Page 47 of The Dark Hiss of Magic
I sighed. I ought to give up. It was hot, and I was tired and hungry.
S. Bernhope. M. Patel.
Thane was locked up in the MET cell with Tiddles and probably getting worried.
X. Smith. V. Thomson. G. McDonald.
The longer I stayed away from the jail, the more chance that my disappearance would be noticed.
S. Pickover. D. Jackson. H. Puttman.
I stopped then gazed again at the metal tub inscribed D. Jackson. A pile of dark clothing lay inside that looked similar to what the Fetch had been wearing at the mortuary that morning, though I couldn’t be certain. He’d struck me as the kind of man who always wore dark clothes like most of the council witches; bright orange and spangly purple didn’t suggest you were a serious person capable of great things.
When I shoved my head inside the tub, my nose twitched and I immediately recoiled. Bloody hell: his aftershave was brutal. I sneezed three times but the musky, unpleasant scent still clung to my nostrils. I’d certainly not smelled anything like that on Fetch Jackson that morning.
I willed myself to stick my head into the bucket again andexamine the clothes more closely. Several areas of the material looked stiff and unyielding, suggesting something had been spilled onto it and then dried: something dark and sticky like syrup. Or blood.
I swallowed hard. Suddenly my suspicion had hardened into near certainty. Ithadbeen him. Fetch Daniel Jackson had gone after Knox Thunderstick, tortured him and killed him.
I was stunned enough to rock back for a moment – and that was almost my undoing. A pair of hands appeared and the tub rose up. The female member of staff was taking the clothes to one of the machines where all the evidence would be washed away.
I gave a screeching miaow of protest and the woman peered over the tub. ‘There’s a cat!’ she exclaimed. ‘Somebody let a cat in here!’
‘Probably escaped from one of those bastards upstairs,’ the young man said. ‘Check if it’s got a collar.’
‘You check,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my hands full.’ She turned towards the machine and tossed the contents of the tub inside. No, I couldn’t let her do it.
I sprang forward, leapt and landed inside the tub. My paws sank onto the last few blood-encrusted items.
‘Hey!’ the woman protested and her face contorted into a spasm that I couldn’t interpret. Either she thought I was the cutest thing since the city-wide invasion of blue-haired sprites at the turn of the millennium, or she was about to throw the tub in the air and send my little ginger cat body flying towards the ceiling.
I didn’t wait to find out. I dropped my head, snatched the first thing I could with my teeth and launched myself out of the tub, then I was off and running. I smacked into the door with such force that I managed to push it open.
I had my prize. I was out of there as quickly as my four legs could take me.
Chapter
Seventeen
Ididn’t pause during my return journey, not even to check what I’d nabbed from the laundry tub. It was small and I suddenly had the horrible thought that I was carrying Fetch Jackson’s underwear in my mouth, even though the material felt unusual for that sort of thing.
There were only a few lights on inside the MET building, which was a good sign; if anyone had noticed my absence, there would have been far more activity. The ball of tension inside me dissolved when I saw that the window was still open. I bounded up to the sill, this time nailing the jump with the ease that I usually displayed: better late than never.
I hopped onto the floor and slid through the gap in the cell bars. Home sweet home.
Thane sat bolt upright and stared at me through the gloom. Tiddles’ eyes were shining at me from the pillow beside him. ‘You’re back,’ he breathed. ‘Thank goodness.’
I purred in response and spat out the piece of clothing. It was time to find out what I’d been carrying. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was a glove and not a skid-marked pair of underpants.
I moved back to avoid touching it and hawked up my usual hairball. While I jerked and twitched my way back into my human body, Thane crouched down and sniffed the glove, taking care not to touch it and contaminate it. ‘That’s blood,’ he muttered. ‘Knox Thunderstick’s blood.’ He raised his eyebrows, then waited until I was able to speak.
As soon as I’d regained control of my vocal chords, I told him what had transpired. He listened carefully. ‘You’re a wonder, Kit McCafferty,’ he murmured when I’d finished. ‘It had occurred to me that Jackson could have been the killer, but it didn’t seem possible. You not only believed it was possible but you found the evidence to prove it.’
I’d only found that evidence because I’d been stymied by the witches’ security and I hadn’t wanted to face Thane without something to show for Tiddles’ sacrifice. The laundry had been a long shot; I’d thought that if Daniel Jackson was the culprit, he’d be arrogant and lazy enough to drop off his bloodied clothes for someone else to clean. He’d used that godawful aftershave to disguise the scent of blood and assumed that would be enough.
‘I got lucky,’ I said.
Thane disagreed. ‘If I’ve learnt one thing about you, it’s that you make your own luck.’ As he picked up Tiddles and cradled her against his chest, a zippy kick of unexpected lust tightened in the pit of my belly. Men and kittens, that was all it took for me. The fact that he was a ginger man with a ginger kitten somehow added to the allure.
