'Ask no questions.' That's what they had said. 'Can you keep an open mind and ask no questions?'
'Yes,' he had replied. 'It's what I always do.'
He prided himself on his professionalism. Not everyone could stomach the job. Not everyone could focus on what needed to be done. Not everyone was so efficient. That's why he had been given the job. He was trustworthy, and if he chose to do something he stuck it out to the bitter end. He had demonstrated his dedication. And by god he was not going to waver from it.
Overland
Anaïs lay across the back seat of the Morris Minor, her head in Nan's lap. She used her coat both as a pillow and a layer of protection. Had she not done this, lying with her head directly on the shade's icy body would have given her the mother of all brain freezes.
In the driver's seat the librarian sat at the wheel and let the Morris Minor do its job. Anaïs watched her eyes dart back and forth as the road flew by. From her posture, Anaïs could tell she had begrudgingly accepted that she wasn't in control of the vehicle, but this didn't prevent natural instincts from kicking in. Every now and then, normal human reactions took over and her hands sprang to the steering wheel in anticipation of something in their path. Her assistance was entirely unnecessary. The Morris Minor weaved through the traffic on the busy highway in a fluid motion. Each time the car changed direction, lateral forces sent Anaïs sliding across the back seat.
The little car was entertaining its occupants with its disc-jockey skills. After a period of surfing the frequencies, the car had found a cheerful tune to play. This was no mean feat as the majority of the AM radio band was filled with talk shows. The talking did not bother Anaïs. She thought the French language had its own form of musicality. She watched the librarian's head bob back and forth to the music. She grinned.
From the moment they first met, the librarian had grated on her nerves. She still did, but now less so. Anaïs had softened to her abrasive personality. She had tried not to let her irritating behaviour bother her. She now saw the humour in it. Immi was funny. Their present predicament was not the librarian's fault. She didn't want to be there anymore than the rest of them. They had just been thrown together. Whether she liked it or not, they were all unwilling passengers along for the ride. They would have to make do even though things were not ideal.
Anaïs tried to stretch her legs. As a five-year-old there would have been more than enough room to lie flat across the back seat. In the confines of the car, she couldn't extend them full-length anymore. In her eight-year-old body she was restricted. She rolled onto her back and propped her feet up on the armrest jutting out of the side of the vehicle. She stared up at the roof of the car and watched alternating shadows and flashes of light play across it. She listened to the hum of the tyres on the road. Occasionally they rumbled over a particularly rough section of bitumen. Then strong vibrations would run up through the chassis and seat and into her body. It was like getting massaged. It felt good.
Anaïs closed her eyes. She concentrated on her body. She mentally assessed it and its dimensions. She had not had the chance to fully take stock of the transformation. It was a huge change and had unsettled her. Was this sort of thing going to happen more often? She wanted to look in a mirror properly and take the time to evaluate the new her. She wanted to look at her face. To scrutinise it. She ran a hand over the length of her body, from her knees; along her thighs; across her chest and up to her neck. Everything had stretched, not just her legs arms and face, but even her skull. She flexed her wrists and ankles. With her forefingers she stroked the features of her face. The baby plumpness had all but disappeared. She felt the sharp line of her temporal ridge, the hardness of her nose, her cheekbones and chin.
'Are you ok, Anaïs?'
She opened her eyes and looked up at Nan. The shade was studying her intently.
'Yes, I'm fine,' said Anaïs. 'Just trying to come to terms with my new body.'
Nan ran her eyes along the length of the little witch's body and nodded. 'It must be strange.'
Anaïs tried to read the shade's face but it was difficult without the sunglasses. She could only really see her eyes. She read concern in them. She thought about what Nan must be feeling. 'I'm pretty sure it's not as strange as what you're having to deal with.'
Nan's voice had a determined edge. 'I'm trying not to think about it.'
The shade shuffled in her seat. Anaïs lifted her head and repositioned the coat under it.
'One consolation is I don't have to deal with a stupid physical body anymore. That's over. It's finished. For you it's ongoing. There will be many more changes to deal with. You still have a long way to go, Anaïs.'
Anaïs nodded. 'Yes, that's what worries me.'
'Don't worry too much. We will get through it together.'
Anaïs smiled up at her. 'Thanks, that's good to know.'
Nan stroked her hair and parted the fringe on her forehead. 'Rest now, Anaïs.'
The little witch closed her eyes and let the tension in her body go. She listened to the rhythm of the car's wheels on the road once more. The sound began to lull her to sleep.
The Morris Minor broke the tranquillity. Its speakers crackled loudly. It cranked the volume on the sound system up to full. Black Sabbath's 'War Pigs' blared out of the speakers. The engine whined and then practically screamed in unison with the music. The car shot forward.
The sudden acceleration drove Anaïs's head deep into Nan's lap. It pinned them both to the backrest of the seat. The witch gritted her teeth and with some difficulty pivoted her head. She looked across at the librarian. Immi's body was also pressed deep into her seat. Her neck arched, she strained against the gravitational forces brought on by the sudden increase in velocity. Her face had gone white, pure fear visible in her wide eyes.
In Pursuit
Anaïs struggled into a sitting position and craned her neck. She twisted in her seat, stuck her head over the top of it and looked out the rear window. A very large black car sat on their bumper. The vehicles were almost touching. It was so close half its bonnet was obscured by the rear of the Morris Minor.
The car bobbed up and down behind them as it rode the undulations of the highway's uneven surface. Its windscreen reflected sunlight, preventing Anaïs from seeing into the vehicle. She squinted but couldn't even make out the silhouette of figures in the front seat. She hoped they shared her problem and couldn't see her staring back at them either. She sank down into her seat and turned to Nan.
'We have a problem,' she said.
'You don't say? It seems we have attracted some attention.' The caretaker looked over her shoulder at the car behind them. 'Have you had this sort of problem before? Someone following you like this?'
'Yes,' said Anaïs grimly. 'After I lost you, we were chased by a man and a dog.'
The shade looked down at Anaïs and then stared at the seat in front of her. 'The Inquisitor,' she said.
Anaïs raised an eyebrow. 'Is that what he's called? Sounds pretty ominous.'
'Yes, that's what the Organisation call him. I don't think they know his real name.'
'I don't think knowing his real name would make much difference. Except if it was something weird. You know? Like Cuthbert or Cecil or Ernest.'
The librarian sniped loudly from the front seat. 'What are you going on about?' She fiddled with the volume knob on the radio. To her surprise the Morris Minor obliged and reduced the noise.
'I don't know,' said Anaïs. 'I guess I'm a little on edge. I tend to say the strangest things when I'm under pressure. What's going on in front?'
The librarian took a deep breath and expelled it. 'We are going really fast. I thought that was obvious. And you say the strangest things when you're not under pressure as well.'
Anaïs sneered at her. 'Thanks. I got the whole speed thing. I was just wondering if the car was telling you anything else.'
The librarian's eyes flicked from the rear-vision mirror to the speedometer. 'Only how fast we're going. And I w
ish it didn't have to play heavy metal while it's doing it.'
'I kind of like it. Maybe it's trying to say something with the song?'
The librarian screwed up her face. 'I'm afraid all I hear is some guy screaming and a bunch of very loud guitars.'
'It's an anti-war song. That's all I know. Ozzie did say something about witches at the start, though.'
'Ozzie? Who's Ozzie?'
'Ozzie Osbourne. Don't you know anything?'
The librarian frowned. 'Of course I do. Wasn't he that weird British guy that used to be on TV? The one with the crabby wife and stuck-up kids. He seemed to be perpetually stoned.' She grinned to herself. 'Not a surprise really, considering who he had to live with.'
'Yeah.' Anaïs nodded and then shook her head in disbelief. 'That guy from TV.' She decided not to waste any more time trying to explain the singer's previous claim to fame to the librarian.
'Where has she been living? Under a rock?'
'Beats me,' said Anaïs smirking. 'She certainly hasn't been listening to any.'
Anaïs heard Nan chuckling in her head. It made her smile. Then the smile dissipated. This was no laughing matter. Anaïs turned in her seat again and looked over the top of the backrest. The car was still there.
'What's it doing?'
'It's just hanging there.' Anaïs watched the vehicle bob around behind them, hanging on to their rear as if glued to it. The Morris Minor weaved its way through a thick clump of vehicles. It slowed to negotiate overtaking a particularly large truck. Anaïs felt her eardrums pop with the change in pressure as they neared it. The Morris Minor found a gap in traffic and skirted around the truck. The black car followed its every move, constantly maintaining its hold on the bumper of the little car. Once they had passed the truck the Morris Minor accelerated, its little engine roaring so loud it even drowned out the music.
They were now out of heavy traffic and the road opened up before them. Anaïs looked around. They were very exposed. There were no more trees lining the highway, only open fields. She arched her neck and looked at the sky above through the rear window. It was also clear. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. She felt more vulnerable than ever.
'What's up?' asked Nan.
'I have the feeling we're being watched and can't shake the idea that whatever it is could come from anywhere.'
The caretaker flicked her head towards the vehicle. 'You mean watched by someone other than the car?'
Anaïs turned in her seat and looked at the car again. The sun had gone behind a cloud and now she could see into the vehicle. She saw the headrests of the front seats. There were no heads resting on them. The vehicle was empty. The only movement its steering wheel twitching from right to left and back again. She shuddered.
Suddenly the black car slowed. It peeled off into the other lane. She watched it recede behind them. It veered off the highway and up an exit ramp. The ramp curved up onto a bridge spanning the highway. The car stopped when it reached the middle of the bridge. It became a speck in the distance and then disappeared altogether as they rounded a bend in the road. Anaïs breathed out slowly through pursed lips.
'It's gone,' she said.
The librarian yelled to make herself heard above the din in the cabin.
'Good!'
The Morris Minor made no change in its trajectory and maintained its high speed, barrelling down the highway. Anaïs was left to wonder what had been following them. Not only that, she still didn't know where they were going. She wished her promptuary would come back online. She looked down at it lying on the seat beside her. The only sign of life was the star on the cover, slowly pulsing, as if it was in sleep mode, almost like an ordinary electronic device.
Spain
The roads on the outskirts of Barcelona were a spaghetti of overpasses, underpasses, bridges, tunnels and ring routes. The Morris Minor zigzagged its way through the late-afternoon traffic. It didn't seem at all perturbed by the meandering road. Anaïs was thankful the Morris Minor was in control. None them would have had any idea how to find their way through the city streets. Not that they knew what their destination was anyway. Looking out her window as they descended through the suburbs, she saw they were heading towards the taller buildings at the centre of the city. Beyond them she could see the blue glint of the Mediterranean. She wondered what awaited them down there.
They had made their journey in very swift time. She wasn't certain how far they had travelled but it seemed to have been a great distance. They had only made one stop at a fuelling station. It had not been to provide the car with any nourishment. The librarian had needed sustenance. The rumbling of her stomach had become so acute it had threatened to drown out the noise of the engine.
Surprisingly the Morris Minor was in need of nothing. Its fuel gauge had not moved for the entire trip. It had remained fixed on full. During their stop Anaïs had taken a careful look at it. The hand on the dial was nestled hard up against the top position. It was slightly bent as if trying to force its way beyond the full position. Whatever magical fumes the car ran on must have been extremely powerful.
The Morris Minor had sat idling impatiently in the parking lot whilst the librarian went to get some food. She had barely received her order when it had begun tooting its horn, insisting she return. Clearly the car was on a mission to get them to their destination as quickly as possible. The librarian had come running back and demanded what all the noise was about. Anaïs had shrugged and explained that the car was in charge and not her. This had set off another altercation between them. The car had attempted to silence them by revving its engine. When this proved fruitless it had engaged its gear and started to trundle to the exit of the parking lot and back to the highway. Apparently the Morris Minor was not only on a tight schedule but also had an aversion to bickering.
The librarian had been forced to run after the vehicle. Clacking wonkily along on her high heels, with a mountain of food in her arms, she had caught up with the car as it started to accelerate. She had thrown herself through the open door into the front seat. The librarian had yelled and cursed at the vehicle. It had slammed the driver's door shut, narrowly avoiding slicing off her leg which had been hanging out of the car. She pulled in the trailing limb just in time. The door shut on the shoulder of her coat. The Morris Minor engaged the locks and refused to open its door. Immi had been forced to sit with one ear pressed to the driver's side window. She had smouldered in silence for the remainder of the journey.
Anaïs began to take a shine to the car. It seemed to be the only thing which could successfully quell the librarian's insipid comments. She knew, however, that the vehicle would not take sides. She also needed to be wary of what she said to it. Nevertheless, she liked its style.
The Morris Minor left the arterial roads and entered the streets of Barcelona proper. It wound its way through small streets and then onto long, dead-straight boulevards. Anaïs watched the blocks of buildings flash by. They gradually changed from a random style to something more ornate. The architecture seemed to be taking them back in time. It was then she saw the strangest thing sticking out above the buildings. It was enormous. A set of church spires unlike any she had seen before. Almost like trees in a small forest, they towered above their surroundings. They were honeycombed and, rather than topped with crosses, they were decorated with what looked like flowers. There was something entirely organic about the structure.
Anaïs's jaw dropped. The librarian saw it as well, and the snarl which had been fixed on her face for most of the trip was replaced with a look of astonishment. The Morris Minor slowed and rounded a final corner, revealing the entire building before them. It parked across the road from what appeared to be the main entrance, although this was difficult to ascertain as the building didn't seem to have any of the proportions of ordinary mounds of masonry. Sections of it were lit up and, when the late afternoon sun dipped behind a cloud and more artificial light appeared, the church seemed to be in a state of transformation.
Ana
ïs climbed out of the car and looked up at the huge building before her. 'What kind of magic is this?'
'Very human magic,' said the nanny, now standing beside the little witch. 'I've seen this before, many years ago, but then it was so different. There was not so much of it. They have been busy. Anaïs, this is one of the wonders of the real world. This is the La Sagrada Familia.'
The Architect
'Permís! Excuse me. You're in my way.'
The man behind her sat on the fence with a writing block on his lap. He waved her to move. His brow was furrowed. He looked irritated, even through his camouflage.
He persisted, not looking directly at her but over her shoulder. He waved his hand in the air. 'I can't see.'
Anaïs stepped to one side. 'Oh, I'm sorry.'
The shade did not look at her but from his sketch pad to the enormous building in front of him. He cocked his head to one side and compared the images. His eyes flicked from pad to building and back again.
Anaïs was irritated herself. The guy was rude. 'I said I'm sorry,' she repeated forcefully.
'Sí, sí, gràcies.' He brushed her off and buried his head in his work.
She wondered what he would have done if a natural had stood in his line of sight. He would not be able to tell one of them to move. Here was another shade who had picked her out of the crowd. He knew she was a witch. This was becoming all too commonplace. It bothered her and she felt exposed. She looked around to see if anyone else was looking at them. Nobody was.
They were across the road and far enough down the street not to be caught in the crowd of tourists. Packs of them milled around in front of the basilica. Couples on their honeymoons and families with teenage children took turns taking snapshots of one another. Anaïs's attention was drawn to a particularly handsome teenage boy. He was to die for. Spanish boys were dreamy. There was something about their dark looks that did it for her. He was putting on an act of being over-cool. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. He saw the look and it threw him. He blushed and then looked confused. He checked to see if he really was the centre of attention. He was. Why was an eight-year-old giving him the eye? He regained his composure and turned his back on her.
The Promptuary Page 9