P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4) (16 page)

She slipped on a deep rose and gold crop top with matching harem trousers. The transformation was astonishing. She was unrecognisable as Jo Lakota, the rather serious-minded, high-principled girl who spent a lot of her life feeling like an oddity. Her own mother would not have known her.

As she stared in the mirror, Jo realised that Sheraleen was awake and watching her with frank appreciation. Jo smiled. She warmed to Sheraleen’s sweet and generous nature. She felt a stab of disloyalty, though, when she thought about her friend Sam. Since her religious conversion Sam had become very judgmental, and since her father’s stroke, she had less and less time for Jo. It didn’t help that Sam’s family thought that Titus and Lethe, with the Glory Foundation, had brought stability and prosperity, whereas Jo’s family thought that it was because of their previous organisation, VergissMeinNicht, that stability and prosperity had been compromised in the first place. They were only re-instating what they had removed, using force and fear

‘That scowl has to go,’ observed Sheraleen wryly. ‘You will have to learn to think beautiful thoughts at all times.’

‘I was thinking about politics,’ confessed Jo.

‘Bad idea. Our gentlemen like companions who are light and bright and witty.’

Jo pulled a face. ‘You mean they like bimbos,’ she said bluntly.

Sheraleen looked offended. ‘Do you think I’m a bimbo?’ she asked, her face unsmiling.

Jo apologised. ‘Not at all. But everyone’s always telling me I’m too serious because I enjoy discussing serious things…’

‘And so you can – just as long as you are vivacious and entertaining. And never forget that all the pretty clothes and witty words and beauty treatments are only part of what we do. Hopefully Lord Mandrake will chose you. He’ll be very considerate.’

Jo picked up an underlying, unspoken warning. ‘And if he doesn’t?’

Sheraleen hesitated before replying. ‘Worst case is Lord Oleander.’ Her face darkened. ‘He likes to hurt his companions. I don’t mean fooling around hurting; I mean really hurting.’

Jo drew a deep breath. ‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ she said. ‘Tell me all I need to know.’

‘Angelina! Stop daydreaming and concentrate!’

‘Sorry, Sheraleen. It’s just I never realised there were so many things to do with a fan.’

‘It will all add to your mysterious allure when you go to the Ball. So pay attention.’

‘Sorry. It’s all been so… intense.’

‘So what were you thinking about? Obviously not pleasure.’

‘Well, I was thinking about
my
idea of pleasure. I wish I was curled up on the window seat, reading a book and wearing my sensible old jeans instead of this corset contraption. With my cat, Calico.’ Sheraleen’s expression stopped Jo in her tracks. ‘What? Don’t you like cats?’

‘How would I know? I’ve never seen one. I thought they were extinct!’

Jo cursed inwardly. How could she have been so careless? She had been at pains to distance herself from any rumours Sheraleen might have heard about the crazy girl from another dimension. She’d invented a whole life Overground, and this was a major slip-up.

Jo thought fast. ‘Calico’s not a real cat!’ she laughed lightly. ‘Mum knitted her for me when I was little.’

Sheraleen still looked puzzled. ‘What is
knitted
?’ she asked.

‘I’ll show you.’ Jo reached for the chopsticks that had been an important part of learning about geishas and their years of training. A basket of rainbow ribbons served as yarn and she cast on a dozen stitches. She knitted a few rows and proudly displayed them to Sheraleen.

Jo’s mentor was less than impressed. ‘Why would anyone want to do that?’ she asked. ‘It looks very tedious.’

‘To relax and save money… you can make your own clothes…’

‘Like the ones you were wearing when you arrived?’

Jo smiled, conceding the point.

‘I know a better way to relax,’ said Sheraleen, and she gently placed her hand on Jo’s thigh. Immediately Jo recoiled. Sheraleen sighed. ‘Still nothing?’

Jo considered the question. It had taken a while, but she eventually realised that Sheraleen was attracted to her. She really didn’t want to hurt her feelings. ‘It’s me,’ she said at last. ‘I’m just not ready. I suppose I’m a late developer.’

‘No-one believes you’re sixteen,’ said Sheraleen bluntly. ‘So you’re not a late developer. And I can tell you don’t really want to be a companion. And I’m pretty sure you’re not called Angelina. So what’s really going on?’

Jo longed to tell Sheraleen the truth, but it was too risky. ‘I have to go to the Ball,’ was all she would say.

‘Then you will need to act your socks off,’ stated Sheraleen, ‘and start believing the part you’re going to play.’ She grabbed hold of Jo’s arm, and led her to a full length mirror. ‘Do you remember what a mouse you were when you arrived? Now look at you.’

The blonde hair still came as a surprise to Jo. But that was only a small part of it. Sheraleen was right. In just a few days she had been transformed. Her skin glowed and her eyes shone. Her movements were more graceful and her bearing was poised and elegant.

Sheraleen watched Jo studying her reflection. ‘Look, Angelina,’ she said frankly. ‘Being shy will go down very well at the Ball. You’ll come across as innocent because you are. But once that’s gone, you’ll need to work really hard or you’ll be kicked out of here back to where you came from. Then what will happen to your mother? I’d rather make my living here, than in the factories Overground. The money’s good, and...’

Jo interrupted. ‘I know – Madame Mirabel says it often enough. You’ll never go hungry if you know how to please a rich man.’

‘True, but I wasn’t just thinking about pleasing men. I was thinking about you. Who turns you on?’

Jo blushed. ‘There’s a boy I know… Sm….’ Jo thought better of it and used Smokey’s real name. ‘Jacob…’

‘Did you think he would be your first one?’

‘Maybe. But not for ages yet.’

‘So what are you waiting for? Permission? Wedding bells? The Age of Consent? Is he a virgin as well, this Jacob of yours?’

‘Um… no.’

‘Just as well. Two clueless people – that’s a recipe for disaster.’

‘People can learn together,’ argued Jo.

‘They can. But it’s risky. Might get lucky, but might start out on the wrong foot entirely. Anyway in his case, that boat’s already sailed. So what else is stopping you?’

‘I like him more than he likes me.’ Jo’s words were hesitant. ‘There’s this other girl he fancies… Beth…’

‘I bet she can’t hold a candle to you,’ said Sheraleen loyally.

‘Maybe. But she is very pretty.’ Jo remembered a glimpse of Smokey and Beth on a bed in an underground city. ‘I saw them together once –‘

‘Oooh! A Peeping Tom!’

Jo felt incredibly uncomfortable. Another image came back to haunt her; Lucy and Zebo falling into each other’s arms, half-crazy with desire. At the time she had turned tail and fled. The emotions were too raw; too complex. But if she was honest, she had felt excitement as well. And curiosity. She flushed at the memory, and her body grew warm.

‘I’m not a Peeping Tom. It upset me to see them together. But yes, Jacob turns me on.’

‘Then think of him when things get difficult. Whatever gets you through the night. Meanwhile, I fancy a drink. How about you?’

‘Yes, please.’

When she was alone Jo returned to the mirror. Her outfit for the Ball was lying on the bed and she picked it up, holding it against herself. Once again Madame Mirabel had surpassed herself. The dress was very simple; almost demure. It was made of pale cream shantung silk, edged with gold lace. The cut was Oriental – high necked and figure hugging, with a split from hem to mid-thigh that revealed and concealed in equal measure. A golden filigree necklace completed the outfit.  As Jo twirled around she knew she could appear innocent, then wanton, and that this would make her irresistible to the men she needed to target.

A matching evening bag contained perfume and cosmetics as well as two things Mirabel had described as indispensable. ‘Item one. A little pill in case the gentleman gets a bit over-excited and plays rough.’

Jo had a question. ‘How do I get him to take the pill?’

‘It ain’t for him, stupid. It’s for you. To take the pain away so you can keep going. Item two. A dear little whistle to blow in case things go seriously wrong and the gentleman turns really nasty. But mostly I expect my girls to use their wits and charm to get out of tricky situations – if we starts embarrassing the customers willy-nilly, there’ll soon be nilly-willy and that’s not good for business.’

Next to the bag was a silk fan and a gilded lace mask. ‘Practise using both,’ advised Mirabel, ‘but on the night stick to one or the other - the mask, probably. Lends a certain mystique. Keep the buggers guessing. There’s a lot of interest in you, my dear. And you’re turning into a cracking little dancer – one of the best. Nice and natural.’ Jo was flattered. She’d had ballet lessons when she was little, but had lost interest as she grew older. Now she was really enjoying the graceful, seductive routines Sheraleen taught her. ‘The bidding’s neck and neck at the moment between Lord Mandrake and Lord Oleander. You’ll have to make a special fuss of both of them, but I’ll keep them in the dark until the last minute, right after the votes have been counted and we knows whether the prisoner gets freedom or the firing squad. Then the party really gets going.’

Mirabel had seen Jo wince at the thought of Ali and Quinn facing their executioners, but had misunderstood. ‘That’s right, dear. Act as coy as you like. They’ll enjoy that.’

Sheraleen was back, with a decanter of ruby wine and two glasses. ‘Better hang your dress up – wouldn’t do to spill anything on it before Saturday. Madame Mirabel would go ballistic. Now – say when.’

‘When.’

‘Really? That’s just a drop!’ Sheraleen continued filling Jo’s glass. As Jo protested, realisation dawned. ‘Don’t tell me. You don’t drink, either. Were you a nun before you came here?’

Jo laughed. ‘Wine’s expensive up there, you know. Dad tried making his own, out of potatoes, but it was vile. Gave me a terrible headache.’

‘Well, this is going to be a treat. Have a sip.’

Jo had never tasted anything so delicious. Bursts of flavour filled her mouth. She tasted grapes and raspberries; chocolate and smoke. As she slowly savoured the wine a wonderful warmth spread through her body. She held out her empty glass. ‘Mmm. More, please.’

By way of an answer Sheraleen drank deeply of the wine, then came over to Jo, drawing her close. She placed her lips on Jo’s and let the wine trickle into Jo’s mouth.

‘Looks like wine’s a non-starter, then,’ said Sheraleen stoically as she handed Jo a damp flannel. ‘Are you feeling better?’

By way of an answer Jo was noisily sick again. ‘What happened?’ she gasped when she finally stopped retching.

‘You had some wine; we kissed; you threw up.’ Sheraleen was smiling ruefully. ‘I’ve had more flattering reactions.’

‘Sorry – I’ve never had wine before. Or, um, kissed a girl. And nothing else happened?’

‘Absolutely zero. I promise you.’ Sheraleen sighed. ‘So how we’re going to get you through Saturday night, I just don’t know. You can’t puke all over Lord Mandrake or Lord Oleander. So you mustn’t drink. But if you don’t drink you’ll be so uptight the client will want a refund. If they don’t get their money’s worth, there will be hell to play.’