The Ondine Collection

by Ebony McKenna

  Ondine’s forehead crinkled in confusion. So did Col’s. But at least Col had stopped complaining for a moment, even if it was to wonder – as Ondine was – what in heaven’s name Hamish was talking about.

  “I’ll get ye a wee nip of plütz. That will steady yer nerves.”

  “Nerves? I don’t have nerves.”

  “Make it a bottle,” Ondine said.

  “I do not have nerves!”

  “Oh, you’ve got nerves,” Ondine said, “that’s why you’ve been in a bad mood for weeks.”

  “I have not been in a –” Auntie Col stood to her full height and breathed hard. “It’s true I have anticipated this night, but I do not have nerves.”

  Not buying it. “You’ve been mean to Hamish ever since he said he’d be your partner, and the whole time he’s been doing his best. And you’ve been tetchy with the rest of us.

  There’s no need for you to be like this when you could just magic up a spell so you look awesome on the dance floor.”

  The old woman glared at Ondine.

  “Here, drink this, it’ll make ye feel better,” Hamish handed Old Col a nip of plütz in a brandy glass.

  “I don’t need it,” she said, drinking it anyway.

  Ondine tried again. “Chef’s left us plenty to eat. You must be starving, why don’t we sit down and relax?”

  “Not hungry,” Col said.

  “Any sausages?” Hamish asked.

  “It must be nerves then if you’re not hungry,” Ondine said as she raided the refrigerator.

  “How many times do I have to say, ‘I don’t have nerves’?” Old Col said.

  “But you must be starving. Magic uses up so much energy and –” Ondine stopped, then looked hard into her great-auntie’s eyes. “If you’re not hungry, maybe you haven’t been using magic. Why haven’t you been using magic, Auntie Col?” Invisible hooks pulled Ondine’s stomach as she waited for the woman to answer.

  Col creased her brow, then jutted her chin. “There’s nothing wrong with doing something the old-fashioned way from time to time. I want to do this right, that’s all.”

  “Why aren’t you using magic?” Ondine put the dish of leftover sausages on the bench.

  “I told you, I don’t want to –”

  “Liar!” Ondine flung a cold sausage at her great-auntie.

  The woman turned but the meat splodged onto her sleeve before dropping onto the floor.

  “Five second rule.” Hamish picked it up and ate it.

  Ondine had seen enough. “You could have magicked that away, but you didn’t. What’s going on Col?”

  “I simply fail to see why you’re resorting to violence –”

  “– Ease up, hen –” Hamish reached for the dish of sausages to stop her flinging any more away.

  “Why aren’t you using Magic, Col?”

  At first, Col’s face held defiance. Were they in for more lies? Then a tightened top lip and chin tremble. “It’s gone.” Her eyes, surrounded by flaky-pastry skin, turned pink with the effort of holding back tears.

  “Gone?” The truth bounced off Ondine’s brain, refusing to go in.

  Hamish stopped eating.

  “Yes, gone,” Col said with a whooshing sound as she let all her breath out and sagged before them. “I thought I was having a few senior moments, like at the wedding and, you know, afterwards a bit. But now it’s . . . it comes and goes in flashes, I must be in wiccapause. It’s only a matter of time before it’s completely gone. I promised Anathea she’d be safe at the abnormal formal. That I’d look out for her. I can’t stop thinking something terrible will happen tonight and I won’t be able to do a thing to stop it.”

  “Col, I’m so sorry,” Ondine stepped closer and wrapped her arms around her great auntie’s shoulders. It helped to hide the stark terror freezing her inside. This was why Hamish was ageing so quickly each day, why he’d had to sleep as a ferret every night instead of sneaking in lovely cuddles and kisses with her. It was something Ondine had tried so very hard to ignore for so long. Sadly, denial could only last so long. More than half a century ago at her debutant ball, when Old Col placed the spell on Hamish that turned him into a ferret, he was just 17 year old. When Old Col died (hopefully not for a very long time) that staying spell would end and Hamish would revert to his original age.

  If they didn’t fix this magic issue, she could lose Hamish forever.

  And the thing about Anathea’s safety, that was important too.

  “It’s always been there in the back of my mind. That I could lose it one day,” Col said.

  Wetness slid along Ondine’s arm. Was Auntie Col wiping her nose on her?

  “When did this start?” Ondine asked.

  “I think it started . . . or started to stop I suppose . . . at the autumn palace, back in September or October it must have been. It was coming and going, in fits and spurts. I guess I knew then it was only a matter of time.” She looked around and found a chair, dragged it over and slumped into it. “Hand over the plütz.”

  Hamish asked, “Is that wise? It’s still pretty early and we need to be on our feet all night?”

  “Give her the plütz,” Ondine said.

  When Hamish gave Old Col an unsure look, the woman shrugged and said, “It’s happy hour in Moldova.” She took a few sips, coughed then cricked her neck from side to side. “OK kids, unless something radical happens tonight, we’ll wake up to Vincent being Duke any day now. What in heaven’s name are we going to do?”

  ONDINE SLIPPED A LANYARD with the hotel and house keys around her neck, then slung another lanyard over the first – this one had her video camera strapped to it. The spring day felt warm and inviting as they began their walk to the station. The perfect weather for street parties and kick-starting a coup. A short train ride later; the three of them were standing in the reception foyer at the Venzelemma castlette, asking for an audience with the Duchess.

  Which is exactly when the wheels fell off their grand carriage of a plan.

  “What do you mean she won’t see us? Do you know who I am?” Old Col creaked and cracked as she stood to full height.

  The assistant turned florid. “The err Duchess is . . . indisposed and can’t be disturbed.”

  “She’s not sick is she?” Ondine asked.

  Giggles echoed from another room. The three of them turned as Duchess Anathea walked in, her hand set in the crook of Valentin’s arm. So besotted with her middle-aged beau, the Duchess of Brugel kept right on giggling as she walked past Ondine and out to the balcony beyond.

  “She completely ignored us,” Ondine said.

  “Aye. Terribly indisposed, so she is,” Hamish said.

  “That’s not good,” Old Col muttered. “Seriously not good.”

  The assistant bustled the trio out a servant’s exit so they were once again out on the streets.

  “He sure did pick a fine time to show up, don’t you think?” Ondine asked. “It’s like she doesn’t care about Brugel any more.”

  “She’s thoroughly distracted lass.”

  It made no sense to Ondine. “Being the Duchess is all she ever wanted. And she was so desperate to hang on to the position and . . . and be popular. How can she walk away from that? Oh!” She slapped herself on the forehead. “Maybe Vincent’s asked Melody to put a spell on Anathea so that she doesn’t care?”

  Old Col tilted of her head. “I’d say it’s Valentin who’s put the spell on Anathea.”

  “He’s a witch?” Ondine asked.

  “No. But he’s a charmingly attractive man, and they have a history.”

  Every one of Ondine’s plans and ideas to help Anathea and thwart Vincent had fallen to bits. This was not how things were supposed to have happened! Depression weighed upon her. “This is doing my head in. Every time I’ve tried to help, it’s either gone badly or gone nowhere.”

  “You can’t save the world every time, lass,” Hamish said. “Ye’ve done so much for Anathea, told her everything you learned about what Vince
nt’s up to. Ye cannae do any more for her.”

  “But I have to try!” She said.

  “And that’s why I love you.” Hamish tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “And I know ye won’t stop trying to help, even if she won’t listen. Tell ye what, we’ll see Anathea again, at the debutante ball. We’ll make her listen to reason.”

  “It will be too late by then,” Ondine said. “There’ll be thousands of people in Savo Plaza watching PopEuroTube on the big screen. I bet my next hot meal Vincent will be there, absorbing all that goodwill. We’re sunk!”

  “Nothing more to be done here. Let’s get to the dance hall,” Old Col said.

  Deflated, they walked towards the nearest station. Which was exactly when their luck changed for the better as a well-dressed man stepped across the road a little way ahead of them.

  Ondine whispered, “That’s Valentin.”

  “Aye, where’s he off tae?”

  It looked like he was catching a train, just as they were. Ondine reached into her pocket, getting her camera ready to capture anything, should anything present itself as being capture-worthy.

  “Wonder where he’s off to?” Old Col asked. “The way he was making eyes at Anathea just before, you’d think he couldn’t bear to part from her.”

  Keeping a respectable and not-at-all-stalkerish distance from Valentin, they followed him down a flight of steps and ended up on the same platform. Once again luck stepped in and saved them from having him notice they were there, as a crowd of teenagers in the middle of the platform talked in high-pitched squeals about how exciting everything was going to be tonight.

  “Is he catching the same train?” Ondine whispered to Hamish.

  Being a head taller, he could see more clearly. “Aye, I think so.”

  “The three of us together are too obvious,” Ondine said. “Let’s split up.”

  The train pulled in. It had seven carriages. Ondine slipped in with the noisy teens. Away from the protective reach of Old Col and Hamish she felt disconnected. Like her skin didn’t fit properly and she couldn’t get comfortable. Also, she couldn’t see Valentin, and suddenly she wished she hadn’t come up with the idea to separate. What if Valentin got off at another station?

  The rowdy mob didn’t take seats, preferring to stand and chat and giggle all the way. Ondine squished her way through the crowd to the connecting section to the front carriage, where she found Hamish and Old Col walking towards her. A smile burst free, so she stayed where she was and waited for the two of them to get to her.

  “He’s not in this carriage, is he lass?”

  “No, so he must be further back,” Ondine said.

  He wasn’t in the next one, or the one after that. How many more carriages were there again? Sneaking glances through the connector to the next carriage, Ondine searched for Valentin.

  Another station came and went.

  “Did he get off?” Ondine asked.

  “I couldn’t tell,” Hamish said.

  “He didn’t.” That was Col. “There are more people in the last carriage now, we could go in and nobody would notice three more.”

  They took the risk and walked through the remaining connectors until they were in the final carriage, trying desperately not to look like they were looking for someone. “That’s him down by the doors,” Ondine said as she turned her back to face Hamish. “I saw him just before I sat down.”

  “I think I can see him,” Hamish said as he craned his neck. “Now he’s checking his watch.”

  “And you know why he’s doing that?” Ondine said.

  “Tae tell the time?”

  Rolling her eyes, “Because he’s obviously meeting with someone.”

  “You’re making it sound nefarious,” Old Col said. “I like it. Who needs magic when you’ve got a brain like yours, eh?”

  Hamish nudged her. “Course she’s got a good brain, she chose me, dinshe?”

  “Where is Valentin?” Old Col asked.

  Ondine looked further down the carriage. “He’s getting up. Bother, he’s heading out.”

  “Owf we get then,” Hamish said.

  Heart thwacking against her ribs in the effort to execute her espionage, Ondine walked as casually as she could manage to the train door.

  They stepped on to the platform and Col looked around. “He’s not there?”

  “Are you sure?” Hamish asked.

  Old Col tisked. “I’ve lost my magic, not my eyesight.”

  “Oh no,” sickness flipped Ondine’s belly. The doors behind them closed with a swish-thud. “He didn’t get off.” They turned to see Valentin standing on the other side of the train door, waving to them.

  Ondine said, “Saturn’s rings!”

  Old Col said, “Hogs and hazels.”

  Hamish said something that defied translation.

  ​

  ​

  Chapter Twelve

  ​

  Disappointment curdled Ondine’s emotions as she struck ‘espionage agent’ off her imaginary list of future career opportunities. Dejected, they walked the rest of the way to Savo Plaza. The crowd soaked up the pre-PopEuroTube entertainment before the main even beamed in live from Craviç on the big screen. Hamish spotted two empty cafe chairs around a table. Old Col ordered the second cheapest thing on the menu, a tea and biscuit combination. [330]

  If Ondine were being honest with herself, she had to admit things were looking more than hopeless for them. The thought of giving up made her all kinds of cross, but the way forward was more confusing than ever.

  And yet they’d come so far, they couldn’t give up now.

  Which meant the only course of action was to keep on going, hoping for a miracle.

  As they sat there, taking sips from the one teacup and sharing the two biscuits between three, Ondine sitting on Hamish’s lap because of the chair shortage, a man in a suit darted out of a laneway towards the Plaza Hotel entrance.

  “Psst,” Ondine said to Hamish and Col. “Look over there at your nine o’clock.”

  They both looked in different directions.

  “Over there,” she said, pointing. “It’s Valentin. He went into that hotel.”

  Patting the camera around Ondine’s neck, Old Col smiled. “Get to it then.”

  Ondine made sure her camera was ready. Steadying her breathing, she walked to the hotel, even though her body screamed for her to sprint.

  In the hotel lobby, there wasn’t anyone around who looked like Valentin. Jupiter’s Moons, I’ve lost him! Needing to un-panic, she strode to the ladies’ bathroom and locked herself into a cubicle. A moment later, two women came in and chose the cubicles either side of Ondine, both chatting all the way through relieving themselves. There was no option but to overhear all of it.

  “I think you’re being mean by not helping.” One of them said. Her accent didn’t sound entirely Brugelish, but it was hard to tell with their voices bouncing off the tiles.

  “I hardly need to help, he’s getting everything he wants.” The other woman said. A woman who sounded exactly like Melody.

  The video camera weighed heavily in her hands. Ondine really needed to get out of here. She also wanted to record the conversation but the machine made a little ‘beep’ sound when it came on, which would alert the ladies. She flushed to make enough white noise to drown out everything, then pressed the ‘record’ button. Which made her feel all kinds of sick in the head at the fact she was recording a conversation in a women’s toilets.

  Time to get out of here and leave the others to talk in private, so she could get it all on tape.

  “Oh, hello!” Melody said far too loudly.

  Quick, act surprised it’s her. “Oh wow, what are you doing here?” Real smooth, brain, thanks a lot. “Hello, it’s Ruslana, isn’t it?” They went to shake hands, then Ondine remembered she’s been in a bathroom. “I’d best wash them first.” Mercury’s wings, if she used the taps, the rushing water could drown all sound completely. Instead she wiped them on the
tops of her skirt in slap-dash fashion. “Are you staying here at the hotel?”

  Ruslana tilted her head. “Yes. Why don’t you come up and take tea with us?”

  “Sure? I just . . .” I can’t tell them I have a camera sitting on top of the toilet. Oh great, now they’re washing their hands and leaving. So much for spying. Time to get back in the stall. “Ah, I think I’ve eaten too many fried cheeseballs, I’ll be another couple of minutes. Oh this is so embarrassing. S’cuse me.”

  “We’ll wait for you out in the lounge then,” Melody called out as they left.

  “Thanks.” Quickly Ondine locked herself behind the cubicle door and retrieved the camera. OK, the first attempt was a bust, but if she slipped the camera into her coat pocket – as bulky as it was – she could record whatever future conversation came along without alerting anyone to the giveaway ‘bleep – you’re being recorded’ noise.

  Not that she could see Ruslana or Melody when she walked out to the foyer. Where had they gone? There were plenty of people milling about, but none of them were who she wanted them to be. First she’d lost Valentin, now she’d lost Melody and Ruslana. Frustration twisted her lips as she headed to an area that looked more like a greenhouse than a lounge. Potted plants taller than the average person screened the guests, while golden spring sunlight poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  There, relaxing on a lounge chairs with a glass of tea-coloured liquid (which obviously wasn’t tea) was Anathea’s second-ex and current beau, Valentin. Sitting across the low table from him was Lord Vincent. Sitting beside him was Ruslana’s father, Babak Balakhan.

  The body language was far too relaxed for people who had only just met. Heart threatening to leap out of her throat, Ondine breathed into her coat lapels to muffle her noisy breaths. With trembling hands, she checked the camera to make sure the little red light was still on. It was! Hooray, she’d done something right at last. As quietly as she could manage, she placed the camera into the coconut fibres at the base of the plant and checked the view. It captured all three men, Valentin front-on and Vincent and Babak from the back.