Page 5 of Waifs And Strays
‘No, I, uh, I…’
We could be here all day. I took pity on him. ‘You’d like me to cook for you as well providing a roof over your head?’
His relief was palpable. ‘Yes! I’ll give you extra money. And I’m not fussy, I’ll eat anything.’
‘Even cats?’ I asked.
He laughed nervously but at least he’d realised I was joking. ‘Anything.’
It wouldn’t be hard to cook larger portions, and cooking for one was always a depressing prospect. ‘We can come to some sort of arrangement.’ I waggled my fingers at him. ‘But that willinclude cooking lessons. You have to learn how to feed yourself.’
He nodded happily. ‘Thank you.’ He beamed. ‘You’re not that bad for an old lady.’
I choked. I was forty-one.
The breeze shifted and the few rose petals I’d not managed to bag skittered across the garden. Nick’s brow furrowed, his head jerked up and his nostrils flared as, somewhat belatedly, he caught the scent of the two werewolves.
So he wasn’t a natural tracker. All werewolves possessed scent-tracking abilities but some were more adept than others and Nick clearly didn’t fall into the adept category. I filed that information away and watched as he scanned the empty street with roving, restless eyes.
‘Is something wrong?’ I asked casually.
He didn’t hear me so I repeated the question more loudly. This time it registered. His expression cleared as the breeze died down and he lost the scent. He shook his head, his shaggy hair flapping. ‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘S’all good. I’m going to head out, if that’s okay. I want to start looking for work.’
He didn’t need my permission but I nodded anyway. ‘Good luck.’
The moment he’d disappeared around the corner, the two watchers returned. Now I understood their game and I also understood why Nick had ended up in the dodgy part of Coldstream instead of one of the better neighbourhoods. He had enough cash to pay for a decent place but I reckoned that his uncle’s pack were intimidating landlords to ensure wee Nick had nowhere to go. They wanted to back him into a corner so he felt he had no choice but to return to the furry fold of his family. They didn’t want him to know they were interfering and they were giving him the illusion of choice; that meant those two were here for me, not Nick.
They’d start with a little intimidation, escalate to bribery then resort to violence if they didn’t get their way. I sighed; I’d suspected it would come to this. I only had myself to blame for getting involved and letting Nick stay. I should have known better.
He Who Crunches Bird Bones abandoned Dave’s garden for mine. As he wandered over his tail flicked from side to side to project his annoyance, then he blinked at me and gave a small, questioning miaow.
‘You’re pretty tough,’ I told him. ‘But you’re no match for those two.’
His tail flicked harder.
‘I mean it. Leave them to me. They won’t hang around for long.’
He Who Crunches Bird Bones glared at me and I glared back. His fur bristled then he stalked away in a huff.
I mentally revised my day’s schedule. There was a confrontation looming. If I wanted to avoid any of the five cats who lived with me getting involved, I ought to take control of the situation. It was time to vamoose.
I set off for the riverside market, my shopping bag slung over one shoulder and my bag of rosebush cuttings in my opposite hand. I’d barely taken three steps when the two werewolves peeled away from their side of the road and started to follow me. I reckoned that they’d accost me directly by the time I reached the McBarry house on the corner.
I lost my own bet; I’d gone less than twenty metres when I heard the trundling footsteps of an approaching wirry cow. Igrimaced; with the events of the morning, I’d forgotten what day it was.
I spun on my heels and narrowly avoided colliding with the female werewolf, who was closer than I’d realised. Her expression was one of blank astonishment as, for a moment, she obviously thought I was about to engage in a fist fight right there on the pavement. Instead, I gave her a rueful smile.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Bin day!’ I darted past her and her companion and rushed back home to haul out my rubbish bin and deposit it at my front gate.
I didn’t really need to run: this particular wirry cow was old and she took her time lurching from house to house, but I wanted to get my rubbish out before the werewolves thought to stop me. It would be a pain in the arse if it piled up for another week. There were enough rats in this part of town as it was, and I didn’t want to deal with the cats dragging any more small grey corpses into the house than was absolutely necessary.
I was slightly out of breath by the time I was done. As I passed the werewolves for a second time, they watched my progress with narrowed eyes. The wirry cow was already at the next house, chewing noisily on some broken glass while pawing through the remainder of the rubbish with a hungry eye.
Wirry cows could – and would – digest practically everything except plastic. It was for that reason very few plastic items were found in Coldstream. Naturally some plastic did appear, often left by visitors or newcomers like Nick, and it was astonishing what floated in via the River Tweed, but it was rare to purchase anything made of plastic within the city limits.
People used to complain about that, even though there was no way that a normal bin lorry could ever navigate most of Coldstream’s narrow, winding streets, but nowadays most folk were proud about the absence of plastic. Various dignitaries from the less magically endowed parts of the country oftenvisited hoping to learn some environmentally friendly tips that they could take back to their own communities. Like the rest of us Preternaturals, however, wirry cows preferred to live near the magic bound into Coldstream’s earth. They’d never leave.
‘Hi, Maggie,’ I said as I passed her.
