I’d been planning to go straight from Kate’s to the Bremor House, but Donald hinted I should stop by home and tidy myself up first. The spare shirt I had with me was a far cry from the ones you'd wear to a formal reception, and washing my face did nothing to erase the smell of sweat left over from training. I still had a couple of decent suits untouched, but the way I'd been living lately, I’d soon need to fork out for new ones. Time to find a good launderer, maybe today’s jacket and shirt could still be salvaged.

  To my surprise, Ellie was waiting for me at home. Cap told me she was up in my room. On any other day, I’d have been pleased, but today, I was immediately on guard.

  When I walked in, she was standing by the window, looking out at the garden. She turned at the sound of the door and greeted me in a tone that was both nervous and frosty.

  “Hello, Duncan.”

  Normally, when her parents weren’t around, we’d hug. But this time, she held her purse tightly in both hands, as if it were a shield.

  “Hi,” I replied.

  An awkward silence settled.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Can’t I just stop by?” Irritation flickered in her voice.

  “You can,” I said, “but your face says this isn’t a ‘just dropping in’ visit. Sorry, now’s not the best time, I’ve a meeting with de Camp in less than an hour.”

  “With the Mayor?” Ellie looked surprised. “And what does he want with you?”

  “It’s more what he wants with the clan. Don’t think I’m taking centre stage — Uncle’s doing the talking. I’m just supposed to be there.”

  “Does it have anything to do with you meeting Kate Blair outside my house?”

  “That wasn’t planned. I was on my way to you. The vampiress ambushed me.”

  “Did she?” Ellie’s voice suddenly softened. Odd.

  “She was,” I confirmed, frowning. “Why does that interest you?”

  Ellie faltered a little, evasive.

  “And wouldn’t you be interested if I pulled up to the Anvil, had a chat with some vampire, and drove off?”

  Oh come on… I started to grin.

  “What’s so funny?” she snapped.

  “A vampire?” I said. “Not a vampiress?”

  “Uh… what difference does it make?! The point is, those creatures are dangerous!”

  The blush on Ellie’s cheeks gave her away completely. I couldn’t help it — I laughed. She scowled, little orange sparks flickering in her eyes, but I couldn’t stop. Her flushed cheeks were just too damned funny. And, well, I’ll admit it, Ellie’s jealousy was rather flattering. Without even realising it, she’d hit upon a perfect mirror of the situation. The issue wasn’t the species, it was the sex.

  My laughter pushed her to full killer-tomato mode, but I somehow survived. Fuming, she turned on her heel and made for the door. I caught her by the arm, pulled her close, and kissed her.

  She stiffened, tight as a bowstring. Her lips were hot but compressed into a thin line, and for a moment I thought she might push me away. I knew exactly how hard this shifter could kick, so I subtly reached for my stoneflesh ring, just in case.

  But no, she melted. Her lips parted, and she kissed me back with sudden, wild passion. The purse fell from her hands. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and my hands went wandering, drifting down towards that firm little backside of hers. Just as I got a good squeeze of those perfect cheeks, she jumped like she’d been stung, pulled back, and smacked my hands away.

  Strange reaction. That never happened before.

  Still flushed, Ellie grew visibly flustered.

  “What the hell’s going on with you?” I snapped.

  “Nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

  Then she pounced, kissing me again, pushing me back onto the bed. My hands resumed their usual route, slower this time. I hadn’t forgotten her odd reaction.

  My Goat was short, but strong: lean, well-trained, barely an ounce of fat. Even through her clothes I could feel the strength in her body. She tried to stay relaxed, but I felt her tense the moment my hands landed on her arse, though she didn’t stop kissing me. That irritated me.

  I grew bolder, slipping a hand under her blouse, noting how her body stiffened under my touch. Enough of this.

  I sat up, gently pushing her off me — which, with a shifter, is no small task.

  “Ellie,” I said sternly. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing!” Ellie snapped, stubbornly, and leaned in to kiss me again.

  “Don’t feed me rubbish. I can see it, I can feel it. Something’s wrong!”

  “Everything’s fine!” she insisted and turned away.

  I thought I caught a flash of tears in her eyes. What the hell?

  I reached out, trying to turn her face towards me, but Ellie pulled back, sniffled, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Realising I’d seen her crying, she jumped off the bed and made for the door. It’s no easy feat keeping up with a shifter, but luckily for me, she still had to open the door.

  I didn’t let her.

  The moment she grasped the handle and pulled, I slammed my palm against the wood, hard enough to make it bang shut. The sound probably echoed through the whole Anvil. Didn’t care.

  “Talk to me!” I demanded. Maybe too roughly, too aggressively, but damn it, I was on edge myself from all this bloody madness.

  Instead of answering, Ellie pressed her forehead to the door and began to sob quietly. I don’t know about other men, but women’s tears always unsettle me. And this — this was nothing like usual. This was Ellie. It felt like someone had reached in and cut my heart out. Valentine and Gratch wasn’t half as good on this — this was the torture.

  “Hey, love…”

  I gently placed my arms around her shoulders and turned her to face me. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, just buried her face in my shoulder and finally broke down, crying properly now. Her body softened again, but it didn’t bring me relief. I just stood there, stroking her hair.

  To hell with de Camp. He could bloody well wait.

  “There, there, love. I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m here. I’m right here.”

  She sobbed harder at that and clung to me like she might crush me. I seriously considered activating a bit of defensive magic, but then she calmed a little, looked up with red, tear-filled eyes, gave a funny little sniff, and whispered:

  “Don’t leave me. Please.”

  “Why on earth would you think I would?” I replied immediately.

  Alright, yes, maybe I had thought about it once. Or twice. Or… Look, it wasn’t a plan, alright? How the hell did she know?

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  “Simon said if we don’t sleep together soon, you’ll dump me.”

  “I’ll kill the bastard,” I swore.

  “But he’s right,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s how it goes. Marcus Faigy left Peggy O’Donnell over it. And Oliver Downs ditched Finella.”

  “Finella didn’t exactly seem like a virgin to me,” I said.

  “That was afterwards, with Larry Todd…”

  “Wait, he’s still alive?”

  Ellie let out a laugh, the mood shifting slightly.

  “Just about. He got away with a burn on his arse.”

  “Didn’t think James was one for mercy.”

  “James?” Ellie gave a wet chuckle and wiped her eyes with her fingers. “If James had known, there’d be nothing left but a pile of ash. To Lord Flower, his sister’s still a little girl. It was Spark who scorched Larry’s arse — caught him kissing Yvette Martin. Lucky she didn’t catch them in bed, or she’d have burned off something a lot more vital.”

  “You know what? I’m not going to kill Simon. If Finella doesn’t get him, James will.”

  Ellie laughed properly this time. She stepped back, picked up her purse, pulled out a handkerchief, and began fixing her face.

  “I get it’s not easy with me,” she said. “Simon was pretty vivid in his explanation…”

  “Oh? And what exactly did he say?”

  A flush crept back into her cheeks.

  “He used dogs as an example. And some of our mutual friends. Let’s not go into it, okay? Please?”

  “Alright,” I agreed. Then added, more seriously: “But I’ll be having a word with him.”

  “Just don’t be too hard on him, please.”

  Too hard? I’d buy him a barrel of the finest whisky. Take him up Bald Hill and camp there for a week. Run through every lightning spell I’ve got just to show my appreciation. Although… might be a bit soon to praise the lad. Ellie was being agreeable today…

  “Well, that depends on what he actually said. And whether it works.”

  “Oh, Duncan! Please…”

  “Fine, fine — I won’t.”

  “Then get yourself ready for your meeting with His Worship. And tonight — come to mine.”

  To hell with de Camp. I’d much rather continue this meeting.

  I told her so, and got playfully slapped for it. Ellie tucked her blouse back in and did her best to make herself look like a proper lady again.

  “But seriously,” I added, “I might not make it tonight. There’s a serious conflict brewing with the clan in Farnell. You’d best not go wandering the city on your own for a while.”

  “Who?” Ellie asked, her voice serious.

  “Criminals. Werewolves. The same lot that attacked us in Avoc.”

  “They won’t feel quite so free here.”

  “Darling, it was in Avoc they didn’t feel free. From what I’ve learned, the werewolves have been operating in Farnell for years.”

  Ellie took that in with appropriate gravity. I imagine the bullet scar on her stomach helped.

  “Can I tell my family?”

  Yes, all this was supposed to be kept quiet, but even de Camp had started to suspect there was something fishy about the orphanage. We’d begun working more openly with the Blair brood and poking our noses into organised crime… The rumours were coming whether we liked it or not.

  “Go ahead. But ask them to keep it quiet. It could affect them too.”

  “I understand.”

  Ellie gave me a kiss on the lips and flitted off, and I went to the bathroom to wash off the sweat, and the ghost of that firm backside in my hands.

  I arrived at Bremor House an hour later, just in time to see de Camp’s convoy — an armoured Royal and a pair of Coopers. Looked like I was late.

  The Mayor’s Wolfhounds, six of them, were posted outside the meeting room. Dressed in matching black suits just above the mid-price range, they had the grim air of men ready for a fight. In contrast, our lads, Elvin Feron and Tacit Boily, were a splash of colour: different suit patterns and hues, though not a single loose tie or undone button between them. Just the occasional condescending smile, which did nothing for inter-pack diplomacy.

  And honestly? These two weren’t exactly intimidating. Even I could have taken them apart. All they’d done was wind up the Farnell lot.

  One of them I recognized, the same one who’d stopped me outside the town hall. I caught his eye and gave a small nod before greeting the group: “Gentlemen.”

  “Lord Loxlin,” the familiar guard said quickly, announcing my social rank for the benefit of the others.

  “Pardon me, I need to borrow a colleague for a moment. Tacit, walk with me.”

  No sense rushing in situations like this.

  Young Boily followed obediently down the corridor. De Camp’s shifters could probably still hear us, but I wasn’t too fussed, decorum mattered more. Still, I made a mental note to add a Silence spell to my spellbook.

  “No orders about me?” I asked.

  Boily shook his head.

  “Albert in?”

  “Not sure.”

  I glanced toward the meeting room, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

  “No,” said Tacit. “He’s not in there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That’s it? You pulled me away just for that?”

  “‘Pulled you away’? Mate, you were standing there for show.”

  “Hah! Duncan, I’ll remember that one.”

  “Back to work. And quit riling the Farnell lads, they’re decent blokes.”

  That last line I said a bit louder, just in case the guests were listening.

  Which they were.

  I found Albert in his office and went straight in, mildly irritated.

  “Why wasn’t I told about this meeting in advance?”

  “Duncan, have you lost your mind? Since when does the head report to you?”

  “How was I supposed to make it on time to a meeting I didn’t even know about?”

  “Hang on,” the old man frowned. “Have you got something important I don’t know about? Why would you need to be there? You weren’t invited.”

  So Donald had lied. Pushed me out of the nest on purpose. Maybe he thought I wasn’t ready for interrogations, or maybe I was just in the way. Could’ve been one of a thousand reasons, but either way, I hadn’t been expected.

  Suddenly, I had a bit of free time.

  I was already planning to spend it tracking down Simon, but was intercepted, ruthlessly, by old man McLal.

  “That doesn’t mean you get to run off. We wait till the meeting ends, then head down to the basement. I’m not about to chip away seven hundred metres of compacted soil with a bloody pickaxe.”

  “Then let me get prepped,” I said. “Same kit as before. Plus some paper, compass, ink. And Peter, if he’s not busy.”

  “He is busy at the meeting.”

  The first thing I noticed when I went down to the basement was the empty cells. The ‘guests’ had vanished, and I could only hope they’d decided to cooperate, rather than being sent straight to hell. Either way, we could make noise now without worrying someone would overhear us digging a tunnel.

  While I’d been away, Peter and the McLals had made excellent progress. They’d deepened and widened the pit leading into the sewers. There was now the outline of a foundation floor, and four reinforced concrete columns to hold the lift mechanism. The tunnel to the orphanage had been fitted with rows of wooden supports, the kind you’d see in old mines.

  Scaffolding was stacked in one of the cells; the other was filled nearly to the ceiling with earth, waste from the digging.

  I didn’t manage to make sense of the architect’s plans, so I busied myself drawing up spell diagrams. On standard paper, they were single-use only, but I’d refined the liquid stone spell with containment runes so that it drilled deeper rather than spreading outward. I’d sacrificed some efficiency for duration. It wouldn’t make a huge difference, but it was something, and it gave me a bit of practical spellwork.

  I completed five diagrams before Peter, Uncle Bryce, Burke, and Albert McLal joined me.

  Peter gave me a brief set of instructions, then very happily handed the shovel to the boss.

  “If only the public knew how hard the Earl of Bremor has to graft,” Uncle joked, stepping into the tunnel. I followed. Burke and Albert took the narrow, single-wheeled carts, though only the old man went in with us.

  “How did it go with de Camp?” I asked.

  “Brilliantly,” Uncle said. “He’s taking on the press, and he’ll handle the social services as well.”

  “Of course he is,” I muttered and blasted the wall with a spell.

  The earth didn’t liquefy like before, but it gave way to the shovel easily — soft as wet clay and noticeably lighter. Uncle took full advantage and began scooping fast into Albert’s cart, speaking without pause: “We’ll take in the orphans and keep order on our turf. McLal’s lads will be officially listed as foster staff.”

  “Any actual qualified staff?”

  “There will be, Duncan. Children’ll all finish primary school, no exceptions. After that, we need to think — ideally, they should get a trade. Peter’s suggesting architecture and construction. What else can we offer?”

  “Potion brewing?”

  “No one’s taking alchemical secrets out of the clan!” Uncle snapped.

  “Duncan! Lazy sod!” Peter called. “What’s the hold-up?”

  “Waiting for the cart to fill,” I said, although there was easily enough space in the tunnel for me to slip past Albert.

  My next task was reinforcing the floor and walls of the second tunnel. Uncle kept digging like a madman, while Burke and Albert shuttled back and forth with the cart. Once the base was done, we moved on to the walls of the first passage, and just then, Donald and Leslie arrived.

  “So this is where you’ve all hidden yourselves,” said the younger McLilly.

  “Grab a shovel and hide with us, son,” Albert replied. “You too, lad, come on.”

  “I need to report to the head,” Leslie said.

  “Oooh, fancy!” Albert snorted. “Well then, no shovel for you. Grab the cart. Your head’s down there.”

  What was Leslie reporting to Uncle for?

  I took a closer look at the lad, and only then noticed the haze of mist magic surrounding him. Heaviest around the chest and neck, a little lighter over the face. I focused my vision, picking out finer details, and suddenly felt the rear sight spell kick in.

  Sure, he was standing right in front of me. But my vision shifted, gained depth, and the mist peeled back to reveal… a different face.

  “What’s with the masquerade, McLilly?”

  “Oh come on! Who told Duncan?”

  “No one,” I said. “I figured it out myself. You’re the only one in the clan who gets to be that ‘important’.”

  The others burst out laughing. Bryan grimaced at the use of his hated nickname. Burke, genuinely confused, left the cart in the tunnel and leaned out.

  “What d’you mean, McLilly? We were drinking last night, talking old times…”

  “Exactly,” Bryan said with a shrug, and dropped the illusion. “Even a master vampiress didn’t spot me. You were easy.”

  Uncle shoved Burke aside with the cart and wheeled it out.

  “Let that be a lesson, grandson, getting ahead of yourself again…” He shook his head and turned to McLilly. “And you too, Bryan. Get your arse in that tunnel. The vampiress didn’t recognise you, but our half-baked wizard cracked it in seconds.”

  “With all due respect, sir, you’re dead wrong,” Bryan said, waggling his finger dramatically. “That so-called half-baked wizard has a reputation most master vampiresses would kill for.”

  “Too right,” Burke added, then dropped his voice half an octave and intoned dramatically: “Lord Sledgehammer Loxlin.”

  “I will bury you both alive in this tunnel, you clowns!”

  “There! See?” Bryan grinned. “Beast!”