Chapter 7
EDWIN
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. James looked as if he was trying so hard to be nonchalant but his pulse was going haywire and I could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Although on second thoughts, he reeked of coffee and warm dust, so perhaps it was sunny outdoors and he’d been to a café.
It was supposed to be summer, after all.
He tilted his head at me. “What’s funny?”
“The impression you have of Dalziel.”
He grunted. “You telling me he doesn’t do badass shit? Guy looks like if any of you lot could turn into a bat, it would be him. He’s got that sinister and grumpy vibe down to a fine art.”
Baxter snorted. “He’s a pussycat. He takes his job very seriously, but we’re talking about a man who puts on roller discos in his cellar and knows the words to every dodgy pop song from the last fifty years. Because he enjoys them, unironically.”
James looked dubious. “Really?”
I chuckled again. “Which bit? But yes to all of the above. Especially the dubious taste in music. Wait ’til you see him with a guitar.”
“Joking apart, don’t ever doubt how dangerous he can be,” Baxter cut in. “He loves us and looks after us because he sired us, but God help anyone who gets on the wrong side of him.”
“Anyway,” I said hastily. “He’s asked me to do something, but I need to discuss it with you first.” James’ pulse skittered wildly again. I shot up to pull him onto my lap and envelop him in my arms. I couldn’t seem to help myself. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re not in any trouble. Try to relax.”
He leaned his head on my shoulder and muttered into my top. “I don’t even know him. Why does it affect me?” But he started to calm under my touch, so I kept my hand on his back, stroking him in circles. Baxter raised her eyebrows at me. I maturely stuck my tongue out at her.
I sighed, mentally cursing Dalziel for putting me, and therefore James, in this position, but I did understand how hard it had to have been for Dempsey to ask for help.
I didn’t know him well, but I did know he had a reputation as a loner, for all his flirting at the last in-person Council meeting.
I resettled James so he could see Baxter too, because she was bound to have something to say, and explained.
“There’s a fellow called Trace Dempsey. He’s not a vampire, he’s a witch.
” Wide eyes greeted this pronouncement. “Yes, love, they’re very much a thing.
Well, he’s being kicked out of his home, and, more importantly for him, off the land surrounding it.
He can’t go just anywhere as he needs land.
Although theoretically he could move pretty much anywhere, some of his plants will be happier in the south.
Where we are. So, seeing as Dalziel knows I have two plots rather than one, and I don’t really use the garden for anything except the one corner, he suggested I consider it.
But I no longer live alone, so it’s a two-person decision. ”
James was silent for a moment. Then he twisted to look me in the eye. “But it’s your house. Your land. Not mine.”
Baxter uttered a strangled word that sounded suspiciously like “whipped”. I glared at her and hoped for once James hadn’t heard. “But it’s your land and home as regards usage, so while that’s a technicality, it’s an important one.”
“Hmm.” I watched James thinking. He inhaled deeply, then said, “Do we need to meet him then, invite him over? Your place might not be suitable, even if Dalziel thinks it is.” His mouth twisted and then he said, “What the hell kind of name is Dalziel anyway?”
I spelled it out for him, to his bemusement. “I thought Trace was a strange name, but I’m revising my opinion on that quickly.” He smiled at me, a wobbly, endearing grin that showed me how nervous he was. “So, witches, and blokes that turn into wolves. What else should I know about?”
Baxter and I spent the remainder of the time before sunset filling James in on the various supernaturals.
He gulped a bit on discovering that the myths of the faeries down the bottom of the garden were far more than mere storybook legends and potentially a lot more sinister, but was remarkably calm as we explained about shifter culture in more detail.
He was delighted to learn that merfolk were real, but then he confessed he’d never seen the sea.
I made a mental note to take him away as soon as was possible, so he could sample the good old British seaside.
We took a different route home to avoid the Central Line.
I must have tuned the noise of it out over the decades, but I’d seen how much James had struggled with it.
On the way, we headed to the late-night shop for more milk.
At this rate it would be simpler to keep a cow, the way James went through the stuff, but I could already see an improvement in him in the short time he’d been living with me.
If thick creamy milk was putting meat on his bones and bringing a shine to his shaggy mop of hair, I’d buy him a herd of cows.
Trace came over two days later. He arrived while it was still light, which made sense considering he wasn’t a vampire.
I ushered him inside, noting he kicked off his boots before he moved off the doormat.
He was roughly my height, six two, and a similar rangy build to my own.
We said vaguely awkward hellos, then I introduced him to James, before suggesting he go through to the living room while I made him a drink.
James’ influence was rubbing off on me already.
Trace pulled a small packet from one of the many pockets on his khaki cargo trousers.
“Could you bung that in a drop of boiling water? I try not to drink too much caffeine.” He had a nice voice, mellow and friendly.
I couldn’t place his accent but it sure as heck wasn’t from the East End or Essex.
Maybe he’d moved around a lot. Distractedly, I noted that he smelled delicious, maybe even better than James, which I’d have said was impossible.
Perhaps he used some fancy witchy potions on his skin and I’d only just noticed because my home was small and we were in close proximity.
James followed me into the kitchen and sniffed the teabag while I boiled some water. “Fruit teas always smell nice but taste of disappointment.”
“Is that so?” I watched him unwrap the teabag from its paper cover, realising I wouldn’t have known to do that.
“We just had ordinary tea in my day, made with tea leaves in a brown pot. And a knitted tea cosy,” I said with a burst of nostalgia as a sudden snapshot of the home I’d shared with my mum flitted across my brain.
They happened rarely, almost as if my mind didn’t want me to remember.
I could feel, see, hear, and smell everything.
The way the light filtered through the lace curtains Mum battled to keep clean, the constant fight against smuts everywhere, the scent of cabbage and open fires, the overripe cheddar in its covered dish in the corner.
Every colour in the faded rag rug in front of the hearth.
The muted chatter coming through the open window from our neighbours, and the busy surrounding streets.
The oiled cloth that covered the little kitchen table and the heady aroma of blackcurrant jam spread over bread still warm from the oven.
The smell of Mum herself: Sunlight soap, furniture polish, and Yardley’s English Lavender.
“Edwin. Edwin, are you all right?” I looked down to see and feel James gripping my arm quite hard. “You went totally still, like the sleeping statue thing.”
I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just lost in my own head for a moment.
Ahh great, you’ve made the tea. Let’s take it through and see what Trace is looking for in a home.
” I didn’t like the fact I’d zoned out. It made me vulnerable, which in turn left James susceptible.
I couldn’t afford to do that again. It was lucky we were at home.
Trace was checking out my books. He turned and gave us both an easy smile.
Not for the first time I wondered how old he was.
It was impossible to tell. His suntanned face wasn’t lined as such, but he looked as if he’d lived through a lot of hard times.
His long, light brown hair was streaked with grey and pulled into a messy topknot.
His hands, usually a good indicator of age, were roughened and the nails had clearly been recently scrubbed, but his knuckles weren’t swollen nor the skin particularly wrinkled.
His nose was what most would consider too large for his narrow face, hooked with a slight kink that suggested it had been broken at some point in the past. His eyes were by far his best feature, dark pools of liquid toffee with flecks of green and darker brown in them.
Apart from his eyes he was, I guess, plain, maybe even bordering on ugly, but somehow he still seemed to glow.
Maybe it was true that good people’s characters could shine through a less than impressive outer shell.
Like he had at the Council meeting, something about him put me at my ease.
Pulling James down to sit beside me, I gestured for Trace to help himself to the biscuits James liked so much and which I insisted he buy every time he went shopping. He took one with another smile.
“This is awkward, isn’t it? I’m sorry, Edwin. I know Millar’s explained my situation. I’m running out of time, and even if and when I find somewhere, it will take me a while to transplant my plants.”
“Did Dalziel mention the living quarters? It won’t be fancy.
I own another railway carriage like this, on the far side of the property, but it’s not properly converted.
Although it should be watertight, it might take some time to make it liveable.
” I figured I should be upfront with him.
Wasn’t like he could doss down anywhere like a vampire.
As long as I could find a lightproof space, I literally needed nothing else apart from blood to survive.
But Trace was human and would require some basic comforts. I wasn’t about to lie to him.
“I don’t mind hard work. Watertight is good. Everything else is negotiable. Although having it connected to the mains and the sewers would be useful.” He eyed me. “I presume that is possible?”
I nodded, mentally adding it to the list of essential jobs that would need to have a deadline attached.
Humans and their bathroom needs were something I rarely considered, although he’d want easily accessible water for more than that, including his plants, of course.
I really should have considered that first. His plants were why he was moving somewhere with a large plot of land.
Trace mirrored my nod with a jerk of his chin. “Cool. That’s mostly all I was worried about, to be honest.”
“You seem remarkably chill for someone who’s just had their life upended.”
Trace gave a resigned shrug. “You didn’t see my temper tantrum after my new arsehole of a landlord delivered the bad news.
” He took a slurp of his tea. “I can’t change it.
And I’m resigned to losing a lot of my plants, but as long as Terrance and I come out of it with somewhere to crash, I can start over.
” He sighed. “Sorry. I’m usually more cheerful than this.
I’ve been told I’m generally fairly decent company. ”
I waved his apology aside. “Who is Terrance?” I had a sudden uninvited spike of jealousy at the thought this man had a lover. What on Earth was wrong with me?
Trace’s amber eyes sparkled with amusement as if he’d read my mind. “Terrance is my familiar. He’s a crow.”
At this James sat up straighter. “You have a crow? Is he, like, tame?”
“I wouldn’t use that word to describe him. Not if you’re partial to keeping your extremities un-pecked.” He drained his mug and stood up. “D’you want to meet him?”
James glanced at me. “It’s still daylight…”
“Go on,” I urged him. “If you don’t mind, you could show Trace around.
I’ll give you the key for the other carriage.
” I crossed to a small cabinet and handed him a key fob.
“The lock might stick, but it will turn. I’ll look out the WD40 later.
” As his fingers curled around the fob, I gave into the temptation to squeeze his hand.
He glanced up at me through his lashes. “What?”
What could I say? Be careful out there? Don’t run off with the witch?
Trace Dempsey was one of the Council’s most trusted members.
There was no reason for my brain to go running a thousand miles an hour along uncharted back roads when all James was doing was taking a walk outside in his own damned garden. In the daylight.
In a hundred years of my immortal existence, this was the very first time I’d felt truly angry towards the sun. Mentally shaking my head, I watched as he slipped on his trainers and followed Trace outside.