Realm master 3 the last.., p.1
The Dark Hiss of Magic (The Cat Lady Chronicles Book 2), page 1
The Dark Hiss of Magic
THE CAT LADY CHRONICLES
BOOK TWO
HELEN HARPER
COVER DESIGN BY COVERS BY JUAN
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Author’s note
About the Author
Other titles
Chapter
One
Ieyed Dave, who was bent over in his garden with the pale crack of his arse visible above his drooping jeans. Although I was reasonably certain that my gorgeously grumpy neighbour had never once bothered to plant anything in his scrap of earth, he was clearly determined to scoop up every soggy leaf that had clumped onto the scrubby grass in front of his house.
‘I thought it was considered rude to ogle in these supposedly enlightened days,’ he grumbled.
‘I can assure you that there is no ogling on my part,’ I told him as She Without An Ear wound her way around my legs. ‘Not even the tiniest bit.’
He continued as if he hadn’t heard me. ‘This is what happens when you live on your own for too long. You abandon the bounds of propriety and forget what it’s like to be part of polite society. As a result, you can’t stop yourself from staring at my pert bottom.’
‘Pert?’
Dave straightened up and turned to face me, his scowl deep enough to engrave heavy ridges across his forehead. ‘Pert,’ he said, swivelling to permit me a profile view. ‘And very sexy.’ He slapped his rump – but he didn’t make any attempt to pull up his jeans.
‘I only came out to give you these.’ I held up the plate of freshly baked scones, still warm from the oven.
‘Last time I ate something you baked, I almost lost a tooth.’
‘They’re a bit chewy,’ I admitted. ‘But they’re mostly edible.’
Although Dave’s scowl grew even more pronounced, he ambled over and took them. ‘Thanks.’
I curtsied. ‘You’re welcome.’
He picked one up and bit into it. It was difficult to judge from his expression what he thought, though he chewed far longer than I reckoned was necessary. Finally he swallowed. ‘You are many things, Kit McCafferty,’ he grunted, ‘but you are not a master baker.’
True: I made a great casserole and I was a dab hand at roasts, but baking had never been my forte. ‘If you don’t try, you don’t improve.’
Scepticism flickered across his face, then he glanced over my shoulder and scowled some more. ‘Speaking of ogling…’ he murmured.
I turned around and followed his gaze. When I saw who was standing at my garden gate, I jerked in surprise. I hadn’t seen Thane, the copper-haired werewolf who’d joined me in rescuing Nick MacTire late last year, for several weeks. I started to smile – then realised that Thane’s expression was ravaged and there were black shadows beneath his eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked in alarm.
A deep growl rumbled from his chest and grew in intensity as he stared at me in disgust. ‘You know exactly what’s wrong.’ He jabbed a finger towards me.
Er, no. No, I didn’t.
‘This is all your fault.’
I folded my arms. I’d been good lately: I’d not killed anyone; I’d eaten all my greens, and I’d been polite to everyone I met. I was practically a saint. ‘What’s happened?’
‘You.’ He glowered. ‘You happened.’
Dave leaned in more closely, fascination lightening his dark eyes. Any second now he’d be getting out the popcorn.
I tried – and failed – to think of anything I’d done that might have offended the lone werewolf. He was a redhead and supposedly they were known for their temper so perhaps I’d inadvertently slighted him and he’d taken umbrage, but I was sure I’d neither said nor done anything. Anyway, I hadn’t seen him for ages.
‘You’ll have to help me out here, Thane. I don’t know why you’re so upset – but I can see that it’s serious,’ I added to soothe his ruffled feathers. ‘If you tell me, perhaps I can help.’
He clenched his fists. ‘Do you have any idea – any idea at all – how difficult it is to sleep when a cat decides to smother you in the middle of the night?’
Ah. Suddenly his attitude was making sense. ‘Smother?’ I asked, trying to be delicate.
‘She tried to sleep on top of my face, Kit. I woke up hyperventilating and with a mouthful of fur.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You’re a werewolf so you must be used to fur. Don’t you shed during the full moon?’
‘No,’ Thane snapped. ‘And I don’t lie around on stairs waiting to trip people up. Or demand to be fed at half-past four every morning. Or curl up asleep on someone’s lap at the very moment they need to go and empty their damned bladder!’
I pressed my lips together. Hard.
‘Do you know where she is right now?’ he demanded. ‘She’s asleep on top of my laundry. My clean laundry!’
A tiny sound escaped my mouth. ‘Mmmmph.’
‘She does it deliberately, Kit. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s a bloody demon.’
That part was certainly true. When a little ginger kitten had appeared after a grim, bloody summoning and claimed Thane as her own, I’d learned that cats hailed from the netherworld and were indeed demons. It made a lot of sense when you thought about it, though it certainly didn’t mean I loved them any less.
‘When I came downstairs this morning, there was a dead rat in the middle of my kitchen table! The bastard thing was bigger than she is!’
Good for her. ‘It was a present.’
‘A present?’ Thane’s voice rose still further.
‘She thinks you need help hunting.’
‘I do not need any help from her!’ He ripped open his jacket and hoisted up his jumper to reveal a section of his flat stomach. ‘Look!’ he hissed. ‘Look at my skin!’
I peered at the impressive crosshatch of tiny scratches across his equally impressive body. Oh dear. ‘Alright,’ I conceded with a sigh. ‘She can stay with me.’
She Without An Ear whipped up her head and narrowed her eyes at me. ‘There’s enough space here for a kitten,’ I said. Hell, there was always space for a kitten.
For some reason that pissed off Thane even more. ‘What? You’re not taking my cat!’
She Without An Ear allowed herself a small purr of satisfaction.
‘I thought that’s why you were here,’ I said, genuinely confused.
‘Tiddles is mine.’
Dave, who was looking totally fascinated as he continued to watch us, leaned over the fence. ‘Tiddles?’
‘That’s her name.’
I sighed. ‘I’ve already told you that cats don’t choose their names until they’re around six months old.’ And no cat would choose to call themselves Tiddles.
‘I have to call her something, and right now her name is Tiddles.’ Thane growled and folded his arms. ‘And Tiddles is a hell cat who belongs with me.’
Okay-dokey. ‘So are you here because you want to complain about her?’
‘No. I need your help – I would have thought that was obvious.’
I frowned. ‘Lack of sleep makes you very snippy, Thane,’ I informed him.
Dave nodded approvingly. ‘She ain’t wrong.’
Thane was still glowering. ‘In which case, give me some tips to make Tiddles sleep through the night.’
‘Easy,’ Dave said. ‘Shut your bedroom door and don’t let her in.’
‘Not an option. I tried it once but she threw herself against the door for an hour and yowled loudly enough to be mistaken for a ban sith by my next-door neighbour.’
She Without An Ear’s furry body vibrated; I could have sworn she was laughing.
‘Besides…’ Thane lowered his bright-green eyes to the ground, ‘I like it when she sleeps next to me.’
Dave started to back away. ‘I’m getting away from you two. I hadn’t realised that being a cat lady was contagious.’ He spun around, marched up his narrow garden path then disappeared into his house and slammed the door.
I stayed where I was, watching Thane with undisguised amusement. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he grunted. ‘Laugh it up.’
‘It’s pretty straightforward. Just tire her out before bedtime. She’s a kid – play with her. Get her to chase something – a balled-up piece of paper or a piece of string. And give her a high-protein meal right before bedtime. It’s not rocket science. Don’t give in if she tries to wake you up during the night, train her to wait until you’re ready to get up.’
‘You make it sound easy.’ He sniffed. ‘What sort of high-protein meal?’
‘Cooked fish. Salmon, perh
Thane watched me for a long moment. ‘I’ll buy you a coffee if you come with me to the market and help me buy what she needs.’
I tilted my head. ‘A coffee from Black’s?’
‘Of course.’
It sounded like a fair deal to me. ‘Alright, then. Give me a minute to grab my coat.’
Although the sky was a nondescript grey and there was a deep chill in the air, it was the first dry day we’d enjoyed since the New Year so I expected the riverside market to be busy. After the excesses of Christmas, which was celebrated in Coldstream as much as it was in the rest of the country, many families would need to penny-pinch until the end of the month; however, this was one of the cheaper places in Coldstream to shop, and plenty of the regular stalls were still holding seasonal sales.
To my surprise, there were very few shoppers and most of the stallholders seemed to have vanished, too. My feet slowed to a halt and Thane also paused. We glanced at each other. ‘Something’s not right,’ I muttered.
Thane nodded. Even when the weather was at its worst the market was busier than this. I frowned at Natasha’s empty stall; the troll butcher never normally left it during market hours but she wasn’t there now. The row of stalls opposite also lay empty; even Trilby, the black-market seller who held plenty of secrets, was conspicuous by their absence.
As an elderly witch shuffled towards us, Thane pulled back his shoulders and started marching towards her. If she was in any way alarmed by his approach, she didn’t show it. ‘Out of my way, wolf!’ she shouted.
‘My apologies, ma’am.’ He doffed an imaginary cap; no longer the grumpy, sleep-deprived man who’d appeared at my door, he was now the epitome of gentleman-like behaviour. ‘I’m sorry to bother you but…’
The witch tutted loudly. ‘They think someone’s in the river,’ she said, clearly understanding why Thane had stopped her. ‘Everyone’s gone down to help get them out.’ She shook her head. ‘Stupid, if you ask me. Whoever fell in will already be dead.’ She stepped around us and continued on her way without a backward glance. ‘It’s not the first time someone has died in that damned river,’ I heard her mutter. ‘And it won’t be the last.’
The old woman was right: if somebody had fallen into the River Tweed, there was little chance they’d make it out alive. Forget hypothermia or drowning; there were so many river monsters in its fast-flowing depths that anyone who went for a dip would quickly find they’d become supper.
‘We should go down and see if we can help,’ I said to Thane.
‘I doubt there’s anything we can do.’ His expression was grim. ‘Another couple of rubber-neckers won’t be any use.’
I knew what he meant but I stood firm. ‘This is my community, Thane. I have to try. These are my people.’
He pulled a face but he didn’t disagree further. ‘Come on then. We’d better run.’
It didn’t take long to locate the large crowd of people. Some were shouting suggestions but most were watching the proceedings quietly, their faces dark and their shoulders hunched.
Thane sucked in a breath. ‘Look at those witches,’ he said. ‘They’re casting some sort of spell.’
I could feel the thrum of their magic in the air, and I saw their strained faces when I stood on my tiptoes and gazed over the assembled heads. Maybe there was still hope for whoever had fallen into the river.
Trilby was standing on the riverbank, their eponymous hat perched upon their head. If anyone knew exactly what had happened, it would be them. I marched quickly through the crowd with Thane hot on my heels.
‘Good afternoon, Kit,’ they said without turning around. ‘And wolf.’
How did they do that? How did Trilby know who was behind them? ‘Afternoon,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Someone is in the water. Those witches are deploying every magic spell in their arsenal to keep the river creatures back until the victim is recovered.’
‘Alive?’ It seemed unlikely.
Trilby shrugged. ‘Stranger things have happened.’
I lifted my head and scrutinised the straining witches. Sweat was pouring down their faces. Two of them were on their knees in the thick mud on the edge of the river bank.
I stared harder. I didn’t recognise any of them but their clothes – particularly their cloaks embroidered with the golden insignia of their coven – looked expensive. There were three people nearby, none of whom appeared to be witches, who were tying ropes around their waists; they were clearly preparing to plunge into the river in a bid to find the poor bastard who’d gone in. Even with the witches’ intervention, it was a bold move. Few people messed with this section of the River Tweed.
‘Who is the victim?’ I asked carefully.
Trilby’s mouth crooked up. ‘You’re becoming more adept at asking the right questions, Kit. It’s Quentin Hightower.’
Thane inhaled sharply and my eyes widened. ‘The heir to the Hightower coven?’
‘The one and the same.’
Damn. I gazed at the swirling depths then back at the desperate, pained faces of the witches; no wonder they were throwing everything they had into the rescue attempt.
There were numerous covens in Coldstream and it was almost impossible to keep track of them all, but some were better known than others. Everyone knew the Hightowers; they were the richest coven and arguably the most powerful – although the three covens that ran the tram network would disagree. I pursed my lips.
‘Did he fall or was he pushed?’ Thane asked.
‘Another good question,’ Trilby murmured. ‘I am sure that you’ve noticed that there’s been a great deal of rain lately. It’s been terrible for business. And,’ they waved a hand, ‘it’s not done much for the river bank either.’
I leaned forward. Several people were standing around a large muddy section, staring. It was as if something had taken a large bite of the land. Erosion, then; the hapless Mr Hightower had tumbled into the Tweed by accident.
‘They should have got him by now,’ a druid close by whispered.
‘Or at least pulled out his body,’ said another. ‘It’s been several minutes. Not even a witch can hold their breath for that long.’
I stared again at the dark, churning water.
‘They’re using a subduing spell on the river monsters, right?’ Thane asked.
Trilby nodded. ‘They are, but it won’t hold for long. And,’ they added pointedly, ‘with all the recent rain, those river currents are strong.’ They paused then added, ‘Well, Kit?’
I clenched my jaw; I understood what they were alluding to. ‘You’re still here,’ I pointed out.
‘I have no interest in playing hero. You’re our local waif saviour. Here.’ They reached into their pocket and drew out a small, white-linen bag. ‘This might help you.’
My belly tightened as I took it. The decision had already been made.
‘Good luck,’ Trilby whispered.
Yeah, yeah. My fingers closed around the bag then I turned and started to push my way through the crowd.
Chapter
Two
Iheard Thane’s shout but I didn’t bother to turn my head. As soon as I was free from the press of people I started sprinting, following the course of the river away from the market and down towards the Glebe. I made sure to use the footpath rather than stray too close to the water; if one section of the bank could collapse so could others, and I wasn’t one for tempting fate.
Initially I tried to avoid the puddles but it was a wasted effort; I gave up and simply ran as quickly as I could. My trousers and coat were soon splattered with mud and so was my face. I didn’t bother wiping it away; it would all be washed off soon enough.
‘Kit!’ Thane’s voice was closer. ‘Wait! What are you doing?’
I didn’t pause; surely he realised that time was of the essence. Instead I ducked my head and passed under the narrow stone bridge that marked the unofficial boundary between Danksville and the Glebe. The warehouses of the construction crews who made their home in this part of the city were ahead but I ignored them in favour of the section of the river that curved to the south. It was deeper here than it was by the market, and the sharp bend meant that the currents were very different.
