by Helen Harper
‘Good.’ She gave a satisfied nod. ‘You will tell no one about our existence here. We have no desire to get mixed up with your shenanigans.’ Her eyes hardened. ‘We’ve had enough trouble from other species as it is.’
‘What—’ I cleared my throat and hoped I wasn’t being too forward. ‘What species are you?’
Alora gave me a look to suggest I was particularly dim-witted. She might well have been right. ‘Bogles, of course.’
‘Of course.’ What on earth was a bogle?
She seemed to recognise my confusion because she smiled slightly. ‘We’ve been here for a long time. We were completely assimilated into Manchester, but before the apocalypse we had some trouble with the faeries.’
Monroe growled. ‘Didn’t we all?’
She shot him a look of sympathy, which made me think she knew exactly what had occurred with Monroe and his pack of werewolves. ‘We mean you no harm. Leave us in peace to continue with our lives and we will do the same to you. That is why we would appreciate you keeping our presence a secret.’
‘You’re magical,’ I began. ‘You have knowledge that we don’t. We have supplies and manpower. Perhaps we can trade or—’
‘No.’ Alora’s tone brooked no argument. ‘We are managing perfectly well on our own, thank you.’ She looked me up and down. ‘The tension you hold within you is palpable. We do not require those sorts of problems.’ She held my eyes and grimaced. ‘I do not wish to be impolite, and please understand that is not my intention. The world at large may have been saved from magic but in Manchester things remain difficult. We are only trying to survive as best we can. Maybe things will be different in the future.’
She appeared implacable and I knew there would be no changing her mind. All we could do was respect her wishes. The bogles had remained out of sight and unknown to all of us for this long. They had their reasons, even if I didn’t fully understand them.
‘Okay.’ I touched Monroe’s hand. ‘We will do as you ask. If you are amenable, Monroe and I will return in a week’s time. If the situation with Nimue, the mermaid, is untenable then we will try and move her again.’
Alora inclined her head. ‘I appreciate that.’ She smiled. ‘Who knows? Maybe she’s one of those rare mermaids who isn’t a bloodthirsty bitch.’
I had my doubts about that. I forced a smile. ‘We should go.’
‘Charlotte.’ Alora’s use of my full name made my head jerk up. ‘You have a lot of power within you. Magic can be a difficult thing to manage. Such a surge within a human body … it is no wonder that you are feeling ill effects. You should take care. Be kind to yourself.’ She glanced at Monroe. ‘Make sure others are kind to you also.’
I opened my mouth, desperate to ask her more. She seemed to know more about me than I knew about myself. But Alora had already turned on her heel and was walking up the path to her house.
Monroe shook his head, his words a low warning intended for my ears only. ‘Leave it for now, Charlotte. There is pain in this community. In time we can approach them again but if we force the issue today we will only make things more difficult.’
The lupine bastard was right again. I stared longingly after Alora and sighed. ‘Okay.’ I pushed my hair out of my eyes. ‘But we’ll try again when we come back.’ I met his gaze. ‘We will come back.’
‘Naturally,’ he said lightly. ‘We promised.’
Chapter Five
I’d hoped that Monroe would give me a lift to my neighbourhood or, at the very least, drop me at the reservoir so I could retrieve the bike. Instead he made a beeline for the centre of the city.
There was only one place that he could be aiming for. The last thing I wanted was another confrontation with Mike Timmons, the sole remaining faery in the city.
‘Is this necessary?’ I asked. ‘What’s there to say that’s not been said already?’
‘We’re not going to the Travotel to pick a fight,’ Monroe replied calmly. ‘That time with the faery wanker has been and gone.’
‘He’s not really a wanker, you know. He’s an alright guy.’ I meant it, despite some of Timmons’ more questionable actions. He had told Max, my human nemesis, where to find me. He’d only done it to avoid bloodshed on his own turf but he knew he’d erred and he’d made up for it since, dropping in to help out with all manner of projects and encouraging his long-term hotel guests to do the same.
‘He’s a faery,’ Monroe answered. ‘He’ll always be a wanker.’
I sighed. Monroe could be obstructively stubborn when the mood took him. ‘If you’re not cruising for a faery bruising, then what?’ I asked. ‘Even if he’s got further insights into mermaids, I think we’ve got Nimue covered for the time being. I don’t think she’ll be any more trouble.’ I mentally crossed my fingers; I hoped she wasn’t going to be any more trouble.
‘That’s the optimistic Charlotte I know and love,’ Monroe grinned. He pulled the car into the Travotel car park and turned off the engine.
‘Love?’ I enquired.
He leaned across and gave me a light peck on the cheek. ‘Of course,’ he said easily. There was a dancing gleam in his blue eyes. ‘Everyone loves the enchantress.’ Then something darker and deeper flickered in his expression and he pulled back.
Feeling awkward, I got out of the car and shoved my hands in my pockets. ‘If you cause any trouble, Monroe, I will have to intervene.’
‘I won’t cause any trouble.’ He began striding towards the front door. ‘Trust me.’
Hell, these days I couldn’t trust myself. With a deep sense of foreboding, I trailed after him. All I wanted to do was put my feet up. Please, I whispered to myself, no more blood. I’d had enough of that today, even if it had only been of the magical variety.
Timmons was rearranging flowers on a small side table. Goodness only knows where he managed to get them at this time of year. I prided myself on my local knowledge but I’d be hard-pressed to come up with much more than a straggly, half-dead daffodil. Timmons had conjured up a bouquet of roses and lilies.
He straightened up as we entered, smiling until he registered who we were. There was a flash of taut fear in his face before his smooth, hotel-manager persona took over. ‘Good day! And how are you two on this fine afternoon?’
‘Fabulous,’ Monroe murmured, sounding anything but.
Timmons looked at us and we looked at him, a moment’s silence descending into something far more awkward. I had to give it to the faery, though – he stood his ground.
‘What do you want?’ he said finally, yielding to the inevitable and querying our intrusion. ‘I don’t want any trouble.’ This last statement was addressed to Monroe. I couldn’t be certain, but it seemed to me that it wasn’t just old history that was making Timmons concerned. There seemed to be something fresh about his anxiety.
‘I don’t know why you think I’m here to cause havoc. There’s only one reason we are here. It’s obvious really. Why else would we come to a hotel?’ Monroe said, almost purring. ‘We want a room. Your best room.’
My mouth dropped open. I turned to Monroe, more surprised than Timmons was. ‘Excuse me?’
‘We need chocolate,’ Monroe continued. ‘And wine.’ He pointed at the floral display. ‘Some fresh flowers wouldn’t go amiss either.’
I found my voice. ‘What exactly do you think is going to happen here?’ My eyes shot daggers at him. ‘How dare you? If you want to get into my knickers, the least you could do is ask me first.’
Timmons coughed awkwardly. ‘I’ll go and check our availability,’ he said. He skedaddled out of the way and into his back office as fast as his legs could carry him.
‘I mean, seriously, Monroe?’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘Yes, sex is a great stress reliever. Yes, a screaming orgasm might help me put all the other shit out of my mind for a while. But you’re assuming a great deal, a great fucking deal. I suppose you think I should be grateful that you’re booking a room by the hour instead of leading me down some dreary back alley.’
I drew in a sharp breath. ‘And if you’re about to suggest that you make use of my back alley, then I’ll have more than harsh words for you. I thought by now that we’d worked out a decent working relationship, that we had respect for each other. Instead, you seem to think that you can crook your little finger and I’ll throw myself backwards and spread my legs. You bastard of a werewolf.’ I scrunched up my face in disgust. ‘Just when I was starting to like you. You think that because you’ve got sexy blue eyes and a gorgeous body you can do what you want. Well, I’m here to tell that you can’t. Not with this woman. No way.’
Monroe didn’t react once during my tirade; he merely watched me without expression. Only when I paused to gather myself did he actually speak. ‘Are you finished?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’m only just getting going,’ I told him in no uncertain terms.
‘That’s a shame. I thought you’d enjoy some relaxation time. I thought a couple of days here would give you the space and time you need to get your head together. I’m returning to the north – I’ve got things to sort out there – but I reckoned that some time alone would do you good. The room is for you, Charlotte. Not us.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Unless that offer of screaming orgasms really is on the table.’ He leaned forward. ‘But it wasn’t what I was planning. And I appreciate that you think I have sexy blue eyes.’
My hands dropped to my sides. ‘P–pardon?’
Monroe smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘You need a break,’ he said gently. ‘You know, I know it. Even that green-skinned gatekeeper Alora seemed to know it. Stay here for a couple of days. More if you need it. Read books. Sleep. Chill out.’
I blinked rapidly. ‘I can’t,’ I protested, focusing on logistics rather than my embarrassment at getting Monroe’s intentions so very wrong. ‘There are a hundred and one things I’ve got to do. There are people who need me. Today alone, I’ve got a council meeting to go to as soon as I get home. After that, I promised a family on the road across from me that I’d do something about the giant spider living in their basement. And when I say giant, I mean giant – it’s the size of your damned car. And that’s without the dozens of other complaints and requests and moans that I’ll have to deal with before I can get to bed tonight. I don’t have time for a break.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Monroe said. ‘It’s not a tropical island, and I’m not sure I’d trust any cocktails that the faery would make, but you need this, Charlotte. I’ll tell Lizzy and Anna and the rest that you’re taking a few days out. They’ll manage without you. The world isn’t going to stop turning because you’re having a holiday.’
I opened my mouth to continue arguing but Monroe put his index finger to my lips to hush me. ‘If you kill yourself in the process of sorting out your community, you’ll be doing no one any favours. You need a rest.’ His voice brooked no dissent. ‘I’m ordering you to have a rest.’
‘You can’t order me to do that! You’re not my boss.’
‘In this,’ he said simply, ‘I am.’
Timmons nervously popped his head out of the door. ‘Uh, it appears that we do have a room available.’ He glanced from me to Monroe and back again. ‘If you still want it, that is.’
‘We do,’ Monroe said cheerfully.
Timmons looked at me. ‘Charley?’
A wave of exhaustion overtook me. It seemed too much effort to continue to protest. I answered before I could think about it too much and change my mind. ‘Yes,’ I said, in a near whisper. ‘Yes. I’d like the room, please.’
I didn’t order room service or thumb through the selection of books that Timmons had so thoughtfully provided. I didn’t even really think properly. I stripped off my clothes, collapsed on the bed and slept for sixteen hours. Sixteen blissful hours with no dreams, no interruptions and no craziness. Although I have to admit that I slept so soundly that a herd of mammoth pink elephants could probably have stampeded past my room and I wouldn’t have stirred. In fact, it was only when I woke up that I realised I had melted chocolate smeared across my cheek from the treat that Timmons had thoughtfully left on my pillow and I’d been too tired to notice. I peeled the foil wrapper away from my skin and dropped it onto the nightstand before absently grabbing a tissue and wiping at the chocolate. Then I stretched out starfish fashion and contemplated the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.
It shouldn’t have come to this, I thought, as I mentally traced a fissure of cracks barely concealed by the last coat of paint. I’d all but run myself into the ground. I’d pulled plenty of all-nighters before – it came with the territory of being a professional gambler – but I hadn’t ever had to deal with these levels of stress and anxiety. It felt like I was responsible for several thousand lives. The simple truth was that it wasn’t sustainable. Monroe was right: if I continued down this path, I’d burn out completely and be of no use to anyone.
I hoped everyone else would be able to see that too and would step up to help out more. In recent weeks that had seemed a very forlorn hope but, after the good sleep that I’d had, my effervescent optimism seemed to be reasserting itself. The others would see my plight once I took the time to explain it to them. Right?
I wiggled my fingers and toes with the deep satisfaction of the newly refreshed then rolled out of bed. It was time to go in search of food.
I pulled on my wrinkled clothes, feeling slightly icky at having to put them on again. When I opened the door to my room, however, there was a neat pile of brand-new clothes sitting on the floor. I gazed at it for a moment, a lump in my throat at the unexpected kindness. Five minutes later, my old clothes were on the floor in a pile and yet again I was feeling a million times better.
Given that it was about five o’clock in the morning, the corridors were silent. I wondered how many people were staying here. The hotel had a lived-in and much-loved air about it, despite the lack of people around. Maybe that was because Timmons was a faery, or maybe it was because he was an incredibly good hotel manager. Either way, there was an ease to my steps as I wandered to the stairs, past the long-since out-of-order lift and made my way to the lobby.
Towards the back of the hotel there was a small restaurant cum café which, by the lingering smell, was definitely still in use for the hotel residents. It was dark and quiet now but I envisaged that it would be a bustling place in a few hours’ time. I could find something to eat and then make my way home. Or I could find something to eat and go to my room to relax. It didn’t take much internal debate to plump for the latter. Monroe had been right: the citizens of the south would last without me for another day.
I ambled to a swing door where I assumed the hotel kitchen was located. The fridges might be out of action but the pantry was reasonably well stocked given our post-apocalyptic world. As far as I could tell, the old wood-fired pizza oven had been appropriated to bake bread and I found more than enough leftovers, plus some very tasty-looking jam, to quiet the grumbles in my stomach. My last three meals had been cold beans eaten out of the tin to save time. Fresh bread and fruity jam right in front of me was utterly glorious.
I lifted a plate off one of the shadowed shelves, located a knife, then hopped onto a table and started to spread jam thickly onto one of the bread slices. It tasted so good that I crammed half of it into my mouth, murmuring with delight. I probably looked like a messy toddler with strawberry jam smeared round my mouth. I didn’t care.
I was about to start on my third piece when the most godawful keening sound filled the air. It sounded vaguely akin to a tortured dog. I dropped the bread and froze. I couldn’t work out where the sound was coming from. Under pre-apocalyptic circumstances I’d have assumed it was a fire alarm but under these circumstances – well, it could be anything.
With magic tingling at my fingertips, I leapt off the table and ran out to the lobby. Whatever it was, I’d deal with it.
From the stairwell, a dressing-gowned, flapping figure appeared. ‘Whatever you are,’ Timmons bellowed, ‘begone!’
I blinked at him. ‘Um
…’
He swung wild eyes in my direction before relaxing. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘It’s just you.’
I decided I preferred being told to begone. All the same, I injected a cheery note into my voice, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the continuing wail. ‘Just me.’ I waved a hand. ‘What on earth is going on?’
Timmons ran a hand through his hair, which did absolutely nothing to smooth it down and only served to make him look more dishevelled. ‘Magic alarm,’ he muttered and then gave a loud curse. He screwed up his face, concentrating. A few seconds later, the screeching stopped. ‘What did you do?’ he asked. He sounded irritated. I didn’t mind that; I’d be irritated at being woken up this early by a wailing banshee too.
‘Nothing! I was hungry so I went looking for something to eat. I found some bread in the kitchen…’
He sighed. ‘And some jam too, by the looks of it.’
I wiped my mouth. Yep. Some sweet strawberry goodness still clung there. Mmmm. ‘I didn’t think it would be a problem.’
‘It’s not.’
Uh oh. ‘So if I didn’t set off that alarm, what did?’
‘It was you.’ He tutted to himself.
‘But…’
‘Some of the residents are concerned about their safety. We had an invasion of snakes a while ago. Then there was your friend Max—’
‘Hey! He was never my friend!’
Timmons nodded, distracted. ‘Yes, alright. Anyway, everyone wanted assurances that I’d keep them safe so I used a bit of magic to set up an alarm system. Any time anyone does anything deemed to be a danger to the hotel, the alarm goes off.’
‘Ah.’ I pursed my lips and nodded gravely as if I understood what he was talking about. ‘So making myself a jam butty was dangerous?’
Timmons grimaced. ‘You’d be amazed at what the magic decides fits the definition of danger. The alarm went off when a vase of flowers was knocked over by accident. It went off when Phil in 204 snored so loudly that his neighbours were kept awake.’ He ticked off his fingers. ‘It even went off when there was something of a love tryst occurring between two of our older residents. It’s not an exact spell. I’ve been adjusting it for weeks.’
