by Helen Harper
The ex-drug dealer straightened up, smiling at me in relief. It was surprisingly warming that he was pleased to see me alive. Then he held out a dandelion stalk and wiggled it in my direction. ‘I made a wish!’ he declared. ‘I want someone to remake The Love Boat.’ He sighed. ‘I love that show.’
I gazed at him. ‘First of all,’ I said, ‘getting a faery godmother to attend to your wish is a lottery. Very few people are lucky enough to end up with a dedicated person like yours truly on their side.’
‘There’s still a chance though,’ Vincent said. ‘I mean, if Rose here is fortunate enough to have you then surely I have a shot at getting my own faery godmother. The more wishes I make, the more chance I’ve got, right? I just need to keep on wishing. Yesterday I found an eyelash and wished for a supermodel. Someone blonde and leggy who likes doing the ironing.’ His mouth curved into a smile that most definitely had a leering edge. I rolled my eyes.
‘Secondly,’ I said, as if he hadn’t interrupted me, ‘all wishes are considered null and void if you tell anyone other than your faery godmother what they are.’
Vincent’s brow wrinkled. ‘Huh.’ Then he relaxed. ‘But that’s okay. You’re a faery godmother so I’m still in the clear.’
‘I’m not your faery godmother, Vincent. Besides, Rose is here too. That means no supermodels and no Love Boat.’
He pouted. ‘That’s not fair. What if…?’
I held up my hands, indicating with a glare that if he wanted to continue down this conversational path I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. Vincent got the message and subsided.
I turned my back on him and focused on Rose. ‘Do you remember who I am?’ I asked.
Her blue eyes flickered, giving me the answer I needed before she opened her mouth. ‘Yeah,’ she said. She got slowly to her feet and shuffled towards me. I smiled; I liked it when clients expressed their gratitude. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy.
Rose cleared her throat. ‘And I now know that if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this fecking mess now. You’ve got in the way for days! I’d have sorted all this out by now if it wasn’t for your interfering.’
Pumpkin shot out from a clump of undergrowth nearby, no doubt alerted by Rose’s castigating tone. Say what you like about the damned dog, he knew how to be loyal. He skidded to a four-legged halt by Rose’s feet and growled at me. Just when I’d thought we were starting to become friends as well.
Avoiding looking directly at Pumpkin in case I antagonised him further, I kept my gaze on Rose. ‘I almost got myself killed trying to save you!’ I protested. ‘You don’t have to fall at my feet but a little thank you would be nice.’
Rose lifted her chin and looked at Vincent. ‘If you want a faery godmother, you can take this one,’ she declared. ‘I don’t want her.’
I cursed. ‘It doesn’t work like that.’
She set her jaw into a mutinous expression. ‘Well, it should.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t need or want your help. Feck off.’
I bit back the impulse to tell her that was fine and that I’d be more than happy to walk away. The pain I felt was making me irritable but Rose still needed me, even if she wasn’t aware of it. Frankly, she was going to get my aid whether she wanted it or not.
Some clients require more delicate handling than others. This would be a good test of my burgeoning godmother abilities. If I could handle someone like Rose, who was quite possibly a cold-blooded assassin as well as an ornery pensioner, while also almost dying several times in the process, then I’d be a better faery for it. Every experience was a learning experience.
I winced internally; I’d spent too much time around motivational posters.
‘Rose,’ I said carefully, ‘I’m your friend here. Not your enemy.’
‘You ain’t my fecking friend,’ she snapped, although there was little vehemence in her tone. ‘My friends know how to groom themselves properly. You look like you’ve just been electrocuted. Why don’t you shave your head or something?’
That was a particularly petty insult. With a flash of insight, I realised that I was on the verge of softening Rose up completely – and she knew it. She was ramping up her efforts to push me away before all her vulnerabilities were revealed.
The revelation made me relax. Even the ache in my bones appeared to dissipate slightly. ‘Do you know,’ I said, ‘maybe I will shave my head. It’ll save me a small fortune in conditioner.’
Vincent grinned widely. ‘You go, girl.’
Rose clicked her tongue and looked away. ‘Fine then. I wish for you to shave your head. Now feck off.’
I offered her a small smile. ‘Faery godmother wishes don’t work like that. It’s not a case of you saying words and then I wave my wand. We have to work together to find out what you really want.’ I touched the centre of my chest. ‘Deep down. Sometimes clients don’t know what they want so we work together to find out what it is their heart desires.’ I glanced over at Vincent. ‘It’s never as simple as asking for supermodels or television shows.’
Rose snorted. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to work out what he wants, does it? He wants love.’
Vincent blinked and blushed. My smile grew. ‘And what about you, Rose? What do you think you want?’
‘I’m dying,’ she said, with an angry glower. ‘I don’t want anything. I don’t have time for anything.’ At her feet, Pumpkin suddenly whined. Rose’s body jerked at the sound.
I softened my voice. It was probably the first time that the old woman had elected to give any real information about herself. Finally, I was getting somewhere. Using the gingko biloba had been the right call. ‘You’re not dead yet, Rose. Why don’t we go somewhere and talk about everything that’s going on?’ I looked at her earnestly. ‘I really can help.’
A few droplets of cold rain splattered down. Vincent frowned and looked up. ‘Where can we go? We can’t go back to my house.’
I tapped my mouth and considered. I could take the pair of them to my flat but I had a rendezvous with Jasper – and hopefully several trolls – very soon. I couldn’t miss that. There was a simpler and far closer solution. Under the circumstances, I reckoned I could get away with it.
I grinned at them both. ‘Follow me.’
Chapter Twenty
I knew that since Jasper’s intervention about working hours, most, if not all, faery godmothers would have left the office already and returned home. Otherwise, I might not have dared to take Rose, Vincent and Pumpkin to the magically enhanced building. A couple of admonishing looks from Adeline and Mrs Jardine alone would have been enough to terrify me out of my wits, especially since I’d already taken Vincent there on a previous occasion. I’d received the sharp end of Mrs Jardine’s tongue as a result.
‘Here it is!’ Vincent exclaimed as I nudged him towards the front doors. ‘I’ve tried to find this place again several times but I couldn’t manage it. I’ve normally got a great sense of direction but for some reason this building eluded me.’
I gave him a long look. ‘You’re not supposed to find it. There’s magic bound up in the walls that prevents humans from noticing it.’
‘Really?’ He looked intrigued. ‘How do I beat this magic then? Is there a drink like the one you gave Rose?’
I sincerely hoped not. ‘No,’ I said flatly. ‘And that drink was a special occasion. You and Rose are exceptions to the rule that humans shouldn’t remember that faery godmothers exist. I’d like to remind you to keep your mouth shut on the matter.’ I glanced at Rose. ‘I know you’re capable of keeping secrets. I’m trusting you to keep both my existence and this building a secret.’
Rose shrugged. ‘Whatever.’ I knew she wasn’t being flippant; despite her best efforts to mask it, her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps again. I sincerely hoped she wasn’t about to drop dead on me. If she did, all this would have been for nothing.
I went into the lobby with my three companions following me. Although I was sure I was doing the right
thing by bringing them here where I knew they’d be safe from Art Adwell’s machinations, I was relieved that it was empty. Until now, I’d not been entirely sure that Mrs Jardine had a home to go to. It sometimes seemed that she was permanently installed at the shiny reception desk.
Having been here before, Vincent pretended to be blasé about it but I could tell from the way that he inhaled the honeysuckle-imbued air that he was still over-awed. Rose was uncharacteristically quiet, her eyes flitting around from glowing corner to glowing corner.
Surprisingly, it was Pumpkin who appeared to be the most overwhelmed. His paws skittered across the marble floor in a cartoonish fashion as his claws struggled to gain purchase. He slipped and slid his way for several metres until he finally managed to get his balance. When he did and worked out how to walk without ending up on his arse, he wasted no time in trotting over to Mrs Jardine’s empty desk and cocking his leg. I let out a cry of alarm. Unfortunately it was too late; the damage had been done.
‘You could have done that when we were outside,’ I muttered at the dog.
He swung his head towards me and panted; he had an unmistakable expression of doggy delight. I sighed and made a mental note to search for some cleaning products and scrub the desk before anyone noticed the yellow stain the following morning.
‘We don’t normally bring clients here,’ I told the others in a quiet undertone. ‘And this will go better if no one finds out you were here. I’ll take you up to one of the meeting rooms. We can talk in there and work out the best way forward.’
‘Yodel-odel-ay-hee-hoo!’ Vincent called. His voice bounced loudly off the marble floor and walls and I cringed.
I whipped my head towards him. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
‘Come on, Saffron. The acoustics in here are amazing. You can’t tell me you’ve never tried that.’
I glared at him. ‘This is a serious place where serious work is done,’ I said sternly. ‘Magic isn’t something to be taken lightly.’
‘It is when you’ve got hair which looks like yours,’ Rose said.
I took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then I pulled back my shoulders. ‘This way.’
***
We took the lift and emerged on the main office floor. Although some lights were on, and there was a glow from underneath the closed door of Jasper’s office, most of the desks were in shadow. I nodded, satisfied that I wouldn’t have to answer any questions about my human companions, and led them to the same meeting room the troll task force had met in earlier.
Rose glanced round. ‘It’s just a crappy fecking office, ain’t it?’
I nodded cheerfully. ‘Yep.’
She fixed her eyes on one of the posters. ‘“Some people wish for things to happen,”’ she read aloud, ‘“you make them happen.”’ Her lip curled. ‘Why is there a photo of a lobster next to that?’
I squinted. ‘Who knows?’ I rolled up my sleeves and sat down.
‘And why is there a tattoo of an ugly cat on your arm?’ she asked.
I smiled. ‘Because I’m the most dedicated faery godmother this side of the Atlantic.’ I gestured at the empty chairs. ‘Now let me prove it.’
Thankfully Vincent and Rose both sat down. Pumpkin also hopped up onto one of the chairs. I gave him a nasty look in case he decided that the one thing this room was missing was dog pee, then settled back. ‘It’s time for the truth, Rose,’ I said. ‘You know my truth. Now you tell me yours.’
She sniffed and looked down. ‘My name is Rose Blairmont. I’m seventy-nine years old. I used to work for the Post Office, sorting letters. Now I enjoy gardening and walking in the Lake District with my dog.’
I might have known it wouldn’t be that easy. I rested my chin in my hands and gazed at her. ‘And?’ I prompted.
‘And what?’
‘You were also an assassin, weren’t you?’
Vincent, who until this point had been humming away happily to himself, suddenly fell silent and sat up straighter. ‘Pardon?’
Rose didn’t look at him. ‘No.’ She folded her arms. ‘I am an assassin.’
Vincent started to edge his chair away. ‘Uh…’
Rose tutted at him. ‘If I wanted you dead,’ she told him, ‘you’d already be dead.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Tell that to Art Adwell.’
She grimaced. ‘He’s a different case altogether. Anyway what I was trying to say is that once an assassin, always an assassin. It never leaves you. It’s like riding a bike.’
‘But with more blood?’ I asked before I could help myself.
She frowned. ‘Only sometimes.’
I gazed at Rose. Did assassins qualify for faery godmother aid? Somehow that didn’t seem fair but, despite my horror at her blithe admission, I was still morbidly fascinated. ‘Tell me more.’
She was silent and still for so long that I almost reached across to shake her. When she finally spoke again, she was hedging. Despite her bravado, Rose wasn’t particularly proud of her past achievements.
‘I was very young when they recruited me,’ she said, her voice quavering. ‘At the time, it all seemed very glamorous. You have to remember that it was the 1960s. My other options were working in a shop or being some idiot’s secretary. I would never have had the patience for that.’
I leaned forward. ‘Who recruited you?’ I asked, expecting some shady organised-crime outfit.
Rose blinked. ‘The government, of course. MI5.’
I swallowed. ‘There are no records of that. We have access to all sorts of files, even top-secret ones, and I’ve spent a lot of time searching for you, Rose.’
She harrumphed. ‘You don’t really think they kept proper records of the likes of me, do you? What I did was strictly off the books. I’m sure there is evidence somewhere but it certainly won’t be digitized. They’d never take the risk.’
‘The government authorized you to kill?’ Vincent asked, with a mixture of disbelief and horror.
‘If it was fecking good enough for James Bond,’ she answered, ‘why wouldn’t it be fecking good enough for me?’ She gave him a long look. ‘I wasn’t always trapped in this decrepit body, you know.’
He held up his hands as if fearful that Rose was about to kill him. ‘Forget I asked.’
Rose sighed heavily. ‘The trouble with governments,’ she said, ‘is that they come and go. Attitudes alter. So do intentions. I did some good things. Russia was quite a problem back in those days, and so was the IRA. Germany was a mess, and what the Americans were up to is barely worth thinking about.’ She shuddered delicately. ‘The war was still fresh in many memories and enemies remained on all sides. Later the enemies changed but they still threatened us. They threatened our country. So whenever it was deemed appropriate, I took care of some of them. Me and others like me.’
Her eyes hardened, briefly revealing her inner core. In that moment, I had no trouble at all believing that she was a killer. ‘Some of those people made – or could have made – things very unpleasant for this green and pleasant land. I genuinely believe what happened to most of them was justified.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Life isn’t all faery dust and magic and sparkly wishes, you know.’
I did know. I licked my lips, fearful of what revelations Rose had to offer. ‘So what changed? Something did or you wouldn’t be in the position you’re in now.’ I was desperate to ask about Sophia Twist but I didn’t want to force the issue or put words in Rose’s mouth.
Her gaze fixed on a point in the distance. ‘It wasn’t my place to know the reasons behind the orders I was given. I was ordered to … take care of someone and I did as I was told. Often it wasn’t hard to work out why certain targets had been brought to the government’s attention – the sort of company they kept could be a giveaway. Or their actions. And, depending on the circumstances, their dying declarations also told a great deal. But I was never supposed to know, not really. Usually,’ she mused, ‘I didn’t care. I trusted my government.’
&nbs
p; Her mouth turned down. ‘Most of my time was spent working for the Post Office. It was a good cover story. My other … jobs became fewer and more far between. It seemed to me that the work had dried up.’ She raised her bony shoulders. ‘But I wasn’t getting any younger and I was much less – effective than I used to be. On the verge of retirement. I’d all but outlived my usefulness.’ She paused. ‘Then I was given the order that changed everything.’
You could have heard a pin drop. Even Pumpkin had stopped panting and was watching Rose. I shifted in my chair, inadvertently making it creak. Vincent glared at me and I stopped fidgeting, holding myself as still as I could.
Rose continued. ‘I was given a name,’ she said. ‘And a place. A very public place. That was unusual but not unique. It wasn’t until later, when all the shit hit the fan, that I worked out that I wasn’t supposed to escape afterwards. I was supposed to be caught red-handed and sent down. It was a miracle that I got away.’ Her voice drifted and her eyes were unfocused as she remembered. From the way she held herself, she was clearly still furious about it. I didn’t blame her.
‘Go on,’ I said gently.
Rose sighed. ‘At the Royal Albert Hall during a performance of Swan Lake, I threw a young, up-and-coming politician off the balcony. Her name was Sophia Twist and she’d done nothing wrong, other than poke her nose into the affairs of one of her less than salubrious colleagues. She’d been having an affair with him and learned more about him than he wanted anyone to know. So,’ she added matter-of-factly, ‘he used me to end her life.’
Her fingers twisted together. ‘The only reason I managed to get away was because I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. I waited until she stood up and walked towards the exit to go to the loo before I acted. That meant I was close to the way out. As soon as she went over the balcony and I saw the men move towards me, I knew what had happened and what would happen if I stayed there. I got out of there as quickly as possible. If they didn’t have me in custody, they couldn’t blame me publicly.’