She’d spent six days in Edinburgh navigating her way into the coven that called the Scottish capital city its home. She’d worked hard to gain their trust, promising to help them with their supply route and trade runs to Coldstream, and using up several favours that her other clients owed her. In the end it hadall been for nothing: they didn’t have any bellarmine jugs and they couldn’t help her find one.
The Glaswegian witches had been slightly easier to talk to. After a couple of days Mallory had learned that an old school friend of hers knew them, and she’d been able to speak to their High Priest without too much faff. He’d been kind and incredibly apologetic, but he couldn’t help her. Any valuable historical items had long since been sold because money was king outside the magical boundaries of Coldstream. Decades earlier, when they’d left Coldstream, the Glasgow coven had bartered away their important artefacts. Even their magic was dwindling now because they’d spent too long away from the magical properties bound into the earth in their old hometown.
Mallory had genuinely been shocked at their lack of witchery power and even more aghast when they’d told her they were happy about it. They’d left Coldstream for a reason: they didn’t want to be surrounded by magic and they preferred not to wield spells unless they were absolutely necessary.
‘We don’t understand why you would leave a comfortable, happy life as a non-magical entity to go there,’ the High Priest had told her. ‘Just as you don’t understand why we left Coldstream for the bright lights and technology of Glasgow.’
Perhaps, Mallory reflected grumpily, everyone wanted what they didn’t have regardless of whether they were witch, werewolf or human.
It had been a similar story in Dundee, Aberdeen and John O’Groats, where she’d been viewed with such mistrust that she’d double-bolted her door and checked beneath her bed before she went to sleep each night. She’d struggled to get anyone from the covens to speak to her, let alone trust her, and when she did talk to them it quickly became clear that none of the renegade witches had bellarmine jugs.
Only the Inverness coven was left. She crossed her fingers. Tonight would be the night, she told herself. The Inverness witches would be able to help.Pleaselet them be able to help.
A large truck trundled by, choking the air with its exhaust fumes. Mallory checked the road again, then crossed and headed for the car park where she was due to meet two of the coven. She had plenty of time because they weren’t due for another thirty minutes or so. She had planned to arrive early; she wouldn’t let anything derail this meeting, and that included unforeseen delays.
Although summer was beckoning, at this time of night it was still chilly this far north. There was a cold breeze that rippled Mallory’s hair and tugged at the collar of her shirt. She zipped up her jacket and moved faster before nipping through a ragged hole in the chain-link fence. On the edge of a busy industrial estate, the car park was filled with all manner of vehicles during the day but now it was devoid of cars, although there were a few darkened vans branded with the names of local businesses.
Nobody came here at night, which was why the Inverness coven had suggested it as a venue. Either that or they thought it was a good place to set a trap for the annoying squib who kept bothering them. Both were possibilities.
Mallory circled the perimeter. She could see other gaps in the fence, as if the area had been attacked by a savage animal rather than the more likely culprits: local teenagers armed with bolt cutters and cheap bottles of Buckfast fortified wine. She spotted a scorched oil drum that had obviously been used as a fire pit, beside which were several empty bottles and some empty sweet packets. Hopefully these teenagers wouldn’t appear tonight; she already had enough to deal with.
There was a prefabricated warehouse on the left side of the car park. Mallory had already checked it out and discovered it was owned by an electrical-tool company. Behindher a food company that specialised in jams and chutneys was using another smaller building. They were different to the tool company in that they traded with several Coldstream businesses, but Mallory had checked them out and was certain that the Inverness coven had nothing to do with them. Neither did they sell honey. She was pretty sure that this was neutral ground.
She didn’t want to surprise the witches or give them any reason to back away, so once she’d checked out the car park she strode to the centre and waited. It was important to show that she had nothing to hide.
She’d expected the two witches to arrive late in a bid to exert authority and display their power. She knew that the coven was concerned that she posed a threat, even though they knew she was a squib. They didn’t often deal with anyone from Coldstream because they believed that the Witches Council would take any opportunity to either stamp them out or force them back to the border city. Mallory was pretty certain that the Witches Council never gave the renegade covens a second thought, but telling the Inverness coven that would probably cause more problems than it would solve. Nobody wanted to believe they were inconsequential.
She was pleasantly surprised when a small car appeared and headed towards the car park a few minutes early. It pulled up outside the fence and stayed there with its headlights on and its engine running. Mallory couldn’t tell how many people were inside.
She waited, her hands hanging loosely by her sides, until the witches decided it was time to make their appearance. She didn’t have to wait long. Her watch buzzed, indicating it was bang on eleven-thirty, the rear passenger doors opened and two figures stepped out.
The car’s bright headlights prevented her from seeing their faces but their silhouettes were clear; although the two witches were dressed for the cold breeze, they were empty handed. Obviously witches didn’t need weapons to instigate an attack but the fact that they weren’t carrying anything threatening made Mallory relax slightly. She still had a few fading bruises from an encounter with one of the hot-headed bastards from the Aberdeen coven.
The two figures turned to each other, hesitated, then walked towards the fence. There was a locked gate to their right and Mallory watched as the shorter witch used a blast of controlled magic to pop the lock. Presumably the gate was there to add to the illusion of security. At least there was no sign of any CCTV cameras. That was another possible reason why the witches had elected to meet her there.
The pair walked across the car park, their steps synchronised as if they were part of a miniature army. Mallory waited, doing her best to appear calm. When they were ten metres away, they stopped. They didn’t speak.
Mallory supposed that the ball was now in her court. ‘Good evening,’ she called out. ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me. I promise I won’t take up much of your time.’
Neither witch said anything.
She drew in a breath. ‘As you already know, my name is Mallory Nash. I am a squib and I live in Coldstream.’
The short witch hawked up a ball of phlegm and spat it on the ground at the mention of the magical city. Mallory didn’t react; nothing would change their minds about Coldstream and it was pointless to try.
The second witch, a woman, lifted her chin. ‘We don’t like Coldstream folks,’ she said in case Mallory hadn’t yet realised that. ‘You all think you’re better than us.’
The male nudged her. ‘She’s just a squib.’
‘Doesn’t matter. She’s still Coldstream.’
Mallory knew she had to gain control of the conversation. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I thought I was better than you. I’m here because I need your help.’ Appealing to their better nature would only take her so far but it suggested she was weaker than them. She was prepared to play along if that was what it took.
‘You want a bellarmine jug.’
‘Yes.’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘Do you have one?’
The tall witch shrugged. ‘Maybe we do, maybe we don’t. Let’s hear what your offer is first.’
