by Helen Harper
After less than twenty minutes, I grabbed the file relating to my next client and headed out to meet her via the sparkly Metafora room. The transportation magic was available to all working faeries, regardless of which department they were in. It most definitely beat taking the bus. Hopefully the time I’d save would also allow me some space to focus on my new task force.
My client was a seventy-nine-year-old woman called Rose Blairmont who lived in the Lake District. I was aware that it was a rural location but nothing had prepared me for the sight that greeted me once the Metafora magic had worked its wonders and I found myself standing in front of her cottage.
There was a single-track lane. Apart from a ramshackle stone farmhouse further down the road that didn’t look as if it had been lived in since the nineteenth century, there were no other buildings nearby. Still, the landscape was stunning. The blue waters of Buttermere glimmered in the distance, their rippling colours incongruous against the many shades of green from the dark leaves on some of the trees to the lighter chartreuse of the nearby fields.
I inhaled the fresh air and admired the view. Despite the lonely setting and how difficult it must be to get a pint of milk, I could understand why someone would choose to live here. It was breathtaking.
Since starting this job, I’d quickly learned that the information in my clients’ files was next to useless. To discover anything that I could use in granting wishes, I had to spend time tracking and investigating. Unfortunately, hanging around Rose Blairmont’s house and following her when she eventually left it wouldn’t work here. It was far too rural. Unless I learned how to use my wand to disguise myself as a sheep, I would stand out like a sore thumb.
There was little choice but to knock on her door and face her. That wouldn’t be a problem. The memory magic, which worked automatically whenever I was on the clock, meant that she wouldn’t remember me from visit to visit so I could come and speak to her on any number of occasions to retrieve the information I needed. All the same, I reminded myself not to blurt out anything daft; I’d done that with my very first client when I’d granted his wish for a coffee before thinking about what I was doing.
I raised my hand and rapped sharply on her door. Nobody answered. I frowned and knocked harder. I knew she was in; the Metafora magic wouldn’t have transported me here if she were not. Maybe she was a late riser and was still in bed – or maybe she was an early riser and had already gone for a mid-morning nap. Either way, I wasn’t leaving before I’d spoken to her in person and got a good first impression of the lady. Once I had some basic details I could return to the office and do some further investigating from my desk.
When Rose still didn’t answer the door, I decided to save the skin on my knuckles from further abuse and go round to the other side of the cottage. I stepped through various thorny weeds, narrowly avoided squelching a few fat slugs and peered into the windows as I went. I couldn’t see any signs of life but the cottage’s interior looked well kept. It was tidy but had a lived-in appearance, helped by the fresh flowers I spied on one small table and the few opened letters I glimpsed on another.
Nibbling my bottom lip, I glanced round the corner to the back garden. Rose was a green-fingered lady. Some vines, unidentifiable to my untrained eye, had been tied up neatly against a bamboo trellis. In front of them was an array of different herbs, each one carefully labelled in spidery handwriting. Bright flowers, planted with care along the back wall, offered a stunning kaleidoscope of colour.
Like the landscape around it, the garden was beautiful. I reached across, my fingers brushing against a single delicate pink rose, a late survivor at the end of the season. That was when I heard a thump from indoors and straightened up. I moved to the back door.
‘Rose?’ I called. ‘Rose Blairmont?’
No answer.
I tried again. ‘Rose?’ Maybe she’d fallen and hurt herself. Seventy-nine wasn’t ancient in human terms but she might be fragile. I reached down and twisted the doorknob. It rattled but didn’t budge.
Despite the audit, I still had my targets to achieve. Throwing caution to the wind, I drew out my wand and spun it towards the door. There was an audible click. Satisfied, I nodded to myself and tried the doorknob again. This time it turned easily.
I opened the door a few inches and called once more. ‘Rose? Are you okay?’
There was nothing but silence. This was growing stranger by the second. I pushed the door fully open and stepped into the warm kitchen. The pleasant smell of beeswax tickled my nostrils as I glanced around. A few dirty dishes lay in the old chipped sink by the garden window.
I edged over to the AGA and reached out to touch the striped mug that sat next to it. The half-drunk tea inside was still hot. Ah. She had probably panicked, thinking that I was some sort of crazed intruder. She wasn’t entirely wrong.
‘Rose,’ I said loudly. ‘My name is Saffron Sawyer. I’m with the police. I’m here to make sure you’re alright. There’s been a spate of burglaries in the area so we’re speaking to all our local residents to find out if they’ve been affected, or if they’ve noticed anything strange going on lately.’ I paused. ‘Hello? Are you there?’
She still didn’t answer. Terrifying an elderly woman out of her wits wasn’t in my remit so I wouldn’t push it; it would be best to head to the nearest village and speak to the residents to see if I could glean any insights from them.
I started to back out. There was more than one way to skin a cat.
‘I’m going to leave you now, Rose,’ I said. ‘I’ll pop by another time. You don’t have to worry.’
I turned, just as a small white shape came barrelling towards me. I barely reacted in time, thrusting my wand forward and halting it in its tracks, holding it frozen in mid-pounce. I’d only had time to register that it was a Jack Russell terrier, its teeth bared and its dark eyes glistening pure hatred, when there was the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.
I looked up slowly. There, standing in the doorway and brandishing a shotgun at me, was a white-haired woman wearing a pristine Barbour jacket, green wellies and a full face of make-up.
‘Who are you?’ she spat. ‘And what the ’ell have you done to my Pumpkin?’
I raised my hand again to try the same wand trick on Rose. She immediately pulled the trigger on the shotgun. The bullet flew past my ear and took out her kitchen window. Clearly Rose Blairmont meant business.
‘Drop the stick!’ she snarled.
I decided that playing along with her wishes would be the smart move. I could still conjure magic without using my wand, but it was much harder and it would leave me with a terrible headache. I was also liable to collapse in a useless heap. All of that was better than tempting fate, though. I let the wand drop from my fingers and fall to the kitchen flagstones with a clatter.
‘My name is Saffron Sawyer,’ I said, as carefully and calmly as I could. ‘I’m with the police. I’m checking to see that you’re alright because there have been some burglaries recently. A few nearby houses have been ransacked. If you could just put the shotgun down then—’
‘You must think I was born yesterday! I’m seventy-nine, angel. Not seven. I know who you are.’
No, she didn’t. ‘Oh yes?’ I asked anyway. ‘Who am I?’
‘You’re one of them.’ Her voice dripped with loathing. ‘You work for him. Don’t try to deny it.’
Hmm. I had no idea how to play this. I could pretend to agree with her and find out as many details as I could – but I risked ending up with gut shot if I did that. Or I could disagree and try to find out what on earth was going on. But in that scenario, I also ran the risk of being shot. I didn’t recall anything from the faery godmothers’ manual about how to deal with this sort of situation. I’d simply have to wing it.
‘Rose,’ I said quietly. ‘Look at me.’ I splayed out my arms. ‘I’m not a threat to you. I promise you that.’
She didn’t take her eyes off me. ‘What have you done to my dog? That ain’t natural
! What did you do?’
‘Nothing!’ I gritted my teeth and waved off the magic. My head exploded with sudden pain as Pumpkin sprang towards my leg and sank his teeth in. I screeched.
‘Pumpkin!’ Rose yelled. ‘Get off!’
The animal released me immediately and backed away. He was still growling. I could feel warm blood trickling down my calf. Fuck a puck – this was not how my morning was supposed to go.
‘I’m going to get my … stick,’ I said faintly, ‘and I’m going to leave.’
Rose waved the gun. ‘You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to…’ She stopped in mid-sentence, her face twisting. ‘You didn’t come alone.’
For a moment, I had no idea what she was talking about. Then I heard the engine outside just before it was turned off. Someone else had arrived.
‘I’m alone!’ I protested. ‘I don’t know who’s out there!’
‘Say another word,’ Rose hissed, ‘and you’re a dead woman.’
I snapped my mouth closed. She motioned towards me with the gun. Doing as she commanded, I bent down, wincing at the wound in my leg. Pumpkin didn’t take his eyes off me for a second.
There was a loud thump at the front door. ‘Rose!’ boomed a loud male voice. ‘We know you’re in there! This will go easier if you come out of your own accord.’
‘I don’t know why you all seem to think I’m so stupid,’ Rose muttered.
‘Don’t make this any harder than it has to be,’ the man shouted. ‘You’re too old to run. I’ll make it quick if you just come outside.’
My mouth dropped open. ‘Is he here to kill you?’ I whispered, aghast. What the hell sort of situation had I walked into?
Rose rolled her eyes. ‘Well, he ain’t the fecking Avon Lady, is he?’ She gestured at her dog. ‘Pumpkin. Come here.’
The Jack Russell growled at me one last time for effect then turned to his mistress and leapt into her arms. She held him with one hand and the shotgun with the other. Somehow I didn’t think this was her first time with the weapon.
‘Into the corner,’ she ordered. ‘Now.’
I did as she said. ‘Rose, if you could wait—’
‘Shut up.’
Fair enough. I swallowed and nodded. Before I could work out what on earth I could do to prevent this bizarre situation from getting any worse, there was a loud crack and the sound of splintering wood.
Rose let out a cackle. ‘Steel reinforced door,’ she said. ‘He ain’t getting in that way.’ She strode towards the back door and reached for the handle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a moving shape. I hissed as a gloved hand holding another damned gun appeared. I noted a balaclava-covered face and a pair of cold, dark eyes before I flung out my hands, using a burst of my own natural magic to send the intruder flying backwards. A moment later I was on my hands and knees and retching hard.
Half blind, my fingers fumbling for my wand. I’d only just managed to grab it when something grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and hauled me upwards. Rose’s bright-blue eyes stared into mine. ‘Pull yourself together! More of them will be on their way. We have to go now.’
I was in no fit state to argue. I nodded weakly, flicking the wand towards myself for a magical boost to keep me upright. There was nothing safe about Rose but, in a choice between her and the man who’d attacked her cottage, I knew which one I felt better about. Less than five seconds later all three of us – woman, faery and dog –burst out of the back door and ran.
Chapter Five
Rose seemed to know where she was going. I had little choice but to try and keep up, although it was genuinely galling that I had to struggle to maintain pace with a seventy-nine-year-old woman. Yes, the magic I’d been forced to conjure up without my wand had cost me, and Rose was breathing surprisingly hard even for her age, but I also sensed that she was holding back for my sake.
I felt incredibly queasy and I couldn’t shake off the fog of confusion. What on earth had happened in that cute little pensioner’s cottage? I’d spent years as a dope faery, I’d hung out with some dangerous characters and witnessed any number of dodgy drug deals, but I’d never experienced anything close to this. The fact that I was now running through a field to get away from a masked gunman didn’t bear thinking about.
After a mile or two, I began to feel my equilibrium returning. ‘Where are we going?’ I gasped. ‘Do you have a destination in mind?’
Rose didn’t deign to answer. Instead she picked up speed, veering off towards a small copse of trees. I gave up on the questions for now and followed. When I spotted the old Jeep sitting underneath a sprawling oak tree, relief overtook me – at least until coherent thought returned to the fore and I was struck by fearful clarity.
‘You knew this was about to happen,’ I said. ‘You planned for this. That’s why this Jeep is here. That’s why your door is steel reinforced.’
At first I thought that Rose wasn’t going to answer me. She appeared preoccupied with sweeping off the debris from the Jeep, occasionally pausing to gasp in a few breaths before continuing her work. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a sheen of sweat across her brow. The dash here had taxed her more than I’d realised.
Before I could express concern, she muttered without glancing up, ‘Do you know the worst thing about getting old?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Because it ain’t the fecking arthritis, although that’s bad enough. It ain’t that I can no longer wear a pair of stilettos or that I’m consigned to badly-knitted fecking cardigans. It ain’t even that each morning I’m that little bit closer to the grave. No.’ She shook her head. ‘The worst thing is that people constantly seem to think I’m stupid. That I’m doddery and hard of hearing and somehow mentally deficient.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting…’
She sighed in exasperation. ‘Who are you really? You definitely ain’t with the local coppers, that’s for fecking sure.’
I didn’t quite know how to answer. ‘Er, I’m not with that bloke who was trying to kill you.’
She sighed again, more loudly. ‘See? You’re treating me like I have less than two brain cells to rub together. I know you’re not fecking with him. Do you think I’d have brought you out here with me if you were? One look at the expression on your face when he rocked up was enough to tell me you don’t know him. I can read people, darling. Ain’t no one in this world good enough at lying to fool me.’
She reached under the Jeep’s wheel arch and pulled out a set of keys before unlocking the door with a sharp click. Pumpkin immediately hopped onto the front seat, freeing up both of Rose’s hands so she could point the shotgun in my direction again.
I licked my lips. ‘You know I’m not with that man. You must also know I’m not a threat to you.’
She raised the barrel an inch or two higher and squinted, preparing to aim. ‘Gimme the fecking truth.’
‘You won’t believe it.’
Her expression didn’t change. ‘You don’t know that.’
I did. Then I shrugged. In for a penny… ‘I’m your faery godmother.’
She stared at me then she threw back her head and cackled. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it turns out one of is mentally deficient after all.’
I’d learned a lot since my first client. The file I had on Rose hadn’t offered much information beyond her name, address, lack of existing family members and her date of birth. One thing it did tell me, however, was how her name had ended up on my list.
I tilted up my chin and met her gaze head on. ‘It’s true. About six weeks ago, on August 21st, you happened to pass a small café in Kendal. You went inside, bought yourself a cupcake and a candle, and wished yourself happy birthday. You must have made a wish at the same time,. I’m here to grant that wish.’ I pursed my lips. ‘Or an approximation thereof.’ I waved my wand in her direction. ‘This isn’t a stick. It’s a wand. A magical wand, to be precise.’
I expected more maniacal laughter. Instead Rose gave me a thoughtful look. ‘You did s
omething with your hands. Not just to my Pumpkin. You also did something that knocked the wanker at my house backwards. You’re a witch.’
This was easier than I’d thought it would be. ‘I’m a faery,’ I corrected. ‘But yes, what I did back there was magic. It’s difficult for me to do much without my wand but if I concentrate, I can usually conjure up something. The reason I started throwing up is because I used magic without my wand.’ I sniffed pointedly. ‘If you hadn’t made me drop it before that man appeared, things would have been far easier for both of us.’
‘That’s a bit shit, ain’t it? Having to rely on a fecking stick? Is that why you didn’t kill him?’
I regarded her calmly. ‘I didn’t kill him because I’m not a murderer.’
Rose looked nonplussed. ‘But you’ll grant me a wish?’
‘Yep.’
‘Then,’ she said, ‘I wish for everyone who is trying to kill me to die horribly within the next minute.’
I frowned in irritation. ‘I can’t do that,’ I said. ‘I can’t grant those sorts of wishes. And that’s certainly not what you originally wished for.’ If it had been, her name would have been flagged up as someone wanting a blood wish. As a newbie, that sort of thing was far outside my current remit.
‘So,’ Rose said, amused. ‘What did I wish for then?’
‘I don’t know. I have to find out what will make you happy and then I’ll grant that wish. Most of my clients aren’t sure what their deepest wish is. It’s my job to find that out before I wave my wand.’
Rose gazed at me with implacable calm. ‘I’m seventy-nine years old and I’m perfectly capable of knowing my own mind. My deepest wish is for you to kill my fecking enemies.’
I’d already told her that wasn’t possible so there was no point in continuing to argue with her about it. Anyway, something about the look in her eye told me that she didn’t really want me to kill her enemies. ‘You’re taking this incredibly well,’ I said instead.
‘What?’ Her lip curled. ‘The fact that you’re a faery godmother or the fact that someone tried to slit my throat?’