by Helen Harper
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Or even a needle in a haystack.’
Now Rupert looked even more confused. ‘Yeah.’
It was better to put an end to this chat while I still had the chance. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘thanks for trying, Rupert. I’ll see you later at the meeting.’
He winked. ‘Will do. And Saffron?’
‘Yes?’
‘I know you called me sexy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.’ He smiled. ‘I think you’re sexy too. Plus, I quite like that you’re having surgery done. It’s important for women to take care of their appearance.’ He gestured towards my chest. ‘When they’re done, will they still feel natural? Because I can check for you if you’re not sure…’
‘Bye, Rupert.’
Chapter Fourteen
If I was fast and efficient, I knew I’d manage to get what I needed for Rose and return in time for my troll task force meeting. I might even manage a bit of a nosey round Rose’s home; it was not beyond the realms of possibility that she’d left some clues lying around that would help both of us. All I had to do was adjust the magic in the Metafora room so that I was transported back to Rose’s cottage instead of to Rose herself. I’d let myself in, find the pills and medicine that would help her heart and prevent any more near-death episodes and get them to Vincent, along with some gingko biloba. Then it would be job done.
If altering the memory magic for Rose worked out well, I’d use the evidence to petition the Director to let us alter it more often on a case-by-case basis. If it didn’t work out, no one needed to know. I decided that it would be better to seek forgiveness for my actions rather than ask for permission. No one ever changed the world without being a little bit daring.
It was an overcast, grey day but the absence of dappled golden sunshine didn’t detract from the prettiness of Rose’s little home. If anything, it made the colour of the climbing roses stand out more against the whitewashed exterior walls. It must have been a wrench for her to abandon this place. My mouth tightened and I made a silent promise that I’d do everything I could to allow her to return and see out her final days in peace.
I headed round to the garden, intending to use her back door to gain access as I had the last time. The sight that greeted me made me gasp. The beautiful garden had been all but destroyed. The plants had been ripped up by their roots in what could only be an act of petty hatred. Large boot marks were visible everywhere. There was more mud than greenery.
I straightened my spine and glared, as if angry looks alone would return the garden to its former glory. When that didn’t work, I drew out my wand. I wasn’t having this. Such destruction served no one.
Half-closing my eyes, I visualised the garden as it was before. My stomach tightened and I felt the power surge through my veins, amplified by the wand. Plumes of magic burst forth, serving not only to repair the damage to Rose’s garden but also to invigorate me. After all, I was giving back life.
No wonder it was forbidden to alter the lifespans of humans; it wasn’t just that you’d be fucking with nature – the heady adrenaline rush of power would probably be too much for even the strongest of us faeries to handle.
Goosebumps rose up across my skin and my body rippled with delicious shivers. I’d never felt like this before – the exhilaration was indescribable. As I gave energy to the earth, the earth gave energy back to me. By the time I was done, I was panting and flushed. Someone should bottle this feeling, I thought dizzily. They’d make a fortune.
The garden wasn’t quite as breath-taking as it had been before, but it wasn’t far off. I gazed around proudly, noting the odd flourishes caused by my magic, from the vibrant and unusual shade of the lupins in the corner to the bushes of heavily blooming roses. The earthy aroma rising from the leafy herbs was delicious. I grinned. Even an accomplished marsh faery would be impressed by my efforts.
Satisfied, I turned on my heel and examined the broken door. Although Rose hadn’t locked it when we’d sprinted away from here, the man who’d come to kill her had still kicked it in. I could see his boot print. It was a good thing that Rose didn’t have any close neighbours; I suspected that anyone who had interrupted the assassin’s vicious attack would have found themselves in his firing line. Literally. It also meant that the police hadn’t been involved yet, which made my situation considerably less complicated. There were fewer moving parts to consider.
Avoiding the shards of broken glass, I squeezed in through the gap in the door and looked around the kitchen. The place had been ransacked. Broken and smashed crockery littered the tiled floor and the contents of every cupboard appeared to have been displaced. It was like a tornado had ripped through the room. I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the damage. It didn’t seem that the killer had been looking for something – it was too haphazard and brutal. To be honest, the state of the room looked more like the result of a giant-sized tantrum.
Despite what I’d achieved with the garden, I wasn’t Mary Poppins. To sort out this place, even with magic, would take more time and effort than I could afford. My fingers itched to put everything right but I contented myself with flicking my wand to fix the door and return it to its original state. It would keep out any wannabe burglars or nosy wild animals. I could come back later and sort out the rest.
I figured that Rose, like most people, probably kept her medication in her bathroom cabinet. I picked my way across the kitchen floor and through to the hallway, noting that the living room to the left appeared to be in the same state as the kitchen. There was a narrow set of stairs to the right.
Before I could place a foot on the bottom step, there was a loud creak from somewhere above my head. I froze. I’d made the dangerous assumption that I was alone in here. All of a sudden, I was no longer sure that was the case.
There was another creak. Then another. I swallowed. That wasn’t the floorboards of an old house groaning to themselves. Someone was definitely up there. A moment later, when the gruff but distinct words floated down, I realised I was wrong. That was two someones.
‘There’s nothing here. We’re wasting our time.’
‘Boss told us to check out every corner so we’re gonna check out every corner. Unless you want to be the one to tell him you gave up halfway through.’
There was the sound of splintering wood, presumably as one of them broke another piece of furniture. ‘She ain’t stupid. There won’t be any evidence.’
‘We have to be sure.’
I debated my options. Although my instincts were telling me to cut and run as fast as my little legs would carry me, I knew that this opportunity was golden. Clearly whoever was upstairs had something to do with Rose’s assassins. I might just get lucky and overhear the reasons why they were after her.
My magic would only take me so far and I didn’t want to risk being discovered. I could easily whisk myself away using Metafora magic. What was faster though – a speeding bullet or a magical transport system? Unfortunately I strongly suspected that it was the former. Hanging around here was very risky indeed.
The sound of footsteps made up my mind. I wasn’t about to zip away unless I really had to. What I learned here could help Rose – and that was priceless. I did the only thing I could and hastily dived towards the tiny door set underneath the staircase, using my wand to open it and mask its sound. I tucked myself inside behind an ancient vacuum cleaner and a stack of old cardboard boxes and held my breath.
Whoever was out there didn’t care about the noise they were making. They clumped down the stairs, causing dust to sift out from above my head. My nose began to tickle and I clamped a hand over it. This wasn’t the time to have a sneezing fit.
‘She’s nothing more than a little old lady. She’ll be dead before too long without our help.’
I grimaced. The speaker was definitely male. He spoke with a faint twang – American, perhaps.
‘That’s exactly why we need to find her and deal with her ourselves,’ his buddy replied. He sounded English. ‘She’s got n
othing to lose any more. Anyway, it’s her own fault. She’s the one who approached Ferguson. Little old lady or not, she brought this shit down on her own head. And don’t underestimate her either. She might have spent the better part of the last decade playing with knitting needles and jigsaw puzzles but in her heyday she was more lethal than the rest of us put together.’
There was a snort. ‘You mean she could kill me with her thumbs? As if.’
‘Two words for you. Swan Lake.’
I might not have understood the reference but the other man certainly did. ‘Her? You’re kidding me.’
The response was flat. ‘It’s true. Ask the boss if you don’t believe me.’ There was a pause. ‘There he is now, back to pick us up.’
I tilted my head and listened harder, catching the sound of a car engine before it was turned off. No wonder there hadn’t been any vehicles outside: the two men had been dropped off here, probably to avoid raising the suspicion of any locals who might drive by and wonder why there was a strange car parked outside old Rose Blairmont’s cottage. The plot was definitely thickening.
I heard another door opening and a deeper voice without an accent. It sounded vaguely familiar, but for the life of me I couldn’t work out why. ‘Well? Have you found anything?’
‘There’s an old computer upstairs. It looks like it’s been wiped clean but we’ve taken the hard drive. Your boffins might be able to find something on it.’
‘Some jewellery too,’ the other gruff voice added. ‘I found a diamond necklace that looks genuine. Must be worth a fortune.’
There was a growl. ‘I’m not interested in baubles.’
The first man leapt back in, clearly keen to impress his employer. ‘We’ve got a whole bunch of pills. All sorts of things. She won’t last very long without them.’
The boss sighed. ‘Unless she manages to find a doctor. They do exist in other parts of the country, you know. Still, we might be able to do something with that. If we get lucky.’ He cursed. ‘She couldn’t have got away alone. What about the mysterious person who must have helped her escape and who doesn’t show up on any of the CCTV footage? Any clues about them?’
I tensed. That was me – he was talking about me. There would be nothing to find. Common sense would dictate that I existed, but memory magic would wipe away all other traces of me. No wonder Billy and Jasper were so keen that I didn’t mess with it; if I did, my life might very well be in danger. It might still be.
To my ears, my breathing sounded incredibly loud. I tightened my grip on my wand. I might need to bring the Metafora magic to me at any moment and I had to be ready.
‘What’s that out there?’ the man asked. ‘Boleyn said he wrecked the garden. It doesn’t look very wrecked to me.’
My eyes widened. Fuck a puck.
‘What do you mean?’ came the immediate answer. ‘We walked in that way. It was a mudbath. Boleyn did what he said. It was…’ There was a long pause. ‘Huh. It didn’t look like that before.’
I could have smacked myself. The anomaly of the garden’s sudden regrowth would befuddle all three of the men for as long as I remained in the house. Once I’d gone, the magic meant that they wouldn’t register that it was different. I had to get out of here right now.
‘And this cupboard? What’s in here?’ the boss asked.
Alrighty. I twirled the wand, invoking the Metafora magic that would return me to the safety of the office. I’d risked enough. It was time to get myself home.
‘We’ve not checked in there yet.’
Come on, magic. Do your stuff.
‘I told you to check every fucking corner.’
I twirled the wand again. It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working?
‘Go on, then. Open it up. We can’t leave any stone unturned – or any door unopened.’
Work! Fucking magic! Work! I waved the wand more furiously, swishing it from side to side in case vigour could make it do what I needed it to do.
The cupboard door opened and I instinctively hunched, blinking against the rush of light. There was an explosion of noise and further cursing then, as my vision adjusted, I registered the black muzzle of the gun and the shocked, furious, scarred face staring at me.
‘Get the fuck out of there.’
I jiggled my wand. It still didn’t do anything.
‘I said,’ the scarred man repeated, ‘get out of there before I blow your brains out.’
Continuing to hold the wand, although I might as well have shoved it up my left nostril for all the good it was doing me, I held up my hands. ‘Don’t shoot me,’ I squeaked. ‘Please don’t shoot me!’
He raised the gun an inch higher. I ceased my feeble protests and did as he ordered, knocking over the boxes and the vacuum cleaner in the process. When I emerged from the cupboard and stood up, I gazed at the three men who were staring at me.
I was startled when I recognised the shorter one, his neatly-combed grey hair and his immaculate suit marking him out as the politician I knew him to be. He’d been on my client’s television screen only a few days ago. The flicker of his eyes told me he had noted my reaction and I damned myself for being a transparent fool.
‘You know who I am.’
‘No.’ I whipped my head from side to side in denial. ‘I’ve never seen you before in my life.’
‘Sure you have.’ He took a step towards me, reaching out his hand and tilting up my chin. ‘You can tell the truth. It’s quite alright. No one here will hurt you.’
The gun in the other bloke’s hand belied that.
I stalled – I had to garner myself some more time. I had to find a way out of this. ‘You’re Art Adwell,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen you on television. You’re a politician and I’m pretty sure that politicians always lie.’
My gamble paid off, Art Adwell threw back his head and laughed rather than immediately ordering his man to put a bullet through my eye. ‘Not this one.’
‘Can I have your autograph?’ I asked. Maybe if played the part of a complete idiot, he’d think I wasn’t a threat.
Adwell stopped laughing and flashed me a practised smile. ‘Well, sure,’ he drawled. He didn’t take his eyes off me as he spoke to the third man. ‘Get me a piece of paper and a pen.’
‘Boss…’
Adwell didn’t bother repeating himself, he just waited. His goon took the hint and walked off into the small living room.
‘So,’ Adwell said to me, ‘what’s your name?’
‘Saffron,’ I whispered.
‘And what are you doing here, Saffron?’
‘I’m Mrs Blairmont’s cleaner. I come every week.’ I tried to look frightened. It wasn’t hard. ‘I thought there’d been a break-in. I would have called the police but I left my phone at home.’
Adwell continued to smile; he was the personification of charming, lethal grace. ‘But there’s no other car outside. How did you get here, Saffron?’
Fuck a puck. ‘Er … I walked. It’s only a mile or two from my house.’ I pointed vaguely towards the back. ‘My boyfriend is going to pick me up, though. He’ll be here very soon.’
‘Good for him,’ Adwell murmured.
The man reappeared and held out a scrap of paper and a pen. ‘It’s all I could find.’
Adwell took them from him, scrawled his name and handed the paper to me. I swallowed and reached out with my free hand but, as soon as my fingers curled round it, Adwell snapped his own hand forward and encircled my wrist in a fleshy manacle. His smile grew altogether nastier. ‘Where is Rose?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t know!’ I pulled, trying to get free, but he only tightened his grip.
‘Come on, Saffron. If you tell me where she is everything will be alright. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you – but I might have to hurt your boyfriend when he shows up. If he shows up, that is.’
‘You’re hurting me!’ I protested.
Adwell squeezed some more and I gasped in pain. ‘It’s little more than a caress,’ he said. ‘Don’t be s
uch a baby.’ He tutted. ‘Honestly, the youth of today.’
Tears sprang to my eyes. ‘Please let me go.’
‘Just tell me where Rose is.’
‘I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.’
Adwell stared at me. ‘You were wrong before,’ he said. ‘Not all politicians lie.’ He smiled. ‘But I’m not all politicians.’ He looked at his goons. ‘This one has nothing to tell us but she can identify me. Shoot her.’ He released his grip on me and started to turn away.
I jerked my wand in an involuntary response. As I did so, I felt the tug. It was working; the Metafora magic was back. I felt the whoosh at the same moment as the man in front of me began to pull the trigger. Well, I thought dully, that answered my question. When it came to a speeding bullet versus Metafora magic, the magic won. But only just.
Chapter Fifteen
At first the familiar sparkly walls of the Metafora room were scant comfort. A sharp pain attacked my chest, as if I had indeed been shot.
I gasped for breath, my lungs heaving, and I doubled over as bile rose in my throat. I hadn’t seen my life flash in front of my eyes – which was probably a good thing – but I’d been sure that my moments were numbered. I’d been a cat’s whisker away from death. Actual pulse-swallowing, life-halting, end-of-Saffron’s-world death. But I’d lived to tell the tale.
When the nausea and pain passed, I straightened up slowly with a goofy grin on my face. My hands might still be shaking but I suddenly felt that I could do anything.
The Metafora door opened and Figgy gazed in, her expression brightening when she caught sight of me. ‘Oh good! It’s working again then! That’s ahead of schedule. Those faery boffins know what they’re doing.’