Page 16 of Waifs And Strays
I tapped my finger thoughtfully against my bottom lip then I left the flat and returned to my own place where all five cats were waiting. ‘I don’t suppose any of you could tell me exactly who nabbed Nick?’
They all miaowed in turn. They’d alerted me to the problem and, as far as they were concerned, any immediate danger to their own charmed lives had passed. Now they expectedrecompense in the form of tuna before they could even begin to consider anything else. Cats have priorities – and only a fool ignores them.
I nodded understandingly and dealt with their wounds first, gently cleaning them to encourage the healing process before I gave each moggy a reassuring pet and laid down their bowls. Leaving them to their dinner, I nipped next door. Somebody had to have seen something.
It took Dave several moments to open up. ‘What can you tell me about the visitor who dropped by this afternoon?’ I asked as he scowled at me from his doorstep. He was obviously preparing to settle in for the night; he was wearing his worn tartan slippers and clutching a tumbler of amber whisky.
He grunted in confusion. ‘You’re the one who got into their damned car. What canyoutell me about them? Since when did you have friends in high places who own cars?’
I ignored his questions. ‘I’m not talking about those visitors. I want to know who came after them when I was out.’
All he offered me was a blank expression. I muttered a curse and left him on the doorstep.
Next I crossed the road to talk to Mrs Miller across the street. She rarely left her house so she’d almost definitely know who’d been round. In sharp contrast to Dave, when she opened the door her face was wreathed with smiles. ‘Kit! Come in! Come in! How lovely to have a visitor!’
No way. Mrs Miller had a sprinkling of faerie blood; her great-grandmother had been a true faerie of the Summer Court, and although Mrs Miller’s genes were considerably diluted she still possessed more power than I was comfortable with. If I moved across her threshold, she’d ply me with tea and scones and somehow several days would pass while she kept me talking.
It had happened once before, not long after I’d moved in,and I’d vowed it wouldn’t happen again. I strongly suspected that her husband, who never left their home at all, had been a travelling salesman whom she’d invited in decades ago and who still hadn’t managed to leave. He seemed happy enough whenever I saw him, and the one time I’d enquired whether he needed help to escape he’d smiled benignly and told me without any trace of compulsion that he couldn’t imagine a better life than the one he had. I’d left him to it; his situation wasn’t for me to judge.
‘I can’t stay,’ I told her, double-checking that my toes weren’t touching her doorstep. I didn’t apologise even when her face fell; despite her friendly exterior, she knew exactly what she was doing every time she invited somebody into her house. ‘I only wanted to ask who visited me earlier today.’
Mrs Miller’s eyes widened. ‘There was acar,’she breathed. ‘An actual car! A woman was driving it – I think she was a werewolf. She had dark hair down to about here.’ She indicated the nape of her neck. ‘And there were two muscly werewolves with her. I thought I saw you get into it, dear.’
‘I did,’ I said. ‘I’m not talking about them. I want to know who came after that.’
Her face clouded with the same blank confusion that Dave had displayed and my stomach flip-flopped. ‘Mrs Miller,’ I asked carefully. ‘What did you do this afternoon?’
‘I had lunch with Derek,’ she said cheerfully, referring to her husband. ‘Carrot soup that I made myself. Then I did … stuff.’ She bit her lip before brightening. ‘Now I’m talking to you.’
‘What stuff did you do?’
Yet again she looked baffled. ‘Just … stuff. Do come in, dear. I can tell you all about it, if you like. I’ll pop the kettle on and we can chat.’
‘No, I really can’t stay.’ I was already backing away. ‘Thanks for your time, Mrs Miller.’
‘Sure, Kit.’ She waved at me. ‘Come round next week for the solstice. I’ll be at Crackendon Square in the morning but I’ll be back here for lunch with Derek. You should join us.’
Not a chance. I waved, hoping that would satisfy her for the time being, then turned on my heel and returned to Dave’s front door. This time he opened it before I could knock. ‘What now?’ he growled.
‘What did you do this afternoon?’ I asked.
He stared at me. ‘Why the fuck do you care about that?’
‘Humour me.’
As he stared harder, his scowl deepened and his eyes shifted. ‘I…’ He stopped. ‘None of your damned business!’ He slammed the door in my face.
I stepped back and ran a frustrated hand through my hair. Suddenly it was very obvious what had happened: whoever had attacked Nick and kidnapped him had employed a forget-me-not spell.
Some spells were easy to cast: any Tom, Dick or Harry could wander into a witchery store and buy the ingredients and knowledge to make a minor healing spell, such as the one I’d employed on She Who Hisses. Only a real witch with a powerful coven at their back could fix internal haemorrhaging or serious injuries, but there was plenty of magic accessible to virtually everyone. A masking spell of the sort that I could have used this afternoon to avoid being followed was another example, although it would have been more expensive than the enhanced herbs I’d used to help She Who Hisses.
Some of the spells that most people could employ were ruinously expensive and therefore rarely used; any spell that messed with somebody’s mind usually fell into that category. Casting spells that affected the physical world was one thing but interfering with the psyche was on a whole different levelbecause, regardless of the cost, there was no guarantee that you wouldn’t turn your target’s brain into jelly.
I had made a great deal of money as an assassin but even I would baulk at the price of a forget-me-not spell. There had only been two occasions in my illustrious career when my clients had signed off on the cost of such magic and the job had offered no alternative. Even then, EEL hadn’t permitted me to wield the spells myself; they kept a talented witch on the payroll to administer them. I could still recall her white face and the beads of sweat on her forehead the last time she’d cast a forget-me-not spell for me. Despite being the most skilled witch I’d ever met, even she’d been terrified of getting it wrong.
Whoever had hurt Nick and abducted him had no such fears, and they’d employed a forget-me-not spell on my neighbours as if it were as simple as turning on a light. If I knocked on the door of everyone who lived nearby, I’d probably receive the same response: complete bafflement over what had happened here this very afternoon.
It was extraordinary that anyone would contemplate doing such a thing to so many people. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what young Nick had done to warrant such attention.
