Page 35 of Smoke & Ashes
“In spite of all evidence to the contrary, it seems.” They bent down and retrieved a slightly dusty first aid box from the floor. “Your blood is your mother’s, as mine is my patron’s.”
I’d hung out with vampires for long enough to be heartily sick of blood talk but painfully aware that it probably meant something. I still had that taste in my mouth of cold metal and dark winters. “You knew I’d attack you.” If I’m honest, it was half a question. But you didn’t ask questions of the Merchant unless you wanted to pay for answers. Of course sometimes the answer was the price in itself.
“You made a wish, and I was bound to respond. And you were bound to respond to that response.”
My eyes narrowed. “What’s your game?”
Which, of course, was a question. The Merchant smiled enigmatically. They’d have answered for a nominal payment—they only caredthatthey got paid, not how much, it was a faery magic thing. Still I wasn’t about to get further into that mystical bargain bullshit than I had to.
“Forget it, I don’t need an answer to that one.”
Winding a bandage around their wrist, the Merchant gave me a polite nod. “I hope that your friends remain safe, Miss Kane. Although I am forbidden to bargain for their safety against the interests of my patron.”
“I don’t like any of this.”
“Learn to. It will make your life far more bearable. And if you can’t learn to like it, at least learn to understand it. Lives may depend on how well you know yourself.”
That wasn’t happening. Knowing myself was flat bottom of my list of priorities. People who knew me got hurt, and I’d be a sucker to join them. “It’s been weird as always,” I told the Merchant. “Pleasure not doing business with you.”
“Any time.” There was that enigmatic smile again. “And you’re welcome.” They waved me goodbye, making the, I thought, rather cheap decision to use their injured hand for the gesture, despite it obviously still needing some quite serious attention.
I stepped out into the crisp air of the late morning. All this getting up early malarkey had to stop. I’d already arranged a werewolf bodyguard for two undergrads, taken a five mile run in pursuit of a shapeshifting vampire, and bitten a changeling. On any normal day it would be half-past three and I could safely start drinking myself to sleep. Instead I had plenty of time to make—ugh—progress on jobs that actually needed doing. I thought about un-cancelling Dr Bright but I worried that would make me look flaky. Well, flakier.
Which meant I had almost a full day to fill, and only one paying job to work on.
Sigh.
It was time to go to look for an estate agent. Again.
16
Me & Ed
Iwas about 90% certain that I’d find Ed Brown at the Maidenhead branch of the place he’d been working in Brentford—the man didn’t strike me as the master criminal type, and if he’d just been looking to skip out on the naïve statue lady he was married to, relocating within the same company would be the easiest option.
Their office was situated in what my vague recollection of GCSE geography told me was probably the Central Business District, and I popped in on basically no pretext. There were three besuited individuals inside—two men, one woman—who I figured were probably the agents of the estates. I sat down across from one of the guys.
“Hi,” I tried to look nonchalant, which I usually achieved by the strategic not giving of fucks. “You Ed Brown?”
He wasn’t, but a guy at the back of the office who was busy chatting to another client looked around in the way people instinctively do when you say their names. Well that was easy.
“Sorry, no,” said the man who now no longer interested me. “Did you speak to Ed on the phone?”
“Not exactly. That him?” I indicated back-of-the-room guy.
“What’s this about?”
There were two options here. The subtle one, and the other one. “I’m a private investigator. His wife’s looking for him.” The guy who was definitely Ed Brown went pale and started hurrying his customer along. “I’ve already seen you, Ed,” I called out. “There’s zero point running.”
“I think I might have to ask you to leave.” Not-Ed gave me what I think he thought was a stern look.
“I mean, you can. But then I might start having to explain why I’m here and I’m guessing Eddie Baby would rather I didn’t.”
He was still trying to play the stern card. “I must insist you not make a scene.”
“No scenes here.” I got up. “I seem to recall seeing a pub across from the Poundstretcher. If you’re smart, Ed, you’ll come see me there as soon as you get the chance. Later.”
Tipping my hat at the various staff members, I left. I could have hung around outside to catch Mr Brown on his way out, but that would beaskingfor a restraining order. If he knew what side his bread was buttered he’d come and have a quiet word. I had a feeling that this wasn’t criminal, unless he’d done something stupid like marrying two women at once, which I wasn’t entirely putting past him. Chances were, it was just shitty behaviour, which was always the worst news to have to bring back to a client. “Sorry, your husband is mixed up with a gang of international drug dealers” or “sorry, your husband fell through a gateway into the kingdom of the Troll Queen” were hard to hear but at least they gave a tiny bit of validation. Everything would have been fine if it hadn’t been for that one unexpected thing that came and shook up your perfect little world. “Sorry, your husband was such a massive prick that he stuck you with a situation where you literally had to hire a detective to get you out of it” was … grubby.
