Mary has gone. Back to Blackmarsh, I presume, but clearly she is not confined there so who knows. Perhaps ghosts take holidays and have night clubs and a life… a death?... beyond what we see of them.
I am pacing the floor, which is not productive. I should have gone with Aiden. I would know what was happening. What use is Aiden being able to speak to me in my mind if he doesn’t? Rationally, I know he’s probably concentrating and doesn’t need the distraction. Perhaps he’s not even there yet, and has nothing to report. Perhaps he cannot use the link at any distance anyway. His emotions remain steady, wary and anxious but no worse.
It seems like hours but it is more like five minutes that go by. I am still pacing the floor, and will wear a hole in my rented carpet, and lose my
I fumble with the door key. I feel clumsy. Werewolves need as much sleep as humans, and I haven’t had enough. I get the key into the door on the third try and stumble inside, letting it close behind me. It’s Sarah’s apartment, not my own room, but it feels like home anyway and a weight rolls from my shoulders now I’m back. I lift my head, and there is an angel standing in front of me. An angel wearing a silky little top and tiny lacy panties. An angel with a gleaming halo of black hair framing her face. The light of the lamps paints the softness of her dark skin with an aura of rich gold. Her feet are bare, the nail of each toe glittering silver. My eyes follow the long sweep of her slender legs, past the enticing sliver of skin between her panties and her top, up past the bow of her collarbones and the soft skin at the side of her neck where I set my Mark on her. There’s no makeup to hide her beauty, no
“/...Imogen?/” I hear Aiden’s voice. I can’t see him. I am floating in a mist, but I am warm and relaxed. It feels the way that clouds look. Soft and fluffy. It smells faintly of candyfloss. “/Father?/” I don’t recognise the voice. It’s a girl’s voice, or that of a young woman. “/No, it’s Aiden./” Aiden is talking to someone? I can’t see either of them, just this peach-pink fluffiness. I don’t feel scared. Am I drugged?
When I wake up, I’m in a comfy tangle of Sarah and bed clothes. I can guess the time by the faint light creeping past the curtains. I don’t think it’ll be too long before the alarm clock reminds us that I have college. I mumble some sort of complaint, and get a sleepy response from my Mate that makes even less sense than I did.I spit out a few strands of Sarah’s glossy hair. “What time is it?”She gropes for the clock and turns it so she can see the numbers. “Early enough to mess about in bed before getting up?” she suggests, squirming around until she’s nose to nose with me and winding her arms around my neck.“We should probably talk,” I say with a sigh of regret. Messing about in bed sounds way more fun. “I couldn’t sleep at first, las
We do manage to get out of bed, dressed, and breakfasted, in good time for Aiden to be on his way to college. By now we almost have a routine. Give it another week and it will probably have become a habit, unless we are interrupted by further disasters. Disasters do rather seem to have become normality.I am uncertain whether to contact Blackmarsh now about the sale, or whether to wait until it’s obvious that Cavendish has been able to stop it. I don’t want to get everybody’s hopes up and then find that Aiden’s plan fails. Nor do I want them to be driving themselves to their wit’s end trying to work out what to do to stop the sale, only for them to learn that their efforts were wasted and everything in hand. In the end, I leave a message on the answerphone saying that Aiden has put a plan into action that might stop the sale, but we won’t know for certain that it’s
It feels strange to have a normal day at college. What most students would think of as normal, I mean. Normal for me seems to involve vampires, muggers, shoplifters, kidnapping and ghosts. It’s kind of fun. It’s even more fun having a private way for the Pack to chat without anybody else knowing, although we don’t use it much because that would leave Tala out. It’s only a half day. We’re supposed to be spending the afternoon on project work, the photography and our Art Accessibility pieces. We head over to Shelley’s place instead, to get ready for Tom’s attempt at reconnaissance. “So, I’ve been wondering about Tom’s S.E.P. field,” Shelley says as we’re still crowded in her hallway. She leads the way to the kitchen, talking as she goes. “Tom, is there any magic in your family? Any witches? Any of your ancestors get cursed?”
I usually ignore my phone if it rings during break, but the ringtone tells me it’s a call from Blackmarsh. To be honest, I’m glad of the excuse to break off from the conversation. The talk has been about nothing but the Rhapsody. There has been a lot of second-guessing management’s plans and speculating on exactly where the performances will be. I doubt anybody knows for certain yet. Even if Nick started making calls before he even spoke to me, booking multiple venues for a one-hundred-strong orchestra is not something done in a few minutes.So I excuse myself, and pick the call up with a quick “Hold on one moment,” so I can step out of the break room for some privacy. “Okay, now I’m somewhere quiet.”The confusion and resulting
It’s clear pretty quickly that Tala isn’t okay with things. I don’t know what the difference is between magic for finding things out, and the don’t-see-me thing Shelley wants to do on Tom. Tala’s finding it hard to explain. Something about it having seemed okay to look at something that was already there, but not to do something new. That, and her father would be unhappy with her if he ever found out, which is the part of her explanation that makes most sense to me. It’s obvious she’s trying really hard not to just call us all wrong in the eyes of her religion, but I think that’s the real problem. It’s Shelley who’s the most understanding. “Of course you have to stay true to what you believe in. Personal integrity is important. We won’t reject you for it. We’ll admire you for it. If you don’t think you can watch, we can get you a taxi, or you and Ella could go and make sandwiches in the kitchen?”
I am not expecting to find Nick hovering urgently after the performance, right at the door to the break room, ready to pounce before I can go. “Sarah, splendid, lovely, you don’t need to rush off do you?”“It is rather late,” I point out.“I’m sure it won’t take too long. Customer satisfaction, you know? They pay our salaries, have to keep them happy,” he waffles, which is Nick code for “One of our major sponsors is making noises about pulling out, please charm them into sticking around.”“Am I to know their name?” Perhaps it is more than one, or a married couple. Some people would feel insulted if you didn’t know their partner’s name. &ldquo