I sighed, found a clean bowl and opened a tin, gagging slightly at the familiar scent of processed tuna. I scooped some out with a spoon and presented it to him. Brutus stepped up and sniffed delicately. I turned away to close off the tap.
‘Food.’
I gritted my teeth. ‘I just gave you food.’
He pawed at the bowl and looked utterly disgusted with tonight’s offering. I gazed at him in exasperation. ‘You liked this one last week.’ His head turned away. He wouldn’t even look at it. ‘Brutus…’
A low growl reverberated from deep within his throat. I crossed my arms. He wasn’t giving an inch. ‘Foo…’
‘Fine,’ I snapped, interrupting him. Sometimes the path of least resistance is the best. I opened the cupboard, selected a different flavour and presented it to him. I received the tiniest purr in response. Rolling my eyes, I got rid of the first lot of food and gave him the second. Then I stomped to the phone to order myself a pizza.
Chapter Two
It would be nice to think that the rest of my week improved but things only went from bad to worse. It’s fair to say that if I’d appreciated how bad life was about to get, I would never ever have emerged from my duvet on Friday.
Even with Brutus perched on my chest repeating his mantra for breakfast, I was tempted to pull the cover over my head. It was so snug and warm. Unless I got up and threw him out of the window, however, it was clear I wouldn’t get any peace and quiet. I could have done that but it wouldn’t have been worth the hassle afterwards. Not that Brutus would have hurt himself; he’s only used up two of his nine lives so far, which I reckon is pretty good for a cat of his age and temperament. But given that the time I accidentally stepped on his tail caused seven full days of feline hatred, where I was afraid to open any of the doors in my own damned flat, I dreaded to think what I’d receive in return for giving him flying lessons.
‘I’m getting up,’ I told him. ‘In two minutes.’
‘Food.’
‘Quit it.’
I tried to relax once more; it wasn’t hard. I was drifting back into the wonderful land of snuggly slumber when a paw, with claws outstretched just enough to rake my skin, scraped along my cheek. I opened one eye. I suspected that Brutus had waited the exact two minutes that I’d promised.
‘Food.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
Sighing, I stuck one foot out from under the duvet. It was freezing. I yanked it back and moaned. Brutus went for my face again but I dodged his attentions by smothering my head into the soft pillow.
I could do this. On the count of three.
One.
Two.
Three.
I didn’t move. Gritting my teeth, I steeled myself and tried again. This time I sprang upwards and darted for my dressing gown hanging on the bedroom door. I wrapped it round me and ran, wondering why I lived in a flat which had beautifully polished parquet floors that were bloody freezing under my feet rather than inch-thick pile carpet. Where the arse were my slippers?
Hopping from foot to foot, I nipped into the kitchen and flipped on the kettle before opening the cupboard that housed the small boiler. I peered at it. It was still there; it hadn’t blown up in the middle of the night. So why, in the name of all that was icy and unpleasant, wasn’t it working?
I thumped it a couple of times. There was an odd gurgle but, other than that, nothing seemed to be happening. I wrinkled my nose and tried to think. I knew various runes for starting fires but I’d never had occasion to use them and somehow I didn’t think setting my own home alight would be wise.
I grabbed a bowl for Brutus and poured out some dry cat food that I knew he liked, then made myself a mug of tea. I warmed my frozen fingers round it while I considered my options. The trouble with magic is that it involves ancient skills and knowledge which have very little to do with technology. When it comes to the mystical arts and twenty-first century advances, it’s always best to work on the premise that never the twain shall meet. If they do, you can expect explosions and violent death and the very real possibility that you’ll be engulfed in a hailstorm made up of shards of glass and hornet stings.
I pondered my options. As I’d told that good Samaritan yesterday, some things are best left to the professionals. I glanced outside. Eve would have already left for her trip up north, which meant I could vamoose over to her place, check on her cat, call a plumber and wait in the warmth. Sounded like a damn good plan to me. I nodded wisely to myself; go me.
Brutus butted his head against my shin and I crouched down to scratch behind his ears. ‘It’s cold here,’ I told him, rather unnecessarily. ‘I’m going to Eve’s to feed Harold and wait for help to arrive. Right now, a Saint Bernard with emergency rum rations would be particularly appreciated. You’re welcome to come with me if you want.’
He flung a disdainful look in my direction. He’d never said anything but I had the distinct impression that he considered Harold – or rather Harold Fitzwilliam Duxworthy the Third, to give Eve’s familiar his true title (witches enjoy long titles and lines of heritage) – was beneath him. He abandoned my bid to stroke him in favour of turning round and presenting me with his arse, before sauntering off to find a morning sunbeam. I checked the clock. Okay: afternoon sunbeam. But only just. Still, I felt guilty for grousing at Brutus when he’d clearly been very patient before waking me up.
‘I’m sorry!’ I called out. ‘I hadn’t realised the time.’
There wasn’t an answer. I shrugged. Without wasting any more time or body heat, I grabbed Eve’s keys and shoved my feet into a pair of wellies, which I’d bought last year as part of a misguided and impulsive plan to go foraging for herbs. The boots had lain unattended in the same corner ever since.
Hugging my dressing gown closer, I nipped out into the shared corridor. Fortunately, no one else was around; the last thing I wanted was the good-looking guy at number twenty-three to see me wandering around with a shabby dressing gown and bed hair, even if it might have given me an effective opening to encourage him round to inspect my own bed. I darted to Eve’s place, quickly unlocked the door and hopped inside.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been round to her flat. I’d looked after Harold on a few other occasions when she’d been away for work and had once ventured there for a party she put on to impress her boss. Alas, I inadvertently mistook him for one of the local binmen who serve this building and always have a cheery smile and a kind word. When I asked him how the rubbish business was going, he assumed I belonged to one of the many witch-hating chapters and looked ready to throttle me. I apologised profusely but the situation was only compounded when Eve appeared to smooth things over and introduced me. Of course, he recognised my name. It might have been years since I had anything to do with the Order but apparently I was still mud as far as the upper echelons of the Second and Third Levels were concerned. Whatever.
Every time I was in Eve’s flat, I was struck by how clean everything was. I’d have known if she paid someone to do her dusting for her. It was possible she’d mastered a complicated series of runes that enabled her to use magic to keep the place spick and span but I suspected that she used nothing more than elbow grease. The poor woman needed to get out more.
‘Harold,’ I called. ‘Harold! It’s Ivy from down the hall.’
The cat didn’t answer. Perhaps I was being too familiar with the familiar. I tried again. ‘Harold Fitzwilliam Duxworthy the Third? Are you there?’
There was a faint meow from the living room. My brow furrowed slightly. I followed the noise, pushing open the door in time to see a small brown shape dart at full speed across the coffee table. A heartbeat later Harold flew after it, knocking over several black candles and what had to be a year’s supply of enchanted bee pollen across Eve’s spotless floor. I sucked in a pained breath; I knew how much that stuff cost. Then I sneezed three times in quick succession and grimaced.
‘Sneeze on Friday, sneeze for woe,’ I muttered to myself. That didn’t bode w
ell.
Leaving the pollen for now, I edged round the table to try and find Harold and discover what he’d been chasing. He was squeezed into the gap between the wall and the sofa, staring fixedly with huge pupils at something underneath it. I grabbed him and received a yowl and a vicious scratch for my efforts. I tossed him into the kitchen and locked the door then hunkered down on all fours and peered under the sofa. From the gloom in the corner, I could make out a tiny twitching nose and quivering whiskers. A mouse.
I pulled back. Huh. Although Eve had said she was doing well at Myomancy, it seemed likely that the little creature was scampering around and causing havoc not because her flat had a nest of rodents but because she was using him to hone her skills. I tapped my mouth thoughtfully. It was a long time since I’d practised the art of reading rodent behaviour; I wondered whether I could still do it.
I let myself relax, emptying my mind as I’d once been taught, and focused on the mouse. For a long moment it remained frozen but, when I crooked my little finger, it skittered towards me. I let out a silent breath. I still had it.
I reached underneath the sofa and turned over my palm. The mouse wasted no time; it tentatively advanced, its small paws tickling my skin. I gave it a moment to get comfortable and then slowly drew it out. Standing up, I held it aloft and looked into its shiny eyes. ‘So, Mister,’ I began. The mouse twitched. ‘Sorry. I mean Miss.’ It relaxed again.
‘What do you have to tell me?’ I enquired, pushing out a tendril of magic towards it. ‘I could do with some good fortune coming my way.’
The mouse quivered, its long tail falling over my thumb. As if startled by its own actions, it spun round, lunged for my thumb and sank in its teeth. I yelped and dropped it. From the kitchen, I could hear Harold hissing and scratching at the closed door. The little rodent darted back for the safety of the sofa whilst I stared at the beads of blood rising up from my skin. This was not good, not good at all.
Before I could seek out the mouse once more, there was a sharp knock on the door. I cursed. Eve was never around at this hour – who on earth could be calling on her? I shuffled over and opened it, gazing at the two figures waiting there.
Given that the nearest one was wearing a red, hooded cloak, it didn’t take a genius to work out who they were. Order geeks – and Order geeks here on official business. Honestly; didn’t they check their own work schedules before they came out all this way?
My gaze swung to the other figure and I registered close-cropped dark hair and a clean, square jaw. There was a long scar running from his ear almost to his nose but it didn’t detract from his appearance; if anything, it gave him a deliciously dangerous air. Two piercing blue eyes watched me expressionlessly. Less of a geek and more of a walking advertisement for virile masculinity. Hello.
‘Eve Harrington,’ Red Cloak intoned. ‘We are pleased to inform you that you have received provisional Second Order status.’
My mouth dropped open; Eve had told me yesterday that she’d not even taken the exams yet. She really was a rising star in the Order. Before I could tell him that she wasn’t in, Red Cloak grabbed my arm and began to mutter.
‘Hey!’ I protested. Unfortunately, it was too late. Far, far too late.
‘You are now bound to Raphael Winter for the next 588 days as you complete your transition to the Second Order of The Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment. He will act as your mentor and guide while you both work for our glorious and esteemed institution.’ For a brief moment, his eyes twinkled and his voice softened. ‘Congratulations. You’re very lucky to have him as your partner. I’m sure you’ll do great things together.’
My arm tingled painfully as the binding pierced my flesh and tied itself to my soul. I stared at the Order official in horror. What the bejesus had he done? ‘You … you…’ My jaw worked but the words wouldn’t come out.
The other man stepped forward and I realised that what I’d thought was a lack of emotion was actually an air of sneering disappointment. ‘Perhaps, Miss Harrington, you should put on some more appropriate attire for such a decorous occasion.’
Decorous occasion? He might look like a sex symbol but he was clearly a pompous idiot. A pompous, foolish idiot. A pompous, foolish, moronic idiot who couldn’t see the truth when it was staring him in the damn face. Yeah, I’d been right the first time. Another Order geek.
‘You plonkers.’ Both men frowned slightly. ‘You absolute plonkers.’ I shook my head. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I’m not Eve Harrington! Do I look like a six-foot brunette?’ I waved at my plump blonde form. ‘I’m Eve’s neighbour. I just popped in to check on her cat. She’s not here – she’s gone up north on sodding Order business!’ I scratched furiously at my arm. ‘Get this damn thing off me!’
The red-cloaked man paled, his eyes rounding as he stared at me. ‘You’re joking, right?’
I put my hands on my hips and glared. ‘Do I look like I’m joking?’
‘But you have to be a witch,’ he blustered. ‘The binding spell wouldn’t have taken if you weren’t.’
‘Of course I’m a damned witch,’ I snapped. ‘But I’m not First Level. I’m not even a Neophyte. I’m not in your stupid Order!’
Both of them looked shocked. Bully for them. ‘You’re a witch but you’re not in the Order?’
‘Are you guys for real? It’s not compulsory, you know.’
Red Cloak blinked rapidly. ‘Yeah, but anyone with any kind of power…’
‘Oh, piss off.’ He wasn’t even being accurate: there is a whole group of witches who have plenty of power who avoid the Order like the plague. They’ve created their own special snowflake coven and plot nonsensically to bring the Order down. I’m not one of them – but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Not to mention that half the non-witch population also possesses some magic skills, even if most of those skills are weak and barely noticeable. ‘Just because the majority of witches sign up doesn’t mean we all do.’ I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. ‘Now get this bloody binding off of me.’
They exchanged glances. ‘Perhaps we should go inside.’
If it meant getting these idiots out of my life, I’d strip naked and do the can-can. I gestured them in. ‘Then get a move on.’
Red Cloak shuffled towards the living room; Sexy-But-Annoying Geek strode in like he owned the place. He gazed round at the strewn bee pollen and raised a dark eyebrow. ‘In the middle of something, were you?’
‘As it happens,’ I answered through gritted teeth, ‘yes, I was.’ I crossed my arms. ‘How could you be so stupid? Don’t you check before you go around willy-nilly placing magical soul-bindings on people?’
His gaze turned icy. ‘This is Eve Harrington’s residence. She lives alone. You answered the door wearing…’ he looked me up and down and I could swear his lip curled ‘…that. Common sense would dictate—’
I stepped up to him. ‘Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare bring up common sense when it’s patently clear that neither of you have any. Didn’t you check whether she was away?’
A muscle jerked in his cheek. ‘We were unaware of that.’
‘Unaware?’ I mocked. ‘Some great Order you are! You don’t even know where your own people are when you’re the ones who sent them away!’
‘I’m sure this can all be sorted out.’ He glanced at Red Cloak. ‘Biggins? Remove her binding and we can let this … person leave.’
I rolled my eyes. He couldn’t have sounded more disdainful if he went for a bath in the Sea of Disparagement and washed his hair in Sneer. ‘Yeah, Biggins,’ I added, matching his tone. ‘Remove the binding.’
Biggins coughed. His cheeks flushed red and I started to get a very bad feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. ‘Well, Adeptus Winter,’ he demurred, ‘the thing is…’
‘What?’
Biggins scratched his neck. ‘Everyone knew you weren’t very keen to take on a trainee.’
‘So?’ Winter glowered in a perfect personification of his n
ame.
‘Ipsissimus Smythe didn’t want you to change your mind when you got, uh…’ Biggins was growing redder and redder. Despite the ridiculousness of this situation, I was fascinated.
‘When I got what?’
‘Bored or, er, irritated.’
‘What exactly does that mean?’ Winter snapped.
I sighed. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Because you’re some kind of bully who doesn’t play well with others, he’s made the binding unbreakable.’
Winter’s blue eyes narrowed. ‘I am not a bully, I just have high standards.’ He drew himself up. ‘And no binding is unbreakable.’
He wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. I hate herblore but that doesn’t mean I don’t know a fair bit about it. ‘Actually,’ I told him, ‘if you use essence of lavender and combine it with a sprinkling of red clover in your pre-ritual preparations, and then you use the right combination of runes, you can create an unbreakable binding.’ I glanced at Biggins. ‘Right?’
He seemed relieved that I’d provided the answer. ‘Right.’
I hate it when I know stuff like this.
‘I knew I should have gone for that Tarquin fellow,’ Winter muttered. I stiffened immediately and he glanced towards me. ‘I selected Ms Harrington because she is at the top of her game. I require a trainee who is astute, hard working and prepared to go above and beyond the call of duty. My work is not frivolous and not to be taken lightly.’
Ooooh. Big words. I ignored him and addressed Biggins. ‘What are the precise terms of the binding?’ I asked.
He swallowed. ‘It’s for 588 days.’
‘Yes,’ I said impatiently. ‘I got that part. It’s an important magical number. What else?’
‘You have to remain within five miles of each other.’
I winced. Well, that would make driving a taxi complicated. Perhaps I could petition the Order for compensation, though, and take the next two years off. ‘Anything else?’ I demanded.