Page 28

Chapter

Twenty

T he MET building looked normal. There was a ray of sunshine casting a glow on its grey facade, but beyond that its appearance was the same as it had been a few hours ago when Thane and I had left after our night in the cell.

Unfortunately the building didn’t sound normal. In fact, the shouts drifting through the open windows were loud enough to have given Lady Augusta a run for her money. Perhaps I ought to have brought her along.

Several curious passersby had stopped to listen, though the words were indistinct even if the fury wasn’t. I skirted around a group of young women. ‘We should go in and see what’s happening,’ a brown-haired druid whispered, as if she were afraid of being overheard.

‘Don’t be silly, Tabitha. It could be dangerous,’ one of her companions told her. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’

Yeah – but satisfaction brought it back.

As I moved away from them towards the front door I heard another voice say, ‘I’m sure those were council witches storming in there. Those guys are scary.’

I stiffened, then marched into the building a little bit faster .

I was expecting a scene of carnage but it was still a shock when I saw what was going on.

Lady Augusta had been correct: from the collection of furious people in the small front room, Daniel Jackson was being held in one of the MET cells.

At least on one level that meant that, unless he’d already gotten to her, Adrienne was safe for now.

Some of the people inside the poorly titled Welcome Room at the front of the MET offices were hiding their anger better than others.

Harriet wasn’t doing a particularly good job of concealing her emotions: her cheeks were bright red, her hair was askew and her eyes were wild.

At least she had good reason for her fury.

‘I want to talk to him!’ she yelled. ‘I want to talk to the bastard witch who killed my brother!’

Theoretically that wasn’t a bad idea; as a Truth Seeker she’d could easily tell if he was lying.

But the uncontrolled rage in her face, while wholly understandable, made her unpredictable – especially if she wanted to keep her ability hidden.

It would be better if she waited until she was calmer, though if the four council witches had any say in the matter she would never get to speak to Daniel Jackson.

They stood in a line as if they were barricading access to the cells, their mouths tight and their spines ramrod stiff. None of them had removed their pointed black hats and none of them were shouting, but their blistering rage still filled the room.

‘Our colleague is not a killer.’

‘He is an upstanding member of the Coldstream community.’

‘There is no reason to hold him here.’

‘We shall investigate the druid’s death and find the real culprit.’ The lines slid out of their mouths with the too-smooth delivery of the over-rehearsed.

‘Lies!’ Harriet shrieked. ‘All lies!’ She stepped forward and instantly three MET officers moved towards her as if they were afraid of what she might do.

Thane, who was beside her, put up his hands to warn them off. ‘Back away,’ he growled. ‘Don’t touch her.’

Two burly druids appeared from behind him.

I didn’t recognise them but I knew their type: these weren’t the sort of laid-back fellows who formed folksy bands like the Blue Tattoos.

The intricacy of the tattoos on their faces suggested that they were as close to the druidic board of governors as it was possible to get.

That was curious. Knox Thunderstick hadn’t been an important member of their community. The only reason for their involvement that sprang to mind was that this was an opportunity for them to piss off the witches.

‘A member of the witches’ council has brutally murdered an innocent young druid,’ said the nearest one. ‘Fetch Daniel Jackson must be held to account for his crimes.’

‘ Alleged crimes!’ snarled a witch. ‘And he falls into our jurisdiction. We will question him and investigate what has happened.’

‘That is unacceptable,’ the second druid stated. ‘Particularly since Fetch Jackson is a council member. You witches cannot be trusted in this.’

‘How dare you question our integrity in this manner!’

I gazed from one irate face to another then glanced at Thane.

Our eyes met. This situation was seconds away from descending into an all-out brawl.

Even in the worst circumstances, the druids and the witches usually managed to remain cordial, so this aggression was unprecedented.

It was also inexplicable, given that neither group usually put much effort into helping lower-status members of their communities.

I wondered what would happen if the troll leaders learned about Ian’s death. Would they also be as desperate to wrest control of the situation?

There was a rush of cold air as the outside door opened again. I glanced over my shoulder and paused when I saw who had entered. Well now: this was suddenly very interesting.

‘Good day,’ Quentin Hightower said, nodding at the small angry crowd. ‘I came as quickly as I could when I heard what was happening.’

The last time I’d seen Hightower, he’d been soaked to the skin and daubed in gloopy mud.

He cut an entirely different figure now: his clothes were dry, clean and free from river gunk – and both expensive and ridiculous.

His suit was some sort of bizarre lilac and yellow checked pattern; although I had nothing against those colours per se, they did nothing for his tanned skin.

Together with his perfectly tied cravat, matching handkerchief and shiny brogues, he looked less like a wealthy eccentric than a pantomime dame.

I examined him more closely. His hair deserved particular attention: it was no longer flattened into droopy, wet rats’ tails but was coiffed into a bouffant of extraordinary proportions. Bloody hell. He looked like a cross between Tintin and Pepe La Pew.

I turned back to the others and registered the four council witches rolling their eyes. The druids were also smirking. I felt an odd rush of pity for Hightower. It didn’t last long.

‘This is a very serious situation,’ he said. ‘Do not worry. I shall get to the bottom of it and discern the truth. I have a knack for sorting out truth from fiction.’

That was quite a statement when you were in the presence of an actual Truth Seeker – not that Hightower knew that.

Harriet stared hard at him and her mouth tightened.

I suspected I knew the reason why. If Quentin Hightower believed in himself to the extent that he said, he wouldn’t know whether his own words were truths or lies – and that meant she wouldn’t know either.

‘I shall question Fetch Jackson,’ Hightower went on. ‘ I will be the independent investigator this terrible situation calls for.’

‘You’re a witch,’ one of the druids snarled. ‘You’re far from independent.’

‘And we do not require your intervention,’ a council witch said. ‘You’re not needed here.’

‘I beg to differ,’ Hightower replied as he rolled up his sleeves. ‘Now, what about the vampires?’

Huh? ‘What do you mean?’ Harriet asked. ‘What vampires?’

‘All vampires,’ Hightower replied without missing a beat. ‘We have a dead body covered in blood. Vampires like blood. We should question them immediately.’

‘ All of them?’ Thane enquired.

‘A man is dead!’ Hightower cried. ‘This is not the time to cut corners! Yes, of course we should question them all!’ He glared around the room, apparently expecting us to jump to his bidding even though there wasn’t a scrap of evidence that tied a vampire to any of these crimes.

‘Idiot,’ a druid muttered. ‘We don’t have time for this shit. We reserve the right to question Fetch Jackson immediately.’

‘Fuck off,’ replied two of the witches in unison.

Hightower sniffed. ‘Swearing is terribly uncouth, my dear fellow.’

The momentary lull in tension caused by Hightower’s appearance was over.

I glanced around the small room and tried to calculate the smartest move.

The priority had to be keeping Harriet safe.

If the witches and druids wanted to kill each other, I wouldn’t get in their way – and from Thane’s expression, neither would he.

The door to the prisoner holding area opened and Captain Montgomery emerged. He was the only other person who appeared calm. Unfortunately, his impassive demeanour didn’t dent the others’ anger.

‘You have to release Fetch Jackson into our custody immediately!’ Spittle flew from the witch’s mouth as he shouted into the MET detective’s face. That certainly wasn’t the way to win Captain Montgomery’s heart.

The taller of the two druids didn’t miss a beat. ‘Absolutely not! He killed a druid in cold blood. We should question him first. He might have killed others. We need to interrogate him without interruption so we can discover the full magnitude of his crimes.’

‘Preposterous!’ the witch screamed.

Hightower stepped forward. ‘I shall take charge of this situation, detective. I know what I’m doing.’

The druid raised his fists. ‘You’re taking charge of nothing, you plank!’

Despite Thane’s efforts to keep Harriet calm, she got in on the act.

‘Daniel Jackson murdered my brother. Let me talk to him! Let me see what he has to say for himself!’ Her voice rose higher with every word, pain in each syllable.

My heart went out to her but none of this was helping the situation.

I hoped that Thane had thought to check her for weapons; while I’d fully understand – and silently applaud – Harriet attacking anyone who held her back, I knew that she wasn’t a violent person at heart and she’d regret hurting anyone.