‘Whatever you say, Mallory.’ He finished his sandwich without further argument and smiled at her. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘that colour suits you.’
‘Huh?’
‘That top, the blue and green suit you. I liked the patchwork dress you had on last week that had similar colours. They match your eyes.’
Mallory stared but before she could gather her thoughts the waitress returned with the bill. ‘I’ll get this,’ Alexander said. ‘You can head off to your other clients.’
Mallory scratched her neck. Then, because she wasn’t sure what else to say or do, she did as he suggested.
Chapter
Fifteen
No matter how much Mallory tried to push him out of her thoughts, Alexander MacTire kept sneaking back into her head as she turned onto the street where the Pitcairn coven’s house was located. She was starting to get irritated with her inability to put him into a compartment and shut its proverbial door. She hit the side of her head with the palm of her hand as if self-inflicted violence would drive him away, then squared her shoulders and marched up to the Pitcairn front door. Its glossy paintwork reminded her of the sheen of Alexander’s hair.Goddamnit.She gritted her teeth and tried to focus.
She was well aware that cold-calling rarely got results; she’d tried it during the fledgling days of her brokering business when seven full days of knocking on doors had yielded a grand total of three rather dubious clients. Trying such an approach on the Pitcairns without good reason would only lead to abject failure but fortunately her scribbled notes had already offered her a way in.
The Pitcairns had spent several months complaining to anyone who would listen about a long-standing restrictive covenant that their ancestors had foolishly agreed to duringthe early nineteenth century. According to the terms of the covenant, which was held by the Association of Ogres who owned premises on the street behind the Pitcairns’ house, the coven members were not allowed to grow any magical herbs in their back garden without incurring harsh penalties. It was the sort of odd rule that had made sense a couple of hundred years ago when there was considerable worry about magic leakage and cross-contamination across residential properties but, during the last fifty years, magic wards had become more sophisticated and such covenants had usually been allowed to lapse. The Association of Ogres, however, was not willing to budge on this one. Not yet, anyway.
Mallory smoothed down her hair and checked her clothes. Did these shades of blue green really match her eyes? She muttered under her breath then she reached forward and rang the doorbell.
The male witch who answered looked friendly enough. He was tall and lanky and his stained apron suggested that she’d interrupted him in the middle of something. Nevertheless, he smiled at her. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Actually, I think I can help you,’ Mallory said. ‘My name is Mallory Nash and I’m here to talk to you about the ogres and the restrictive covenant on your property.’
The witch’s expression froze. He wiped his hands on his apron and gazed at her for a long moment before nodding slowly. ‘In that case, you’d better come in.’
She followed him into a long hallway lined with shoes then into a side room that appeared to be a study area. Two walls were lined from ceiling to floor with crammed bookshelves and there were four separate desks, each laden with papers and office detritus.
Only one of the desks was occupied. Mallory knew instantly who the older woman leaning across the old oak desk with afountain pen in her hand was because her black robes with their violet trim were a dead giveaway. This was Vanessa Pitcairn, High Priestess of the coven.
The witch cleared his throat. ‘We have a visitor,’ he said.
Vanessa Pitcairn looked up. She had a round face with laughter lines around her eyes and an upturned nose covered in freckles, all of which suggested she was a warm, friendly woman who would bake you a pile of chocolate-chip cookies at a moment’s notice. Mallory knew not to underestimate her, however, or to mistake her kindly demeanour for weakness. A small, poor coven this might be but Vanessa was High Priestess for a reason and her grey eyes reflected a fierce intelligence.
The witch shuffled his feet. ‘Her name is Mallory and she says she’s here about the ogres.’
Vanessa’s mouth tightened a fraction, although that was the only indication that she had heard him or that she cared.
‘Mallory Nash.’ She offered her full name. ‘I live locally but I’m just a squib.’
‘You’re notjustanything, Ms Nash,’ Vanessa said. ‘I know of you. I heard what you did for the Sunbake coven a few years ago.’
Mallory was genuinely startled and Vanessa Pitcairn went up another inch in her estimation. Mallory’s work for the Sunbakes had been secret and it had required a light touch and finesse that had taken months to achieve. That Vanessa Pitcairn knew of it was nothing short of extraordinary.
‘I’m on very good terms with their High Priest,’ Vanessa added. There was a teasing glint in her eyes that went a long way towards explaining what those very good terms involved. Suddenly everything made a lot more sense.
‘In that case this will be an easier conversation than I expected,’ Mallory offered.
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Vanessa snorted. She waved at the male witch, who quickly withdrew, then leaned back in her chair.
Mallory knew she was still on shaky ground. She couldn’t relax until she’d been invited to sit down. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. You have an issue with the Association of Ogres and I may be in a position to help you with that.’
Vanessa nodded slowly. ‘I appreciate someone who doesn’t waste my time beating around the bush, but you’re not here out of the goodness of your heart, Ms Nash. You want something from us first.’
There was little point in denying it or in prevaricating. ‘I need to find a useable bellarmine jug. I only require it for a period of a few months but it’s proving incredibly difficult to find one.’
Vanessa Pitcairn was giving very little away. ‘And you think that we could help you?’
