Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
T he Galbraith building was less than ten minutes’ walk from my house. It was one of the few unoccupied properties in Danksville; this might be a poor area but it was jammed full of inhabitants. That the Galbraith house remained free of residents – even squatters – was testament to the strength of the rumours about unhappy ghosts roaming its hallways.
My curiosity had led me to investigate it soon after I’d moved into the area but I’d found nothing of note, nothing to worry about: it was just an old building teetering on the verge of rack and ruin. Nobody knew who Galbraith had been and nobody knew who owned the building now. I’d tried to find out but my investigations had come up short; I’d eventually decided that the place was a mystery, and a boring mystery at that.
The windows at the front were boarded up and, as I knew from my previous visit, impossible to see through. Not even a chink of light seeped through the old plywood so at least I didn’t have to worry about Ginger Shane seeing me approach. It would go better for me if I could catch him unawares .
Unlike my own less grand but better kept home, there was no front garden so I walked up to the front door from the street. Although the windows were boarded up, bizarrely the door hadn’t received the same treatment. All I had to do was duck under a few nailed planks and push it open. No wonder kids broke in here.
In its heyday, the interior must have been glorious but now it was gloomy and full of rubbish. There wasn’t a pervasive reek of damp, however; at most, the house smelled a bit fusty.
I paused in the entrance hall, sniffing the air and listening hard, unsure whether the mysterious Ginger Shane was there or not. I had to act as if he were and take my time. Entering a large building in pursuit of a target used to be my bread and butter so I was neither scared nor nervous – but I was determined.
Although I had believed Adrian, I wasn’t willing to risk everything on his information that Shane was holed up on the third floor so I checked out the ground-floor rooms first. Next I climbed the stairs to the first floor and did the same. By the time I reached the second floor, I suspected Adrian had been correct; my suspicions were confirmed when I climbed the last flight of stairs and the faint scent of vetiver floated towards me.
I didn’t know where the noisiest floorboards were but I knew how to tread lightly, even without shapeshifting into cat form. I slipped off my shoes and moved towards the wall where there would be less chance of loud creaks and pushed my weight onto my rear foot first so that I could judge each step before I committed to it. I was pleased when I reached the third floor without making a sound. I’d not lost all of my skills in the last four years.
Until that point the house had been dark but on the final landing there was a glimmer of sunlight sneaking from a chink in one of the closed doors on the right-hand side. Ah-ha: gotcha, you sneaky bastard .
I started to move forward, lifted one foot and twisted towards the door, then froze abruptly appalled at my lack of due diligence. Kit. You absolute dick. I pulled back before crouching down to examine the booby trap that I’d almost tripped: the red-haired wanker was smarter than I’d given him credit for. No wonder he’d bribed Adrian with chocolate to keep him away.
It was a simple trap but the most effective ones usually are. An almost invisible line of thread crossed the hallway at knee height and I’d been within a whisker of colliding with it. I followed the thread with my eyes until I spotted the thumb-sized bag of magical herbs concealed in a gap in the skirting board.
Lowering myself until my nose was almost touching it, I took a long sniff. Passiflora incarnata with a good sprinkling of salt and power thrown in. It wasn’t as expensive as a forget-me-not spell, but it wasn’t cheap either. It wouldn’t have killed me but if I’d tripped the thread I’d have been comatose for the next three hours and had a hell of a hangover afterwards.
Grimacing, I straightened up and stepped carefully over the thread. I needed to be more careful.
I side-stepped along the wall, wary of creaky floorboards and further booby traps. When I reached the closed door, I paused and listened for sounds of life. For several moments all I heard was the gentle thudding of my own heart.
He might still be out, or taking a nap. There might be another trap shielding the doorway. There was only one way to find out.
I carefully slid my favourite dagger from its sheath. It was far too long since it had seen any action. I gripped its handle, held my breath and kicked in the door before leaping back.
Nothing happened: no trap was triggered and no irate ginger werewolf rushed me. The room was empty – at least of people.
I waited for several beats in case the bastard was hiding somewhere else in the building and was on his way to fend me off, but there was no movement and no sounds. He wasn’t home.
I stepped into the room. Black had been right: there was a lingering scent of mothballs and clothing that was long due a good wash, although the smell of vetiver was also stronger here. I took in the neatly rolled sleeping bag, the small hurricane lamp beside it and the battered backpack, then I spotted the small stain by the window. Blood. I was certain of it.
I stopped wasting time and strode towards it. If the blood was fresh enough, there was a chance that I could match it to the blood that had been in Nick’s room and I’d have this damned wolf bang to rights. I’d wait for his return and find out what he’d done to Nick – or at least what he’d done with Nick’s body.
I peered at the stain. There was no doubt it was blood but its presence wouldn’t help me because it was too old. It had dried into the wooden floorboards and, judging by its colour, had been there since before Nick’s kidnapping.
Obviously that didn’t clear the ginger wolf – if anything, it made me more suspicious. Few people in Coldstream allowed themselves to bleed copiously, and even fewer neglected to clean up their own bloodstains because no substance contained more power than blood.
I already knew that Ginger Shane wasn’t stupid, but he was certainly reckless. He probably hadn’t expected to be traced back here, which also made him a fool. I was starting to think that my suspicions were correct and I’d found my kidnapper – but there was still no sign of Nick.
I angled my dagger to scrape off a sample of the blood for testing but I’d barely started when I sensed someone behind me. There was no heavy breathing, no tell-tale creak or footstep, and the smell in the fusty room didn’t alter, but there was a shifting of molecules and a feeling deep in my gut born from years of experience.
Ginger Shane was behind me and he was preparing to attack.
I didn’t turn around, and I didn’t pause or tense. This wasn’t my first rodeo; in fact, one of my first assignments back when I’d been a baby killer had been similar. I’d been sent to dispatch a nasty druid to the grave but he’d been aware that several people were targeting him. His home was impregnable and I could have waited months before I had the chance to get him alone so I played on his ego instead.
When he was alone he wouldn’t have spat on a kitten if it had been on fire, but in public he liked to pretend that he was a gentleman. I tracked him to Edinburgh where he was meeting with some political bigwigs who he was trying to impress.
I had dressed in my shortest skirt and a see-through top, tottered around on sky-high heels and fallen in a graceless tumble in the street in front of him. He’d come to help me, keen to show his inclination to be of service to helpless young females. As soon as he reached for my sprawled body, I twisted my hand and stabbed him in the gut with a corkscrew blade.
It had been an effective feint and I was up and away before his body hit the pavement and his companions realised what had happened. I’d received a decent bonus for that kill; if I could pull off a similar feat now, the resulting pay-off could be even greater.
As soon as I felt the brush of air against the nape of my neck, indicating that the werewolf was about to make a killing blow, I sprang up and turned in mid-air. I caught a glimpse of a shocked face and an iron crowbar as I adjusted my blade and slashed at the hand holding it. Ginger Shane had no choice but to stop his attack, but unfortunately he didn’t drop the weapon and he recovered from my defence far quicker than I’d anticipated.
He grunted then kicked with his left foot before swinging the crowbar with his right hand. I managed to dodge and stay upright, but his foot caught my calf and there was a flash of searing pain in my leg.
I jabbed my dagger at his neck. I didn’t want to kill the bastard or knock him out, more’s the pity; I needed him to talk so I needed to be more careful than usual. The tip of my dagger scraped his skin and his nostrils flared.
I knew exactly what he was thinking. ‘Yeah,’ I told him. ‘It’s coated with poison.’
He snarled and swung the crowbar again, this time catching my shoulder. It hurt like bejesus but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me wince. I’d had plenty of practice at swallowing pain and I could pretend to be unhurt, at least for long enough to bring him to his knees.
‘It won’t kill you,’ I told him, ‘but it will attack your limbs and weaken you.’
I scored his cheek so that blood welled up to dribble down his skin and mingle with his coarse stubble. The dagger wasn’t really poisoned – too much could go wrong with a poisoned blade and only the inexperienced bothered with such idiocies. That was why I had suspected Quack’s blade was poisoned; I knew of more people who’d inadvertently killed themselves using them than had killed their targets. No, I was banking on the power of suggestion.
Ginger Shane danced to my left and bared his teeth. ‘I guess that I’m immune because I feel absolutely fine,’ he said in a Scottish burr. He proved his point by hefting the crowbar towards my head. I ducked but the iron tip still caught the back of my skull. Agonising pain jarred through me.
I gritted my teeth and fought on. Switching the dagger to my left hand, I twisted it towards his forearm and sliced expertly through his flesh. He hissed with pain and pulled away but he didn’t withdraw. Instead he moved his crowbar from his right to his left hand. I wasn’t the only ambidextrous one, then.
He smashed its tip into my shoulder. As I staggered back, I met his eyes and nodded to acknowledge his skill. Ginger Shane grinned then came at me again but this time his body language telegraphed his plans.
Before he could slam it into my stomach, I dropped my dagger and grabbed the crowbar, pulling it out of his hands. He stooped, obviously planning to reach for my fallen blade, but I kicked it away and used the crowbar to whack him hard between his shoulder blades. He collapsed at my feet.
‘Shit,’ he wheezed – then he lifted his head and bit my ankle.
This time I was surprised and pained enough to yell aloud. ‘What the fuck?’ I kicked, more from reflex than design. I could have killed him with that move but at the last beat I pulled my foot back to avoid serious damage.
I was pissed off, though, seriously pissed off. ‘I know you have an animal’s soul, Shane, but biting is bad. Didn’t your mother teach you that?’
He mumbled something and I cupped a hand to my ear. ‘What was that?’
Ginger Shane raised his head and sent me an angry glare. He spat a globule of blood onto the wooden floorboards, adding to the existing bloodstains. ‘I said,’ he repeated with considerable malice, ‘who the hell is Shane?’
I stared at him. ‘You.’
He returned my stare. ‘My name is Thane,’ he bit out .
Oh. Damned coffee-shop name scribblers. ‘Thane? What kind of name is that?’
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘What kind of name is Shane?’
I shrugged. So much for the lone gunslinger vibe, then, but I didn’t give a cat’s arse what he was called. ‘Shane. Thane. Birdbrain. Whatever. Tell me where Nick is.’
Suddenly he became very still and his eyes, which I belatedly realised were an astonishing shade of bright green, narrowed. Uh-oh.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked slowly. ‘He’s staying with you. You’re the one who should know where he is. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.’ There was an appalling ring of truth to his words.
I hunkered down until we were face to face and searched his expression. I scanned every inch of his pale, stubble-laden face, and my stomach tightened with every second that passed. Eventually I stood up, shoved my hands into my pockets and turned away. ‘Fuck.’ The expletive bore repeating. ‘ Fuck .’
I took several deep breaths before swivelling back to the werewolf. He was starting to get to his feet but I shook my head in warning. ‘No. Stay where you are.’
His expression flickered as he debated whether to obey or ignore me. Fortunately for both of us, he chose the former. ‘What happened to him?’ His voice was low and calm.
‘He was kidnapped yesterday afternoon while I was out.’
His eyes narrowed even more. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered, echoing my own sentiment. ‘When you went to the MacTire mansion?’
I nodded.
Thane’s fists tightened. When he spoke again, his voice was still measured but he couldn’t disguise the rage that clouded his face. ‘Why did you think I took Nick? I’m good but not even I can be in two places at once, and you knew I was following you yesterday. ’
He’d only followed me on my way back from the MacTires; he’d have had plenty of time to nab Nick before then. I folded my arms defensively. ‘You’re not that good.’ I indicated his position on the floor. ‘I thought you’d dealt with Nick then come for me.’
Thane’s lip curled. ‘I don’t care about you, I care about Nick.’
‘Then why did you follow me?’
‘You took Nick in,’ he snapped. ‘Then you went to the damned MacTires.’
‘They didn’t give me much choice in the matter.’
‘I think you’ve just proved that you’re capable of standing up for yourself. You didn’t have to go. Besides, I needed to know what your intentions were.’
‘I’m a cat lady,’ I said. ‘I can’t do shit against a pack of werewolves, especially when those werewolves are MacTire. My intention is to live a quiet life.’
‘You’re much more than a fucking cat lady, and if you wanted to live a quiet life you wouldn’t have taken Nick in. And you wouldn’t be standing here now.’
He had a point but I needed more convincing. ‘You spoke to Trilby about getting a forget-me-not spell.’
‘Trilby? The market-stall dealer with the hat? That’s not true.’ Thane sighed. ‘I spoke to them to find out if anyone had tried to buy a forget-me-not spell recently. I didn’t want one for myself.’
I hesitated; that wasn’t what Trilby had told me.
He appeared to register my doubts. ‘I didn’t stroll up and demand to know who their recent customers were. I don’t know Trilby and they obviously deal in black-market goods, so they’d have no reason to tell me the truth. I was trying to find out if forget-me-not spells were something they normally sold. When I found out they hadn’t had any in stock for more than six months, I knew I was barking up the wrong tree.’
‘You didn’t know Nick had been abducted until all of two minutes ago so why did you care about forget-me-not spells?’
Thane’s expression hardened further and he nodded as if I’d just confirmed something. ‘What?’ I asked.
‘I wanted to know about forget-me-not spells because I’ve been targeted twice recently by similar magic.’
I sucked in a breath. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes,’ he growled.
‘Similar magic? Or an actual forget-me-not spell?’
‘I don’t know,’ he snapped. ‘I can’t remember.’ He tapped his skull. ‘There are blanks where there shouldn’t be any.’
‘Do you drink a lot?’
His eyes flashed. ‘You mean do I regularly get so blind drunk that I can’t remember my own name? No, and I don’t take drugs either. Do you?’
I didn’t bother answering.
‘I take it that whoever abducted Nick used a forget-me-not spell,’ he ground out.
I nodded reluctantly. ‘On every single one of my neighbours.’
Thane ran a hand across his skull. I watched him; I still had far too many unanswered questions. ‘Why do you care so much about one teenage werewolf?’ I asked.
‘He’s a good kid.’
I sniffed. ‘And you’re a lone wolf.’ I was certain that Thane had to be the ‘friend’ Nick had mentioned. ‘Despite his uncle, Nick isn’t bound to any pack. There are plenty of reasons why you might be interested in him.’
‘I’m not trying to create my own little fiefdom, darling. I like being alone. I was trying to help Nick, not recruit him.’ This time he ignored my scowl and stood up. He towered over me, but if he thought I’d be intimidated by his height he hadn’t been paying attention.
I raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘Really. Nick won’t do well as a lone wolf and I wanted to show him that he ought to bind himself to the MacTires. His uncle cares for him and that boy needs a pack by his side.’ He looked away and lowered his voice. ‘Needed a pack by his side.’
‘He’s not dead,’ I said. Probably not dead.
His gaze flashed back to me. ‘How do you know?’
‘Whoever kidnapped him could have killed him then and there. It would have been smarter and easier to slit his throat than to snatch him.’
A muscle jerked in Thane’s jaw. ‘How many hours has it been since he was taken?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘It will be a miracle if he’s still alive.’
I didn’t want to think about that so I tilted back my head and examined his face. ‘Why are you here?’ I asked softly. ‘Why were you following me, and why are you staying so close to my house? You could take an interest in Nick’s wellbeing without stalking the poor kid and bothering me.’
‘I told you already. I wanted to check you out to make sure you wouldn’t harm him.’
I lowered my voice further, trying to coax out the truth. ‘Why would I harm him? Why would anyone harm him?’
Thane didn’t answer. I abandoned my gentle attitude; it wasn’t getting me anywhere. I bared my teeth, tapped my foot and growled. I was good at growling. ‘Tell me.’
He sighed. ‘Six months ago there were four lone werewolves living in Coldstream. If you don’t include Nick, now there are only two.’
‘Where are the others? ’
‘Dead.’ He met my eyes. ‘Neither as a result of natural causes.’
I didn’t react. ‘There’s a reason werewolves usually live in packs. It’s dangerous being a wolf on your own.’
‘Somebody attacked the third lone wolf four months ago. She barely escaped with her life.’
I waited.
‘And not long after Nick and his parents came to Coldstream, somebody attacked me.’ He jerked his head towards the dried bloodstains. ‘And then again two nights ago.’
‘That’s when the forget-me-not spells were used on you?’ I guessed.
He nodded. ‘During both attacks. Lorna, the lone wolf who’s still alive, had a similar experience. She knows she was attacked but she can’t remember a thing about it.’
Nothing about this was good and Thane hadn’t finished. ‘Five days after the second attack on me, Nick’s parents were killed.’
‘That was an accident,’ I said. Supposedly.
Thane snorted. ‘Sure it was. You know they completed the unbinding ritual before Nick was born, right? They had each other so they weren’t true lone werewolves, but they didn’t have a proper pack, either. They weren’t considered MacTire.’
‘You think somebody is targeting lone werewolves.’
‘I don’t think that,’ he said with absolute certainty. ‘I know it.’