Illicit Magic (Book 1, Stella Mayweather Series)

CHAPTER THREE

  With the handle of the little knife in the palm of my hand, the blade cold against my fingers, I snuck towards the thin, front door and pressed my eye against the peephole.

  A woman stood on the other side of the door. I peered at her. Boyish, short hair flicked up at the front but not quite long enough in back to curl over the Mandarin collar of her blue jacket, framed an elegant face. She didn’t look like one of my stocky pursuers, and neither of my neighbours had moved recently, so she wasn’t a new resident. Still, not recognising her, I regarded her with suspicion. Besides, how had she gotten in without a key?

  She leaned forward, her shoulders and torso in a perfect line, her head inclined to one side and peered at the peephole. She blinked and her whole body seemed to shimmer out of focus. “Stella?” she called softly.

  I paused before answering her. A quick scan along the hallway from my blinkered position behind two inches of plywood seemed to confirm that no one else was there. “Yes?” I whispered.

  “I’m here to help you.” The woman pursed her lips and nodded once as if that confirmed everything.

  “Who are you?”

  “Étoile,” she answered, emphasising the two syllables, eh-twall. Softly, but still cajoling, she whispered, “Will you let me in? I need to talk to you.” She had an accent that I couldn’t place, clipped with a slight twang. Not English, though certainly an English-speaking country. American.

  “No.” Might as well keep it simple, I decided.

  The woman who called herself Étoile sighed. I saw her roll her eyes in a particularly petulant fashion. She straightened her back until she was upright again and shrugged with a roll of her shoulders like she was utterly exasperated. Then she vanished leaving nothing but air and an empty hallway.

  “Holy shit!” I breathed.

  “Not exactly holy,” said an amused voice behind me as I spun around, the pathetic little knife held close to my hip while my body tensed, ready to jab in an instant. I knew it wouldn’t do much but it might be enough to give me a few seconds to dash out the door. Or I could just run now. I pondered my options. Neither were winners. She’d flatten me. And even if I escaped, I’d be outside. Where they were.

  “How did you do that?” I hissed at the woman who, just a moment ago, had been standing in the hall before evaporating and now was just feet away inside my flat. Any normal person wouldn’t have believed it, but then, I wasn’t a normal person and I didn’t know if it was a relief or a new worry that we seemed to have the same peculiar quirk in common.

  She, Étoile, was tall, a few inches taller than I, with black hair cut very short. Now that nothing stood between us, I could see she had wide green eyes in a narrow face, slightly jutting cheekbones, and a jaw that was just this side of masculine. She had the creamiest skin I had ever seen. She was dressed in a long blue coat that reached to her knees; tiny blossoms in pink and green in a Chinese pattern adorned it. She had buttoned the coat the full length, right up to the Mandarin collar. Even to my unfashionable eyes, it looked expensive. Underneath, she wore darker blue trousers and smart boots with a square heel in a similar shade. She was beautiful and unusual, the type of woman who made heads turn because she was at once elegant and unique, even if she wasn’t pretty, as such. She didn’t look like a serial killer. Always good news, but then, who can tell? Victims almost never could until they’d had it.

  She shrugged as if the answer should have been obvious and a smile flickered on the corners of her mouth. I already knew the answer but I still gasped when, with a flick of her eyebrows, she said, “The same way you do.”

  I was more surprised when I realised she sounded completely and utterly bored. Zapping, as I thought of it, had always completely freaked me out.

  “How do you know what I do?” I inquired, not sure if my question had just acknowledged that sure, what the hell, I could vanish and reappear too. Not that it was something I advertised. Or, for that matter, even knew how I managed to do it.

  “We’ve been watching you.” Étoile answered without a lot of interest as she turned away from me, eyes briefly glancing at my knife. She turned the full three hundred and sixty degrees to cast her eyes around my shabby little flat. She wrinkled her nose with obvious displeasure as she dragged the words out. “You actually live here?”

  “My real place has the builders in,” I replied as sarcastically as I could manage.

  “We have to get you out of here.”

  “Tell me about it.” Good to see she was at least on the same wavelength when it came to my dire living conditions.

  “No, I mean tonight.” Étoile cocked her head to one side as if she were listening to something far away before her head inclined towards the television. She stepped closer to it and her mouth opened a little bit as the newsreader recapped the evening’s stories. She uttered a soft moan of sadness. The TV sizzled, snapped off and I sighed. Great, just when I was getting curious with the news. How would I find out what else was happening now? Trust my TV to burn out at the least appropriate moment. I’d only just settled on the idea that my pursuers tonight might be the same as the – what had they called themselves? – the Brotherhood and now I wouldn’t be able to find out anything more.

  Étoile took a step further into my living space and I followed her gaze as she examined the shabbiness, the lack of personality, the lack of... anything. “We need to get you somewhere safe,” she said, at last.

  “Who’s we? I’m not going anywhere.” I ignored her assumption that there was more than one person who had a say in what was going on.

  “We are your friends and we want to protect you. It’s not safe for you here anymore. Not since the Brotherhood are actively hunting our kind down.” Étoile spat the words out with distaste and turned to focus on me again. “We’ll take you somewhere we can protect you, and we’ll look after you.”

  “What if I don’t want to go? I’ve known you for, oh, a New York minute, and you want me to swan off with you who knows where? I don’t think so.” I shook my head in defiance. I was used to doing things my way, being totally self-sufficient and looking out only for myself. Not like that was getting me anywhere, nagged a little voice at the edge of my mind.

  “I suppose a fiery death sounds better?” Étoile raised an eyebrow and I had the fleeting thought that I wished I could do that. It was just plain cool, the opposite of me. She nodded at the TV and the black and white snow the picture had settled on.

  I shook the thought from my head. “Not much.”

  “Then you need to trust me.” Étoile scanned the room again, this time looking for something specific and her eyes alighted on my old sports bag. She grabbed it and tossed it on the sofa bed. “Pack whatever you need. We’ll have to leave the rest. I imagine you’ll get over it.” She tilted her head again as if she were listening for something and not liking whatever she heard or didn’t hear, but her voice was urgent. “And, hurry.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I squared my shoulders and faced the woman down. I’d had a lifetime of being shunted around with barely any notice from home to home as a child and as an adult I’d suffered through countless temp jobs and grotty flats. Was it too much to ask me what I wanted to do?

  “I’ll force you if I have to, and, trust me, I don’t want to. If I lose another witch, I’m toast.” I looked questioningly at her and she pulled an apologetic face. “A poor choice of words, perhaps.”

  “Lose another witch? Are you calling me a... witch?” I wasn’t sure whether I should feel quite so affronted.

  Étoile looked at me as if I might as well just flap my jaw and spare us both the idiotic questions. Despite my sympathy for the women on the TV screen, I wasn’t too happy about being called a witch. From my knowledge, witches were invariably portrayed as warty things with terrible dress sense and even worse hair. I might not have supermodel looks but I was vain enough not to appreciate such a moniker, or the weight of the word. I might come to regret that.

  Étoile nodded at th
e television again which was starting to spit out some noise. Perhaps it wasn’t totally kaput after all. “I was too late for her.” I knew she had to be referring to the embers that had been the last image. I gulped.

  “Where are we going?” The words were out of my mouth before I realised I had made a decision to trust her.

  “We don’t have time for questions. I’ll answer as we go, but right now, you need to get your stuff together so we can get out of here.” Étoile’s voice had increased in its urgency and I noted fear in her voice for the first time as she cocked her head. I didn’t know what she was listening for but finally, she looked straight at me and hissed, “They’re coming.” She didn’t have to tell me who they were.

  I took a deep breath and, hoping I was doing the right thing, took two steps towards her and tossed the knife through the narrow doorway into the kitchen. It hit the edge of the sink and tumbled into the plastic bowl with a muffled clatter.

  Étoile didn’t move so I stepped around her, unzipped my bag and pulled my few clothes off the rails, shoving them in haphazardly, and tossing the wire hangers on the sofa bed. I pushed in my little box of jewellery so that it nestled down the side of the clothes, too wedged in for the lid to fall open. My spare shoes went on top. My whole life packed into one small, single bag. Pathetic.

  Étoile glided towards the hallway door and had her head cocked to one side again. When she looked at me briefly, I couldn’t tell if she was impressed that I’d managed to pack in under ten minutes flat or surprised that I really had so little.

  “They’re nearly here but they’re confused. They haven’t decided what they are going to do yet,” she breathed. Her eyes had an unfocused faraway look and her voice was just loud enough for me to read an undercurrent of fear. She didn’t strike me as someone who normally broke into a sweat when under pressure so that note of fear had me concerned. “Have you got everything?” she asked, hurriedly nodding towards the bag.

  I scanned the room. I had my clothes, shoes and jewellery bits in the bag. I had taken nothing from the bathroom. “Toothbrush,” I said and made a move towards the damp bathroom. It was the best move I could have made.

  The fiery missile that exploded through the window and breezed into the room in a gush of wet air, was just a whisper from my face and I felt the rush of heat as it whistled past me to thud onto my sofa bed. Glass fragmented in its wake, shards sucked into my room with the force of the sudden rush of oxygen, and I shrieked in terror, throwing myself towards Étoile who caught me with steady arms. Flames erupted on the bed and the smell of petrol leaked into the air from the crude weapon. I pushed myself free from Étoile and grabbed my duffle bag before it was consumed in the eager flames. I started towards Étoile and she grabbed my hand to tug me away from the inferno as a loud crash sounded at the door.

  We wheeled around to see the wood splinter as the head of an axe burst through. Étoile spread her arms behind her to reach for me. Alarm bells sounded in my head as danger approached us from every angle, cutting off both our escape routes. I could hear cries erupt from the street below and anger from the hall. The cruelty carried itself through the air and rained all around us. I knew in that moment that this was what real terror felt like.

  Étoile had the foresight to grab my shoulder bag from where I had dumped it when I came in and was edging closer to me, my body between hers and the flames, which were already billowing black smoke. Now we were half facing the door that in just four strokes was almost shattered. A hand reached through and stubby fingers grappled with the flimsy lock.

  “We have to go now,” Étoile cried, catching my hand and gripping firmly.

  Between the Molotov cocktail through the window and the formidable axe smashing through my door, I couldn’t have agreed more. Somewhere in the shadows of my mind, I registered the thought that I could smell the hairs in my nose getting singed.

  As her hand grasped mine, I spied the little, square tin caddy on top of my TV. “I have to get it,” I cried back, stumbling a step away to grasp it with my free hand. I had a few things in it, meagre treasures, the last relics of a life I’d once had but I couldn’t let them burn. Smoke stung my nostrils and I coughed against the rising darkness that even the half moon couldn’t permeate. I barely had time to wrap my fingers round the hot tin as Étoile grabbed me around the waist.

  The door smashed open with a groan, the small frame crowded with first one stocky figure, then two and more behind.

  They thought we only had two ways out, both impossibly blocked.

  They didn’t have a clue.

  The air fizzled and burned around us and I cried out as we vanished from the flames.

  When I opened my eyes, I was momentarily blinded by having my face pressed against Étoile’s silky blue shoulder. I detached myself from her and pushed back my hair. Between the drizzle and smoke, it had begun to stick unpleasantly to my face. I sniffed. The acrid stench of smoke was on me, not quite fully formed but still repellent enough. Bewildered, I blinked back tears and looked around. We were in a tiled cubicle with a toilet behind me, a sink and a hand drier in front, the kind that you dipped your hands in for the blast of air that was so strong it made your skin ripple. There was a long cord with a red blinking light next to the toilet.

  “When you said we had to get away, I didn’t realise we were escaping to a disabled toilet,” I muttered.

  Étoile didn’t look embarrassed. “It was the best I could do on short notice,” she sniffed. She set my shoulder bag on the floor and rummaged in her coat pocket until she found a little mobile phone. She pressed a number, then the call button and held it to her ear, turning slightly away from me as if to prevent me from hearing every word she was saying.

  “It’s me,” she said, her voice low but without that trace of panic she’d had before. “I’ve got her, but I was only just in time. They’re getting faster and stealthier. I could tell they were coming, but not that they were right outside the door! I think they are, well, we discussed that theory already. If I had been a minute later ... Just a minute! Well!” She listened before continuing, sighing. “We’re fine. We’ll check in straight away. Yes, of course ... See you soon.”

  Étoile stuck the phone back in her pocket. She crouched in order to see herself in the low mirror, ran long fingers through her hair, fluffing the front slightly and rearranged the collar of her jacket before shrugging, seemingly satisfied with her perfectly lovely and unhurt self. I decided she was probably the type who could survive any disaster while still keeping her lipstick fresh and her heels on.

  If only I had fared so well. I tucked the tin caddy I was still clutching into my sports bag and ran the tap. My face had a smear of smoke, made even messier thanks to some stray tears from where my eyes had started to sting. I scrubbed at my cheeks using a wad of toilet paper and the curiously, and slightly revolting, green liquid soap from the dispenser and a trickle of water. I thought my hair might have singed slightly but there was nothing to trim it with so I settled for pulling it into a ponytail and twisting the ends under. The skin between my thumb and forefinger, where I held the tin caddy, was starting to blister and I prodded the puckered red skin carefully. It had begun to sting already. I had my bag and Étoile remembered to grab my shoulder bag, but in the chaos, I hadn’t thought to snatch my jacket. Damn it. It was cold outside.

  At least, it was if we were still in London.

  “I left my jacket.”

  “It was ripped. Weren’t you going to get rid of it?”

  “I would have mended it.” How did she know it was ripped? Was she watching me when it happened? Fat lot of good she had been then, if she was.

  “Oh,” Étoile nodded thoughtfully. “Make do and mend, hmm?”

  “That’s a nice way of putting it.” I eyed the cubicle rather than meet her eyes.

  Étoile was quiet for a moment then she said, “I’ll get you another one.”

  “Where are we anyway?”

  “Heathrow. Terminal fi
ve to be exact.”

  I hadn’t realised I’d been holding my breath so I took a gasp of air. I may have never been to the airport before but at least now I knew where we were. My Oyster card was probably in my bag. I could get the tube home. Hmm, maybe not. “What are we doing here?”

  Étoile frowned and snickered. “Catching a flight, of course.” If she’d added “well, duh,” I wouldn’t have been surprised.

  “I don’t have a passport.” I’d never needed one.

  “All taken care of.” Étoile produced a slim clear plastic envelope from the inside of her coat with a little flourish. She opened it and handed me a slim passport. I leafed through it. My name and picture was inside, but it wasn’t a British passport.

  “Is this a forgery?” I gasped in disbelief. Didn’t people go to prison if they were caught with a fake passport? I didn’t want to go to prison and spend a lifetime dodging fallen soap.

  “No,” she sniffed, seemingly insulted. “We have someone who helps us from time to time when we need a rush job.”

  “I’m not American, either,” I pointed out, tapping the blue cover.

  “Well, technically, you’re only half American but that’s good enough for a passport,” replied Étoile, as if it should have been obvious. “Anyway, I’ve only been here a few days and there wasn’t time to get a British one as well, but it will hardly matter.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think you’ll be coming back for a vacation anytime soon.”

  “Am I ever coming back?” I’d deal with the absurdity of throwing my lot in with a woman I’d known for ten minutes, whose first name was the only thing I did actually know about her, later. Scratch that, I knew she was more like me than a regular person. That had to count for something. Plus she hadn’t left me to roast. I was feeling positively warm towards her.

  “I can predict shorter queues at immigration,” said Étoile which apparently was supposed to suffice for an answer. “We should check in. The sooner we are out of this god forsaken country, the better.”

  I slung my bag across my shoulder, taking care to avoid using my blistered hand and picked up my sports bag; then followed Étoile as she opened the door to the bathroom and stepped outside. I felt gross and hoped I didn’t smell but no one glanced our way as we followed the signs for check in. Étoile avoided the queues and walked straight to the empty business class aisle. She took my passport and handed it, with hers, to the uniformed woman behind the desk who checked them, inquired after our luggage and printed our boarding passes, all while barely glancing in our direction. I meekly followed Étoile to the security queue and we silently stuck our bags and shoes in the plastic trays before walking through the metal detectors. There was something slightly absurd about seeing Étoile in her socks.

  Once through, we rejoined the throng of people putting shoes back on, fixing belts and buttoning up jackets. I shivered, reminded once again that even indoors it was still cold at this time of year and my jacket was probably burning to a crisp right at this moment. I wondered what I might have had in my pockets. I’d dumped my gloves on top. Drat. At least I’d kept my boots on. I wondered what the hell I was doing following this woman around when I should probably make a break for it.

  “I don’t think that would work out too well for you,” said Étoile as if she had plucked the thought from my head and I opened and closed my mouth like a fish. The look clearly wasn’t working for me and my shoulders shuddered with the cold. “Let’s do something about that,” she said and, taking my hand, she pulled me in the direction of the closest shop in the duty free zone, as I looked about me, drinking in the sights. Airports were a new and interesting thing for me, despite the situation. I’d never had the chance to go away anywhere. I spent my holiday time hulking around London’s many museums and parks.

  Inside the shop, Étoile walked straight to the row of jackets and ran a practiced hand across them, pulling out three. She nodded politely to the sales assistant and told me to try them on. Shaking her head at the first two, she signalled her approval with a small incline of her head at the third. I looked at myself in the long wall mirror. It was grey wool with a full length zip, concealed by a small panel with a dropped waist, a belt that tied in a loose knot and sleeves that flared into gentle bell cuffs. It was well tailored and fit me snugly. It was obviously better quality than anything I had ever worn. I twisted the card attached to the sleeve and winced at the price. It was well out of my league of affordability.

  I shrugged it off but Étoile caught it before I could gingerly place it back on the hanger and marched it over to the counter.

  “I can’t afford it,” I hissed in a low voice, as I caught up with her at the till, just as the sales assistant scanned the tag with the wand.

  “It’s on me seeing as I didn’t think to get yours,” replied Étoile with a dazzling smile that she re-aimed at the sales assistant with a flick of her head, handing over a black card. “No bag. She’ll wear it now.”

  The sales assistant snipped off the tag, passed me the jacket and wished us a great flight. We’d been in the shop only a few minutes and Étoile had happily stumped up more money than I’d ever paid for a single garment and without a single question. I wondered exactly how she had so much money to just throw away cash at a stranger like that. I guessed she couldn’t have been more than a few years older than I.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I promised, pulling the coat back on, now minus its wince-inducing price tag, then zipping it up. I pulled my bag strap over my head again so that it rested across my body like a security blanket. My wallet was, thankfully, inside and I pulled it out. “I have money in my account. Not loads, but enough to give you some back.” I pulled out a card. Étoile took it from me and simply snapped it in half.

  “What did you do that for?” I tried to calculate what was in my account and then what I would have to do to apply for another card. Bother.

  “The minute you put that card in an ATM they’ll know exactly where we are. They will be following you electronically as well as tracking you by other means. We need them to stay confused until we are well out of the way.”

  “I could have used it in... where are we going? What do you mean by other means?” I hurried after Étoile as she tossed my card in the bin and moved on.

  “You couldn’t. They must have no idea where you are. You can never use a bank card traceable to you again, never use your email or your Facebook or anything else that leaves a digital trace. Not even your phone.” Étoile took my wallet from my hand and rudely rummaged through it, taking my only other card and snapping that one too. She tossed them in the bin and handed me the near empty wallet. “As for other means, well, they don’t like us but they don’t mind using our talents when it suits them and when they can get them.” She set her mouth in a grim line.

  “I don’t have a phone.” As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t bothered. Bad enough being a freak, but now I was a freak who didn’t even have a phone in the twenty-first century thanks to my social ineptitude. Great, but hardly my fault I reminded myself. “What am I supposed to do for money?”

  “I told you, I’ll take care of everything,” Étoile shrugged like it should have been obvious. She was being very offhand about the whole thing compared to me. “You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

  “I don’t want to be kept.”

  Étoile sighed and leaned closer speak in a low voice. “Stella, you don’t have a choice. Right now I’m the only person keeping you alive and you have to do what I say. I know you don’t want to. I know you’re scared but I will look after you and I’m taking you somewhere safe. Until then, just let me take care of the bills, okay?”

  “Where are we going?” I asked feeling a little sullen, like I’d just been told off. I didn’t have much choice but to trust her and if I was thinking practically, getting out of the country might be the best thing. She had, after all, rescued me from a firebomb and someone smashing my door with an axe. I was bet
ween a rock and a hard place; I couldn’t turn Étoile down.

  “New York, for the moment. We have... people there and they will tell us what to do next,” Étoile told me at last.

  “Couldn’t you just, you know, zap us over there? Wouldn’t that be quicker than flying?”

  “I was stronger once, but I can’t... zap us that far. We would get horribly wet when we landed in the middle of the Atlantic. Better to fly.” It was Étoile’s turn to look petulant and I wondered if I’d hit a nerve. She turned away from me for the briefest moment to scan the departures board. “Come on. We’ve got a little walk to our departure gate and it isn’t long before we board. I’ll tell you more on the plane.”

  Thanks to Étoile’s business class tickets, we swept through the departure gate and settled into large, plush seats fairly quickly and again I wondered how this woman, who didn’t look much older than I, had the money for two tickets, the ability to get passports (fake ones at that) at short notice as well as the resources to buy me an expensive jacket without flinching. I wondered if she flew regularly, unlike me. Perhaps she was some kind of entrepreneur, I decided. Or a criminal with a heart, I wondered as I watched her stow my bags in the overhead compartment.

  I shuffled in my seat to get comfortable but it wasn’t difficult considering how soft it was. Étoile leaned over to buckle me in like a child and grinned. “I hope you don’t get airsick.”

  I shook my head then suddenly realised that actually, I had no idea. It wasn’t like I was a seasoned traveller used to hopping on and off planes at a moment’s notice. In between the air stewardess’ instructions whose arms flapped towards exits that I couldn’t see and hopefully wouldn’t need, Étoile spoke in a low voice so that the other passengers couldn’t hear. She told me there were others “like us”, but not all could do things quite the way we could, she said with a wink, making us sound like conspirators. She told me that they – and I hadn’t quite fathomed whom “they” were – hadn’t been certain where I was for a long time but when they finally found me and thought there might be a threat, they had been keeping a loose eye on me. Apparently, my frequent job changes and home moves had kept them one annoying step behind. It became imperative that I was found, said Étoile, and here she was. She shrugged as if that told a whole story itself.

  When rumours of cruel and unusual happenings to witches had begun to surface over the past few months, they started rounding up the “waifs and strays,” as she put it, taking those who couldn’t defend themselves somewhere safer, pairing the newer of our kind with the stronger, trying to make sure no one was left alone as a target.

  Étoile sighed. “Sometimes we were just too late and now I fear it is not safe for us to go back to England at all for quite some time.”

  “Did you take them all home with you?”

  “No.” Étoile frowned as she thought about it. “No. I only had instructions to return with you.”

  “Why do they want me?” I wasn’t even remotely useful. Surely, I didn’t have money, or connections; it wasn’t like I was a big cheese in any way.

  “I don’t know.” Étoile put her hand over mine and gave it a friendly squeeze. I wasn’t sure if she were trying to reassure me, or herself. “Don’t worry. They don’t tell me everything, but they will make sure you are okay.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Our family.” Étoile smiled. “Not biologically, of course, not all of them, but we are a family of sorts. We have our hierarchies and our factions and our jobs and, of course, we look out for our own kind.”

  I nodded, then realised that Étoile had told me nothing. I pressed her again, “But, who are they?”

  “The Witches’ Council. They are the ones who govern and monitor our kind.”

  “Are there enough of us to need a council?”

  “Oh yes. Lots and lots of us.” Étoile seemed visibly cheered at that.

  “Then how come you are the first person I’ve ever met who’s like me?”

  She thought for a moment then seemed to decide, “I’m probably not. We don’t take adverts out or announce ourselves. People fear us. Just look at what happened in Salem. Some of us are still smarting over that, and those poor people weren’t even witches.” Étoile paused to order us drinks from the stewardess’ cart. I mused over what she told me. Of course, it made sense that if there were others like me – I hesitated to use the word “witch” – they would not want to make themselves known. I’d once seen a documentary about Salem, a pretty New England coastal town, with historical re-enactments of the trials of the twenty-six accused and sentenced to death. They compared it to the town now and how that awful three-hundred-year-old legacy still affected the reputation of the town. The world wasn’t exactly known for tolerance of its own race, never mind something other.

  I remembered the evening’s headlines. I grimaced and then it occurred to me. “Haven’t we just been outed?” I asked.

  “The Brotherhood?” Étoile waited for me to nod. “For a while, people will just think they are psychopaths. The hysteria won’t start for some time yet. Who knows which way the public’s opinion will go? Maybe we will be blamed for the credit crunch or terrorism or the freaky weather and people will turn.” Étoile shrugged as if it wasn’t her concern. “Or maybe they’ll want us all to create love potions or put a hex on their neighbours. Frankly, who knows which is worse?”

  I stared out of the window as the plane taxied across the runway and picked up speed before we rose with a sudden little lurch skywards. I wondered how many questions I would need to ask before I had even the basic grasp of the situation in which I found myself.

  When firmly in the sky, I followed the instruction to unclip my belt and stretched my legs in the wide, plush seats. Air travel, so far, wasn’t as bad as I had expected, though my ears were making little pop, pop, pop sounds as we ascended.

  “You should rest.” Étoile looked me squarely in the face, and I couldn’t turn away. Her voice was thick with suggestion as she enunciated carefully, “You are very tired and you need some rest.”

  I felt my eyelids tugging. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I might be tired until Étoile told me that I was. I tried to stifle the yawn, and somewhere in the back of my mind I sensed that I was being sent to sleep, rather than encouraged. Perhaps Étoile just didn’t want to explain anymore. I clamped a hand in front of my open mouth and Étoile smiled again. She was awfully pretty, especially when she focused her attention directly at you. How nice to be so lovely was my final thought before I drifted solidly out of consciousness.

  When I woke again, an airline blanket had been tucked up to my shoulders and the seat beat was clipped back on. Étoile was flicking through the pages of a magazine rather absently. When she noticed me shuffle, she tipped the megawatt smile back at me again. “Hey, sleepyhead. We’re landing in less than twenty minutes. You slept the whole flight!” She didn’t sound surprised.

  “How convenient,” I muttered. I shuffled upright from my slump and wiggled my head from side to side, working the cricks out of my neck. The pain had gone from my hand and when I looked, the skin was pink and new without the trace of a burn. Interesting. “So, do we, uh, get to see some of New York? Sightsee or something?”

  Étoile shook her head. “Sorry, this isn’t much of a vacation. Besides, you know, been there, done that.”

  Sure. She’d probably been everywhere. I meanwhile had barely stepped out of London, and for that matter, not exactly done a whole lot while I lived there. She was the town mouse to my city-living country mouse alright.

  She smiled sympathetically and patted my knee. “Besides, we’ll want to stay out of sight. We don’t know who’s looking for you.”

  “Won’t they just check my passport? See where I’ve gone?”

  Étoile shrugged once more. “There will be no records. No one will ever know or remember that you came through Heathrow or JFK, even on this plane.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “V
e haf our vays,” she replied in cod German and winked.

  “So I lay low?”

  “That’s pretty much it. Until they decide where we are going next.” Étoile didn’t seem particularly perturbed by this. Actually, she seemed to be sending calm waves towards me and, though I could feel it, it didn’t bother me that I didn’t feel particularly bothered.

  “Have you any idea at all?” I tried again.

  Étoile pursed her lips and looked thoughtful as a little smile danced on her face. “I have hopes but I couldn’t say for certain,” she said fairly cheerfully. “I know where I’d want you to be, but it’s not for me to decide.”

  “Don’t I get any say?” I pressed my ears to stop them popping as we descended further.

  “Not really. Sorry.”

  Étoile stayed right by my side as we disembarked, passed through customs without a hitch and walked past the baggage carousel. When she followed me to the bathroom, I found myself getting cross. “Some privacy, please?”

  I wasn’t sure if she were being the perfect host or was concerned I might flit the moment her back was turned. She needn’t have worried. Without money, phone or, come to think of it, a clue, I had nowhere to go. I sighed as lightly as I could. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, especially as the alternative only a few hours ago was a crispy fried Stella with a side of regret.

  “Oh, sure,” she said, leaning against the row of sinks and muttering something about following the rules. I used the toilet quickly, smoothed the wrinkles out of my tights and fastened the skirt I’d pulled on over twenty hours earlier for work. I was wondering when I would get chance to change into something a little less battered and gross. After I washed my hands at the sink, Étoile handed me a little bag with the airline logo on it. There was a flannel and a disposable toothbrush inside, so I took the hint and washed my face as well as brushed my teeth before following her back outside and towards the exit route. Fortunately, with our carry-on bags we didn’t have to wait at the packed carousel for baggage. Étoile seemed to know exactly where she was going so I followed her, barely noticing our surroundings.

  As we exited the baggage claim, we approached a line of people waiting behind a cordon anchored by moveable weighted and polished pillars. A man in a black suit and sunglasses stepped forward and beckoned us with a little nod. Étoile motioned for me to come on and we followed him outside. Beyond that greeting, they didn’t speak, though he grunted something that sounded like a hello at me. Or he could have just swallowed a fly. It was hard to say.

  As we reached the road, a huge, black Cadillac with tinted windows swooped down on us. As soon as it pulled up, the man opened the rear door and ushered us inside. He attempted to take my bag but I pushed it ahead of me so that it would sit on the floor at my feet and scowled at him. If I offended him, he didn’t show it. Étoile climbed in after me and the man slammed the door shut behind her, then climbed in the front passenger seat without speaking to the driver.

  As I put my seatbelt on, Étoile pulled her phone from her pocket and switched it on. It trilled as it powered up and Étoile immediately speed-dialled. “We’re in the car and on our way,” she said, after which the conversation receded into umms, yes and no. Clearly, she had a lot to answer but didn’t want to say much in front of me. I wondered when someone would see fit to fill me in or if I was going to continue to be shunted wherever they felt like with barely an acknowledgment. I didn’t want a life like that, anymore than I was thrilled about the life I had been leading. Had been leading, I reminded myself. Who knew what my life was now? I just didn’t want to be a prisoner.

  At that thought, Étoile leaned over and patted my knee as if she were comforting a pet and I felt that calm feeling pervade my veins. “They’re very excited to meet you,” she said to me at last with a small smile as she slipped the phone back into her pocket.

  “Great?” I raised my eyebrows in question.

  “Yes, it is. They’ve assembled quite the little welcoming committee.”

  I nodded at the two men in the front. The driver said nothing to me, his sidekick only fractionally more with the fly-eating grunt and silence thereafter as we sped on. “Perhaps they need to sit in on the welcoming committee seminar,” I said under my breath.

  “Oh, don’t mind them.” Étoile dismissed them with a flick of her hand. “They aren’t here to be jolly.”

  If the two men minded being passed over so matter-of-factly, they didn’t show it. So I just nodded and looked out the window as we sailed through the traffic in the monster car. I lost count of time as we weaved from the freeway into the city. Buildings crowded us from every angle but I could tell we were moving towards a pricier part of town as the buildings became increasingly nicer featuring glossy, mirror-like windows, awnings and large potted plants stationed like soldiers at the sides of doorways. Presently, we drew up in front of a building with wide glass doors and an actual liveried doorman with a top hat. I suppressed the urge to gawk like a tourist.

  Sidekick (as I decided to call our nameless chaperone) hopped out and opened the door for us, offering me his hand as I climbed down which I thought a nice gesture. It was certainly better than letting me do a face plant from a great height. Well, my heart positively swelled. Sidekick grabbed my bag from the footwell before I had the chance to reach back for it and then, keeping it in his grip, paused to help Étoile down with his free hand. She glided gracefully to the pavement as if there had barely been a drop and sashayed into the building without a backward glance, nodding briefly to the doorman as the car pulled away. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as I trailed behind, Sidekick bringing up the rear as we crossed a foyer with a large potted tree and mirrors covering one entire wall. She punched a card into a slot by the lift doors and they glided open as if they had been waiting for us.

  “Our private lift takes us straight to the penthouse,” she explained as the three of us stepped inside and I shuffled myself to the back. There were no buttons to press as the lift only had two stops. If you got in one floor, it was obvious you were aiming for the other.

  I took a moment to glance over my shoulder at my reflection. The quick wash hadn’t done much good and the expensive jacket was still no match against Étoile’s exotic printed coat. Even Sidekick’s black suit looked like it had been made exclusively for him. I felt scruffy and insignificant as I nestled between them.

  As if sensing my discomfort, Étoile twisted her head to smile magnificently at me with a row of perfectly white teeth, in a way that I was starting to find not wondrous, but a little disconcerting. I imagined she was rather used to dazzling people into comfort, happiness, acquiescence or whatever else she planned for them when she turned it on. So I scowled like a petulant teenager and she seemed amused as she turned back to the doors with a little shrug of her shoulders.

  When the lift doors glided back, Sidekick stepped out first and sped off with my bag before I could protest. I exhaled irritably as Étoile gestured that I was to follow her in the other direction. There was another marble foyer to cross, but this one was somewhat smaller than the building’s entrance hall, although just as grand, if not more so. A circular table stood on a pedestal in the centre with a large arrangement of fresh flowers in reds and pinks in a patterned vase. Their perfume drifted towards me in the still air. Heavy gold-striped drapes framed a single window that reached almost to the ceiling and I could see skyscrapers beyond. I couldn’t even guess what the table alone must have cost.

  I sidestepped to see the corridor that Sidekick had escaped via; it led off one way and I could see several doors before it turned a corner. It was all I could do not to stand and turn and stare like a tourist in a grand house opening. It was the most elegant lobby I had ever seen. It was bigger than the whole top floor of my flat, never mind my own studio. Two sets of double doors led off the lobby and Étoile knocked firmly at one set before opening a door and ushering me inside.

  I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t the scene in front
of me.

  There were no black cats or cauldrons, or anything vaguely witchy. Instead, three large cream sofas were positioned around a long, low upholstered coffee table. Occasional tables, with vases of splendid roses in shades of pink and yellow, and pairs of slipper chairs were dotted about the room. It was a room made for coffee mornings, social committees and elegant soirees, not scruffy London orphans. I couldn’t feel more out of place.

  Against my better judgement, I sniffed, then thinking better of it, and remembering I did have manners, I tipped my chin up a bit and tried not to look like a fish out of water. I’d just have to bluster through, the same as I did when I got a temping assignment that was way beyond my expertise. Only this time I was in the company of witches and couldn’t just hide behind a stack of filing. The hell if I would I let my nerves show, though.

  A man and woman sat on the furthest sofa. The pair were both elegant and well dressed, though not flashy; she in a cream skirt suit, court shoes and a tidy golden bob; he in a charcoal grey three-piece suit with a striped shirt and tie. They looked like they were in their fifties, but a very well-preserved version of that age.

  Another man sat on the adjacent sofa, closer to me. Not only was he much younger but dressed considerably more casual in a white t-shirt with a button-down placket, jeans (albeit expensive ones) and leather boots. With his shaggy blonde hair and big blue eyes, he was straight from an advert for healthy living. Though he was younger, there were physical similarities to the older pair. The square jaw was like the older man’s and I wondered if perhaps he was their son. He had a playful smile on his face and looked mildly curious, but welcoming. He caught my eye and winked at me. I dipped my eyes and a pink blush crept onto my cheeks. Embarrassing, much!

  The older man rose to his feet and approached me, his hand outstretched to shake mine in a double-handed clasp and I caught the glimpse of a Rolex. I’d bet good money he hadn’t bought it from a street vendor. He had a slightly receding hairline with closely cropped, iron grey hair and a smooth accent as he said, “We’re so glad Ms. Winterstorm found you. We were so worried that she was too late.” It sounded like an admonishment dressed up in a welcome and I was a little cross for Étoile’s sake. She sank gracefully onto the sofa next to the young man and was playing on her phone again, her thumbs busily texting. If she noticed the slight, she didn’t give a hint, though her back was ramrod straight, like she wasn’t completely at home.

  “She had perfect timing,” I replied, suddenly feeling a little protective of the woman who had zapped me, quite literally, out of the firing – fire – line.

  “So she did,” the older man agreed smoothly. His voice had the clipped New York edge that I was familiar with from too much film watching. “My name is Robert Bartholomew and this is my wife, Eleanor. Our son, Marc.” Robert nodded towards the younger blonde man who was lounging on the sofa, one leg slung across the other. I thought he would have looked more at home at the beach rather than in this bastion of New York wealth. I nodded at him briefly and he smiled back warmly, melting me just a little. “You, of course, are Stella.” I nodded and Robert waved a hand, indicating that I should sit next to their son. So, with a brief glance at him, I did.

  Eleanor poured tea into delicate china teacups with a trio of gold bands around the edge, from a set that sat on a tray on the low table. “Tetley,” she said, adding hesitantly, as if she weren’t sure she got it right, “Just like home?”

  “I’ve barely been away. I don’t think I’m quite ready to be homesick,” I said, then held my tongue when I realised how rude that must have sounded. Eleanor stiffened a fraction before continuing to fill the cup. I added quickly, “Thank you. I appreciate you thinking of me. That was kind of you.” She relaxed and I gave myself a mental kick as I leant forward to accept the teacup and scooped in two heaped sugars. She poured another cup for Étoile and moved to set it on a low table near her before settling back in her space, ankles crossed neatly. She struck me as delicate but very assured, even if she had assumed the “I’ll be mother” role.

  “Are you the, uh, council?” I asked the air, not entirely sure whom I should be addressing. I balanced the cup and saucer awkwardly in my hand, unsure whether I should put it down. What if I spilled on the upholstery, or left a ring mark on the tray?

  “Eleanor and I are members, though this is not the whole council,” replied Robert as Eleanor gave a small smile. “We have called a meeting and the council will be here later. As Étoile no doubt told you, they are very much looking forward to meeting you and you will have the opportunity to talk to them.”

  “What will we be talking about?” I questioned, wondering what kind of chat went on at committee meetings. Maybe we’d talk about the best breed of black cat, or potions or ... well, I couldn’t think what witches talked about.

  “You, in part,” said Robert and I wondered if, perhaps, that should have been a little more obvious. I had had a strange and long day, I could be forgiven, I thought. “We will need to decide your future,” he finished.

  I considered the last twenty-four hours. My future looked very different now from what I had planned. Hell, I couldn’t even have planned the past day. “And I actually get a say in that?”

  Robert smiled companionably. “We can’t force you to do anything. You did after all come here willingly,” he reminded me, a small smile playing on his lips.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice. Not that I don’t appreciate Étoile turning up in the nick of time,” I added hastily, spreading my hands, the teacup wobbling precariously. “I do, but this all seems very much out of my hands.”

  “If you will do us the courtesy of meeting and listening with the council tonight, you will, of course, be at liberty to do whatever you choose. Naturally, we hope that you will take on board what we have to say and listen carefully to our recommendations before you decide anything,” said Robert, and his voice was at once authoritative and open. “It is our wish that you stay safe, above all else.”

  “Why am I so special?” God help me, I sounded whiny and ungrateful.

  Eleanor looked at her husband before answering me herself. “Because you are,” she replied, inflection on the last word, as if that answered everything. I wondered if Étoile had learned evasive lessons from her.

  I pondered Eleanor’s answer and wanted to ask more, but I had the feeling that neither Robert, nor his wife, were going to tell me much at this stage. This initial meeting seemed to be about pleasantries, a meet-and-greet and a glance-over, much as I might have gotten at any new temp job, but not a moment to impart knowledge of any great worth. Well, that could work both ways. Oh well. I had nowhere better to be, I reminded myself, I could wait and see what happened.

  Eleanor poured another cup and handed it to Robert. He took it with a nod as he moved towards the mantelpiece and seemed to be staring somewhere over my head as though lost in thought. He sipped and returned the cup to the saucer with a delicate chink. He was clearly in no great hurry either.

  “Witches have been a part of the world for centuries,” Robert said at last, choosing his words carefully. “I say witches, but, of course, we have been called all sorts of things. Spell-casters, wizards, magicians, warlocks, sorcerers and worse. Witch seems to have stuck in the lexicon. Of course, we have gone to ground for the past few hundred years ever since the ghastly witch hunts that destroyed so many of our kind and others that were accused of being one of us.

  “After a few generations, we were relegated to myth and legend, which suited us just fine as we were able to live peacefully once again and regroup. The short version of this sorry tale is this. We’re out. There are those out there who have always been aware of us and have taken advantage of the world’s turmoil to persecute us once again. We have taken steps to gather whomever we can, to draw them to us and protect them.” Robert was getting into his stride, his voice rumbling on and I listened with fascination as he unfolded a history of which I had barely been aware. “Stella, you have a r
are gift, an inherited gift. We don’t think you can control it yet, and we want to help you and protect you. We want to keep you safe.”

  It was Robert’s last words that chilled me to the bone. “We don’t want to see you burn.”

  I shivered. The sight on the television – earlier today? Last night? I couldn’t be sure – seemed to have stuck to my eyeballs. If anyone wanted to protect me from that, well, great. I was hardly going to knock them back without another thought.

  “Did you save everyone?” I asked.

  Robert shook his head and sighed. “There simply wasn’t time or enough of us to reach everyone. A lot of the craft has simply gone dormant, or died out. There aren’t that many of us with real power, though occasionally some throwback talent crops up and we help where we can.

  “Some of the older, more skilled witches went to ground as soon as the attacks came to light in Europe. They will make their way to us, or band together, when they deem it safe. Others are barely aware of their powers and we decided it was safer to leave those who were unlikely to be attacked. Their magic can barely be identified. Some, like you, are on the cusp of realising real power and so it was you we decided to save. We were too late for some.”

  “Am I one of these throwback... talents?” I asked as Robert and Eleanor quickly eyed each other.

  Robert answered. “No, your magic is strong. It could only have come from your parents.”

  As he was speaking, a thought had been creeping up on me and it was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “You knew where I was?”

  Robert inclined his head in a brief nod.

  “You’ve known where I was for... how long?” Had they known where I was throughout my long, lonely childhood when I so desperately needed people? Solid, dependable people who didn’t think I was a freak? I clenched my jaw.

  Robert and Eleanor exchanged another glance and it wasn’t reassuring. They had known then. Perhaps they had known where I was for a long time, not just in the few days or weeks that led up to the witch hunt. At least they had the grace to look embarrassed, or I thought they did.

  It was Eleanor who answered in her clipped Manhattan accent. “No, we had no idea for quite some time. Not until the last year or so. We couldn’t just pluck you out of England on a whim,” she said. “You wouldn’t have come. Besides, we didn’t know what would become of you for certain.”

  “You managed to get a passport for me when it suited you.” I was trying to keep my voice as even and inoffensive as possible. It was tough going.

  “That passport is yours. Your name, and your nationality.” I was puzzled. Hadn’t Étoile handed me an American passport, when I was English? As I tried to make up my mind whether it was some kind of fraud, Eleanor took pity on me and solved the puzzle. “Your father is American, as you know. You have every right to be here, though he spent many years in England with your mother.”

  It was strange to hear these strangers speak about my parents. When I was younger, I often asked many questions about them, but no one seemed to know the answers beyond their names and dates of birth. Letters and numbers on a piece of paper that meant so little and so much. One day they were there, the next they were gone and I was alone. I thought I might have been around five when I last saw them. Too young to form lengthy memories and too young to grasp the answers to my own questions.

  “We knew your father well, your mother less so,” said Eleanor, quite smoothly. I noticed that her bobbed hair barely moved and its golden colour was subtly highlighted. “Tonight, when the council convenes, you may have the opportunity to ask more questions, if time permits. Some of the other council members were friends with your parents.”

  Robert was ready to take back centre stage as he deposited his cup on the tray with a light clink. “As Eleanor said, you will have the opportunity to meet some of the council members tonight. We have already decided what may be an appropriate route for you... but we will need to be quite sure that we are doing the right thing for you. As I said though, the final decision is yours but do rest assured that we are trying to do our best for you.” I almost missed the look Eleanor flashed at him but Robert didn’t and he shook his head at her, with the barest fraction of movement. He paused then added, “To atone, perhaps, for not finding you sooner.”

  I nodded, agreeing somewhat. Too right they could atone if they had known I was on my own! Even if they said they didn’t know where I was my whole life. I wasn’t sure what to believe. They were pleasant enough though, I thought, careful to keep my temper in check. But I couldn’t help wondering if what was right for me would travel along the same road that was right for them. It seemed at odds to pick a route, as they seemed to be calling it, that would not somehow be simultaneously profitable for their cause. After all, they’d only just picked me up now when they could have done so years ago apparently.

  If I had real power, as Robert said, and others wanted to crush it, it stood to reason that they might want it too. I made a snap decision that it might be best if I kept those thoughts to myself until I had the measure of them. It would do to keep my wits about me and not be seduced by the obvious wealth and implied sincerity, both seemingly designed to put me at ease.

  Robert tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, smiled and seemed to have finished his speech. He told me nothing that I didn’t already know, other than that my parents were known to them and I wondered if I was about to be hit with a bombshell of information that evening. I rather hoped so.

  “Will Étoile be there later?” I asked the room. I still hadn’t spoken directly to Marc, and it would be rude to lean across him and whisper to Étoile, but I knew I would feel more comfortable if Étoile was with me. My feelings towards her were based on only a few hours, but I felt I could trust her, given that, I wasn’t, well, deep fried.

  Robert pondered the idea and after a moment, nodded. “Yes, Étoile is not a member of the council but she will be a friendly face for you.”

  I looked over my shoulder. Étoile had stopped playing with her phone and sat with her ankles crossed and hands in her lap. She smiled at me and I thought there was a real hint of warmness there. I smiled back and meant it.

  “We will let you retire. I’m sure you are exhausted,” said Eleanor, every bit the hostess and clearly dismissing us. “Marc, would you take our guests to their rooms?”

  Marc was up and at my side in an instant and I stood. I was sandwiched between him and Étoile as we left the room, and she took care to close the heavy doors behind her. We moved across the hallway and Marc guided us down the hall and around a bend. “Mom has given you rooms across from each other. I’m right down the hall so just call if you need anything.” He pointed several closed doors further down. They were all identical so I wasn’t sure which one he meant. I would just have to find Étoile if I needed anything. He opened a door to his right and ushered me in first. Étoile leant against the doorframe as I took in the room.

  It was a small room, dominated by a big mahogany bed with a cover the colour of bitter chocolate, trimmed in brilliant white ribbons and stacked with pillows. A dressing table sat against the wall at the foot of the bed, near the door. On the other wall there was a closet and a door that was open a fraction so that I could see it led to a small bathroom. Opposite that, the window, framed in matching dark brown curtains with thick tassels, looked out over the city. The curtains alone probably cost more than a month’s temping. It had the appearance of a very smart hotel room and the bed looked particularly inviting, even though I slept for several bone-aching hours on the plane. Marc seemed to be waiting for a reaction so I tipped the corners of my mouth into a smile and thanked him.

  “Mom likes things to be quite formal,” Marc was saying and it took me a moment to realise that he wasn’t talking about the bedroom decor, but was instead referring to their council. He probably took the grandeur as standard, I assumed. “She prefers we dress up so she left a dress for you, assuming you mightn’t have brought anything formal.”


  Of course I hadn’t, I thought, looking around for my bag.

  “Your bag is in the closet,” said Marc, following my eyes and guessing what I was looking for. He indicated with his hand, “The dress is in there too. She guessed your size so I hope it fits. Can you be ready for eight?”

  I had no idea what time it was – my watch was obviously on the wrong time zone – but there was a clock on the dresser so I nodded and Marc seemed satisfied. He ran a hand through his thick blonde hair and grinned again. “Hopefully it won’t be too boring tonight. Signal me if you need rescuing.”

  I frowned, not sure if he was serious or being funny. I decided to play along either way. “What sort of signal should I give you?”

  “Um, nothing too obvious ... maybe ... brush something off your shoulder,” suggested Marc, making the same sweeping gesture to show me exactly what he meant. “It won’t look out of place and I will get you out of there. The council can be a bit overbearing at the best of times. They’re particularly excited about tonight.”

  I nodded as if I knew exactly what he meant and looked over to Étoile who stood in the doorway, leaning slightly against the doorframe. “I will watch out for any frantic shoulder-brushing,” she winked and backed out of the room.

  Marc followed her and swept a hand towards the doorway across the hall, but she’d already brushed past and opened the door. She seemed very familiar with the apartment. I wondered how many times she had stayed here. Maybe she and Marc were a thing? I couldn’t be sure. With a wide smile, Marc turned to shut the door behind him, leaving me alone at last.

  Inside the room, I took a moment to glance at my reflection in the mirror. I looked tired, and ever so slightly grimy. Great. There was nothing like a good first impression, as my manager at the temp agency had been so fond of telling me. I guessed I’d blown that first impression already and even if I tried to shrug it off, a little piece of my mind nagged at me for not being at least a bit better presented. It didn’t help one iota that Étoile looked like she had just stepped out of the salon, even though she had been on the same rough twenty-four-hour ride as I. I sighed. Crossing over to the closet, I opened it and found my bag inside. I knelt down and checked it was still zipped but I couldn’t be certain it hadn’t been rifled through, seeing as I hadn’t exactly packed neatly.

  Easing to my feet, I saw that a black garment bag was the only thing hanging on the rail, I reached forward and unzipped it. A dress, as expected, was inside. I pushed off the garment bag and held it up in my arms. It had a neat plain bodice with a square neckline and no sleeves plus a skirt that puffed out slightly at the waist. The skirt was a damask sort of fabric, with raised swirls of black that looked like it would rest just above the knee. It was elegant and probably, I realised, the most expensive thing I ever touched. Even more than Étoile’s gift of the jacket which I realised I hadn’t even taken off. A pair of black pumps with a low heel sat on the closet floor. I wriggled out of my shoes and inserted a foot. Of course, they fit. Eleanor was the type of woman who could size you up at a glance and probably left nothing to chance anyway. I put the dress back on the rail and shut the closet door, feeling a little ashamed that I was even thinking about its cost; but then, I reminded myself, I was surrounded by the most enormous wealth while I was used to so little.

  A low rumble emanated from my stomach and I patted it, trying to remember when I had last eaten. The only meal I could recall had been before the plane and my stomach was working its way up to reminding me of that with a series of no uncertain grumbles. I would have to wash first then look for a kitchen. It occurred to me Eleanor might not want me poking around in her home and she didn’t look like the home cooking type either. I would have to swallow my pride and just find someone to ask instead, or go hungry. I hoped they weren’t into fancy hors d’oeuvre with miniscule portions instead of real food.

  I shrugged off my new jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. Smoothing the coat’s shoulders, I was reminded again that I was still wearing the same clothes I’d worn to work and then on the plane. Yuck. I hoped I didn’t smell but I wasn’t going to have a sniff to find out. At least no one had wrinkled their nose at me.

  I shrugged off my top, feeling grimier by the minute and unzipped my skirt, shaking it to the floor so I could step out if it. I pulled my bag out of the closet, leaving my clothes in a little pile inside. I rummaged through the bag and pulled out clean jeans, another top and a fresh set of underwear and socks, thankful that I’d been to the laundry recently and that they hadn’t been near the smoke long enough to be tainted.

  After setting my clean clothes out on the bed, I went into the bathroom. Although it was small, it was well stocked with anything a guest might need. There were bottles of shampoo, conditioner and shower gel in the shower cubicle. An unused toothbrush and toothpaste set sat on glass shelf above the basin. Soft towels hung on a heated rail.

  I turned on the shower and wriggled out of my underthings, dropping them in a little heap on the tiled floor, before I dived under the hot water, holding my head under until my hair was soaking wet and trailing down my back. I scrubbed my hair and shampooed until my head was full of suds; then worked on my body to remove every last bit of grime. I took the time to revel in the luxury of it as I compared it to my usual dribble of a shower and, for those few minutes, lost myself in thoroughly enjoying the water pounding on my skin. I was almost reluctant to get out and towel myself dry but I forced myself anyway. I wrapped one thick towel around me, tucking the ends in at the front and wrapped a smaller towel around my head to keep my hair from leaking down my back, then brushed my teeth thoroughly and gargled.

  Though I could have only been in the bathroom a few minutes, someone had been in my room while I showered. A tray sat on the dressing table, with an actual silver cover over the plate. Still towelled up, I lifted the lid and my stomach grumbled again. It had been hours since I had last eaten. Maybe even more than a day, I thought as I gave up trying to calculate how long I’d been here and how long the flight had taken. With the time difference, I wasn’t even sure I had worked out which day it was.

  The tray held a salad and grilled chicken with a creamy dressing, and a warm bread roll with a little pat of butter in its own miniature dish. Then there was a chocolate soufflé, slightly bubbling, in a white, fluted ramekin and a tall glass of orange juice crammed with ice cubes. I didn’t bother to dress. I had barely pulled out the velvet-buttoned stool from under the table and sat down before I fell on the food with an appetite that would have embarrassed me, had I been in public. I was just too hungry to care.

  Fifteen minutes later and I let the last of the chocolate soufflé melt in my mouth, my eyes half closed in the simple pleasure of it. Delicious. I had read in a magazine, on a work break a few weeks earlier, that fear could make the next meal taste like nothing else on earth. Apparently there was a “shock and eat” trend that was the latest thing in London – people actually paid to be frightened to pieces then fed a slap-up meal. I reckoned this meal would be delicious any day of the week, even without any tomfoolery beforehand.

  My eyelids drooped and I realised nature was pulling me in a different direction now that my appetite had been sated. I pulled on the clean underwear I set on the Bed, hoping that whoever had brought the tray had ignored them, and the t-shirt, leaving the jeans lying on the bed. I crawled, rather ungainly, over them and pulled back the sheets to slide under.

  The thought that home – London, my life – didn’t exist anymore was on the tip of my mind as my eyelids pulled lower, but I was asleep as soon as my head hit the unfamiliar pillow. Edging out of consciousness thankfully stopped the rising panic overtaking me from fully forming at the one-hundred-and-eighty degree about-face my life had suddenly taken.