Page 56 of The Dark Hiss of Magic
That was curious. Knox Thunderstick hadn’t been an important member of their community. The only reason for their involvement that sprang to mind was that this was an opportunity for them to piss off the witches.
‘A member of the witches’ council has brutally murdered an innocent young druid,’ said the nearest one. ‘Fetch Daniel Jackson must be held to account for his crimes.’
‘Allegedcrimes!’ snarled a witch. ‘And he falls into our jurisdiction. We will question him and investigate what has happened.’
‘That is unacceptable,’ the second druid stated. ‘Particularly since Fetch Jackson is a council member. You witches cannot be trusted in this.’
‘How dare you question our integrity in this manner!’
I gazed from one irate face to another then glanced at Thane. Our eyes met. This situation was seconds away from descending into an all-out brawl. Even in the worst circumstances, the druids and the witches usually managed to remain cordial, so this aggression was unprecedented. It was also inexplicable, given that neither group usually put much effort into helping lower-status members of their communities.
I wondered what would happen if the troll leaders learnedabout Ian’s death. Would they also be as desperate to wrest control of the situation?
There was a rush of cold air as the outside door opened again. I glanced over my shoulder and paused when I saw who had entered. Well now: this was suddenly very interesting.
‘Good day,’ Quentin Hightower said, nodding at the small angry crowd. ‘I came as quickly as I could when I heard what was happening.’
The last time I’d seen Hightower, he’d been soaked to the skin and daubed in gloopy mud. He cut an entirely different figure now: his clothes were dry, clean and free from river gunk – and both expensive and ridiculous. His suit was some sort of bizarre lilac and yellow checked pattern; although I had nothing against those colours per se, they did nothing for his tanned skin. Together with his perfectly tied cravat, matching handkerchief and shiny brogues, he looked less like a wealthy eccentric than a pantomime dame.
I examined him more closely. His hair deserved particular attention: it was no longer flattened into droopy, wet rats’ tails but was coiffed into a bouffant of extraordinary proportions. Bloody hell. He looked like a cross between Tintin and Pepe La Pew.
I turned back to the others and registered the four council witches rolling their eyes. The druids were also smirking. I felt an odd rush of pity for Hightower. It didn’t last long.
‘This is a very serious situation,’ he said. ‘Do not worry. I shall get to the bottom of it and discern the truth. I have a knack for sorting out truth from fiction.’
That was quite a statement when you were in the presence of an actual Truth Seeker – not that Hightower knew that. Harriet stared hard at him and her mouth tightened. I suspected I knew the reason why. If Quentin Hightower believed in himself to the extent that he said, he wouldn’t knowwhether his own words were truths or lies – and that meant she wouldn’t know either.
‘I shall question Fetch Jackson,’ Hightower went on. ‘Iwill be the independent investigator this terrible situation calls for.’
‘You’re a witch,’ one of the druids snarled. ‘You’re far from independent.’
‘And we do not require your intervention,’ a council witch said. ‘You’re not needed here.’
‘I beg to differ,’ Hightower replied as he rolled up his sleeves. ‘Now, what about the vampires?’
Huh? ‘What do you mean?’ Harriet asked. ‘What vampires?’
‘All vampires,’ Hightower replied without missing a beat. ‘We have a dead body covered in blood. Vampires like blood. We should question them immediately.’
‘Allof them?’ Thane enquired.
‘A man is dead!’ Hightower cried. ‘This is not the time to cut corners! Yes, of course we should question them all!’ He glared around the room, apparently expecting us to jump to his bidding even though there wasn’t a scrap of evidence that tied a vampire to any of these crimes.
‘Idiot,’ a druid muttered. ‘We don’t have time for this shit. We reserve the right to question Fetch Jackson immediately.’
‘Fuck off,’ replied two of the witches in unison.
Hightower sniffed. ‘Swearing is terribly uncouth, my dear fellow.’
The momentary lull in tension caused by Hightower’s appearance was over. I glanced around the small room and tried to calculate the smartest move. The priority had to be keeping Harriet safe. If the witches and druids wanted to kill each other, I wouldn’t get in their way – and from Thane’s expression, neither would he.
The door to the prisoner holding area opened and Captain Montgomery emerged. He was the only other person whoappeared calm. Unfortunately, his impassive demeanour didn’t dent the others’ anger.
‘You have to release Fetch Jackson into our custody immediately!’ Spittle flew from the witch’s mouth as he shouted into the MET detective’s face. That certainly wasn’t the way to win Captain Montgomery’s heart.
The taller of the two druids didn’t miss a beat. ‘Absolutely not! He killed a druid in cold blood. We should question him first. He might have killed others. We need to interrogate him without interruption so we can discover the full magnitude of his crimes.’
‘Preposterous!’ the witch screamed.
