‘I don’t believe there’s anything you can’t be successful with.’
Not even remotely true.
‘You’re kind, helpful and truly amazing. And to think you’re a squib! It’s extraordinary.’
Mallory smiled so brilliantly she thought her face might crack. ‘Extraordinary. Thank you, Vanessa.’
‘Here.’ Vanessa handed over the box. ‘The bellarmine jug is inside, carefully wrapped. I didn’t want to drop it on the way here so I might have gone overboard with the packing. This might be the last unused bellarmine jug in Coldstream – there’s a chance one or two of the renegade covens who live up north might have a spare jug, but I’m not sure. Either way, you should take good care of this one.’
Mallory didn’t need to be told twice. She opened the box and undid a portion of the packing material; it was most definitely a bellarmine jug, original and intact. At least something had gone right, but that didn’t ease the aching hole in the centre of her chest. ‘Great.’ She forced far too sunny a smile.
‘You’re the best, Mallory,’ Vanessa said as she headed for the door.
The best at screwing everything up. Mallory smiled even more brightly. ‘You too, Vanessa! Good luck with the garden!’
From the look in Boris’s pale eyes, her forced good humour was worrying him. ‘Mallory…’
She dropped the act. ‘It’s fine, Boris,’ she said tiredly. ‘I’m fine.’ She held up the box. ‘At least we can draw a line under this business. I’ll go straight to Chester Longchamps.’
‘Okay. Are you sure I should let MacTire in? I’ll happily tell him to fuck off if you want me to. In fact, I’d enjoy doing just that.’
He likely would. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I need to sit down and have a proper chat with him.’ Her stomach twisted at the thought but she reminded herself she was a grown woman. She could do this. ‘I’ll be back here by quarter-past eleven at the latest. If I’m late, tell Mr MacTire to wait and that I apologise for my tardiness.’
‘Take your time,’ the spriggan told her with a snort. ‘And don’t apologise. The longer he cools his heels, the more fun I’ll have.’
Mallory sighed. She had no idea what she would say to Alexander – Mr MacTire – but she had a couple of hours to come up with something. It would be alright, she told herself firmly. In the end, everything would be alright. It had to be.
It wasthe first time Mallory had been to the Longchamps’ residence in daylight and it looked far shabbier than it did in the dark. She supposed that Chester didn’t care: he wouldn’t notice the patchy paintwork or register the way the magicked puddles of eternal blood on the stone steps looked fake when sunlight hit them. Even so, she avoided the sticky red patches as she descended.
She gingerly lowered the precious box containing the bellarmine jug to the ground and knocked loudly. Nobody answered, not even Eric, the grumpy and often abused thrall.Mallory heard no footsteps and didn’t feel any discomfiting prickle suggesting that she was being watched. She knocked harder. Still nothing.
She nibbled on her bottom lip. She wanted to hand over the bellarmine jug as quickly as possible; it would be incredibly vexing to lug it all the way back home again.
After another few moments, she raised her fist and knocked again. Third time lucky, but if nobody answered this time she’d give up and leave a message. She waited, but it was only as she was reaching into her bag to scrabble around for a notepad and pen that she finally heard some signs of life from beyond the heavy front door.
She didn’t recognise the face that peered blearily through the grate. The woman with the unkempt hair and smudged eye make-up was definitely a thrall, but Mallory had never seen here before. She smiled politely. ‘Good morning. My name is Mallory Nash and?—’
‘I know who you are.’
Considering that Mallory was bringing an item that Chester Longchamps had needed for several weeks, she’d anticipated a warmer welcome, but she wouldn’t be the only person in Coldstream who was having a shitty weekend and she would do well to remember that.
She didn’t smile sunnily or present this new thrall with a business-like façade; she no longer had the energy to pretend to be other than what she was. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then you can tell Chester that I’m here and I’ve brought his jug.’
‘It’s Lord Longchamps to you,’ the thrall replied shortly.
Mallory raised an eyebrow; even with her distracted state of mind, she could tell that something was wrong. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘There’s no problem.’
‘IsLordLongchamps here?’
‘Yes.’
Mallory sighed. ‘Then let me in so we can get this business over and done with.’ The irritation in her voice would have shocked most people who knew her, but the thrall didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘You can leave the jug on the doorstep and I’ll take care of it,’ the woman said.
Not a chance. ‘Let me in, or I’m leaving and taking the jug with me,’ Mallory told her. The thrall rolled her eyes but at least she opened the door.
