As she started to turn away Alexander took her hand, an odd expression in his eyes, both troubled and thoughtful at the sametime. ‘I really am sorry, Mallory. I won’t act like that again. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘You don’t need to apologise twice. It’s fine.’
He rubbed the back of her hand with the base of his thumb and they smiled at each other. The uncomfortable moment was over – but Mallory’s stomach was flip-flopping all the same, and it didn’t settle down until some time after Alexander MacTire had let go of her hand.
Chapter
Eight
Objectively speaking – and romantically focused werewolves aside – Preternatural beings were fascinating to watch when they were angry. Veins bulged on the foreheads and necks of trolls; dryads and nymphs both flushed bright green. Furious magic often sparked at the tips of witches’ forefingers, and vampires turned so pale that you’d be forgiven for thinking they were on the verge of passing out.
‘It’s completely unacceptable,’ Chester Longchamps declared, his skin as white as parchment. ‘This is Coldstream. There must be a usable bellarmine jug somewhere!’
‘You’re certain that there are no vampires who have a spare?’ Mallory asked. After all, if the Clouded Map would help prevent future vampiric deaths they ought to be queueing up at Longchamps’ door to hand over any number of jugs.
‘If any of them do then they are selfish bastards who are refusing to give them to me.’ He paced up and down the length of his drawing room, his sharp heels scuffing the floor. ‘They don’t get it. They’re too complacent and they don’t think that they’re in danger. That’s the trouble with longevity, you start to think thatreal death is something that happens to other creatures even when you’re faced with the prospect yourself.’
Mallory sat on the long leather sofa, hoping that it would encourage Longchamps to stop pacing. ‘This creature,’ she said, ‘the one that’s killing vampires.’
He sent her a fearful look. ‘What of it?’
‘It truly terrifies you.’ She gazed at him. ‘Is it a threat to other Coldstream residents?’
‘Are you worried about your own longevity, Ms Nash?’
Her expression cooled. ‘I won’t deign to answer that.’
Chester Longchamps grimaced. ‘I apologise. That was uncouth.’ He sighed. ‘No, the only risk is to vampires. The creature is contained in an area that is safely away from anyone who doesn’t possess a thirst for blood, pale skin and an inability to appear in mirrors.’
‘Ah.’ That made sense. ‘It’s somewhere in the Understream, then.’
He stared at her. ‘How do you know about the Understream?’ A flicker of rage passed across his face. ‘Who told you?’
‘I broker favours and secrets,’ Mallory said patiently. ‘Of course I know about the Understream.’ The network of tunnels that sprawled beneath the city of Coldstream was a well-kept secret but she was good at her job and she’d known about it for years.
He wasn’t mollified. ‘Have you ever visited?’
‘I know what would happen if I tried to enter the Understream without permission.’ She tried to lighten the tone. ‘Written permission in triplicate, rubber stamped and notarised by a solicitor.’
Her attempt at weak humour fell flat. ‘You’d be lucky to escape with your life,’ Chester said darkly.
This time Mallory responded seriously. ‘I’m aware.’
The dangerous flash of white fangs showed that she hadn’t appeased him. Mallory knew that vampires took the Understream seriously but she hadn’t appreciated quite how seriously. For the first time, she felt she was on shaky ground; Longchamps could easily swing into sudden violence despite their blood contract and him needing her services.
‘Its existence is supposed to be a fucking secret.’ There was an ugly twist to his mouth.
‘Itisa secret,’ she soothed. ‘Few people in Coldstream know about it.’
‘It had better fucking remain that way.’
‘You should know by now that I can be trusted.’
A muscle jerked in his cheek but then he relaxed slightly. ‘Fine.’ He paused for a long moment. ‘Although I can’t help wondering what other secrets are rattling around in that head of yours.’
This time, Mallory thought it would be prudent to stay quiet. Longchamps watched her for another moment or two then heaved in a breath and changed the subject. ‘Regardless,’ he said, ‘I cannot find anyone who can give me a bellarmine jug, even on loan. You will have to find one.’
‘I told you that I’ve already tried every witchery store I can think of, and I don’t have any contacts who…’
