Page 15

Chapter

Eleven

P ork Pies café was busier than I’d expected, but I caught sight of Thane at one of the Formica-covered tables and headed straight for him. A small temporary stage had been set up in front of him, complete with a microphone and basic sound system.

There wasn’t any sign of Knox Thunderstick or the Blue Tattoos as I wended my way between the people who were waiting for the band to appear. Despite what the waiter had said last night, the group was surprisingly popular and at least two of the customers were sporting Blue Tattoos’ t-shirts.

Thane looked up as I approached and flashed a relieved grin as if he hadn’t been sure that I’d show up. ‘Hey.’

I pulled up a chair and sat next to him, leaning in slightly to catch a whiff of his vetiver scent. ‘How’s your head?’

‘Better than I deserve. You look tired, Kit.’ Then he winced. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to criticise. You look good. Just a bit…’

I raised my hands to forestall any further awkwardness. I wasn’t remotely offended; I did look tired and there was no point pretending otherwise. The last thing I needed was a false compliment .

‘I had a restless night but I’m fine. Truly.

’ I eyed him as I wondered if he’d say anything about what had happened between us.

Should I say something? I frowned; I didn’t know how I felt, let alone what I should say.

Kit McCafferty: trained killer, scared of nothing – apart from feelings. So much for being the Big Bad.

Thane chose to stick to business. ‘How did it go at the mortuary?’

I exhaled; that was a much safer topic. I told him everything that had happened, including my suspicions that Fetch Daniel Jackson had been playing me. Thane listened, interjecting with a few questions but saying little else until I’d finished.

‘If I were playing Devil’s Advocate, Kit, I’d say that you’ve accomplished what you set out to do. John Doe has been identified, the witches’ council sat up and took notice, and his family will be informed.’

‘Job done, then? Go home and forget any of this happened?’ I nodded towards the door. ‘Feel free.’

Thane leaned back in his chair and grinned. ‘Not a chance. I don’t know about you but I don’t want a quiet mid-life before I slip into retirement and fade away. I’m fully invested in Rory Taggert and Knox Thunderstick. I’m going nowhere.’

I met his eyes. ‘There’s far more going on here than we realise.’

‘Whatever it is, it’s big,’ he agreed.

‘We can’t back out.’

‘Not a chance.’

‘We still don’t know who killed Taggert.’

‘Or why.’

‘We don’t know how Knox Thunderstick is involved.’

‘But we will soon.’

‘And the witches’ council is acting very strangely. ’

Thane nodded his copper-haired head. ‘Very strangely indeed.’

We smiled at each other resolutely.

‘I might know a few people who can sniff around the council and find out what’s going on in their inner sanctum,’ Thane suggested.

‘Actually, I’ve got that covered. I bumped into Mallory on the way here and she’s working on it for me.’

‘You’ve employed Mallory? You realise there’ll be a cost.’

I sighed. ‘Yes. I don’t exactly know what yet.’

‘I hope it’s worth it.’

‘Me too. She’ll let me know what she finds out on Friday night.’

‘You’re meeting at her place?’

‘No,’ I said absently as a long-haired druid whom I recognised from the poster as the Blue Tattoos’ singer appeared and started fiddling with the equipment on the tiny stage. ‘She’ll meet me at Vallese. I’m having dinner there on Friday with Alexander MacTire.’

Thane didn’t say anything; he was watching me with hooded green eyes. ‘A date?’

Oh. I shrugged helplessly. ‘I guess. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s only dinner.’

‘He might be a pack alpha but he’s a good man.’ Thane pursed his lips. ‘Mostly.’

‘Thane—’

‘Your private life is your own affair, Kit.’

Before I could say anything more, a second member of the Blue Tattoos walked past us, a deep scowl on his face. ‘He’s still not fucking here,’ he muttered to his bandmate.

Thane and I exchanged glances. I leaned forward to continue eavesdropping, although I kept my head turned away to avoid looking too obvious. I needn’t have worried; neither of the musicians paid me any attention and they made no attempt to lower their voices.

‘Where the fuck is he?’ the singer hissed. ‘First the rehearsal yesterday, and now this?’

‘I dunno, man,’ came the rejoinder. ‘He doesn’t usually let us down. And you know that yesterday wasn’t his fault. Maybe he’s not well.’

‘It’s not as if he lives far away – he could stumble out of bed and let us know. And he’s got a phone. He could call the landline here and leave a message.’

The young druid pursed his lips. ‘Maybe he already has.’ He lifted his head and beckoned a waitress. ‘Can you check to see if Knox has called?’

‘I could,’ she answered. ‘But the phone’s not working. We’re waiting on an engineer.’

She’d be waiting a while. If the café was having a magical problem, they could find any number of people who would solve it at a moment’s notice but more mundane technology was a different matter.

It was far harder to find someone in Coldstream who could fix a phone line or resolve an electrical fault, and engineers often had to be brought in from outside. That took time – and a lot of money.

Obviously annoyed, the singer hissed, ‘He still owes us money for the last gig. If this is his way of avoiding paying us…’ He bared his teeth. ‘We should never have let him take charge of the accounting.’

I pulled back while the two druids continued to mutter angrily.

‘Do you think something untoward might have happened to Mr Thunderstick?’ Thane whispered.

I grimaced. ‘It’s a likely scenario. We need to find out where he lives and head there as soon as possible.’

‘I doubt those two will tell us, but if he’s in charge of the band’s finances the café might have some invoices lying around with his address on them.’

Thane had read my mind. ‘Time to go snooping,’ I agreed. I nodded surreptitiously towards the closed door marked Staff Only . ‘Shall I create a diversion, or do you want to do it?’

‘You’re better at sneaking than I am.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

He stood up and started pushing his way through the crowd. ‘I’d like to speak to the manager!’ he declared loudly to the poor waitress who’d been speaking to the Blue Tattoos.

She blinked at him, startled. ‘Is there a problem, sir?’

‘Yes!’ he snapped. ‘I just had a cup of coffee and it was absolutely disgusting! I want to make a formal complaint!’

I was already on my feet and nearing the staffroom door.

‘We have complaint forms…’ she began.

Thane interrupted her. ‘No, I want to speak to the manager. They will be responsible for buying the pathetic excuse for fresh coffee beans that you advertise. I want to go to the top!’ To add emphasis to his complaint, he thumped the counter.

His attitude was far above the waitress’s pay grade. ‘Wait here, sir,’ she said. ‘I’ll fetch the owner.’ She turned and disappeared through the door in front of me.

Customers were staring at Thane, obviously annoyed with him. ‘Fucking werewolves,’ a dryad said. ‘They’re always so loud and obnoxious.’

‘Hey!’ protested a female werewolf wearing the insignia of a pack I didn’t recognise. ‘Not all werewolves!’

‘Tell that to the waitress,’ the dryad snapped.

The female werewolf scowled then got to her feet and strode towards Thane. ‘What are you doing? You’re giving the rest of us a bad name. And there’s nothing wrong with the damned coffee!’

I had the awful sensation that Thane’s attempt at a diversion was about to descend into a bloody brawl. Fortunately, at that moment the staff door opened again and the waitress and a pretty brown-haired woman, presumably the Pork Pies owner, walked out.

At the same time, the singer of the Blue Tattoos tapped his microphone. ‘I’m sorry, folks,’ he said. ‘But we have to cancel today’s performance.’

A groan rippled through the waiting crowd.

‘We’re short of one member,’ he said, ‘and?—’

I didn’t wait to hear the end of the sentence before I slipped through the door into the staff area.

Anyone who’s not worked in the service industry could be forgiven for thinking that delightful mysteries lie behind doors marked ‘staff only’, but I’d been in enough of them when I was working on various assassination contracts to know they hid nothing delightful.

The only mystery was why every staff-only space, whether it was a magical premises in Coldstream or a fast-food joint in London, smelled faintly of boiled cabbage.

At least this particular area was small so I didn’t think it would take long to find the paperwork I needed.

There was a narrow hallway with two doors leading off it, both wide open, suggesting that either the café staff were too trusting and overly complacent, or that there was a secret security system in place. This might only be a café, but it was a café in Coldstream.

Thane would only be able to keep the café manager occupied for so long so I had to move quickly – but that didn’t mean I would be stupid. Speed and stealth in equal measures would win the day.

In the first room there were some chairs, a kettle and a sad-looking jar of broken cookies. The second room was more promising, with a row of filing cabinets, a desk and a stacked in-tray. Bingo.

The room seemed to be empty; it was a small space and, although the open door meant that I could only see half of it, I was experienced enough at sneaking around to tell if somewhere was occupied.

But something felt off; there was a prickling on the back of my neck and I had the sensation that danger lay ahead.

I had to trust my gut. I crouched down and carefully examined the door frame and carpet.

Wards or booby traps seemed unlikely: the door was open and café staff probably came in and out far too regularly to make a magical barrier worthwhile.

I checked the door frame and the carpet but found nothing untoward.