Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
I wasn’t reckless enough to take the tram all the way to the MacTire stronghold. The more time I spent faffing around the more danger Nick faced, but the wrong move could also spell his demise.
I certainly wouldn’t do the kid any good if I ended up dead, and alerting the MacTires could easily result in my wolf-gnawed corpse, so I disembarked four stops before my destination. None of the tram passengers looked at me as I left, and the man and his three-headed dog stared resolutely out of the window. That was good enough for me.
As soon as the tram doors closed behind me, I twisted into the nearest alleyway with He Who Roams Wide at my heels. The darkness swallowed us up within a heartbeat.
I waited until the tram’s purple sparks were long gone then sidled out of the alleyway and started to march briskly. My feet still ached from my earlier trudge home but I had far greater concerns than sore feet. I maintained a steady pace, taking care not to expel too much energy, and thankfully it was only just after two in the morning when the high walls of the MacTire stronghold came into view .
I found a small nook between an old church and an ironmonger’s store and glanced down at He Who Roams Wide. ‘It’s been a while since we’ve done this,’ I murmured. ‘Can you manage?’ The cat glared at me, annoyed that I’d even asked the question.
I dropped my bag and checked my equipment. Anything that wasn’t touching my bare skin wouldn’t survive what I was about to do. Although this was technically reconnaissance, if my investigation proved that Alexander MacTire had abducted his own nephew I had to be prepared to act so I was carrying everything I might need.
Only when I was satisfied with the throwing knife strapped to my bare ankle, the poison taped to my thigh beneath my black trousers, the small bag of herbs with emergency spells positioned near my chest, and the tiny – but often useful – gun at my back did I reach down and pluck a small tuft of black fur from near the cat’s hind legs.
‘I don’t know how long I’ll be, but three hours’ maximum.’ I pointed to the bag that was now hidden in the shadows. ‘Make sure that stays there, where nobody can see it.’ Then I held my breath, opened my mouth and swallowed the clump of fur.
It tickled as it went down and I choked slightly but there wasn’t time to clear my throat. The magic was already taking hold.
It started with a tingle, like electric sparks running through my veins. Goosebumps rose across my skin. As my nose started to twitch and the altered light forced me to shut my eyes, my blood fizzed. It had been too long since I’d felt this rush of power.
My body rose off the ground and I started to spin and tumble. I forced myself to relax; it was far less painful when I simply allowed it to happen. The heat that enveloped me was both welcomingly familiar and disturbingly uncomfortable. I heard my bones crack, and a moment later I was jerked rigid by a searing pain but it was only a brief spasm, over almost as quickly as it had begun.
Then I was back on the ground, albeit on all fours. Everything looked different. I wasn’t just a cat lady, I was also a cat-sith. My kind were so rare that I’d never met another.
Miaow.
Viewing the world through cat eyes always took some adjusting to. I rarely shifted into feline form during the day because colours were confusing in daylight, especially reds and oranges, and every colour looked more washed out than usual. Some ultraviolet light seeped through to add to the confusion. Dark colours were easier and my feline night vision was extraordinary, even though it took time to get used to.
When I’d first realised what I could do, I’d spent most of my hours as a cat feeling wobbly and sick. It had taken considerable determination to push past those sensations, and even now I had to use the first moments of every transformation to slowly blink and focus before I moved.
He Who Roams Wide understood this and waited patiently until I was ready before touching his nose to mine. I miaowed in response. Cats don’t typically miaow at each other, but despite my temporary body I wasn’t really a cat and He Who Roams Wide knew that. He gave a brief purr and settled down by my bag. I knew there was a good chance he’d wander off at some point in pursuit of a shadow, but he’d stay reasonably close to this spot until I returned. It was far more than I had any right to ask for.
I stretched out, tested my feline limbs and made sure everything was in order. My gnawing fear that it had been too long since I’d transformed had vanished; I was a cat once more – and damn, it was good to be back.
Inclining my head to He Who Roams Wide, I padded out of the alleyway. As soon as I emerged there was the flap of wings and I registered a bat flying overhead. I didn’t need to get close to know it was a vampire but she wasn’t interested in me, so I wasn’t interested in her.
I dropped my gaze and focused on the high wall surrounding the MacTire mansion. It was angled in such a way that it would be difficult for most people to climb over. The biggest threat to any werewolf pack was other werewolves and most of their defences were designed to prevent incursions from competing packs. Although werewolf security took other Preternaturals into consideration we weren’t a priority, which was why I’d managed to sneak inside so easily when I’d killed Bruce MacTire. It was why I’d sneak inside so easily now, too. One day werewolves would stop being so inward looking and realise that others posed a real threat, but not today.
After his father’s assassination, Alexander MacTire had asked EEL how we’d gained access so that he could plug the holes in his security but I knew that, as per its strict policy, EEL hadn’t told him. I could saunter into the MacTire stronghold and nobody would be any the wiser. It was almost too easy.
I examined the wall, checked again that the street was empty and calculated my approach. Eyeing the top, I bunched my muscles and scaled the wall with an ease that would have horrified the architect who’d designed it. It was a great deterrent for werewolves but cats? Not so much.
The top was three inches wide, which was more than enough room for me to pause comfortably and survey the scene below. I couldn’t grow over-confident, though; despite my current form, my aim was to remain unseen.
A well-lit courtyard lay in front of me and a gravel path led to the front door of the main building, situated so that it was impossible to avoid. It would be difficult to prevent my paws crunching on those tiny stones but ingress by the door was my only option because all the windows were bound with magic designed to repel intruders. I had to slip in through the front, and that wouldn’t be easy given the two guards positioned on either side of the path, but all I really needed was patience.
I walked around the wall towards the eastern side, away from the guards and the front door. There was a narrow gap here between the exterior wall and the side of the mansion and I jumped down easily and landed on all fours in a patch of garden that was choked with weeds. Nettles and thorns scraped irritatingly against my fur and I sprang towards a less-weed strewn corner where I could wait for my chance.
The guards were obviously bored. The one nearest me was turned away so I couldn’t see his face, his fingers drumming out a rhythm as he listened to an ear-worm song in his head. The other guard was staring ahead with a vacant expression. People had low attention spans and no guard could stay alert without a break for more than two hours. Very few organisations factored that into their security planning, which had made my old job far easier than it should have been.
The guards’ distraction emboldened me and I stepped slowly out from my hiding place. I hugged the walls of the main building, keeping out of the light. Neither of them noticed.
Soon I was in a puddle of darkness less than a foot away from the door. I sat back on my haunches, preparing for another long wait but I was in luck. The courtyard gates opened and Quack and Ribbit strode in.
The two guards snapped to attention. ‘Here for your drubbing?’ the nearest guard enquired.
Ribbit scowled and stopped, but Quack was more sensible and ignored them in favour of opening the front door and stalking inside. ‘We’ve done nothing wrong,’ Ribbit said, taking the guard’s bait.
‘Oh yeah? I heard you got your arse whupped by a little old lady who smells of cat pish. By the looks of you two, I heard true.’
I did not smell of urine, cat or otherwise, and I wasn’t a little old lady but I didn’t take umbrage. Instead, while Ribbit bunched his fists and spat out a weak rejoinder, I darted through the front door.
‘You weren’t there,’ I heard Ribbit sneer behind me. ‘There were five of them.’ It was a pathetic lie even by brawny werewolf standards and the guards knew it.
‘ Five little old ladies? Oh my!’
I smirked inwardly and took shelter underneath a bureau. It was just as well because Quack turned and snapped at her colleague, ‘Stop being a wanker and get over here. We’re already late.’ Then her nostrils flared and I froze. She’d obviously scented my presence despite the bandages across her nose, which were no doubt the result of our previous encounter. ‘And you two ought to do a better job. Some kind of animal is in here.’
‘We’re not Rentokil, love,’ one of the guards laughed.
‘Yeah, that’ll be your job once the boss is done with you tonight,’ the other one chuckled.
Although their words were harsh, their tone was good natured; those bored guards had to get their kicks somehow.
Quack was only mildly irritated but Ribbit stormed through the door in a definite huff. ‘Wankers,’ he muttered. ‘I’d like to see them get involved in some action. They’d run a fucking mile.’
‘Stop taking everything so personally,’ Quack sighed. She turned on her heel and marched into the nearest room, the place where I’d been taken that afternoon.
Ribbit stuck out his tongue like a child but before long his shoulders drooped and he trailed dutifully in her wake. I’d have snorted if I could have done. MacTire’s finest. As if.
I didn’t need to witness the pair of them receiving their scolding, entertaining as it might have been. Instead I skulked towards a room opposite, a mahogany-lined space that heaved with masculinity and tasteless interior design. I needed to conduct a quick search so I could rule Alexander MacTire either in or out of Nick’s abduction, and I didn’t want to waste time.
The layout of the building was seared into my mind from Bruce MacTire’s assassination; he’d used this room as his office and I was certain that his son did the same. He certainly hadn’t changed any of the décor. If there was any evidence, I’d find it in here.
I completed a circuit of the office then padded to the door and nudged it closed with my paw; it would give me a few precious seconds if I had to run and hide. Then I turned and headed for the large desk in the centre of the room. I sprang onto its top and gazed at the neatly arranged papers; most appeared to be bills but I took my time to paw through them, just to be sure. It wasn’t an easy task in this body but I didn’t want to shift back into my human form unless I had to. It would be too dangerous if I were caught, even though I was prepared for such an eventuality.
Several minutes passed. I did my best to leave the pile of papers looking undisturbed then I checked a large notepad on the far corner of the desk. There were a few scribbled words: Winstone. Gavin Sitwell, Kit McCafferty. I grimaced.
There was a creak outside the room. I registered it immediately and leapt off the desk. The heavy velvet curtains were closed and I could hide behind them without being detected but I wanted to see Alexander MacTire’s face so I headed for the large bookcase in the corner and scaled it quickly. Once I was on its flat top, I drew back out of sight.
It wasn’t the pack alpha who walked into the room, however: it was Quack .
Her sullen expression was heightened by her swollen red nose and the bandage strips carefully pasted over it, and she was carrying a large silver tray holding a plate of sandwiches, cups and a coffee pot. Not only had she probably been bawled out for her and Ribbit’s failure to bring me in, but she must also have been assigned scut work as punishment.
I was more interested in the fact that Alexander MacTire was clearly planning a long night than that Quack was having a bad day. Unless it was a full moon, werewolves were diurnal. It was already very late so I could only imagine that he had a lot on his mind. My eyes narrowed at the thought.
Quack lowered the tray to the desk, glared at it then reached forward and opened the lid on the coffee pot. A flicker of amusement rippled through me as she delicately spat into its contents. My, my: she wasn’t quite the dedicated MacTire werewolf that she pretended to be. Perhaps she’d preferred Alexander MacTire’s father.
When Quack left the lid open and reached into her pocket to withdraw a tiny envelope, my amusement changed to shock. She opened the envelope, dropped the contents – a white powder – into the hot liquid and stirred the contents with a spoon from the tray before wiping it clean and returning it to its place. She closed the lid of the pot and glanced over her shoulder before swivelling and leaving the room.
I stared after her. I hadn’t been expecting that. So much for all that vaunted pack loyalty. Alexander MacTire had his father killed and now Quack was trying to kill him.