‘You sat in my chair and ate my proverbial porridge.’ MacTire stopped walking and turned to her. ‘Next you’ll be sleeping in my bed.’
Whoa. Back up a minute. She stared at him. He stared at her. All of a sudden, Mallory felt very hot beneath her collar. ‘Not in this life,’ she whispered.
MacTire smiled slightly, then he carried on walking.
Mallory caught up with him. ‘Don’t go to the Wolf Ball with your beta, Samantha,’ she said suddenly.
He blinked. ‘Pardon?’
Abruptly, Mallory realised how her words sounded. She cleared her throat and did her best to explain. ‘Samantha is great – amazing, in fact. But she’s also incredibly scary andintimidating. Even if your potential Miss Right doesn’t believe that you and she are a couple…’
He growled, ‘We’re not.’
Mallory nodded. ‘She might still not approach you because Samantha is—’ she searched for the right word ‘—Samantha.’
His eyes held hers. ‘Do you know her?’
‘I knowofher.’ Truthfully, Mallory knew far more about the MacTire beta, whom she’d never met, than the MacTire alpha standing in front of her. Samantha was one of those people who drew attention whether she wanted it or not.
Alexander MacTire was quiet for a long moment and Mallory started to think that she must have enraged him with her advice. His expression betrayed little but his ongoing silence spoke volumes.
Finally he said, ‘I’ll think about it.’ He snapped his mouth shut and Mallory knew that the conversation was over.
The following morning,when a shaft of weak winter sunlight sneaked in through the gap in her curtains and tickled her face, Mallory could still faintly taste the fried onions from Glynn’s in the back of her mouth. MacTire had stayed quiet until they had parted company but he’d kept his word and bought her a hot dog, which she’d enjoyed during her solitary wander home.
She considered all that he’d said then rolled over and extracted a notepad and pen from her bedside drawer to jot down a few notes. Although she wasn’t organised enough to keep a diary – more often than not she relied on Boris to keep her straight and encourage her to be punctual – she was meticulous about noting down information about the people she came across, both as clients and otherwise. Every scrap of informationand every muttered whisper had the potential to become useful. As far as Mallory was concerned, information about people was worth its weight in gold. Her thick, well-worn notepad was her most valuable possession.
Mallory flicked through the pages until she reached the section marked ‘Werewolves’. There was already an entry for Alexander MacTire that she’d made after the appointment with the female werewolf who was looking to make a romantic match, but the information was scanty.
Owns a car,she scribbled. She remembered what he’d said about silphium and added,Classical education.The hot dog he’d bought her offered more information and she tightened her grip on her pen.Typical alpha sensibilities: domineering personality, needs to take care of others.She paused and then wrote:Intelligent. Observant. Thoughtful.Finally, for no other reason than because the memory of his amber eyes continued to unsettle her, she finished with:AVOID IF POSSIBLE.
She took a few moments to write down a few more details in the entry for Kit McCafferty, and on Victor Vallese’s page she added a note about the snooty waiter. She also updated the entry for Chester Longchamps. Then, with that chore completed, she untangled her legs from her bedsheet and stumbled through to her small kitchen to make a cup of coffee.
She grimaced when she opened the cupboard door and remembered belatedly that she’d run out of coffee – she’d meant to nip to the nearby market to get some the previous afternoon but had forgotten. Strong tea it would have to be.
‘Coffee,’ she muttered. ‘Remember to get more coffee.’
Mallory ignored the familiar thuds from the pub downstairs; the cleaner would already be in sprucing the place up before it opened for the day. Instead she took her cup over to the window and gazed out across the expanse of Crackendon Square.
It was still early but there was plenty of activity. A tram with bright-purple sparks glimmering along its roof heaved its way out of view. A group of eager tourists were assembling for a walking tour, goggling wide-eyed at what was, quite frankly, a nondescript collection of stone buildings. Three worried looking witches, including one whom Mallory knew was a Council Fetch thanks to his pointed black hat, were huddling together in the far corner.
She wondered what it would be like if she had the wherewithal to make use of proper spells; a bit of magically induced eavesdropping would make her life considerably easier. But daydreaming of what might be didn’t change what actually was. It was important to remain grounded in reality.
She eyed the witches. From their expressions, something was definitely wrong. She nibbled on her bottom lip then put down her cup, grabbed her coat and shrugged it over her wrinkled pyjamas. It was long enough to cover her modesty and this was too good an opportunity to worry about appropriate clothing. There were many reasons why she lived in the central location of Crackendon Square and being able to gaze out of her window and pinpoint whose conversations were worth listening to was definitely one of them.
Mallory nipped down the narrow staircase that led to the ground floor, opened the exterior door then, with unhurried steps designed to avoid any undue attention, she walked across the square towards the witches.
They were making little effort to lower their voices and even Mallory, with her pathetic human ears, could hear every single word.
‘Fetch Jackson is dead? Truly?’ the tallest one exclaimed. ‘Who would do such an awful thing? First he was arrested for murder and now he’s been murdered himself!’
‘It’s a cold-blooded atrocity,’ one of her companions agreed. ‘The MET building is still smoking as we speak.’
The third witch, the Fetch, bowed her head. ‘It’s a dark day for us all. We’ve been told to assemble at headquarters for an emergency meeting at noon. After that, I reckon we’ll be battening down the hatches. Until this matter is resolved and the killer is found, we’ll be on high alert. All non-urgent business will be halted.’
Bugger. On all counts.
Mallory swerved away from the group before they realised she was eavesdropping. Although she’d have liked to stick around in the hope of learning more about what had happened to poor Fetch Jackson, she was mindful of her promise to Chester Longchamps. If the Council witches were effectively putting themselves into lockdown, she had to move quickly to get the information she needed.
