Illicit Magic (8 page)

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.

FOUR

I knew before I opened my eyes that I was not alone. I cracked one eye open, just enough that my pupil was still masked by my eyelashes, and to allow me to see before anyone else could discern that I was awake.

I was right to be cautious, I told myself, I was in a strange apartment, in a strange country with people I hadn’t known existed less than forty eight hours before. To be perfectly honest with myself, I should have snuck out hours ago. Not that I had anywhere to go,
now that my flat was toast
, I reminded myself with a huff of resignation. Actually, I should probably be feeling really, really grateful but even that didn’t stop me from being careful.

I scanned the room through my lashes. My room invader was Étoile and she was perched at the end of my bed examining her nails and fanning her fingers to check the polish.

“Hey,” I said, opening both eyes now and stretching before propping myself up on my elbows. I was glad I remembered to put on a t-shirt. Saving me was one thing; getting an eyeful was quite another.

“Hey you,” Étoile replied, cocking her head with a congenial smile. She gave her hand another shake; her nails were electric blue. “I’ve been sent to tell you that the council will be arriving shortly. Did you rest well?”

“Yes, thank you.” I’d slept solidly and looked around for the clock to give me a clue about the time. The curtains were unclosed and it still looked light outside, but that could have been a trick of the glittering skyscrapers beyond the window.

“Is the dress okay?”

“It’s lovely,” I said, glancing at the closet, adding, “and the shoes fit.”

“Good.” Étoile was already dressed in a long, inky blue dress which was made out of a thin jersey that clung to her in a very flattering way. Even as she sat slouching, she didn’t have a hint of a muffin top.
So unfair
. Her dress had a high cowl neck, no sleeves and seemed to be missing most of the back. I couldn’t work out how she kept it on her shoulders. She had big chandelier earrings in a hammered silver that were far longer than her hair. They swayed when she moved her head. Her nails were a shade lighter than the dress. She looked beautiful. She wasn’t kidding about dressing up.