Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
I suspected it was rare that Alexander MacTire was unsettled. He loosened his tie, stood up and started to pace around the room. My eyes tracked his movements; I was curious about what he’d do next.
To be fair, he’d had good reason to order the hit on his dad, even though it was a highly unusual move to make on your own alpha. Pack leadership didn’t necessarily follow a direct genetic line; typically the most powerful werewolf was chosen to become leader, not the one with the closest family links.
It wasn’t ambition that had caused Alexander MacTire to request a contract on his father. Alexander MacTire’s reasons hadn’t been because he craved a pay rise or a new job description.
While it wasn’t up to me to judge my clients’ choices, I had always been allowed to refuse jobs and there were plenty over the years that I’d turned down. I’d always researched my targets thoroughly, not only to find out why someone wanted them dead but also to ensure I wasn’t being set up. I had trusted my employers at EEL, but everyone makes mistakes and they expected me to double check. I had been one of their best killers for a reason.
To put it mildly, Bruce MacTire had been a bastard. He’d abused his wife – Alexander MacTire’s mother – and the string of women he’d had affairs with over the years; given his horrific treatment, they were lucky they were still alive. He had led his pack with an unerring dogmatism towards war with two of the other powerful werewolf packs in Coldstream and sent several young werewolves to their deaths as a result.
There were numerous allegations of brutality against him, including stories of children he’d hurt. He’d been one of those men who didn’t care who he damaged in his quest to achieve power, and he’d only been interested in that power for power’s sake.
Despite all his faults, however, werewolves were a loyal bunch and it was testament to Alexander MacTire’s strength of character that he’d ordered the hit. Breaking pack loyalty, even when it was justified, was incredibly rare. I’d heard it caused real physical pain. Also, if it ever got out that his own son had ordered their alpha’s death, the rest of the pack would be obliged to take action against Alexander MacTire, whether they wanted or to not. Werewolves were weird that way. No doubt that was why he’d hired EEL instead of killing his father himself.
Alexander MacTire had plenty of reasons to keep me quiet. None of his werewolves cared about me but they would care a great deal if I told them what I knew. If he’d inherited any of his father’s less savoury genes, he would no doubt try to kill me there and now – or at least he’d try to. It would be his safest move.
After pacing the same piece of floor several times, MacTire stopped and turned to face me. ‘EEL pride themselves on their vows of secrecy. If they found out that you’re talking openly about this…’
He went up a notch in my estimation; at least he wasn’t trying to deny his culpability. ‘I’m not talking about it openly, am I? Nobody else is in this room and you already know what you did. I’m breaking no vow and neither shall I.’
He took three strides towards me and got into my face. His breathing was controlled and measured but I knew he was seething. ‘Is this why you took in Nick?’ His snarl was quiet but menacing. ‘Because of this? Because of me?’
My heart rate ratcheted up and my imaginary traffic lights flicked from green to amber. I was in dangerous territory. ‘I didn’t know who Nick was to begin with. I didn’t realise you were related until those two idiots approached me this morning.’
He pulled back and folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘What do you want, Ms McCafferty?’
‘It’s not about what I want. It’s about what Nick wants.’ I sighed. ‘Look, barely anyone except my ex-employer knows what I used to do for a living, and that knowledge gives you power over me. I don’t want anyone coming after me because of my past work.’ I kept my voice calm and reasonable. ‘I’m not threatening you – I am no threat to you at all. I’m simply trying to help a confused kid sort himself out.’
He didn’t speak. I took that as a positive step and continued. ‘I could kick Nick out and he’d wander around Coldstream for a few days then either return to you – and spend the rest of his life resenting both you and the pack – or vamoose without a backwards glance. Lone werewolves rarely live long, especially if they choose to leave this city. If you give him some breathing space, he can think through his options and make a decision about his future with a clear head. It might not be the decision you want, but that’s up to him. In fact, if he knows you’re giving him the time he needs, he’ll think more of you. You’re not your father – and you can’t scare him into making the choice you want.’
MacTire growled. ‘He’s young and often foolish. One stupid move and he’ll get himself killed. For the sake of my sister – for Nicholas ’ssake – I have to keep him safe.’
I read the subtext: because he hadn’t been able to keep Nick’s parents safe; he hadn’t kept his own baby sister safe. This had nothing to do with control and everything to do with grief. The same raw pain I’d seen in Nick was in Alexander MacTire, simply buried deeper.
‘I’ve already proved my capabilities against your werewolves. I can keep Nick out of trouble,’ I said gently. I paused. ‘Well, most trouble.’
’You probably can.’ MacTire ran a hand through his hair. ‘I can’t bribe you?’
‘Nope.’
‘I can’t intimidate you?’
‘Nope.’
‘I can’t kill you?’
I grinned. ‘You can try.’
He didn’t smile back.
Something inside me gave way: I wasn’t only a sucker for lost souls but also for sob stories. ‘Give him a month,’ I said. ‘Give him the time alone that he’s craving, then take him out for dinner. See which way the land lies. You’ll likely find him more amenable once he’s had a chance to experience life on his own terms.’
A muscle throbbed in MacTire’s jaw. He knew I was right, he just didn’t want to admit it. ‘If anything happens to him…’
‘He’ll be fine.’
MacTire gazed at me. ‘One month. After that I will reassess the situation.’
I released a breath. ‘That’s your prerogative.’
‘Alright.’ He looked away. ‘You should leave before I change my mind.’
As I stood up, my mental traffic lights flicked back to green. That had gone better than I’d expected. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m not doing this for you.’
‘I know,’ I said simply and started to walk away. I hesitated at the door and turned back to him. ‘For what it’s worth, not all your people are useless. The woman who brought me here…’
‘Samantha.’
‘Samantha. She would have done well at EEL.’ It was the highest compliment I could give.
MacTire seemed to understand that I was trying to acknowledge the power within the pack and, by default, that the power he commanded made him someone to respect. He nodded stiffly.
And with that, I left.
I was forced to go through the rigmarole of wearing the same dark hood when I was driven away from the MacTire property. I knew exactly where the house was located – I even knew its weak points. After all, four years ago I’d broken into that very house to kill Bruce MacTire.
I had to pretend otherwise, however, so I suffered the indignity of being rendered sightless. At least the MacTire wolves didn’t tie my wrists this time – and neither did they bother driving me all the way home.
They dropped me off at Crackendon Square, hauled off the hood and shoved me out of the back seat so I stumbled onto the cobbles. I blinked hard to adjust my vision and relaxed. They’d done me a favour by dropping me near a tram that ran back to the edge of Danksville only a short walk from my house. I’d be home in no time. Only a few people were waiting at the tram stop as I ambled over to wait.
I had been fortunate that Alexander MacTire had listened to me and that I’d remained in one piece. While I definitely possessed well-honed, hard-won skills that could get me out of many dire situations, and I’d faced him with the serene confidence of a winner, I was far from invincible.
I could take two werewolves – if they were like Quack and Ribbit I could probably take half a dozen – but against the likes of Alexander MacTire, Samantha or the many MacTire werewolves who doubtless resided in their grand house? I wouldn’t have a hope, not without considerable preparation. No matter how good you are there is always someone better, and greater numbers almost always beat greater skill.
I wasn’t the only lucky one because today’s venture was very good news for young Nick. I hoped he’d appreciate his freedom and use his time to make the right decision about his future. I mentally patted myself on the back. I’d done good.
I leaned against the wall next to yet more posters advertising the upcoming solstice and glanced down the street. A horn blasted and a moment later the tram shoogled into view, shaking its way towards the stop. Sparks danced around its snaking form as it slowed down. I’d long since suspected that those purple flickers of light were an artifice used by the witches who ran the tram system to remind commuters of the built-in magic that kept them safe. What you saw in Coldstream was often not what you got.
I reached into my pocket for the tram token that I knew was buried there, and which I always carried with me for an eventuality such as this one. As I moved my head, I caught a brief glimpse of another werewolf standing about fifty metres away underneath the awning of an old antique shop. He wasn’t looking in my direction but, from his stiff body language, I suddenly sensed that he was there for me. I had no proof, but my gut instinct had served me well over the years and I wasn’t about to mistrust it now.
It didn’t make sense that he was a MacTire wolf because Alexander MacTire had cleared me – at least for the time being – and the MacTires knew where I lived, so they didn’t need to follow me around. If they were going to tail anyone it would be Nick; despite my assurances, they’d want to ensure his safety.
I chewed my bottom lip and took out the token. There were several ways to test the wolf and my paranoia and I opted for the simplest one.
I fiddled with the brass token then, with a show of clumsiness, I let it tumble from my fingers onto the road. I let out a sharp cry of dismay and lurched forward to grab it.
A couple of the other people waiting called out.
‘What are you doing?’
‘The tram is coming! Get out of the way!’
I ignored them and the approaching tram and stooped to pick up the token. As I did so, I turned my head; the waiting passengers were watching me with morbid fascination. I suspected that at least some of them were hoping to witness a bloody mess as I was run over.
The one person who wasn’t watching me was the damned werewolf, who continued to studiously avoid looking in my direction. That settled it: he was definitely following me.
I scooped up the token and jumped back in the nick of time before the tram creaked to a halt at the spot where I’d just crouched down. The witch driver glared at me; the last thing he wanted was to deal with my corpse on his tram tracks.
I offered a sheepish shrug by way of apology and took my position at the back of the queue while I sifted through an array of mental images in an attempt to identify my erstwhile follower. I’d only caught a glimpse of him but I’d seen enough to register his face. He had bright-red hair shorn close to his skull and his skin was only lightly tanned in the manner of a true ginger. He had a crooked nose, suggesting it had been broken at one point and not healed properly, and his clothes were baggy to conceal his physique. The fact that he didn’t want to display his physique told me that he was either incredibly skinny and weak or completely the opposite, and I suspected the latter. I was also certain that I’d never seen him before in my life.
I shuffled up the queue and waited for my turn to board. Just before I stepped up, I heard footsteps behind me. He had decided to get on the tram with me and, no doubt, track me all the way to my front door. I caught a faint whiff of unwashed clothes overlaid with vetiver, woody, leather notes bound together with a hint of citrus, before I hopped onto the tram and handed my token to the scowling driver. Then I paused.
The werewolf followed me and gave his own token to the driver. I squeezed into a narrow spot at the front, forcing him to pass me by, then I coughed loudly, spun round and leapt off the tram just as the doors started to close.
I landed on the pavement and turned in time to see the driver’s irritation deepen but the werewolf only stared at me from the other side of the window showing no discernible emotion. The horn blasted again and the tram trundled away with the red-headed werewolf still aboard.
I exhaled. I had no more tokens with me. So much for public transport; I was going to have to walk home instead.