Page 16 of The Dark Hiss of Magic
His dubious expression didn’t clear, though he inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
‘Save that gratitude until I’ve learned more. And maybe keep your windows shut from now on.’
‘And discourage Cindy from taking bribes,’ he muttered.
I thought again about her clothes and her grumpy attitude. Despite that pretty scarf and bracelet, Cindy was struggling to make ends meet. ‘Public-facing roles are more stressful than people realise,’ I said. ‘Raise her salary and she won’t do itagain.’ Probably. Only Cindy herself could guarantee that for sure.
Dr Singh looked more surprised than horrified. ‘Reward her for taking a bribe?’
‘Don’t think of it that way.’ I smiled. ‘Think of it as making sure she’s paid a decent living wage. It’s obvious she admires you, Dr Singh. She likes you and she respects you – and she rushed in the second it sounded like there was trouble. Cindy risked herself without knowing what might happen if she got involved. That means her problem isn’t with her job, per se, but with her salary.’ I shrugged. ‘And then you can sack her if there’s a next time.’
There was goodwill and second chances – and there was being taken a fool. Sometimes there was a fine line between the two.
Chapter
Seven
First I headed home. John Doe was already dead, I had no immediate lead on the mysterious druid and I had other priorities – most of which involved fish. Given the urgent miaowing from my furry family as soon as I walked through the door, I’d made the correct decision.
Every meal time was the same. All five of them would act as if they’d been starved for days rather than hours, and woe betide me if I was late. Thane had already given ideas to She Without An Ear about to how to enact revenge on me, and I had no desire for her to put those ideas into action. I liked my sleep to be uninterrupted.
I put out five food bowls, replenished their water then checked the corner of the front garden where I’d left out food for the nearby stray and feral cats. All was good.
Back in the house, I ventured into the back room, my all-purpose dumping ground. Sometimes it contained a hissing feral cat recovering from an injury but most of the time it was where I tossed the stuff I didn’t want to throw out but didn’t know where to keep. I cleaned out the room regularly but somehow it quickly filled up again. I didn’t activelywander around buying tat but somehow tat found me – much in the same way as hungry cats did.
I manoeuvred around a cardboard box containing a selection of different-sized glass jars that I’d been collecting on the off-chance I decided to make some jam to go with my scones, then headed to the back of the room and the small wooden chest in the corner.
In this light it looked innocuous enough, but when it was dark a faint glow emanated from the burnished wood. The glow had nothing to do with my dusting and polishing skills and everything to do with the magic bound up into it. It was a miniature version of a witchery store and it held all manner of dried herbs and pre-made concoctions that I’d collected over the years for situations like this one.
The chest was magicked to safely contain the items’ power and keep them fresh. I had enough magic of my own to stir the spells into life, but sadly I didn’t have enough power to create the spells myself; that was why I bought them ready-made from local witchery stores and kept them here.
I ran my finger across the neatly arranged packets, searching for the one I needed. Not a barrier spell or an enchanted caffeinated teabag to help keep someone awake – and definitelynotthe glamour concoction designed to make the user more attractive. The one time I’d tried that was when I’d been hunting down a target in my old job and had needed to gatecrash a posh party. It had caused far more problems than it had solved. I shuddered faintly at the memory and moved on.
There was a small nudge on my elbow. He Who Crunches Bird Bones was waiting by my side. ‘Finished your dinner already?’ I asked. ‘That was fast.’
I paused my search to scratch behind his ears. His rumbling purrs told me I’d hit the perfect spot. ‘I have to find an errant druid,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know his name orwhere he lives. In fact, I don’t know anything about him other than what he looks like. But he’s important and I need to find out what he knows.’
He Who Crunches Bird Bones chirruped and padded towards the chest. He sniffed at it delicately then pawed at the contents. ‘Hey!’ I protested. ‘Don’t mess up my system!’ The white cat ignored me and thrust his head inside. ‘There’s no bloody catnip in there,’ I said. ‘Stop it.’
He pulled his head out and blinked at me. I sighed then glanced at the box. One of the white-paper sachets was sticking out. Frowning, I reached for it and gazed at my handwriting on the label. I stared at the cat. ‘You,’ I whispered, ‘are extraordinary.’
He Who Crunches Bird Bones purred again and twitched his ears.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Alright. I’ll give you an extra after-dinner treat, though you know it means that everyone has to have one.’ I palmed the paper sachet, tidied the box’s contents and closed the lid, ‘Come on, then.’
As soon as I’d handed out crunchy salmon-flavoured titbits to each of the delighted moggies, I took a sheet of paper from the stack in the corner and sat down at the kitchen table. He Who Must Sleep jumped up and eyed me. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not staying long. If you try to have a snooze on my lap, it will be short-lived.’
He sniffed in thinly veiled feline derision but he backed away and settled on a corner of the table, earning himself several full body strokes. Finally I returned my attention to the paper, smoothed it out and patted down the curled-up corners.
‘Don’t bother me for a few minutes,’ I told the cats. ‘I need to concentrate.’
As I stared at the blank piece of paper, I conjured up an image of the nameless druid in my mind. Eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable and memory could cheat the unwary,but I’d spent half a lifetime practising the art of facial recognition. I didn’t have a photographic memory, not even close, but I’d trained myself to pay attention to what people looked like. From my first day as an assassin I’d vowed not to be the idiot who killed the wrong person simply because they resembled somebody or wore similar clothes. I had never broken that vow.
With the druid’s face firmly in my mind, I kept my eyes on the paper and reached for the sachet, blindly tearing it open and scattering its contents. From somewhere behind me, there was a miaowed squawk of surprise; it sounded like He Who Roams Wide but I didn’t turn around to check. I simply stared at the paper and focused intently until an image presented itself.
The tattoos came first, swirling into position before settling into the paper. A long, pointed nose appeared and gave a little wiggle as if it were sniffing out this new environment. The druid’s mouth came into focus, thin and wry, followed by cheekbones and jowls. His curly hair appeared first by his right ear then swept across his skull until it curved down towards the left-hand side of his face. Finally, his eyes emerged, wide at first and with the vestiges of the panic that I’d seen him in before he'd run away. Then they settled into a more amused expression, like the druid had when I’d first encountered him.
I held my breath until I was sure the image was established, exhaling only when the magic faded and the portrait became static on the paper. He Who Must Sleep heaved himself onto all fours and gingerly walked towards it. He lifted a curious paw to pat the druid’s hair.
