‘You’re assuming the kidnappings are linked.’
‘Then thereisanother kidnapping.’
Her lips tightened, but again she didn’t deny it. She was helping me in her own obtuse way.
Inspiration struck, and I nodded at the bookshelves. ‘On a completely different note, my library is full of helpful books on the different Other species.’ I pointed out the sections for all the various creatures that I’d seen on my hunt for gargoyle knowledge, then turned to her hopefully with an eyebrow raised. ‘Would you want to borrow one of my books?’
She looked at me for such a long moment that I thought she was going to refuse, but then she stood up abruptly and walked to a bookshelf. She selected one of the volumes on elementals – fire elementals, to be precise and set it down firmly on the coffee table.
I didn’t thank her; I doubted she’d welcome the acknowledgement that she was compromising her all-important confidentiality by hinting at the identity of her previous client.
‘It’s a good read,’ I said instead, gesturing to the slim volume. I could say that in all honesty, because it was one of the first volumes I read when I joined the Other. I found fire elementals fascinating. How useful it must be to never feel chilly; if it’s cold, you click your fingers – or whatever it is that they do – and flame on. Toasty.
I recognised Mrs Dawes’ soft knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ I called.
She hurried in with a tray, a pot of tea, four mugs and a plate full of biscuits. ‘Sonia and Greg have come back,’ she informed me. ‘They’ll be along presently.’
I love biscuits. My mum doesn’t have a sweet tooth and I wondered if I got mine from my dad, who’s a keen baker, or from my birth parents. Is liking sweet things genetic? Who knew?
When I first joined the Home Counties pack, tea was served in a cup complete with saucer – Lord Samuel’s preference, I presume. Mrs Dawes had noticed that I’m not quite so refined. I always make a cuppa in a mug nearly the size of my face; for me, a dainty china tea set belongs in a display cabinet. Mrs Dawes is nothing if not adaptive.
‘Better make it five mugs. Someone else will be joining us shortly.’
She didn’t ask questions, just gave me a nod.
‘I’ll need a large bowl and some water for scrying,’ Amber interjected. ‘Preferably a porcelain bowl.’
Mrs Dawes all but curtsied. ‘Of course, Ms DeLea.’
Dammit, even Mrs Dawes respected the witch more than she did me. I tried to ignore my chagrin; my position in the pack was hardly paramount right now.
Amber DeLea was frowning as she studied Mrs Dawes. ‘With your hair tied back, you look like someone I used to know.’
Mrs Dawes reddened and touched her hair self-consciously. ‘It doesn’t suit me, does it? I knew I should have just had it trimmed.’
‘It looks lovely,’ I hastened to reassure her.
Amber nodded. ‘It does suit you. It just took me by surprise, that’s all. You look so different.’
The embarrassed housekeeper left the room hastily, mumbling about retrieving an extra mug and something to scry with.
I poured Amber some tea, then passed her the milk and sugar so she could doctor it to her tastes. She ignored both and drank it black. Yuck.
I poured plenty of milk into my own teacup and sat down opposite her. Moments later, Sonia and Greg joined us.
Sonia was clutching a bedraggled wolf, a soft toy that had seen better days. My heart clenched; Bobby had clearly loved the little thing. Sonia’s eyes were lit up with a tremulous hope that I prayed wasn’t misplaced. Amber could do magic; maybe she could perform miracles, too.
‘He called it Ham, after his father.’ Sonia held out the wolf. ‘Sorry. I know that’s not relevant. I’m blathering. I’m in pieces.’
Amber softened. ‘Of course you are. Take a seat.’ She directed Sonia as if the lounge wereherroom, and not mine. Sonia sank down gratefully into the soft cushions next to her.
Esme?I called.I need you, please.
She didn’t answer with words; instead she turned around in my mind so that she was facing forward. She was paying attention to the proceedings.
Thank you, love.
There was another knock on the door. I assumed it would be Mrs Dawes, but instead the door swung open and Bob strolled in. His greying skin looked ashen and his eyes were weary. Maybe gargoyles reallydidneed their beauty sleep. His white loincloth was looped around his waist protecting his modesty. His wings stretched and closed as he walked, almost like a nervous tic.