‘It’s been a quiet month.’ He paused. ‘Apart from a surprise advance booking for Samhain.’
Mallory adjusted her skirt and straightened her name badge. ‘I’m ready,’ she said.
George turned around and gave her an approving nod.
‘I can try and tie up my hair to make it look neater?’ she offered.
‘I’ve got that covered.’ He passed her a scarf. ‘It’s a shame to hide those curls but they’re memorable and they don’t meet the Belladonna’s exacting dress code.’ His expression curdled; it was obvious what he thought of such rules.
Mallory smiled: she understood that certain organisations did things in particular ways and it always reminded her that she was lucky to work for herself. She secured the scarf, managing to keep most of her springy curls in place. ‘Who’s the surprise guest?’ she asked.
‘We don’t know yet, but the deposit came for our finest suite of rooms from the bank account reserved for the Winter Court.’
Mallory gaped. ‘The Winter Court? The Fae Winter Court?’
He nodded. ‘Yep.’
She whistled: this was thrilling news in more ways than one. ‘How long has it been since a member of the Winter Court came to Coldstream?’
‘Thirteen years. I checked.’
That was before Mallory had moved here. Even the lowest of Winter Court courtiers would be exciting to behold. ‘You’ll let me know when you find out who’s coming?’ There was a lot she could do with a secret of this magnitude.
‘Of course.’ He brushed some invisible dust off her shoulders. ‘Ready?’
Mallory took a long, slow breath, slowly released it, tightened her toes and briefly closed her eyes. The successful completion of her deal with Chester Longchamps might well rest on the next sixty minutes. A fizz of adrenaline burst through her veins and she nodded.
‘Ready,’ she said. ‘Bring on the ogres.’
It would have drawnattention to her presence if she’d strolled through the staff entrance with George, so Mallory waited five minutes after he’d gone back inside before she followed.
Although she’d never stayed at the Belladonna as a guest she knew the hotel layout, even if she was a little hazy on some of the finer details. That was good: she didn’t have to waste time getting her bearings. The less time she spent skulking around the hotel’s plush corridors the better.
She bypassed the kitchen, staffroom and several storage rooms. A white-coated waiter passed her heading in the opposite direction and she half-expected a challenge from him, but he barely glanced at her. Housekeeping was way below dining-room staff in the hotel’s pecking order; her dull-green uniform ensured that she was beneath notice.
Her confidence grew. By the time she was in the employees’ lift heading up to the conference room floor, she felt certain this venture would work.
When the lift door opened, Mallory was at the end of a dingy corridor lined with health and safety notices and warnings about performing unnecessary magic whilst on duty. No fear on that score, she thought.
She pushed open a door at the far end and was immediately greeted by a cacophony of sound, colour – and dozens upon dozens of broad-shouldered ogres.
The Association of Ogres didn’t include every ogre in Coldstream; it was a relatively small organisation considering the number of them who lived in the city. Even so, Mallory was surprised by how many were there. The house behind the Pitcairn coven wasn’t big enough for more than a dozen or so ogres to live in comfortably, and there were more than three hundred ogres in the Belladonna conference room. Luckily she’d found photos of the association’s bigwigs in an old version of theColdstream Courierand she’d studied them closely, so she knew who she was looking for.
Hotel staff were circulating with dainty canapés and scooping up empty cups, glasses and plates. Mallory scooted around the edge of the room and avoided them as best as she could as she kept an eye out for Richard Stone-arm, the current head of the association. She was interrupted on several occasions by ogres, most of whom pressed their dirty plates on her, albeit with polite smiles and murmurs of thanks.
One particularly gruff ogre wanted to complain about the lack of authenticity with the traditional troll-flesh vol-au-vents. Given that troll meat had been illegal for more than two hundred years and goat was used instead, there was no chance the small pastries could ever be described as authentic no matter whocooked them. Mallory knew better than to argue and simply murmured that she’d pass on the comment to the kitchen.
While that was a lie she didn’t feel ashamed of, she did feel a trace of guilt when another ogre, who was crossing his legs and grimacing, asked for directions to the restroom. She made an educated guess as to where the toilets were and sent him to the right, hoping for his sake that she was correct.
After two full circuits of the room and no sign of any Stone-arms, let alone Richard himself, Mallory decided to abandon the conference area in favour of the guest rooms upstairs. George had told her which room Richard was staying in and it would be easier to get him to listen to her away from the crowds.
She was making a beeline for the exit, carrying a towering stack of plates, when she spotted him – and she immediately realised why she’d not noticed him before.
Ogres were typically tall creatures but that wasn’t the case with Richard Stone-arm. He looked to be under six foot, which was extremely short for an ogre, and he’d been hidden by the rest of the crowd. Mallory wondered if his height was a genetic quirk; if it were and he’d spent his life compensating for his size, it might explain why he was so keen to assert his superiority in other matters, including pointless covenants.
Mallory spotted an empty tray and dropped the plates onto it, then pushed through the crowd towards Richard Stone-Arm. Unfortunately, she was not the only person who wanted to talk to him and a long queue of people were waiting their turn.
She’d have to be canny about this. She paused and considered, then instead of pressing forward she spun around.
