Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
When she finally got home, the flat felt very quiet and very empty. Mallory might have only been at the MacTire stronghold for a few days but she’d grown used to the hustle and bustle of dozens of werewolves constantly coming and going.
‘It’s good to finally get some peace,’ she said loudly. Her voice echoed around her empty living room. She wrinkled her nose and started flicking through the letters and notes that had been left at her door.
There were four letters from Chester Longchamps, which was quite a feat given that she’d only been away for three days.
She sighed; no prizes for guessing what he wanted.
She supposed she ought to show willing either way and read them.
He was an important client and his favour was definitely a work in progress.
The first letter was a rolled-up scroll sealed with scarlet wax. Mallory thumbed it open to reveal headed notepaper with Longchamps’ name and address. As she read the looping, handwritten script, she noted with grim amusement that he styled himself as ‘lord’.
Dearest Mallory,
I trust this finds you in good health and warm spirits.
I assume that you are not at home as you are out seeking a bellarmine jug. I would very much appreciate it if you could keep me updated daily on the search. I have full faith in your capabilities and I expect you will locate a bellarmine jug for me by the end of the week.
Kindest regards,
Lord Chester Longchamps
Mallory pursed her lips. Although the message was pointed, his language was polite and there was no indication of the rage he’d directed at her during their last meeting. She reached for the second letter, which was in a normal envelope albeit addressed in the same handwriting using the same ink.
Dear Mallory,
I am concerned that you have not been in touch with me as agreed. Update me ASAP on your search for a bellarmine jug.
Regards,
Chester Longchamps
Mallory glanced at the date at the top of the page: he’d left it two days earlier. Uh-oh. With a sense of foreboding, she picked up the third note. It wasn’t in an envelope; in fact, it was nothing more than a folded piece of paper. The ink was also different.
As she squinted at it, she realised he’d scrawled his words in blood. For goodness’ sake. The idiot vampire was making a point – and it wasn’t a particularly subtle one.
Mallory,
What is happening? Where is my jug?
Chester
She already had an inkling what the fourth letter would say and the smart move would have been to discard it without reading it, but unfortunately Mallory wasn’t always smart. She picked up the scrap of crumpled paper and tried to decipher the barely legible handwriting.
Where the fuck are you? And where the fuck is my fucking jug? If you don’t come up with the goods as promised within the next twenty-four hours, I will gut you and feed your roasted entrails to my thralls.
He hadn’t bothered signing his name at the bottom.
She stacked the four letters, put them on her coffee table and gazed at them for a long moment, then shook her head, got to her feet and started to prepare.
The magicked blood on the stone steps leading to Longchamps’ front door continued to glisten and sparkle in the moonlight. Mallory avoided it and marched down, raising her fist to knock loudly against the door.
It wasn’t long before the iron grate in the door’s centre rattled and the face of the same thrall as on her first visit peered out at her. Strange shadows covered his cheekbone and his frown was heavier than usual. ‘It’s you,’ he muttered. ‘He’s not expecting you.’
She gave him her sunniest smile. ‘Hi, Eric!’ It wasn’t his fault she was here; he wasn’t the one who’d ruined her quiet night at home. ‘I bet he’ll see me if you tell him I’m here.’ She made a point of adjusting her backpack; she’d ensured it was bulging and heavy before she’d left home.
Eric glanced at it and then at her. ‘You’ve found one,’ he breathed and his expression transformed. ‘Thank goodness. Another day and I’m not sure we’d have made it.’
Mallory’s brow creased with confusion, but when he opened the heavy door and she saw more of his face it was clear that the ‘shadows’ were actually purple bruises that curled around one eye and reached down his cheekbone.
‘Wait in your usual spot,’ he told her. ‘I’ll tell Lord Longchamps you’re here.’
She had barely sat down on the uncomfortable wooden bench when the Cursed Portrait started its refrain. ‘You’re going to die.’ She glowered at it. ‘He hates you now and he’ll make sure you suffer. You’ll wish you’d never come here. You’ll wish you were never born. You…’
‘Shut up,’ she said loudly and distinctly.
The Cursed Portrait cackled.
Mallory reached into her pocket and pulled out the Zippo lighter she’d picked up before leaving her flat. She flicked it open, thumbed it and gazed at the small flame. ‘“Though she be but little”,’ she whispered, ‘“she is fierce.”’
The painting didn’t say a word. Mallory raised her hand – and the burning flame –in its direction. ‘What did you just say? I didn’t quite catch it.’
From the confines of the frame, the painted figure blanched and started to cower. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You definitely did. Go on.’ She smiled. ‘What was it?’
‘Sorry,’ the Cursed Portrait mumbled. ‘I said sorry.’
‘That’s what I thought you said. Thank you. Apology accepted.’ The lighter clicked as she closed it.
‘Lord Longchamps will see you now,’ Eric declared.
Mallory rose smoothly to her feet. ‘Great. No need for you to escort me.’ She patted him on the shoulder. ‘I know the way.’
A wide smile was plastered across Chester Longchamps’ face when she walked into his drawing room. He extended his arms as if to embrace her but she was careful to maintain a distance between them.
‘Mallory Nash! You came through! I had no doubt that you would succeed. You are truly fabulous! You are magnificent! I will sing your praises to anyone who wishes to hear them because, squib or not, you are truly magical!’
She didn’t say a word, just swung the backpack off her shoulder and let it fall to the ground with a thud.
Longchamps winced dramatically. ‘Don’t break the damned thing!
We need it!’ He darted forward, picked up the bag and ripped open the zip.
In a second his expression altered dramatically.
‘What is this shit?’ He turned the bag upside down and a large bottle of water, a wrapped sandwich, an apple and a large envelope fell onto the floor.
‘I keep getting told off for not eating properly,’ Mallory said cheerfully, ‘I thought it would be wise to bring some snacks so if I get peckish I can nibble on some food and satisfy my hunger.’
Longchamps was growing paler; much more of this and he’d be whiter than the envelope lying at his feet. ‘Where is my jug?’ He stepped towards her. ‘Where is my fucking bellarmine jug?’
‘I haven’t found one yet,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Have you?’
The vampire roared, ‘No! That’s your job! You have to find one!’ He opened his mouth and displayed his sharp fangs. ‘If you do not come up with the goods and fulfil the terms of our contract…’
Mallory cleared her throat. ‘About that. You did read the contract before you placed your blood on the dotted line, didn’t you?’
Longchamps faltered and stared at her.
She sighed. ‘I told you to read it before signing – any sensible person would have read it. But my assistant, Boris, seems to think that you didn’t and your attitude reinforces his suspicions.’ She curled her toes together and held her breath.
‘Of course I fucking read it!’
‘Then what’s the problem?’ She bent down and picked up the envelope.
‘You have your own copy but this one is mine – I brought it along just in case.’ She drew out the single sheet of paper.
It was short for a reason: the less complicated and lengthy a blood contract, the less chance there was for confusion and confrontations like this one.
‘Clause three,’ she said.
Longchamps snatched the paper out of her hands and his eyes widened as he scanned it: Mallory Nash will make every attempt to locate the necessary equipment required to transport and use the Clouded Map so that it is not damaged.
She will not be held liable if such equipment cannot be found.
In such an eventuality, this contract will be rendered null and void.
His face twisted into an ugly snarl. ‘It doesn’t say that in my version.’
‘They are exact copies. I’m happy to wait while you check.’
He glared at her then marched stiffly to the door, yanked it open and shouted for the thrall.
‘I would also like to draw your attention to clause six at the bottom of the page,’ Mallory went on. ‘It’s a boiler-plate section that I include in every contract.’
Longchamps’ hands tightened as he looked at the sheet of paper again then he read out loud, ‘“Threats of violence from either party are not acceptable and are subject to penalties. Any violence incurred is subject to the mirrored enchantments bound up in this paper.”’
‘In other words,’ Mallory said, as the thrall appeared with Longchamps’ copy of the contract, ‘anything you do to hurt me will be reflected back onto you.’ Many years earlier it had cost her a great deal to invoke that particular contract witchery but this wasn’t the first time she’d been glad she’d gone to such expense.
Unfortunately, sometimes it was necessary.
She waited patiently as Chester compared his version of the contract with hers. ‘You bitch,’ he hissed. ‘You tricked me from the beginning. This entire thing was a scam designed to take advantage of me while I was vulnerable.’
‘I assure you that’s not the case. As far as I am concerned, our contract remains in place and I will continue to search for a bellarmine jug.
My intention is not to antagonise you but to clarify the situation – I still believe I can find a jug that will enable you to use the Clouded Map. I’m not giving up.’
She smiled at him to emphasise the truth of her words then hardened her voice.
‘But I didn’t trick you. The contract protects both of us and those clauses are there for a reason.
They were not hidden from you.’ She drew breath.
‘If you are still unhappy, we can come to an agreement and end our business now without consequence.’
Chester Longchamps’ cold eyes sparked with malevolence; this was a very different person to the one she’d met during their first meeting.
Mallory wasn’t surprised, but she hoped he’d see sense; despite his aggression he was her client and she would rather see the contract through to completion. She was, after all, a professional.
She waited; it took a moment a two but eventually he calmed down. ‘There is no chance of obtaining the Clouded Map without a bellarmine jug?’ he asked.
‘None. Once the map leaves the controlled environment where it’s currently stored, it won’t survive without the jug’s protection. Even the best preservation spell will only last a few minutes and the map is simply too delicate.’
His tone was cool but even as he asked, ‘And you truly believe you can find a bellarmine jug?’
‘I do. I’m aware that time is an issue and the Clouded Map must be returned to the Witches Council by August, and I am also aware that there are very few unused bellarmine jugs in existence.
Even so, I think I can find one. I wouldn’t have agreed to this contract if I hadn’t believed it was possible.
’ She met his eyes. ‘We can set a time limit, if you wish. Perhaps four weeks from today?’
It was Longchamps who looked away first. ‘That is acceptable to me.’
‘Good. I’m glad that we’ve ironed out our differences,’ she said amiably. ‘I can see that this was nothing more than a misunderstanding.’
He grunted, but he got it.
‘All that remains are the threats of violence that you sent me,’ she went on and Longchamps’ head jerked up. ‘I am willing to let them pass if there are no more and…’
‘Done!’ he barked.
She wasn’t finished. ‘And you give me your word that you will inflict no more violence on your staff. Especially Eric.’
Longchamps looked at her blankly; he clearly had no idea what she was referring to.
Mallory sighed and indicated the poor, bruised thrall who was still hovering in the doorway. ‘Him?’ Longchamps appeared genuinely astonished. ‘But he’s just a thrall. Why would you care about him? He’s nothing.’
Eric winced and dropped his head.
‘He’s a loyal servant who deserves your respect and your protection,’ Mallory replied.
Baffled, Longchamps nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Whatever.’
‘I need your spoken vow.’
‘You ask a great deal for someone who’s nothing more than a pathetic squib,’ he snapped.
When Mallory didn’t respond, he huffed and folded his arms. ‘Fine. I give you my vow that I won’t hurt any members of my own staff.’
‘Great.’ She scooped up the bag and started replacing the items inside it.
‘I’ll tell you as soon as I find a bellarmine jug, otherwise I’ll provide a report every Friday morning so that you are apprised of my progress.
’ It was more than she was required to do but she understood that Longchamps was desperate and communication was essential.
‘Good,’ he said shortly. Mallory glanced at him. ‘Thank you,’ he added with considerable reluctance.
‘You’re welcome.’ She smiled. ‘Good night, Mr Longchamps. I’ll see myself out.’