Distasteful as Chester Longchamps might be, she wasn’t going to give up. Nothing was impossible as far as Mallory was concerned and she certainly wasn’t about to admit defeat; such a scenario was a very long way off.
‘Strategy,’ she said aloud. ‘It’s all about strategy.’
None of the witchery stores had any bellarmine jugs in stock. Mallory had visited every single one of them, even the small outfits on the fringes of the city, and she had the blisters to prove it. Despite her lack of success with commercial stores, she reckoned that witches were still her best bet. They had invented the jugs and bound special magics into the pottery process; thatmight be a lost art form in these modern times, but it stood to reason that it was a witch who could help her now.
Over the years Mallory had dealt with many of Coldstream’s covens. While the smart choice would definitely be one of the covens that had been around for generations, she didn’t think that approaching a wealthy or large coven was a good idea. Wealthy covens rarely needed her services and probably kept their important and precious documents sealed up in bellarmine jugs, so they’d have none to spare. Large covens might have the odd empty jug but wouldn’t necessarily know where they were kept and likely wouldn’t care. A small, old, cash-poor coven was the way to go.
She scanned most of the handwritten entries in her book before finally dismissing them. It was only when she squinted at her scrawled, sparse entry for the Pitcairn coven that she felt a surge of optimism. They fit the bill perfectly.
Mallory reckoned that a visit to the Pitcairns wouldn’t be a bad way to spend her day, and it might even lead to something useful. She stood up, collected her bag and headed for the door. Even if they didn’t own any bellarmine jugs, they might point her in the right direction. And their street was smack-bang in the centre of a coven-heavy suburb, so if they couldn’t help she could always drop in on a few of their neighbours. The Bigstones, perhaps, she mused as she pulled her front door open, or the Hammerwells or the?—
At the sight of a figure standing on her narrow landing, Mallory gave a high-pitched yelp of surprise.
‘I apologise,’ Alexander MacTire said. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
She blinked at him. ‘More surprised than frightened.’ She’d not heard the stairs creak, the usual indication that she had a visitor. ‘How long have you been standing there?’
To her astonishment, he flushed. ‘Not long.’
She tilted her head, examining his expression. ‘Alexander,’ she asked, ‘are you alright?’
‘I am perfectly fine. However, you asked me to come and tell you how my date with Cathy went.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘So here I am.’
‘I didn’t ask you to come around,’ Mallory said slowly.
‘You did.’
She shook her head. ‘No. You told me you’d come around with an update. I didn’taskyou to.’
He shrugged as if to say it wasn’t important. Mallory supposed he was probably right. ‘Let’s go for lunch,’ he said instead. ‘I’ll fill you in on all the gory details.’
Lunch sounded great but she owed Chester Longchamps’ business her full attention. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to work.’
‘Have you eaten today?’ he asked softly.
She tried to remember. ‘Yes!’ There was a note of misplaced triumph in her voice as she recalled the toast she’d hastily crammed into her mouth while she was working through the lists of witches in her notebook.
‘Really?’
‘I had toast.’
‘With butter and jam?’
‘Uh…’ Actually, she’d eaten it dry; her cupboards were mostly bare.
His amber eyes darkened thoughtfully. ‘No. Not jam. You had it with honey, right?’ Alexander’s tongue briefly dipped out to lick his lips. ‘Sweet, golden honey drizzled from edge to edge, seeping into buttery crevices so that sweetness coats your lips with every bite and,’ he dropped his voice and moved an inch closer, ‘lingers like an intimate sensual kiss.’
He slowly licked his lips a second time and Mallory realised she was staring at his mouth, imagining it coated with honey.Good grief. ‘Have you swallowed a book of poetry this morning?’ she managed.
He flashed a grin. ‘Perhaps I have. Come and have lunch with me and I’ll tell you about last night. I’ll release you to your other clients afterwards.’
Her stomach took that inopportune moment to growl. Loudly. Alexander’s eyebrows rose and she yielded; after all, she did want to know how things had gone with Cathy.
‘Alright, but only one hour. No longer. There’s a café at the corner where the service is fast.’
‘Perfect. I’ll even set a timer,’ he promised. ‘Lead the way.’
He stepped back but the landing was so small that even with his body pressed against the wall it would have been difficult for her to squeeze past him. She considered it then shook her head.
