Page 11 of The Dark Hiss of Magic
‘I don’t want kids. Even if I did, by this point I’d be considered a geriatric mother.’
He laughed. ‘I’m only asking you out to dinner. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
I gave him a long look.
‘Let’s say for argument’s sake that we hit it off. You know the worst things about me, Kit, and I know the worst things about you.’ He took a step towards me. ‘And there’s a frisson of attraction between us.’
Was there? Hewasgood looking, but I still wasn’t convinced.
‘I’m not a spring chicken myself,’ MacTire continued. ‘If I settle down with a life partner, my pack will stop complaining and in a year or two I can name Nicholas as my heir. Anything that happens after that is up to him, but at least the baying hounds will be silenced.’
He’d put a lot more thought into this than I’d expected.
‘But,’ he added, ‘as I said, all I’m doing right now is asking you out for dinner. Let’s have a bit of fun and see where it takes us.’ His eyes glinted again; I had the feeling it was something he practised. ‘You might enjoy yourself.’
Stranger things had happened and I couldn’t think of a decent reason to say no. I pursed my lips; I had nothing to lose and, if nothing else, it would be an interesting evening. ‘Alright,’ I said slowly.
‘Friday night? I can pick you up.’
‘In that monstrous car of yours? No thanks. I’ll meet you.’
MacTire didn’t look offended; if anything, he was even more amused. ‘Fine. Do you like Italian food?’
Who didn’t? ‘Sure.’
‘Vallese, then? Eight o’clock?’
I stared. ‘Don’t you have to book that place months in advance?’
‘Kit,’ he said, ‘I’m Alexander MacTire.’
I sniffed. ‘It must be nice to be important.’
He grinned. ‘Sometimes it definitely is. Are we on?’
What the hell. ‘Friday night, eight o’clock, Vallese. I’ll be there.’
‘I’m looking forward to it already,’ he murmured. He half-bowed and went back inside the deli, leaving me on the street wondering what on earth I’d agreed to.
Chapter
Five
As I’d said to Alexander MacTire, sometimes it was nice to be important. It was now my mission to make the anonymous victim of the River Tweed important enough to be dealt with appropriately, and I wouldn’t allow anyone to get in my way, not even the prim, bespectacled receptionist at the Mathers Street mortuary.
‘We only permit family members to enter the mortuary and view bodies,’ she said, tapping her pen against her desk in an incredibly irritating fashion.
I held my ground. ‘Unless anything has changed in the last two hours, this body doesn’t have a name and nobody knows who his family are,’ I said. ‘So your point is moot.’
‘As is yours,’ she replied. ‘Because it means that you’re not his family either.’
I leaned in closer and lowered my voice. ‘How much? How much will it take for you to let me in?’
Her brown eyes narrowed. ‘Are you seriously trying to bribe a Coldstream council employee?’
I considered my answer – and the receptionist’s well-worn clothes. There was an expensive-looking silk scarf around herneck and a delicate silver bracelet around her wrist, but the rest of her clothes, while clean, were definitely threadbare in several places. ‘Yes.’
Her lipsticked mouth tightened as her narrow gaze swept me up and down; I had the sense that even her ash-blonde up-do was quivering with hearty disapproval. Then she blinked and gave me a one-word response. ‘Hundred.’
