1pm 1st November 1899

Alistair returned to the shop just after lunch, bringing his food with him. If anyone else had done so, it would have annoyed her but for him, she made the exception. The sandy haired man popped himself down at the table and unwrapped the brown paper that contained his lunch without saying anything. He was an oddly quiet man, keeping his words and only spending them grudgingly, as though they were a rare currency. Perhaps that was why they got along so well, there was no need to fill the silence with needless chatter.

This time however, there was something to speak about. Putting her book down, she crossed the shop floor and sat opposite her friend. A pot of tea was brought by the elf and she poured two mugs and slid one over to him. He took it and nodded a thank you without looking up. “We have work,” she said simply. She saw the slight pucker of his brow before he looked up and tilted his head a little.

“What is it?” he asked.

“We need to look into the death of Nathaniel Montague,” she said.

“Of the Bridge Street Montagues?” he asked. Vanessa nodded. All of the information that Malcolm had provided her with, she now repeated back to her companion.

“That’s right; his uncle appeared this morning requesting that we speak with him. He suspects there was much more to his ‘suicide’ than has been discovered,” she explained.

“Why?”

“He said that the note that was found didn’t ring true, there was a tone to it that suggested to him that there was foul play,” she said. Alistair’s eyes narrowed and he pondered her words as he slowly chewed on his bread. After swallowing, he shook his head.

“A dangerous one,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“I’ll contact Father Brannan,” he said. She knew this was not a negotiable point, the task would be a tough one and the Father would be there just in case he was needed. They had both worked with him before and although he didn’t approve of what they did, he saw the necessity of it. He was also discreet, something which was essential in this line of work. Even within their world of magic, theirs was still considered to be black.

“Thank you,” she said after a pause. “I want to get this done as soon as we can, we’re being paid well and I don’t want to leave this.”

Alistair nodded as she picked up a mug of tea, his soft brown eyes giving away none of his thoughts; they rarely did. The moment her friend had finished his lunch, he got to his feet and replaced his hat. He would be going to deal with their business immediately, he rarely dawdled when it came to this sort of thing, “Can I have the letter?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, handing it up to him. He took it with another firm nod and headed for the door.

“Give me an hour,” he said before striding from the shop. Vanessa let out a small sigh and watched her friend leave before picking up her book once more.