Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
W e dropped She Who Loves Sunbeams back at my house and I made sure all the cats, including the feral strays who popped by on a regular basis, were fed and watered then we high-tailed it directly to the MET office.
Captain Montgomery was a harassed man. He had reluctantly agreed to meet us, although he gave the impression of someone who had no time and even less inclination to talk to members of the public.
I wasn’t sure why he felt under so much pressure because most criminal activities were taken care of in-house in Coldstream: the witches’ council took care of the witches; individual werewolf packs and alphas covered their own shapeshifters; the druids had a board of governors, and the assassins – well, they’d have to be caught before they got into trouble.
MET officials only mopped the leftovers and dealt mostly with petty crime and public disorder issues that couldn’t be taken care of elsewhere. Perhaps there had been a spate of such problems recently or maybe the MET was woefully understaffed; either way, Montgomery was eyeing us with a weary expression and barely contained irritation.
‘If you don’t have any new information for me and you didn’t witness the accident, I don’t know why you’re here.’ He gave a disparaging sniff.
I gave him my best dotty cat-lady routine; I even injected a slight tremor into my voice that I was particularly proud of to give the impression that I was both vulnerable and still grieving. I needed to get Captain Montgomery on my side; he wouldn’t give us any useful information if he took against us.
‘We’re friends of the family.’ I dabbed my nose with an embroidered handkerchief then took Thane’s hand. ‘Very good friends.’
Thane immediately understood what I was doing. He patted my hand and leaned into my ear. ‘It’s alright, darling. It’s alright.’ He lifted his head. ‘Captain, we’re here for young Nicholas. He wanted to come in person to find out how the investigation is progressing but he still feels too raw.’
Montgomery didn’t show any signs of softening. ‘You mean Nicholas, the son of Andrea and Thomas, both deceased? Nicholas, the MacTire werewolf? The same MacTire werewolves who told me they’d investigate the incident and didn’t need my interference?’
Ah. ‘His uncle, Alexander MacTire, is rather overbearing. Nicholas is not officially a MacTire wolf – he is unbound. His uncle has not been forthcoming with information, which is why we are here on Nicholas’s behalf.
Thane nodded. ‘He’s an orphan now. He just wants to know what happened to his parents.’
‘I sent a copy of my findings to the MacTires,’ Montgomery said stiffly. ‘Even though they asked me not to look into the matter, there were four deaths. It wasn’t only werewolves who were killed. ’
I was starting to realise that the captain’s attitude was more the result of wounded pride than anything else. ‘That man,’ I muttered. ‘That bloody MacTire. Why wouldn’t he tell us? Why wouldn’t he tell Nick?’
Thane hugged me. ‘I don’t know, darling.’
Montgomery’s eyes flicked between us and his expression lightened a little. We had him; if Alexander MacTire didn’t want us to know anything, he suddenly wanted to tell us everything.
‘Look,’ he said, with a heavy sigh as if this were a great imposition but he was prepared to make an exception in our case, ‘I can tell you that it was a tragic accident. The explosion that killed all four victims resulted from the incorrect handling of materials.’
This time I didn’t have to fake my confusion. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Ernest Smith, one of the witches who died, was carrying a small amount of dragon’s beard. We believe some of it leaked from his bag. Unfortunately he was also carrying some old gypsum with him, which can be used as a fertiliser. Given the volatile nature of dragon’s beard, it was an accident waiting to happen. Mr Smith should have known better – there’s a reason why dragon’s beard is highly regulated and should only be transported in sealed glass containers.’
My mouth had dropped open. ‘That’s it?’
Thane leaned forward. ‘Four people died because some idiot couldn’t screw on a lid properly?’
‘Essentially, yes.’ Montgomery gave a small smile. ‘If only stupidity and laziness could be classed as crimes.’
The last possible clue as to who had taken Nick was slipping away. I was so used to death being the result of murder that I was astonished that these had been nothing more than an accident .
‘This Smith fellow. You’re sure about him?’ I demanded. ‘You looked into him?’
The captain raised an eyebrow. ‘You think he created a magical suicide bomb? If that were the case, why didn’t he release it inside Henderson Market to cause more damage and make more of an impact?’
‘Maybe that’s what he intended but his plans went wrong,’ I said. But I knew that wasn’t right. I had watched Smith’s spirit; he hadn’t expected to die and he hadn’t yet accepted his death. It couldn’t have been suicide.
Montgomery opened his mouth but before he could speak there was a knock on the door. ‘One moment.’ He went to open it while Thane and I exchanged defeated looks.
‘Apologies for the interruption, sir,’ said a young fresh-faced officer. ‘But we’re getting reports of a problem at a warehouse in the Glebe. Some outfit called the Crushers.’
I stiffened.
‘What is it?’ Montgomery asked him.
‘Some spell seems to have gone awry and a lot of the employees appear to be experiencing mania and, uh, violence. The entire warehouse is ablaze.’
That damned contentment spell to encourage productivity; I should have done more to warn Tommy about it when I’d spoken to him about Nick.
Montgomery hissed an expletive and turned to us. ‘I’m afraid I have to cut short our meeting. You can find your own way out?’
Thane and I nodded, thanked the captain and left the building.
Our return journey was slow. Yes, I was physically tired, but it was the weariness in my heart that was causing most of the problem. From the tightness of Thane’s body next to mine, his own heart was experiencing red-hot fury. By the time we turned onto my street he was huffing and muttering, barely able to keep himself in check.
I stopped walking and turned to him. ‘This isn’t over, Thane. We’ll keep searching and find whoever took Nick.’
‘He’s been gone for days,’ he bit out. ‘What are the chances that he’s still alive?’
‘We don’t know why he was taken,’ I pointed out. ‘Whoever did it might not want him dead.’
‘Even if that’s true, we don’t have any more leads. We don’t have Nick’s scent.’ He ground his teeth. ‘We don’t have anything .’
‘There are still things we can try.’ I chewed the inside of my cheek. ‘For a start, we can look for anyone who sells forget-me-not spells. We might track down the kidnappers that way.’
‘And if they made the spells?’ Thane asked. ‘It would make more sense that they did, given how many times they’ve used them.’
‘Then we search for anyone who sells the ingredients. We are not done, Thane. We’re not giving up on Nick.’
He eyed me. ‘Are you trying to convince me or yourself?’
I wasn’t sure. I sighed and pushed back my hair. Maybe it was finally time to involve the MacTires, though I couldn’t see how invoking Alexander MacTire’s wrath was going to help Nick. There was no scent trail to follow and no suggestion that he’d been taken by another werewolf pack.
We were missing something, I was sure of it. ‘Let’s rest for a few hours then re-group,’ I said, ‘We’re both tired, and tired minds make mistakes. Let’s come at it fresh.’
Thane’s jaw clenched but he nodded. ‘Fine. ’
We covered the last section of road in silence. There was a faint miaow about fifty metres away from my house, and He Who Crunches Bird Bones emerged from underneath a hedge. He didn’t usually roam at that hour; his presence suggested my cats were as worried and unsettled as I was.
I scooped him up in my arms and he nuzzled my shoulder, his warm body offering comfort. Unfortunately that brief respite only made me think of Nick again. If he were still alive, was there anyone nearby to comfort him? I hoped that he wasn’t completely alone.
‘We’ll find him,’ I whispered, as much to myself as to Thane. ‘We have to.’
I slept like the dead for six hours surrounded by furry, purring bodies. When I woke up the crescent moon was high in the sky and I knew instinctively that it was hours before dawn.
I debated rolling over and snatching a few more hours of blessed kip but my mind was already churning with worry about Nick, so I hauled myself out of bed and pulled on some clothes. All five cats were delighted at the prospect of breakfast several hours earlier than usual but I ignored their plaintive miaows and told them they’d have to wait. I shrugged off their disdainful glances; I was more than used to being judged and found wanting by my motley crew of felines.
I made a cup of coffee and headed into the garden. The sky was free from clouds, allowing the stars to shine unimpeded. I gazed upwards for several moments before casting my gaze closer to home. The lights were off in all of my neighbours’ houses; in fact the only artificial light was coming from the direction of the Glebe. I suspected the flickering orange glow was emanating from the Crushers’ warehouse. Whatever had happened there had clearly been disastrous if the building was still on fire.
Swallowing the dregs of my coffee, I padded upstairs to check on Thane; if he was awake, he’d be chewing over Nick’s abduction. Maybe he’d come up with a new theory during the night and there was another line of enquiry we could pursue.
The door to the upstairs flat was ajar and for a horrified second I thought that Thane had been attacked in the same way as Nick. Then I realised I was being daft: the door was already broken and there’d been no time to fix it. Thane wouldn’t have bothered to close it.
Just to fully reassure myself, however, I pushed it open gently so I could sidle inside. I wanted to see him with my own eyes to be sure he was alright.
Perhaps the thought of sleeping in Nick’s bed was too painful, but Thane was fast asleep on the living-room floor. There would have been more than enough space for him on the sofa but he’d chosen the hard floor; maybe that was what he preferred after spending years of his life squatting in rundown buildings. This strange ginger werewolf with his dark history, troubled intelligence and fascinating acquaintances had experienced a tough life.
I watched him for several seconds. He was lying on his side, one arm flung upwards as if he were reaching for something. He hadn’t closed the curtains and moonlight dappled his bare skin.
It was the first time I’d seen him in anything other than baggy clothing and, as I’d suspected, his body was taut with sinewy muscles that indicated his innate physical strength. There were several faint silvery lines stretching across his back and I bit back a gasp: they were scars. They were old, perhaps even decades old, but they told a story of hideous pain and punishment.
My heart went out to him. I might have been an experienced assassin used to the art of killing, but I wouldn’t brook any form of torture – and there was no doubt that Thane had been tortured.
I dragged my eyes upwards to his face. He looked different in sleep and his features were softer somehow. I gazed at the rough stubble on his jaw and the line of his cheekbone, as well as his surprisingly long eyelashes…
He emitted a brief snore and I jerked. I was being a voyeur: I had no right to come in here and watch him like this. I left quickly, feeling guilty for spying on him even as the curve of his muscled shoulder and the way the moonlight illuminated his skin filled my mind.
The dim glow from the Glebe caught my eye when I returned outside. I stared at it and then, for lack of anything else to do to ease my restless thoughts, I slipped out of my garden gate and headed towards it.