Page 54 of Waifs And Strays
Unfortunately she was cannier than that. She stayed where she was and started to delicately wash her face with her paw. I ground my teeth.
I knew when I was beaten. ‘If I feed you first, then you’ll show me?’ I asked. She paused mid-lick. I sighed. ‘Alright then. Come on.’
I returned to the kitchen and put out kibble for the baying brood. As they munched, I shifted my weight impatiently from foot to foot. Finally She Without An Ear offered me a tiny miaow and returned to the garden, although she sauntered with a maddening lack of speed.
She wandered out of the garden gate to the left then nudged my aluminium bin, which was still outside after Maggie the wirry cow’s visit. I stared at it, then stared at She Without AnEar before darting to the bin and twisting it around.There. Splattered on its side in bright red paint was a circle with a slash through it. It was far cruder and messier than the version on the side of Lorna’s apartment or the one on the flyer but it was undoubtedly the same.
‘Go to the flat upstairs,’ I told She Without An Ear. ‘Wake up Thane.’
There was no immediate reaction. When I turned to repeat my request, I saw that her ears were pinned back and her teeth were bared. She hissed and spat – then something smacked into the back of my head sending a sharp pain spiralling through my body.
I started to turn but I was hit a second time – and this time darkness descended before I could do anything.
The first thingI was aware of was the throbbing pain in my skull. I was reasonably hard-headed and I’d received my fair share of serious injuries in my old line of work, but it was rare for anything to hurt this badly.
I gritted my teeth against the agony and tried to raise my hand to touch my head but I was bound tightly to a chair. There was a blindfold across my eyes and a gag stuffed in my mouth: in short, I was screwed.
I’d finally worked out who had taken Nick and I had a working theory as to why, but they’d nabbed me before I could do anything about it.
I grimaced and then, as I fought against the waves of pain emanating from my head, I realised I must be wrong. If this was Umbra, I’d already be dead. The fact that I was here, trussed up like a chicken but still breathing, meant that my attacker was someone else.
The last time somebody had managed to sneak up behind me, I’d been a baby assassin barely out of training. My target had been a rich witch visiting from Russia and his bodyguard had attacked me after I’d dispatched his boss.
I’d been lucky to walk away from that one, but I wasn’t so sure I’d walk away from this because now I was older and rustier. And if it wasn’t Umbra who’d captured me, there was only one other person who could have done it. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that Alexander MacTire would let me talk my way out of this predicament, though I’d give it my best shot.
Although I was obviously in danger the risk wasn’t immediate so I zoned out and used an old meditation technique to force my physical pain to subside. It wasn’t easy, but after several minutes of trying it was at a level that allowed me to think more clearly and pay attention to my surroundings.
I couldn’t see, I couldn’t move and I couldn’t speak – but I could still use my ears and my nose. All was not lost.
It took me a few moments to separate the several competing smells. The strongest ones were of darkness and deep earthiness. Anyone who doesn’t believe that darkness possesses its own distinct odour had never spent any time in a cat’s body: darkness definitely smells, although it isn’t unpleasant or scary. Instead it has a perfume, subtle but which speaks of peppery spices and musky amber. That smell, combined with the scent of earth, made me certain that I was being held underground.
I doubted this was the MacTire mansion because it would have been too troublesome to cart my unconscious body all that distance; however, they probably had other properties that were closer and were making use of one of them. All the easier to dispose of my corpse afterwards, I supposed.
There were other scents: the faint iron tang of blood, likely my own, and the tickle of bleach. Underlying them all was a whisper of vetiver.
As soon as I registered that particular smell, I held my breath and strained my ears. Beyond the incessant drip of water, a faint, rasping breath that told me I wasn’t alone. Thane was in here with me.
Shit. It had been too much to hope that Alexander MacTire or Samantha wouldn’t have realised he was staying with me and left him in peace. My stomach clenched. Nothing about this was good.
I concentrated on my breathing, inhaling and exhaling until I was fully centred and calm, then I focused on my first priority: freeing my hands. When I could move properly, I could deal with my other problems.
I wiggled my fingers. From the rough chafing against my wrists, I’d been bound with rope. The good thing was that it was possible to escape from almost any binding given skill, patience and dexterity; the bad thing was that it often took time and patience, neither of which I possessed in abundance.
I flexed my arms, rubbed them together then stretched them as far apart as they would go to create some slack in the rope. Even an inch would help. Once I had some leeway, I could use my fingertips to find the knots and start to unpick them.
Unfortunately for me, whoever had tied me to the chair knew what they were doing. After several minutes, I still hadn’t managed to magick up any slack. That was annoying.
I changed tactics and tapped my right foot against the chair to make sure it was made out of wood and not metal then shuffled backwards inch by inch. Alexander MacTire had missed a trick by not bolting the chair to the floor.
I kept moving for what felt like an age, sweat pouring down my forehead and dripping onto the tight blindfold until it was moist from my efforts. I inched back, ignoring the noise of the chair scraping against what sounded like concrete, until I was rewarded for my trouble when I finallyhit a wall.
I heaved in a breath; I couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Rather than gathering my energy by resting, I tipped the chair to an angle. Every muscle in my legs complained at the unnatural strain but a beat later I was slamming the chair into the solid wall. The sound reverberated around the room.
I gritted my teeth and repeated the movement again and again and again.
On my ninth attempt I finally had some success. I’d shifted my weight to try a different angle and the chair was already weakening. As I connected with the wall, there was a satisfying splintering. I crashed against the wall again and there were more rewarding cracks. Almost there. A couple more hits and the chair would be destroyed enough for me to wriggle free. I smiled beneath my gag.
There was the sound of a door opening and a loud tut. Goddamnit. ‘I’ll give you this, Ms McCafferty,’ Alexander MacTire drawled, although there was no doubting the anger in his voice, ‘you don’t surrender easily.’
