Page 10

Chapter

Eight

W e tried an Irish pub, which I was reasonably certain didn’t contain a single person from Ireland.

Thane got drawn into a long-winded conversation with a female werewolf who recognised him and seemed determined to debate the merits of living within or outside a wolf pack.

It sounded to me as if she were trying to recruit him, which was definitely a new experience for Thane.

We both downed two pints of heavy Irish stout but we didn’t find anyone who knew of Cos. Thane politely declined the werewolf’s offer of a third pint.

‘When was the last time you had a proper night out in Hirsel Street?’ he asked me, as we wove towards a karaoke bar.

‘Probably my retirement party,’ I admitted. ‘More than three years ago.’ A speculative expression crossed his face but he didn’t say anything. ‘What?’ I asked.

‘Nothing.’

I pulled a face. It wasn’t nothing, not with that look on his face. ‘Spit it out, Thane.’

‘Alright. Why aren’t you dead?’

My steps faltered. ‘Pardon? ’

He grimaced. ‘That came out wrong. It’s just that you have a lot of old secrets inside that head of yours. You did a lot of … stuff … for EEL, and they let you retire to Danksville with a party – and what? A golden handshake?’

‘Pretty much. It’s not like the movies or the books.

Real assassins don’t end up in a pine box because their employer is afraid of what they know or what they might do.

If EEL killed off their ex-employees, they’d never recruit any new ones.

They trust me to keep my mouth closed and I trust them to leave me in peace. ’

‘Fair enough,’ he grunted.

Inside the karaoke bar, I sang ‘Killing Me Softly’ while the audience winced. Thane found a tall witch who initially thought he recognised Cos, but we soon realised that he’d mistaken my drawing for a leprechaun he used to know.

‘His skin isn’t green,’ I said.

‘Barry the leprechaun’s skin is definitely green,’ the witch told us. ‘And that’s Barry.’

It was not Barry. We abandoned the karaoke bar.

‘Your turn,’ I said, once we were outside. I’d drunk enough alcohol that I was no longer feeling the cold. ‘When was the last time you had a night out on Hirsel Street?’

‘Ten years ago.’ Thane squinted. ‘No. Eleven.’

‘That long?’

He grimaced. ‘I was out on a date with a dryad from Leet Forest. We walked into a pub full of Barrow wolves. It didn’t end well.’

Ah. Thane had been part of the Barrow pack before he’d been thrown out for killing his uncle, the Barrow beta. I didn’t know what had made him kill his uncle and I’d not tried to find out. If Thane wanted me to know, he would tell me.

‘I spent three weeks recovering in hospital,’ he said. ‘I never heard from the dryad again. ’

‘I’m sorry.’

He shrugged awkwardly but there was a lot of pain behind the gesture. ‘It seemed wise to stay away from Hirsel Street after that. I’m pretty capable, but I can’t win against a dozen drunk and angry werewolves who are out for my blood.’

I bit my lip. ‘You don’t have to do this with me, Thane. You don’t have to be here.’

‘I know, but I don’t think they’d come at me again like they did last time. A lot has changed since those days. Besides,’ he gave me an arch grin to try and mask his true feelings, ‘this time I’m with you. You’ll keep me safe.’

‘I’ll stab anyone who comes after you,’ I said, and I meant it. Thane was a good guy. Whatever had happened with his uncle all those years ago, I knew he was someone I could trust. I also genuinely liked him and enjoyed his company – and he wasn't even a cat.

Speaking of which... ‘I’m sure Tiddles would also happily go after anyone who tried to jump you,’ I added.

‘That cat would win against any number of werewolves.’

I smiled serenely. ‘Any cat would.’

In the Mexican bar we paid for a round of tequila shots for every customer but none of them volunteered anything useful about Cos.

In the speakeasy, hidden behind a fake grocer’s shop, we were stone walled by the three customers who were willing to pay over the odds for brightly coloured cocktails that tasted of sugary fruit juice.

In the whisky bar, nobody could speak without slurring their words, let alone focus on Cos’s picture.

After more than four hours, we decided to give up.

I was far drunker than I wanted to be and I didn’t want to pay for it with a hangover the following morning, so I steered a swaying Thane away from the alcoholic vibes of Hirsel Street towards a well-lit coffee shop called Pork Pies, which was closer to Crackendon Square.

Sadly, I couldn’t see any actual pork pies on the menu.

I chose not to complain about false advertising and ordered us both very large, very strong black coffees with greasy bacon rolls on the side.

One day a powerful witch would develop a potion that successfully prevented hangovers.

It hadn't happened yet, but when it did their coven would be the richest in the world. Guaranteed.

I placed the magicked portrait face down on the table and chewed happily on the roll. It wasn’t a balanced healthy meal and would likely play havoc with my cholesterol levels, but damn, it tasted good.

‘There was a time in my youth,’ Thane mused, ‘when there were very few people who could drink me under the table, but those days are long gone now. And it appears the less liquor I can hold, the worse my hangovers are.’

I raised my coffee cup. ‘To a misspent youth that was hangover free.’

He grinned lopsidedly and reached for his cup. Unfortunately he misjudged and knocked the white cup flying across the table, sending dark splatters of coffee in all directions like blood gushing from an arterial wound. The paper with our only picture of Cos was immediately soaked.

‘Shit.’ I grabbed it, shook off the worst of the liquid and dabbed at it ineffectively with a napkin. It was too late. Alas, enchanted pictures and black coffee were not a good combination.

Thane looked aghast. ‘Oh no. You’ve got more copies, right?’

I grimaced as I shook coffee droplets off my fingers. ‘That was the only one.’

His face drooped. ‘I’m sorry, Kit.’

I reached for my napkin and did my best to clean up the mess. A young waiter with a bright expression that was far too cheery for someone doing the night shift bustled over with a cloth.

‘It’s alright,’ I told Thane. ‘It wasn’t getting us any results anyway.’ I sighed. ‘I’m going to the washroom.’ I gave him a tired smile, thanked the waiter profusely and turned to the door marked Toilets .

Next to it was a bulletin board displaying upcoming events. I glanced at it as I passed. Then I froze and slowly turned my head to look at it again. ‘Thane,’ I called.

He was trying to help the waiter clean up the mess on the table, though it looked like he was making it worse. I repeated his name more loudly. ‘ Thane . Come and have a look at this.’

He frowned, his emerald-green eyes squinting against the harsh fluorescent strip lighting, then he joined me. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Is that?—?’

‘The Blue Tattoos,’ the waiter said helpfully. ‘They’re a terrible band but they’re cheap and my boss likes them.’

There were three of them, all druids and all with the unsmiling, scowly expressions of young people trying to be cool.

One held a guitar, one clasped a microphone and the third had raised a pair of cymbals as he prepared to crash them together in front of his face – the same face which had confronted me in the Mathers Street mortuary.

‘Cos,’ I whispered.

‘Nah, that’s not his name,’ the waiter said. ‘The drummer,’ he said. ‘That’s who you’re looking at, right? He’s Knox Thunderstick.’

Knox Thunderstick wasn’t his real name any more than Cosplayer, but it was a hell of a lot more than we’d known two minutes ago.

‘What’s his real name?’ Thane asked, his previously alcohol-glazed eyes now clear and focused .

The waiter smirked. ‘That is his real name. He changed it by deed poll.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, that’s what he tells everyone.’

‘Do you know where he lives?’

The waiter’s previously bright expression dimmed slightly and he looked warily from me to Thane and back again. ‘No.’

I glanced again at the poster. ‘The Blue Tattoos,’ I said. ‘They play here every Wednesday afternoon?’

‘Two till six. Every week.’ He tilted his head, his suspicion obvious. ‘Why are you so interested?’

Uh…

‘We’re getting married next month,’ Thane said. ‘We’ve been looking for ages for a band to play at the wedding reception. Druid rock is my favourite.’

‘The Blue Tattoos have more of a folksy vibe,’ the waiter said.

Thane grinned. ‘Even better. Right, darling?’

I tried to look enthusiastic at the terrible lie. ‘Right.’

‘Congratulations.’ The waiter appeared to relax. ‘I could tell you were both deeply in love the moment you walked in here.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘It’s my sixth sense.’

He might want to work on that. I couldn’t complain, though; it was partly thanks to the gullibility of the general public that I’d never once been outed as an assassin.

Thane took my hand and stroked it, then draped an arm around my waist and planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek. I was immediately enveloped in a heady cloud of vetiver scent. ‘You’re a clever fellow,’ he declared to the waiter and kissed me again. ‘We are very much in love.’

If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em; frankly, it was either that or garrotte Thane right there in the middle of the café. The waiter, although annoying, didn’t deserve to have to clean up that sort of bloody mess.

I leaned into Thane’s hard body and wrapped my arm around him, dropping my hand to graze it against his thigh. ‘How could anyone not be in love with you, Pooky Bear?’ I cooed.

He tilted his head towards mine. ‘I only have eyes for you, my sweet wifey-to-be.’

I tried not to grit my teeth: Thane was better at this than I was. I pushed myself onto my tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. ‘My snuggle-butt.’

Thane returned the kiss. ‘My love muffin.’

Good grief. I barely managed to avoid rolling my eyes.

I turned until I was facing him properly, pressed myself against him and kissed him again.

This time I didn’t pull back – and neither did Thane.

He deepened the kiss and his arm tightened.

A thrill rippled through me and there was a familiar tightening in my groin.

Thane’s signature scent was making my senses swim.

The harsh strip lighting, the faint aroma of grease and coffee and the cold tiled floor of the café faded into the background. It had been a long time since I’d experienced a kiss as sensual as this.

The waiter coughed awkwardly. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘It’s sweet to see older folks like you still getting it on.’

Thane and I broke apart immediately at his words, while the waiter strolled away without a care in the world. I didn’t turn around to look at him; instead I stared at Thane and he stared back at me. There were two points of colour high on his cheekbones and I knew I was similarly flushed.

The café door jangled, announcing the arrival of a new customer. The loud chatter of the three women who tottered in was more than enough to break the last dregs of the metaphorical spell.

‘I should have another coffee,’ Thane muttered. ‘I’ve had far too much to drink tonight. ’

‘Uh-huh.’ Feeling more awkward than I had in years, I put my hands in my pockets. This was ridiculous; I was a middle-aged woman, not a teenager playing games. ‘I should go home. I’ve got to return to the mortuary tomorrow morning.’

Thane eyed me. ‘Shall I meet you there?’

I shook my head. ‘Another person will likely only confuse the situation. I’ll be more successful on my own.

But tomorrow is Wednesday – why don’t I meet you here at half-past one?

We can grab Knox Thunderstick before his Blue Tattoos set begins.

Between the two of us we should be able to encourage him to talk to us. ’

Thane glanced at the poster. ‘Cos suits him better. Who the hell calls themselves Thunderstick? Even the sort of druid who breaks into mortuaries for kicks should have more style than that.’

I smiled faintly. ‘At least we’ll find out who Mr Thunderstick really is tomorrow – and hopefully John Doe, too.’ I nodded at Thane and raised my hand in brief, albeit clumsy, farewell.

Once I was outside and walking away from the café, I touched my still-burning cheeks and my lips. Damn.