CHAPTER 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.
“I’ll come back in ten minutes. Will that be long enough for you to dress?” Étoile patted my leg through the covers and I felt a supreme sense of calm wash over me. “The council are assembling now.”
I nodded. It shouldn’t take me long to scramble into the dress and shoes. And as for makeup, well, thank goodness I’d been blessed with clear skin because I didn’t have much in my bag.
Étoile smiled, pleased, and sashayed out of the room. I don’t think Étoile walked that way for my benefit, I think she just was a true sashay-er.
I shoved back the bedding and swung my legs out, flexing my toes to bring life back into them. I stood, stretched my arms towards the ceiling, making my shoulders creak in protest, and went over to the closet to take out the dress. I laid it on the bed and put the shoes on the floor below. I rummaged through my duffle bag, pondering briefly if I was supposed to unpack. Was this supposed to be my home now? From the way the Bartholomews had spoken earlier about deciding my future, I guessed not. So, unpacking could wait. My hands, rooting around blindly, found the little bag of makeup I kept for special occasions, not that I had many of them, and I pulled it out. The last time I had gotten made up was on a date seven months ago and it hadn’t ended well. I sighed. At least I could make myself presentable now.
Leaning forward so I could see myself in the mirror, I slicked on some lip gloss and a single coat of mascara, then tugged the brush through my hair. It had dried while I slept and I needed to coax the knots out. I was clean and presentable, at least. I tried not to sigh at Étoile’s singular elegance, knowing that no matter how pretty and expensive the dress lying on the bed was, it was still a borrowed one and I could never achieve Étoile’s unselfconscious loveliness.
I reminded my reflection that jealousy was not a virtue and besides, Étoile could not help the way she looked any more than I could. I tried to think a nice thought about myself, something I had read in a magazine about boosting your self-esteem. I finally settled on the thought that I had really nice legs, not too muscular, just nicely defined. That would do. I smiled. That was another trick from the magazine. Just the act of smiling was enough to make you want to smile. Great for diffusing tough situations, like wishing you were a hot, skinny witch, I thought while trying out a smile that didn’t seem quite as much like a smirk.
I pulled off my tee, laid it over the back of the chair and rifled through my bag for a black bra, snapped it on, then slipped into the dress. I could just about zip the back up, but I’d have to ask – who? Étoile? – to zip up the last inch. I smoothed the skirt over my hips and assessed my reflection in the mirror. It fit perfectly, skimming over my breasts and cinching in my waist before flaring slightly over my hips and finishing at my knees. It was understated but quite eye-catching. A smile spread over my face. It was good to see that I scrubbed up nicely. I had a pair of nude tights rolled in my bag. They were worn, used for the odd occasions I wore a skirt suit to work, but at least they weren’t snagged.
I sat down to roll them on then slid my feet into the shoes. I don’t wear heels much but I once had a foster mother who made all the girls practice that time-honoured tradition of marching up and down the hall in heels while balancing a book on their heads. For once, I was grateful for all those missed evenings of television watching. At least now I wouldn’t fall flat on my face in front of a room of people who had been gathered to scrutinise me. I rummaged through my jewellery, extracting a pair of plain silver ball studs and poked them through the little flesh holes in my lobes before giving myself a second appraisal in the mirror.
A knock on the door tore my attention away from my – admittedly, rather nice – reflection. I opened it to find Étoile with Marc standing a step behind her. He wore a black suit like a second skin with a white shirt and striped tie – quite the upscale preppy look. He was handsome and he knew it. I would bet the pair of them were as used to dressing up as I was not. Marc’s eyes swept me from head to toe and back again. He pursed his lips and gave me a low appraising whistle. I grinned, my cheeks reddening, not sure if I was grateful for his approval or a little embarrassed.
I stepped outside before I could think about changing my mind and pulled the door closed behind me. Hands brushed my back and I felt my cheeks flush again as the zip was given a little tug, then Marc slipped his arm through mine and, in our quiet trio, we followed the hallway back to the lobby.
With Étoile in front of us, I felt more like I was being guided than marched. Everything they were doing seemed to be measured just right so as to not frighten me off. From sending Étoile to save me, to having she and Marc escort me – two perfectly nice looking, well dressed people close to my own age, (which had to be the idea) – to the offer of assistance, protection and, last but not least, the dress. If they wanted me to feel comfortable, they hadn’t stepped out of line yet but I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. I wondered if they planned the whole series of events from two days ago to this evening and immediately felt guilty. After all, they had done nothing but help me and provide for me, while asking for nothing…Yet, said my nagging brain.
As we passed through the hall, the doors were all shut, including those that flanked the lobby. I couldn’t hear a thing, we could have been alone and I wondered just how vast the apartment was. Marc, unlinking his arm from mine, stepped ahead of Étoile to open the set of doors adjacent to the one where I had been received earlier.
If I expected that our already being in the apartment would make us one of the first to arrive at the party, I was wrong.
The room was another lesson in wealth and taste. Wider and broader than the previous room, it had floor to ceiling windows that looked out across the dusky New York skyline over what could only be the treetops of Central Park. The windows were closed to the large terrace beyond. I could only guess at the wealth that must
have been accrued to afford a place like this. Prime real estate, a voice in my head whispered like an American TV host, megabucks.
A large chandelier was suspended in the centre of the ceiling and tiny jewels sparkled against the electric light. Below, around two dozen people, dressed to the nines in suits and cocktail dresses, milled around the room in quiet chatter. In the centre of all of them were Robert and Eleanor, exuding silent power over their collective.
When all heads turned to me, I realised Étoile and Marc had already stepped into the room, leaving me framed in the doorway rather like a bride at the church doors. I felt myself being eyeballed from every angle and forced myself to stand tall, head up, shoulders and back straight. I thrust my chin forward a little and kept my hands very still at my sides. I would not wilt as I was scrutinised. I could attribute my poise to the stickler-for-etiquette foster mother and I sent a tacit thank you to her, wherever she was now.
Seconds passed before Robert emerged, extending his hand to me, upright and elegant in a suit that was just a shade under black. “Welcome again, Stella. Welcome to our gathering.” Though his face was the picture of welcome, it was all I could do not to shiver. Indeed, Robert was giving every indication that he was thoroughly delighted to see me and glad to have me in his home but I sensed an insincerity that I wasn’t about to dismiss.
Robert inclined his head and kissed me on the cheek with the barest sweep of his thin lips and turned to face the assembled crowd. With one hand on my elbow, he propelled us forward. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but there was something about Robert that made me feel... not frightened, but anxious. It wasn’t anything discernible like his demeanour, or his actions, but there was a current of caution in my veins and I wasn’t going to ignore it even if I did feel horribly ungrateful.
“Stella, dear.” Eleanor echoed her husband’s greeting with her own barely-there air kiss that landed in space, just a few millimetres from my cheek. She cast her eyes over me and nodded with appreciation. “You look lovely.” She was dressed in a dark green cocktail dress that finished under the knee. Her only jewellery was a gold necklace, the centre piece of which was a large red stone. I thought it might have been a ruby and marvelled again at their wealth.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bar ..., uh, Eleanor,” I stammered, unsure if there were some sort of protocol. Around us, conversation expired and I felt that the people were waiting, poised for instruction.
“We would like to introduce you to some of our people before the council convenes,” said Robert from my left side. He nodded at Eleanor before turning away, his hand still on my elbow as he manoeuvred me towards the people on his left, two women and a man who stood together. We shook hands and they introduced themselves as Mary, Bridget and Steven. The two women, both brunettes and somewhere in their middle forties, wore cocktail dresses too; the man, a little older, with hair fully grey at the temples and salt and pepper all over, was in a black suit with a black and gold striped tie. He was somewhat ample in girth and I thought he was just a step away from a bee’s colours. He appeared to be a good deal older than the others and I put him somewhere in his late sixties.
“Steven is our Second,” Robert told me, emphasising the number with pride in his voice.
“I’m not sure what that means,” I replied, realising it must be some kind of title.
“It means, Steven is our...,” Robert paused to think of the right word, “I suppose you could say, he is our vice chairman. My second-in-command, if you will.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. We’ve been waiting for you for some time,” said Steven, his voice smooth as silk and his hand warmly grasping mine. I wondered just how long they had been waiting. I didn’t think they were referring to the short time in between them arriving this evening and my appearance now.
“I’m honoured to be here,” I said in my very best telephone voice, guessing it would be a good thing to say. Apparently, it was the right thing because all four beamed at me like I had just told them they were shortlisted for Time magazine’s most powerful coven.
“I hope we’ll get to talk to you more later,” said one of the women, Bridget, I think and I nodded before Robert spun me away. For the next fifteen minutes, Robert made a point of introducing me to everyone in the room. I had two dozen eyes in close quarters wash over me in. My head was swimming with names, positions of authority, or not, pleasant welcomes and genial sound bites and my palms began to itch with perspiration.
I craned my head over one guest’s shoulder as she droned on about nothing in particular and was grateful to catch Marc’s eye. He was standing alone by the windows. I remembered that he’d jokingly given me an escape route. I scrambled through my brain to remember what it was, then, slowly, and very deliberately, I brushed some imaginary lint from my shoulder. Marc was at my side in seconds, his arm around my waist, politely wheeling me away under the ruse of getting drinks.
“Not having the most amazing time ever?” he asked, with the faintest hit of a sarcastic smile.
“I’m starting to have a hard time remembering who’s who,” I admitted. Marc had taken me over to a sideboard set up as a little bar. I had seen something like it on a rerun of the Antiques Roadshow being appraised for a huge sum. A row of glasses stood on a tray with carafes of wine behind them.
Marc reached forward and hesitated. “Red or white?”
“White, thank you.” Marc poured the wine and passed me a glass. He took one for himself too and we turned back to the crowd.
“So your dad is head honcho?”
“Yes.” Marc nodded, his face passive. “Has been for a couple of years.”
“And your, uh, mother? Your mom?” I remembered the American vernacular and tentatively tried it out.
“Not so much into the clout, which is almost funny.” He raised his glass to his mother across the room and she gave him a tight, little smile.
I didn’t have chance to ask him what he meant as Étoile sidled up to my other side, a half-empty glass in her hand. The rim had the faintest trace of her lipstick. “They’re about to begin,” she murmured, nodding towards Robert and laying a hand on my arm. I felt much easier having the two of them flank me.
I looked over to Robert and, sure enough, he was clapping for attention, his hands raised to his head, and drawing the small crowd to him. He waited patiently until all eyes were on him. “We’re here tonight to welcome Stella to our family, our country and our council.” Eyes flickered briefly towards me and back again. “While Stella’s arrival is tinged with sadness for many of our brethren, we are, of course, delighted to host the last of the English witches.”
I raised my eyebrows and whispered, “The last?”
Étoile looked embarrassed and nibbled her bottom lip while she worked out what to say. After a moment, she whispered back, “You were the only one we could rescue. The Brotherhood got most.”
“Got?” I asked, then spat out the most unpalatable question. “As in dead?”
“Uh-huh. There are more, but the ones that were magic to the bone were more obvious and easier to locate, like you. The ones who acquired their magic found hiding preferable and they’ve gone to ground.” Étoile was careful with her emphasis so that I could understand there were two different types of witch, like it wasn’t hard enough to get to grips with one type.
“So, I’m not really the last then?” I hardly dared sound hopeful, but I wanted to be. The last of anything sounded pretty rotten. I bet the last dodo and dinosaur once thought that too.
“Oh no, you’re the last.” Étoile almost sounded blasé about it. “The ones who acquire magic don’t always c...” She trailed off after a harsh look from Marc. I had been sure she was about to finish with “count” but couldn’t fathom what she meant. Magic was magic, surely? Maybe I was being naive. Who knew what rules these people lived by.
I didn’t have the chance to ask her anymore because Robert was beckoning me. I deposited my glass back on the table and went towards him,
with a backwards glance at Étoile. She seemed to have fallen into a sulk and Marc had twisted his torso slightly away as though he were ignoring her.
Robert motioned me to his right and put his arm around my shoulders in a way that was supposed to be friendly and fatherly, I guessed. It would have been impolite to wriggle out from under his arm so I stayed stock still and tried not to mind. “We are responsible for Stella’s care and wellbeing,” he told the gathering, gesturing at them with his wine glass. “We are responsible for her orientation into our world and we are here to decide Stella’s future.”
“And what does Stella want?” asked a male voice. A little sigh escaped my lungs; I could have kissed the guy. At least someone remembered that I should have some say in my future. What with it being about me and all.
“Uh, ah, yes, of course,” Robert flustered as he flashed a dark look at the questioner who was just beyond my line of sight, even when I tried to move my head to see. “Stella?”
Eyes fixated on me again. Okay, not so great and I hoped I wasn’t reddening from tip to toe. But not knowing the options the council were discussing, I knew what I wanted most of all. “I want to stay alive,” I said simply, which, when I thought about it afterwards, was ironic really, considering what happened less than thirty seconds later.
Étoile had edged up to the front of the audience so I ducked out from under Robert’s arm and went to stand beside her, where everyone could still see me but where I wasn’t quite the centre of attention anymore.
As I took my place next to her, the window behind me shattered. Glass exploded in every direction as a missile rocketed its way in and sailed through the space I’d just occupied, missing Robert by mere inches. The missile lodged itself in a fizzing mess in the wall. Like an idiot, I waited for the explosion but it didn’t come. Instead, something viscous, thicker than air but not as heavy as smoke, slithered from the bomb and all hell broke loose as those who had been caught by the glass cried out in pain and shock. Some of the gathering had fallen to the floor, bleeding, and the uninjured leapt forward to form a barrier around them as the sinister essence undulated nearer. I could hear a low murmur of chanting rise above the moans.
Marc and Étoile lurched into action, grabbing me and, with their arms entwined across my back, thrust me out of the way and into the lobby. We nearly collided with two suited men, our drivers from earlier, as they ran into the room. Voices rang after us, cries of astonishment and anger.
I heard a man’s outraged voice say, “We can’t retaliate with our magic until the shields are removed,” but his words were met with angry disapproval followed by the steady of hum of voices in chorus, chanting words I didn’t recognise.
I cowered in Étoile’s arms as she hugged me tightly, one hand stroking my back in a curiously comforting way, which alleviated my panic. “They’re spell casting,” she whispered, her voice tickling my cheek as she explained, “some are reinforcing our protection. Some are trying to find the culprit. Mostly, they are keeping the magic from that bomb at bay.”
Marc stood in front of us, his face etched with fury, his fists balled as smoke curled out of the room but he didn’t make a move forward.
“What the hell was that?” I whispered, not sure if I should raise my voice.
“That, dear Stella, was very nearly your head,” said Étoile, in an equally horrified voice. For the first time, she appeared visibly shaken.
Steven, Robert’s Second, who had been standing with Bridget and Mary, came out of the door and signalled to us. I had half a mind to shoot for my room, but Étoile and Marc framed me, urging me forward.
“It’s quite all right now,” said the man. His head was bleeding and his suit was ripped at the shoulder. I could see a large shard of glass embedded in his upper arm. “Our magic has been reinstated and will hold.” He looked shaken and white as he swayed in front of us. I helped Marc manoeuvre him into a chair. Étoile grabbed a cloth from somewhere and was pressing it to his shoulder as she gripped the shard.
“Don’t do that. He could have sliced an artery,” I hissed.
Marc was holding my shoulders with both hands. “Étoile knows what she’s doing,” he whispered but I missed what he said next because Steven shrieked as she pulled the shard from his shoulder, dropped it to the floor and pressed her hand over the wound.
“We should call an ambulance, shouldn’t we?” My voice was almost a wail as I felt my heart beat faster with renewed panic.
Étoile shook her head and lifted her hand. Steven’s shoulder was bloody but the wound had healed. There wasn’t even a trace of a scar.
“Thank you. I always knew you were an excellent healer among your many talents.” Steven said as he tugged a pocket square from his breast pocket. He dabbed his forehead with it. “Now run along. More will need your help.”
Étoile nodded and hurried back into the devastated room. Bridget had staggered out and was leaning against the hallway holding a cloth to her face. Her dress sleeve was torn and her arm bleeding where she had been struck by glass. I guided her to the chair adjacent to Steven and she slumped into it, whimpering slightly. “The Brotherhood have found us,” she heaved.
“How did they breach our defences?” growled Marc, swinging his head around as if he were looking for the perpetrator. His fists were curled, ready to fight.
Steven shook his head and took a deep breath. “I don’t know. We didn’t think they had even made it to the States.”
Marc put his arm about me and his lips were millimetres from my ear as he whispered. “This is one of the most fortified places in the country for people like us. It’s protected by magic, powerful magic that we thought unbreakable. That someone, something, could breach it is unthinkable.”
I nodded, trying to understand but knowing at least that this was something big and bad.
“We need to finish this meeting and disperse,” continued Steven, shaking his head at Marc as he prepared to speak again. “We can’t be sure that it is safe here for any of us anymore. I hear the incantation has ended. Will you please come back in so we can finish?”
I looked to Marc and, despite his obvious anxiety, he nodded and started towards the room.
“Stella,” Steven’s voice was low as I passed him. He caught me by the elbow and I froze as he pulled me closer to him so he could whisper in my ear, “Find me later. I have something for you.”
I nodded and helped him to his feet, allowing him to lean against me as we went back into the room. The glass window had been repaired, and the shattered glass and debris that littered the floor had disappeared. Whatever it was that punctured its way through the room to land in the wall had also gone. If it weren’t for the injured moans and the trails of smoke, I would have wondered if I hadn’t imagined it all.
Robert stood with a woman, Mary, I thought. She had her hands pressed to the crater in the wall but when she turned to the crowd, she shook her head. “There is no trace,” she said with surprise in her voice. Her eyes were narrow and puzzled as if she couldn’t quite work out why she had to say such a ridiculous statement.
With my back against the wall, I scanned the room trying to register everything. Faces were red, hair dishevelled and the air was thick. In the minutes that we had hidden in the lobby, I could tell, even in my own inexperienced way, that powerful magic had corrected the preceding events. I felt it echo in the air around me like a fog. I had never felt magic like this before; I had never felt anything but my own magic until the moment when Étoile had rescued me. Here, it trailed past me, whispering through my hair and coolly washing over me, chilling me to my core. Then I felt it withdraw like it was being snapped backwards. It was the strangest thing I had ever experienced and I shuddered. Everyone else seemed to be ignoring it.
“She’s trying to find a signature,” said Marc in a low voice, as he sidled up to me and nodded at Mary who still had her hands pressed to the shattered wall, “like a crime scene investigator would for a bomb. Magic has a signature too.”
I nodded, trying to appear like I understood. The magic I had just felt had seemed alive – perhaps that was what a signature felt like.
“But she didn’t find one?” I asked.
Marc shook his head and explained, “That’s bad. Very bad. It means we don’t have a clue who attacked us and whoever it is, must be extraordinarily strong to get through the defences here.”
Étoile found us again. Her dress was stained with a large splotch across the skirt. I thought it looked like blood. Her hair and makeup, however, had not changed one bit. I vaguely wondered how she could appear so perfect amongst the strife. “They’ve wound new wards around the apartment,” she told us, including me as much as Marc. “We should be safe for the short term, but Steven’s right. We can’t stay here much longer. I expect they’ll make a decision about where we are going very soon.” She seemed nonplussed, as if she already knew what the decision would be, but she didn’t seem at all convincing when she added, almost as an afterthought, “Don’t worry. You will be safe.”
“We have been infiltrated,” began Robert, his voice solemn as he addressed the untidy clan. Some of the guests had remained seated on the floor as others pressed what I thought were healing hands to wounds. Everyone looked dusty and tired after the skirmish. “Our safety has been breached. Stella, at first light you will be transported to another of our sanctuaries. It’s a safe house of sorts and you will be able to live there out of harm’s way for a while at least. Étoile and Marc will take you there and stay with you. You are under Étoile’s protection.”
Étoile and Marc nodded in agreement. Clearly, they knew something I did not but I would ask them later. I wasn’t enthused. What good was a safe house if apparently the headquarters could take a blast with no notice? And why was only Étoile my protector, and not Marc? I would have to ask later.
“We’re only sorry that we were not able to host you longer,” concluded Robert, moving towards me after delivering verbal orders to several members of the party. It sounded like he was telling them all to go to ground as soon as possible. “We’ll retire for the night. Thank you for coming.”
And just like that, we were dismissed.
Before I had chance to protest, Étoile piloted me out of the room, her hand firm on my elbow, which I was seriously thinking about covering up seeing how it was being used as some sort of quasi steering wheel for my body. I was so floored by the brevity of the pronouncement that I didn’t know what to think. Étoile put her arm around me again and was patting me rather absently while I drew in a breath.
“Stella?” I turned around to see Steven follow us outside the room. He signalled to follow him to one side, away from the entrance doors towards which people were amassing. He flapped a hand at Étoile and Marc so they lingered a few feet away. When we were at the hallway that led to the bedrooms, he extracted a slim blue card box from under the overcoat that hung across his arm, which he held out to me. Cautiously, I took it.
“In my other life,” he started, “I’m a lawyer. I worked for your parents and when they were declared dead, I wrapped up their estate. I kept these for you in the hope that one day we would find you and I would personally be able to give these to you. It’s mostly paperwork but there are some other bits and pieces that I thought you might like. There are some instructions too. Oh, nothing of immediate importance after all this time.” He shrugged nonchalantly, giving me a small smile and I thought what a nice person he seemed to be. “It’s yours now.”
“Thank you,” I replied, surprised. A little flutter of pleasure hit my stomach as I tried to think what on earth he could have kept of my parents. “It was kind of you to keep these things for me.”
Steven nodded and his face creased into a smile. I couldn’t help thinking he suddenly looked much older than when I’d first met him in his bee-like finery. He looked over his shoulder quickly and turned back to me, leaning in, his voice etched with age. “Your parents were good friends of mine. Perhaps one day, when there’s more time, I’ll have the chance to tell you more about them. Keep the box safe.”
As he inclined his head in a rather formal little bow, I caught sight, over his shoulder, of Eleanor looking at our exchange curiously. She quickly turned away and said something to a guest who seemed to be sobbing into a handkerchief, her hand pausing on the woman’s arm.
“Good luck, Stella, until we meet again.” Steven said as he took my hand and kissed it and I rather expected him to click his heels.
“And you,” I said, my voice wobbling a bit. Steven nodded and traversed the hallway, tipping his head to Eleanor and closing the door behind him. From the living room, I heard the heated explosion of voices and Robert’s rising above them to the tune of Eleanor’s heels clicking across the lobby.
“I have to make some calls,” murmured Étoile, who had glided across to me as soon as Steven had taken his leave. Marc was right behind her as she continued, “To make sure they’re expecting us though I imagine Seren has already told them. My sister,” she added for my benefit when I frowned at the name.
“Stella, can you be ready for seven tomorrow morning?” asked Marc.
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ll take Stella to her room,” said Marc as Étoile set off along the hallway and was in her room in a flash, shutting the door before we had taken our first step along the same route.
“Where are we going?” I asked Marc when we reached the door to the guest bedroom serving as mine for this night. “Tomorrow, I mean.”
“We have lots of places around the country but I suspect that we’ll be going to a place we have along the coast. Like my dad said, it’s a safe house, of sorts. Our kind go there to practice, to be taught, to learn.” Marc thought for a moment as if he hadn’t quite made up his mind. “It’s a good place to be.”
“Do I get any say in this at all?” I meant to be a bit more polite, but the words came out in a hiss. I shouldn’t be angry at him, he had looked out for me all evening and I thought I saw a kindred spirit in him, despite the differences in our backgrounds. “This is my life and I got along fine until you all got involved in it.”
“And if the Brotherhood weren’t bent on killing us all, you’d probably still be fine,” replied Marc. “We can’t send you back out there to be picked off by one of them.”
“So, it’s a case of do what you say or die?”
“Not what I say,” Marc emphasised and I wondered if his was quite a lowly role. Certainly Étoile seemed to have been spoken to with more reverence than he, which struck me as odd since he was the prodigal son. “What the council says. Look, Stella, I know it might suck right now but honestly, it’s the best decision they could have made. The place we’re going to is pretty good; there are others of your kind there. You’ll learn how to defend yourself and when you can do that, well, maybe things will be safer for you. It’s not forever.”
I slumped against the door frame, the box in both my hands, and sighed. “You’ve no idea how difficult it is to be taken away from everything you know.”
“And was that everything so great? From the little Étoile told me, it didn’t sound like you were having such a great time.” Ouch. I wondered if Étoile had been watching me for any longer than that day, my last day of feeling relatively normal. I wondered what she said. I hoped she hadn’t mentioned the squalid state of my flat, especially not to people who were rich beyond my wildest imaginings. Looking around, I was seriously going to have to pinch myself. I felt like Oliver Twist in Buckingham Palace.
“No, but it was my life, my decisions.” I struggled to tell Marc what I was feeling about being wrenched away but I could tell it was no use. My immediate future had been decided by a bunch of people I didn’t know. Plus, as Marc had already implied, where else could I go? Like he said, I might be killed, and after the attempt in London, strike that, two attempts now, my immediate future was looking dire. Being a transatlantic attempted murder victim really didn’t have any romantic ring to it, I thought
and shivered.
“Don’t look so glum. Étoile will be there. And so will I.” Marc flashed me a smile filled with perfect, white teeth.
“At least I’ll know someone,” I muttered.
“There you are, looking on the bright side already.” Marc knocked me playfully on the shoulder with his fist and I couldn’t resist smiling back at him.
“It could be worse.”
“So much worse,” he agreed.
“Good job I didn’t unpack.”
“See? It’s like it was meant to be. We’ll leave early tomorrow, hope you get some rest. Don’t worry; the wards will hold for tonight.”
“Thanks. And Marc?”
“Yes?”
“I do appreciate what you guys have done for me. Saving me from the crazies in London, making sure my head didn’t land in a wall here, you know, minus the rest of me.” I shrugged like I was saying, small things, no biggie!
“No problem.” Marc’s face was inches from mine and getting closer as we whispered in the hallway. I couldn’t help thinking how lovely he looked with the shaggy blonde hair and his piercing blue eyes. He was the kind of guy who would never have looked twice at me at home, yet here we were, on the interesting side of weird, having a conversation as though we were friends. Marc brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear. When I didn’t push him away but instead, rested my cheek in the warmth of his palm, Marc dipped his head and brushed his lips across mine, and for an instant, I wondered what the hell was going on, before pressing my lips back against his. His arms circled me and the kiss deepened but I didn’t know whether it was eddies of desire or the fear and adrenaline of still being alive that whirled in the pit of my stomach. I pressed against him and was abruptly aware of the card box I held, digging into my middle.
Drat and double drat.
We pulled apart slowly, and after a pause, where the floor seemed massively interesting to us both, Marc tipped my chin upwards with his hand and kissed me again, a delicate light kiss this time.
“Good night,” he said, his voice breathless.
“Good night, Marc.” It was all I could do to turn the handle, fall through the doorway and push it closed, leaning my back against the door as if I couldn’t possibly stand by myself.
The box was still clasped in one hand, so I set it on the bed as I contorted my arms behind my back to get the zip undone. I wriggled out of the dress and hung it back in the closet. I thought I had worn it for less than two hours and it was thankfully blood free. Perhaps they could still dry clean and return it, I thought for a moment, before shaking my head, deciding that the Bartholomews were most certainly not those sort of people. I wondered if I would ever have to consider the likelihood of getting my outfit blood-spattered in the future. I smiled to myself as I imagined asking a sales assistant for something blood repellent and in black. That would make shopping awkward.
I shuffled off the heels and lined them up on the closet floor where I found them, pulling on the t-shirt I had worn earlier. Out of instinct, I stayed away from the window, even though the curtains were already drawn.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, the covers pulled over my knees and curiosity currently closer to killing me than magical flying bombs, I pried off the lid of the box Steven had given me.
The box seemed to contain papers mostly. I rifled through them. Papers and envelopes and a small cloth pouch. I dropped them all back in before starting at the top more slowly. The first documents I lifted were birth certificates. My mother’s, my father’s, mine. They named me Estrella Isadore. It had been so long since I’d heard my full name that I had almost forgotten my mother’s name was my middle one.
Here was their marriage certificate too. They had married in New York. I hadn’t known that and I wondered about them living in the city I had arrived in only a few hours ago. I traced my finger across the names that I recognised and then set them aside. It had never occurred to me that my parents were not both English. I just hadn’t known them long enough to know anything of significance. Most of what I knew about them was second hand.
Death certificates, but English this time and issued in England. “Unknown” was the unsatisfying cause of death verdict. Their bodies hadn’t been found but after five years they had been declared dead, said a one-page report stapled at the back of my father’s certificate. I put them on top of the other papers. There was a small photo album covered in a mid-blue fabric that felt like suede. I opened it. The first image was a man and woman together, holding hands and smiling. Jonathon and Isadore was written underneath on a white label in a neat print.
My parents.
I so rarely heard their names that I had forgotten them as people with actual identities. With a twinge again, I thought of my mother’s name melded with my own. The next few images were of the same couple, sometimes one or the other, sometimes both of them, the occasional snap of them with a group of people I didn’t recognise, but some faces were repeated. Several times, another couple appeared. On the tenth page was my parent’s wedding picture. The couple I had noted before were pictured with them. My mother was in a lace wedding dress that pooled at her feet and my father was laughing. The other man looked directly at the camera with a broad smile; the woman on his arm was gazing at my parents. Her face didn’t carry any expression.
I put the picture on the pile I already looked through. The next few pages seemed to be a honeymoon on a coast somewhere rugged. Gradually, the pictures showed the woman pregnant, the man hugging her, smiling at her, not the camera, and then a baby who grew into a toddler as I turned the pages. I was looking at my parents and me. It was like nipping into some other family’s photo pages. I didn’t feel overwhelmed with emotion, just a little surge of joy looking at this happy besotted couple.
Abruptly, the photo album stopped, leaving a number of blank pages. There were some scraps of paper shoved into the back page and I tweezed them out with my forefinger and thumb. Cinema stubs, a tube ticket, concert tickets. Little snippets of their lives. I wondered which one of them liked David Bowie and who had wanted to see “St Elmo’s Fire” twice? I went through the album once more, then set it aside on top of the birth certificates.
Some other bits of paper that didn’t seem particularly important. A deed to a property, a house I thought, without knowing why and some bank and solicitor letters saying that there was no longer a mortgage and it was owned outright. I mentally filed the address away. I would ask someone later. Some bank books, partially used and a will from the same solicitors, signed by my parents. I scanned it. They had left everything to me, as any parent would. I recognised Steven’s name as executor. There was an envelope addressed to me in a neat hand that I set aside to read later.
A few more pieces of official looking paper then a little velvet pouch. I pried the string apart and tipped the contents into my hand. A brilliantly coloured bird of paradise brooch, made from enamel, I thought, and a few other pieces of costume jewellery. I turned them over in my hands. I recognised some of the pieces from the photo album. My mother had worn the brooch on her wedding day, a bright spray against her simple white dress and again in my first birthday picture. They weren’t costly pieces, but they were my mother’s and I had never had anything of hers before. I slipped them back into the pouch. There wasn’t much else so I carefully slotted everything back into the box and put the lid on top, kicking back the covers so that I could scramble out of bed and put the box on the dressing table.
After so much emotional deprivation, it was like my brain had gone into emotional overload and I wasn’t sure where I should file all this new information in my mind. Sleeping on it would probably be a very good idea. I switched off the lamp on the side table and crawled back into bed, pulling the coverlet up to my neck and curling up like a baby. After a moment, I got up again and retrieved the box and set it on the nightstand next to me, at the same level as my eye line, now my head was on the pillow.
It was when I was on the periphery of sleep, at that h
alfway house between wakefulness and slumber, that the feeling that had been niggling at me finally developed into a fully formed idea and forced me back into awake mode.
Why hadn’t anyone else realised?
The Brotherhood could never have attacked us tonight. Even my brain, rudimentary with the knowledge of magic, was turning cogs fast enough to realise that something was amiss. The air was too thick with the magic of attack as well as defence. Only something magical could have so stealthily crept up on this committee of powerful witches and attacked us so bluntly without warning. Us, I thought, hmmm.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” I whispered to the ceiling as I rolled onto my back. Why would the Brotherhood, who hates witches – us, me – use magic? They were old school. They were snatch, grab and burn, not spells and unearthly powers. They had proven that in the way they killed.
There had to be something or someone else. Someone else who wanted to maim and destroy this collective.
The gnawing feeling had changed. Now that I had my finger on the problem, I could only feel fear that I’d been seconds away from being killed tonight. Two attempts in as many days but perhaps not the same attackers. Did someone here want me dead too? And if so, who the hell was it if it wasn’t the Brotherhood? My brain swam with ideas. I didn’t feel any safer with the idea that I might have two foes.
I was wide awake now and I pulled my knees up so my arms were round them.
It should have been the excitement of Marc’s stolen kiss that kept me half awake until dawn, but it wasn’t, though that was a welcome distraction. Instead, there was the persistent niggle that something wasn’t right.
I was glad my brain was forcing me to stay awake and think because in the early hours of the morning someone turned my door handle, pushed my door open an inch and paused. No one spoke and I was too scared to ask as I scrambled for a pillow and hurled it at the door. After it shut with a thud, I threw back the covers and took the few paces to the door as fast as I could. I turned the lock and dashed back into bed quicker than someone could say, “There’s a monster under there.”
I didn’t dare doze again. Instead, I waited, hunched upright in bed with my arms clasped around my knees, shivering, until the first dawn broke.
Illicit Magic (Book 1, Stella Mayweather Series) Page 4
