, enemy, some overly complicated boy relationship that was between them, Alastair stepped out. It was interesting to me that though he and Davies looked different, size aside, they both took up the same amount of air.
Godking of a different pantheon, I speculated.
He took off a pair of sunglasses that had cost the price of a month's rent in some parts of the country and looked at me askance, which was friendly compared to the look he gave poor, wee Noreen. “Is that thing going to eat my tires?”
“If I have any say in the matter, yes.”
He gestured to the house with the glasses, standing at an angle to let the light hit his Teutonically exact features, “Shouldn’t you be in the house? Under guard? Or perhaps locked in one of the torture chambers?”
His sneer was the kind of thing that took generations of privilege and a small gene pool to create.
“Eh, Himself and I are still trying to figure out safewords and the like. Besides which, they get upset in there when Noreen does what comes naturally all over the antiques and imported rugs and such.” I leaned down and gave her a kiss between her horns.
Alastair started to open his mouth, looking green with disgust, when a long-legged Scottish pixie dream girl hopped out of the SUV and floated up to us on the clouds of her own girlish beauty. “Did you forget about me then, husband?” Then she thrust out a hand to me, as if I were a person. “Hi, I’m Sorcha.”
I let out a disapproving, Celtic noise, shaking my head at Alastair. Then I broke out my mother’s Glaswegian accent for good measure. “Ya cradle robber, you…”
Before he could scowl me to death, Sorcha actually hopped up and down a bit, “Are you from home, then?”
“I was raised half the year in the East End, and I still have a bedsit in Gallowgate near my ma’s,” I said, leaning towards her, partly because she was one of those sorts who it’s hard even for a black-hearted witch such as myself not to like and partly because I could tell it would give Alastair a conniption.
Possibly a stroke.
“I LOVE Gallowgate! My sisters-in-law and I met at the Rumbling Tum for breakfast and it was so good. It was the first time I’d had breakfast out in Glasgow and I want to go back. We should go some time.”
Apparently I had a new best friend, with the personality of a deerhound pup and extraordinary green eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Alec’s voice, cold as a wintery grave, came from the doorway.
Before Alastair could speak, Sorcha bopped over to Alec, pulling a bottle-shaped package out of her leather tote. “We have a peace offering. The trouble you have with our- with the McTavish’s is one thing, but you and Alastair are friends, brothers, and I won’t be getting between that. You can’t let me be the cause of his unhappiness, Alec, please.”
Her hair shone pennybright, her face was earnest, and apparently it would have taken an even bigger bastard than Davies to deny her on this pretty morning. Taking the bottle from her, gingerly, as if it were a snake ready to bite him, he gave Sorcha a half-hearted frown.
Before he could say anything, Alastair skirted Noreen’s latest gift to the people of Knightsbridge and joined them, putting a loose arm about Sorcha’s shoulders, “Besides which, I’ve heard rumors of you doing good but albeit violent works and want to know what’s going on.”
“And if it's half as much fun as it sounds can we jump in,” Sorcha added.
I could tell by the glimmer in her eyes, that girl was a born pyromaniac, and her husband hadn’t given her a chance to burn anything down in a bit.
Alec looked at me, and I could have sworn he was wanting my thoughts on the matter, as if I had a say about who was and wasn’t allowed in the temple. The moment passed and he stepped aside to motion them in. “When you are finished walking the Bride of Black Philip maybe you can join us?” he called out to me before shutting the door.
Two hours and a few drams of very fine scotch later, at least for me and Alastair since Sorcha wasn’t drinking and strangely neither was Alec, they were caught up on what was happening and why.
Though he was still a bit on edge, Alec was visibly more relaxed with Alastair than he’d been at the farm. That said, every time Sorcha spoke he seemed to shy away a bit from looking right at her. As if she were a bruise he was trying not to bump on his fancy furniture.
To my eternal shock Alastair took a fiddle laugh over the whole thing, looking fit to pee himself when we got to the story about the black bear pheromones in Alaska.
“Why black bears instead of grizzlies?” Sorcha asked.
“My contact amongst the Tlingit told me that black bears are much bigger arseholes.”
For whatever reason that made both Alastair and Alec laugh to falling off their chairs. Clearly there was a story there. Every time one of them would start to calm himself they would look at each other and bust out again.
“Whilst these two are trying to compose themselves, how would you like a cup of tea, Sorcha?”
“I’d love one.”
“Good, off to the kitchen then. And Davies, if you consider ringing for Magda I will put that button in a part of your anatomy that will embarrass you in front of your little friend.”
A short time later Sorcha and I were sorted with big mugs of Barry’s tea - which I had insisted on Alec bringing in since I refused to drink anything called Assam Dinjoye Garden Tippy TGFOP-1, which was his favorite brew. Arsehole that he is.
I also broke out the Hobnobs, even though like most English biscuits the box probably tasted better than they did.
I let her relax and enjoy the pleasures of a proper brew up before I said anything, “For a billionaire child bride you’re not such a bad kid.”
She coughed a bit on biscuit crumbs. “Thank you, I think. But being young and being a child are different things. I’ve seen more than enough in my life already to warrant being treated as an adult.”
Her tone, matter of fact and not offended, proved that point to me more than her words.
“Then,” I said, sitting back and taking a sip while it was still hot, “I will ask you straight out, woman to woman, why is it that when Alec sees you, even hears your name, he acts like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs?Yet here you sit looking at me with the same eyes as he has?”
Now she took a scalding sip, then a breath, then she carefully put down her mug and folded her hands on the table. “I think you should ask Alec about that. It’s not my story to tell. Or, rather, it’s not my story to tell you.”
I wondered if I would. I wondered what he would tell me.
“We should go back, before their detente breaks down,” I said, cleaning up the cups and the crumbs.
“Do you think they would want tea?” she asked.
“Possibly. I am sure Alec can find the kitchen if they do.”