Chapter Four
Glasgow, Scotland
Quinn peered out of the window of her car at the hotel building. It screamed elegance, set up to look like a row of Victorian homes. The sun bounced off the tall structure and created shade beneath its perfectly manicured cone-shaped trees.
The door whipped open, and there stood Devon. Short, thin, and hideous with crooked, rotten teeth and a thin comb-over, he was her most loyal packmate. Her subject. He held out a hand as if he were a chauffeur, his wide lips grinning down at her.
“After you,” he stated, his voice whiny and high-pitched.
Quinn fought the urge to roll her eyes or gag at his repulsive appearance. A woman of her stature shouldn’t even be seen with such a creature, but loyalty like his was rare. So she cleared her throat, pushed her sunglasses closer to her face, and stepped out into the sunlight. Such a welcome sight in Scotland.
He rushed behind her, slamming the car door and racing to the entrance of the hotel lobby before she could open the door herself. As if she would. He’d learned to be there, and be there fast. She made a right and was met by the maître d’ of the hotel’s restaurant.
“How can I help you, Miss? Do you have a reservation?”
Quinn pushed her glasses to the top of her head. “My associate should already be here. Isla Hepburn.”
The man’s too-thin mustache twitched beneath his nose as he searched his list. He quickly nodded. Good timing too, because Quinn was already tapping the toe of her stiletto in annoyance. “Yes, right this way.”
She waved Devon away without looking back and followed the man into the restaurant. Plush leather armchairs circled dark wooden tables. Each held a threesome of tea lights, and the combination of the candles and dim lighting gave a relaxing atmosphere. Too bad Quinn was anything but relaxed. Her muscles complained at the way she clenched them, despite her attempt to seem blasé. And the reason for her anxiety sat in one of the plush chairs.
The maître d’ set a menu down in front of the only other empty seat and excused himself. A glass of wine already sat filled for Quinn, courtesy of the woman currently sipping her own. Isla’s focus remained contemplatively on the menu even as Quinn set her purse down. Whispered conversation surrounded them, but Quinn eyed the woman in front of her.
“Isla.”
The menu finally dropped, revealing the dark gray eyes beneath midnight bangs. “Yes, Quinn. Nice to meet you in person.”
“Yes. It’s been a long time coming, no?”
Isla nodded. “A couple years, has it no’?”
“Quite a few.” Quinn’s voice sounded cynical to her own ears. The damn Witch had kept her waiting nearly six years for one simple visit. And she knew it. Isla sneered as she took another sip of her wine, leaving deep-red lipstick on the clear crystal.
“So, what is it ya be needing to speak to me about? Must be important to have asked for me for so long.”
Quinn inhaled, accustomed to the foul odor of magic. The rank, sulfuric stench that followed Witches around, which only people with a high sense of smell could sense. Like a Shifter.
It had taken so long for her to get here, and her hope relied on this heartless Witch.
“I’ve been looking for something. A priceless Shifter artifact. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”
Isla narrowed her eyes, her thickly applied mascara and eyeliner crinkling with her laugh lines. “And what ya be needin’ a thing like that for, might I ask?”
“It was taken from my family. I found out about it some time ago, and have been seeking information on it.”
Isla pursed her lips and shook her head at the waiter who approached to take their order. They wouldn’t be needing any food. “Well, I’m afraid ya came asking for somethin’ I got no answer for, Quinn. I canna help you with information on tha’.”
Quinn’s fingers dug into the cotton of her skirt, her nails biting through to her tender flesh. “And why can’t ya?”
“It’s our laws, ya see,” Isla continued, a long fingernail brushing across the table. “We canna help out with Shifter problems.”
“Nobody would know, Isla. I just need a bit of information from you.”
Isla was already shaking her head, her ponytail shaking with it. “I’m afraid no’, Quinn. I can’t do time in our prisons for such a meaningless bit o’ information. You don’t know what they do to Witches down there.”
The woman shivered, but Quinn had no sympathy. Anger, furious and hot, bloomed in her chest. It erupted to her head until it pulsed in her ears. Her wolf growled menacingly, the sound coming quietly out of Quinn’s chest as she shot her hand forward to grip the Witch’s fingers.
“Listen here, Isla. I deserve to hear something more than that—”
A tiny flame shot out from Isla’s hand, sparking across Quinn’s knuckles. She yelped at the sudden onslaught of pain before the flame was extinguished.
“Do I need to remind ya, dear Quinn, whose territory you’re in right now?”
Her gray glare turned impossibly colder, the wrinkles set around Isla’s thin lips. Her curvy figure straightened in her chair, but she motioned slowly to the tables surrounding them. Quinn looked around to see multiple pairs of eyes watching them. So focused on Isla, Quinn had failed to notice the other Witches in the room. Isla was their Ceann, the leader of their coven, and no doubt they would group together to take Quinn down.
Quinn slowly leaned back in her chair, setting her hand in her lap. She eyed her adversary but couldn’t help the small smile that played at the corners of her lips. She never came unprepared, whether it was for her family’s business or a personal matter.
“Of course, Isla.” Quinn drawled the words with her thick Scottish burr. “But I should probably mention…a little birdie told me about your deepest, darkest secret, Isla.”
The woman’s wrinkled face sagged as all smugness disappeared. She nervously shifted her eyes left and right toward her coven, unsure where this was going. Quinn bit the side of her tongue to keep her laughter at bay.
“I heard all about how you had a certain Warlock in your coven. And he had the Lèir.” Quinn watched Isla’s throat move with her slow swallow before continuing. “And I’m sure the members of your coven, as well as the other covens, would absolutely love to hear how such a wee little treasure ended up at the bottom of the river.”
Isla’s face paled, and Quinn leaned forward. She knew she’d won already. “My friend would be more than happy to tell them, if I only called—”
“No!” Isla shouted but then looked around. She quieted her voice. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
Isla cleared her throat and leaned forward. “I can’t give you much information. If you want to know more, you should go to Duval’s coven in Seattle. He’ll know more about the Faol Geal than any other coven.”
Content, Quinn smiled and reached her hand over the table for a handshake. “Thank you so much for your time, Isla. I hope we’ll be able to have more…appointments…in the future.”
After the woman released her grip, Quinn swung out of her chair, grabbed her purse, and walked out of the restaurant. Devon waited by the car, a question in his eyes.
“How did it go?”
“Marvelous, Devon. Absolutely marvelous.”