Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
Late the following morning, Mallory sat cross-legged on her sofa frowning and muttering as she flipped through the pages of her notebook for the umpteenth time, searching for someone who might own a bellarmine jug that they’d be willing to lend out.
It was starting to feel like a needle-in-a-haystack situation and she was very aware that she was fumbling. To be successful, she needed a more focussed approach: wandering around Coldstream asking random strangers if they could help was unlikely to produce results.
Distasteful as Chester Longchamps might be, she wasn’t going to give up. Nothing was impossible as far as Mallory was concerned and she certainly wasn’t about to admit defeat; such a scenario was a very long way off.
‘Strategy,’ she said aloud. ‘It’s all about strategy.’
None of the witchery stores had any bellarmine jugs in stock.
Mallory had visited every single one of them, even the small outfits on the fringes of the city, and she had the blisters to prove it.
Despite her lack of success with commercial stores, she reckoned that witches were still her best bet.
They had invented the jugs and bound special magics into the pottery process; that might be a lost art form in these modern times, but it stood to reason that it was a witch who could help her now.
Over the years Mallory had dealt with many of Coldstream’s covens.
While the smart choice would definitely be one of the covens that had been around for generations, she didn’t think that approaching a wealthy or large coven was a good idea.
Wealthy covens rarely needed her services and probably kept their important and precious documents sealed up in bellarmine jugs, so they’d have none to spare.
Large covens might have the odd empty jug but wouldn’t necessarily know where they were kept and likely wouldn’t care.
A small, old, cash-poor coven was the way to go.
She scanned most of the handwritten entries in her book before finally dismissing them. It was only when she squinted at her scrawled, sparse entry for the Pitcairn coven that she felt a surge of optimism. They fit the bill perfectly.
Mallory reckoned that a visit to the Pitcairns wouldn’t be a bad way to spend her day, and it might even lead to something useful.
She stood up, collected her bag and headed for the door.
Even if they didn’t own any bellarmine jugs, they might point her in the right direction.
And their street was smack-bang in the centre of a coven-heavy suburb, so if they couldn’t help she could always drop in on a few of their neighbours.
The Bigstones, perhaps, she mused as she pulled her front door open, or the Hammerwells or the—
At the sight of a figure standing on her narrow landing, Mallory gave a high-pitched yelp of surprise.
‘I apologise,’ Alexander MacTire said. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
She blinked at him. ‘More surprised than frightened.’ She’d not heard the stairs creak, the usual indication that she had a visitor. ‘How long have you been standing there?’
To her astonishment, he flushed. ‘Not long.’
She tilted her head, examining his expression. ‘Alexander,’ she asked, ‘are you alright?’
‘I am perfectly fine. However, you asked me to come and tell you how my date with Cathy went.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘So here I am.’
‘I didn’t ask you to come around,’ Mallory said slowly.
‘You did.’
She shook her head. ‘No. You told me you’d come around with an update. I didn’t ask you to.’
He shrugged as if to say it wasn’t important. Mallory supposed he was probably right. ‘Let’s go for lunch,’ he said instead. ‘I’ll fill you in on all the gory details.’
Lunch sounded great but she owed Chester Longchamps’ business her full attention. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to work.’
‘Have you eaten today?’ he asked softly.
She tried to remember. ‘Yes!’ There was a note of misplaced triumph in her voice as she recalled the toast she’d hastily crammed into her mouth while she was working through the lists of witches in her notebook.
‘Really?’
‘I had toast.’
‘With butter and jam?’
‘Uh…’ Actually, she’d eaten it dry; her cupboards were mostly bare.
His amber eyes darkened thoughtfully. ‘No. Not jam. You had it with honey, right?’ Alexander’s tongue briefly dipped out to lick his lips.
‘Sweet, golden honey drizzled from edge to edge, seeping into buttery crevices so that sweetness coats your lips with every bite and,’ he dropped his voice and moved an inch closer, ‘lingers like an intimate sensual kiss.’
He slowly licked his lips a second time and Mallory realised she was staring at his mouth, imagining it coated with honey. Good grief. ‘Have you swallowed a book of poetry this morning?’ she managed.
He flashed a grin. ‘Perhaps I have. Come and have lunch with me and I’ll tell you about last night. I’ll release you to your other clients afterwards.’
Her stomach took that inopportune moment to growl. Loudly. Alexander’s eyebrows rose and she yielded; after all, she did want to know how things had gone with Cathy.
‘Alright, but only one hour. No longer. There’s a café at the corner where the service is fast.’
‘Perfect. I’ll even set a timer,’ he promised. ‘Lead the way.’
He stepped back but the landing was so small that even with his body pressed against the wall it would have been difficult for her to squeeze past him. She considered it then shook her head.
‘I don’t bite,’ he whispered.
Mallory lowered her voice to match his. ‘But maybe I do.’
Alexander winked in delighted response.
They managed to snag a table in the corner and ordered sandwiches from the smiling waitress. ‘Please bring me the bill afterwards,’ Alexander said firmly. ‘I’ll be paying. With money.’
Mallory snickered. ‘You sound like a pompous dick.’
‘I invited you here. I want to pay for the meal.’ He wagged his finger. ‘You have form in places like this.’
The waitress agreed. ‘Yeah, Mal doesn’t usually pay for her food here. She’s got some kind of arrangement with my boss.’ She nodded and moved away to deal with another customer.
Alexander grinned knowingly. ‘I rest my case. Although one must question why you eat so badly when you have so many restaurant owners keen to feed you.’
She sniffed, although in truth he had a point. ‘You still sound like a pompous dick.’
He grimaced. ‘Unfortunately that’s what Cathy West thought.’
Abruptly Mallory realised that she wasn’t dismayed in the slightest, though she did her best to look disappointed while mentally castigating herself.
Cathy was a great fit for Alexander; she was everything he wanted.
And if the date had gone well, Mallory would be freed from all future obligations. Damn it.
‘What happened?’
‘Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. I was the epitome of charm…’
‘And modest with it,’ Mallory muttered.
‘If you’d prefer misplaced modesty, I’m sure I can conjure some up.’
She held up her hands. ‘No, you’re right. Stay as you are.’
He laughed. ‘We chatted. We had lots in common, I made her laugh in the right places and I don’t think I made any terrible faux pas. There was an awkward moment when I spilled some water but it landed on the tablecloth and not on her dress, so I think I got away with it.’
‘And?’ Mallory pressed.
‘At the end of the evening,’ he looked away as if embarrassed, ‘Cathy thanked me for a lovely time and said she didn’t think there was much point in a second date.’
Oh. That wasn’t good. Mallory leaned back in her chair and considered as the waitress returned with their sandwiches.
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘Cathy West isn’t the one but it doesn’t mean we can’t learn from the experience.
You didn’t float her boat, but did she float yours?
You’re usually the one who’s too picky, Alexander. How did you feel about her?’
He picked up his sandwich. ‘I can’t profess sudden undying love, though she seemed nice enough.’
‘Nice enough?’ Mallory whistled. ‘No wonder she wasn’t interested in a second date.’
‘What’s wrong with nice? Cathy was nice. I liked her and I enjoyed her company. She was definitely … nice.’
Mallory took a bite of her sandwich, chewed it thoughtfully then swallowed. ‘Were you attracted to her?’
‘She’s very pretty.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Yeah. I guess I was attracted to her a bit.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Mallory nodded. ‘What was she wearing?’
Alexander stared at her. ‘Is this a test?’
‘Answer the question.’
‘A dress,’ he said. ‘She was wearing a dress.’
‘Long? Short?’
‘Medium.’
‘What colour was it?’
‘Her dress? Does it matter?’
‘Humour me, Alexander.’
He hesitated. ‘I think it was red.’
‘You think?’
‘It was definitely red.’ He still sounded unsure.
‘Was her hair up or down?’
‘Up?’
‘Are you asking me or telling me?’ Mallory asked.
‘It was up. What does it matter?’
‘Was she wearing perfume?’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Mallory…’
‘You’re a werewolf. Perfume is something a werewolf would notice.’
‘In that case, no,’ he replied. ‘She wasn’t.’
‘Definitely?’
‘Probably. I’m not sure.’
Mallory exhaled. ‘You weren’t attracted to her at all.’
‘I’m a man! I don’t notice things like clothes or hair or perfume.’
‘Alexander,’ she said, trying to hold on to her patience, ‘you dress impeccably. How much did that suit cost?’
‘This old thing?’
She gave him a long-suffering look. ‘Even if you weren’t the type of man who cared about clothing, if you’d fancied Cathy you would have paid attention.
At the very least you’d be able to conjure up an image of what she looked like last night.
’ She nodded decisively. ‘But that’s okay. This is something we can work with.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘It is?’
‘Absolutely. There’s a week until the Wolf Ball so that gives us plenty of time.
’ She pursed her lips and tried to estimate when she could spare a few hours away from Chester Longchamps’ problem.
‘Tonight,’ she said eventually. ‘Hirsel Street. Let’s meet at eight o’clock by the fountain in the centre. ’
‘Hirsel Street? I assumed you’d had enough of alcohol and partying after the full moon.’
‘There will be no alcohol whatsoever, not for me or for you.’
‘Why do I have to suffer?’ he asked, with a glint of amusement.
‘You need a clear head and alcohol will impair your judgement. And this certainly isn’t about partying, this is business.’
‘Whatever you say, Mallory.’ He finished his sandwich without further argument and smiled at her. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘that colour suits you.’
‘Huh?’
‘That top, the blue and green suit you. I liked the patchwork dress you had on last week that had similar colours. They match your eyes.’
Mallory stared but before she could gather her thoughts the waitress returned with the bill. ‘I’ll get this,’ Alexander said. ‘You can head off to your other clients.’
Mallory scratched her neck. Then, because she wasn’t sure what else to say or do, she did as he suggested.