Page 8

Chapter

Seven

F irst I headed home. John Doe was already dead, I had no immediate lead on the mysterious druid and I had other priorities – most of which involved fish. Given the urgent miaowing from my furry family as soon as I walked through the door, I’d made the correct decision.

Every meal time was the same. All five of them would act as if they’d been starved for days rather than hours, and woe betide me if I was late.

Thane had already given ideas to She Without An Ear about to how to enact revenge on me, and I had no desire for her to put those ideas into action. I liked my sleep to be uninterrupted.

I put out five food bowls, replenished their water then checked the corner of the front garden where I’d left out food for the nearby stray and feral cats. All was good.

Back in the house, I ventured into the back room, my all-purpose dumping ground.

Sometimes it contained a hissing feral cat recovering from an injury but most of the time it was where I tossed the stuff I didn’t want to throw out but didn’t know where to keep.

I cleaned out the room regularly but somehow it quickly filled up again.

I didn’t actively wander around buying tat but somehow tat found me – much in the same way as hungry cats did.

I manoeuvred around a cardboard box containing a selection of different-sized glass jars that I’d been collecting on the off-chance I decided to make some jam to go with my scones, then headed to the back of the room and the small wooden chest in the corner.

In this light it looked innocuous enough, but when it was dark a faint glow emanated from the burnished wood.

The glow had nothing to do with my dusting and polishing skills and everything to do with the magic bound up into it.

It was a miniature version of a witchery store and it held all manner of dried herbs and pre-made concoctions that I’d collected over the years for situations like this one.

The chest was magicked to safely contain the items’ power and keep them fresh. I had enough magic of my own to stir the spells into life, but sadly I didn’t have enough power to create the spells myself; that was why I bought them ready-made from local witchery stores and kept them here.

I ran my finger across the neatly arranged packets, searching for the one I needed.

Not a barrier spell or an enchanted caffeinated teabag to help keep someone awake – and definitely not the glamour concoction designed to make the user more attractive.

The one time I’d tried that was when I’d been hunting down a target in my old job and had needed to gatecrash a posh party.

It had caused far more problems than it had solved.

I shuddered faintly at the memory and moved on.

There was a small nudge on my elbow. He Who Crunches Bird Bones was waiting by my side. ‘Finished your dinner already?’ I asked. ‘That was fast.’

I paused my search to scratch behind his ears.

His rumbling purrs told me I’d hit the perfect spot.

‘I have to find an errant druid,’ I told him.

‘I don’t know his name or where he lives.

In fact, I don’t know anything about him other than what he looks like.

But he’s important and I need to find out what he knows. ’

He Who Crunches Bird Bones chirruped and padded towards the chest. He sniffed at it delicately then pawed at the contents. ‘Hey!’ I protested. ‘Don’t mess up my system!’ The white cat ignored me and thrust his head inside. ‘There’s no bloody catnip in there,’ I said. ‘Stop it.’

He pulled his head out and blinked at me. I sighed then glanced at the box. One of the white-paper sachets was sticking out. Frowning, I reached for it and gazed at my handwriting on the label. I stared at the cat. ‘You,’ I whispered, ‘are extraordinary.’

He Who Crunches Bird Bones purred again and twitched his ears.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Alright. I’ll give you an extra after-dinner treat, though you know it means that everyone has to have one.’ I palmed the paper sachet, tidied the box’s contents and closed the lid, ‘Come on, then.’

As soon as I’d handed out crunchy salmon-flavoured titbits to each of the delighted moggies, I took a sheet of paper from the stack in the corner and sat down at the kitchen table.

He Who Must Sleep jumped up and eyed me.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not staying long. If you try to have a snooze on my lap, it will be short-lived. ’

He sniffed in thinly veiled feline derision but he backed away and settled on a corner of the table, earning himself several full body strokes. Finally I returned my attention to the paper, smoothed it out and patted down the curled-up corners.

‘Don’t bother me for a few minutes,’ I told the cats. ‘I need to concentrate.’

As I stared at the blank piece of paper, I conjured up an image of the nameless druid in my mind.

Eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable and memory could cheat the unwary, but I’d spent half a lifetime practising the art of facial recognition.

I didn’t have a photographic memory, not even close, but I’d trained myself to pay attention to what people looked like.

From my first day as an assassin I’d vowed not to be the idiot who killed the wrong person simply because they resembled somebody or wore similar clothes. I had never broken that vow.

With the druid’s face firmly in my mind, I kept my eyes on the paper and reached for the sachet, blindly tearing it open and scattering its contents.

From somewhere behind me, there was a miaowed squawk of surprise; it sounded like He Who Roams Wide but I didn’t turn around to check.

I simply stared at the paper and focused intently until an image presented itself.

The tattoos came first, swirling into position before settling into the paper.

A long, pointed nose appeared and gave a little wiggle as if it were sniffing out this new environment.

The druid’s mouth came into focus, thin and wry, followed by cheekbones and jowls.

His curly hair appeared first by his right ear then swept across his skull until it curved down towards the left-hand side of his face.

Finally, his eyes emerged, wide at first and with the vestiges of the panic that I’d seen him in before he'd run away. Then they settled into a more amused expression, like the druid had when I’d first encountered him.

I held my breath until I was sure the image was established, exhaling only when the magic faded and the portrait became static on the paper. He Who Must Sleep heaved himself onto all fours and gingerly walked towards it. He lifted a curious paw to pat the druid’s hair.

‘I wouldn’t,’ I murmured. ‘This is old magic and it can be temperamental.’

He Who Must Sleep withdrew.

I held the portrait at arm’s length and examined it.

It was a decent approximation; the old spell had held up better than I’d expected.

Pleased with my achievement, I made a mental note to thank the witch who’d sold it to me, then I remembered she’d retired three years ago and absconded to Spain for a warmer lifestyle.

Oh well. I might find another witchery store that offered similar enchantments.

It would be worth keeping more versions of this spell in stock.

I tilted my head at the magicked portrait. ‘Hi there,’ I said softly. ‘It’s good to see you again. Now I have a chance of finding out who you really are.’

I started close to home; there was no point in having a druid as a neighbour if I didn’t make use of him.

Dave wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, and there were at least two generations between him and Cosplayer, as I had decided to christen the young druid: Cos for short.

Still, my neighbour had spent some years in prison and he still had contacts from those days.

If Cos was part of a criminal druid network, there was a chance Dave would know of him.

He scowled at me from his doorstep. ‘What do you want now?’

My smile was bright as I held up Cos’s portrait. ‘Do you know this man?’

Dave didn’t glance at the picture. ‘What? No chewy scones?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ I waved the paper at him. ‘Just this.’

He huffed at the injustice of my lack of dodgy baked goods then squinted at the portrait. ‘You think I know every fucking druid in town?’

‘No,’ I said pleasantly. ‘But I’m hoping that you might know this one.’

He glared. ‘I don’t.’

It had always been a long shot. I thanked him, earning myself a deeper scowl, and turned away. There were plenty more avenues to explore.

‘Get that stupid ginger werewolf to help you!’ Dave called after me. ‘You cat people ought to stick together.’

Yeah, yeah. I waved a hand at him as I walked off, but then I considered the suggestion.

Thane moved around a lot, as if he were afraid of what might happen if he spent more than a month in the same location.

His current pad wasn’t far off Crackendon Square and I was heading in that direction, so it wouldn’t take me long to drop by and ask him if he wanted to tag along.

Two minds made short work, yadda yadda, and it would look less suspicious if I was part of a couple when I wandered around asking questions.

Besides, I liked it when we spent time together. I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else with Thane, and that was rare for me indeed.

‘I can’t believe that you’ve been running around Coldstream conducting an investigation while I went home and put my feet up,’ Thane growled after I’d filled him in on the rest of my day. We were walking towards Hirsel Street and its bustling nightlife.

It was close to the old town area on the other side of Crackendon Square and was no less vibrant as a result. Even at this early hour I could hear off-tune karaoke pumping out from competing bars.