Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
L ess than twenty-four hours passed before they came for him. They were faster than I’d expected, even allowing for the scent-driven skills of werewolf trackers.
I was in the garden pruning the old rosebush that had chosen to bloom all year round and keeping an eye out for She Who Hisses when the first one appeared.
She didn’t attempt to hide. She stalked down the road towards the house and took up position on the other side of the street, leaning against a lamp post and watching my every move. I ignored her. She wasn’t a threat, not yet.
By the time I was gathering the cuttings into a bag, another werewolf had joined her; now two sets of lupine eyes were following me. I ignored the prickling sensation on the back of my neck.
Dave, the old druid who lived in the small house next to my larger property, hobbled out of his front door. He hawked up a ball of phlegm and spat it in their direction before leaning over the rickety fence that separated us. ‘Somebody ought to do something about them,’ he said.
I guessed he wanted me to be that somebody but I wasn’t stupid enough to rise to the bait. ‘Morning, Dave,’ I said cheerfully. ‘How are you today?’
He scowled in response. I didn’t take offence: the deeper the scowl, the stronger Dave’s affection. As an ex-con who’d done serious time for armed robbery, he hadn’t smiled for decades and I suspected those particular facial muscles had atrophied.
‘Several of your wee furry bastards have been shitting in my garden again,’ he said.
‘My apologies for that,’ I offered, although I wasn’t really sorry at all. Cats were going to cat. ‘I’ll pick up a repellent spell at the market later today.’ A spell would be enough to keep them off his patch; it was a small price to pay for a quiet life.
As if on cue, He Who Crunches Bird Bones appeared through a gap in the fence on the other side of Dave’s garden. He raised his white head, looked around, then sauntered to the centre of the small lawn and squatted, cat fashion. I met his green eyes for a moment before returning my attention to Dave. ‘Is there anything else I can pick up for you while I’m out?’
‘Wolfsbane,’ he grunted.
‘That’s illegal,’ I said. As he well knew.
‘And?’ Dave looked again at the two werewolves across the road. ‘Trilby usually has some under the counter.’
Trilby sold everything under the counter, but I had a werewolf tenant so wolfsbane would not be a solution. I patted Dave’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure those two won’t hang around for long.’
His lip curled. ‘Not if they know what’s good for ’em.’
I wouldn’t disagree with him on that point. I waved a brief farewell and returned my attention to my rosebush. There was a hedge witch at the market who’d take the cuttings off my hands and give me a few quid in return. I didn’t care about the money but it was useful to remain on good terms with everyone in the community .
I tied the bag carefully. When I glanced back up, the two werewolves had vanished. A second later, I knew why.
‘I slept in,’ Nick said, with an abashed expression as he wandered outside. ‘It’s later than I thought.’ He shielded his eyes against the sun. ‘Thanks for the breakfast. You didn’t have to do that.’
I’d left some orange juice and cereal outside his door. A lot of cereal – he was a teenage werewolf, after all, and he could probably eat a horse for breakfast. As Mrs Jones down the street kept a couple of Shetland ponies in her garden, it seemed wise to pre-empt any more neighbourly disputes. Given Nick’s upbringing in the confines of normal human society in Glasgow, the ponies were probably safe but I didn’t want to chance it.
‘You’re welcome,’ I said. ‘You’ve not had the chance to go shopping yet so I figured breakfast was the least I could do.’
He coughed delicately, which was out of odds with his personality. ‘I am not very, uh, adept at cooking.’ He ran a discomfited finger under his collar.
Nick was going to have to learn to be more direct. ‘You’d like to borrow a cookbook?’ I asked. ‘I have several. You’re very welcome to them.’
‘No, I, uh, I…’
We could be here all day. I took pity on him. ‘You’d like me to cook for you as well providing a roof over your head?’
His relief was palpable. ‘Yes! I’ll give you extra money. And I’m not fussy, I’ll eat anything.’
‘Even cats?’ I asked.
He laughed nervously but at least he’d realised I was joking. ‘Anything.’
It wouldn’t be hard to cook larger portions, and cooking for one was always a depressing prospect. ‘We can come to some sort of arrangement.’ I waggled my fingers at him. ‘But that will include cooking lessons. You have to learn how to feed yourself.’
He nodded happily. ‘Thank you.’ He beamed. ‘You’re not that bad for an old lady.’
I choked. I was forty-one.
The breeze shifted and the few rose petals I’d not managed to bag skittered across the garden. Nick’s brow furrowed, his head jerked up and his nostrils flared as, somewhat belatedly, he caught the scent of the two werewolves.
So he wasn’t a natural tracker. All werewolves possessed scent-tracking abilities but some were more adept than others and Nick clearly didn’t fall into the adept category. I filed that information away and watched as he scanned the empty street with roving, restless eyes.
‘Is something wrong?’ I asked casually.
He didn’t hear me so I repeated the question more loudly. This time it registered. His expression cleared as the breeze died down and he lost the scent. He shook his head, his shaggy hair flapping. ‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘S’all good. I’m going to head out, if that’s okay. I want to start looking for work.’
He didn’t need my permission but I nodded anyway. ‘Good luck.’
The moment he’d disappeared around the corner, the two watchers returned. Now I understood their game and I also understood why Nick had ended up in the dodgy part of Coldstream instead of one of the better neighbourhoods. He had enough cash to pay for a decent place but I reckoned that his uncle’s pack were intimidating landlords to ensure wee Nick had nowhere to go. They wanted to back him into a corner so he felt he had no choice but to return to the furry fold of his family. They didn’t want him to know they were interfering and they were giving him the illusion of choice; that meant those two were here for me, not Nick .
They’d start with a little intimidation, escalate to bribery then resort to violence if they didn’t get their way. I sighed; I’d suspected it would come to this. I only had myself to blame for getting involved and letting Nick stay. I should have known better.
He Who Crunches Bird Bones abandoned Dave’s garden for mine. As he wandered over his tail flicked from side to side to project his annoyance, then he blinked at me and gave a small, questioning miaow.
‘You’re pretty tough,’ I told him. ‘But you’re no match for those two.’
His tail flicked harder.
‘I mean it. Leave them to me. They won’t hang around for long.’
He Who Crunches Bird Bones glared at me and I glared back. His fur bristled then he stalked away in a huff.
I mentally revised my day’s schedule. There was a confrontation looming. If I wanted to avoid any of the five cats who lived with me getting involved, I ought to take control of the situation. It was time to vamoose.
I set off for the riverside market, my shopping bag slung over one shoulder and my bag of rosebush cuttings in my opposite hand. I’d barely taken three steps when the two werewolves peeled away from their side of the road and started to follow me. I reckoned that they’d accost me directly by the time I reached the McBarry house on the corner.
I lost my own bet; I’d gone less than twenty metres when I heard the trundling footsteps of an approaching wirry cow. I grimaced; with the events of the morning, I’d forgotten what day it was.
I spun on my heels and narrowly avoided colliding with the female werewolf, who was closer than I’d realised. Her expression was one of blank astonishment as, for a moment, she obviously thought I was about to engage in a fist fight right there on the pavement. Instead, I gave her a rueful smile.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Bin day!’ I darted past her and her companion and rushed back home to haul out my rubbish bin and deposit it at my front gate.
I didn’t really need to run: this particular wirry cow was old and she took her time lurching from house to house, but I wanted to get my rubbish out before the werewolves thought to stop me. It would be a pain in the arse if it piled up for another week. There were enough rats in this part of town as it was, and I didn’t want to deal with the cats dragging any more small grey corpses into the house than was absolutely necessary.
I was slightly out of breath by the time I was done. As I passed the werewolves for a second time, they watched my progress with narrowed eyes. The wirry cow was already at the next house, chewing noisily on some broken glass while pawing through the remainder of the rubbish with a hungry eye.
Wirry cows could – and would – digest practically everything except plastic. It was for that reason very few plastic items were found in Coldstream. Naturally some plastic did appear, often left by visitors or newcomers like Nick, and it was astonishing what floated in via the River Tweed, but it was rare to purchase anything made of plastic within the city limits.
People used to complain about that, even though there was no way that a normal bin lorry could ever navigate most of Coldstream’s narrow, winding streets, but nowadays most folk were proud about the absence of plastic. Various dignitaries from the less magically endowed parts of the country often visited hoping to learn some environmentally friendly tips that they could take back to their own communities. Like the rest of us Preternaturals, however, wirry cows preferred to live near the magic bound into Coldstream’s earth. They’d never leave.
‘Hi, Maggie,’ I said as I passed her.
She stopped chewing long enough to snuffle at me, and I reached up and stroked her long nose. She shivered in delight before gently nudging me out of the way. Maggie had priorities and if I wasn’t food, I wasn’t one of them.
Patting her rump, I sidled past her and Maggie obliged by moving sideways until the road was completely blocked by her massive furry body. The werewolves would be trapped behind her for several minutes, which was good news. Although our confrontation was inevitable, it would be nice if I could get my shopping done before any blood was spilled.
I started to whistle and picked up my pace; if my luck held, there would still be some fresh morning loaves for sale.