Page 9 of The Dark Hiss of Magic
‘Today?’
I nodded. The doctor shrugged. ‘First I’ve heard of it.’ He glowered at me. ‘But it’s proof that you should avoid the river at all costs. Given half a chance, the beasts in there will eat you alive. And I’ll be amazed if this wound isn’t infected.’
He handed me a small glass bottle. ‘Keep the bandages clean and dry, and take three drops of this every day for the next week. If there’s any discolouration around the bite mark or it’s not healed by next week, come back to see me.’ He affected a fatherly expression that didn’t suit him, given he was at least decade younger than me. ‘And don’t go swimming in that river again!’
Yeah, yeah. I pocketed the medicine and headed out with only a slight limp, making a mental note to look for a different clinic next time I needed professional help. There was only so much finger wagging a grown woman could take.
The sky was growing dim and a few splatters of cold rain were falling; so much for that dry spell. I turned up my collar. I’d gone home, taken a hot shower and changed my clothes before visiting the doctor, but even with my fluffiest jumper and the afterglow of whatever concoction Trilby had given me, I still felt cold. The river’s chill had wrapped around my bones and was refusing to let go.
I decided that some chicken broth from the delicatessen on Anstey Crescent would sort me out. The hedge witch who ran the little shop had a way with magical herbs that worked wonders at this time of year. A brisk march would also help me to warm up. Win-win.
There was only a small queue inside the shop. As I waited, I eyed the cold meats and cheeses in the glass cabinet at the counter and tried to remember what food was in my fridge at home.
‘I think he’s single right now,’ the young woman in front of me murmured to her friend.
‘Didn’t he used to go out with that tram witch? The pretty one from the Dalmeny coven?’
‘Yeah, but they split up last year. Ex or not, I bet she’s devastated that he almost died.’
‘It would take more than a bit of water and a few river beasties to kill Quentin.’
‘He’s a Hightower. He might be an airhead but he’s still got plenty of magic at his fingertips. Maybe next timeI’llfall into the Tweed when he’s nearby and he can rescue me.’
I rolled my eyes as her friend giggled.
‘It would besucha tragedy if he’d been killed.’
‘Thank goodness he wasn’t. He might not be the brightest witch in the coven, but that handsome face deserves better.’
There was a loud snicker. ‘So does that gorgeous Hightower body.’
I cleared my throat but neither woman turned around. ‘You know,’ I said in an overly loud voice, ‘somebodywaskilled in that river today. Somebodydiddie.’
The first woman glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh really? That’s a shame.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘A real tragedy.’
She blinked at me earnestly. ‘I heard,’ she said in a conspiratorial voice, ‘that Quentin was actually bitten by a few of those river monsters before he managed to get out, and that he was dragged half a mile down the river. He could havedrowned.’
I gritted my teeth. ‘He’s fine. But the other man is dead.’
She clicked her tongue in vague sympathy and turned back to her companion. ‘So what are your plans for Saturday?’ she asked.
I tried to tune out their chatter. There was no point getting annoyed that Hightower was garnering all the attention; hewas the minor celebrity whom everyone had heard of, and it was next to impossible to quench local gossip when mildly famous people were involved.
Nobody knew the name of the other man who’d died. I reminded myself that the body now lying in the Mathers Street mortuary wasn’t there because of me. I’d fulfilled my good deed quota by saving Quentin Hightower.
The bell above the door jangled as another customer walked in. ‘Ms McCafferty,’ a smooth voice murmured. ‘This is a pleasant surprise. How are you?’
I turned to see Alexander MacTire, alpha werewolf of the MacTire pack. I managed a smile while the two women in front of me goggled. MacTire was as well known in Coldstream as Quentin Hightower; any second now they’d be asking for his autograph. ‘Fine,’ I said. Mostly. ‘Yourself?’
‘Hunky-dory.’
I checked behind him and realised he was alone. ‘Out shopping?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you have minions to do that sort of thing for you?’
He grinned easily. ‘I like to mix with you mortals on occasion. It helps to keep me grounded. Sometimes I dress myself, too, instead of waiting for my servants to help me into my clothes.’ He winked. ‘That’s the sort of down-to-earth werewolf leader I am.’
I snorted. ‘How’s Nick?’ MacTire’s young nephew had stayed with me briefly – very briefly, because he’d been kidnapped after his first few nights. It hadn’t been a joyful experience for him or for me.
