Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)(10)

I shoved my hands into my pockets and continued walking. A group of boisterous Bauchan fell out of a nearby pub, laughing uproariously to themselves. I gave them wide berth, resisting the temptation to follow them home. They looked like roughnecks, enjoying the fruits of several weeks’ labour out on the North Sea. They’d be loaded – and far too drunk to notice a tail. They were Clan-less though. I had some morals.

I wandered across the Brig O’Balgownie, raising a hand in greeting to Rab the Troll, who pulled himself up onto the stone parapet. ‘How’s business?’ I asked.

His grey face twisted. ‘Bollocks. Haven’t seen a Sidhe in weeks. Other than your fine self, of course.’

I lifted an apologetic shoulder. ‘I don’t count.’

‘When times are desperate…’

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Don’t get cute.’

‘Yeah, yeah. You see any of your kinsfolk, send them my way.’

As if. I just smiled.

By the time I got back to my flat, the pretty dawn sky had given way to a crisp blue morning. It was a shame I’d spend most of it in bed, catching up on the sleep I missed thanks to last night’s activities. Usually I loved early mornings. I had no idea whether it was a Sidhe thing or just a me thing, but the break of day was the best time to be up and about as far as I was concerned.

I unlocked my door, dropping my equipment as soon as I was inside and peeling off my black jumpsuit as I walked to the bathroom. At least at this time of the morning the water would be hot. My one indulgence when I moved in was to get a power shower installed with all manner of angled jets and sprays. It was well worth it. It didn’t matter how much money I paid, though – this was still Clan-less territory and I lived in an old building. It was undeniably beautiful, with a solid granite structure outside and cornices and stained glass inside. Perfect plumbing, however, was a luxury reserved for others.

I turned on the shower and got in, yelping as I half scalded my skin. Still, it was so good to get clean. I scrubbed away all the traces of grime and oil from my climb up the building and my ascent down the lift shaft – not to mention the clinging dust from the drill.

It was a crying shame that I couldn’t wipe away my guilt at the same time. I felt guilty for leaving Taylor in the lurch when things looked so dire for him, and guilty for enabling his gambling habit by paying off his debts. I dreaded to think what I would have done if he hadn’t helped me out all those years before. I wasn’t na?ve enough to think that he’d not used me but he’d never once judged me for who or what I was, and he’d always been there when I’d needed him. Maybe Saturday would be a good time to mention Gamblers’ Anonymous again.

It was a good twenty minutes before I stepped out of the shower, my skin pink from the heat. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My white hair hung down past my shoulders, an unfashionable length for a Sidhe. My violet eyes blinked back out, with just the faintest trace of shadows underneath them. I looked even paler than normal. It didn’t matter how many hours I spent in the sun, there was never a tan or a blush of sunburnt glow to my cheeks. I never even got any freckles. Other people often commented on my skin, saying that they wished for the same kind of flawless complexion. I just thought it was boring. It might seem strange to desire a bout of acne but I actually did. If nothing else, it would make me appear less Sidhe – although with my eyes and hair, I was probably not going to pass myself off as anything else any time soon.

Giving up on my appearance, I towelled myself off and wandered through to my bedroom, pulling on a comfy pair of worn pyjamas before lying down on my bed and closing my eyes. I was dog tired and should, by rights, have fallen asleep within seconds.

My brain, unfortunately, had other plans. No matter how hard I tried to turn off my thoughts, my worry about Taylor wouldn’t let me rest. I ran through scenario after scenario. There had to be a way to help him out so that this kind of situation never arose again. I gnawed over the problem for three-quarters of an hour when, still wide awake, I got up again. Maybe some hot cocoa would work. Unfortunately I’d forgotten about my discarded jumpsuit and, while rubbing my eyes, I didn’t see it. My foot caught up in one of the sleeves and I went flying, sprawling on the floor in an ungainly heap.

‘Bollocks,’ I swore, picking myself back up again. I could scale buildings, abseil down mountains, perform feats of extraordinary acrobatic skill – but when it came to walking along a small corridor, I failed. My only saving grace was that I lived alone so no-one else had witnessed my clumsy collapse.

I turned round and eyed the offending clothing then scooped it up, heading towards the kitchen and the noisy old washing machine. It had a nasty habit of juddering its way across the floor in a thunderous motion which sounded more like a volcanic eruption than a mere spin cycle. I’d been meaning to replace it for years but it was low on my list of priorities. Now I was leaving it didn’t seem to matter although it was hardly likely to induce sleep. But right now it didn’t appear that the land of nod was anywhere on the horizon. The least I could do was get the last of my chores out of the way. It would make packing easier.

I patted down the pockets and pulled out a few errant sweet wrappers, a plastic Hello Kitty pinky ring that I’d completely forgotten I owned and which made me smile, and the letter opener I’d taken from the office. I threw the jumpsuit, along with my last remaining dirty items of clothing, and turned the machine on, then stared at the small knife. The handle was rather remarkable. My finger traced along its ornate carvings. Here in the light of day, it seemed much less elegant and graceful than it had in the dim office. There was something about it that drew me to it. Goodness knows why. It wasn’t even pink.