Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
Mallory smoothed down the front of her uniform and knocked on Old Man Stone-arm’s hotel-room door. ‘Housekeeping!’ she trilled.
The response from beyond the closed door was unequivocal. ‘Piss off!’
She winced then used the skeleton key George had given her to unlock the door and walked in, whistling.
Old Man Stone-arm and his son had the same dark eyes, the same arching, bushy eyebrows and the same overhanging forehead that was so typical of ogres.
Although he was sitting down in a chair by the window with a copy of the Coldstream Courier in his hands, Mallory could tell that he was also vertically-challenged.
That must have been difficult for the Stone-arms, but it hadn’t stopped them from achieving success. Far from it.
‘What are you doing in here? I didn’t say you could come in!’ the old man spat.
‘You don’t want fresh towels?
‘No!’
‘Would you like me to empty your bins?’
‘No! Fuck off!’
‘Do you need the fridge replenished?’
‘How many times do I need to tell you to leave?’
She smiled professionally. ‘How about your bed, sir?’ She glanced at the perfectly smooth bedsheets and plumped-up pillows. ‘Shall I make it up for you?’
‘It’s made up, you stupid girl! Housekeeping has already been here today so I don’t know why…’ His voice faltered and he stared at her. ‘Who are you?’ he whispered. ‘You’re not housekeeping, are you?’
‘Nope,’ Mallory said cheerfully.
His skin paled as he put down the newspaper and rose from the chair. He might be elderly but the muscles on his arms and neck, not to mention the fire in his eyes, suggested he was still a long way from his grave. ‘You’re from EEL,’ he breathed.
It was interesting that his first assumption was that she was an assassin. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not here to hurt you, Mr Stone-arm.’
He clearly didn’t believe her – and that was good. If he thought she was a highly trained killer, he might be less likely to attack her. Unfortunately, no sooner had that thought occurred to her than he lunged, grabbed her upper arms and squeezed hard.
‘Then why the fuck are you here?’ he snarled, releasing a cloud of stale coffee breath. ‘What do you want?’
Mallory winced; he really was hurting her. ‘I’m here on business, on behalf of a coven of local witches.’
Old Man Stone-arm immediately released her, threw back his head and cackled. ‘The Pitcairns, I presume?’
Mallory did her best to look shocked. ‘Oh no, definitely not them.’
He gazed at her; he was interested now, though but he was trying hard not to show it.
‘The witches I represent have a far grander lineage than the Pitcairns – more money, better connections and far greater magic.’
‘Who?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
This time Old Man Stone-arm reached for her throat though he didn’t squeeze it. His touch was feather light but his intention was very clear. ‘I could make you tell me.’
Mallory tightened her toes. ‘You could try, but I did tell you that my clients are powerful.’
‘They’ve put a gagging spell on you?’ His eyes widened.
Mallory neither confirmed nor denied it. That was the thing about gagging spells: if one was placed on you, you couldn’t talk about it. She continued gazing at the ogre and waited for him to remove his hand from around her neck.
Thankfully, he did. ‘Very well,’ he sniffed. ‘What do this coven want?’
‘It’s quite simple. They want you to keep the restrictive covenant in place to prevent the Pitcairns from growing their own magical plants and herbs – and they’re prepared to pay you for doing so.’
Suddenly the old ogre laughed. ‘Ha! There’s no honour amongst witches! This coven of yours doesn’t want any competition, does it? They want all the power for themselves.’
‘I’m not a witch, and I can’t speak for their motives.’ Mostly because they don’t exist, she added silently to herself.
Old Man Stone-arm barely heard her. ‘Witches are all the same – grubby, money-grabbing bastards who only care about themselves. The Witches Council likes to pretend otherwise but I know the truth.’ He paused.
‘Is it the Council that you represent?’ He licked his lips.
‘That would be quite the thing,’ he breathed.
Mallory stayed silent.
‘How much?’ he demanded. ‘How much are they willing to pay for me to maintain the Pitcairn covenant?’
‘They’ll give the money to your son since he is head of the Association, not to you.’
The ogre grinned maliciously. ‘There’s a reason why you’re here talking to me and not my little Dickie. He pretends he’s in charge but everyone knows I’m still holding the reins. The money will come to me in the end.’
No wonder Richard Stone-arm had reacted so strongly when Mallory had called him a dick; it was the same word his father used against him. She felt a sudden sympathy for the younger ogre – then she pursed her lips and shrugged. ‘That’s not for me to say. I’m simply doing as I’m told.’
‘You’re the errand girl,’ he sneered. ‘Very well. Tell me, little girl, how much will they pay?’
Vanessa Pitcairn had already offered him twenty grand so Mallory doubled it. ‘Forty thousand pounds,’ she said. ‘Forty thousand pounds to do absolutely nothing at all. It’s the easiest pay cheque you’ll ever get.’
Old Man Stone-arm’s eyes gleamed. ‘That’s a lot of money.’ He stroked his chin. ‘The Witches Council is definitely behind this. They don’t want any of the covens to succeed, especially the older ones like the Pitcairns.’ He met Mallory’s eyes. ‘No deal.’
She flinched slightly. ‘Fifty thousand.’
He leered at her. ‘No.’
‘How much then, Mr Stone-arm? What will it take?’
‘There is no amount of money in the world that will tempt me to deal with the Witches Council! You can scurry back and tell them that I’ll call the Pitcairn coven. As of this moment, the restrictive covenant on them is null and void.’
And with that, the old ogre laughed and laughed and laughed.
Manipulating people wasn’t Mallory’s preferred way of doing business; experience had taught her that being upfront and honest was by far the best way to proceed.
However, sometimes it was important to adapt to particular clients and she didn’t feel bad about twisting Old Man Stone-arm into doing what she wanted.
Quite the opposite. And it was clear from High Priestess Vanessa Pitcairn’s face when she opened her front door that the witch felt the same.
‘I don’t know what you did or how you did it, but you’ve worked a miracle.
’ Unexpectedly the witch drew her into a hug.
‘A bloody amazing miracle,’ she whispered.
She pulled back. ‘Richard Stone-arm phoned me less than an hour ago. The Association’s solicitor is already preparing the paperwork and the restrictive covenant will be removed by the weekend. ’
Mallory smiled happily. ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘How did you do it? We’ve tried everything over the years – everything – and yet it’s only taken you a few days. Are you sure you’re just a squib?’
‘You don’t need magic to be powerful.’
‘Clearly.’ Vanessa gazed at her, still baffled as to how Mallory had achieved the seemingly impossible outcome the Pitcairn witches had always wanted.
Mallory took pity on her. ‘It was quite straightforward. The problem wasn’t Richard Stone-arm – in fact I suspect that he’s very happy at the final outcome because it’ll make his life easier.
He told me that he likes you. It was his father, Old Man Stone-arm, who was causing the problems. Unfortunately he doesn’t like witches very much, any witches, although the Witches Council is at the top of his list. Neither does he like being told what to do.
Or rather,’ she amended, ‘what not to do. I simply played on those aspects of his personality.’
‘I can’t say I understand, but I’m definitely grateful,’ Vanessa told her. ‘This will change everything for us. It’s only a few plants and herbs to you, but to us it’s our entire livelihood. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘All I need is what we agreed upon.’
Vanessa nodded. ‘The bellarmine jug is on its way. Give me your address and I’ll come by your place with it on Sunday morning.’
Mallory held her breath. ‘Really? An original jug?’
‘Yes.’
‘Without anything inside it?’
‘Yes.’
Mallory wanted to be absolutely sure. ‘That I can borrow until after August?’
Vanessa smiled. ‘That you can keep. It’s the very least I can do. I’ve pulled a few favours – something you will approve of. You will own the jug forever.’
Mallory exhaled; this was more than she’d expected. Given how difficult it had been to get hold of the darned jug, it would be good to keep hold of it once Chester Longchamps had finished with it. It might well come in handy in the future. ‘Thank you,’ she said whole-heartedly.
The High Priestess shook her head. ‘No. Thank you. You are truly a wonderful woman.’
‘Alexander MacTire deserves a wonderful woman, or so you keep telling me.’ Boris jabbed at the first picture he’d pinned up on the wall. ‘She,’ he declared, ‘is wonderful and almost perfect for him.’
Mallory frowned at the photograph. ‘I’m not so sure.’
‘She’s his type physically.’
She was already shaking her head. ‘I’ve established that looks aren’t what turns Alexander on.’
‘Bullshit. If he says that, he’s lying.’
‘It might be what draws his attention to someone but looks won’t keep his attention. Remember, we’re looking for someone who will be with him for life. He wants a mate, someone who’ll be by his side as he leads the MacTires into the future. This has to be about more than looks.’
‘Mallory,’ the spriggan said patiently, ‘we’ve been through the guest list several times and we’ve researched every available woman.
These are the top five and you know it.’ He pointed again at the first photograph.
‘Isadora Jones has to be number one. She’s intelligent, ambitious, kind and beautiful. ’
Mallory picked up the first page of guest names; there was a star next to Isadora’s. ‘Alexander has dated her before.’
Suddenly Boris looked smug. ‘I looked into that. They dated for a couple of weeks more than ten years ago. They’re different people now, more mature. They know what they want whereas before they were young, na?ve and easily confused.’
As Mallory stared at the picture of the stunning blonde werewolf, she had to admit that she’d be a good match for Alexander. On paper, anyway. She sighed. ‘Fine.’
‘Fine? Is that all you can say?’ He eyed her suspiciously. ‘Don’t you want him to succeed?’
‘Of course I do.’
Boris raised an eyebrow.
‘I do!’ Mallory protested. ‘It’s just that this isn’t like navigating grumpy old ogres or managing angry vampires. It’s not locating an object or finding out a scrap of information. It’s somebody’s life – two lives, in fact. I want to get it right, Boris.’
A tiny insistent voice piped up in the back of her mind: You’re lying. You want Alexander MacTire for yourself.
‘Okay. I didn’t mean to suggest anything untoward. I know how seriously you take your contracts.’
‘I’ve thrown my heart and soul into this business,’ Mallory murmured, as much to herself as to Boris. ‘I won’t ever knowingly let a client down, blood contract or not.’
She had to do her best for Alexander MacTire; he wanted to find a woman to be his First Mate and she had to do everything in her power to achieve that – whether it made her heart ache or not.
If she could find a damned bellarmine jug for Chester Longchamps, she could find the perfect partner for Alexander.
‘You’re right,’ she said finally, looking again at the five photos pinned on the wall. ‘Isadora Jones could be the one. I’ll do some more research into her.’
‘Great.’ Boris sounded enthusiastic. ‘By Sunday morning the Wolf Ball will be over and your role will be complete, regardless of the outcome.’
Mallory bit her lip. ‘Great,’ she said, echoing the spriggan. ‘Wonderful.’ She pasted on a bright smile. ‘Absolutely fabulous.’