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Chapter

Twenty-Six

I f being attacked by a rigor spell was now on my list of things to avoid, so was hauling the body of a semi-conscious witch through the streets of Coldstream with an annoyed cat weaving in front of me.

‘Stop trying to trip me up,’ I hissed at He Who Guards. ‘This is hard enough as it is.’ The tabby cat miaowed. Loudly. ‘I told you already. I want to hear what he has to say, too, but right now he’s going into shock. He needs proper medical attention.’

A leprechaun stopped in the street in front of us, his gaze swinging from me to the moaning, staggering figure of Quentin Hightower and the hissing cat beside us.

As he looked at us uncertainly, I lifted my head and stared, allowing my pleasant cat-lady facade to disappear and reveal the dark core beneath.

His green skin paled dramatically then he scurried past us, avoiding looking in our direction. Wise choice.

He Who Guards eyed me with newfound respect. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ I told him. It was only partly a lie. ‘Trust me.’

The cat sniffed but seemed to decide that impeding my progress wasn’t helpful. He trotted beside me instead, taking care to avoid Hightower’s feet as they dragged along the cobbles.

Adrienne’s neighbourhood might have been upmarket but it was also wholly residential, so I had to haul Hightower down several streets before we reached anywhere useful.

Finally I spotted a grocer’s and a gentrified witchery store; if I dragged him inside the witchery shop they would raise the alarm and find him the help he needed.

It was the fastest way to get him medical attention – and also the way in which I’d lose control of the situation.

I’d probably never see the damned witch again.

I was in too deep now and I couldn’t let that happen.

I wanted answers – hell, I deserved answers.

I draped Hightower’s arm around my neck and gripped his waist while his head lolled on my shoulders.

‘How can you be so drunk so early in the day?’ I scolded loudly when two women passed on the opposite side of the street.

They nudged each other and giggled but didn’t comment.

I knew that ploy wouldn’t hold up to close scrutiny, though; I had to find somewhere to hide Hightower and get him help as quickly as possible.

The first clinic we came to was a tiny place on a corner.

It wasn’t an establishment I’d used before – I’d never even heard of it.

The Caring Touch Institution wasn’t a moniker that filled me with confidence; it sounded incredibly dodgy and it certainly wasn’t an institution .

It was about the size of an old newsagents’ shop, with a shabby door covered in peeling yellow paint and a tatty notice stuck in the window proclaiming medical services on the cheap.

It wasn’t the sort of place I’d normally frequent but I was desperate. For one thing, I was exhausted and, for another, Quentin Hightower was growing weaker by the second. His skin was clammy and he was shaking and shuddering with every step .

I drew in a deep breath and twisted the cold metal doorknob. As the door creaked open, we fell inside with He Who Guards at our heels. I groaned in relief; Quentin Hightower simply collapsed with a shuddering breath.

The waiting room was small, covered in vomit-green tiles and devoid of people. I eyed the desk in the corner and the closed door behind it, then marched up and shouted, ‘Hey! We need some help out here!’ My voice echoed so I tried again. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

The inner door remained firmly shut. Shit.

I stalked around the desk, yanked open the door and was immediately assailed by a cloud of stale alcohol and cigar smoke. Not good.

I glanced at Hightower, assessing whether I could haul his privileged arse further through the streets of Coldstream until we found another clinic. He’d passed out again. It was here or nothing.

He Who Guards leapt onto the desk and raised a paw. Yeah, yeah. I turned and strode beyond the door into the booze-fumed hallway. I’d barely taken three steps when a yawning man appeared pulling on a stained lab coat. He looked like a witch; I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

He raised bleary eyes in my direction and started. ‘Oi! You’re not allowed back here!’

‘Your receptionist told me to come straight through.’

His brow creased. ‘I don’t have a receptionist.’

‘You need one,’ I growled.

He flicked me his middle finger. ‘Listen, lady. I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I didn’t ask you to come. Feel free to walk straight out that door and away again.’

Quentin Hightower moaned from the waiting room behind me. I grimaced and considered my options. There were a number of different ways I could play this; eventually, I discarded scary assassin in favour of a less-intimidating approach.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘But I’m desperate. That man out there – he needs your help.’ I allowed my eyes to fill with tears. When one escaped and rolled down my cheek, I clasped my hands. ‘ I need your help.’

The bleary doctor gave me a flat look. ‘Do you think I’m that gullible? Save your crocodile tears, lady.’

Huh. I wiped my cheek. ‘You’re smarter than you look.’

He snorted. ‘You’re not.’

I wasn’t sure I deserved that response but complaining about it wouldn’t get me anywhere. I was nothing if not adaptable so I changed tactics. ‘My name is Kit – and that man out there really does need help. He’s Quentin Hightower.’

The doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘ The Quentin Hightower?’

‘Yep. He’s rich. If you help him, I’m sure there’ll be a big reward in it for you.’

‘Assuming he pays up after I save his rich arse.’

He was smart. ‘I’m sure you have ways of ensuring your invoices are paid,’ I said. ‘I need you to heal him and keep his presence here quiet. That’s all. If he doesn’t pay up then I will.’ I paused. ‘Are you sober enough to handle it?’

I expected a snide response but instead he simply nodded. ‘Yes.’

I raised my eyebrows. The doctor scowled; despite his grumpy exterior, harsh words and unwelcoming clinic, he possessed a considerable amount of professional pride. I relaxed. Now that I was beginning to understand him, I knew I could work with him.

‘Good,’ I said softly. We shared a look of grudging, temporary acceptance, then I licked my lips and steeled my stomach. ‘I give you my word that you will receive financial recompense for your trouble.’

‘Your word? You’re brave.’

I shrugged. ‘I’m desperate.’

‘You in love with Hightower or something?’

‘Or something. I need to talk to him. I need to know what he knows.’

A smile played around the doctor’s lips. ‘In that case I’d better get to work.’ He walked past me. ‘I’m Fergus, by the way.’

‘Doctor Fergus?’ I asked.

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Just Fergus.’

He Who Guards snorted. I crossed my fingers. There wasn’t much else I could do.

Fergus snapped on a pair of latex gloves, which were welcome given the state of his white coat. The fact that he’d gone to the trouble of sourcing disposable medical items that weren’t readily available in a city like Coldstream suggested he knew what he was doing.

Hightower flitted back into consciousness and moaned, ‘Wh – what?’

‘Don’t talk,’ Fergus said briskly. ‘This will be easier if you don’t.

’ He crouched beside him and felt his pulse, then leaned over and inhaled.

His expression gave little away and a prickle of suspicion curled through me.

‘I’ll need your help in getting him through to the examination room,’ he said.

I was by his side in a flash, heaving Hightower to his feet. ‘Lead the way.’

Fergus went back behind the desk, leaving me to drag Hightower. At least I knew that this time there wouldn’t be far to go.

Although the waiting room left a lot to be desired, I was pleasantly surprised by the examination room.

It was clean and tidy, with a bank of painted cupboards along one side and a medical bed on the other.

Ignoring his groans, I shoved Hightower onto the bed, lifted his feet and laid him flat on his back.

‘Good,’ Fergus said. ‘You might not be smart but at least you’re strong.’

I bit the inside of my cheek to avoid making a rude retort; I didn’t need Fergus the not-doctor to be polite, I only needed him to be proficient.

‘Your friend is suffering from a surge,’ he said.

I’d guessed as much. ‘A surge is when a magic wielder over-exerts themselves. Their body can’t cope with the power they’ve extended and it shuts down to try and protect itself.

It’s often seen in young witches and druids who are still learning their limits, but they tend to recover quickly.

It’s very unusual in older practitioners. Left untreated it can be fatal.’

His explanation was unnecessary but I appreciated the effort. ‘Can you treat him?’ I asked. ‘Will he be alright?’

Fergus didn’t seem to hear me as he leaned over Hightower again.

Again he inhaled deeply and this time half-closed his eyes.

Interesting. Whatever manner of magic Fergus possessed, he appeared capable of sniffing out medical conditions.

That was a useful skill, and I wondered what on earth he was doing in this backwater, even if he wasn’t a fully qualified doctor.

‘A rigor spell,’ he whispered. He opened his eyes and turned to me. ‘Did this man try to use a rigor-mortis spell?’

‘Yeah.’

Fergus gave a low whistle. ‘Fool witch.’ He stepped towards me and sniffed again. ‘He used the spell on you, yet you’re still alive. It’s as much a miracle that you’re breathing as he is. Fascinating.’ He raised an index finger and prodded my cheek.

I held my temper. ‘I’m not the patient.’

He grinned. ‘No – but you should be dead. That spell would have killed most people within seconds. There aren’t many who can withstand its effects.

A rigor mortis spell isn’t something that slips out by accident, and I don’t know any witches who could cast that level of magic and walk away afterwards.

He over-estimated his ability – and he also meant to kill you.

Are you quite sure you want me to revive him? ’

My expression didn’t alter though He Who Guards, who had come with us, hissed and arched his back. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m sure. I need him alive and well.’ At least until I’d heard what he had to say for himself.

Fergus shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ He addressed the tabby cat. ‘You need to wait outside. Your aura isn’t helpful.’ He Who Guards glared malevolently but, to my astonishment, turned tail and left.

‘You have a way with cats,’ I murmured.

Fergus’s eyes twinkled. ‘Indeed. So do you.’

He knew what I was: he knew I was a cat sith. Whatever skills this man possessed, they extended further than I’d realised.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Hippocratic oath. Your secret’s safe with me.’ Except I wasn’t his patient and he’d already told me he wasn’t a doctor.

My mouth tightened but it was a problem for another time. ‘Can you help him?’

‘Of course I can help him, though it will take a few hours. Leave him with me.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Come back at one o’clock. He’ll be right as rain by then.’

I folded my arms. ‘I’d rather wait here.’

‘In case he runs away?’

‘I’m very concerned about Mr Hightower’s welfare.’

Fergus laughed. ‘I’m sure you are. Very well, then, but you’ll have to wait outside with the cat.’

There were two narrow windows in the far wall of the examination room that allowed in a fair amount of natural light, but they weren’t large enough for even a child to wiggle through. ‘Is there a back door to this place?’ I asked. I couldn’t leave anything to chance.

‘No.’ He smirked. ‘Feel free to check.’ On the bed Hightower groaned and twitched. ‘Don’t fret,’ Fergus said. ‘He’ll be fine.’

As I looked at the witch’s pale, clammy face, I wasn’t sure if that would be a good thing or not. Only time would tell.