Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
I kept my wits about me during the long hike through the streets of Coldstream in case the werewolf had jumped off at the next stop and doubled back. If he were a tracker, he’d already have my scent in his nostrils and he’d locate me within minutes.
Although it was unlikely I could disguise my scent, I skirted close to several stinking open drains. If I’d had any money on me, I could have detoured to a witchery store and purchased a masking spell to conceal myself but unfortunately, although I was smart enough to always carry a tram token in my pocket, I didn’t always carry cash.
There was no sign of the werewolf, though, and that in itself was curious. If he wasn’t a skilled tracker then why would someone have sent him after me? Surely any of the packs that were curious about me would have used somebody who could stay close – unless, of course, whoever had ordered Mr Red to follow me had underestimated my abilities even more than the MacTires had done.
Without more information, it wasn’t a problem I could solve. Maybe the werewolf had happened to be passing the MacTire stronghold and seen my hooded body being bundled in or out of it and followed to satisfy his curiosity. He might have already lost interest. Whoever he was, I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over him. I told myself to be proud of my day’s achievements and pushed him out of my mind.
It was late evening by the time I turned onto my street. My feet were sore and I was longing for a hot bath. I heaved myself along the last few hundred metres and turned into my front garden. Before I did anything else, I had to deal with She Who Hisses. The gnarly cat would not be happy.
Dave waved at me from his window and I felt a brief rush of warmth. He wasn’t stupid enough to have gotten involved in my abduction but he’d kept an eye out for my return. I waved back and he scowled; all was right in the world.
I opened my front door and stepped inside, desperately pleased to be home. Part of me hoped that Nick had taken the initiative and finished the cooking we’d started that morning but there was no aroma of home-cooked food, delicious or otherwise. There was, however, a very angry cat in the carrier near my feet and a large paper bag filled to the brim with the tomatoes I'd asked Nick to buy.
I left them where they were and focused on my more immediate problem. She Who Hisses was already emitting a low-pitched growl and I could see a line of black fur standing on end along her spine.
I sighed and scooped up the carrier. ‘I’m sorry,’ I told her. ‘This wasn’t the way I would have chosen to do things but it will be for the best, I promise you.’
She glared at me, her narrowed eyes promising dark vengeance. I cooed at her and hauled her into the kitchen where nothing had been touched since I’d left earlier in the day.
I pushed aside the chopping board and the prepped onions and carrots and got to work. From my special cupboard I selected several dried herbs then reached to the back for a sprinkling of magical enhancement powder. That ought to do the trick – at least I hoped it would.
I wasn’t particularly skilled in spell-craft; for one thing I wasn’t a witch, and it was rare for non-witches to be able to cast anything useful on spec. But witches were business people and they were happy to sell their wares to anyone who needed them, so I maintained a healthy supply of magical medicines. I only needed an extra sprinkling of weak magic to bring the ingredients to life and I could manage that much.
I chatted to She Who Hisses as I worked. ‘It really won’t be that bad,’ I told her as I measured out the ingredients. ‘First I’m going to send you to sleep…’ she gave a low screech of righteous indignation ‘…though not for long,’ I assured her. ‘Ten minutes at most.’
She yowled again, although there was less fury in it this time.
‘Then I’ll apply an ointment to that nasty wound to sort out the infection. You’ll be healed in no time.’
The kitchen door creaked as He Who Must Sleep nudged it open with his paw. He yawned, wandered inside and looked up at me. I knew that all five of my cats would have kept their distance from She Who Hisses while I’d been gone because they wouldn’t have trusted the cat carrier to hold her for any length of time. Now I was back, they’d wend their way to me, hungry and annoyed that I’d missed their usual dinner hour.
‘I’m guessing you’ve been snoozing away in the back all day long,’ I said.
He blinked at me lazily then stretched. She Who Hisses watched his every move with undisguised malevolence.
‘Where are the others?’ I asked. He Who Must Sleep blinked again.
I shrugged and returned to my potion, rubbed the mixture of dried herbs between my fingertips then scattered them over the cat carrier. I received a furious hiss in return but fortunately the herbs were still potent enough for it to be short-lived. There was a thump as She Who Hisses collapsed.
Now I had to work quickly. I unzipped the carrier and carefully lifted her out. Her fur was dirty, suggesting that she’d had a particularly hard time lately and hadn’t been inclined to groom herself. Laying her on her side, I examined the wound before I set about cleaning it.
The edges were ragged and I reckoned she’d been attacked by something; hopefully it had been a wild animal and not a Preternatural who’d decided, as Nick had suggested, to put cats on the menu. I cleaned away the pus and the dried blood then gently rubbed in the special ointment and murmured a basic incantation.
He Who Must Sleep started to purr, indicating that the magic was filling the room. That was good. As long as She Who Hisses didn’t try anything stupid, the wound would heal within hours.
Her eyes were starting to twitch so I hastily completed my ministrations, picked her up and carried her into the small back room. I made her a warm bed with some blankets and left a litter tray, plenty of food and several empty boxes that she could hide in or behind if she wanted to. She could stay there for twenty-four hours before I released her back into the wild. I already knew she wouldn’t choose to stay with me; She Who Hisses was not that sort of cat.
When I returned to the kitchen, He Who Must Sleep had jumped onto the windowsill and was staring into the garden. I followed his gaze; all four of my other cats were outside, perched on the wall, their eyes wide and their ears pinned back.
I washed my hands and ambled outside to talk to them. ‘She’s been taken care of and she’s locked in the back so she won’t disturb you. You can come in for dinner. I’m sorry I’m late getting it to you.’
None of them made a move and I frowned. I’d taken care of plenty of feral cats in the past: there was one large tom cat called He Who Fathers Many Litters who’d been so badly injured he’d stayed for a full week and kept half the street awake at night with his furious protests. Although they’d kept their distance, none of my house cats were bothered by his presence, so what was the problem with She Who Hisses?
I put my hands on my hips. ‘She won’t hurt you and she’s going to recover quickly,’ I reiterated. ‘There’s really no need to worry.’
That was when He Who Crunches Bird Bones raised his head and looked pointedly towards the first floor of the house. My stomach dropped as I realised that the cats’ wariness had nothing to do with She Who Hisses; it had to be related to Nick. He Who Must Sleep was still staring at us from the kitchen window. He was the only one who hadn’t noticed anything, probably because he’d been fast asleep.
‘What is it?’ I asked as snaking tendrils of dread filtered through my body. ‘What’s happened to him?’
The four cats dropped their heads and avoided my eyes. As I stared at them, I belatedly noticed the long black mark on She Without An Ear’s left flank; it looked like an acid burn. He Who Crunches Bird Bones had a similar wound on his tail.
I glanced around and spotted the same mark scorched into the ground. Somebody had been here – somebody had attacked my cats. I hissed and moved over to them. The wounds were shallow and would heal quickly but that didn’t make me feel any better.
Quickly returning to the house, I jogged up the communal stairs until I reached Nick’s small flat. The smashed front door was hanging off its hinges and my anxiety intensified tenfold. Oh no: this was not good at all.
Tension made my limbs feel stiff and awkward as I went inside and the iron scent of lupine blood reached my nostrils. I had a horrible premonition that I was going to walk into the living room and find Nick’s dead body. I swallowed hard. I didn’t want this but I had to see the truth for myself.
I held my breath as I walked down the small hallway then paused and tilted my head. Whatever had happened here was over; there was nobody inside the flat. Nobody alive, anyway.
I closed my eyes briefly then stepped into the living room and looked around. No Nick and no body, though there was a puddle of blood in the middle of the floor and the outline of several splatters along one wall that someone had tried to clean up but which had left a mark on the fresh paintwork.
Moving more quickly, I checked the rest of the flat. The kitchen was untouched; it didn’t look as if Nick had even crossed the threshold. There was nothing untoward in the bathroom so I moved into the bedroom. The bed was unmade and there was a pile of clothes on the floor, but nothing to suggest anything dramatic had happened. The action, whatever it was, had occurred in the living room.
I returned to the scene of the crime. Although there was a fair amount of blood, it wasn’t enough to signify a death: half a pint, I reckoned, less than any normal person would donate in a blood bank.
My brow furrowed and I knelt down to examine the bloody puddle more closely. Whoever it belonged to had been standing here, been attacked but hadn’t moved from this spot.
I twisted my head and checked the rug; it had been replaced after the last tenant so the pile hadn’t yet properly settled. There was the imprint of a very large footprint. I couldn’t be certain – it was only a damned rug after all – but it looked far too big to be Nick’s.
I lowered myself to the floor and sniffed it delicately. I didn’t possess even a whisper of vampiric heritage so I had to concentrate hard to be sure, but when I caught a whiff of earthiness I knew that the blood had definitely come from a werewolf. Whether that werewolf had been Nick or not remained to be seen.
I straightened up and squashed any thought of the earnest, grieving boy in order to examine the scene with an analytical eye. I had never been part of a clean-up crew or visited a crime scene, but I’d been responsible for plenty of tableaux like this. I had more than enough experience and I knew what to look for.
I swivelled to my left and gazed at the faint stains on the wall, looked down once more at the puddle then back at the wall. Hmm. None of the furniture had been disturbed so there hadn’t been much of a fight. Whatever had happened in here had happened quickly. And yet…
Wrinkling my nose, I leaned in to the wall. Whoever had tried to clean it had used the lemony detergent I’d left in the flat when I’d cleaned the place after the last tenant had departed. I was forced to get so close that the tip of my nose almost brushed against the stain – but I registered the lingering scent of blood beneath the sweet aroma.
I walked backwards through the flat to the battered front door then re-traced my steps for a second time as I ran a series of possible scenarios in my mind.
Somebody had come to the door, somebody who knew exactly who Nick was and where he was staying. They hadn’t knocked or rung the doorbell but had kicked in the door and marched straight into the living room where Nick had probably been lounging on the sofa. He’d jumped up when his assailant had entered the room and lashed out in self-defence. That accounted for the spray of blood on the wall – and why it had been cleaned up and the blood on the floor hadn’t.
Blood could be used for all sorts of things and it was wise not to leave any of your own behind. Any witch worth their salt could use fresh blood to establish someone’s identity; if they were canny enough, they could even place a curse from a distance on the person it had come from.
After Nick had made his move to defend himself, the mysterious assailant must have struck at him in return, quite possibly with a knife, slashing his skin, creating a deep wound, and then grabbing him as he bled. The attacker obviously hadn’t cared too much about the blood that Nick had left in the living room. However, there was no blood in the hallway or on the stairs so it was more than likely that they’d also knocked him out and taken the time to bind the wound, probably to disguise any trail. Then they’d hauled him out of the flat and away.
No doubt He Who Crunches Bird Bones and She Without An Ear had tried to prevent the getaway and Nick’s assailant had probably thrown magical acid at them as a form of defence. Both cats were fast and knew how to avoid predators, but they were lucky they’d escaped with only minor wounds.
Nick’s wound was unlikely to have been a mortal one, though that didn’t mean he was still alive. He could have been dragged off and killed elsewhere. Thankfully, the fact that he hadn’t been killed in the flat suggested that his assailant hadn’t wanted to kill him – at least not yet.
I tapped my finger thoughtfully against my bottom lip then I left the flat and returned to my own place where all five cats were waiting. ‘I don’t suppose any of you could tell me exactly who nabbed Nick?’
They all miaowed in turn. They’d alerted me to the problem and, as far as they were concerned, any immediate danger to their own charmed lives had passed. Now they expected recompense in the form of tuna before they could even begin to consider anything else. Cats have priorities – and only a fool ignores them.
I nodded understandingly and dealt with their wounds first, gently cleaning them to encourage the healing process before I gave each moggy a reassuring pet and laid down their bowls. Leaving them to their dinner, I nipped next door. Somebody had to have seen something.
It took Dave several moments to open up. ‘What can you tell me about the visitor who dropped by this afternoon?’ I asked as he scowled at me from his doorstep. He was obviously preparing to settle in for the night; he was wearing his worn tartan slippers and clutching a tumbler of amber whisky.
He grunted in confusion. ‘You’re the one who got into their damned car. What can you tell me about them? Since when did you have friends in high places who own cars?’
I ignored his questions. ‘I’m not talking about those visitors. I want to know who came after them when I was out.’
All he offered me was a blank expression. I muttered a curse and left him on the doorstep.
Next I crossed the road to talk to Mrs Miller across the street. She rarely left her house so she’d almost definitely know who’d been round. In sharp contrast to Dave, when she opened the door her face was wreathed with smiles. ‘Kit! Come in! Come in! How lovely to have a visitor!’
No way. Mrs Miller had a sprinkling of faerie blood; her great-grandmother had been a true faerie of the Summer Court, and although Mrs Miller’s genes were considerably diluted she still possessed more power than I was comfortable with. If I moved across her threshold, she’d ply me with tea and scones and somehow several days would pass while she kept me talking.
It had happened once before, not long after I’d moved in, and I’d vowed it wouldn’t happen again. I strongly suspected that her husband, who never left their home at all, had been a travelling salesman whom she’d invited in decades ago and who still hadn’t managed to leave. He seemed happy enough whenever I saw him, and the one time I’d enquired whether he needed help to escape he’d smiled benignly and told me without any trace of compulsion that he couldn’t imagine a better life than the one he had. I’d left him to it; his situation wasn’t for me to judge.
‘I can’t stay,’ I told her, double-checking that my toes weren’t touching her doorstep. I didn’t apologise even when her face fell; despite her friendly exterior, she knew exactly what she was doing every time she invited somebody into her house. ‘I only wanted to ask who visited me earlier today.’
Mrs Miller’s eyes widened. ‘There was a car,’ she breathed. ‘An actual car! A woman was driving it – I think she was a werewolf. She had dark hair down to about here.’ She indicated the nape of her neck. ‘And there were two muscly werewolves with her. I thought I saw you get into it, dear.’
‘I did,’ I said. ‘I’m not talking about them. I want to know who came after that.’
Her face clouded with the same blank confusion that Dave had displayed and my stomach flip-flopped. ‘Mrs Miller,’ I asked carefully. ‘What did you do this afternoon?’
‘I had lunch with Derek,’ she said cheerfully, referring to her husband. ‘Carrot soup that I made myself. Then I did … stuff.’ She bit her lip before brightening. ‘Now I’m talking to you.’
‘What stuff did you do?’
Yet again she looked baffled. ‘Just … stuff. Do come in, dear. I can tell you all about it, if you like. I’ll pop the kettle on and we can chat.’
‘No, I really can’t stay.’ I was already backing away. ‘Thanks for your time, Mrs Miller. ’
‘Sure, Kit.’ She waved at me. ‘Come round next week for the solstice. I’ll be at Crackendon Square in the morning but I’ll be back here for lunch with Derek. You should join us.’
Not a chance. I waved, hoping that would satisfy her for the time being, then turned on my heel and returned to Dave’s front door. This time he opened it before I could knock. ‘What now?’ he growled.
‘What did you do this afternoon?’ I asked.
He stared at me. ‘Why the fuck do you care about that?’
‘Humour me.’
As he stared harder, his scowl deepened and his eyes shifted. ‘I…’ He stopped. ‘None of your damned business!’ He slammed the door in my face.
I stepped back and ran a frustrated hand through my hair. Suddenly it was very obvious what had happened: whoever had attacked Nick and kidnapped him had employed a forget-me-not spell.
Some spells were easy to cast: any Tom, Dick or Harry could wander into a witchery store and buy the ingredients and knowledge to make a minor healing spell, such as the one I’d employed on She Who Hisses. Only a real witch with a powerful coven at their back could fix internal haemorrhaging or serious injuries, but there was plenty of magic accessible to virtually everyone. A masking spell of the sort that I could have used this afternoon to avoid being followed was another example, although it would have been more expensive than the enhanced herbs I’d used to help She Who Hisses.
Some of the spells that most people could employ were ruinously expensive and therefore rarely used; any spell that messed with somebody’s mind usually fell into that category. Casting spells that affected the physical world was one thing but interfering with the psyche was on a whole different level because, regardless of the cost, there was no guarantee that you wouldn’t turn your target’s brain into jelly.
I had made a great deal of money as an assassin but even I would baulk at the price of a forget-me-not spell. There had only been two occasions in my illustrious career when my clients had signed off on the cost of such magic and the job had offered no alternative. Even then, EEL hadn’t permitted me to wield the spells myself; they kept a talented witch on the payroll to administer them. I could still recall her white face and the beads of sweat on her forehead the last time she’d cast a forget-me-not spell for me. Despite being the most skilled witch I’d ever met, even she’d been terrified of getting it wrong.
Whoever had hurt Nick and abducted him had no such fears, and they’d employed a forget-me-not spell on my neighbours as if it were as simple as turning on a light. If I knocked on the door of everyone who lived nearby, I’d probably receive the same response: complete bafflement over what had happened here this very afternoon.
It was extraordinary that anyone would contemplate doing such a thing to so many people. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what young Nick had done to warrant such attention.