Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)(12)

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.

‘Like a moth to a ruddy flame,’ I muttered, pulling the knife out from its sheath.

The blade was stained. Clearly its previous owner hadn’t cared for it very much. The heady and unpleasant perfume from the letters it had been used to open still clung to the metal. Grabbing a nearby dishtowel, I gently rubbed along its length, wiping away the grime and, hopefully, the smell.

The washing machine began to kick into high gear, starting its shuffle across the marbled floor. That’s probably why I didn’t notice the strange buzzing sound to begin with. It was the odd scent of cinnamon which caught my attention first.

Wondering if it was a base note from the perfume, or perhaps remnants of a long-forgotten cleaning agent, I sniffed the blade again. As I did so, a blinding flash of light seared my eyeballs. What the hell was that? Crying out, I dropped the knife and covered my face with my arm.

‘I can still see you, you know. It doesn’t work for ostriches and it doesn’t work for you.’

I froze. The booming voice sounded as if it had come from right in front of me. Baffled, and still squinting, I lowered my arm and stared. The knife lay on its side where it had clattered to the floor and the washing machine continued to rumble ‒ but there was definitely no one else in the room. I was going mad. Or dreaming.

I turned slowly, wary that someone might be behind me. There was nothing more than the battered ironing board propped up against the far wall and the kitchen table covered with old bills and bits of paper that I’d left out so I could file them away in carefully labelled folders, ready for transportation.

‘Honestly, for a faerie, you’re pretty stupid.’

Okay: I definitely hadn’t imagined that. ‘Hello?’ I asked cautiously, wondering whether it could be a ghost.

‘Great Scott!’ The voice said, utterly exasperated. ‘I’m down here!’

Rubbing my eyes again, I stared at the floor, feeling like an idiot. ‘Where?’

‘Here!’

A flicker of movement caught my eye and I saw him, crouching down next to the discarded letter opener. A tiny man wearing what appeared to be a tuxedo. He wasn’t any larger than my thumb. I did what any girl would do in such a situation. I gaped.

‘I knew a goldfish who did that once,’ the little man commented.

‘Who are you?’

A grin spread across his face. I realised that he was the most perfectly apple-cheeked being outside of the toddler three doors down that I’d ever seen in my life.

‘I’m Bob!’ he answered cheerfully. ‘Who are you?’

‘Uh,’ I licked my lips, still not sure if any of this was real, ‘Integrity.’