Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
It took two more beers and four shots of whisky before Salty was prepared to talk shop.
Mallory had picked up her glass and was gazing at the amber liquid inside it when the druid cleared his throat and gave her a pointed look.
She returned it with a burble of relief.
She enjoyed his company and – if she were honest – the drinks, but at this rate she wouldn’t be able to walk home in a straight line.
‘I’m ready to talk business now,’ he declared. ‘What is it you want?’
Mallory lowered her glass to the table and focused her tipsy eyes on him. ‘I need a bellarmine jug,’ she said, glad that she wasn’t slurring her words.
Salty’s expression didn’t change. ‘I take it you mean a real bellarmine jug, not a knock-off version that we sell to tourists.’
‘Naturally.’
‘A real bellarmine jug designed to transport delicate materials that cannot be exposed to an unmagicked atmosphere for more than a few minutes at a time?’
‘Yep.’
‘An undamaged bellarmine jug?’
‘Yep.’
‘With a sealed, warded stopper?’
‘Yep.’
‘How long do you need it for? Is this a permanent acquisition?’
Mallory felt a surge of hope; by the sounds of it, Salty had one or he knew where she could get one. She shook her head. ‘No. I only need it until the end of August then it will be returned in the same condition.’
‘I see.’ He tapped his mouth thoughtfully.
‘Salty…’
He gave her a wry, almost sad smile. ‘Sorry, Mal.’
Her heart dropped. ‘Come on, Salty.’
‘I really can’t help you. I only know one person with a bellarmine jug and it’s already in use. They won’t be persuaded to hand it over even for a short period.’
She pushed away her glass, annoyed with herself as much as him. If she hadn’t had so much to drink, she’d have realised he was stringing her along. This entire evening had been a waste of time.
Salty understood her expression. ‘You must have known it was a long shot. Hardly anyone has an empty bellarmine jug these days – not ones that work. There’s a chance that some of the renegade covens that choose to live away from Coldstream have one buried away, but they’re unlikely to talk to either me or you.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do and nobody I know who can help. ’
‘If you’d let me ask you when I first got here then…’
‘Then I’d have been denied the pleasure of your company.’ He grinned. ‘C’mon. You’ve enjoyed yourself too.’
Mallory grumbled under her breath.
‘How about another drink to soften the blow?’
‘No. I’m going to head home.’
‘It’s the full moon, Mal. It’s not safe.’
She glanced at her watch: a quarter to eleven.
The streets would be cock-a-hoop with werewolves, but she had wolfsbane in her pockets and she’d be home in ten minutes if she hurried.
She was dimly aware that the alcohol in her system was making her over-confident but she wasn’t the innocent she’d been when she first arrived in Coldstream.
She knew how to handle werewolves now. She was far, far more experienced. ‘I can look after myself.’
‘You’re just a squib,’ he said, as if telling her something she didn’t know.
Mallory sniffed. ‘I can still look after myself.’
‘Stay,’ he urged. ‘I’ll walk you home in the morning before I leave the city.’
‘I am not staying out all night drinking, Salty. I’ve got things to do.’ She wobbled to her feet, wove her way to the door and opened it wide just as three snarling werewolves bounded past.
Mallory watched them thunder towards the end of Hirsel Street while behind them several high-pitched howls filled the street. She closed the door and turned to Salty. ‘Alright,’ she said with heavy reluctance. ‘Maybe I’ll stay.’
He raised his glass. ‘Wise choice.’
Mallory returned to the table and sat down. ‘This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?’
Salty grinned. ‘Don’t be cross. You know you’ll have fun. I’ll make it up to you at some point.’
‘Unless you’ve got a bellarmine jug tucked away in your coat, that’s not going to happen.’
There was a knowing glint in his eye. ‘You know I don’t.’ He leaned forward. ‘But let’s get some more drinks in and if anything comes to mind, or I think of anyone who might help you find a bellarmine jug, I’ll let you know.’
Mallory sighed. At this point, resistance was futile.
Dawn was less than thirty minutes away when Mallory finally stumbled out of Hirsel Street.
Salty had stayed true to his word and declared that he would walk her to her flat but Mallory had declined forcefully and told him to get himself away.
After all, he did have a long-haul flight from Glasgow to catch.
By this hour, most of the werewolves would have found their way back to their homes to sleep off the excesses of the full-moon furry extravaganza.
Although some die-hards might still be enjoying the last hour before they returned to human form, even the most determined would be fading, and energy-sapped werewolves were both easier to avoid and easier to talk to.
Their wilder inclinations would have subsided and their more rational sides would have returned.
Which was just as well because Mallory’s own rational side had all but vanished.
She skipped, swayed and sang, happily belting out several of the songs that the occupants of the druid pub – including the gruff barman – had been singing not too long ago. It might not have been the night she had planned or wanted, but she couldn’t deny that she’d had a fabulous time.
‘Sometimes,’ she mumbled, ‘it’s definitely better to beat ’em when you can’t join ’em.’ She paused. ‘No. That’s not right. It’s better to join ’em when you beat ’em.’ She frowned. ‘If you can’t join ’em then…’
Her voice trailed off. Screw it; it didn’t matter. She launched instead into a belting rendition of ‘I Will Survive’ but she’d barely managed the first few lines when a deep growl from the shadows to her right forced her to stop. ‘Wolfie?’ she asked.
There was another long growl.
‘You should be home in bed by now,’ she admonished. She stumbled slightly, only just managing to regain her balance before she collapsed in a heap on the cobbles. ‘Then again, so should I.’ She waved in the vague direction of the growl and spun around, ready to continue on her way.
Unfortunately it appeared that the wolf had other ideas. As it padded out of the shadows with its massive, furred body facing her head on, Mallory realised that she must be very drunk indeed.
She’d never seen such a huge werewolf before.
Its dark fur was glossy and gold-tipped but that didn’t disguise the powerful muscles that rippled beneath.
Intelligence blazed at her from narrowed golden eyes and, for the briefest second, the wolf pulled back its lips and offered her a brief silent snarl.
‘I’ve got wolfsbane,’ she warned loudly, ‘and I’m not afraid to use it.’ The werewolf huffed. She squinted and put her hands on her hips. ‘Did you just roll your eyes at me?’
It responded by drawing closer and a tingle of anxiety penetrated her drunken haze. The wolf had shown no signs of aggression except for the tiny snarl, but what if it wasn’t alone?
She glanced upwards. The sky was already lightening so it wouldn’t be long before whoever was locked inside those lupine eyes would be forced to become human again for another month.
She wasn’t na?ve enough to think that only creatures on four legs could do her damage – two-legged beasts were often far more dangerous – but shapeshifting took energy.
Even the most powerful werewolves would be tired and need time to recover, time she could use.
Mallory reached into her pocket; it wouldn’t hurt to prove that she really was carrying wolfsbane. Before she could pull it out and wave it, however, the huge werewolf started to circle her. Uh-oh.
Unwilling to have a predator at her back, she spun with it, keeping its sharp teeth in sight.
It wasn’t moving quickly but, given her inebriation, that didn’t matter.
Before they’d both completed a single turn, she was feeling horrendously dizzy.
When they were only halfway through their second spin, she knew with absolute certainty that she was about to either throw up or collapse. ‘Stop,’ she pleaded.
The werewolf tilted its head. She fumbled with the wolfsbane in her pocket and this time managed to grab a handful and pull it out. ‘I’ll throw it,’ she warned. She squared her shoulders and did her best to look threatening. ‘I will. I’ll throw it in your face and…’
The wolf lunged and for a heart-stopping moment, she was certain it would bite her – but all it did was brush the tip of its snout against her closed fist. It may not have been an attack but the surprise was enough to make her to drop the wolfsbane.
Mallory gasped and side-stepped. And the second she did, her foot slipped and she plummeted to the ground.
She braced for the impact but somehow it never happened.
She found herself dangling face down, hovering an inch from the ground.
For one stupid moment, she fancied that she was no longer a mere squib and, through dint of drinking whisky, had discovered magic residing with her that allowed her to fly.
Then she felt the hot breath on the nape of her neck and realised that the werewolf had grabbed her and was holding the collar of her coat in its teeth.
As she twisted, the wolf released her onto the cobbles and she rolled onto her back.
The damned werewolf was straddling her body.
It – no, he – was staring at her with genuine fury.
Her mouth dried. Then the werewolf’s muzzle split and fur melted into skin.
Suddenly she was no longer looking into golden eyes but amber ones.
‘For fuck’s sake, Mallory!’ Alexander MacTire’s handsome face was glaring at her. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Oh, it’s you.’ She blinked at him. ‘I guess I won’t be eaten after all.’
‘Not for lack of trying! You reckless, foolhardy idiot! Not only is it still dark and still the full moon but you’re completely wasted! How much have you had to drink?’
She smiled. ‘Lots,’ she said. ‘Lots and lots of whisky. You know, sexy Lexy, your eyes are the exact shade of a good single malt.’
Alexander stared at her in astonishment. Then Mallory passed out completely.
There were headaches and then there were headaches. Mallory groaned and squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut but it didn’t ease the pounding in her all-too fragile skull.
She knew she only had herself to blame; she also knew that she was far too old for hangovers of this magnitude. She ought to be counting her blessings that she’d made it home safely.
In fact, she couldn’t even remember getting home. She groaned again. ‘You’re an idiot, Mallory,’ she whispered.
‘On that count, we are in perfect agreement,’ Alexander MacTire’s voice said.
Her eyes flew open and she shot upright, clutching the duvet. ‘What are you doing here in my…’ She stopped. Wait. This wasn’t her duvet. It wasn’t her bed. Neither was it her room.
‘You’re in my house,’ he said. ‘I brought you here after you passed out.’
Passed out? She didn’t… Her shoulders sagged. Oh. She looked around. ‘Is this your bedroom?’ she whispered.
‘Don’t be silly. I’ve got plenty of guest rooms, Mallory. And if you think I’m the sort of man who would take advantage of a drunken woman then you’ve learned absolutely nothing about me.’
Actually, she didn’t think he was like that at all but this was an unusual situation. She swallowed and peeked underneath the duvet.
‘I took off your socks and shoes,’ Alexander said, clearly exasperated. ‘Otherwise you’re still fully dressed.’
‘Doesn’t hurt to check,’ she mumbled.
He folded his arms. ‘What would you do if I did try something?’
Her eyes flew to his. Abruptly she had a vision of Alexander MacTire’s mouth on hers, his hands on her breasts, his head then moving… NO. Stop that, Mallory. She coughed. ‘Uh…’
‘That’s right,’ he said, with more than an edge of disdain. ‘You couldn’t have done a damned thing. Do you do anything at all to look after yourself?’
She wished that her head didn’t hurt so much and that he wasn’t glaring at her with such ferocity. ‘Can we talk about this later?’
He didn’t appear to have heard her. ‘The disregard you have for your own wellbeing makes me wonder if you have a death wish. Last night was the full moon! Any number of werewolves could have found you. You might be a squib, but you’ve lived in Coldstream long enough to know that not every wolf is experienced enough to control their beast side after they’ve shape-shifted.
Smart people stay home! You could have been attacked, Mallory. You could have been hurt.’
‘I had wolfsbane with me,’ she told him, feeling uncharacteristically disgruntled.
‘That you were too drunk to use properly! What the fuck were you thinking? You were so out of it that I’ve had to sit here for hours because I was afraid you’d choke on your own vomit.’
That last admission explained a lot, but before Mallory could respond appropriately the mention of vomit roiled her insides. She swallowed hard. It didn’t do any good: nausea had completely overtaken her. ‘Bathroom?’ she managed.
Alexander took one look at her face and understood. ‘Over there,’ he pointed.
She heaved herself from the bed and ran. Her humiliation was now complete.