Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Mallory wrinkled her nose and gazed at the decidedly non-magical map displayed at the foot of the stairs to her small flat.
Usually it was a valuable tool that enabled her to keep track of her clients.
It covered all of Coldstream, with red dots marking the clients whom Mallory owed, blue dots covering those who owed her, and yellow dots pinpointing works in progress.
While it was satisfying to note that there were far more blue dots than red dots, Mallory couldn’t pick out any current clients who might help her find a bellarmine jug; neither could she think of any previous clients to whom she could ask for help.
Even her meticulously kept leather journal with its copious notes hadn’t been of any use.
Frankly, whichever way she turned she was coming up blank.
Without a jug to transport it, Nicola Sturgess had made it clear that the Clouded Map was unattainable.
Mallory had already been to almost every witchery store in Coldstream during the past few days and she’d asked almost everyone she could think of.
Perhaps it was time to think outside the box.
They had to find a bellarmine jug from somewhere.
If Chester Longchamps couldn’t locate one soon, she would have to try even harder.
Almost on cue, Boris pushed open the door and squinted at her. ‘I’ve done what you asked and visited the vampire. Don’t make me go there again.’
‘Was it awful?’
The corners of his mouth turned down. ‘Horrendous – although he did sign his contract.’
Something about his tone of voice gave her pause and her heart sank. ‘Did he read it?’
The spriggan snorted. ‘No.’
Centuries old and yet mince for brains. Mallory grimaced. Doubtless the vampire’s lack of care would cause problems later, but she’d worry about that if and when it became an issue. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had over-confident clients who under-estimated what they were getting into.
‘If you don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, you’ll be late,’ Boris warned, re-focusing her attention. ‘And I doubt that MacTire will be as relaxed about your spurious timekeeping as Kit McCafferty was.’
True. Mallory sighed.
‘I’m on my way,’ she said. She smoothed down her patchwork dress. Its style remained decidedly bohemian but it was definitely more tight fitting than she was used to. She wriggled uncomfortably.
‘Don’t twitch,’ Boris told her. ‘It makes you look like a squashed caterpillar if you move around like that. Stand up straight and act normal.’
Mallory plucked at the corset strings. ‘Easy for you to say,’ she told him.
The spriggan’s expression didn’t alter. ‘You look beautiful when you’re not writhing around. Every eye will be on you.’
She pursed her lips. ‘I don’t want every eye to be on me. I’m not the focus, Alexander MacTire is.’
Boris allowed himself a fleeting smirk. ‘Oh,’ he said with an airy wave, ‘I expect every eye will be on him too.’
As long as MacTire’s eyes were on the three women she’d picked out as potential mates for him, she’d be happy. She grunted at Boris, picked up her bag and headed for the door.
There were no grubby trainers in evidence tonight, it was heels all the way.
Thankfully this particular pair were comfortable, even if they did make her feel as if she were towering over Boris.
She lifted her chin and did her best to take his advice not to fidget.
‘With any luck,’ she said, ‘Alexander will agree with one of my choices and I won’t have to go to the Wolf Ball with him. ’
‘If you believe that then you’re far more of a fool than I realised.’
She grinned. ‘There’s nothing foolish about optimism.’
He sniffed. ‘I beg to differ. And there’s no way Alexander is an optimist.’
‘If he weren’t an optimist, he wouldn’t have asked for my help in the first place. This is going to be a great night!’
This time Boris only stared at her.
The perhaps-less-than-optimistic man in question was already in front of the Tweed Hall, his head bowed in conversation with a female druid whose swirling blue facial tattoos indicated she was highly placed within her community.
Of course, not every guest attending the Imbolc party was a druid, and only one of the three women whom Mallory had selected was of druid origins.
Unfortunately, the woman who was smiling at Alexander wasn’t one of them.
Mallory waved off Boris and strolled up to them.
She was still twenty feet away when Alexander’s head jerked upwards and his nostrils flared as he scented her approach.
She raised a hand, still feeling positive about the party.
He was here, he was dressed to the nines in a sharp suit and he was making conversation with a woman.
This was, Mallory decided, a very good start.
He smiled at her as she drew close and his already handsome face turned into a devastatingly attractive one. Mallory tightened her toes. ‘Hello!’ she exclaimed. ‘You look fabulous!’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You look wonderful too, Mallory. That dress suits you.’
‘It’s a bit tight,’ she confided. ‘Boris kept telling me off for wiggling.’
Something flared in his amber eyes. ‘If you want to wiggle, sweetheart, you wiggle.’
‘Maybe later you can wiggle on the dancefloor,’ the druid said. She smiled in greeting. ‘I’m Alorine. Thank you for attending our little soirée. I hear you’re responsible for dragging Mr MacTire here. It’s a boon for us to have a werewolf of his standing in attendance.’
‘It’s a boon for me to attend,’ Alexander said without missing a beat.
Mallory nodded approvingly. That was suave; more of that, and this evening would be a great success. ‘Thank you for opening your doors to the likes of us.’
‘Imbolc is an important time of year, a time of renewal and celebration.’ Alorine held out a basket. ‘Take a crocus flower. Not only is it a symbol of spring, it also represents love.’
Mallory couldn’t help emitting a trill of delight. ‘Absolutely perfect!’ She reached into the basket and plucked out two flowers, tucking one behind her ear and handing the other to Alexander. ‘You’ll want this,’ she said.
His fingers brushed against hers as he took the small purple crocus. He eyed it dubiously and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. Mallory beamed. ‘Put it in your buttonhole. It’ll look great.’
Alorine nodded. ‘It will. Enjoy your evening. Do come find me if you need anything.’ She moved away, leaving Alexander still awkwardly holding the flower.
‘Here.’ He thrust it at Mallory. ‘You do it. I’m too clumsy.’
‘I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you afraid to get too close to me?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she chided. She took the crocus and leaned towards his broad chest, fumbling until she found his buttonhole and threaded the stem through it.
‘I think it’s squint,’ he said.
Mallory fiddled with it some more, her heels wobbling slightly on the uneven cobblestones. Alexander’s hands reached for her waist. ‘Steady,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve got you.’
She suddenly became very aware of him. His hands seemed to burn through the fabric of her tight dress and sear the skin beneath.
He smelled of cinnamon and spice. She coughed awkwardly and stepped back, using the excuse of admiring the flower to compose herself.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Now you’ll blend right in. ’
Alexander gazed at her. ‘Just what I always wanted, to blend in and be like everyone else.’
She thumped him lightly on his arm. ‘Don’t be snarky.’
‘Don’t be violent.’
Mallory rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah.’ She gestured towards the door. ‘Let’s go inside, get a drink and then we can talk game plan.’
He bowed. ‘As you command, my lady.’
When he held out his arm, Mallory shook her head. ‘No, we don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. A foot apart at all times. Nobody should think that we’re a couple.’
‘Heaven forbid. Very well.’ But he drifted closer and by the time they entered the hall he was only a few inches from her side.
A tuxedoed waiter approached them holding aloft a silver tray of wine glasses. Alexander handed one to Mallory. She took a sip and immediately made a face.
‘Not good?’ he asked.
‘It’s a little … tart.’
He raised it to his lips, swallowed a mouthful – and choked. ‘If the wine is anything to go by, this evening will be a bust.’
‘It’s a good thing the wine is terrible,’ Mallory told him decisively. ‘You need a clear head. I have high hopes for this party.’
He eyed her. ‘I thought this was supposed to be a practice run.’
‘That doesn’t mean you won’t meet Miss Right. And either way, practice makes perfect.’
As she put her wine glass down on a table and glanced around the room, her eyes immediately alighted on her first candidate. Excellent. ‘You see the blonde woman over there in the long red dress?’
He followed her gaze. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s Alicia Van Borgen. She’s a witch – she leads a coven that’s small but definitely up and coming. She’s whip smart, adept at magic and she’s not long out of a relationship.’
‘You mean she’s on the rebound.’
‘I mean,’ Mallory said patiently, ‘that she’s single.’
As if the witch had heard her, she lifted her head and looked in their direction. Her eyes slid over Mallory and settled on Alexander with a very direct, very approving stare. Mallory grinned.
‘Too easy,’ Alexander said as he watched her. ‘She’s already giving me come-hither eyes.’
‘You’re not looking for a one-night stand,’ Mallory reminded him. ‘If that were the case, I’m sure you’d have no difficulty.’
‘Because I’m handsome and charming and, let’s face it, sex on legs?’
Unbelievable. ‘You are not looking for a one-night stand,’ she repeated. ‘You are looking for a life partner.’
‘You didn’t answer my question, Mallory.’
Exasperated, she muttered, ‘Sure. Whatever. You’re handsome, charming and sex on legs.’ She nudged him. ‘Now go and talk to Alicia.’