‘You’ll be lucky to find one.’
‘So it’s a good thing I’m a lucky person.’
They exchanged amused glances, both well aware that it wasn’t luck that made Mallory’s secrets and favours brokerage service successful but a great deal of hard graft.
‘I’ll fetch the preservation spell,’ Alison told her. ‘You still have some leeway on your account.’
Mallory shook her head. ‘I’m not paying for it, my client is. He’s a vampire by the name of Chester Longchamps. You can send him the invoice.’
‘A vampire came to you for a favour?’ Alison looked more impressed than intimidated.
‘Business is good.’
‘Clearly. Next I hear, you’ll be working for the likes of a beta werewolf like Liam Ferguson.’ She nodded towards the werewolf who was wandering down an aisle, frowning.
Mallory wondered what Alison would say if she told her she was working for the MacTire alpha, but she smiled and said nothing.
Chapter
Seven
Mallory wrinkled her nose and gazed at the decidedly non-magical map displayed at the foot of the stairs to her small flat. Usually it was a valuable tool that enabled her to keep track of her clients. It covered all of Coldstream, with red dots marking the clients whom Mallory owed, blue dots covering those who owed her, and yellow dots pinpointing works in progress.
While it was satisfying to note that there were far more blue dots than red dots, Mallory couldn’t pick out any current clients who might help her find a bellarmine jug; neither could she think of any previous clients to whom she could ask for help. Even her meticulously kept leather journal with its copious notes hadn’t been of any use. Frankly, whichever way she turned she was coming up blank.
Without a jug to transport it, Nicola Sturgess had made it clear that the Clouded Map was unattainable. Mallory had already been to almost every witchery store in Coldstream during the past few days and she’d asked almost everyone she could think of. Perhaps it was time to think outside the box. They had to find a bellarmine jug from somewhere. If ChesterLongchamps couldn’t locate one soon,shewould have to try even harder.
Almost on cue, Boris pushed open the door and squinted at her. ‘I’ve done what you asked and visited the vampire. Don’t make me go there again.’
‘Was it awful?’
The corners of his mouth turned down. ‘Horrendous – although he did sign his contract.’
Something about his tone of voice gave her pause and her heart sank. ‘Did he read it?’
The spriggan snorted. ‘No.’
Centuries old and yet mince for brains. Mallory grimaced. Doubtless the vampire’s lack of care would cause problems later, but she’d worry about that if and when it became an issue. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had over-confident clients who under-estimated what they were getting into.
‘If you don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, you’ll be late,’ Boris warned, re-focusing her attention. ‘And I doubt that MacTire will be as relaxed about your spurious timekeeping as Kit McCafferty was.’
True. Mallory sighed.
‘I’m on my way,’ she said. She smoothed down her patchwork dress. Its style remained decidedly bohemian but it was definitely more tight fitting than she was used to. She wriggled uncomfortably.
‘Don’t twitch,’ Boris told her. ‘It makes you look like a squashed caterpillar if you move around like that. Stand up straight and act normal.’
Mallory plucked at the corset strings. ‘Easy for you to say,’ she told him.
The spriggan’s expression didn’t alter. ‘You look beautiful when you’re not writhing around. Every eye will be on you.’
She pursed her lips. ‘I don’t want every eye to be on me. I’m not the focus, Alexander MacTire is.’
Boris allowed himself a fleeting smirk. ‘Oh,’ he said with an airy wave, ‘I expect every eye will be on him too.’
As long as MacTire’s eyes were on the three women she’d picked out as potential mates for him, she’d be happy. She grunted at Boris, picked up her bag and headed for the door.
There were no grubby trainers in evidence tonight, it was heels all the way. Thankfully this particular pair were comfortable, even if they did make her feel as if she were towering over Boris. She lifted her chin and did her best to take his advice not to fidget. ‘With any luck,’ she said, ‘Alexander will agree with one of my choices and I won’t have to go to the Wolf Ball with him.’
