Page 17 of A Skirl of Sorcery (The Cat Lady Chronicles #3)

His eyes were kind. ‘There are many different reasons why people visit Barton Road. Sometimes it’s morbid curiosity, sometimes it’s to make a purchase.

’ He waved a hand at the row of shops behind us.

‘Sometimes it’s because of timing – you look like that is your reason.

Either you or someone you know is sick, and you want to know if a ban sith can tell you how long you or they have left in this world. ’

It wasn’t what I’d been expecting but I’d roll with it. I giggled nervously. ‘I guess I’m more obvious than I realised.’

As he reached for my hands and gently squeezed them, the faintest brush of magic tickled my skin. It was some sort of reassurance spell designed to help me relax, a mild version that would put me at ease without twisting my mind or my emotions so I couldn’t be annoyed by its use.

‘I use lavender lotion,’ he told me, interpreting my thoughts correctly. ‘Enhanced with a sprinkling of witched St John’s Wort.’ He released my hands. ‘I can assure you that it’s harmless. It will help you. Nothing more, nothing less.’

I believed him – but that might have been because of the effect of the magic.

‘I’m Martin,’ he said, bowing his head. ‘As you might have gathered, I’m not a ban sith though I stay in this community. I know everyone here and they accept me, although I’m here primarily as a church outreach worker.’ He raised his palms. ‘I’m not here to evangelise, I’m here to help.’

Definitely soft sell. ‘I’m looking for a ban sith,’ I admitted. ‘Not for me but for my friend.’ In a sense that was true.

‘Your friend is ill?’

I nodded.

‘Very ill?’

I bit my lip and nodded again.

‘The reason I ask,’ Martin said, ‘is that the ban siths’ power is immense but even the most skilled can only predict death up to five days before the event.

They can’t tell a healthy person when they’ll die – they often can’t tell a terminally ill person when they’ll die.

A lot of people in Coldstream are scared of what ban siths can do but the truth is that their predictive magic is quite limited. ’

‘But they’re drawn to death, aren’t they? They can feel when it’s approaching?’

‘They are overwhelmed when it is approaching,’ he corrected gently. ‘That’s why they shriek. They have no control over the skirl of the ban sith. Think of it like the tide or the moon. When a ban sith spots death, they have to sing.’

I wouldn’t have called a ban sith’s bone-juddering shrieks singing, but each to their own. I twitched again, doing my best to appear nothing more than a cat lady trying to help a friend. ‘Who is the most skilled ban sith? Who should I approach for a … consultation?’

Martin sucked air in through his teeth. ‘There’s a young one who’s very good. She lives at number thirty-four.’

I brightened. ‘Brilliant.’

‘Her name is Keres. She’s a friendly sort.’

I had to work hard not to lose my smile. ‘Keres?’

‘Yes. She’s the best of her generation. I can call her if you like and see if she’s available? Put in a good word for you?’

I doubted that very much. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ I said.

Martin smiled in an avuncular fashion. ‘You can wait inside while I get in touch with her. Then we can have a cup of tea while you tell me some more about your friend.’

‘Mmm.’ I twitched again. ‘Maybe I’ll wander around a bit first instead and think about it. I want to be sure I’m doing the right thing.’

‘You can trust ban siths. They’re not the scary monsters some people think they are.’ He folded his hands. ‘You can trust me too.’

‘I appreciate that.’ I inclined my head and stepped away before he tried even harder to pressgang me into tea and sympathy. Martin didn’t know as much as he pretended to; Keres had told me she’d left this community days ago. He’d already outlived his usefulness.

Tiddles adjusted her weight on my shoulder and we continued down the street.

At least I now had an address and I might find some clues in Keres’ home.

I doubted that the bastard who’d stolen her powers could have done it from a distance; they must have approached her in person, possibly without her noticing.

Maybe they’d broken in and ripped her powers from her as she slept.

If they had, there would be signs of forced entry.

The front door of number thirty-four was a glossy black, like every other door on Barton Street.

Ignoring Tiddles’ yowl of protest, I crouched down.

She dug her claws into the flesh of my shoulder while I examined the lock.

There were no obvious scratches on the paintwork and nothing to suggest magical tampering.

Tiddles screeched again; she seemed to have perfected the art of vocalising her displeasure at the most annoying pitch possible.

‘Alright,’ I muttered. ‘Alright. I’ll stand up.

’ I held her with one hand to steady her as I rose.

‘If you don’t want to be here, I can always take you to the house.

You won’t be alone. All the other cats are there, as well as Dave and Keres. ’

She miaowed a loud, huffy protest – and that was when Keres’ glossy front door swung open to reveal a thin man with heavy bags under his eyes and a taut, worried expression. ‘Did you say Keres?’ he demanded. I stared at him. ‘Do you know where she is? Do you know where my wife has gone?’

My mouth dropped open and, from her position on my shoulder, Tiddles miaowed once more.