Page 5

Chapter

Four

‘ I shouldn’t have to tell a woman of your age not to go swimming in the Tweed,’ the doctor told me as he cleaned the wound on my ankle. ‘You’re lucky to have escaped with your life.’

I wondered if I’d ever reach a point where medical professionals stopped lecturing me.

Probably not. I felt a glimmer of nostalgia for the days when I used to limp into the EEL doctor’s office after I’d completed a contract and be forced to listen to an hour of finger wagging about how I ought to engage in less risky behaviour.

That had been easy for her to say when she wasn’t an assassin, and she’d never listened when I’d tried to point out that risky behaviour came with the job.

‘Quentin Hightower might be capable of surviving a dip in that river,’ the well-meaning doctor said. ‘But we’re not all high-powered witches like him.’

I gazed at him. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘What happened to Mr Hightower is all over the city. He did incredibly well to escape.’

‘What about the man who didn’t escape?’

The doctor looked at me blankly. ‘Huh?’

‘Another man fell into the river. He didn’t make it. ’

‘Today?’

I nodded. The doctor shrugged. ‘First I’ve heard of it.’ He glowered at me. ‘But it’s proof that you should avoid the river at all costs. Given half a chance, the beasts in there will eat you alive. And I’ll be amazed if this wound isn’t infected.’

He handed me a small glass bottle. ‘Keep the bandages clean and dry, and take three drops of this every day for the next week. If there’s any discolouration around the bite mark or it’s not healed by next week, come back to see me.

’ He affected a fatherly expression that didn’t suit him, given he was at least decade younger than me.

‘And don’t go swimming in that river again! ’

Yeah, yeah. I pocketed the medicine and headed out with only a slight limp, making a mental note to look for a different clinic next time I needed professional help. There was only so much finger wagging a grown woman could take.

The sky was growing dim and a few splatters of cold rain were falling; so much for that dry spell.

I turned up my collar. I’d gone home, taken a hot shower and changed my clothes before visiting the doctor, but even with my fluffiest jumper and the afterglow of whatever concoction Trilby had given me, I still felt cold.

The river’s chill had wrapped around my bones and was refusing to let go.

I decided that some chicken broth from the delicatessen on Anstey Crescent would sort me out. The hedge witch who ran the little shop had a way with magical herbs that worked wonders at this time of year. A brisk march would also help me to warm up. Win-win.

There was only a small queue inside the shop. As I waited, I eyed the cold meats and cheeses in the glass cabinet at the counter and tried to remember what food was in my fridge at home .

‘I think he’s single right now,’ the young woman in front of me murmured to her friend.

‘Didn’t he used to go out with that tram witch? The pretty one from the Dalmeny coven?’

‘Yeah, but they split up last year. Ex or not, I bet she’s devastated that he almost died.’

‘It would take more than a bit of water and a few river beasties to kill Quentin.’

‘He’s a Hightower. He might be an airhead but he’s still got plenty of magic at his fingertips. Maybe next time I’ll fall into the Tweed when he’s nearby and he can rescue me.’

I rolled my eyes as her friend giggled.

‘It would be such a tragedy if he’d been killed.’

‘Thank goodness he wasn’t. He might not be the brightest witch in the coven, but that handsome face deserves better.’

There was a loud snicker. ‘So does that gorgeous Hightower body.’

I cleared my throat but neither woman turned around. ‘You know,’ I said in an overly loud voice, ‘somebody was killed in that river today. Somebody did die.’

The first woman glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh really? That’s a shame.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘A real tragedy.’

She blinked at me earnestly. ‘I heard,’ she said in a conspiratorial voice, ‘that Quentin was actually bitten by a few of those river monsters before he managed to get out, and that he was dragged half a mile down the river. He could have drowned .’

I gritted my teeth. ‘He’s fine. But the other man is dead.’

She clicked her tongue in vague sympathy and turned back to her companion. ‘So what are your plans for Saturday?’ she asked.

I tried to tune out their chatter. There was no point getting annoyed that Hightower was garnering all the attention; he was the minor celebrity whom everyone had heard of, and it was next to impossible to quench local gossip when mildly famous people were involved.

Nobody knew the name of the other man who’d died. I reminded myself that the body now lying in the Mathers Street mortuary wasn’t there because of me. I’d fulfilled my good deed quota by saving Quentin Hightower.

The bell above the door jangled as another customer walked in. ‘Ms McCafferty,’ a smooth voice murmured. ‘This is a pleasant surprise. How are you?’

I turned to see Alexander MacTire, alpha werewolf of the MacTire pack. I managed a smile while the two women in front of me goggled. MacTire was as well known in Coldstream as Quentin Hightower; any second now they’d be asking for his autograph. ‘Fine,’ I said. Mostly. ‘Yourself?’

‘Hunky-dory.’

I checked behind him and realised he was alone. ‘Out shopping?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you have minions to do that sort of thing for you?’

He grinned easily. ‘I like to mix with you mortals on occasion. It helps to keep me grounded. Sometimes I dress myself, too, instead of waiting for my servants to help me into my clothes.’ He winked. ‘That’s the sort of down-to-earth werewolf leader I am.’

I snorted. ‘How’s Nick?’ MacTire’s young nephew had stayed with me briefly – very briefly, because he’d been kidnapped after his first few nights. It hadn’t been a joyful experience for him or for me.

‘Nicholas is good. I’m sure he’d like to see you at some point. Maybe you should come around and say hello.’

‘Sure,’ I said in that polite manner of someone who would never do such a thing. A tiny smile played around MacTire’s mouth as he recognised the very British nature of my response .

He changed the subject. ‘I heard what happened at the Danksville river market today. I also heard that you were involved.’

He was disturbingly well-informed. ‘Not according to Quentin Hightower.’

‘I know what Hightower is like,’ MacTire said. ‘There were reports of you and Barrow appearing in soaking wet clothes not long after he did.’

There were several responses I could have made but I elected to say nothing. MacTire already knew too much; he didn’t need any information from me to fill in the gaps.

‘I also heard that there was another victim,’ he went on.

The two young women in front of me were now being served, their attention finally pulled away from the werewolf in favour of the delights of the delicatessen. I sighed. ‘Not many other people have.’

MacTire quirked an eyebrow. ‘Are you surprised? There are plenty of anonymous deaths in Coldstream.’ His smile returned. ‘You should know that better than anyone.’

Yeah, yeah. Alexander MacTire knew what I used to do for a living because he’d hired me to kill his father.

‘It’s not fair,’ he continued, interpreting my expression correctly. ‘But it is the way of things.’

The pale face of the unnamed corpse flashed into my mind again. ‘It shouldn’t be.’ I looked at the front of the queue. What the hell was I doing here, standing in a shop? If I was planning to wait around for other people to change the world, I’d be waiting a long time.

Whoever had died in the Tweed deserved better than an anonymous burial. The least I could do was ensure his name was revealed and his family were informed. It wasn’t as if I were still an assassin. It might be fun to play the good guy for a change .

I stepped aside. ‘You can have my spot. There’s something I need to do.’ I nodded at him. ‘Thank you, Mr MacTire.’

He grimaced. ‘Alexander, please.’

‘Alexander.’ I raised a hand in farewell and walked out of the shop.

Calculating where the nearest tram stop was located and how I could get to the Mathers Street mortuary with the fewest complications, I turned left. Before I’d taken three steps, the bell on the deli door behind me jangled again.

‘Wait,’ MacTire said. ‘Before you go, Kit, I’d like to ask you out to dinner.’

Say what? I turned my head to stare at the werewolf alpha. ‘You’ve already thanked me for what happened with Nick. It’s water under the bridge.’

‘That’s not why I want to have dinner with you.’ He smiled disarmingly. Damn, he was good-looking. ‘I’d like to take you out on a date. Hearts, flowers.’ He spread out his arms. ‘The whole shebang.’

I couldn’t have been more surprised if Quentin Hightower had appeared out of nowhere and thanked me for saving his life. ‘Uh…’

Amusement danced in the werewolf’s eyes. ‘I’ll have you home by midnight. I promise.’

I crossed my arms over my chest then immediately uncrossed them. Don’t be awkward, Kit, I told myself. It doesn’t suit you.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be searching for a mate so you can continue the MacTire line?’ I asked.

It wasn’t a given that any of Alexander MacTire’s progeny would rise to the vaulted position of alpha, but there was still pressure on him to settle down and reproduce. One of his own werewolves had tried to spike his coffee with magical Viagra to encourage his – er – inner lust .

He didn’t attempt to deny it. ‘I am.’

‘I’m not a werewolf.’

‘I am aware of that fact.’ He showed me his teeth. ‘I’ve decided to extend my search beyond my lupine kinsfolk.’

‘I’m a committed cat lady, Mr MacTire.’

‘I’ve already told you to call me Alexander,’ he said. ‘And I like cats.’

‘I don’t want kids. Even if I did, by this point I’d be considered a geriatric mother.’

He laughed. ‘I’m only asking you out to dinner. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

I gave him a long look.

‘Let’s say for argument’s sake that we hit it off. You know the worst things about me, Kit, and I know the worst things about you.’ He took a step towards me. ‘And there’s a frisson of attraction between us.’

Was there? He was good looking, but I still wasn’t convinced.

‘I’m not a spring chicken myself,’ MacTire continued. ‘If I settle down with a life partner, my pack will stop complaining and in a year or two I can name Nicholas as my heir. Anything that happens after that is up to him, but at least the baying hounds will be silenced.’

He’d put a lot more thought into this than I’d expected.

‘But,’ he added, ‘as I said, all I’m doing right now is asking you out for dinner. Let’s have a bit of fun and see where it takes us.’ His eyes glinted again; I had the feeling it was something he practised. ‘You might enjoy yourself.’

Stranger things had happened and I couldn’t think of a decent reason to say no. I pursed my lips; I had nothing to lose and, if nothing else, it would be an interesting evening. ‘Alright,’ I said slowly.

‘Friday night? I can pick you up. ’

‘In that monstrous car of yours? No thanks. I’ll meet you.’

MacTire didn’t look offended; if anything, he was even more amused. ‘Fine. Do you like Italian food?’

Who didn’t? ‘Sure.’

‘Vallese, then? Eight o’clock?’

I stared. ‘Don’t you have to book that place months in advance?’

‘Kit,’ he said, ‘I’m Alexander MacTire.’

I sniffed. ‘It must be nice to be important.’

He grinned. ‘Sometimes it definitely is. Are we on?’

What the hell. ‘Friday night, eight o’clock, Vallese. I’ll be there.’

‘I’m looking forward to it already,’ he murmured. He half-bowed and went back inside the deli, leaving me on the street wondering what on earth I’d agreed to.