Page 33 of A Skirl of Sorcery
Martin sucked air in through his teeth. ‘There’s a young one who’s very good. She lives at number thirty-four.’
I brightened. ‘Brilliant.’
‘Her name is Keres. She’s a friendly sort.’
I had to work hard not to lose my smile. ‘Keres?’
‘Yes. She’s the best of her generation. I can call her if you like and see if she’s available? Put in a good word for you?’
I doubted that very much. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ I said.
Martin smiled in an avuncular fashion. ‘You can wait inside while I get in touch with her. Then we can have a cup of tea while you tell me some more about your friend.’
‘Mmm.’ I twitched again. ‘Maybe I’ll wander around a bit first instead and think about it. I want to be sure I’m doing the right thing.’
‘You can trust ban siths. They’re not the scary monsters some people think they are.’ He folded his hands. ‘You can trust me too.’
‘I appreciate that.’ I inclined my head and stepped away before he tried even harder to pressgang me into tea and sympathy. Martin didn’t know as much as he pretended to; Keres had told me she’d left this community days ago. He’d already outlived his usefulness.
Tiddles adjusted her weight on my shoulder and we continued down the street. At least I now had an address and I might find some clues in Keres’ home. I doubted that the bastard who’d stolen her powers could have done it from a distance; they must have approached her in person, possibly without her noticing. Maybe they’d broken in and ripped her powers from her as she slept. If they had, there would be signs of forced entry.
The front door of number thirty-four was a glossy black, like every other door on Barton Street. Ignoring Tiddles’ yowl of protest, I crouched down. She dug her claws into the flesh of my shoulder while I examined the lock. There were no obvious scratches on the paintwork and nothing to suggest magical tampering.
Tiddles screeched again; she seemed to have perfected the art of vocalising her displeasure at the most annoying pitch possible. ‘Alright,’ I muttered. ‘Alright. I’ll stand up.’ I held her with one hand to steady her as I rose. ‘If you don’t want to be here, I can always take you to the house. You won’t be alone. All the other cats are there, as well as Dave and Keres.’
She miaowed a loud, huffy protest – and that was when Keres’ glossy front door swung open to reveal a thin man with heavy bags under his eyes and a taut, worried expression. ‘Did you say Keres?’ he demanded. I stared at him. ‘Do you know where she is? Do you know where my wife has gone?’
My mouth dropped open and, from her position on my shoulder, Tiddles miaowed once more.
Chapter
Fifteen
Mr Keres – or Harvey Johnson, as he was actually called – was a nervous man. There could have been any number of reasons for his visible anxiety, but something about his demeanour suggested that edgy apprehension was his default approach to life regardless of what his wife was doing or where she was.
‘Keres has never mentioned you before,’ he said from his perch on his leather sofa. ‘I thought I knew all her friends.’
I waved a vague hand. ‘I’ve not seen her for years. I was in the area and I thought I’d drop by and see how she is.’ I smiled pleasantly though my thoughts were far from sweet.
Why did Keres run away from you?
Harvey twisted his fingers together. He was wearing a simple gold wedding band but I was almost certain I’d seen no ring on Keres’ finger. ‘She’s away at the moment.’
Did she abandon her entire community because of you?
‘That’s a real shame,’ I said aloud. ‘When will she be back?’
‘I’m not sure. It, uh, depends.’
Are you a violent man?
‘Perhaps I can call her?’ I suggested. ‘Leave her a message?’ Mobile phones rarely worked in Coldstream but landlines were stable enough, and it was a reasonable sounding request.
He stared into the distance. ‘I can pass on your message to her.’
Tiddles, who had abandoned my shoulder as soon as we’d entered the house in favour of circling the room and sniffing, padded to the centre of the rug that lay between Harvey and me and gave him a long look. Harvey flinched and looked away.
‘Are you unwell?’ I asked solicitously. ‘You look quite ill.’
