Oz screeched into the car park and stopped across two bays.

"So, what do you think of my new car?" he asked, patting the steering wheel.

"New? This was probably the first model they made that didn't have wooden wheels." Ess gradually relaxed her grip on the door.

"Well, she's new to me. And hush, you'll upset her. There was a time when age was revered. She got us here, didn't she? You should be grateful I'm on my Easter break. Well, close enough. No one attends the last lecture of the term. I didn't hear you refusing a ride."

Ess looked out at the park that spread before them. "Only because the tube doesn't come out this far. Respecting age is one thing, digging them out of their grave is another. Come on."

They exited the car. It was better suited to Oz's frame, Ess had to admit. The way Oz fitted into his old mini had been a conjuring trick. The magic with this car was not how it managed to accommodate Oz, but how it stayed together at all. At one time it might have been red, but the sun had faded it to rose, and the rain had mottled it brown. A pothole at speed, one felt, would reduce it to a cloud of rust, dust and paint flecks.

"Why don't you get a decent car?" she asked.

"Why don't you get one at all? Do you know how much value a new car drops merely by you purchasing it? No, this one will do fine until her time comes, and then, like a merry widower, I shall move on. That looks like the fellah. On, MacDuff."

A few hundred metres beyond the car park a stream ran the length of the park. An old brick footbridge crossed it, and arrayed around the bridge were figures, parasols, lights and trestle tables. A small group of onlookers formed an informal horseshoe around the bridge.

"I'll do the talking, okay, Oz?" she said as she hurried to catch up to him.

"Of course, though have no fear. Despite my contempt for the injustice of aristocracy, at least chummy here earns a living. Not work, exactly, but then I'm an academic. People in glass houses shouldn't drop their trousers and all that. I'm quite happy to stand back and watch."

"Really?" She frowned. That didn't sound like Oz.

"Really. Who's he shooting, by the way? Do you think there will be gratuitous nudity? I for one am always grateful for gratuitousness. And it's a bit parky. I could always warm the poor girls up. You know, doing my bit for the community."

That, on the other hand, sounded just like him. He was right, though. Despite the sun, spring was still struggling to free itself from the grip of winter. The onlookers and crew all wore thick coats. As they pushed through a large man stepped across the path and held up his hand.

"If you could either walk around or wait here for a while, sir, madam," he said, with the exaggerated politeness of a man that had both the authority and muscle to get away with being impolite.

"Hi," said Ess, smiling. "I phoned Lord Hever this morning. He's expecting us."

"Well, he's busy at the moment. You want to wait over there?"

'Over there' was a catering van behind a trestle table littered with polystyrene cups and bottles of expensive mineral water. A couple of porcelain women sat together in garden chairs, wreathed in cigarette smoke. Their exquisite party dresses were covered in puffer anoraks. They eyed Ess and Oz as they approached. "Afternoon, Ladies," greeted Oz, all smiles and bonhomie. They turned their impossibly beautiful faces back to the shoot without replying. Ess grabbed Oz's arm before he could make more of a fool of himself and marched him to the van.

"Coffee?" asked the woman in the van.

"Oh, we're not part of this," said Ess, waving at the shoot. "We're just waiting to speak to Lord Hever."

"Don't worry. I get paid a flat rate whether you drink it or not. So, you might as well, eh?"

"In that case, Madam, could I trouble you for a cup of tea?" said Oz.

"How'd you like it?"

"Hot and sweet, and strong enough to last all afternoon." He winked at her and she laughed.

"Gawd, he's a saucy one, ain't he. You need to keep your dad on a leash, you do."

Ess spun, hiding from Oz's outraged face.

A consumptive woman stood on the bridge wearing clothing too sparse and thin for the weather. Various youths stood around her holding white cloth stretch over frames. On a stepladder another young man balanced precariously, holding a white umbrella above the model. Lord Hever stood behind a camera on a tripod, a small plunger in his hand. He was in his fifties, salt and pepper hair still thick, immaculately dressed in a style that defined smart casual.

"Candice, darling," he said. "I asked you to look wistful. You're looking constipated. Are you? Are you getting enough fibre in your diet? Only constipation will add an inch to your belly, dear, and we can't have that."

The model's expression changed an iota. It was true, Ess thought. She did look constipated, but now she looked as though something smelled bad as well.

"You do know what wistful means, don't you? Remember before you were a model? Remember eating jam rolly-polly, going up for seconds? Try and remember what that was like." Click. "No, that's still the same look, love. Seriously, I can see your belly in the lens, and that constipation is rampant. Or are you pregnant?" Click. "Who are you going out with this week? Look out over the river, no this way a tad, that's it, now look into the distance and pretend your beau is about to walk round the corner." Click. "Really? Only now it looks like you're waiting to beat him up. Why's that? Are you angry he's got you up the duff?" Click.

"Piss off, Nick." She gave the peer a dirty look. Click, click, click.

"What's the matter? Don't you love me anymore? Wait. It wasn't me who got you up the duff, was it?" Click.

Candice managed to look both sulky and sexy as she looked over the river for her beau, whilst holding up her middle finger to the photographer. Click, click, click, click, click, click.

"Who's the finger for, Candice? Tom? But he's such a darling lad."

"Nick, you are such an arsehole." The clicks ran into each other as she rammed her fists onto her hips and glared at him.

"Yes, yes I am. Is that the first time you've told me that?" He raised a finger. "The second?" He gave her a two finger salute, which she returned with gusto. Click, click, click, click, click, click. "Sorry. But I'm the arsehole that's going to get you into Glad Rag Mag." He looked down at the camera screen. "Maybe even the cover. And then you can tell your accountant what an arsehole I am too. Okay, let's take fifteen. Get yourself warmed up, sweetness. You've earned a coffee. Me too."

Ess felt conflicted as Candice stomped towards the trestle, to be comforted by her colleagues with hugs and cigarettes. There was something about a highly paid model, stick thin, perfect bones, exploiting her looks for ridiculous amounts of money so that someone could use sex to sell their product that raised her hackles. On the other hand, no one, not even her, should have to be humiliated by a middle-aged man in the way she'd just witnessed.

Hever pulled a flask from his jacket, unscrewed the lid and took a swig. Ess would lay money it didn't contain coffee. The security man approached him and muttered in his ear. Hever looked over at Ess and nodded. The security man beckoned her over.

"You take it from here," said Oz. "I want to finish this heavenly brew. Besides, you know me and authority figures don't mix."

Ess looked at the trio of models huddled together like a scene from a chic Macbeth. "Don't do anything they'll call the police for," she said, and approached Hever. It was probably best. Oz hated authority, though he expected his own to be beyond dispute.

"Lord Hever," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Vanessa. Thanks for seeing me."

"No," he said, shaking her hand. "It's not 'Lord Hever', it's either 'Your Grace' or Nick. Nick for preference."

"Okay. Then I'm Ess."

"Sorry, don't mean to be rude, but I'm on the clock. Martin warned me. Something about Daisy being in trouble?"

"What?" She hadn't intended the interview to be this brusque. She'd planned a gentle, subtle ease into the subject. "Yes. Well, no. Maybe. She's gone missing, and so we're trying to locate her. As far as we know, you were the last person to see her."

"Gawd, that makes me sound like a murder suspect."

"Oh no, not at all. What I mean to say is, you're the last point of contact, so we need to establish a timeline." That was better. She was getting her rehearsed dialogue back on track.

"Okay. So she turned up at my studio about two weeks ago. Three, next Tuesday. Sometime about lunchtime, maybe a bit before. I was doing some portraits. Then I shot her, of course, nothing formal. We sat around and chatted. Then she left. The sun was low, so maybe about six?"

"Did she say where she was going?"

"No, but then, no one ever knew where she was going, least of all her."

"Did she seem stressed or upset at all?"

"Daisy? God, no. If anything, the opposite. Something had happened, I think. Something good, I mean. Last time I saw her she was, well, she was Daisy. That was a couple of months ago. This time, she was even more so. She was just so full of fun. Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes?"

"How do you know she's missing?"

"Sorry?"

"Look, Daisy is a gorgeous girl. I mean, in every sense, and I love her to bits, but she's not exactly reliable, you know? She never turns up on time, if she turns up at all. Sometimes she'll be a couple of hours late, sometimes a couple of weeks. Anyone else and she'd be unemployable. So how do you know she's gone missing? How can you tell?"

Ess hesitated. How could she answer that without betraying a confidence? "I'm afraid I can't answer that, but there's a party who is convinced enough to employ me to find her."

"I knew it. A man. Well, good luck to her. She deserves it, and maybe he'll help her turn up on time."

"What time was she meant to arrive at your studio?"

Nick shrugged. "She wasn't. I mean, she wasn't booked at all. She just turned up, and I'm not going to turn her away. She has an agent."

"Terri Gibson?"

"That's her. I expect at some point she'll chase me for a commission, but whatever it is, it's worth it."

"Why? I mean, how can she get away with it? Being unreliable, I mean."

"Because she's Daisy. See Candice there?" He nodded at the table. As Ess turned the trio of models shot sullen looks in their direction. Nick waved and they turned back to their huddle. "Gorgeous, isn't she? Every red blooded man's dream. No disrespect, but there are a hundred just like her, and the agency could have swapped her out for someone else and I wouldn't have noticed. I'm a portrait artist. My best pictures are Joe Public who have faces that tell you a lifetime of stories. Commissions raise my reputation and give me access. Actors, singers, politicians. Faces people want to read. This." He waved his hand at the bridge. "This is the bread and butter. Magazine specials to sell a couple of more copies to the great unwashed. If they didn't pay so well I'd have nothing to do with it. You know this Real Women campaign? No more size zero? No more airbrushing? There's a technical term for it. It's called, um, what's the word? Oh yes. Bullshit. That's what it's called. The agencies still turn out the same product. I swear to God they can all wear each other's clothes. Same shoe size, same bra size and the same faces. Here, what do you think of this?"

He showed her the camera screen. On it a miniature Candice looked beautiful but sad, staring out across the splendour of the park.

"Very nice," said Ess, unsure what else to say.

"It's a number four."

"Sorry?"

"The agencies turn out clones, same bodies, same sizes, same set of stock expressions. That's a number four, the sexy sulk. They have five expressions, six on a good day. They never have real ones, because that creases up your face. Better to sulk than to have laughter lines. Not their fault. You don't need brains or talent or a personality to be a model, you just need to have this year's body and a good makeup artist. Oh, there are some bright models in the industry, I'm not saying there aren't, but it's not a prerequisite. And you have to be pretty, um confident to enter the game in the first place, and then everyone, your agency, your photographer, the tabloids, they all tell you you're gorgeous, and that's all they ever tell you. So that's all you are, a body that's confident in front of a camera."

"You mean vain."

"You said that, not me."

"That's still no reason to speak to them like you did."

"The big thing this year is going to be anarchy, apparently." He seemed to have not heard the accusation. Instead he turned to the camera again. "All the pretty young things are going to rebel by buying the same anarchic fashions from the big four fashion houses. Does Candice look like anarchy to you? Here." He flicked through the pictures. "Here, this one. What does this one say?"

On the screen Candice was transformed, her face contorted, her canines showing, sticking two fingers up to the world, in stark contrast to her dress and the peaceful scene behind her.

"That's the cover shot. That's why the magazines hire me. That's why Candice hates me but will bite my hand off for another shoot after the rag goes on sale. Anyone can point a camera and click. Getting that from an airhead who doesn't know what wistful means is the art." He smiled. "No offence to her, of course."

"So that's why Daisy came to you?"

"Daisy? My God no. Jesus, she's the freshest person in the industry. She turns up and all you have to do is keep the shutter moving. She's natural. You asked me if she seemed troubled. She never seems anything. She is always exactly what she is. Trust me, if she was troubled, it would be written in six inch letters all across the lens. My job today is to make the girls look great. Daisy made the photographer look great. That's the difference, and that's why she can get away with being Daisy."

"You like her."

He chuckled. "I love her to bits. Everyone does, even the girls. But not like that. Oh, I'd jump at the chance, but she's always so unattainable, too interested in you and what you do to mess around with that sort of thing. I was shooting a politician when she turned up. Won't say who, but you'd know him. He stayed behind for an hour, just to be near her, his phone going ballistic until his gopher physically dragged him away." He sighed. "Personally, I think she's sitting on a yacht somewhere, chatting to some industrialist who can't believe his luck, completely unaware three weeks have gone by. But if she is in trouble, let me know how I can help. Now, you'll have to excuse me, the sun is on the move and I have to earn my keep."

"Of course." Ess turned. Oz was looming over the models, Candice's hand in his. Ostensibly he was shaking her hand, but she'd seen him pull this trick before. He'd hold the grip, occasionally shaking as he spoke, using it as an excuse to hold hands with a pretty woman who was too polite to draw it away.

"I'll just drag my colleague off your models and let you wipe his slobber off them. Oz!" She strode towards the table. Oz looked up in innocent enquiry.

"Time to go already? What a shame. We were having such a lovely chat. Well, ladies, I must bid you adieu. Here's our card. Call me, any time." He dished cards out to the women, then held one out to Lord Hever. "Here you go, sonny. You can have one too, just in case you mislay a grouse moor or a castle or something." He turned back to Candice, held an imaginary phone to his ear and mouthed, "Call me." Her expression, as ever, was unreadable.

Author Notes

parky = cold

They sat in the car, looking at the circus that was the photo shoot in the distance.

"Well?" said Oz. "Have you solved the case? Is he the kidnapper?"

"No." Ess shook her head. "He genuinely likes her, I think. And he says she left his studio about six. Which is something, I suppose, but I don't know where that gets us."

"Nowhere. Which is good."

Ess turned to him. "What?"

"Well, we don't want to solve the mystery too quickly, otherwise it's not much of a mystery. Besides, we're on a daily rate, aren't we?"

"Oz! There's a woman missing, maybe in danger."

"Oh shush. You know I'm just pulling your chain. Besides, we don't know that. I pumped the models whilst you were hob-nobbing with the nob." He waggled his eyebrows at Ess. "Lovely girls. A little anorexic for my tastes. I'd be afraid I'd snap something. Still, they have such big... ambitions. Anyway, much as they liked Daisy, despite the rivalry, they were of the opinion she is somewhat mercurial at the best of times." When Ess didn't react he continued. "Mercurial. It means -"

"I know what it means, Oz. Nick said the same thing. He thought she was probably sailing the Med or something."

"So, we wait. She turns up in a couple of days and we claim the credit. Jobs a good 'un."

"No. We look for her. Just because she's a free spirit doesn't mean she isn't in trouble. Besides, we promised."

Oz patted her hand. "Of course we did. I wouldn't expect anything less of you. So what next then? What vital clues did you glean from your new friend in the nobility?"

"Shut up."

"I shall interpret that as, 'Despite a vigorous and thorough interrogation no new data was forthcoming, so our only course of action is to wait and see if she turns up.' So much better than my plan."

"I mean it, Oz. Shut up. There's her agent. I've booked an appointment with her tomorrow. And there's Regents Park." It didn't seem much. She hated it when Oz was right. He would be so smug if she did turn up tomorrow.

"And maybe Lord Snapper or the Twig Triplets will hear something and give us a bell. Oh, that reminds me. I got some printed for you too." He leant to the side, fished in a pocket and produced a small cardboard box. Ess looked at the card glued to the top.

Vanessa Williams BA
and
Prof. E. F. Dawkins DD
Private Investigators

Both their phone numbers followed, but it was the job title in an ornate font that caught her eye. She stared at the card aghast.

"What?" said Oz, leaning over and looking at the card. "I spelled your name right. I put you first, though we both know you'd be nothing without me. What?"

"You can't do this," she said. "Private investigators? You can't just call yourself that. You need to be trained and licensed and stuff. And besides, we're not private investigators."

"No? Then what are we? We accept private commissions to find missing people, or at least missing entities of various species. And in actuality, we don't need to be licensed. You've been watching too many seventies American television shows. Oh, the government are making noises about it, but for the present we can call ourselves the grand poobars of crime-fighting for all it means. It's not like we carry concealed firearms. But on that note, I'm thinking of changing my name. Oz just doesn't sound right. Clint, maybe, or Rocky. Something dangerous and catchy."

"Like rabies? Look, you can't just go ahead and do things like this. I'm grateful for your help, when you're not being a clown or a perv, well, when you're not just being those, but you can't just make unilateral decisions like this. Why didn't you discuss this with me?"

"Because you would have reacted just like you are. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Besides, it was a special offer. Time limited, just for me. Very reasonable. And handing out cards saying you're an animal massage therapist is hardly going to open doors in the London underworld."

"Now who's been watching too many TV shows?"

Oz grinned, started the engine then twisted in his seat, scattering gravel in front of the car as he reversed out of the parking space.

"Or maybe the name of a place. You know, like Texas Pete or the Cincinnati Kid." He threw it into first and launched the car forward. He frowned. "Though Dorking Dawkins lacks a little punch, I fear."

Chapter 7
Niaive but Feisty

By snodlander

Ess filled in the rest of her mind map, for what it was worth. An arrow sped from Lord Hever, annotated 'Left 6 p.m.'. It terminated in a question mark. It didn't seem much for an afternoon's effort. She scrubbed out the six and replaced it with '18:00'. That was what a professional would call it. It still made it no less sparse.

"Where did you go to, Daisy?" she muttered. "Why haven't you phoned your boyfriend? And I'm not talking to myself," she added a little louder. "It helps to think aloud."

"I didn't say a word," said Shades. "Because I'm not paid to think. Not aloud, anyway."

"No, but I could hear you smirking." She turned to face him. He lounged on the sofa, steaming cup in his hand. He looked comfortable there. More than that, he looked like he belonged there. The thought disturbed her, though she wasn't sure why. "This isn't easy, that's all."

"Oh, I never think of you and easy in the same sentence." He affected a look of forced innocence.

"This is important, I'm struggling here, and you think it's a good time to make jokes?"

"That's exactly the best time to make a joke. Besides, you've had my body, listening to my jokes is the price you have to pay."

"Really? Because you and cheap hardly ever appear in the same sentence." He smiled, and despite herself, she matched it. "Sorry. You feeling neglected?"

He slid to his feet in one smooth motion and eased himself across the floor. If only he would take some yoga with her, he would be as graceful as a cat. He bent over behind her and hugged her with his free arm, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Neglected? Never. Did you get corroboration that she was there?" He nodded at the mind map.

Too late, Ess snapped the book shut. "Oi, nosy. No. But he was telling the truth."

"No one ever tells the truth, not when you ask them."

"Well, he was. I saw his aura. Oh, and there was someone else there too. A politician."

"Which one?"

"I don't know."

"Who did she leave with?"

"No one. At least, I don't think so."

"In a car? On foot? Taxi?"

She looked at the notebook and bit her lip. He sighed, placed his mug on the table and wrapped both arms around her.

"When you're looking for someone, you have to be able to picture exactly what happened," he said. "Imagine someone is describing a scene in a film that you've not seen, and you're going to have to recreate it. If you can't place something, then ask. Don't assume. And the more they won't answer in detail, the more you question."

"You think I'm useless at this."

"Me? No. Quite the opposite. You have everything going for you. You care, you're stubborn, you read people well and you've got all your witchy spooky stuff going on. But you're new, that's all. These things come with practice."

"Is that what you used to do? Before, I mean."

"Something like that."

She didn't press him. He was always vague about what he did in the army. Maybe it was the Official Secrets Act, but she sensed it was more than that. It would come, she was sure, and when it did they'd lift the weight together. Instead she said, "So why do I need to know how she left?"

"Well, a car could mean a driver. Who was he, what car was it, where is it now? If she drove herself then what car did she have access too? Is it parked up somewhere? A taxi is a bit more tricky, but there are ways and means. Where did it drop her off? How did she pay? Credit card? Another thing you can chase down. On foot? So she was going somewhere close then. A tube station? They have CCTV. What acquaintances live in walking distance? What direction did she head off in? See? It's all in the detail." He reached out and tapped the notebook. "Plot summaries are all well and good for the big picture, but you need the script too."

"You think maybe I should go meet Lord Hever again?"

He stood, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Sounds like a plan, but if he's dodgy you've given him a chance to cover his tracks." He kissed the top of her head. "But never change. I'm not sure I could cope with a cynical you. The nice one is dangerous enough."

"Oi!" She slapped at his hand but he whipped it out of the way, bouncing backwards. She rose, turning to face him. He danced on the balls of his feet, his fists held in a relaxed boxer pose, a grin on his face.

"Come on then, if you think you're hard enough," he said. "I like them feisty." He suddenly stopped and looked at his watch. "But not now. I have to go to work. Oh, and that reminds me. I've got Sunday and Monday off. I'll need some shut eye Sunday morning when I come off shift, but if you want to do something, I can put off my other girlfriends. Think on it."

He grabbed his jacket and threw it on. Ess walked up and hugged him, savouring the kiss goodbye.

"See you Sunday, then," she said, as he finally pulled away. "Give me a bell when you're awake." As he turned to the door she noticed his mug, still half full, on the table. "Hey, you know the rules. Wash up your own mess."

"Me?" He stopped at the door, his hand on the latch. "But that's women's work." Then in a flash he was through the door, his laughter echoing down the hallway as he sprinted for the stairs.

For a moment she contemplated leaving the mug there for him on Sunday, but she shouldn't have to live with his mess. She swore she wouldn't do this, be the little woman to his archetypal man. He was only slightly forgiven that he'd done it as a deliberate joke, but it would only work once. She was not going to be domesticated. She picked up the mug and took it to the sink. At least it would wait until later, after she'd eaten dinner.

Her phone rang, the unfamiliar ringtone of her new purchase startling her for a moment. She looked at the display then held it to her ear.

"Martin, hello." Then, as she started to say, "Any news?" he said at the same time, "Have you got anywhere?"

"Sorry, no," she said. "I've interviewed Lord Hever today and established the exact time she was last seen, but it's early days yet. We did warn you. I take it she's not been in contact with you?"

"No." The misery was evident, even over the phone.

"I promise you, the moment we learn anything, anything at all, you'll be the first to know."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Have you thought of anything else that could help?"

"No. I've told you everything."

"Okay. Listen, I know this is easier said, but worrying isn't going to get you anywhere. Is there anything else you want? Do you want me to come round, talk things over?"

"No, I'm fine."

Yeah, right. That's why you are phoning up virtual strangers. But there was little she could do over the phone.

"Well, you have my number if there is anything. Is that it?"

"What? Oh, wait, no. Um, you said it might be useful to chat with the usual crowd, right? Well, there's a private showing before Nick's launch. I'm guessing most of them will be there. The ones that know Daisy, I mean. Saturday. Will that help?"

"Sure. Saturday?"

"Yes. Eight, but no one gets there then. It'll go on till late. I'll text you the address, okay?"

"Okay."

"Um..."

"Yes?"

"So, I've got an invite. Plus one. Only, I'm not sure I can swing plus two. You know what I mean?"

Ess smiled to herself. "Of course. I'm not sure Oz would enjoy that sort of thing anyway." Actually, it was exactly the sort of thing Oz would enjoy. Free booze, beautiful women and arty people full of themselves. Yes, Oz would enjoy that immensely. No one else would, but he'd be in his element. "What sort of do is it? Formal?"

"Oh God no. Casual. No one dresses up for these things."

Right, thought Ess, after she'd said goodbye. Casual. She recalled the woman who'd air-kissed Martin in the coffee bar. So long as casual cost a month's pay and looked fabulous. Damn it, she'd have to go shopping. Her hair needed doing too. Looking that casual took money and a lot of preparation.

Chapter 8
Terri

By snodlander

Killing two birds with one stone, Ess caught the tube into the West End. Some of the outlets around Camden Market would be able to set her up with a Ralph Lauren dress, even if the name was spelt wrong on the label. First, though, she had an appointment with the Gibson Agency. She found the place easily enough, a converted Georgian terrace in Soho. Terri Gibson had her offices on the second floor. As she entered the reception she suddenly regretted not having bought the dress first. Two impossibly perfect women sat in chairs against the wall, thumbs pausing for a moment as Ess entered, then continuing to text or tweet or whatever else they did instead of talking. Even the receptionist looked as though she might be auditioning for a makeup commercial. Ess felt underdressed in the office, even though she wore more than the others.

The receptionist looked up. "I'm sorry, but Terri's engaged at the moment. Could you call back later?"

"I have an -"

The receptionist held up a finger, silencing Ess. "Certainly, though we're not currently taking on any more clients."

"Oh, I'm not - " and then Ess saw the earpiece.

The receptionist looked Ess in the eye and said, "You're welcome. Have a nice day. How can I help you?"

For a moment Ess wasn't sure to whom the question was addressed. "Me? Oh, hi, I'm Ess, I mean, Vanessa Williams. I have an appointment? Sorry, I didn't realise you were on the phone."

The receptionist clicked her mouse, then glanced up at the clock on the wall.

"You're early."

"Yes. Sorry, is that a problem?"

"No, not at all. Just unusual, that's all. Terri? Your ten-thirty is here. Yes, she's early. Go through. Coffee?"

Ess wondered how anyone could ever tell who she was talking to. She swapped from phone to present conversation without averting her gaze or giving a clue.

"Sorry?"

"Would you like a coffee?" The receptionist pointed to a sleek machine on a desk, as though Ess were an idiot child.

"Oh, no thank you. Go through?"

"Hello, Terri Gibson's office, how may I help you?" replied the receptionist pointing to a door. "Yes we do, but she's fully booked this month."

Ess pushed open the connecting door and found herself in an office, smaller than she expected but tastefully furnished. A woman in her fifties, immaculately dressed, waved her in from behind her desk and indicated a chair.

"Come in, come in." She rattled the keys of a computer keyboard. "This is about Daisy, right?"

"Yes." Ess sat in the chair indicated.

Terri sighed. "Yes, well, she's a lovely lass. I mean that, she's an angel, really she is, but sometimes she has a tenuous grip on what the rest of us laughingly call life. How much does she owe you?"

"Sorry?"

"But I'll need receipts. You understand."

"Oh no, it's nothing like that. It's nothing to do with money."

"It's not?" The rattling stopped.

"No. I just need to ask you a few questions."

"Are you a journalist? Because if you are you know the drill. Advance notice, final approval of photos, standard contract."

Ess shook her head. Terri took her hands off the keyboard, rested her elbows on the desk and formed a support for her chin with her intertwined fingers.

"Then just who are you, Ms. Williams?"

"I'm..." What was she? Cursing Oz in her head, she dug into her bag and found the box of business cards. Keeping the box in the bag so that Terri couldn't see her split the seal, she took one out and handed it to the woman.

"I'm trying to track her down."

Terri studied the card. "Why? If it's a debt thing, then I handle all her finances."

"One of her friends is concerned that she's gone missing."

Terri raised her eyebrows. "Really? Who?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell you that."

"Well, you can tell her friend she's not missing, no more than she normally is."

"You know where she is?"

"Ha! I'd be surprised if she knew herself. Head in the clouds, that one. Have you spoken to anyone else about her?"

"Perhaps."

"Then you'll know what she's like. She's not anywhere here. She's on another planet altogether. How long has she been missing?"

"Nearly three weeks."

Terri laughed. "Good God, she can be at a party for longer than that. No, someone's flown her off to his private Caribbean island and she's not got bored of lying by the pool sipping daiquiris yet. Look, you've got to understand this about her. She's, how can I put this? She's a little touched. I don't mean that in a nasty way. My cousin's got a Down's kid. I can't stand kids myself, but Susie, she is the gentlest, sweetest soul you'll ever meet. God's little joke. Let's put the best personalities in the worst bodies. Well, Daisy is a bit like that, only in a perfect body. She is the sweetest girl in the world. Most of them aren't, not in this business. Quite frankly, most of them are absolute cows. Not Daisy, but the flip side is she is permanently spaced out. I don't mean she takes anything. Plenty do, but not her. But she has no idea, no idea at all, about how anything in the real world works. If I didn't make so much money off her I'd never represent her, and that's the truth. I have to have a special clause in every contract explicitly stating her attendance is not guaranteed. Three weeks? God, that's nothing. She probably still thinks it's Christmas."

"Nevertheless, Ms. Gibson, you'll understand I have to establish that for myself. If she really is, um, that special, then we should be looking out for her all the more, don't you think?"

Terri sat back and stared at Ess. Ess in her turn held a poker face. Eventually the woman shrugged.

"Okay, what do you want to know?"

Ess took out her notebook and clicked her pen. "When was the last time you had any contact with her?"

"The Grrl shoot. She actually turned up for that one. That would be..." She turned to the screen and rattled the keys again. "The twenty-third."

"Nothing since? Nothing?"

"No. Any good?"

"Not really. She was with Lord Hever since then."

"Really?" She hit the keys again. "For a shoot?"

"Yes." Ess suddenly thought that the information was flowing the wrong way, especially considering client privilege. "Oh, it's all right. He said he expected you'd bill him for it at some point."

"Too right I will. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. So, did she have any friends she might have gone to? Family?"

"She never spoke about family. As for friends, she thinks everyone's her friend. And it works for her. She assumes they are, and what do you know? They are. That's why she needs a hard-nosed bitch for an agent. But no one special. I don't think she has it in her. No focus."

"What about the other girls? Would they have seen her?"

Terri shrugged. "Maybe. I'll ask, but don't hold your breath. They'll cosy up at parties, but they don't exactly chummy up otherwise. Not unless they want to know what the enemy is up to. It's not a nice business, dear. That said, she got on all right with the others. I'll ask. Anything else?"

What would Shades do? Ess stared at ther notebook as she ran the last five minutes back through her mind.

"You handle all her finances? Has she needed any money for the last three weeks?"

Terri interrogated the PC. "You know I can't talk about her financial dealings," she said, staring at the screen.

"Of course. I'm sorry."

"That said, if I was to talk about them, I wouldn't have a lot to say, not for the last month."

"Oh, I see. Isn't that unusual?"

"For someone like Daisy? Oh, sister, you have no idea what world they live in. No, it's not unusual. Daisy wants something, someone will give it to her. The same for the others to a lesser extent. The difference is, Daisy isn't even aware she's doing it. So no, whatever cash she last withdrew, the chances are most of it is still in her purse."

"Could you tell me where she's next due to appear?"

"I never could, dear, I never could. Theoretically it's an advert next week, but who knows?"

"If she does turn up..."

"I'll give her your card. Honestly though, I think you're jumping the gun. She'll turn up and wonder what all the fuss was about."

Chapter 9
Regents Park

By snodlander

It was barely eleven-thirty when Ess stepped out of the Gibson offices, and the unseasonably warm spring sunshine still held.  Camden was only forty-five minutes walk away at most.  She'd treat herself to a buffet at Qing's, a vegan cafe near the market, then fortified she'd hit the knock-off shops and stalls in search of a dress for the following evening's party.  She’d not cleared Covent Garden before Oz phoned her.
 
“Wotchya, gorgeous.  What’s the SP on the case?”
 
“Nothing new,” she replied.  “Terri said pretty much the same as Nick.  No one thinks she’s missing except Martin.”
 
“So what do we do now?  Dead end?”
 
“Not yet.  Martin has arranged an invite to a party tomorrow.  I’ll see what I can pick up there.”
 
“A party?  Excellent.  Where and when?”
 
Damn!  Why had she said that?
 
“Sorry, Oz.  Martin could only swing an invite for one of us.”
 
“Nonsense.  These things always over-cater.  Besides, I can use charms on those who are immune to yours.”
 
“Oz, don’t make me say it.”
 
“Say what?”
 
“Martin doesn’t want you there.  It’s a social thing, and he’s not sure your particular charm would work.”
 
“You know me.  I can be charm incarnate.”
 
“Oz, it’s a no.  Leave it.”
 
“But it’s hardly fair.  We’re partners, but you get to have the nibbles and the drink, while I waste away on my tod.  Where’s my free lunch?”
 
She sighed.  “Fine.  You want a free lunch?  I’m on my way to Camden.  I’ll buy you lunch, if it’ll stop you whining.  And I can get you up to speed on this morning’s waste of time.”
 
The people at Qing knew her and bustled around, smiling and nodding as they served her usual ginseng tea.  Oz arrived minutes later, and over his complaints at the vegan offerings Ess told him about the morning’s meeting.
 
“I still don’t understand why I can’t just crash the party,” he said, stabbing at the food on his plate.  “I could use my charm on those who are blind to your assets, such as they are.  And I bet they’ll have proper food too, not this rabbit food.”
 
“If I hadn’t told you that was tofu, you’d have thought it was chicken.”
 
“Never.”
 
“Besides, that’s the fourth trip to the buffet bar you’ve made.”
 
“It’s less nourishing than proper food.  I have to eat more.  Why couldn’t we have gone to a pub?  There’re a few decent ones round here.”
 
“There’s just no pleasing you, is there.”
 
“I apologise.  I’m just despondent that we have no clues, and the one chance we have of maybe eliciting a mite of information is the one I’m excluded from.  I feel you’re not giving me free range to exercise my considerable talent and intellect.”
 
“You want exercise?  Fine.  Come with me.”
 
“On a shopping trip?  Not bloody likely.”
 
“More like a fishing trip.”
 
“Excuse me?”
 
“Well, Regents Park is just over the way.  We could take a wander, and maybe your huge intellect can find us Daisy’s family.”
 
“It’s not just the size of my intellect, you know,” he said, as Ess paid the bill.  He winked at the waitress.  “It’s the way I use it.”
 
Five minutes later they were walking down the side of London zoo, the exotic sounds and smells contrasting with the English parkland to their left.
 
“So what do we do?” said Oz.  “I’m stuffed if I’m going up to strangers and asking them if they’re fairies.”
 
“I’m not sure.  I was hoping your huge intellect might help.  Failing that, we could walk around and see what we can see.  Besides, it’s a nice day, and you’re with a beautiful woman.  Count your blessings.”
 
They reached the corner of the fence where the zoo boundary started to angle north again.  Ess continued along the path towards the centre of the park, Oz in tow.  It was true, it was a nice day.  Nowhere near warm enough to get the sunbathers out yet, but nonetheless small groups of students and tourists sat about, played ball or simply strolled along the paths.  So how was she going to find Daisy’s family?  How would she recognise them?  Their aura?
 
A city gent walked towards them en route to some meeting or another.  Ess unfocussed and looked for his aura as he approached.  It was normal enough, if a little more content than she would have expected.  As they passed, the stranger smiled and nodded.
 
“Morning.”
 
He moved on.  Oz stopped and stared after him.
 
“That’s bloody strange,” he said.
 
“What’s that?”
 
“That bloke.  Didn’t that strike you as peculiar?”
 
“What?  All he did was say good morning.”
 
“But a commuter?  In London?  No one says good morning, not if you work here.  You don’t acknowledge the presence of another human being, even if it’s your long lost brother who has an inheritance to share with you.  What did he mean, good morning?”
 
“Not everyone is a grouch.  Maybe he’s just happy.  Maybe he’s landed a big contract or something.”
 
“Well, he could have just got laid, I suppose.  Just shook me, that’s all.  Next thing you know, people will be talking to each other and then civilization as we know it will come crashing about around our ears.  So remind me, what’s the plan again?”
 
Ess looked around, then pointed.  “Let’s try over there, where that clump of trees is.”
 
“Ah, the old ‘wander around till we trip over something’ ploy.  Okay, I’m game.”
 
It was a nice day, thought Ess as they strolled across the grass.  The traffic noise was muted and she could hear birdsong.  She wished she could identify the birds, but herb lore was more of her thing.  She looked down at the cropped grass under her feet.  Every now and then she spotted clover, dandelion, ribwort and even the occasional ox tongue.  No one ever really looked at lawns.  They just saw it as uniform, boring grass.  Beside her, Oz started to hum under his breath, the tune intermittent and unrecognisable.  She smiled to herself.  Oz had finished sulking.  Maybe civilisation was crashing after all.
 
The noise of the traffic started to intrude.  She looked up.  They were nearing the perimeter road.  She stopped, frowning.  That wasn’t right, was it?
 
“What’s up, Buttercup?” asked Oz cheerfully.
 
Ess looked around her, confused.  They weren’t meant to be leaving the park.  Where was she going before she started to gather wool in her head?  She saw the clump of trees in the opposite direction to the road.
 
“Sorry, my mind was wandering.  Come on, let’s head towards the centre of the park.”
 
“Lead on, McDuff.”
 
Oz’s humming slowly evolved into a pom-pom-pom of a song.  Ess vaguely recognised it.  Gilbert and Sullivan, perhaps?  Something semi-classical, anyway.  She found herself walking in time to it.  The birdsong seemed to blend into the tune, as though all of nature were trying to audition for Oz’s operetta, until the shriek of some animal altogether more raucous broke her reverie.  She looked up.  Ahead lay the boundary fence of London Zoo.  She stopped short.  Oz wandered on, oblivious.
 
“Oz?”
 
“Hmm?”  He turned, a silly grin on his face.
 
She looked around.  To the south-west lay the clump of trees, so why were they headed north?
 
“Something funny’s going on.  Every time we try and head towards those trees we end up walking away.”
 
“Really?”
 
“Really.  And we don’t even realise it.  Come on.”
 
She stared at the clump of trees, striding out purposefully.  That had to be it, didn’t it?  It would explain how they could live here undetected.  What would that be like, living in a park?  Great on days like this, with the sun on your face, the birds singing…
 
She stopped.  She’d veered to the left.  Not by much, but enough to deflect her path from the trees.  Oz was even further off track.
 
“Oz!”  She trotted up to him.  He grinned back at her as she grabbed his hand.  “This way.”
 
She stared at the trees as she marched forward.  Concentrate.  Her target was the trees.  Keep thinking about the trees.  Moving towards the trees was the important thing, not the scent of spring flowers in the air.  What flowers, she wondered.  Could she identify them by scent alone?  She shook her head.  Her feet wandered off course every time her mind wandered.  Concentrate!  She was a daughter of Gaia, damn it.
 
Oz pulled back, giggling to himself.  She leant forward, dragging the large man behind her.  Was that a figure under the trees?  She was unsure.  Every time she tried to look, her gaze slid off.  Oz pulled harder and she had to put all her weight into moving forward as random thoughts about flowers and grass and sky and sun tried to drown out her conscious thoughts.
 
And suddenly it was easy.  She heaved Oz forward, and when he suddenly let go of her hand she fell forward onto her hands and knees.
 
“Bloody hellfire,” said Oz.  He sat down heavily beside her.  “That was different.  I’ve not had a trip like that since the eighties.  What was in that tofu?”
 
Ess felt weak and shaky, yet oddly elated.  It had been exhausting, yet it was hardly an ordeal.  Quite the opposite, the more she’d pushed forward, the happier she’d felt.  If she hadn’t had such a purpose she could have spent days in that state and been perfectly content.
 
“Hello,” said Oz.  “Company.”
 
She looked up.  Two men and a woman, all tall, thin and achingly graceful, walked towards them from the trees.  They weren’t smiling.
 

Chapter 10
Oberon

By snodlander

They rose to their feet as the trio approached.

"This is out of bounds to the public," said one of the men. He was over six feet tall, raven-dark hair and would have been the most beautiful man in the world had he not been standing next to a man who could have been his brother.

Ess worked her mouth, but no words came out. She cleared her throat and closed her eyes. This was not professional. She was a witch. She had a boyfriend, damn it. She opened her eyes and stared at the ground.

"This is a public park," she told the perfect feet in front of her. Her voice sounded thin and unsure.

"You need to leave." Mother Gaia, even his voice was beautiful.

To her right Oz said, "My God, Madam, you are gorgeous."

Ess tried to shush him, but when she glanced sideways she was amazed to see the big man crying.

"I have made it my life's passion to study, nay, to worship women, and now I realise all that was a waste of time. They are dust compared to you."

"Oz!" Ess hissed. "Now's not the time." Her words had no effect. She doubted he even remembered she was there. "Oz!" But his eyes were fixed on the woman in front of them.

The woman flowed over to Oz. There was no other word for it. Walking didn't do justice to the fluid movement. She leant close and whispered in Oz's ear, too quietly for Ess to catch the words. Then she placed a porcelain hand on his shoulder and Oz sank to his knees.

"Oz? Oz!" Ess nudged him with her foot. He didn't react. Instead, he stared at the woman in rapt adoration. "What have you done to him?"

The woman shrugged. "Who are you?"

"Take him out of it."

The three strangers merely stared at her. Their silence helped her build up a head of steam.

"I am Ess, daughter of Gaia, sister of the Earth and, and, and a bloody bad idea to get on the wrong side of. Undo whatever you did to him."

The woman smiled. "A witch and a clown. How novel. So now we know how you managed to enter our home. Why you would do such a difficult and dangerous thing is still a mystery."

Was that a slight stress of the word 'dangerous'?

"I've come here to talk to someone about Daisy."

The three turned to each other. They didn't speak, but somehow they seemed to reach a decision.

"Come," said one of the brothers. They turned towards the trees.

"Wait. What about Oz?"

"The clown? Leave him. He will remain unharmed."

Ess looked at her friend. He certainly didn't look in distress, quite the opposite.

"Come or leave." The three turned back to the woods and, full of regret in ever coming here, Ess followed.

There was something wrong with the world. She couldn't put her finger on it, but the dimensions didn't seem right, as though she were viewing it through warped glass. On the edge of her vision she caught movement, which disappeared as soon as she looked to it. The breeze carried hints of voices she couldn't quite hear. She felt a gossamer touch on her arm, and as she looked down a ghost of a hand, small and delicate, snapped out of existence. She unfocussed and sought for the trio's aura.

She caught her breath and nearly stumbled. She was surrounded by scores of auras, gold and silver, interlacing and filling the atmosphere, so that she felt she was walking through a cloud of sunlight. One small focus of light stood beside the path. She examined it as she passed.

"She sees me," giggled the breeze, and the knot of light sped off. Her guides in front had the same auras, but they were much smaller than she would have thought. They can affect people's perceptions, Martin had said. Cameras too. Were they really six feet plus? Did they even look human?

They entered a clearing and Ess focussed on the real world again. Several beautiful people stood in the shadows. Perhaps the game of hide and seek was no longer fun now she could see their auras. Perhaps they felt it didn't matter anymore if she could see them. She decided not to follow that disturbing thought. In the centre a man sat on a chair formed by a living tree. Two of her escorts stopped whilst the man who had challenged her walked up to the throne and held a short silent conversation. The king (surely that's what he was) nodded once and her escort stood aside. He turned his gaze on Ess, and she could have sworn the slender trunks that formed the back of the chair turned as well, focussing his gaze like a wooden radar dish. Gathering as much gravitas as she could muster, Ess approached.

"You're a witch." Any public speaker on Earth would have sold his soul for such a voice. It was rich, deep and carried all the authority in the world. Ess wondered what she would do if he ordered her to stay. How could anyone resist?

"I am Ess, a daughter of Gaia."

"Do you know how many of your kind have trespassed here?"

Ess shook her head.

"Very few, though slightly more than have left."

"I'm sorry, but I didn't know how else to make contact with you."

"You came looking for my daughter."

"Yes. I mean, sort of."

"When she is here, do you not think it is because she does not want to be in your world? With your sort?"

When she is here. She noted his choice of words. She grasped at the hidden meaning.

"But she's not here, is she. In fact, she's not been here for three weeks or more."

"Is she suddenly answerable to you? Am I?"

Ess took a deep breath. This was not going the way she had planned it. She was trying to help these people, after all.

"Daisy has friends in my world. People who care for her. People who are worried that she might be in some sort of trouble. I don't want to intrude. I don't want to interfere. If I had known another way to contact you, I'd have done it. But she may be missing, and that concerns the people who love her."

She immediately regretted her choice of words, but it was too late; the words were out there.

The king rose and towered over her. She couldn't move, couldn't bear to look at his face. She stared at the ground, thinking, 'I am Ess, a daughter of Gaia. I am one with the world.' The mantra normally calmed her. This time it didn't. It was all she could do to stop shaking.

"You think I don't love her? Me, her father? The arrogance of you people. You scurry around like ants, thinking your life is more than just a blink of an eye, thinking your teardrop of an emotion compares with the ocean. You think what you feel competes in the slightest with us? Tell me, daughter of Gaia, if you remained here, who would miss you? In a year would anyone remember your name? A year? We have songs that last longer than that. You dare tell me what I should feel?"

"I didn't mean that." Her voice was hardly a whisper but she wouldn't cry. She would not. "I don't know anything about you. In all honesty, I didn't even know you existed until a few days ago. I didn't mean you don't care. How could I? You're right, I don't know what you feel. And I know Daisy has as different approach to time. But suppose I'm right? Suppose she is missing, or in trouble? That's all I'm trying to find out. If I offended you, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. But suppose she needs finding?"

"She chose to be with your people. She chose it. If she is in trouble, it is of your making. You think I should trust you to find her? To help her? You?"

"We're not all the same. There's bad in the world wherever you look, but there's hope too. Maybe we don't love like you, but we still love, and people lover her. That's why they've asked me to find her. I'm not asking you to trust the world, or even me, but if she is in trouble, then who has a better chance of finding her?"

She finally found the courage to look up. His face was a thundercloud, but the eyes were intelligent and they bore into her own until they seemed to fill the world. Finally he looked over her head and the spell broke. She felt a hand on her arm and she allowed herself to be led away. Several men and women congregated around the throne and the king looked from one to another as though listening to a silent conversation.

"What's going on?" Ess asked. The man holding her arm might have been the one who had met her or not. Whenever she looked at any of them their perfect features blotted out the memory of what their brothers looked like. He remained stoic, staring at the king without acknowledging her presence. Eventually the council broke up and Ess was led back into his presence.

"You will return," said the king. "Seven days or sooner. Seven days, whether you find her or not. Pray to your mother Gaia you find her before then. Do not run. Do not hide. Return here and report to me. Our home is small, but our reach has no end. You will return here, whether you will it or not."

Ess looked up into his face and knew without a shadow of a doubt she would return. Gaia and all her handmaidens, please let it be with Daisy, and a Daisy well and whole.

"I understand."

He stared at her as though still deciding what to do, then he sat back and waved a hand. Dismissed, Ess turned and allowed herself to be escorted out of the royal presence, out of the clearing and through the wooded pathway to the treeline. Oz still knelt there and as they came into view his eyes never left the tall woman's face.

"Go," said one of the men.

"What about my friend?"

"The clown?" The woman smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant sight. "You want to take him? But he would make such a fine court jester. We could have him entertain us, and he would so love to do it too. Perhaps we could teach him to perform tricks. Simple tricks, maybe, like sitting up and begging, and he would be happier than he could ever dream of. Even if we hurt him, it wouldn't be real pain, and he would ask for more, just so I'd look at him. What do you think, clown? Would you like to be my pet?" She held her hand high, then waved it up and down. Oz followed the movement, nodding in time to the hand.

"Okay, I get the point. This is your home and you're in charge here. I get it. But I'm trying to help one of your own, and I can't do it without Oz. I won't do it without him."

She turned to Ess. "A threat? Really? Here?"

"If not here, then let's go back to your king. Let's explain to him why I can't find his daughter."

The woman snarled and Ess braced herself. Then suddenly all three fairies laughed and the confrontation appeared to be over. She waved a hand dismissively. "Take him. He's ugly and even here he would die too soon. I hate it when pets die on me."

"Undo your spell."

"What? The great and powerful daughter of Gaia can't do that? Very well." She glided over to Oz, placed a finger under his chin and raised him to his feet. She leant in close, whispering in his ear, then she walked behind him. As gracefully as any ballet dancer she lifted a foot, placed it in the small of his back and shoved. Oz staggered forward. His face was still vacant and he didn't seem to be aware of anything in his surroundings.

"Undo it, I said. Put him back the way he was."

"He's tired. He needs to sleep. When he awakes, he'll be his old self, though why you want that is mystery too deep for me. Now go, and your dog too, or I will claim him and no king will be able to take him from me."

They turned and then they simply weren't there. If Daisy could do that too how on Earth was Ess going to find an invisible fairy?

"Oz?"

He turned his head slowly at his name and stared somewhere beyond Ess with glazed eyes.

"Come on. Let's get you home."

She took his hand and led him unresisting into the park.

Chapter 11
Bedtime

By snodlander

The walk out of the fairy world was easier than the walk in, even though Ess couldn't get her thoughts straight, or even coherent, until she was a hundred yards away from the clump of trees. Oz sleepwalked behind her. When she could no longer feel the push from the invisible boundary she paused and turned to her friend.

"Oz? Oz!" She snapped her fingers in his face. Oz stared into his own private world through half-closed lids. She tapped his cheek, gently at first and then harder.

"Tired," said Oz, and started to sink to his knees.

"No, no, no, not here, Oz." She struggled to hold the big man upright. "Come on, let's get you into bed."

She half supported, half dragged the man across the park. It must have been a real number that bitch worked on him, for Oz to pass up on an opportunity to make double entendres about her getting him into bed. She recalled some of his other jokes. Perhaps double entendre was the wrong phrase. Oz was always more of a single entendre man. They reached the road and only then did she wonder how they were going to make it all the way to Balham.

Damn the expense. She flagged down a passing taxi. The driver pulled over to the kerb and eyed the pair suspiciously.

"I'm not driving him anywhere if he's going to upchuck in my cab, love. I can refuse carriage to drunks. And I don't get involved in any funny stuff."

"Oh no, he's not drunk, honest." Ess frowned. Funny stuff? What sort of thing did he mean? "My dad, um, he's on medication, that's all. Sometimes it takes him this way. I just need to get him back home."

"You sure? You don't want to go to A and E?"

"No, no, just home, that's all. Balham, that okay?"

The cabby sighed. "South of the river?" He looked at his watch. "Yeah, all right, but I mean it about him puking. The first sign and you're both in the gutter. Can you manage him all right?" He made no show of attempting to leave his cab.

"We're fine." Ess struggled with the door and poured the semi-conscious Oz into the back of the cab. As she strapped him into the seat the cabby looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Your dad, eh? Bloody good job you got your looks from your mum then."

Oz fell asleep as soon as the cab pulled away. Ess took his hand and patted it, shaking his arm and occasionally lifting his eyelid. She had no idea what she was looking for, but it's what they always did in the movies. Oz slept on. Despite her anxiety, a part of her wondered how upset he'd be to finally have his hand held by her, and be no position to capitalize on it.

"What's wrong with him?" asked the cabbie, throwing glances at them in his rear-view mirror. "Diabetes?"

"Um, yes?"

"Yeah, thought so. Brother-in-law's got that. Meant to watch what he eats, but you know how it is. Every minute they change their mind about what's good and what's going to kill you. Bloody doctors. They're just guessing most of the time. Turns out chocolate really might kill him, though. Daft bugger starves himself for weeks then pigs out, especially this time of year. Easter, see? Ended up in emergency twice now but he don't learn. Greedy bugger, see?" He looked in the rear-view mirror again. "You sure you don't want to go to Saint Bart's?"

"No, no, we're fine. This happens sometimes. He just needs to sleep for a while and he'll be right as rain."

The cabby shrugged. "You're the boss. Just don't let him die in my cab, okay? It's a bugger when a fare dies on board. Ties you up for hours, that does."

Ess wondered how many fares had passed on from this world in his cab. She shifted uncomfortably on her seat. Finally they arrived at Oz's apartment block. Ess paid off the cabby, who watched from the comfort of his cab as she hauled the sleeping Oz from the back.

"Ah, Titania," muttered Oz, wrapping his arms around Ess' neck as she half dragged, half supported him.

"You had better be asleep," she muttered as she struggled to get Oz to cooperate in the ascension of the stairs. "Because if you're taking advantage I shall hurt you in ways only a witch can." She paused at base camp on the landing. He wasn't asleep, not entirely. He would move his feet when you dragged him, and he supported half his weight. The problem was, even half of Oz was still more than an average man. She girded her loins, shoved her shoulder under Oz's and made the final ascent on the peak. At the door she leant him against the wall while she fished in her bag for the spare key he'd given her, then steered him into his bedroom. He hit the bed like a felled oak. Ess looked down at him and wondered if she should put him in the recovery position. The problem was, she'd need a block and tackle, and possibly a team of horses. She compromised by wedging a pillow under his head. He could remain fully clothed; she wasn't going down that path even if his life depended on it.

How long would he need to sleep? Hours? Days? Longer? Damn that cow. She could do without babysitting Oz. She pulled out her phone and looked at the time. Shades should be up by now. She dialled his number.

"Yes?" He didn't sound sleepy, but she'd seen him wake in an instant before.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Ess? No. I had to get up anyway to answer the phone. What's up?"

"Funny man. Just ringing to let you know I won't be able to make it back before you leave, to save you hanging around doing nothing."

"Okay. It'll give me a chance to rummage through your underwear drawer undisturbed. Everything okay?"

"Yes, it's just Oz. He's a bit the worst for wear. I think I might have to stay the night to make sure he's okay."

"I've seen him drink. He must have drunk a bar dry to get in that state."

"Oh no, he's not drunk. It's, well, it's complicated."

"Oh God, you're leaving me for him, aren't you. I knew this day would come."

She laughed and left Oz's bedroom, though her laughter would hardly wake him in his comatose state.

"Idiot."

"Fine, he can have you, but I'm taking your underwear with me."

"Oh, they won't fit you. At least, I hope they won't. Besides, Oz would love that, me knickerless."

"Fair point. I'll leave the big ones. He's okay, though?"

"Yes, but I may have to stay the night."

"Jesus, I was joking about you leaving me for him."

She laughed. "It just means that we'll have to wait till Sunday to meet up. I'm working tomorrow evening. You still have a couple of days off?"

"Yeah. Is this about that case?"

She should tell him, she knew. No secrets, no lies, but then he would start worrying and telling her to be careful, and the next thing she'd know he would be trying to forbid her from doing man's work.

"I'll tell you about it later." And she would. After the case was closed, when it would be too late for him to boss her around.

They said their goodbyes and Ess surveyed Oz's cramped living room. It was a decent size for these sort of apartment blocks. It was only cramped because of the small library of books, manuals, files, folders and miscellaneous papers that covered every surface. In theory there was a couch she could camp out on, under the reference books. Only one cushion was visible, heavily indented. She lifted a pile of books from the opposite end and looked for a place to drop them. In the end she simply transferred them to the other end of the couch. At least she wouldn't be sitting in Oz's bum niche. Please Mother Gaia don't make it necessary for her to sleep on it for the night.

She wandered out into the kitchen and browsed the cupboards. Oz appeared to be as well acquainted with vegetables and vitamins as he was with political correctness and unicorns. If she was going to eat tonight it looked like it would have to be beans on toast. She eyed the half-loaf of bread sitting on the worktop. Or maybe just beans. No herbal teas, of course, but there was a packet of own-brand tea bags. She found a clean mug, but as she reached for it her eye fell on the half empty bottle of single malt next to it. She paused, struggled internally for a full half second, then grabbed the bottle. It was his own fault. The looks from the cabby, the ascent of the stairs without oxygen, the saving of his life, he owed her. And she hadn't managed to get a dress. Damn! That meant fighting the tourists tomorrow when Camden heaved with daytrippers. She poured a generous measure into the mug and retired to the living room. Bloody Oz. Bloody fairy bitch. If Oz was still asleep tomorrow, she'd go back to the park and drag her over here by the hair if necessary.

Oz had a TV, for research, he claimed. She looked for the remote, gave up and rose, negotiated the obstacle course to the set and switched it on manually. She detested TV, but what else was there to do? She took another generous swallow and made her way back to the couch. It was late afternoon, and the box displayed some inane children's puppet show. Changing channels would involve either tidying the room up just so she could ransack it again for the remote, or dodging perilously balanced piles of books to the TV again. She remained where she was, took another sip and as the liquor burnt its way down her throat she silently cursed fairies, Oz, daytime television and cabbies who thought she was up to funny stuff.

Author Notes

Ess & Oz are looking ofr a missing model (and fairy) Daisy. After an encounter with Daisy's family, Oz is half asleep.

Chapter 12
The Awakening

By snodlander

He was beautiful.  Ess knew it for a certainty, even though she couldn’t see his face.  Shades tried to attract her attention, but the man dancing in the trees was just so achingly beautiful she couldn’t tear her eyes from him.  Other beautiful people danced in the background and she wished, oh how she wished, she could be part of them.  The beautiful faceless man held out his hand, inviting her to join them, but her feet were too heavy.  She clumped towards them like a pregnant hippo as Shades morphed into Oz, calling her back.  Silly man.  Why would he want to stop her?
 
“Oz?” she said, and in saying it out loud she awoke.
 
“Aha!”
 
Ess opened her eyes to see Oz beaming down at her.
 
“I knew it.  You do dream of me,” he said.
 
“Oz?”  She prised her face off her pillow, some of which seemed to stay with her.  She peeled a sheet of paper from her cheek, stared at it blankly for a moment and then replaced it on top of the pile she had been lying on.  She looked down at last night’s bed, which, after a couple of seconds, resolved itself into Oz’s couch.  Yesterday’s events came flooding back.
 
“Oz!  You’re awake!  Are you all right?”
 
“Me?  Never better, my little wood nymph.”  He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, and slapped his chest.  “In fact, I feel like a twenty-year-old.  But in the absence of one, I’ll settle for you.  Which brings me back to the main subject.  Just what is the meaning of this?”  He indicated the couch with a sweep of his arm.
 
“This?”  She looked at the pile of papers on the couch.  “Well, if you put things away after you…”
 
“No, I mean this.  Why are you here, sleeping on my couch, when you know there is an unspoken pact between us that you will eventually share my bed with me, no matter how much you pretend to resist me?  By every pantheon of gods, woman, you had the perfect opportunity to ravish me in my sleep, and you turned it down?  What’s wrong with you?”
 
Ess rubbed her eyes and worked her head to and fro.  It would take a week of yoga to work the kinks out.
 
“Well, I see you’re back to normal.  Shame.”
 
“Of course.  Why shouldn’t I be?  Wait.  Were we on the razzle last night?”
 
“No.”
 
“No, didn’t think so.  No pixies hammering at my skull.  No tongue like the bottom of a bird cage.  No naked woman in my bed.”  He frowned.  “So why did you spend the night here, and why can’t I remember?”  His hand flew to his head.  “Was I hit by a bus?  Am I concussed?  Did you get their number?”
 
“You don’t remember?”  Ess rose to her feet and groaned as her spine fought to straighten.
 
“Not a dicky bird.  Seriously, what happened?”
 
“What was the last thing you remember?”
 
“A vile lunch of rabbit food and no alcohol, though the company was pleasant enough.  Then… a walk?  In the park, maybe?  And then you, sprawled like an artist’s model on my couch, murmuring my name like a lovelorn teenager.  Was I doing disgusting things in your dreams?  Details, I need details.”
 
“We met Daisy’s family.”
 
“We did?”
 
“Yes.  Well, I did.  You fell asleep.”
 
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
 
“No.  She did it.  One of the fairies, I mean.  She sort of hypnotised you.”
 
“She didn’t have me quacking like a duck, did she?  Never liked them stage hypnotists.  Always struck me as mean, and my body is mesmerising enough to get any woman into bed.”  He glanced at the couch.  “Well, almost any woman.  Wait, she didn’t, you know, molest me whilst I was defenceless, did she?”
 
“She wanted to, but she couldn’t find a pole long enough to touch you with.  This is serious, Oz.  I thought for a moment they were going to keep you.  And then you were so dopey I thought you might never wake up.”
 
“And so you stayed to nurse me back to health?  How wonderful of you, but you could at least have worn a nurse’s uniform.  I’ve got one you can try on.”
 
Ess gave a theatrical shudder.  “The scary thing is, I know you’re not joking.”
 
“At least try it on for size.”
 
“No need.  You’re obviously back to rude health.”
 
“Ruder than normal, if anything.  So what did we discover?”
 
“From her family?  Nothing much.  But she’s not there, that much I’m certain.”
 
“So back to square one?  Then we have no more clues.  Time for a little R and R.  It has a little nurse’s hat and everything.”
 
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
 
“I will be as soon as you try on the outfit.”
 
“Outfit!  Damn!  I was going to get a dress, and then you decided to go all comatose on me.  Damn it, Oz, I don’t have time for your silly games.  I’ve got a ton of things to do, and the town’s going to be packed.”  She started for the door, then paused, staring at the man with a worried frown on her face.
 
“But you’re okay in yourself.  You’re sure?”
 
“Honestly?  I’ve never felt better.  I feel fresh and full of the vigour of spring.  My sap’s rising.  Want a look?”
 
“Mother Gaia!”  She turned from him and made for the door.  “I preferred it when you were unconscious.”       
 

Chapter 13
Schmoozing

By snodlander

Ess waved as Martin entered the wine bar, not that there was a crowd.  He came over and before Ess could offer a hand he kissed her cheek.  It didn’t seem very professional, but she suspected in his circle everyone kissed, and the customer was always right, wasn’t he?
 
“You’re early,” he said.
 
Ess smiled.  “You too.”
 
He shrugged.  “Well, you know how it is.  I’m just keen to move things on.  You’ve found nothing out yet?  Nothing at all?”
 
“Only that she’s not been seen by her family either.”
 
“You’ve seen her family?”  His eyes widened.  “Really?  What are they like?”
 
Ess thought back to the imperious figure seated on the throne.
 
“Honestly?  Scary.”
 
“You didn’t, you know, mention me at all?”
 
“No.  I just said friends were concerned.”
 
“How did you find them?  I’ve walked through Regents Park dozens of times.”
 
“It’s complicated.  It’s a wiccan thing.”
 
“Okay.”  He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and shrugged.  “So, you want another drink or shall we go crash a party?  It’s just around the block.”
 
Ess rose, leaving her glass on the table.  “No, we can go now.  It’s only water.”
 
They walked in awkward silence through streets still busy even though it was late evening.
 
“You look nice,” he said, in a tone that suggested he was just going through the motions for something to say.
 
“Thank you.”  Ess patted her hair, tied back and sprayed to within an inch of its life.  Her dress was an old party one she had literally pressed into service; no one shopped in Camden on a Saturday, it was too crowded.  She was going to look like Cinderella before the fairy godmother’s visit, but no matter.  This was business after all, and she’d not meet these people again.
 
The studio was a glass and stainless steel affair somehow bolted onto the front of a Georgian building in a Soho backstreet.  Through the window Ess could see knots of people studiously ignoring large photographs of people’s faces hung around the wall.  Martin told the suited bouncer on the door his name and they entered.  Inside a woman who surely was trying to break into the modelling business handed them a glass of champagne and a pamphlet.
 
“Do you know all these people?” muttered Ess out of the corner of her mouth.  “Who are likely to know Daisy?”
 
“I know some of them, but as a rule of thumb, the pretty young ones are models, singers or – ,“  He signed quotes in the air with his fingers, “’personalities’.  The old ones are artists, agents or journalists.  There are exceptions, but that’s a good starting point.  Most will know her, at least casually.  This time of the evening it’s less about the exhibition and more about schmoozing, being seen to be in the right circles.  Nick’ll be here, of course.  Um, so what happens now?  Do you need me to make introductions or will I cramp your style?”
 
“Probably best if you just do what you would normally.  I’ll circulate, and if I need help I’ll give you a whistle.”  Because if you see how hopelessly out of my depth I am, you’ll sack me.
 
“Martin.”  Nick Hever approached them.  He gave Martin a hug.  Did these people never shake hands?  “And, um, Ess?  What a delightful surprise.”
 
“I’m his plus one,” said Ess quickly, trying to justify her presence.
 
“Of course, of course.”  He grasped her shoulders and brought her close for the obligatory kiss on the cheek.  “Upset my guests and you’re out on your ear,” he whispered before releasing her.  Ess could smell alcohol stronger than Champagne on his breath.  He straightened and beamed as though he’d said nothing.  “There are canapés at the back.  Anton agreed to do the catering, but I’ve got to do a session for him, as if his restaurants don’t already have enough pictures of him smirking down on his diners.  Still, the man’s a genius with food.  Duck with ice cream.  Who would have thought?”
 
“Lord Hever.  Nick, I mean.  Can I ask you a couple of questions later?”
 
“Later I’ll be too pissed to talk straight.  Ask me now.”
 
“I’ll catch you later,” said Martin, touching Ess on her elbow and then moving off air-kissing his way through the people.
 
“Daisy, when she left your studio, how did she leave?”
 
Nick frowned.  “How?  She wafted away like a dandelion on the wind, like she always does.  What do you mean, how?”
 
“I mean, did she leave on foot?  Car?  Taxi?”
 
“Shanksy’s pony.  There might have been a car at the end of the street.”  He indicated the direction from which Ess and Martin had walked.  “But I wouldn’t know.  She was on foot when she left here.”
 
“Alone?”
 
“Yes, though she’d have had company if Peter hadn’t been dragged away.”
 
“Peter?”
 
“Yes, I told you about him.  The punter I was shooting when she arrived.  Oh, wait, I didn’t tell you his name before, did I.  Well, it’s public domain now.  Peter Davenport.  I was shooting him and he hung around for a while when I started to shoot Daisy.  Tongue on his chest and eyes on stalks, but that’s politicians for you.  Then his shadow dragged him away.  Some baby kissing to do or something.”
 
“Is he here tonight?”
 
“Ha!  Yes, yes he is.  Gallery two, third picture, round the corner there.”  Chuckling at some joke Ess didn’t understand, he nodded to her and moved on to more important guests.
 
She looked around the gallery.  Martin was right, very few people seemed to be interested in the pictures so much as the other people.  It was University all over again, cliques building walls that excluded her before she’d even approached.  She looked at the brochure in her hand.  The exhibition was entitled “Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner”.  She scanned the paragraphs that contained words like chiascurro and synergy.  She ran her eye along the wall.  The photos were all in monochrome.  The first showed a twenty-something woman in a flimsy dress and broad hat, poised and graceful at a racecourse, a flute of champagne in her hand.  Ess felt she should recognise her.  Was she connected to the royal family?  The next showed another twenty-something, micro mini rucking up her thighs, belly button pierced, using a dirty wall for support, bottle of alco-pop in her one hand, pool of vomit at her feet.  A hen night victim.  She walked down the wall.  The photos were all on a similar theme, alternating between the cream of London and less fortunate individuals.  They weren’t all as stark but the pattern was obvious.  There was a lady dowager, lapdog in her arms, and there a shaven-headed man with a pit-bull on a length of frayed string. Yet every one displayed a story.  You felt these were real people, and there for the grace of God…
 
She realised she was wasting time, putting off the moment she would have to talk to someone.  What had Nick said?  Third picture in gallery two?  She followed the sign and turned a corner on another wall of photographs.  There was no one at the third picture.  Had he left?
 
She looked at the picture, then at the brochure index.  Oh, very funny.  The photograph was of Peter Davenport.  She stared at the photo, memorising his features so she could recognise him in the party, if he was still here.  He hung between a barrow boy, all cheeky grin and flim-flam, and a tramp, his face a mass of grimy crevasses and dirty beard, hand held out in a silent plea for money.  She grinned.  Surely the positioning wasn’t coincidental.  Was Lord Hever equating Davenport with wide-boys and beggars?  Wasn’t every politician out to sell you dodgy fruit and empty your pocket?  He certainly looked like a politician, a smug smile on his face as he looked forward to greatness in his future.
 
“Handsome devil, isn’t he,” said a voice behind her.
 
“Actually I think he looks –“ she said as she turned to the speaker, then abruptly snapped her mouth shut.
 
Peter Davenport grinned back at her.
 
“Ugly?  Two-faced?  Like a serial-killer?”  He treated her to a chuckle.  “Don’t worry.  I’m a politician.  I’ve heard it all.”
 
“Well, I don’t think he caught you at your best.”  It was true.  The man in front of her, though undeniably wearing the same face as in the photo, wasn’t the same man that stared down at them from the wall.  In the flesh he looked much more human, more faceted, somehow someone whose company you could enjoy, unlike the smug git in the photo that she would run a mile to avoid.  She had heard of this, politicians reviled in public but charming in person.  Was that what charisma was?
 
“What a nice thing to say.  You can be honest though.  Nick is a nice enough chap, but he has to earn a crust like all of us, and making me look smug and pretentious looks better in the exhibit, I suppose.”
 
“Not at all,” blurted Ess, embarrassed he so accurately reflected her thoughts of a few moments ago.  Davenport raised a brow.  Ess gave an embarrassed laugh.  “Well, maybe a bit.”
 
“Too be fair, I can be pretentious at times.  Oh, I’m sorry.  Peter Davenport, member for Elstree.”  He held out his hand.  Not an air-kisser, then.  Ess shook it.
 
“Yes, I know.  Ess.”
 
“Ess?  That’s an unusual name.”
 
“It’s short for Vanessa, but I’d really prefer you not to use that.”
 
“Ess it is then.  So you’ve heard of me?  I’m flattered.  Most pretty girls here don’t give a damn about politics.  It’s refreshing to find someone who has a head on her shoulders.”
 
Ess blushed and looked away.  Normally she would bridle at being labelled a ‘pretty girl’.  There was so much that was demeaning and patronising about that term, and yet she felt a giggle rise that, should it ever surface, she was sure would be labelled as a schoolgirl giggle.  What was going on?  The champagne?  Surely not.  “Thank you,” she mumbled.
 
“So what brings you here?  Are you in one of these photos?”
 
“No, I’m with Martin Prescott.”
 
“Prescott,  Prescott.  No, don’t tell me, I know that name.  Allen!”  He called to a younger man in a trendy suit with wide tie.  Allen came over.  “Allen, Martin Prescott.  How do I know him?”
 
“He’s the artist, Peter.  Remember?  He’s on this evening’s guest list.”
 
“That’s the fellow.  Sorry, mind like a sieve sometimes.  Oh, sorry, Ess, this is Allen Whitmarsh, my right-hand man and general wet nurse.  Allen, this is Ess, who’s heard of me.  How about that?”
 
Allen shook her hand.  “Of course she’s heard of you, Peter.  I keep telling you, your star is in the ascendant.  We’re going places.  And what do you do, Miss… Ess?”
 
“I, um, I find missing people.”  She still couldn’t bring herself to say ‘private invetigator’.  It sounded deceitful.
 
“A detective!  How wonderful,” exclaimed Peter.  “Do you carry a gat?  No, of course not.  Silly of me.  Watched too many old films.”  He leant forward conspiratorially.  “Are you on a case now?”
 
“Actually, yes, I am.”  His intimate closeness flustered her.  This was stupid.  The man was a stranger.  She had a boyfriend, a good one at that.  This man in front of her was far too privileged, far too full of himself, to be her type.
 
“How exciting.  Makes my life of committees and letter writing look tame.
 
“Actually, that’s how I knew your name.  I’m trying to trace Daisy.”
 
“Daisy?  Gorgeous girl.  I met her the other week.  At Lord Hever’s actually.  Small world.”
 
Allen took hold of Peter’s elbow.  “Peter, remember why we’re here?  I need you to talk to a journalist from the Guardian.”
 
“Yes, yes.”  He pulled his elbow free and continued talking to Ess.  “Enchanting girl, utterly enchanting, and then this wet blanket hauled me away to talk to a group of boring businessmen.  Still, probably best.”  He waved his hand, wiggling the ring finger.  “Wouldn’t want the little lady to know.  She –“  It was amazing.  Ess saw the moment the penny dropped.  “Wait.  She’s missing?”
 
“We think so.”
 
“Miss… Ess,” said Allen.  “I’m really sorry, but Peter absolutely needs to talk to someone, and I think he’s getting ready to leave.”
 
“It won’t take a moment.”
 
“He will of course do everything he can to assist you, but not just at this moment.  Do you have a card?”
 
Reluctantly Ess dug into her clutch bag.  “Here.”
 
Allen tucked it into his jacket pocket without looking at it.  “I’ll phone you tomorrow.  We’ll arrange a meeting, I promise.  Peter, please, we really have to charm the press.”
 
Peter Davenport shrugged an apology at Ess and allowed himself to be led away.  As he made his way through the tight groups of people they turned their head.  There was definitely something about him.  She shook her head.  Expensive wine was obviously stronger than the cheap stuff she was used to.
 

Author Notes

Shanksy's pony - walking

Chapter 14
The phantom at the feast

By snodlander

Somewhere in the close vicinity a mobile phone trilled.  After a moment of looking around for the offender Ess realised it was her own.  Hastily she dug into her bag and fumbled for the mute button.  The display told her Oz was bored kicking his heels and wanted to torment her.  She stuffed the phone back into her bag and studied the portrait of Davenport to hide her embarrassment.
 
“He nearly didn’t make it in, you know,” said a voice from beside her.  Ess turned to see a man in his fifties, clothes stylish, hair immaculate.
 
“No?”
 
“No.  Nick was still finalising the exhibition even a couple of weeks ago, took this and thought it rather drear.  Then a week later he came back insisting it needed to be there.  I was against it, but then Davenport dropped in and persuaded me.  I’m still in two minds.  What do you think?”
 
“I think, um.”  What could she say that wouldn’t expose her as a phony and have her kicked out?  “I think he’s very different in the flesh.”
 
“Undoubtedly.  Nick’s very clever like that.  He can find aspects in a subject they don’t even know themselves.  The smug politician, though.  A little clichéd perhaps?  Still, the exhibition as a whole is genius, don’t you think?”
 
“Oh, yes.”  Inside her bag her phone vibrated.  She hugged it, hoping no one else would notice.
 
He finally tore his critical gaze from the photograph and turned to her.  “I’m Leonard.”  He said it as though no further explanation was necessary.
 
“Ess.”
 
He looked at her as if expecting more.
 
“I’m a friend of Martin.  You know, the artist.”
 
“Oh, Martin.  Wonderfully gifted.  Not seen him for a while.  Locked up in his studio, no doubt.  Is he here tonight?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Wonderful.  I put on one of his early exhibits, when he was still quite unknown.  It’s about time he returned the favour.  Is he working on a series at the moment?”
 
“No.  Well, he’s done a series on Daisy, but I don’t think it’s for a show.”
 
“Daisy, eh?  Well, use your wiles on him.  She’s certainly flavour of the month at the moment.  I could work with that.”
 
“Have you seen her lately?”
 
“Me?  God no.  I’m far too worldly for her.  Great artists paint, poor ones deal.”  He smiled, nodded at her then turned towards another group of guests.
 
Inside her bag the phone vibrated again.  She ignored it and scanned the crowd for people who looked the least intimidating.
 
Thirty minutes later she was bored.  People talked to her only as long as it took to find she could not further their career and then dismissed her.  She flitted from group to group of beautiful people like Quasimodo, and every five minutes her phone called to her.  Eventually she gave up and sought out Martin.
 
“Martin, this is a bust.  I’m not learning anything here.  Besides, I’m not exactly blending in.  If you pick up anything, you’ve got my number.  I think I’ll call it a night.”
 
“Okay.”  The disappointment on his face could have been read from space.
 
“I’m not giving up, nor should you.  I’m just giving up on this party, all right?”
 
“Are you sure?  It’s still early.  Others will probably turn up after one.”
 
Over his shoulder a tramp pressed his face against the window.  As he brought up his hands to shield his eyes Ess realised with horror the tramp was Oz.  He saw her at the same moment and beckoned to her.
 
“Oh God.  I mean, goodness, no, I don’t think so.  You’ve got a much better chance with these people than I have.  Look, I’m sorry to play the Cinderella card, but I’ll phone you as soon as I hear anything.  Goodbye.”
 
She air-kissed him in the universal habit of these people as Oz gurned on the other side of the glass.
 
Outside she marched up to the professor.
 
“Ess.  Why didn’t you answer your – “
 
Without breaking her stride she grabbed him by his lapel and dragged him along the street, away from the window of the studio.
 
“Oh, hello.  I like a woman who takes the lead.  Are you going to have me roughly in a shop doorway?”
 
She whirled on him.  “What are you trying to do, Oz?  I’m trying to be professional, trying to build up reputation, because unlike some I’m not just doing this for fun.  Then you turn up and start playing the clown.”  She punched his barrel chest.  “Why can’t you just do what you’re told for once?  I said not to come.  I told you.  But no, you had to turn up like, like…”
 
“Like the phantom at the feast?  If you’d answered your phone, I wouldn’t have had to come.  What’s up?”
 
“I just told you.”
 
“No.  I’m always the clown.  You know that.  It’s part of my roguish charm, and whether you like it or not, it means I can get results sometimes when your stunning good looks and sex-on-legs demeanour fails.  So what’s really up?  Tell Uncle Oz.”
 
She stared at him, fists balled, debating whether to thump him again.  Oz grinned.
 
“Don’t you hate it when I’m right?” he asked.
 
“Okay, okay, this evening has been a total waste of time, and I’ve got no idea where to go from here.  So maybe I’m not in the best of moods, but that still doesn’t let you off the hook.  Your ‘roguish charm’ may work on freshers and barmaids, but Martin didn’t want you there.  What’s so important it couldn’t wait?”
 
“We’re dropping the case.”
 
“What?  Why?  Has she turned up?  Oh God, she’s not, you know?  They haven’t found her body, have they?”
 
“No, she’s still off with the fairies.  Figuratively speaking, of course.”
 
“Then why?”
 
“There’s a pub round the corner and we can just squeeze in a swift one before closing time.  Let’s discuss this in a civilised manner with a drink in our hands.”
 

Author Notes

gurning - pulling faces

Chapter 15
Quitting

By snodlander

Oz plonked the glass on the table in front of Ess.
 
“You, young lady, are taking the Michael.  Tonic water!  I have a reputation, you know.”
 
“I know all too well, Oz.”
 
They’d secured a booth to themselves.  At this time of night the serious drinkers had moved onto the clubs, and the casual drinkers had left to catch the last train home.  Oz dropped onto the bench of fashionably distressed leather, all the more distressed now that Oz’s bulk crushed it.
 
“Cheers,” he said, taking a draught and smacking his lips.  “First today.  Angels and demons, Saturday night and I’ve not had a drink for over twenty-four hours.  I must be sickening for something.”
 
“Sickening sounds about right.  Now, what’s all this about?  I hardly slept a wink nursing you last night, and I’m not messing around tonight for your entertainment.”
 
He placed the mug on the table and pointed a finger at her.
 
“Bingo!  Exactly the segue for the conversation.  My petit mal of yesterday.  I’m of a certain age, it’s true, when I might forget the chapter and verse of a literary quote or put my trousers on backwards.  I have had blackouts in the past, mainly when I was younger, when my alcoholic input exceeded my liver’s throughput.  That is why I practice drinking now so assiduously.”  He paused to take another gulp.  “Liver training.  What worries me, though, is when I lose half a bloody day when I’m stone-cold sober.  There’s any number of causes for that, and none of them are a good thing.  Okay, alcohol excepted, none of them are a good thing.  Number one on the list for my demographic?”
 
“Old age?”
 
“Cheeky mare.  A stroke.”
 
“You didn’t have a stroke, Oz.  I was there.  One of the fairies, they put a spell on you.”
 
He stabbed the finger again, more assertive this time.
 
“Yes, yes, exactly.  So when you cruelly deserted me this morning without so much as a farewell kiss, I decided I would do some research.  I had to do something.  I was on fire.  Never felt so good, so revitalised since a certain pair of gymnasts back in, well, back when music was cool and politics black and white.”  He looked over her shoulder at a picture undimmed by age, then shook his head.  “Anyway, that’s not the point.”
 
“I rather think it is.  If you’d had a stroke, you wouldn’t be attempting cartwheels the morning after.”
 
“No?  Okay, Doctor Know-it-all, what is a stroke?”
 
“A clot on the brain?”
 
“Close enough.  So why do we call it a stroke?”
 
Ess shrugged.  “Because if you don’t get to the point I’ll leave on the stroke of eleven?”
 
He treated her to a sarcastic smile.  “Because back before the Internet made every little madam a smart-arsed medical expert, if you exhibited the symptoms - slurred speech, aphasia, numb or paralysed down one side, and all this of a sudden, overnight - well then, there must be some cause, right?  So they called it a stroke because the only possible cause was that you had been stroked by a fairy.”
 
“Really?  That’s it?  I think you’re stretching a bit there, Oz.  Besides, she never touched you.”
 
“No, that’s not just it.  I researched fairies, seeing as we were chasing one down.  What do you think of when someone says fairy?”
 
Ess shrugged.  “Wings?”
 
“Bluebell flower for a hat?  Intelligent butterflies?  Tinkerbell?  Well, maybe Tinkerbell was closer to the truth.  I always thought she was a vicious little cow.  But the rest of it, it’s all a Victorian fiction.  If you go back further, they were always there.  Celtic legends, Norse stories, early Germanic tales.  And let me tell you, these were creatures no loving parent would tell their kids about before bed.”
 
“So you want to quit because you had a health scare and some old wives tales frightened you?”
 
Oz pushed himself back and grabbed two great fists of air and squeezed as though he had a personal grudge against them.
 
“Damn it, girl, you can be so frustrating sometimes.”
 
“Yes, annoying, isn’t it?”
 
Her sarcasm passed straight over his head.  He leant forward and stabbed his finger on the table top.
 
“The fairies of old, the stories on which we base our current fiction, they were dangerous.  Not evil, not vicious, just –“  He waved a hand in the air for the word.  “Capricious.  Amoral.  They were the original psychopaths.  Not Hollywood psychopath, but just unable to empathise, unaware of the effect they had on people’s lives.  They found a human they liked, they’d take him home, keep him as a pet, rogered him silly maybe, I don’t know.  No one does.  That’s the point.  He would just disappear.  Sometimes he’d come back again, maybe after a year, maybe after seventy, with no knowledge of what had happened.  And when he came back the poor sod was enchanted.  Bewitched.  Spellbound.  Those weren’t nice words like they are today.  He’d been stroked by the fairies.  Not hammered, not beaten, not kicked.  He was simply touched in the head.  See the pattern here?  You’re a witch, you know the power of words.  We’ve emasculated them now, but that’s what they meant.  A casual encounter, a stroke, a touch that meant nothing to the fairy but a living death for the poor bastard who was touched.”
 
He sat back and shook his head.  “Why would you go seek them out?  You have this creature with complete control over people’s minds, probably not even aware of it, and with no responsibility and no moral compass.  And you want to go off and dance with them?  No, we’re quitting.  We were bloody lucky yesterday, bloody lucky.  Let’s stop now while I can still remember words like ‘aphasia’.”
 
He took another drink and stared at her over the top of his pint.  Ess stared back.  This wasn’t the normal Oz.  He was an idiot, yes, but not stupid, and his concern was obvious.  Could this itself be an enchantment?  A side effect of his encounter the day before.
 
“We can’t give up,” she said eventually.  “We’ve committed to Martin.”
 
“Then uncommit.  Give him his money back.  On second thoughts, keep it, he can afford it, but tell him she can’t be found.  He’ll be better off in the long run.  Okay, so he might pine for the rest of his life and no woman he’ll ever meet will compare, but that’s a small price to pay.  You think his feelings are natural?  You saw him.  He was like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl with a crush on some pubescent pop singer.  That’s no way for a grown man to live.  I tell you, he’s lucky.  He’s one touch away from being spoon-fed soup by a nurse whose name he can’t remember.”
 
She shook her head.  “No, that’s not Daisy.  No one I’ve met has a bad word to say about her.”
 
Oz threw his hands in the air.  “All the more reason.  Have you ever met anyone like that?  Even Mother Theresa had her critics.  Ye Gods, even I do.  It’s not natural.  Oh, I’m not saying she’s some evil supervillain that is out to take over the world, but whether she’s aware of it or not, she’s dangerous.  All her kind are.  Take your head out of the fairytale books and listen to what I’m saying.  If we get any further into this we run the risk of losing our minds, and the scary thing?  We won’t even realise it.  We might even want it like that poor sick puppy Martin.  I mean it, Ess.  I care too much for you to lose you like that.  Sod you.  If you have a stroke, you can kiss goodbye to any hope of me bedding you.  I have standards.”
 
“We can’t just give up.”
 
“Of course we can.  People do all the time.”
 
An image of Daisy’s father filled her mind, his eyes staring at her, deep into her, and telling her as though she had no choice that she would return with or without his daughter.  And she knew with a certainty that from that moment on she didn’t have a choice.
 
“We can’t.”
 
“Why not?”
 
She could see the clearing, the creatures so beautiful she ached and that terrible face of the king.  What would they do when she returned?  Would it make any difference whether she had Daisy with her?
 
“I – We – I just can’t, that’s all.”
 
Would she be aware of it if they did touch her in the head?  Please make it easy.  Please don’t let them leave a corner where her sanity could look out and watch the vegetable of a body drool all day.
 
“That’s not an answer, you know,” said Oz.  “You’re a stubborn mare, and I like that about you, but there’s stubborn and there’s obstinate.  You know what I’m saying is true.  So why carry on?”
 
She wanted to tell him.  She wanted to share with her friend how frightening that face was, and how easily he laid that injunction on her, a command she couldn’t disobey.  Most of all she wanted him to know how terrified to her bones she was of the next inevitable meeting.
 
“Something – I – Look, there’s a reason, okay?”
 
“What reason?  We’re meant to be partners.  Stuff it, we’re meant to be friends.  What reason?”
 
She wanted to tell him.  She wanted to.  She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t form.  She jumped to her feet.
 
“Goodnight, Oz,” she said, and strode towards the door.
 
“Ess?”  Oz rose, but she already had her hand on the door.  “Ess!” he shouted, and the door slammed on anything else he might have said.
 

Chapter 16
Insomnia

By snodlander

Ess lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. What was wrong with her? She'd wanted to tell Oz about the fairy king. More than that, she needed to. Oz was a friend, one who had been put under their spell as well. Who knows what they might have done to him psychologically? Not that she could tell any difference. Maybe any change would be for the better. But when she'd tried, she'd been unable to form the words. She'd not even been able to articulate the fact she couldn't talk about it.

It was all so infuriating and frustrating. She was a daughter of Gaia. She was one with the universe. She was in harmony with both the physical and the spiritual world. She was Ess, damn it. She was meant to be the one in charge, and here she was, under a spell she could do nothing about, as helpless as the girly woman she despised in the movies, ankle twisted, waiting to be rescued by Shades. Well, not Shades specifically, and he knew better than to patronise her. But Shades in general, who thought of her as the weaker sex. Her!

She became aware of her balled fists and clenched teeth. This wasn't going to help her sleep. She glanced at her clock. Just after three. She needed to sleep. Shades had promised her a rare weekend. They could even go out together in the evening. Well, they could if she could stay awake tomorrow.

Maybe she should take Oz's advice. Ha! That had to be a first. Maybe she should run away, catch a plane to somewhere she could lose herself. Even as she thought it she knew she wouldn't. That dreadful injunction remained on her. Somehow, no matter what, she would return to Regents Park to keep that appointment, even if it meant a stroke was inevitable.

Stroked by the fairies. It seemed such an innocent phrase. That's what happened when the world forgot what the old stories really meant. Would Shades still love her when she was a dribbling vegetable, touched in the head?

She threw the covers off and strode to the kitchenette. As she mixed the melange of herbs to aid sleep she gave herself a good thinking to.

You're not bloody superwoman, she thought to herself in no uncertain manner. With all the power of Gaia, you're still human, and humans are, well, they're human. Sometimes they needed help. Ironically one of the people best placed to help her was Oz. He was a doctor of applied psychiatry, amongst other things, though even Freud would throw his hands up at Oz. But she couldn't speak to him, and anyway, her problem wasn't strictly psychological.

So you know who you have to turn to. But that would be an admission of failure, Ess protested. That would be saying she wasn't a strong, independent sister. Sometimes, she countered, asking for help was the strongest thing a person can do. You need help, girl. I mean, look at you. Your only other option is to argue with yourself in the small hours of the morning, and even then, you're losing the argument.

"I'll sleep on it," she told her empty apartment. She breathed in the acrid fumes from her herbal tea. Dear Mother Gaia, let her be able to sleep on it.

Author Notes

A quicky, but size doesn't matter

Chapter 17
Ess' Mentor

By snodlander

Sometime before dawn she drifted off to sleep, where the Wiccans of the world pointed at her and laughed as she lay on a forest floor with a twisted ankle. She awoke scant hours later, too wound up to sleep in but too tired to be firing on all cylinders. Shades would be in bed by now. Knowing him he'd set his alarm for lunchtime, so that his sleep patterns would be at least a little in tune with hers for that evening. She just hoped she'd be awake enough to appreciate it.

She pottered around the kitchen preparing breakfast, then played with her muesli. She was just putting things off though, she knew. Never mind Sunday, Dorothy had always been an early riser. At half past eight she bit the bullet, pulled out her phone and opened up her contacts list.

"Hi, Dorothy? It's Ess, Vanessa. Remember me?"

"Ess, darling. Of course I remember you. You've been busy recently, I hear. What a surprise to hear from you. How long has it been?"

Ess heard the criticism there, even if it wasn't intended. Too busy to phone.

"I was wondering if I could come see you?"

"Of course. You know the kettle's always on. When were you thinking?"

Ess bit her lip. "This morning?"

There was a pause. Ess could almost hear the judgement on the other end of the phone, which was silly. Of course she wasn't judging her. Why should she?

"Wonderful. We can catch up. Are you still in London?"

"Yes. I can be there about eleven?"

"I'll see you then."

There, it was done. Ess grabbed her bag and jacket and headed for the door. No backing out now. She'd as good as admitted failure on the phone. Now all she had to do was face those eyes that tried to hide the disappointment.

Dorothy had officially retired from teaching and had a small house in Reading. A tube ride to Paddington and the express to Reading was simple enough. She could have made the journey any time since she arrived in London, but she never had. Dorothy, despite her ditzy persona and flower-power dress sense, had a core of iron. She demanded no less from her charges. Ess had thought herself a feminist before meeting Dorothy, but Dorothy's philosophy eschewed politics and organised feminism. Her beliefs had distilled into one rule: be reliant on no one. She hadn't so much taught herbal lore to Ess, she'd allowed Ess to teach herself. And now here she was, watching the countryside fly past her window on her desperate flight to her mentor for help.

Her phone rang. It was Oz.

"Watchya, gorgeous. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Oz."

"Only you threw a bit of a wobbly last night. That's not like you, running away from a fight."

"I -- I just didn't want to talk about it, that's all."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to do a runner. We could have spent the rest of the evening flirting. You know you love it."

"I was tired, that's all."

"Yeah. Of course, you know that I know you're lying, but as a friend I'm far too considerate to call you a liar to your face, or pursue it further. But you're a liar, Vanessa Williams. You'll feel better getting it out in the open."

"Maybe later."

"Okay. But we're still good, yeah? Fancy a pie and a pint later?"

"I can't. I'm meeting someone, and then Shades is coming around."

"Meeting someone? Nothing to do with Daisy, I hope."

"No, just a friend, back from university days."

"Okay. Because I meant what I said, you know. This job is toxic, Ess. The quicker we drop it, the better."

"Tunnel coming up. Got to go. Bye." She hung up on him. He meant well, she knew, but he didn't understand. He couldn't, and she couldn't explain it to him.

***

Dorothy's house had the sort of front garden that inspired angry letters to the local garden society. To the untrained eye it looked as though no one had touched it in years. Ess started to identify the herbs, but quickly gave up. There wasn't a herbalist in the country that could touch her old mentor.

A girl, fresh out of school by the looks of her, straightened and pushed hair away from her face. She had a fistful of leaves and flowers in her hand. She smiled at Ess.

"Welcome, Sister."

She may have retired from teaching, but Dorothy still had students, it seemed.

"Yeah, cheers," replied Ess. It wasn't a greeting you'd read in any coven handbook, but she hadn't spoken like a heroine in a sixteenth century novel in her life, and she was damned if she was going to now.

"Dorothy's in the kitchen." She led Ess around the house, throwing shy glances at her as they went. Yes, that's right, thought Ess. I'm a real, honest to goodness Wiccan sister. Eat your greens and one day you can grow up to be me.

The back door led directly into the kitchen. Ess stepped across the threshold and back ten years. The kitchen was a mess of pans, mortars, jars and bowls. The air was thick with savoury spice. Dorothy looked up from a saucepan and smiled.

"Hello Ess, dear. You've met Angela? She helps around the garden. I'm getting too old to bend down nowadays."

Ess didn't believe it for a minute. She bet Dorothy could place both elbows on the ground without bending her knees.

Dorothy beckoned the young girl over and examined her haul.

"This one." She held up a leaf. "You need to pinch it off at the stem, not just the leaf, otherwise infection can set in. This, you've got the top five leaves. Only go for three. The lower down the stem, the more bitter it tastes, and we don't want that. What's this one?"

The girl glanced up at Ess before answering, as if to make sure she had an audience to perform for. "Old Man's Wort. Centres the chi, focusses your energies and eases your bowels."

Dorothy grunted. "Okay. If you want, you can come back tomorrow evening, and I'll show you an analgesic safe for childbirth. May the Mother walk with you till you return."

"And with you." She all but curtsied, and with a final glance at Ess she ran for the door.

"And has the Mother walked with you?" she asked Ess, dumping the leaves into a teapot and pouring scalding water on top. "Because I'm not sure even She knew it would be quite so long before you returned."

"You could have told her she was right," said Ess.

Dorothy shrugged. "What's the good of telling someone they're right? Telling them they're wrong is the useful bit. Not that I could ever tell you, not in a way you'd listen." She looked up from the teapot and examined Ess. "Still, the Mother's been looking over you, from what I hear. Quite the adventurer. That was always in you, hiding behind your insecurities. That and your rebellious streak. Still, you're looking well. Sit down, girl, you're making the place look untidy."

Ess pulled out a chair and sat at the table.

"Still practicing the noble art, or is it all slaying dragons with you now?" Dorothy pulled down a couple of mismatched cups and placed them on the table.

"A little. Still keep my emergency kit with me." She patted her bag.

"I don't suppose you're in a coven or taken an apprentice?"

Ess shrugged. "I don't seem to have the time at the moment.

Dorothy grunted her scepticism of the excuse as she sat across the corner of the table and poured the tea into the cups.

"Well? Every minute takes me closer to my grave. Why are you here?"

Ess took a sip of the tea to brace herself. The taste took her back to her university days, seated with a couple of the other girls at Dorothy's feet, awe and terror mixed in equal measure.

"There's -- I think --" Mother and all her handmaidens, this was hard. As she place the cup on the table it rattled with the shaking of her hand. Dorothy reached out and placed her hand on her wrist. Then she rose, shuffled a few jars around on the shelf and found a small flask. She unstoppered it and poured a glug into Ess' cup. After a moment she shrugged and repeated the action with her cup.

"A soother?" asked Ess. Dorothy took a sip and winced.

"Sort of. Thirty percent proof soother. Now piss or get off the pot."

Ess closed her eyes. I'm a daughter of Gaia. I am one with the world. I am not some naïve student or a girly girl, I am Ess!

"There's something on me."

She wanted to vomit. More, she wanted to turn herself inside out and scrape herself clean. She shuddered and suppressed the emotion welling up inside. Dorothy's arms enveloped her. For a moment she pulled away and then she leant into the woman, shaking. Thirty seconds later Dorothy released her as suddenly as the hug had begun and returned to her seat as though nothing had happened.

"You always were a stubborn girl," she said. "Drink your tea."

Ess opened her eyes and reached for the cup with both hands. She inhaled the acrid fumes, then took a sip. The burning wasn't just from the temperature of the water.

"Only thirty percent proof?" Ess smiled at her own weak joke.

"Strong drink mocks the spirit and destroys the body. Besides, there's a time for getting pissed out of your head, and this isn't it. That's enough to be medicinal. Sit still, girl." Ess saw her mentor's eyes unfocus and felt awkward at the unfamiliarity of having someone else read her aura. Dorothy's gaze came back into this plane.

"You were precocious when it came to auras, I seem to recall. Very little I could teach you about that. Still keep that up?"

Ess nodded.

"Not really my cup of tea, aura reading." Dorothy sniffed. It seemed to Ess that, if a sniff could have a tone, it was one of disapproval. "Too much like tealeaf reading for the tourists, but it comes in handy sometimes. Nothing overly wrong with your aura, given the obvious stress. Something else there too. A partner, maybe? Not my business, of course. So, whatever's on you, it's not a permanent thing. But it's heavy."

Ess nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

"Must be heavy as a ton of sin for you to seek help. I remember you'd rather spend a day of your own mistakes than five minutes of someone else's help. Stubborn. But physicians make the worst patients, so they say. Someone's lain something on you, and whatever it is they've sewn your mouth up too. Tricky, that. Can't cure you if I don't know the disease. And you can't heal yourself, either." She stared at Ess as she took another draft of her tea. Then she shrugged. "So what? You expect me to wave my hands and mutter a spell? Abracadabra and you're whole?"

Ess shook her head, embarrassment rising up towards her face.

"No, this is a tricky one. It's going to take time. I'll have to feel my way. I take it it wasn't a sister did this."

"No. I mean, what sister would?"

"Well, there are all sorts. Some would if they had a reason. Not sure they could, though. You were always strong. That's why I tolerated the stubborn in you. I don't think a sister could, not on you. So someone else then. One of your adventures, eh? Can you tell me who? What?"

Ess thought of the face of the king, his eyes filling her vision, the gravity of his expression, the absolute inevitability of his command. She opened her mouth. Shame filled her as she exposed her vulnerability and helplessness to the one person who demanded independence from her. She tried to say who had put this injunction on her, to utter even the slightest clue, but it just would not come. The shame turned to anger and she screamed a meaningless word of rage and frustration at the woman in front of her.

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. "That'll be a no then. Got to admire them. They've worked a number on you, and no mistake. It'll take more than a cup of tea and a chorus of 'sisters are doing it for themselves' round the campfire. No, I'll need to work on it. Give me a week or two."

Seven days, he'd said, and she had to return regardless. Seven days, and one gone already.

She must have betrayed some of it on her face, because Dorothy narrowed her eyes. "Patience wasn't your strong point either, but there's more than that. This thing you can't speak about, is it something soon?"

Yes! screamed Ess in her head, while her jaw remained firmly locked.

Dorothy nodded. "Best set to, then." She stood and walked to the sideboard, returning with a pair of scissors in her hand. She took Ess' hair in her other hand and snipped a length, dropping the cutting into an envelope. "Hand." Ess held out her hand and Dorothy snipped the fingernail from her little finger, dropping that in with the hair. "Got to work backwards, then. Find out what's wrong with you, so I can find out how. Did they give you anything to drink? Eat?"

"No."

"No personal items, no snippets of hair?"

"No."

"All this without any totems or potions? Really?" Dorothy paused and stared long and hard at Ess. "Just who are you up against, Sister?"

Chapter 18
Under the clock

By snodlander

Ess’ phone rang on the journey back to Paddington.  She didn’t recognise the number.
 
“Hello?”
 
“Hello.  Ms. Williams?  It’s Allen Whitmarsh.”
 
“Hello.”  The name seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it immediately.
 
“Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday.  No rest for the wicked, eh?  But Peter and I are very keen to clear up this Daisy business.  Can we meet?”
 
Peter Davenport?  What was his PA’s name?  Allen?  Ess could only vaguely remember the man that lived in the MP’s shadow.
 
“Yes, of course.  When?”
 
“I’m free now.  Could I come round?”
 
“Oh, no.  I’m on a train into London, and, well, I have company at home later.”
 
“Perhaps a coffee?  Which station are you coming into?”
 
“Paddington.”
 
“Fine.  Can we meet there?  Over a coffee perhaps.”
 
“Um, okay.”
 
“Good.  They’re bound to have a clock or something.  I’ll meet you under it.  Or is that too clichéd?”
 
“No, fine.  I’ll get there in about half an hour.”
 
“Excellent.  Might take me a bit longer but please wait for me.”
 
She hung up.  Could this case actually be going somewhere now?  Why else would he be in such a hurry to meet her?  She texted Shades to let him know she was on her way and sat back.  If anyone could find a cure to her problem, it was Dorothy.  There wasn’t a finer Wiccan herbalist in the country.  She just wished she hadn’t had to go crawling to her for help.  A step forward in tracking down Daisy now.  And Shades waiting for her at home afterwards.  Life was on the up and up.  So why did she feel so gloomy?  Lack of sleep, probably.  It wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes just for a moment.
 
The train jolted and she snapped her eyes open.  They were at Paddington already.  How was that possible?  She grabbed her bag, stumbled off the train and made her way along the platform to the cathedral of a hall.  There was indeed a clock, a great three-sided square-faced monument to Victorian Gothic.  What did Whitmarsh look like?  All she could remember from the night before was a suit and tie.  No, his face was an oily blank. 
 
No one standing under the clock wore a suit, but then, it was Sunday.  Perhaps even politicos wore smart casual on Sundays.  Nobody looked the part either, even in plain clothes.  She joined the handful of tourists milling around under the clock.  After a minute the aroma coming from the coffee stall made to look like a gypsy caravan was too much.  She deserted her post long enough to buy a herbal tea that tasted more of chemicals than the organic ginseng and raspberry promised and resumed her position.
 
“Have you been stood up too?”
 
Ess turned to the speaker.  A boy, eighteen, all acne and nerves, grimaced at her.  He clutched a small box wrapped in a paper bag that could only be a last-minute box of chocolates bought on the station concourse.
 
“No.  I’m meeting someone.”
 
“Oh, okay, sorry.  Only you were looking at everyone, I thought you were on a blind date.  Thought for a moment you might have been mine.”  There was more than a hint of hope in his voice.  “I should be so lucky.”  His nervous laugh died suddenly.  “But you weren’t wearing the badge.”  He hooked a thumb at a badge on his lapel, which said ‘Hug Me’.  No, the badge not so much said as begged.  “She said she would wear the badge, you know, so we’d know each other when we saw.”
 
“I have a boyfriend,” said Ess, hoping that was the kindest way of putting him off.  It wasn’t exactly cursing the gods for foisting a boyfriend on her before she met this dreamy collection of bones held by taut elastic bands, but it wasn’t a lie either.  She suspected his blind date had already seen the badge, turned hers over and slunk away into the crowd.
 
“Okay.”  He nodded bravely.  “Of course you do.  The nice ones always do.”
 
She turned back to the faces milling around on the concourse.  Honestly, did she look like she was on a blind date?  Well, okay, maybe she did, she conceded.  Standing under the clock, looking at strange men as they neared.  She could understand that, but her?  No, she oozed a confident woman that had a very buff boyfriend, thank you very much.  Didn’t she?  My God, what if everyone thought that?  Worse, what if they thought she and the pubescent collection of terror and awkwardness were an item.  She took a surreptitious step away from him.  He matched it and took another closer for good measure.
 
“Can I ask you a question?” he said.  “She said twelve o’clock.  How long should I wait?”
 
Ess glanced up.  It was nearly one-thirty.
 
“I think something must have come up.  Maybe she can’t get here at all.  I’d call it quits.  I wouldn’t expect a boy to wait an hour and a half if it was me.”
 
He nodded and scanned the crowd.  “Yeah.  Maybe five more minutes.”
 
“Ms. Williams!”
 
Ess turned.  Whitmarsh, it appeared, did not believe in dress-down Sundays.  He had on the same shiny suit as last night, but the tie was different.  What did it say about him that she could remember his clothes but not his face?
 
“Have you been waiting long?”  He held out a hand and Ess shook it.
 
“No, not really.”
 
“Shall we find somewhere we can talk?  I spotted a coffee shop outside.”
 
“Yes, of course.”  She smiled a sympathetic goodbye at the desperate youth and walked off with Whitmarsh.  At the exit to the station she turned for a moment.  The youth still stood there, desperation oozing from him even at that distance, and she knew he’d still be there long after she got home.
 

Chapter 19
Tea With Whitmarsh

By snodlander

Whitmarsh led them to a branch of a coffee shop chain and ordered something with a made-up name ending in 'ccino'. The taste of the herbal tea still fresh in her mouth (if the result of a chemistry experiment could ever be said to be fresh) Ess played safe and ordered a decaffeinated Earl Grey.

"I'll get straight to the point," Whitmarsh said when they were seated. "I'm sure we both have other things planned. Peter has nothing whatsoever to do with that girl."

"Mr. Whitmarsh, I never said he did. I'm just trying to find her, that's all."

He stared at her, as if he didn't believe her for a moment. Ess raised her eyebrows, inviting a comment. When none came she said, "I'm trying to be patient here. I understand you deal with politics every day, but sometimes things are exactly what they seem on the surface. I'm just trying to find Daisy, and Mr. Davenport was the penultimate person to see her. That's my only interest in your employer. Where is he, by the way?"

"Ha! Peter is busy. These last couple of weeks busier than ever. But even so, as his advisor I would have strongly recommended he not meet you."

'Would have', thought Ess. So Davenport doesn't know about this meeting? Or at least, he can claim ignorance. No, that didn't seem to fit with the man she met last night. Davenport appeared to be that rare thing, a sincere politician. She wasn't sure of the significance, but she filed it away.

"Why's that?"

"Look, Peter is a good man. Yes, everyone's cynical about politicians, and the press has blown a lot of it all out of proportion, but Peter has worked tirelessly for his constituents for years. Finally, all that hard work, all that loyalty, not just to the party but to the thousands of people he represents, finally it's starting to pay off. It's no secret things are due a shake-up in Westminster, and Peter's name is being whispered. He was even on the telly this morning, the Dupont Interview."

Ess shook her head in ignorance. She wasn't that interested in politics. To be fair, she wasn't that interested in anything that happened early on a Sunday morning.

"Dupont. He's one of the major -- look, it's a big thing. Anyway, the point is, he's on the rise, and you know what that means." He looked at her and apparently decided that someone ignorant of how big a thing the Dupont Interview was would also be ignorant of what was obvious in politics. "It means the press and the opposition would love to stick the knife in. Kicking a man when he's in the gutter is hardly sporting, but knocking him off a ladder, oh, that's so very British. Now, there is nothing there to be uncovered. Peter's life is an open book, but when has that stopped the gutter press? Being associated in any way with any sort of scandal would not only be unjustified, it would be unjust, for him and for his constituents. Do you understand?"

Ess spread her hands. "So what's the problem?"

Whitmarsh sighed. "Really? Politician questioned in the disappearance of model. Married MP and the beautiful socialite. I'm standing by him, says long-suffering wife. Nothing out and out libellous, but enough innuendo to bring someone down, even when, and let me emphasise this again, even when there is no truth to it at all." He stabbed his finger on the table in time to the last few syllables. "So, Ms. Williams, I want to make absolutely certain you're aware of the hand I'm dealing here. Peter never met that woman before the photo shoot. She wasn't even meant to be there. She turned up uninvited halfway through the shoot. Peter talked to her, but he's a politician, talking to people is what they do, well, the good ones anyway. And then we left while Lord Hever continued to photograph her. He and I, we left because we had an engagement at Boreham Wood Comprehensive Spring Fair, where hundreds of teachers, kids and parents could attest to his presence. Peter has had no contact since. That is all there is to it. No scandal, no prurient gossip, just a casual and coincidental meeting. I would be very disappointed if I were to read anything in the press."

Was that a threat? she wondered.

"I think you've made that plain, Mr. Whitmarsh, though it does seem an awful lot of effort to tell me nothing."

He held up a finger.

"However - and let me make this plain, there is nothing untoward in this -- however, Peter was concerned that a pleasant young woman like Daisy should suddenly disappear. The plight of missing people is a tragedy in London, as it is in all major cities. He expressed this concern to you last night, and he's not a man to make empty noises and meaningless sound bites. So on his behalf I have done some detective work for you."

He pulled a folder from his briefcase and slid it across the table. When Ess reached for it his hand remained firmly on the cover, holding it closed.

"I have done this, you understand? Me. Peter is unaware, and should he become aware it could have repercussions. Peter is a fair man, but I'm not. If it hits the fan, I shall ensure the majority of it comes your way. The file leaves here with me, and I never showed it to you. You have no idea how many favours I called in to get this. People really do not like phone calls early on a Sunday morning. I need to know you understand this, or I can simply leave now."

His expression left no room for doubt. Ess nodded.

"I understand."

Whitmarsh removed his hand and sat back, staring at her as Ess opened the file and started to read. They were reports of movements, dates and times. A few paragraphs summarised Daisy and her lifestyle, full of jargon and odd phrases that every industry uses to mask it's machinations from the uninitiated. Photographs showed her leaving or entering various premises. One of them she recognised as Martin's apartment block. Every sheet had had the names of departments or people obscured, but if they weren't police reports, they were from departments that had police-like responsibilities.

She reached the end, closed the file and looked up at Whitmarsh, who was still staring at her. He held his hand out and she returned the file.


"Let me summarize," he said. "She is of no fixed abode, as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes she spends the nights at friends and acquaintances. Other nights --" He spread his hands and shrugged. "Our mutual acquaintance is one of the friends she seems to favour, as you saw, but she is by no means exclusive. That's a dangerous lifestyle for anyone. She also disappears God only knows where for periods. The point is, Ms. Williams, she may not be missing at all. She is infamous for her unreliability. And even if she is missing involuntarily, whilst that is of course terrible, one would have to wonder how it is she could have lived the life she does and not have put herself in harm's way before now."

"Are you saying that, as a woman, she asked for it?"

"I'm saying, we have to accept responsibility for our own decisions. Her choices are risky, and would be regardless of her gender. I look both ways before crossing the road, because although people shouldn't drink and drive, they still do. So if you are concerned about her wellbeing, I would strongly suggest you inform the professionals. I would also suggest that you take a look at the many acquaintances, casual and otherwise, with whom she has a record of staying."

Ess nodded at the file.

"Somebody must have been staking her out already."

"Her? No. She is not a person of interest as far as I know. She has no particular political or radical connections. Quite the opposite, her circle includes people of all persuasions, political and otherwise. She has been noticed only in as much as some person or person was of interest and she flitted by. She would only need to dally with two radicals or high rankers to sound a bell, but trust me, our security forces are far too stretched to follow foolish girls as they dance from one party to another."

Whitmarsh placed the file back in his case and nodded to her. "And if I can be of any further assistance --" He gave her a smile that dripped with insincerity and sarcasm, rose and left.

Ess gritted her teeth. She couldn't pinpoint the words, but she knew Whitmarsh was warning her off. Leave it to the police, harass Daisy's friends, but leave his precious member of parliament alone. If he thought that threatening her, however veiled, would put her off, he didn't know her very well at all. The question was, why?

Possibility one: Davenport was behind the disappearance. If Whitmarsh was right, Davenport's star was on the ascendency. Why would he risk his career over something like that? But then men were stupid when it came to hormones.

Possibility two: Whitmarsh was behind it, or knew who was. He was an oily, loathsome man, but he didn't strike Ess as having the passion or the hunger for that sort of thing. Besides, he was a schemer. He made plans, mapped out his future and explored all the possibilities. She bet he had his own life mission statement somewhere. He didn't seem to be the sort of person who would take any action without thinking it all through first.

Possibility three: It was exactly what Whitmarsh had said. He was just concerned about his employer's career and reputation. Whitmarsh struck her as someone who had long ago decided his own success relied on him holding tight to someone else's coattails. Maybe he was just being a good PA and friend.

She sighed. She would have to do a little more digging. There had to be stuff about the two men on the Internet somewhere. The meeting had done little to reassure her that Daisy was just away on an extended party somewhere. And somewhere in the back of her brain the clock ticked of the seconds before she would have to confront Daisy's father again.

Chapter 20
Dinner

By snodlander

Shades was already waiting for her when she got home, spread out on the easy chair like a cat. He made a show of looking at his watch and raised his eyebrows.

"Don't tell me my god-like body and rugged good looks are beginning to pale already."

"No, they're fine." Ess let her jacket fall over the kitchen chair and dropped into the sofa. "But my other boyfriend is really needy. It took me ages to get away from him."

"Fair enough. I can understand his point of view. I hope you gave his guide dog some biscuits."

Ess threw a cushion at him. "Oi! You cheeky sod. Be nice. I've had a hard day."

"Aw, sorry love. Do you want to rub my feet to take your mind off it?"

"Me? Rub your -- oh, haha, very funny."

Grinning, Shades levered himself off the chair and slid onto the sofa beside her.

"So, work? Social? Witchy stuff?"

"Yeah, all three, sort of."

"Want to talk about it?"

Ess shook her head. "Can't. Besides, that was work. I've clocked off now."

He reached a hand out and massaged the nape of her neck, strong fingers digging into the muscle. Ess closed her eyes and slowly stretched her back.

"And here I am complaining after your hard day at the office," he said. "I'm such an awful wife. What can I do to make up for it?"

"Have you cooked me dinner?"

"Nope. Good job I'm such a slut in the bedroom or you'd divorce me."

"Oh, that's right. I told you you were good in bed, didn't I. You believed me?"

"I can get better. All I need is practice."

Ess wriggled out of his grasp and snuggled into the crook of his arm.

"Maybe later? Sorry, babes, but I am shattered. I had a rough night last night, and my mind's on other things at the moment. Besides, I really am hungry. I had an early breakfast and I've not had lunch."

"Lunch?" Shades looked at his watch again. "Three o'clock? A bit late for that. I'll tell you what, shall I get us a takeaway? My treat. I'll even slop it onto plates for you."

"All E numbers and MSG? I don't think so. Cook me something."

"Yeah, right. Unless you want me to burn meat, you're out of luck there. Are you too tired to go out? On the plus side, if we can find anywhere open on a Sunday afternoon we shouldn't have to book."

Ess looked towards the kitchen, making a mental inventory of the fridge contents. There were plenty of ingredients, but it would involve cooking, and just for the moment she didn't want to bother.

"Yeah, stuff it, let's go out. There's a Thai place that never closes near the South Bank. I think they even burn meat. But if I buy you dinner you've got to put out for me later, okay? No teasing."

Shades gently prised her off his arm and leant away from her.

"I really don't know what sort of boy you think I am, that I'd put out for a meal. You'll have to buy me a drink as well if you want to get past first base."

"Oh God, there had better be drink involved, after my day."

The Thai restaurant was tucked out of the way, close enough to the South Bank complex to be convenient for the artistes and intelligentsia, but out of the way of the tourist thoroughfares. It was a twenty minute walk away, but the afternoon was warm and the company pleasant. They strolled north towards the river. Ess hooked her arm around Shades' and tried to forget the future beyond dinner and what may lay ahead for them later that evening.

"I get to have a lie in with my favourite fellah. How rare is that?"

"Lie in? You're not going to come on my dawn five-mile run with me?"

"Only five miles? Sure. Dawn, that's around eleven o'clock, right?"

Shades sighed. "Listen, I don't want to spoil the mood, but is everything going okay? With your case, I mean."

"Have I blundered into a dead end, you mean?"

"No, no. I have every confidence in you, you know that, and I know you don't want me interfering, and I haven't, have I? Only, if you were in trouble, you'd tell me, right?"

Ess looked up into his eyes. Much as she liked him, she had never pegged him as being the sensitive type who could divine her thoughts from the subtlest of clues. How had he guessed she was in trouble?

"What do you mean? I'm looking for a missing person, not bringing down an international drug ring."

She felt a lurch of guilt hit her stomach. She wasn't lying to him, she wasn't. And she didn't know she was in trouble. Daisy's father hadn't threatened her, not explicitly. And unless Dorothy could come up with some sort of counter to the enchantment, she couldn't tell him anyway.

"No, it's just me being the overprotective boyfriend. I know how much you like being treated like the little woman. Come on, down here. This is a shortcut."

He steered her into a narrow footpath, hardly more than an alley between ancient buildings.

"No it isn't." Ess tugged at him, but he laughed and pulled her on.

"What are you up to? You don't even know where the restaurant is."

He stopped and whirled her round, sliding his hands around her waist. "What, can't I have a quick snog with my girlfriend?"

"I never said I was your girlfriend. I keep you around because you can undo jars, nothing more. Don't go telling people I'm your girlfriend."

"Yeah, yeah. Give us a snog."

"No!" She glanced up the alley. A man approached, his eyes on the dark windows, averting his gaze. "Besides," she hissed, "there's someone coming."

Shades stepped back and his hands flew to his chest. He patted his jacket and trouser pockets and swore.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I forgot my wallet. I'll run back and get it."

"Don't be silly. I'll pay and you can pay your half back to me later."

"No, I won't be a kept man. It won't take a minute. Wait here."

He turned and hurried back up the footpath.

"Shades." Ess took a step towards him. "Don't be daft."

As Shades reached the pedestrian the stranger stepped aside to make room. For a moment Shades appeared to stumble, his shoulder dropping as he tripped, and then his right fist connected with the stranger's stomach so hard the man doubled up and fell backwards onto the pavement.

"Shades!" She ran forward. "Oh my God, are you all right?"

Shades reached out and grabbed the man's wrist.

"Up you get, chummy." He jerked him to his feet.

"Oh, we're so terribly sorry," said Ess.

"Yeah, here, let me just -- " Shades struck the man on the back of the shoulder as he twisted his wrist with his other hand. The man slammed into the wall. Shades intertwined one arm in his, his hand resting on the man's shoulder as the stranger's arm wrapped around Shades', his hand trapped on Shade's shoulder.

"Simon! Stop it. What are you doing?" Ess stood, too shocked to intervene.

"You called me Simon. Does that mean I'm in trouble? It's a Taekwondo hold," said Shades, matter-of-factly. "Actually, it's meant to be a ground restraint, but if you're any good it's possible to roll out of it. Up against the wall, though, you'd have to be able to fly. Besides, I dressed up for you, and I didn't want to get my trousers dirty."

"Let him go. You're hurting him."

"No, not really. To hurt him I'd need to lean in a little." Shades demonstrated, and the stranger grunted with pain. "See? No, this is just a restraint hold, until he tells us why he's following you."

"Excuse me?" Ess looked at the man's face again. She didn't recognise him. "Following me?"

"Well, he didn't follow me to your place, I'd have noticed. I did see him outside when I arrived, though. Didn't think much of it, but it's a bit of a coincidence him following us all the way from your place too, don't you think?"

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, trust me. I've followed enough people in my time. I'd have made a better job of it too. So, sunshine, who are you and why are you following us?"

"I don't know what -- aaahh."

"Oh sorry. You were talking so quietly I had to lean in to listen, because it sounded remarkably like you were lying to me. Who are you working for?"

"I don't know -- Agh!"

"Shades! You'll break his arm." Ess laid a hand on Shades' free arm. He didn't seem to notice.

"Break it? No. However, if I lever his arm back a little more and then lean in, there's a very real chance his shoulder will pop right out of its socket. Do you have your first aid kit on you?"

"Look, I'm just doing a job, okay?" The stranger tried to wriggle, but stopped immediately and winced. "I'm legit, just an obs and report job. That's all."

"What? You really were following me?" asked Ess, the man's distress suddenly forgotten.

"Ess, be a dear and see if he's got a wallet," said Shades. "I'd do it but that would involve me leaning in again and I don't think this gentleman would appreciate that."

Gingerly Ess tapped the man's jacket, reached inside and removed a wallet between finger and thumb, holding it as though it might explode.

"Has he got any identification in there?"

"Sorry," she told the stranger, then opened the wallet. Some bank cards, a photo of a woman hugging a couple of kids, and a small stack of business cards. She prised one out.

"Oh, he's a private investigator," she said. "T. Elcombe from City Investigations?"

"See?" said the prisoner. "I told you I was legit. Now let me go or there'll be trouble."

"Oh, there's trouble already," said Shades, "but fair enough. I'll let you go." He made no move to release him. "Oh, first, who was it you said had hired you again?"

"I don't know. No-no-no-no, I don't. I don't." He screwed his face up in pain.

"Shades! Stop it! He's telling the truth. I can read it." Ess slapped him on the arm. "Let him go, you hear?"

Shades looked at Ess' blazing face and, after a moment's hesitation, released the private detective.

"You don't know? How's that work then?" he asked.

Elcombe rolled his shoulder and massaged it with his other hand. "Look, I'm just a leg man, okay? A partner tells me to go do something, I go do it, put my time sheet in and collect my pay cheque. Obs and report was the brief, that was all. I don't know who the client is."

"Okay. So now you've observed, you can trot off and report. But if I see you or any of your friends hanging around, even the intervention of this good woman here won't be enough to save your arm, you understand?"

Elcombe stared at the two of them for a moment, then turned and hurried off down the footpath, still massaging his shoulder. Shades watched him go until Elcombe disappeared around the corner, then he turned to Ess and switched on a bright smile.

"Dinner?"

Chapter 21
Fizzy Wine

By snodlander

They entered Ess' apartment in silence. It should have been a rare joy, dining out during the afternoon with a prospect of a couple of uninterrupted days before them. Instead the meal was a mix of forced jollity and awkward silences. Shades headed straight for the fridge and pulled out a wine bottle. He placed a couple of glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa, where Ess had collapsed.

"Champagne?" she asked.

"Well, the best fizzy wine that --" He peered at the label " -- Bulgaria can produce. I know what my girl likes."

He poured a generous helping into each glass, handed one to Ess and slid into the easy chair that she was trying hard not to think of as 'his' chair. She sighed.

"Okay, go on then. Ask."

"Ask? What about? Oh, you mean the private detective following you, secret missions, fights in back alleys and sulky dinners? You mean that? I hadn't noticed."

"I'm not sulking."

"Okay, well, actually, yes, I do have a question. Just one." He took a gulp of the cheap wine, leant forward and looked intensely into her eyes. "What the hell? Just that, really. What the hell, Ess? Just what the hell?"

"Idiot."

"I don't want to interfere. No, that's not true, I do want to interfere. Of course I do. But I won't. I know what you'd say if I did. But seriously, what the hell are you into? I thought you were chasing fairies through the park."

"I am, sort of."

"Sort of?"

She closed her eyes and saw Regents Park, the clump of trees, the clearing... She snapped her eyes open again.

"This missing person thing. It's hard. Most people don't think she's missing, and I think I sort of got warned off this morning, you know, in a 'I really want to do you a favour' sort of way. And then that horrible man following me and I didn't even know. What if you hadn't been there?"

Shades shrugged. "Then you wouldn't have been any the wiser. He was a grunt in a legitimate firm. Most of those lot live hand to mouth but, give or take an illegal hack or two, they're just normal joes making a living. But City Investigations have offices in a few towns. They have to be careful. Anything dodgy and they wouldn't touch it with a barge pole. No, they were hired just to keep an eye on you, nothing more."

"You know them?"

"No." He patted his chest pocket. "I Googled them whilst you were powdering your nose in the restaurant."

Ess decided to ignore the implied interference into her professional life. "But who would hire them?"

"That's the question. You won't find out. The oik in the alley would have told us if he knew, but the company won't. They'd lawyer up in an instant. The more interesting question is why? Find that out and the other stuff will make sense."

"Good, because none of it makes sense at the moment. I'm getting nowhere."

"Is that what you think?"

Ess narrowed her eyes and peered at him over her glass. "What do you mean? Have you been snooping?"

Shades held up his hands. "Me? I wouldn't dare. Seriously, I've not done a thing. But a big firm like that, they don't come cheap. Okay, so they hired a complete plonker to follow you, but I bet they charged their client top dollar for him. So someone thinks you're somewhere close enough to something to hedge their bets with real money. So congratulations. Sounds like you've nearly solved it."

"But I haven't."

"You rattled someone's cage, though. Who have you spoken to?"

Ess counted them out on her fingers. "There's Lord Hever. He was the last person to see her, as far as I know. He took some photos of her. Peter Davenport and his agent, just before that. Her agent. And various models and others at the party"

"So I'm thinking this isn't some kid from a council estate."

Ess hesitated. Did it really matter if Shades knew? After all, he'd just laid himself on the line to protect her. Not that there was any danger to him, he'd moved too powerfully, too gracefully, to be at any risk.

"It's Daisy. You know, the model."

Shades let out a low whistle. "Wow. You don't do things by half, do you. These people at the party, you have their names?"

"No, not really. I mean, it was hardly more than hello, have you seen this girl, goodbye. And like I said, no one's even that sure she's missing."

"I think we can assume she is. Unless she hired the detectives herself to make sure you didn't find where she's hiding, but that's hardly likely. Her agent's not going to want her missing. Think of all that commission she's missing. Hever? The photographer?"

Ess nodded.

"No," said Shades, after a few moments. "I mean, if he's got photos, conceivably they'd be worth more if she was dead, but I can't see that. He's got to be worth a few bob already. You don't see him riding around town on a pushbike. Davenport? Who's he?"

"A politician."

Shades shrugged. "Don't know him. Has he got a motive?"

"I don't know. I mean, I don't know if anyone has. Everyone seems to like her. No one has a bad word to say about her. Well, most people, anyway."

"Who doesn't like her, then?"

"Well, it's not that he doesn't like her. He never said that. But Whitmarsh, Davenport's agent, he showed me a file that made her out to be, well, not a slut exactly, but that was what he was trying to say. Sleeping around. Disappearing for periods at a time. That sort of thing."

"A police file?"

"I think so. It was all blocked out, but police, MI5, someone like that."

"Why would the police have a file on her?"

"I don't know. Something about her meeting people of interest. He didn't seem to think anyone was interested in her, just somebody she might have met."

"When did you speak to this politician?"

"Davenport? Last night."

Shades sat back and frowned, staring through the far wall. Eventually he shook his head. "This doesn't smell right. No way some obscure MP is going to be able to get a file like that in twelve hours, on a Sunday too. Sounds to me as though he had it already, or was fed it from higher up. If the security people have a file on her, then there's a chance they have her, and they set their tame MP onto you to keep it quiet and the detective to keep an eye on you."

"The security forces?"

Shades grunted. "Oh yeah, I forgot. We live in a democracy. Due process and all that."

"But you said it was a legitimate investigation company."

"Yeah, we used them sometimes. Plausible deniability, plus they can do things unmonitored the security forces can't."

'We'. Ess noted. 'We used them'. She filed the slip away for later.

"But if that is the case, you don't have a hope in hell of finding her," he continued. "They'll have her squirrelled away, and they'd stop you if you got anywhere near."

He stared at her for a moment and then sighed. "But of course, that's not going to stop you. So you have to hope they aren't interested in her and it's someone else she's with. I'd chase the money. Who's going to benefit from her disappearance?"

"What makes you think it's about money?"

Shades sighed, picked up the bottle and held it out. Ess held out her glass, wondering where the wine had gone.

"Because the next most likely is it's a sex crime, and in that case you're looking for a body."

Chapter 22
Stupid o'clock

By snodlander

The clock told her it was stupid o'clock in the morning. She should be asleep, snuggled into the warmth of Shades beside her. At the very least she should be sleepy and snuggled. Instead the prospect of that awful meeting with Daisy's father loomed ahead of her every time she closed her eyes. It was no good, she had to do something.

Wincing at every movement, she slid as slow as continental drift from under the cover and away from the sleeping body that was becoming all too familiar in her bed. She padded across the floor, opened the door just wide enough to slip out and eased it closed behind her.

She set up her laptop on the kitchen table, made herself a tea and opened up the browser. The first name she searched was City Investigations. They had a swish website, all corporate themed and professional-looking. A quick trawl through the search engines told her nothing.

Next she searched for Allen Whitmarsh. The man was almost a ghost. He didn't seem to have his own profile on any of the social sites. Wherever his name did crop up, it was inevitably alongside the man in whose shadow he seemed to live.

She heard a movement behind her. She turned, saw Shades and snapped her head back to the screen, furious at the blush that she could feel rising. She hammered Davenport's name into the search engine as Shades drew up a chair next to her.

"Whatchya doin'?" he asked.

"Working. Go back to bed."

"Not sleepy. The perils of extended night work."

Davenport was a career politician. He'd been in his present seat for fifteen years. He had a vanilla profile on some of the media sites. He had a smiling wife and two smiling kids, all scrubbed antiseptic clean for the camera. He'd been unremarkable in both his political and private life.

"I'm not wearing any panties," said Shades, nudging her. She shoved him away without looking at him. She was only too aware of his clothing and lack thereof.

And then two weeks ago Davenport started to raise his head over the parapet. Interviews in the papers, and not just the local ones. His name cropped up in the political gossip columns. The Dupont Interview was his first TV appearance as far as she could see, but he was lined up for a couple of more in the coming week, even guesting on a comedy panel show. Whitmarsh was right, his star did seem to be in the ascendancy.

"In fact, I'm not wearing anything at all." Shades nudged her again.

She whirled round to face him, eyes resolutely on his. "I'm working! Leave me alone. You're being a real pain."

Shades looked contrite. "You're right. And I'm distracting you. I'm a very naughty boy. You should spank me."

Ess screwed her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. She would not laugh at him, she would not. He was making her angry, even if he was funny and gorgeous and, yes, naked as the day he was born.

"Just... just... go to your room."

He shook his head. "Oh no. You just want to watch me parade my naked body across the floor."

"Duh! I'm on the Internet. I can ogle as many naked bodies as I want. Just leave me alone."

He stroked her shoulder. "When are you coming back to bed? I miss you."

"Yeah, yeah. Go take a cold shower. I'll be back later."

He leant in closer and treated her to a naughty grin. "We could shower together."

"Look, be a good boy and sod off for a few minutes, and then maybe I'll come back to bed."

"Okay then. But if you don't soon I'll come out and have you on the table." He leant in, and just as she pursed her lips he jerked back. "Hurry up." He rose and strode back to the bedroom. "I know you're looking at my arse," he said, without looking round.

As distractions go, his bum wasn't half bad. But a distraction was what it was. She could bury herself in distractions for the rest of the week, but it wouldn't make the problem go away.

Her eyes scanned the political articles, but her mind skimmed over them, uninterested. What could be his motivation? Only an idiot would risk something so stupid on the eve of his career taking off, and Davenport didn't strike her either as stupid, or indeed as criminal. Whitmarsh, maybe, but even his concern appeared to be for his boss.

She searched for Lord Hever. Most of the hits were about his portrait photography, with another tranche of his glamour shots. Socially he made the rounds of the aristocracy and blue-chip business leaders. Clicking on one link her stomach lurched as Daisy stared back at her, her face full of innocent playfulness. She could see why Nick Hever was so successful as a photographer.

A sex crime? Who could do that to her? Well, a man, obviously. It never ceased to amaze her how high and how low a man could reach, but honestly, why would anybody hurt her? Was it a spy thing? Had she got too close to someone the security forces were interested in? Was she locked up somewhere in a windowless cell, awaiting the next round of waterboarding? Not here, surely not in Britain.

"Where are you, Daisy?" she asked the face on her screen. Daisy smiled back but didn't answer. She looked up at the clock. It was now half past stupid o'clock. She shut the lid of her laptop. There was nothing she could do now, anyway, and how often did she get Shades to herself for more than an hour or two?

Chapter 23
The Jehovah Witness boy band

By snodlander

Ess awoke and stretched, feeling luxuriously lazy. She reached out an arm into the Shades-shaped vacuum next to her. She frowned and opened her eyes. His side was messed up. Well, to be honest, the whole bed was messed up. She grinned. A whole night together. How fantastic was that? But where was he now? She slid out of bed, threw a robe over herself and tottered into the living area. Shades sat at the table, a steaming mug before him.

He smiled at her.

"Hiya, babes. You didn't have to get up."

She saw him wrap his hands around the mug in an unconscious gesture. Ess sniffed the air.

"If you've polluted my cupboards with jars of instant coffee you are out on your ear, mister."

He grinned. "Would I? This is from the cafe round the block. I thought you wouldn't object to me buying it even if you won't let me make my own."

Ess grunted, not giving her approval but unable to think of an objection. "I don't suppose you've made anything for me?"

"I thought I'd let you sleep in. Anyway, you've got so many potions, I'd be frightened of turning you into a frog."

Ess made her way to the kitchenette and switched on the kettle. "So you wouldn't love me as a frog? What is it with you? Are you only interested in the shape of my body?"

"Be fair, love. It is an amazing shape. But yeah, I'd still love you as a frog. I'm not really that picky."

"God, you're romantic." She poured her muesli melange into a bowl and opened the fridge.

"Who said you could put stuff in my fridge?" she said as she pushed a couple of bottles of Shade's fizzy Bulgarian wine aside to get to her soya milk.

"You want warm champagne?"

"Fair point, but don't make a habit of it."

She took the bowl of cereal and steaming mug of her own herbal blend to the table and sat down. Three mouthfuls into her breakfast she became aware of Shades staring at her.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

Shades shrugged. "It's just nice, that's all. Having time together without one of us getting ready to go to work or falling asleep."

"You're not moving in."

"No, no, I get that. It's just nice, that's all."

"I mean it. You're just on probation. When I get bored of you I'm throwing you away and getting a new one."

He grinned and ran a finger down her shoulder.

"I'd better not let you get bored then."

Ess took a drink of her herb tea, hiding her smile until she felt she could keep a straight face again. Then she said, "Yeah, just keep on your toes, mister. Don't think a washboard stomach gets you a free pass."

"What, this old thing?" He lifted his sweatshirt and tensed his stomach. "You don't like it?"

Ess grinned and so-soed with her hand. "It's all right. Show me more. I want to see some pecs."

He started to tease his shirt higher, but suddenly a knocking on the door interrupted them. Shades tugged his shirt back down. "Expecting someone?"

"Yeah, look at me." She pulled her robe tighter round her.

"I'll get it," said Shades, rising.

"Get your own door." She beat him to the door and looked through spy lens. Three young men stood outside. The lens distorted their faces, but they were all young and fit, like a Jehovah Witness boy band. One of them rapped on the door again. Ess unlocked the door and opened it a fraction.

"Yes?"

Damn, but they were gorgeous. Ess stepped back a pace and didn't object when one of them pushed the door wide. She backed up as they advanced into the flat, her eyes fixed on the leader. He was amazing, sex and innocence wrapped in a body to die for, as though an angel had got a job as a stripogram.

"Hey!" She heard the scrape and clatter as Shades' chair fell backwards. She wanted to turn, to tell him everything was all right, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the man in front of her. In her peripheral vision she saw Shades running forward, then slow to a stop. The man in front of her turned to one of his friends, and finally Ess gained some control over her eyes. She turned to see what the gorgeous creature was looking at. Shades stood in front of one of the men, who had a slender hand on Shade's chest. It was enough to hold Shades as he stared slack-jawed at the intruder. The man leant forward and whispered. Just like she'd seen with Oz.

Someone was saying something, but she couldn't make it out.

Just like Oz. Only this wasn't Oz, it was Shades.

"Fairies."

The voice was louder. It was a woman, close, which didn't make sense, because she was the only woman there.

"Shades!"

The speaker knew her nickname for her boyfriend. Who was it?

"Fairies!"

With a shock she recognised the voice. It was her own. Who was using her voice?

Shades! They were touching him. Touched in the head. Stroked by fairies. Her Shades.

"Fairies!" And now she felt her jaw move with the voice. It was her, struggling to wake up from a dream like a drowning woman kicking for the surface.

"Leave him alone." She panted with the effort, but it was getting easier now. The befuddled part of her was evaporating as the enormity of the nightmare in front of her hit home.

"You're the witch?" said the leader.

"Leave him be!" Her voice was stronger now, as the anger blew the cobwebs away. "Get the hell away from him."

"You're the witch." It was a statement now.

"Too bloody right I'm the witch. Not just a witch, but a bloody powerful one. I've fought demons, me. Vampires too. You leave him alone, you hear? Tell your boyfriend to put him back."

"He's fine." He shrugged as though it were nothing. Nothing! They were screwing with Shades' brain and they thought it was nothing!

"I am Vanessa, daughter of Gaia, sister to every witch in the world. I know the seven secrets of the earth and the water and the air. I know every dark art and every painful secret in this world and the other." She took a step forward and the tiny part of her brain that wasn't incandescent with rage felt a smug satisfaction that the figure in front of her took a step back. "Leave him alone or I will rain all the curses of the universe on you, and your friends, and your family, and your whole bloody species, and so will my sisters, until your world is nothing but pain. Put him back!" She was screaming now. "Put him back now or by Gaia I will -- I will -- rip your frigging wings off and force feed them to you."

It wasn't a traditional curse, but it had an effect. The leader hesitated and licked his lips nervously. "He's just sleeping."

Ess threw her hands out, palms forward and started muttering under her breath. They were nonsense words, but it didn't matter. She felt the rage building up, coursing through nerves, looking for a way out, and all she had to do was give it a channel. The words weren't for the spell, or even for her. Magic was all well and good, but sometimes words, even meaningless ones, could shatter worlds.

The leader hesitated, then nodded to his companion, who leant forward again and muttered in Shades' ear.

"There. He'll be fine."

"Shades?" She stared at the man in front of her. Shades didn't reply. She shot him a look, then fixed her laser-hot stare back at the fairy. "Simon!"

"Huh?"

"Are you there?"

"Wha'?"

"Bring him back, I said. Back to the here and now. Do it now, not next bloody week. Now!"

"He will be fine." His nervousness was growing more apparent. "We can do no more."

"Right, you bastard, then see what I can do." She threw her hands out in her best stage magician impression. The fairy stepped back, holding his hands out in defense.

"Dust," said his companion. "There's still dust on him, that's all."

"Dust?" Ess looked at the trio, who all nodded vigorously as she aimed her outstretched hands at each in turn. Shades looked like a drunk struggling to understand why his car key wouldn't fit his front door lock. He was awake, sort of. More awake than Oz had been, but she was damned if she was going to spend another twenty-four hours playing nurse. "Does it wash off?"

The others looked at each other. It was obviously not a question they'd asked themselves before.

"Right, you stay there, understand? You just bloody stay right there or, or, or I'll bloody do for you, okay?" She strode up to Shades, grabbed him by his arm and marched him into the bathroom. Turning on the shower to the max she shoved him fully clothed under the water. She stepped back and glared out through the open door at the three, who stood in a huddle of resentment in the living room.

"What the hell?"

Shades shook his head and spluttered, stepping out from under the shower. Ess shoved him back, but he stepped out again, batting away her hand.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Are you awake?"

"What? Of course I am. Some mad bitch just tried to drown me. How can I sleep through that?"

She slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Turn the shower off and come finish your coffee. It's getting cold."

She marched back into the room. Relief flooded her system, making her joints so weak she wanted to collapse on the floor and weep. But she couldn't, not in front of these bastards. They'd attacked her man. They could have destroyed his mind. They could have killed him or worse, turned him into a vegetable. She tried to channel her emotion back into rage again, but now she was in control. She was merely simmering.

"State your business," she said through clenched teeth.

Shades stepped out of the bathroom. "Who are you?" he snarled, stepping forward. Ess whirled round. Shades took a pace forward, a towel frozen in the middle of drying his hair.

"Simon, put your muscles away. Go sit down and drink your coffee. I'm handling this."

He looked at her, his face full of questions.

"Please, just this once, let me deal with this. Sit down. Drink your coffee. You need the caffeine."

Shades moved slowly to the table, picked up his cup and glared at the intruders. He remained standing. She let him have that little victory. Turning back to the visitors she jerked her chin at them and said, "Well?"

"You're looking for Daisy."

"What's that to you?" How had she thought him gorgeous? He was okay, if you liked pretty-boy androgyny, but not her type. Not her type at all.

"She's my sister."

Chapter 24
Allies and Enemies

By snodlander

"I don't care who she is, you don't come barging into my home and messing with my friends, understand?" Daisy's brother? She hadn't been expecting that. She kept her furious front up -- it was all she had to defend herself with at the moment -- but behind it she wondered what it meant. A week, her father had said. A week before she had to face him again, and she'd barely had a couple of days. "What do you want?"

"She's my sister."

Ess waited, but that seemed to be all he thought she needed as an explanation.

"And?"

"And she's our responsibility. You have no right to interfere. She shouldn't even be with your sort. So leave her alone."

"I can't."

The figure in front of her took a step forward. His two companions backed him up, though a tad reluctantly, Ess thought.

"You've done enough damage. Go find your own kind. We'll find her and we'll make sure she doesn't get hurt by you anymore."

"Really? So you know where she is? You know where she went, who she's with? Do you even have the slightest idea of what she did or who she saw when she was with 'my kind'?" She cocked her head to one side. "Or maybe your father does. Is that it? Has he changed his mind? Because last time I spoke with him he was pretty adamant that I had to find her. Maybe you should take me back there to see him. No? It doesn't matter. I know the way. I can pay him a visit myself, give him your regards, tell him how sorry I am that he sent you to take me off the case."

Ah, that hit home. While Daisy's brother held onto his look of contempt, his companions looked a little less assured. Ess decided to ramp it down a notch.

"Look, I just want to find Daisy, that's all. You do too, I understand that. So fill your boots. Go look for her. I'll rain every blessing of the Mother on you. But I'll look too, because it can't hurt, right? We both have our own skills, I'm sure. And if you find her first, I'll be delighted. We're not enemies."

"You think we're allies?"

"Allies? No. I don't think you'd ever lower yourself to ally yourself with 'my kind'. But if you really want to find your sister, you won't close any doors. Now, may Mother Gaia and all her handmaidens smile on your endeavour, may she bless your search and keep you in her hands till Daisy is found." She smiled and held a hand out to the door.

Daisy's brother glared at her for several seconds. "I don't need your Mother," he snarled at last, then spun on his heel. "And keep out of my way."

"Just one thing," said Ess, as he reached the door. He stopped and turned towards her. Ess smiled sweetly. "If you touch any of my friends again, even the Mother won't be able to save you." She waved a hand at him. "Blessings on you."

She stared at the open door after they'd left, fighting the nausea the relief dumped in her stomach. She started as Shades laid a hand on her shoulder. Damn, but he moved quietly, or maybe she was concentrating too much. She placed a hand on his and leant into his damp chest.

"You're a tiger when you get going, you know that? I like a girl with spirit." He kissed the top of her head.

"No bitch messes with my man's mind, except me." She eased herself out of his hold and slammed the door shut, turning and leaning against it as if to hold the hordes out. Shades looked at her quizzically.

"Still don't want to tell me about it?"

Did she! Were bears Catholic? Of course she wanted to, but that damn old man had done such a number on her. She closed her eyes and saw the face of the king filling her vision, his terrible injunction descending into her brain. She shook her head and forced a smile.

"No. Woman's work. You just lie around the place waving your muscles and looking cute."

He raised an arm, flexing it. The wet material of his sweatshirt clung to him, outlining the bicep. "That what you want?" he said, but she could still hear the note of concern, see the worry behind the smile.

"Idiot. Go change. You're dripping all over my floor. Oh, and -- " She punched him on the shoulder. "That's for calling me a mad bitch. And that - " She punched him again. "That's for scaring me. And this is for everything else." She flung her arms around his neck, pulling his face down to her level, kissing him hard, ignoring the bruising on her lips as his wet clothes soaked through her robe. Her legs shook, her joints turning to water as the adrenalin drained from her system and the realisation of what had happened finally dawned on her.

"Wait," mumbled Shades, trying to push her back, but she clung to him, unsure she could stand by herself. "Just let me -- " He reached to the side and carefully placed his half-full mug of coffee on the table. "Okay, I'm --"

She flung herself at him and he caught her, staggering for a moment as she buried her face in his neck.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," she said as he picked her up and turned back to the bedroom.

Chapter 25
Ingestion

By snodlander

Ess sat at the table, her mindmap open in front of her. Why was it everyone seemed to think she was getting somewhere when it was obvious she wasn't? The diagram of people and links resembled less a web and more the pathetic few strands left after a storm. Time was running out and even the hour tumbling with Shades had been a desperate but doomed attempt to drown out the ticking clock always at the background of her thoughts.

Her phone rang and she grabbed at it, anxious to leave Shades in his post coital coma.

"Hello?"

"Ess. What have you got yourself mixed up in?"

"Hello, Dorothy. Sorry?" Mentally she kicked herself. She was a strong and confident daughter of Gaia. Why did she always feel so insecure in the presence of her old mentor? She stood up. She'd read somewhere that standing when you were on the phone made you sound more assertive.

"I've run some tests," said Dorothy. "There's something odd. I've not seen it before, but there's definitely something contaminating you, girl."

"Contaminating me? What do you mean?"

"I found something coating your hair and nail. Very fine, hardly a smidgeon, but it was there. Not in the material, but on the outside. You say you didn't ingest anything?"

"No."

"Then whatever it is, I think you breathed it in. That would explain the coating on the surface. Any idea how?"

Ess closed her eyes and thought back to the meeting with the king. How many of them had been in that clearing? How long had they lived there? Her London history wasn't good enough to recall how old Regents Park was. Had it always been woodland that west London had simply grown around? Mother, the dust could have accumulated there for centuries. How much of it would have been floating around her in the time she spent there?

"Maybe."

"But you can't tell me, or what it is."

"You don't know?"

"It's not Wiccan, that much I can tell you. It's not herbal and it's not mineral. Organic, I think. But then, I suspect you knew that. Interesting little exercise you've set me, sister, like trying to read the paper blindfold."

"What can I do about it?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it. How do we cure something when we don't know what it is? The best course for the moment is a purgative. Flush it out of your system, if you can. I'd have better advice if you could talk about it, but then, if you could talk about it..."

Then she wouldn't have the problem.

"Thanks, Dorothy," she said, wishing she could feel thankful.

"I'll keep working on it, but if it's not herbal then you may have to fix this on your own. Blessings of the Mother on you."

"What? Oh, yeah, you too."

She hung up and stared at the useless mindmap, wishing she could talk to someone about the looming deadline. Damn Daisy's father. It wasn't her fault. She was trying to find his daughter, it wasn't her that had run off and it definitely wasn't her that had kidnapped Daisy. Why was she the one that was going to be punished?

She kicked the air in frustration, but it didn't help. She needed something more substantial to kick. She stared at her phone, then hit the speed dial.

"Oz?"

Chapter 26
The armoury

By snodlander

Oz dumped the glass of water on the table with bad grace.

"The witches brew you call tea would be better than this," he grumbled. "Water? Really? I mean, how am I ever going to seduce you if I can't get you drunk?"

Ess shook her head. "There's not enough alcohol in the world. Besides, Shades would kick your arse if you ever tried."

"Ah, but I would die a happy man, and when all's said and done, dying happy is all we can hope for in this world. Are you sure you don't want a tea?"

"I'm purging. I... I've got a dicky tummy, that's all."

"Well, okay, but it's only tap water. None of your mountain springs filtered through the kidneys of Tibetan monks garbage." He collapsed into the kitchen chair opposite and tilted a bottle of beer at her in salute. "Chin chin. I've got a dicky tummy too, so this is purely medicinal." He took a long slug. "So what brings you to my humble abode and den of seduction? And don't tell me it's a social call because I can take one look at you and tell you're not feeling at all social."

Ess shrugged. "You're not going to like it."

"You're carrying on with this damn Daisy case."

"I have to, Oz."

"No, you don't, but you're going to anyway." He shrugged. "I reckoned as much after our last discussion of the subject. It strikes me that any woman that has the force of will to resist me for so long isn't going to turn aside at the first obstacle. But as usual you need my help, even if you ignore my advice."

"I could be looking for some moral support."

"If that were the case you wouldn't ask the most immoral man you know for it. But as it happens, I may be able to help you."

He levered himself off the chair and made his way to what the designers of his flat had intended as a food preparation surface. Under Oz's stewardship, however, it had been pressed to the same service as every other flat surface had been, a repository for a heap of books. He returned and dropped an armful of old and heavy books onto the table.

"I've been doing some research."

"I thought you wanted to have nothing to do with the case."

Oz sat and started sorting through the books. "I don't. More to the point, I don't want you to have anything to do with it. I was looking for arguments that might carry some weight to my warnings. Besides, I have to show some work for my share of the fee. Don't think you're going to cut me out of the deal. So if you're going to go blundering around the fairy folk, at least you can do it with your eyes open. Of course, keeping them open is the trick."

He opened a book at a page marked by a sock. Ess could only hope it was washed. Oz stabbed a finger at the page.

"First problem, names. Fairies, pixies, elves, leprechauns, spirits. Are they all different or just different names for the same beast, eh?"

"Are they?"

Oz shrugged. "Beats me, pal. So I've been correlating stories, and there are some pretty scary correlations between stories throughout central and northern Europe. The Celts, Norsemen, Ancient Britons, Saxons. You name them, they have the same stories. Here." He shoved another book at her. "Germanic folk lore. And here, Celtic and Pict stories. And here." He riffled the pages of yet another. "So, ready for the potted précis and pertinent plot points?"

He held up a ham of a hand and pushed a finger back. "One. Emotional and moral disconnect. They have emotion, but it's completely without social responsibility. They have no empathy. If one loves you, then you better love them back, no ifs or buts. And when they tire of you, you're discarded, maybe a week later, maybe three hundred years. But that's a hell of a lot better than if you anger one. They are vicious and cruel little buggers. There was a village in the Schwarzkopf, here, here." He shuffled the books around then pushed them away. "It doesn't matter. It's here somewhere. Anyway, some kiddy was rude to one, so no more village. Never found again. The entire village, because some snotty-nosed kid called a fairy a name. They are sociopaths. Not evil, in the same way a cat isn't evil for playing with a mouse. It's just they don't empathise, they don't understand us. Maybe they don't even understand that we have feelings."

"Daisy wasn't like that."

"How do you know? They glamour the people around them. Ah, that's point two." Oz ticked it off on another finger. "They affect the senses. They pay you in gold that turns out to be leaves when the flim-flam wears off. They're tiny, no, they're normal size. They're young and beautiful, unless they want to be old and wizened. You can't trust your senses.

"Three, they're arty."

"Arty?" Ess almost laughed. "Really? That's what you hold against them?"

"Don't mock, just listen. They're attracted to the edges. Musicians, usually, but anyone a bit fey. Anyone with unusual talents or a different approach to life." Oz raised his eyebrows and stared pointedly at Ess. "Do we know anyone like that?

"Four. They have previous for kidnapping. In fact, they seem to revel in it. Kids often, but adults too. The changeling child, the talented musician, the noble knight or the beautiful queen."

Oz swept up the books and dropped them onto the table again. "Do you know what half of these are to do with? Protection. What to do to keep the evil little buggers from doing anything from curdling your milk to giving you a stroke or worse. Jupiter, Zeus and Woden, woman, listen to me. They are pathological monsters, not love-sick fey teenagers who dance around woodland clearings talking to the bunny rabbits. The old stories knew it, not the confection the Victorians made up for the little ones. Jesus and Mohammed, there are still parts of the country where people won't even mention them by name."

Ess stared at the volumes on the table. He was right, she could feel it. She thought of the casual way they'd toyed with Oz, the anger she'd sensed in Daisy's brother, and most of all her father. On the other hand, knowing she'd been glamoured didn't help her resist the king's edict.

"Oz, I have to," she said quietly.

Oz reached out and squeezed her hand.

"Yes, I know. King Canute had a better chance than talking you out of anything. I know that, but you have to be careful. You have to take precautions." He rose again and pulled a plastic shopping bag from the cupboard under the sink. "Here," he said, holding it out to her. "I took the liberty, on the premise you were as stubborn as a mule."

Ess frowned and took the bag, almost dropping it. She hadn't expected it to be so heavy.

"The main protection is cold iron," said Oz. "Lucky horseshoes? Iron to keep the fairies from your door. Couldn't find a proper horseshoe. They're all brass ones around here for yuppy stockbrokers to put on their mantelpiece. But it doesn't matter, any old iron will do."

Ess pulled an electric iron from the bag.

"Really? You expect me to walk around with this? What, and iron their rose petal skirts for them?"

"No!" Oz's shout startled her. "I told you, forget the stories Daddy read you at bedtime. This is serious. Okay, maybe not the iron, but definitely something made of iron. I was improvising. But you need iron about you, Ess. I mean it. You're not leaving here without it. You're just the sort of person they'd go for, and I'm too bloody old to wait for you for three centuries. And if you lose your mental capacity, I'm not wiping drool from your chin for the rest of your natural. You keep something iron about you. And rowan too."

"Rowan?"

"Look, you're the witch. You know about that sort of thing. I wouldn't know a rowan from an oak tree, but see if you can find some. Just a small branch. A twig even. Aren't you lot meant to carry wands around anyway?"

Ess pulled out a couple of slices of bread. It was old, going a little blue in spots. It wasn't even wholemeal.

"Pockets," said Oz.

"Excuse me?"

"I know, it sounds stupid, but there's a lot of evidence for it."

"Evidence?"

Oz waved a hand at the books. "Well, stories, anyway. Stale bread in your pockets. Stops them kidnapping you." He looked at Ess' expression and coughed. "Look, I don't make the bloody rules, do I? But there's areas of rural Ireland they still put stale bread in a baby's bib if they take it out at night. Look, just humour an old man, will you? Iron, rowan and stale bread. Best keep all bases covered, eh? And maybe try and act like an accountant. The less magical you seem, the less talent you exhibit, the less likely they are to notice you."

Ess smiled. "Aw, Oz, you care."

"You bloody stupid cow, of course I care, but don't you tell a soul, you hear? I have a reputation to keep, and one word from you and I will tell everyone you slept with me."

"Ha! Like anyone would believe that."

"Yeah, well, anyway, promise me, Ess. I'll make you swear an oath if I have to. Promise me, iron, rowan and bread at all times, wherever you go."

Ess rose and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he sat. It was a measure of his concern he didn't joke or try and grab her. "I'll be fine, Oz. Don't worry."

"Yeah, but I do. Promise me, wench."

"I promise."

"Iron, rowan and bread."

"Iron, rowan and bread."

"Oh, and you have to strip naked too."

She rose and clipped him around the head. "You old bastard. You had me fooled for a moment."

Oz shrugged. "Well, I was on a roll. I thought it worth a try."

He grinned, but Ess could see the concern behind it. Where could she get some rowan, she wondered.

Chapter 27
The Shop

By snodlander

If you didn't know the shop you'd never find it. The new age shops in Camden were for the tourists and hippy kids rebelling against their Something-in-the-City parents, all dream catchers, crystals and whale music. But on the edge of Soho, down an alley off a back street where even drunks rarely staggered by mistake, there was a shop for those in the know. The window was stuffed with second-hand books with obscure and esoteric titles. This was nothing unusual for Soho, but those books that contained illustrations were rather less heavy on flesh tones. The view through the glass door was obscured by scores of postcards, some offering services, some inviting enquiring minds to meetings, others offering herbs with odd names that masked their intent. Again, this was not unusual, but the services on offer here leant less towards physical relief and more to the removal of warts or the healing of backs, the meetings featured the word 'sisters' in almost all of the cards, and the herbs were all legal, if only because the authorities had never heard of them.

Ess entered the dark interior and paused a moment as her eyes acclimatised.

"Hello." A girl behind the counter pulled an earphone free and raised her eyebrows at Ess in bored enquiry.

"Hello. Blessings of the Mother-"

"She's in the back," said the girl before Ess could finish, screwed the earpiece back into her ear and returned to the lurid gossip magazine on the counter.

Ess made her way past shelves stacked with books, pamphlets and jars to a door at the rear of the tiny shop. She knocked and entered. A middle-aged woman sat cross-legged on a cushion tapping away at a laptop. She looked up at Ess and smiled.

"Ess. Blessings and all that crap."

"Hi, Angie. Blessings ya-de-da-de-da. How's it going?"

Angie gestured at the laptop. "Accounts. Bloody tax office, thieves, the lot of them. But I'm keeping my head above water, just. You? How's the aura reading going?"

"Ha! Keeping my head a good six inches underwater, but you know what it's like."

"Tell me about it. All the punters want is glimmer. They don't want the genuine article like you and me, they want celebrity horoscopes and exciting love lives just around the corner. So, what can I do for you, and how are you going to afford it?"

Ess grinned. "I guess the taxman isn't the only thief. I'm just after a couple of items, nothing fancy. An amulet or something, but it has to be iron, and some rowan."

Angie grunted as she rose to her feet and stretched. "Amulets? Anything special? Blessed? Deity? Culture?"

"I don't think it matters, so long as it's iron."

"Okay, let's see." Ess followed her back into the shop. Angie opened a drawer and held out a number of pendants. "Celtic cross, in case you're having tea with the vicar, pentagram, in case you want to upset the vicar, dancing shiva, blessed by Mrs. Gupta, though she might have been cursing it. She's not that reliable nowadays." Angie mimed tipping a glass to her mouth. She held up the cross. "Not big on Christian mysticism, but that suits you, and it's iron. Do you want it wrapped or are you going to wear it now?"

Ess thought of Oz's concern earlier. "I'll wear it now."

"Okay, turn round." Angie fastened the pendant around Ess' neck. "Now, rowan. Bark, powder, tincture, berries? What?"

"I don't suppose you've got a, you know, a twig of it or something?"

"A wand? Really?" Angie shrugged. "Never took you for one of those, but sure, I have some somewhere." She frowned and looked around the shop. "Pretty sure I have. It should be... " She opened a drawer, shoved it close again and opened the one below. She took out various cloth-wrapped bundles and placed them on the counter. As she unwrapped each one Ess glimpsed various collections of herbs, sticks and dried plants. "Really should get round to labelling these," muttered Angie. "Oh, here we are. Rowan. Will that do you?" She held up a slim rod.

"I guess so." Ess took it and placed it in her bag. "How much do I owe you?"

Angie shrugged. "Look, most of the sisters who come here don't need their aura read, or if they do they get a friend to do it. I doubt anyone's even looked at your card." She nodded to the postcards festooning the door. "But from the gossip I hear you're branching out. Rowan heals, but it's got a lot of other uses too. And iron, that only has one use. Are things that bad, you have to do the sort of work where you need protection?"

Ess shrugged. "It's complicated."

"Okay, in that case, I'll do a trade. The ointment you cooked up for Aunty Lisa, I'll trade you a couple of jars of that for the wand and amulet."

"Thanks, but I can pay. The client I'm working for --"

"Yeah, I know, but seriously, I'm not doing you a favour. I can follow a recipe, but I'm a mechanic. You're the chef. That stuff works better than mine. Cook me up a couple of jars and we'll call it quits, and frankly I think I've got the better half of the bargain."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Oh, mistletoe." She pulled a dried sprig from a bundle. "I'm not as good at potions, but I can curse and bless better than a drunk bishop. Stand up straight, girl."

Angie waved the mistletoe widdershins over Ess' head as she muttered under her breath. "There. Every earth spirit and the Mother Herself are watching over you now. At least, they'd better be or they'll have me to answer to."

"Thanks, Angie."

"No problem. I'm just protecting my investment. I want those jars." She raised her voice. "And if you want a more normal job, you could always come work here." She glared at the young girl behind the counter, who slid the magazine under the counter with a scowl. Angie winked at Ess, the two women hugged and Ess left, feeling the weight on her shoulders a little less than when she entered.

Chapter 28
Paris?

By snodlander

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Ess let herself into her flat and stopped dead. Shades sat at the table, the ubiquitous mug of coffee cradled in his hands. After a moment or two she closed the door behind her.

"Hello," she said, cautiously. "I thought you'd be at work. Are you sick?"

"No. Do I have to be, to spend more time with you?"

"Then what is it?"

He shrugged. "I quit."

"What?"

"I quit. I mean, the money was good, really good, but it was all night work, and Schustek, well, he was a bit creepy. Did you miss the bit about spending more time with you?"

"No, no, that's, um, great." She sat on the chair opposite. "You quit your job? Really?"

"Really. I thought you'd be more enthusiastic."

"No it's just a bit of a surprise, that's all. I thought you liked your job."

"It was just a job, and it's not like it had prospects."

"How long has this been brewing?" And why didn't you talk to me? she wondered. Not that she had any right to demand it, but wasn't that the sort of things couples talked about? Not that they were a couple, but even so.

"You know me. I'm not a great thinker, I'm more of an action man. Anyway, an offer suddenly came up and I thought, why not?"

"You've got another job?"

Shades looked down at his mug and swirled the coffee around. "Sort of. It's provisional at the moment, all hush-hush, but this time it's a pukka job, one I can talk about to people at the end of the day." He grinned. "Well, normal people, I mean." He reached out and squeezed her hand. "This is a good thing, babes. I work normal hours. Well, there's bound to be some evening and weekend work, but not nights, not anymore. I get to spend more time with you. I get to mix in respectable circles. Plus there's a prospect of promotion. This is a fizzy wine thing. Hell, this is a city break in a cheap hotel thing. What do you say?"

"Say? To what?"

"Paris. We can grab the Eurostar tomorrow and spend a few days seeing the sights and drinking proper fizzy wine."

"A holiday? Now? Don't you have to work out your notice or something?"

Shades waved the question away. "Stuff him. What's he going to do? He owes me holiday time anyway. Not big on statutory holiday leave and the EU working hours directive, Mister Schustek. Besides, I know where too many bodies are buried for him to cause a fuss."

"Bodies?"

Shades laughed. "Figuratively speaking. Anyway, stop avoiding the question. You, me, Paris. What do you say?"

"Paris? I can't."

"Amsterdam then. Berlin. Prague. Pick a city."

"It's not the city, it's the timing. I can't take a few days off, not at the moment. I've got too much work."

"They've put me on a retainer until they're ready for me to start work. I've got money and I've got time. All it needs is you and my life is just perfect. They said I should take a break and they'll contact me in a week. Come on, just you and me, stuff work for both of us."

"I can't."

Shades sat back and scowled. "What is it? This missing person thing? How long has she been gone? You know the stats for mispers, right? After forty-eight hours with no contact then either they don't want to be found or they're dead. And the longer it goes, the more likely it becomes. And no disrespect, but you've not had any training. And then there's the whole supernatural element. Seriously, what do you expect is going to happen in the next few days? The trail's cold, am I right? So it'll be no colder after a few days on the Continent, but at least you'd have had some fun. You remember fun, right?"

"So I'm not fun now, is that what you're saying?"

"Jesus!" Shades jumped up and stormed over to the sink. He ran the tap and washed his mug out as though he had a personal grudge against it.

"This is important," said Ess, over the sound of the gushing water. "I have to find her. Paris will still be there afterwards."

"But I won't."

"What?" Ess stared open-mouthed at Shades' back. His shoulders slumped as he stopped his attack on the mug.

"I mean, this is a short window, you know? I'm between jobs and they're actually encouraging me to have a holiday before I start with them. I won't be able to just hop on train to France when I start work. They're even paying me. I don't see why you're being so obstinate about this all."

"Great. Now I'm a miserable cow and I'm obstinate. Charming."

"Fuck!" He threw the mug into the sink, where it shattered. He whirled to face her, his face clouded with anger. "Stop twisting my words. I've got a chance at a proper job, you know, the kind where you pay taxes and get home at a decent hour and can start to make plans. Most women want that, don't they? All I'm asking for is a little support, for Christ's sake. That's what couples are meant to do for each other."

"Then give me a little support. I may not have a 'proper' job, but it's important. Daisy needs me, Martin too. Besides..." she closed her eyes, but try as she might she still couldn't overcome the spell that locked her tongue. "Besides, I've just got to," she finished, cursing her helplessness.

They stared at each other. Ess tried to read his face but all she could see was frustration and anger. She was just about to read his aura when he launched himself off the kitchen work surface and strode towards her. For a moment she braced herself for the hug, but he pushed passed her, grabbed his jacket from the couch and stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.

Ess stared at the door for minutes afterwards, frozen ready to return the passionate hug that had never been. Then, despite herself, the tears came.

Author Notes

Back. Pukka = genuine, authorized

Chapter 29
Early Morning Phone Calls

By snodlander

The phone rang with a relentless lack of pity. Ess groaned and rolled over, wrapping the pillow over her head until the insistent ring ended. Fifteen seconds later it started again. Ess sat bolt upright and hurled the pillow in the general direction of the phone, then immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea swept over her. Fizzy wine in moderation with the love of your life was one of life's more delicious treats. Drowning your sorrows in two bottles of the stuff was further down the list, and one she now regretted. She fell sideways onto the bed and crawled to the phone.

"Yes?"

"Hi. Is this Ms. Williams?"

Bloody, bloody cold callers, and in the morning as well.

"No, I haven't been mis-sold insurance, I don't want double glazing and you're the one that's going to need compensation for an accident if you phone me again," she snarled at the harbinger of the world's worst hangover.

"I'm glad to hear it, though as an MP I'm sure I could help out if you ever have an accident due to poor road maintenance."

Ess could hear the smile all the way down the phone line.

"What?" The nausea was getting no better, but it was beginning to fade in comparison to the pain that grew in her temples. She screwed up her eyes and tried to concentrate on the voice on the phone. "I mean, sorry?"

"No, I'm the one who should apologise, phoning you up out of the blue. Do forgive me."

"Yeah, right. Um, sorry, who are you?"

"Peter. Peter Davenport? We spoke the other evening about Daisy."

"Daisy? Oh, Mister Davenport. Yes, yes, of course. Sorry." Ess laid back and dropped her arm over her eyes to block out the morning light filtering through her closed eyelids. "MP. Right. Politician. I remember."

"Have I woken you? I'm so sorry."

"No, no, it's fine."

"Burning the midnight oil, tracking down perps, eh?"

"Yeah, something like that. What time is it?"

"Ten-thirty, just about."

Ten-thirty. Dear Mother and her handmaidens, why had she drunk so much when she knew she couldn't hold it?

"How can I help you, Mister Davenport?"

"I've been thinking of our conversation the other evening and I'm most concerned about that poor girl. Have you made any progress?"

"I'm sorry, I can't discuss that." She squinted sideways. A wine bottle lay on its side on the bedside table. She couldn't see a glass. Had she ended up swigging direct from the bottle? For a moment she considered checking to see if a dribble of wine survived inside, just to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. "Client confidentiality and all that."

"Of course, of course. But she's still missing?"

"Enquiries are still ongoing." Like enquiring what the hell she was going to do next, and whether she would ever feel better.

"I'm so sorry. I meant what I said the other evening."

"Yes?"

"You know, about helping if I can."

Ess recalled the dossier -- what was his name? Whit-something? - had given her, the attempt at dissuading her from looking any further. "Yes, your man made that clear on Sunday."

"My man? Allen? Oh, you met with him?"

"Yes, Sunday." She frowned and gave the phone a quizzical look before returning it to her ear. "You didn't know?"

"Can I tell you a secret? I often have no idea what he's doing. I'd be absolutely lost without him. But he got in contact with you? Excellent. Was he any help?"

"I'm sure he meant to be, but these things take time, you know?"

"Of course, of course."

Ess screwed her eyes closed again, trying to connect the urbane charmer of Saturday night with the voice on the end of the phone. "Is there anything else you can add to what Allen might have told me?"

"I don't know. I really only met her that one brief time."

Ess tried to kick her brain into gear. There had to be something she could ask now she had him on the phone, some Columbo-style rider to the conversation that would crack the case wide open.

"Can I ask you a blunt question?"

"Ha! I'm a politician. We never give blunt answers, but fire away."

"Do you have any dealings with private detective agencies?"

"Wow. Okay, I think that's the first time I've ever been asked that. Private detectives? No. You're the first one I've met."

Ess choked down the protest that immediately rose in her throat. Of course she was a private detective. Isn't that what she had on those damn business cards Oz had printed?

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I, um, ran into one the other day, and I thought maybe someone else was looking for her, that's all."

"No, not guilty, I'm afraid. I wouldn't know where to start. Do you think it would help? I could see if Allen knows anyone."

"No, that's fine." The less his oily PA got involved, the cleaner Ess would feel. "Too many cooks and all that."

"I just feel so helpless, and my life has got so hectic of late, you wouldn't believe it. I don't know what else I can do."

Ess sighed. Of course she couldn't read his aura over the phone, but he sounded genuine. If he was, where did that leave her? No one knew anything, everyone liked Daisy, but they all thought she was ditzy, off playing with the fairies. Everyone except the fairies, of course.

"Well, if I can think of any way you can help, I'll give you a call. Um, do I have your number?"

"I don't know, but Simon does."

She frowned. "Who?"

"Your partner. Simon, right?" Ess' eyes shot open, the headache forgotten. How did he know about Shades? "I must say, that was a bit odd. Still, it's a small world and all that." Davenport prattled on as though he were just passing the time of day. "You could have knocked me down with a feather when he told me."

"Sorry. You know Simon?"

"Yes. Well, I've met him, of course. Apparently the better known you become, the more you need close protection. You wouldn't believe some of the emails my office got after the Dupont interview, but as I'm not a minister I don't qualify for an official police bodyguard. He seems very competent, and his references are superb. Allen said he was the best candidate, now I need looking after."

"Simon's your new bodyguard?"

"Um, yes. He didn't tell you?"

"Oh, I knew he had a new job, but he said he wasn't meant to talk about it yet." Davenport? Shades was quitting his job for Davenport?

"Really? Oh, that's just Allen being uber cautious, I expect. Still, well played, that man. If he can keep a confidence from you I can be sure of his discretion in more mundane subjects. Ah, that's my car. I have to go. But please, if I can help, just let me know."

Ess let the silent phone drop onto the bed covers and stared at the ceiling. The nausea was rising again, and she wasn't sure the sick feeling in her stomach was entirely down to the booze.

Chapter 30
tea and sympathy

By snodlander

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong language.

"But he lied to me, Oz." Ess accepted the mug of disgusting tea and sipped it without even tasting it.

Oz sat at the table and shrugged.

"I'm not taking sides, but technically speaking, he didn't actually lie, did he?"

Ess scowled at her friend. Of course he'd lied. She tried to think of the actual words he'd used, but failed to find them. "In principal. He lied to me in principal, if not in actual quotable words, and that's just as bad. Worse, even."

"He took a new job. He told you that. He wasn't allowed to say with whom, so he didn't. Sorry, Petal, but I can't see that he deceived you in any way."

"But he's taken a job with a suspect!"

"A suspect. My goodness. We've elevated a serving member of parliament to 'suspect', have we? For what crime?"

"Don't be a smart arse. You know what I mean. He's, um, he's a thingy. You know what I mean."

"Material witness?"

"Ha! Yes! Material witness. That's what he's done, he's taken a job with a material witness."

"And?"

"And? What do you mean, 'and'? He's trying to compromise me, that's what he's doing."

"Best of luck to him. I've tried to compromise you since we first met and got nowhere."

Ess gave him a withering look. "Not in the mood, Oz. It's just so deceitful. And then he tried to take me off the case. He actually engineered an argument to get me to give it up. Can you believe that?"

"No."

"Well, he did."

"No, I mean, I literally can't believe it. He's not stupid, and he's not unprincipled. Let's take the stupid angle first. If he really wanted you off the case, the last thing anyone who has known you for five minutes would do would be to try and dissuade you. You're a stubborn bitch." He held up her hand. "It's a compliment. It's one of your more admirable qualities." Oz waved a hand in her general direction. "I mean, your non-physical qualities. You're a terrier when you get your teeth into something. And even if he was stupid, do you really think he'd stoop to that? For what? A new job? Really? How well paid would that job have to be for him to betray you like that? Can you even think of a figure? Could you ever have contemplated hooking up with that big an arsehole in the first place?"

Ess shoved the mug away from her, scowling at the tea that slopped from it.

"But that's what he did, Oz. You weren't there. He tried to take me away to Paris for a few days so I couldn't follow up on the case."

"Oh my God! He tried to take you way to Paris? Zeus and all his handmaidens, what an utter bastard. What sort of man would want to take his girlfriend away to Paris?"

"Shut up."

Oz sighed, sat back and clasped his hands over his belly.

"Your first tiff?"

Ess shrugged.

"Listen to an old man versed in the art of love. You're not angry he's taken a new job. You know he didn't actually lie to you. He's not going to intentionally sabotage your job. You're just scared shitless you're going to lose him, and you don't do scared very well, so you're turning it into anger."

"You think you know me?"

"Christ in a basket, if I don't, who does? But you're not anything special. You think you're unique? Everyone goes through this. If you didn't, then it wouldn't be a relationship worth holding on to. After me, he's the best man for you, I know it and you know it."

"I'm not going to go begging. He was the one that walked out the door."

"Did he have a choice? It's your flat. He could hardly throw you out, could he?"

"He could have stayed. He could have talked it out with me. He could have consulted with me before betraying me like that."

"Ah."

Ess narrowed her eyes. "What's that meant to mean?"

"He didn't consult you first?"

"Not a bloody word."

"Because that's what he should do, right? Check with you first?"

"No. Not like that. But he should talk about it."

"Like you consult with him? I've seen you together, Dearheart. You say one thing and mean another. You punch him every time he implies you're a couple, but I've never seen two people more married to each other. Poor lad. One minute you're holding him at arm's length, the next you're climbing inside his trousers. Consult with you? As much as you consult with him? No wonder he's confused."

"I'm not apologizing. I've done nothing wrong. He's the one that engineered the argument."

Oz waved a dismissive hand at her. "Fine. Buy a cat. Buy twenty. Spend your evenings surrounded by empty Chardonnay bottles and chocolate wrappers. At least you'll have your pride. That'll keep you warm at night. Look, I'm not saying anybody has to apologize for anything. Like I say, this happens to everyone at some point. So don't go begging. Don't apologize. But talk to him, you stupid little girl. Sit him down and hammer out a truce of some sort, because I'm not entirely sure I can seduce you, even on the rebound, and I'm damned if I'm going to open my door to you every Saturday night to have you cry on my shoulder about how all men are bastards."

Ess stared at the mug in front of her. She was so angry at Shades, but now she was angry at Oz, though she wasn't sure why.

"I came here for a bit of sympathy," she said.

"No you didn't. You came here because I'm your friend, and I'm being one. You may want sympathy, but what you need is honesty." He looked at his watch. "Pubs are open. Want to drown your sorrows?"

"No. I'm detoxing."

"Hungover, eh? Okay, then revenge sex?"

Ess held up a middle finger in reply. Oz heaved a sigh. "Only one thing for it, then."

He pulled out his phone and hit a key.

"Yo, dude, or however you young people greet each other nowadays. My place, now... Yes, it's Ess... Can't talk, I have to watch out for the ambulance." He hung up and grinned at Ess. "If you're not going to booze or bonk, then you're going to have to talk."

"What? That was Shades?"

Oz shrugged. "Someone had to make the first move, and neither of you were going to."

"Well, best of luck, but I won't be here when he arrives."

Oz sprung up and leapt into the doorway. "Oh no you don't."

He disappeared into the hallway and a second later held his T-shirt out between finger and thumb. He let it drop on the floor. His voice floated into the room from the hallway.

"I'm getting naked. If you want to leave you're going to have to squeeze past me, and it's a very narrow hallway."

"Oz! I'm not messing about."

A gigantic pair of trousers appeared.

"If it helps, I can lube myself up with cooking oil."

"Oz!"

"I would hold out my underwear, but I'm not wearing any."

"Oz, you -- you -- Oz!"

Chapter 31
Talking It Out

By snodlander

Shades arrived thirty minutes later. He burst into the room and stared at Ess for a moment.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said, trying to recapture the heat of the anger she'd felt when Oz had pulled his stunt. "It's just Oz being an interfering old biddy."

"Why's he in his underwear?"

"What? He told me he wasn't wearing any."

"He told -- what?" Shades had the look of a drunk who had just stepped on the missing top stair.

Oz appeared in the doorway, retrieved his clothes and beamed at them. "A nice cup of tea for everyone? Make yourself at home in the parlour. Mi casa e su casa, as they say sur le continent. Go on, go on, don't make me play gooseberry." He shooed them out of the kitchen.

In the living room Ess dropped into a crosslegged pose on the floor. Shades sighed, picked up a pile of books from an easy chair, looked for somewhere to put them, gave up, let them drop on the floor and sat down. The two stared sullenly at each other.

A moment later Oz, mercifully dressed again, popped his head round the doorway. "Kettle's on. Bit quiet in here. Let me break the ice. I'm not sorry. Nor am I. You were in the wrong. So were you. Okay, so let's talk this through then have make-up sex. Can Oz join in with the sex part? Sure, the more the merrier, but let's talk first. Okay, that's the awkward start over with. Improvise from there, darlings."

He ducked back as Ess threw a disappointingly light notebook at him. The awkward staring continued. Shades shifted his weight and coughed.

"What?" asked Ess. It came out as more of a challenge than she'd intended, but once it was out she couldn't retract it.

"You're always saying you have your own life," said Shades.

"So? What, you want me to be your little woman, stuck at home doing the housework?"

"No. Jesus, if I wanted that would I have picked you?" He frowned as Ess tried to work out why that sounded like an insult. "No, I get that. You're independent and that's what I want too. For you, but it has to work both ways, right? I get to have a life too. I mean, I want us to be two independent people, but together, sort of thing."

"He's a person of interest, Simon. You knew that."

"Who? Oh, Davenport? You know it's him?" He nodded. "Impressive. Maybe you are a detective at that. A person of interest? Really? You think he kidnapped some top supermodel, just as his career starts to take off?"

"No, but he's a witness in the case, and it compromises me."

"How? I never even told you who I was going to work for. How would that compromise you? And even if I tried, God forbid, but if I did, who in their right mind would think it would work? Compromise? You? I'd have better luck compromising the Pope."

"That's not the point. It's what people would think."

"You're right, it's not the point. You were mad even before you knew who it was. You know what I think? I think you want a one way street. I think you want all your independence and to have me at your beck and call whenever you want, but as soon as I want something from you, you throw your rattle out the pram."

"You tried to take me off the case!"

"No, I tried to take you away for a dirty weekend in Paris. Shoot me."

"Paid for by one of the last people to see Daisy alive."

Shades sat back, closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Finally he opened his eyes and leant forward.

"Okay, I appreciate I didn't really think that bit through. You're committed to this job, I see that. So Paris is off the table. Fine. We'll put it on the back burner and go sometime later, okay? But Davenport isn't the bogey man here. You say you can read people. Well, so can I. Not their auras, the old-fashioned way, having interviewed all sorts of people who wanted to lie to me. I spoke to the man. He's not involved."

"But why him? Why did he choose you? You've got to admit, it looks bad."

Shades sat back. "You want an honest answer? Don't get mad, okay? Just hear me out. His office called, said they were looking for someone for close protection. Not me, I thought. I've got a job, thanks very much. But it was Davenport, and you were getting frustrated, and it's not a bad thing to help people you love, right?"

"What? You were going behind my back? On my case?"

"Hey, he approached me. And I thought, why not? It's not like I actually wanted his job, and it's not going to do any harm."

"But you took the job."

"What can I say? I met the man, and he's not a regular politician. The way he spoke, the plans he has, I think he could do a lot for this country, and I'd like to be a part of that."

"Really?" Ess shook her head. "Since when were you interested in politics?"

"I've been sent to faraway places by politicians often enough, done things for them they don't want to hear about. Maybe I've been apolitical too long. Maybe it's time I took an interest. Way past time, in fact. I thought that bit at least you'd understand. But that aside, it's a better job. If he moves up the ladder, which the smart money reckons he might, then I've got a job I can actually put on my CV. I can start consulting, start a nine-to-five job for real money and no risk. Besides, who says it has to be him using you? Why can't you take advantage of it?"

"What do you mean?"

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Okay, last night I was mad, okay? I mean, I'd lost it and people don't always do reasonable things when they're angry. So I phoned his man, Whitmarsh. Said if it was all the same to him, I could start right away, get to find my feet, seeing as he was paying me and everything. Well, he started to ask questions and I was royally pissed off with you and I don't exactly have mates outside my job, you know? So I told him."

A suspicion crossed Ess' mind, pausing long enough to punch her in the pit of her stomach.

"Told him what?"

"Told him about us, about our tiff."

"You spoke to him about us? Some stranger? Not even a stranger, but that oily little freak?" She sprang to her feet and loomed over him. To his credit, Shades shrank back and looked guilty. "What did you tell him?"

Shades held out his hands as if to fend off the force field of rage Ess was emanating. "Nothing in particular, no details. Just in general. And he said, if you wanted, we could all meet up and thrash it out. So now you have an official invitation to clear or damn him. Just chat with him. Not Whitmarsh, with Davenport, I mean. Do your aura thing. If you want, I can ask him questions too. Clear the air and I swear to you, if you still think he's involved I'll stuff his job where the sun don't shine. You're right, Whitmarsh is as oily as a herring, but I'd put money on Davenport being straight up, and I've never said that about a politician in my life. Just let me set it up. You're always on about communication and expression and stuff. Well? How can this be anything but a good idea?"

Ess drove her fists into her hips and scowled. It was perfectly reasonable, but the last thing she wanted to be right now was that. Try as she might, though, she couldn't think of a good reason to object.

"This doesn't make it right, though," she said at last.

"You know, I kind of guessed that. But it's a step in the right direction, isn't it?"

"I get to ask the questions."

"Absolutely."

"Splendid!" boomed Oz from the doorway, appearing with mugs on a tray. "It appears I've completely by chance arrived at the end of your conversation, even though I most definitely was not listening at the door. So, a nice cup of tea and then a make-up threesome?"

Chapter 32
Late Arrivals and Farty Chairs

By snodlander

Davenport's home was a large detached house on a leafy Elstree avenue. Not stables-round-the-back-and-servants'-quarters large, but big enough for London. A classic Rover sat on the drive, cuddling up to a newish Mini and an ancient VW Beetle. Presumably the double garage was filled with too much junk to park the cars in, though in this neighbourhood it wouldn't be so much junk as antiques or chic-kitsch. When Shades rang the bell the door was answered by a middle-aged woman immaculately presented, despite the bright yellow rubber gloves.

"Hello?" she asked, polite enquiry on her face.

"Hi. We've an appointment with Mister Davenport." Shades treated the woman to his award-winning smile.

"Oh? I'm sorry, but he's not here at the moment. But come in." She stepped aside, holding the door wide. "He's meant to keep the diary up to date, but honestly, he'd not turn up to his own funeral unless someone reminded him. Still, Allen will keep him on his toes, I'm sure."

"We made the appointment this afternoon. Perhaps he didn't have a chance to update it." Ess and Shades filed into the hallway and the woman closed the door behind them.

"Probably. Please, this way." She led them into a living room the size of Ess' entire flat. "Take a seat. I'll give him a bell and see where he is. Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?"

The pair demurred.

"I'll give him a phone." She reached into her pockets and seemed to notice the rubber gloves for the first time. "Sorry. Sink's backed up. I tell Portia to clean her riding boots out the back but she will insist on rinsing them off in the sink." She pulled them off, reached into a pocket and produced a phone. She removed an ear-ring and held it to her ear.

"Peter? Peter, there's a couple of people here to see you..." She gave Ess and Shades an appraising look. "Yes, that's right... Well, it's just not good enough, Darling. You should tell me, and you should be here when you said you would. I might have been in the bath..." She turned away and dropped her voice. "Don't be vulgar," but her tone contradicted her words. "Well, what shall I say?... All right, I'll tell them. Bye."

She replaced the phone, turned back to her guests and smiled. "I'm so terribly sorry. He's on his way. Some meeting or other overran. Allen's driving him back and he'll be here in ten minutes. Please, don't stand around, you're making the place look untidy. Sit, sit."

They sat. As Ess sank into the leather couch it squelched and screeched. Missus Davenport seemed to be unaware that her guests sounded as though their bowels were exploding. Perhaps she didn't hear the couch anymore. Perhaps she was too refined to show she acknowledged the fact her couch farted at the slightest movement. It didn't help Ess to relax in any case.

"Please, let me get you something. I've Earl Grey and Lapsang Souchong. It's from a tea merchant just down the road. Not tea bags. We've got a coffee machine, but that's Peter's toy really. You need an engineering degree just to change the filter."

""An Earl Grey, then," said Ess, more because their host needed to be seen to be hosting than Ess' thirst.

"Sounds good," said Shades.

Missus Davenport beamed. "I'll be back in a mo," she said, turned and left the room.

Shades did his observational thing. He probably wasn't even aware of it, but some Pavlovian reflex made him survey any new environment. Ess saw him check out the door by which they'd entered, the door leading who knew where on the other side of the room, the windows, the layout of the furniture. It was casual, a couple of seconds concentration you wouldn't have been aware of if you hadn't seen it time and time again, but she was sure that if an armed horde of mercenaries suddenly descended on them Shades would know every escape route and every defendable position without thinking. Not that they were in any danger, he did it to every room they entered. Not for the first time Ess wondered exactly what it was Shades had done before becoming an I'm-not-a-bodyguard personal assistant.

He met her gaze and raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Am I safe?"

"Ha! If I wanted a safe girlfriend I'd have chosen, um, well, anyone else, really."

"So long as I know who my competition is. Anyone else, apparently."

"As if anyone could compete with you."

"Yeah, flattery is going to work. I'm still mad at you."

He nodded. "I have a feeling I'm going to have to get used to that."

Before Ess could retort the door opened and Missus Davenport entered, tray in her hands.

"Two Earl Greys. I know you're not meant to, but there's milk and sugar in case you want it." She smiled at Shades. "It's not really a man's drink, I know, so feel free to make it look like a builder's cuppa. And there's some Viennese Whirls."

She sat the tray down on the coffee table. Ess thought Shades might be able to make his tea look like a builder's cuppa, but only if the builder in question slurped his brew from delicate bone china. Although, judging from the neighbourhood, they might do just that.

Tyres scrunched on gravel outside. Ess looked up to see a car stop in the driveway. Davenport and Whitmarsh decamped.

"Finally," said Missus Davenport, in a tone that suggested she and her husband would have a short discussion later on the merits of timekeeping and inter-spousal communication. She turned and left the room.

"Remember," hissed Ess. "I'm doing the talking." It was bad enough he'd tried to sidetrack her off the case. She was damned if she was going to let him take control of this conversation as well.

Chapter 33
Paris Plans

By snodlander

The sun was setting as they left the tube station. Ess slid her arm through Shades' and leant into his muscular shoulder.

"Okay, you were right," she said.

"Wait, wait, let me find a witness. I want this recorded for posterity."

"Shut up." She punched his arm. "The least you can be is gracious about it."

"I told you he wasn't dodgy."

"Mm-hm." Shades was right. When Davenport had entered the room Ess had read his aura. He wasn't a saint, but neither was he wicked. When she'd asked about Daisy his answers were honest, and he seemed to be genuinely concerned about her disappearance. After a while she'd stopped looking at his aura and just listened to the man. Where had the time gone? She'd exhausted her questions soon enough, Shades too, but Davenport was such a charismatic speaker she'd ended up just listening to him. She tried to remember the specifics, but they slid from her mind. He'd liked them as a couple, she remembered. He'd been upset when they'd mentioned the conflict she and Shades had encountered, but it was over now. She snuggled closer into Shades arm. She'd been stupid. There wasn't any conflict of interest, because Davenport obviously wasn't anything to do with Daisy's disappearance. Even when Whitmarsh had chimed in with how unreliable Daisy was, the way Davenport had interpreted it made it seem much more plausible. Was she wasting her time chasing so hard?

And then the subject had moved on to Shades' start date. A couple of weeks at least. More than enough time.

"What hotel had you picked?" she asked him as they turned off the main road.

"Paris, you mean?" Shades shook his head. "I hadn't got that far. Besides, you being an independent woman, I thought you'd want to earn your passage. There's plenty of places around the Moulin Rouge you could work with rooms to let above them."

"Oi!" She thumped his arm.

"True, most of them rent the rooms by the hour."

She punched him again, but the laughter robbed it of any power. She felt drunk. Was this what real happiness felt like? "Bloody good job you're so cute."

"Bloody good job you punch like a girl." He rubbed his arm where her blows had landed.

"So you hadn't actually booked anything?"

"No. Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's just, if you had booked something, and it was only a couple of days, and if I don't have any more leads..." She shrugged again.

"Really? After all the fireworks, you're saying yes now? Don't toy with me, girl, because --"

He stopped suddenly, catching Ess off balance so she had to cling tighter to his arm to stay upright. A car slowed to a halt a few yards ahead.

"What's up?" she asked, giggling. She looked up at him. Shades' expression sobered her up. "Shades? What's up?"

The passenger door open and a man stepped onto the footpath. He wore a dark suit, white shirt and shiny shoes. From his breast pocket a pair of sunglasses dangled, despite the gathering gloom. Ess had a vague feeling she'd met him before. Then it clicked. His muscular build, his casual-but-not-really stance, his clothes. Put another face on him and he could have been Shades.

"Simon," said the clone.

"Ted," said Shades.

"Mister Schustek would like a word."

Shades looked over his shoulder. Half the sun was still visible over the rooftops.

"A bit early for the boss."

"He left instructions. Very keen to speak to you as soon as he wakes."

"I don't work for him anymore."

"Yeah, I'm pretty certain that's what he wants to talk to you about."

"And if I'm not that keen? Think you can take me, Ted?"

"Just me? No. But the boys are in the car, Simon. You taught us all we know. You know the four of us could take you."

"I didn't teach you all I know, though."

Ted shrugged. "That's as maybe, but the four of us? Yeah, we could take you, but I don't want to. You'd hurt us, for sure. We'd hurt you. You'd still see him, when all the shouting's over. But I really don't want it to come to that." Ted suddenly slouched, and Ess realised he'd been in a fighter's stance without her noticing. She glanced at Shades. He was side-on to Ted, his shoulders loose, his feet slightly apart. Were they really going to brawl, here, on the street?

"Look, we're mates, right?" said Ted. "I don't want to do this, never mind you'll break a few bones if it comes down to it. But it's the job. You know what he's like. He wants to see you, and I mean wants to in the worst way. Don't make it hard, not on us, not after everything. Even if we can't take you this evening, he'll find another way. Let's at least do it as mates."

Ess stepped forward. "You bloody try it, sunshine, and you'll be taking your tackle home in a paper bag."

Ted looked at Ess, then at Shades, then back to Ess again. Then he laughed.

"Jesus, you were right." He held his hands up in surrender. "She's a right firebrand. Please, Simon, let's do this as friends. I know we can take you, but her?" He laughed again.

Incensed, Ess took another step forward, hands bunched. Let's see how much he laughed when she stuck her claws into his jewels.

Shades laid a hand on her shoulder. "Ted, seriously, stop laughing. You have no idea the trouble you are storing up for yourself."

Ess glared back at Shades, but his face was serious. He took her by her shoulders, turning her to face him and leaning in close.

"It's fine," he whispered. "Go back to the flat. I'll see you later."

She shoved him away. "The hell with that." She tried to turn to face the stranger, but Shades held her shoulders. Instead she shouted over her shoulder, "You can piss off, and that goes double for Schustek. You want him, and you'll have to go through me, and I'm a bloody daughter of Gaia, me. I'll put a curse on you so bad you'll beg for death."

"Ess!" Shades pulled her close into a hug, crushing her against his body. "Ess," he whispered. "It's fine. The boys, they're mates. This is just business. They're right. I've got to see him some time or another. Might as well be now." She pushed against him to no effect. "It's fine," he repeated. "Go home. Plan our trip. I'll be back later. I promise. The lads won't let anything happen to me. They're mates."

Ess shoved against him again, and he released her. She staggered back and glared at him, fists clenching and unclenching. He stood there, so patient and so calm, despite the abduction taking place.

"Fine," she spat at last. She whirled on Ted. "But we're both going. You take him, you take me too."

Ted sighed and shot an appeal towards Shades.

"Can't do that, babes," said Shades behind her. She kept her gaze fixed on Ted. Shades placed his hands on her shoulders, gently this time. "I'd love to, believe me. There's no one I'd rather be fighting my corner, but Mister Schustek only wants to see me, and he always gets what he wants."

"I'm not some little girly you can send home when the big boys want to play," she growled, still staring at Ted. She wasn't going to be swayed, and looking into Shades' eyes wouldn't help that resolve.

"Jesus, why would I think that? Why'd you think I asked you out in the first place? But even if you came, you wouldn't get in to see him. In the end it's just me and him. Look, I've served him well in the past. He probably just wants to offer me a raise to stay, that's all. I know it doesn't look like it, but we're all mates, me, Ted and the boys. I'll be fine, and they'll only get into trouble if they bring you along too."

"You think Schustek can cause more trouble than me? Really?"

"Honestly? I don't want to find out. Please, Ess, just this once, let me win. It's fine, I wouldn't lie to you about this. He's not a monster. Who wouldn't want to keep me? I'm a model employee. It's just to draw a line under it all."

Ted shrugged. "Besides, we don't have room in the car. We came mob-handed as it is."

Finally she turned and faced Shades. She glared at him, teeth clamped so hard her jaw hurt, fingernails digging into her palms. Then she hit him square in his chest, putting all her weight behind it just like he'd shown her, as far from a girly punch as it was possible to get without growing testicles.

"You'd better come back, you hear? And not at bloody stupid o'clock in the morning. You phone me the second you're out of his office and you come back home. Come back home. And you!" She spun around and pointed a finger at Ted, who took a step back in the face of her wrath. "Ted is it? I'm a witch, I am, a bloody powerful one. You better get him back to me, you hear? You get him back or I'll bloody have you. I will hunt you down and have you screaming in agony for the rest of your life, you hear? You and your friends who are hiding in that car." She kicked the door panel. "You think I'm angry now? This is nothing. Nothing, you hear? You bloody well bring him back!"

She turned back to Shades, panting. He smiled, a tad nervously, but it was a smile. He leant forward to kiss her forehead. She twisted away and punched him hard in the chest instead.

"You bloody well come home and take me away to Paris, you bastard," she screamed, then turned on her heel and stomped away from the scene without looking back.

Author Notes

I have my laptop back!!

Chapter 34
Something

By snodlander

Ess let herself into her flat.  It seemed even emptier now than when Shades had stormed out.  But it was all right, wasn’t it?  Shades had said so.  Davenport too.  No, that wasn’t right.  She shook her head to clear the cobwebs.  Davenport had said something was all right, or maybe things generally were all right.  Damn it, what had he said exactly?  Whatever it was, she’d agreed.  It had all seemed such common sense when he’d said it.  And then she and Shades had made up, and the journey back from Elstree had been almost romantic.  Damn Schustek.  Damn Shades for going along with it.  Had he backed down from a fight just because she was there?  He’d better not have, not that she wanted him to fight.  No, if he got involved in a fight she’d drop on him like Kansas house, but he’d better have not-fought for the right reasons, and not just because the little woman might get hurt.
 
She switched the kettle on then opened kitchen cupboards at random.  She should be doing something.  Planning a dirty weekend in Paris?  Yes, definitely that, but something else too.  Had she been planning to do something before Oz engineered her meeting with Davenport?  Whatever it was, she couldn’t remember now.  Mother, she was tired.  She’d slept like the dead last night, but alcohol-induced sleep was not as refreshing as normal sleep.  Maybe she should catch a nap before Shades came home.
 
The kettle clicked off as the water boiled.  Ess looked at it in confusion.  When had she switched that on?  She looked up at the cupboard, her hand still on the handle, holding it open.  Right.  She was going to make a tea.  Honestly, what was wrong with her?  Was this old age creeping up on her, or some delayed-action hangover from the night before?  Stimulus, that’s what she needed.  Something to invigorate her mind.  She grabbed a couple of jars and tipped a sample from each into the teapot, pouring the scalding water over the leaves and inhaling the sharp fragrance.  Tea, the cure for everything.
 
She ferried the pot and cup over to the table.  It would have to draw for a few minutes.  She looked around the flat.  Wasn’t there something she was meant to do?  Earth and fire, she was so tired!  If she sat down now, just for a moment…
 
No!  Stimulation.  Keep occupied till the tea was ready.  Her eyes fell on the phone.  Yes, talking, that would do it.  She picked up the receiver and dialled Oz’s number out of habit.
 
“Oz?  What are you up to?”
 
“Ess, my sultry sleuth.  You don’t want to know, but I’m at home and naked.”
 
“Yeah, yeah.  I’m sure naïve undergraduates get a kick out of your obscene phone calls.”  Ess went to sit down, then thought better of it.  Oz was certainly a stimulus, if not a particularly positive one, but she had still better keep on her feet.
 
“And yet it was you who phoned me.  As far as I’m aware, there’s no law against receiving an obscene phone call.  Wait, why are you making obscene phone calls to me?”  He sighed heavily down the phone.  “Oh for Jupiter’s sake, you haven’t gone and had another row with your beau, have you?  Seriously, how many times have I got to play Cupid to you two?  I’m hardly cherubic.”
 
“No, me and Shades are fine.  At least I think we are.”
 
“You think you are?  Isn’t he there by your side, begging you to come to bed?”
 
“Yeah, well, he’s gone and got himself kidnapped.”
 
“What?”
 
“No, it’s okay.  His mates kidnapped him to take him to his boss.  His old boss, I mean.”
 
“Oh, well, so long as he’s been kidnapped by a vampire’s familiars, that’s fine then.”
 
“They’re not familiars, they’re just, well –“
 
“Henchmen?  Minions?  Disciples?”
 
“Personal assistants.  Sort of.  With muscles.  Anyway, Shades said not to worry.”
 
“That’s okay then.  So why are you phoning me?  Is it so I can worry in your stead?”
 
“I just – I don’t know.  I’ve got nothing else to do.  I’m alone in my flat.  What else am I going to do?  You’re meant to be my friend.  Stop giving me a hard time.”
 
“Fancy a pub crawl, then?”
 
“What?  No.  No, I’ve got to stay here for Shades when he gets back.  Besides, I’m detoxing.”
 
“Ah, detoxing.”
 
Ess frowned.  “What’s that meant to mean?”
 
“Detoxing.  It sounds so much better than ‘I’m hungover and I’m never, ever going to drink again.’”
 
“Shut up.”
 
“Okay, so how’s the case going?”
 
“Case?”
 
“Yes.  You know, missing model?  The course of true love?  Fairies not at the bottom of the garden?”
 
“Oh, right.  Yeah, that’s going okay.”
 
“It is?”
 
Ess shook her head.  Was this some weird delayed hangover.  “Yes.  No.  Sort of.  It’s fine.  She’s probably, you know, off with some Greek shipping magnate or something.  Or not.  The point is, it’ll probably sort itself out.”  That’s what Davenport had said, wasn’t it?  Maybe not those exact words, but something like that.  What had he said, exactly?  “It’ll keep, for a couple of days, anyway.  It’s not like I have any major new leads.  Quite the opposite, really.  Every time a door closes another one closes as well.”
 
“Ess, dear, I am your dearest friend, and you know I’d rip my own tongue out rather than cause you offence.”
 
“Oz, you offend me with every word you say, and you do it on purpose.”
 
“Well, yes, but that’s just sport.  Underneath it all I only have your best interests at heart.  Right?”
 
Ess hooked the receiver between her shoulder and chin and poured the tea into her mug.  “Spit it out, Oz.  What are you trying to say?”
 
There was a protracted pause on the other end of the line.  Ess sipped at the melange that was meant to wake her up.
 
“Are you fully compos mentis?” asked Oz at last.
 
“What?”
 
“Are you drunk, concussed or otherwise under the influence of mind-altering substances?”
 
She took another sip of the herbal tea, then stared at it.  No, it was just a stimulant, far more effective and less harmful than coffee.  “Make sense, Oz.”
 
“The reason I ask is, at our last meeting, well, every meeting come to that, you have been hell bent on tracking this Daisy down, despite my caveats and warnings.  Yet suddenly, here you are, all smiles and ‘it’ll be all right on the night’.  What’s brought about this transformation, and what have you done with the real Vanessa?”
 
“I just –“  Ess scowled at the tea.  This was her, wasn’t it?  She hadn’t been that tired when she and Shades had been talking about Paris, and that was barely an hour ago.  True, she was tired now, but not so tired as to be incapable.  “I’ve just talked it over, thought it through, that sort of thing, that’s all.  You’re the one who was saying it’ll all work out.”
 
“True, but I’m both reasonable and lazy.  You’re not.  I’ll come round and you can talk it through with me, and see if it still makes sense afterwards.”
 
“No, not tonight, Oz.  I’m beat.  Anyway, Shades is coming round.”
 
“I’d get dressed first.”
 
“God and her daughters, Oz, must you always be so foul?”
 
“Ah, I stand corrected.  That’s the Ess I know and lust.  Just make me a promise.  Don’t make any decisions you’ll regret.  Not till we’ve talked it over.  I am your partner, after all.”
 
“Comedy sidekick, more like.”
 
“You wound me.  But at least you admit I’m funny.  But I’m not joking now.  Don’t do anything foolish, not while you’re hungover and sexually frustrated.”
 
“I’m not hungover.”
 
“So you’re –“
 
“Or sexually frustrated.  My God, Oz, how have you stayed alive this long?  How have you even kept your job?”
 
“My roguish charm.  Promise me, darling.  Promise me you’ll not make a decision while you’re concussed or whatever.”
 
“Fine.  I won’t make any irreversible commitments.  Happy?”
 
“Ecstatic.  You sure you don’t want to meet me in a pub?  I’ll buy the first round.”
 
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stuff you full of nails?”
 
“I’ll take that as a maybe.  However, if you’re sure you’re okay, then I know a certain woman who is a definite probably.  Your loss, but her gain.  But I’ll keep my phone on, should your muscleman need you to arrive astride a winged chariot, or at least a fairly reliable classic car.  Adieu, partner, till the morrow.”
 
“Night, sidekick.”
 
Ess hung up and smiled.  Disgusting as he was, Oz was still a friend, and talking to him cheered her up.  Well, at least it normally did.  Why was he insisting she stay with the case, though?  She dropped into a chair and cradled her mug of tea in her hands.  He was so set against her following this case, and now he was questioning her when she agreed, at least in part.  Not that she was abandoning it, just racking it down a couple of notches.  After all, what new leads did she have?  No, it wasn’t her having a worrying change of mind.  If anyone, it was him.
 
She sipped the tea and leant back into the seat.  Shades would be back soon, and there was nothing she could do till the morning anyway.  What was she going to do, before she spoke to Oz?  Something.  She closed her eyes to concentrate.  Something.  Was it to do with Davenport?  His voice filled her mind, reassuring, confident.  Something.  If only she wasn’t so tired.  Paris.  That would be nice.  She’d never been.  Was Daisy in Paris, perhaps?  Daisy.  A fairy.  Who would have thought? 
 
Davenport.  Nice man.
 
Shades home soon.
 
Moments later, the mug slipped from her fingers and bounced onto the carpet, but it didn’t wake her.
 

Chapter 35
The Rude Awakening

By snodlander

The bed was warm and the quilt pinned her to the mattress in a loving embrace that was impossible to break. It was even warmer to her right and she rolled into it, snuggling into Shades' now-familiar body. So warm, both physically and spiritually. She would spend the rest of her life here, warm, content, almost asleep.

Something a million miles away chimed. She slid her arm around Shades' chest and snuggled deeper into the duvet womb. It chimed again and she groaned, burying her head even further under the covers. Shades murmured, the words incomprehensible, and he pulled her arm tighter around him.

The chime forced its way through the clouds of cotton wool that surrounded her head, and then her phone joined in, the notes jangling in a discordant cacophony that became harder to ignore. Somewhere a recent memory of the phone ringing earlier tried to surface.

Shades muttered incomprehensible curses and slid out of the bed. Ess' arm trailed after him before retreating back into the warmth of the bed.

"Come back to bed," she muttered. He left a vacuum, a warm impression that was just a shadow of his real presence.

"Door," he mumbled. "Phone."

Ess squinted at his back. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before. Why hadn't he undressed? Come to that, why hadn't she undressed him? She had been up for it, she was sure. They'd been so cosy coming home. What was wrong with him? Was he going off her? As she curled into a ball she felt the unexpected resistance of the covers against her legs. She ran a hand over her chest and her fingers encountered buttons. A blouse? And slacks too. Why wasn't she undressed? Wait, there was something. A fight? No, no, they were fine. Everything was good with them. They were a wonderful couple. He'd said so. Not Shades, but someone else. Him. He'd said they should make the most of each other. Something else. A car. Yes, a car, that was it. A car taking Shades away. But he was back now, and there was something else. Paris! They were going to Paris for a few days. Not today, though. No, today was a lie-in day. A lazy day. A curling up into Shades day, when he came back.

The phone stopped, along with the doorbell.

"Shades?" she murmured. He'd better come back to bed. She hugged his missing body. Better be soon, or she'd be asleep again. He'd better wake her. She didn't want to fall asleep alone, she wanted to fall asleep nestled up against him.

Somewhere in a different world someone said something.

"Shades?" she said, in a voice that seemed to belong to someone else a long way away.

The duvet disappeared in an instant and hands grabbed her by the shoulders, whipping her into a sitting position and shaking her violently.

"Go 'way," she said, screwing her eyes shut. "Sleep. Shades. Cuddles."

The slap across her face woke her. She snapped her eyes open in shock. Dorothy's face filled her vision, a face full of anger.

"Wake up!" Dorothy shouted, far too loud, and she brought another stinging slap across Ess' face.

"Ow! Bitch!" Ess pushed her former mentor away and rubbed her face. "What the hell? What the actual hell?"

"You awake, girl? You want me to slap you again?"

"You want one back? What the hell?"

Dorothy stood back and stared at Ess, her mouth pinched tight and her eyes narrow. Finally she turned.

"Fluenced?"

Ess followed her gaze. An old woman, short and round, stood by the door, propping Shades up against the wall and forcing his eyelid open between finger and thumb. She turned and gave Ess a glance.

"Most likely. This one too. And bad, real bad. Not a casual contamination. A massive dose, especially if she's as wilful as you say."

Dorothy turned back to Ess.

"Detox, I said, didn't I? Detox, not overdose. You stupid girl. Why won't you ever listen?"

"Not a girl," said Ess. The duvet lay sprawled on the floor. How tempting would it be to show them the door and snuggle back down under it until everything sorted itself out?

"No, you're a daughter of Gaia. So bloody-well act like one, or as She's my witness I shall slap you again, and this time I won't hold back. You want I should try?" Dorothy pulled her arm back ready for the blow.

Ess leapt from the bed, making it on the third attempt and acutely aware it would have looked so much better if it had been on the first try.

"Try it," she snarled. "But I warn you, I've not had my tea yet, and you don't want to cross me before my tea."

Dorothy stared for a moment, dropped her hand and nodded. "Better." She turned to her companion. "Can you cure it?"

The old woman shrugged. "Cure it? Probably not. Tone it down? Sure, but in the end it's down to her. You sure she can do it?"

"This one?" Dorothy turned to Ess. "She's a stubborn and wilful one. Well, she's a sister, so that goes without saying. But yes, if she puts her mind to it. Well?"

"Well?" asked Ess, still trying to catch up.

"Yes, 'well'! By all the old goddesses, what have you got into? Fairies? Really? What on earth possessed you, girl?"

"You know?"

"No thanks to you, but yes, I worked it out in the end. The contamination, it was fairy dust, but this?" She waved a hand to encompass Ess and Shades. "How much of the stuff have you been exposed to?"

"None. Not much, anyway, but none, not recently."

Dorothy raised her eyebrows, like the traffic cop confronted by the drunk driver who insists he's been on lemonade all night. Then she sighed. "Okay, Flo, over to you. Detox one-oh-one. And start with her. Beefcake here can sleep it off till we're ready for him."

Chapter 36
Detox

By snodlander

The two women lead Ess into her living area. When Shades moved to follow, the old woman Dorothy had called Flo shook her head.

"No distractions," she said.

Ess stepped up close to Shades as she saw him bristle.

"It's fine. This time, it's my mates, and I'm safer with them than you were with yours. Trust me, Hon. Have a lie-in." She pushed him gently in his chest. For a moment he resisted, looking over her shoulder at the sisters, then he gave a single nod.

"Shout if you need me," he said. He stretched and scrunched his face as he tried to wake himself up. On another day it would have been comical. "I'll stay awake."

"Sure, whatever. Keep the bed warm for me." She gave him another gentle push and he stepped back, his eyes still on the two women.

They entered the living room. Ess gave Shades a wink as she closed the door, but he looked like a sleepwalker already. When she turned Flo had donned the sort of facemask builders use when sawing plasterboard.

"Cos of sow," mumbled Flo.

"What?"

Flo took a deep breath and pushed the mask to the side. "Clothes off. Shower," she said, and snapped the mask back into place.

"Excuse me?"

"Do as she says," said Dorothy. "You've obviously been exposed, and she knows what she's doing." Dorothy at least wasn't wearing a mask, though Ess noticed she kept her distance. "Go, scrub it off. We've got work to do."

Ess entered the bathroom. In the event, a shower didn't sound a bad idea. Her head was still woolly and she suspected she smelled like someone who hadn't washed before going to bed fully clothed. She peeled off yesterday's clothing and stepped under the stream of steaming water. When had Shades come home? He looked dead on his feet. Mother Gaia, did she look as awful as him? She had no recollection of going to bed. Had Shades found her asleep in the apartment? She hoped she looked alluring and angelic when he found her, but suspected she'd been dribbling and frizzed her hair into clown wig. That would explain why her clothing had not been interfered with. Her body too.

The bathroom door opened and Ess saw Dorothy's outline through the shower curtain.

"Not just a rinse, soap too. Scrub it out, girl."

"Okay, okay. I'm not six. I know how to shower."

"I'd have thought you'd have known how to stay safe, but I was wrong about that, apparently. Have you scrubbed?"

"I'm doing it now. Jesus!" Ess turned off the water and grabbed the soap, lathering it over her wet body. The silhouette of Dorothy paced beyond the curtain.

"Your own blend?" she asked.

"What? The soap? No. I get it from a sister in the West End."

Ess could hear the disapproval in Dorothy's sniff. She wasn't Dorothy's student anymore, so why was she so riled by her disapproval. "Well, what do you expect? I live in a flat in central London. Where am I going to grow apples?"

"No, no, I understand. But you still practice herb lore? I saw the jars in the kitchen, or do you buy those too?"

"I'm a sister, Dorothy. Don't you judge. We all do what we have to. And yes, I still make my own remedies. I'm bloody good at it too, ask anyone." Ess turned on the water again, closing her eyes and letting the hot water wash away the soap. Without warning the stream of water turned ice-cold. Ess shrieked and snapped her eyes open. Dorothy's hand rested on the taps.

"What the hell? What the actual hell?" Ess grabbed for the hot tap, but Dorothy's grip remained firm. "Jesus, Mother and Joseph, what the hell are you doing?"

She whipped the curtain aside and leapt from the bath. Dorothy tossed her a towel and smirked.

"Awake now?"

"Yes! And I was before. What the hell did you do that for?" Ess clutched the towel to her body and shivered with cold and rage.

Dorothy raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh, are you angry with me?"

"You just -- " Ess waved at the shower. "And then -- " she waved at the bathroom door. "You come into my flat unannounced, you push me around, you treat me like a kid, you and some crone who treats me like a plague carrier. Angry? Angry? I'm bloody furious!"

Dorothy smiled. "Good. Because we need you motivated, Flo says. You were never one for pep talks but I can see London hasn't damped the fire down any. Come through when you're dry. And bring that temper with you."

For several seconds Ess stared open-mouthed at the door after Dorothy left, her anger at her former mentor matched by the anger at herself for having her buttons pushed so easily. Then she scrubbed herself with the towel as though her skin was to blame for the whole thing. Okay, so maybe anger was a good thing. She recalled how anger at the fairy boys had carried her through their glamour. Even so, there was no need for the woman to be so damned smug about it. Her clothes were gone. She grabbed the bathrobe hanging from the back of the door and threw it on, knotting the belt too tight, then slamming the door open and storming into the living room.

The furniture had been shoved to the sides of the room, the rug rolled into a corner and a pentagram drawn on the floorboards.

"Make yourself at home," she snarled. "And that had better be water soluble." She stabbed a finger at the symbols drawn on the floor. "If it doesn't wipe clean in one go I'm sending you the cleaning bill."

Flo, her hands encased in latex gloves, pulled a length of duct tape from a roll and wrapped it around the neck of a clear plastic bag. Ess' yesterday clothes were clearly visible inside. She let the bag drop near the front door as though it were week-old garbage.

"Hey, careful with that. Those are my smart slacks." She'd dressed as professionally as her wardrobe had allowed when they'd gone to see Davenport. Not that it was particularly smart after she'd slept in them, but screwing them into a bag wasn't going to improve their look any. Flo held up a corked test tube and shook it as though it should mean something to Ess. It held a cotton bud immersed in a brown liquid. "What's that?"

"Contaminated," said Flo, as though that was the end of it.

"Flo swabbed your clothes," translated Dorothy. "They tested positive. If there are any farewell sentiments you want to share with them, now's the time, otherwise you need to get rid of them. Burning would be favourite."

"Burning? But those are my favourite slacks." Not to mention her lucky knickers. Well, they'd have been lucky for Shades, if she'd managed to stay awake.

Dorothy raised her eyebrows and shook her head. Ess sighed. In the end, they were just clothes, and if she really was enchanted...

"Fine, I'll burn them. What else?"

Flo walked over to the kitchen worktop and rummaged in a leather case, the sort doctors in 1940's films carried. She came over to Ess and held up another cotton bud. Ess nodded her consent and Flo ran it down the side of her face, into her hair and over her hands. She dropped it into another test tube containing a clear liquid and shook it vigorously. Holding it up to the light she peered at it for a few seconds and then grunted, apparently satisfied. Then she pointed to the pentagram.

"Stand."

Ess stood in the centre of the pentagram, facing Dorothy.

"What's all this? I've scrubbed myself clean, haven't I? I'm angry, aren't I? That's all I needed last time. They fluenced Shades and after a shower he was right as rain. Oz too, all he had to do was to sleep it off."

"Last time? My gods, woman, how many times have you taken dust?" Dorothy made it sound like cocaine, and it wasn't as if she kept volunteering for it.

"Okay, there was the first time." Ess closed her eyes and tried various sentences out in her head, but none of them could make it as far as her voice. The spell's injunction was still strong. "The first time," she settled for. "Before I came to you. Then a couple of them came here to try and put me off, but all they did was put Shades to sleep and royally pissed me off. But that was a couple of days ago. You reckon I've been exposed since then? No idea what that could have been, but I'm over it now, aren't I?"

Flo pulled her facemask off and peeled off her gloves. Presumably the test tube solution had certified her non-infectious.

"No."

Ess waited, but Flo seemed to think that explained everything.

"We needed to get rid of the dust," explained Dorothy. "When we've dealt with your beau you'll need to burn your sheets. A good vacuuming wouldn't hurt either." Dorothy glanced around at the flat, studiously not making any comments about the general cleanliness. "But that's just putting an end to the glamour. You've been enchanted, and we need to fix that too. Well, fix it as much as Flo can. Oh, she's good. None better. You should be honoured. But the dust just helps the enchantment stick. Who put this on you?"

Ess worked her jaw. If she couldn't tell these women, sisters in the craft and powerful ones at that, then who could she tell? She wanted to tell them; she wanted to tell anyone. She closed her eyes and the king's face filled her vision again.

"Yes, that's what I thought," said Dorothy. "It's going to take more than a sluice of soapy water and a change of clothes. So stop being such a drama queen and stand still like an adult. You came to me, remember."

Ess opened her eyes and stared at Dorothy, who matched it with a stare of her own. After a moment Ess nodded. "Fine. Hit me with your best spell."

"Don't leave the pentagram," said Flo.

Ess nodded. "I know that much. Do you want me to recite anything?"

"Think on the enchantments laid on you. Put them into the front of your mind. Keep it there."

"Enchantment. There was only one."

Dorothy and Flo exchanged a look, as if they knew Ess' life better than she did herself.

"Concentrate." Flo took more things out of her bag, collections of twigs, dried herbs and leaves bound with twine, a couple of tiny muslin bags that looked like mulled wine infusions you found in the shops at Christmas. She unwrapped a wax-paper package that held a bundle of tiny bones. Ess closed her eyes. Don't judge. Every sister communed with the Mother in her own way. Some used candles, some incantations, some herbs. There were stories of a sister who used sex, though that was probably apocryphal. Flo, it seemed, needed sweepings from a forest floor and the rancid remains of a long-dead rodent. Each to their own, but if she tried to get Ess to touch the skeleton there was going to be some non-judgemental arse-kicking.

The enchantment. She thought back to that day in Regent's Park. The clearing, the king in the centre. In her memory the sun filtering through the leaves bounced off thousands of particles of dust as they danced and glittered around her. That was a false memory, she knew. But the king wasn't. His gravitas, presence and - There was no other word for it - his majesty. How much of that was him, and how much the fairy dust playing with her senses? She tried to concentrate on the king's features. They blurred and shifted in her memory. His words then. His injunction to find his daughter. That terrible command to return in seven days and her certainty as he said it that she had no choice but to comply.

Ess was vaguely aware that a million miles away Flo murmured her spells, but all Ess could hear now was the King's voice bypassing her ears and carving his commands direct on her heart. Sweet Mother and Her handmaidens, how had she thought she could escape to Paris? Two days away? It was ridiculous. She had to find her, because she absolutely had to return to her father at the allotted time. And when she did, what would he do? Send her to sleep for a hundred years? Turn her into a dribbling vegetable? What would she remember? Would a tiny part of her still be deep inside, screaming in her soul as her useless body rotted in a care home somewhere?

And what if Flo could release her? They'd found her easily enough before. Daisy's brothers knew where she lived. Would the iron pendant and rowan wand be enough? Against those boys, maybe. Against a bunch of them? And would she be able to use them?

"Ess!"

Dorothy's voice broker her reverie. Ess snapped her eyes open. The two women stared at her. Flo had a knife in her hand, not one like the stainless steel one Ess kept in the kitchen, carved in Celtic runes and blessed by a mystic on midsummer's night. This one was brown with rust (at least, Ess hoped it was rust), though the blade edge was bright and sharp. The handle was too big, as though centuries of whetting had reduced the length of the blade. Ess tried not to think of why a witch would need to sharpen a blade that much.

"You need to work on your aura," said Dorothy. "Lots of negativity in there, once we got rid of that artificial high."

"Artificial high? What do you mean?"

"The dust. Heavens, girl, you were as high as a hippy. But now we've sorted that out I can see a lot of self-doubt in there. Wouldn't have guessed it. You're a decent liar, I'll give you that. A coven would help. Get you back into the circle. Even a counselling session. I can put you in touch with a sister that runs retreats. But that won't help you right now. So one of the Gentle Folk induced a feeling of well-being in you. Soaked you in the stuff too."

"Ingested," said Flo. "Purge."

"Yes indeed. I've told her to purge already, but she seemed to think that meant snort dust like a junkie. Never mind all that," Dorothy added, waving away Ess' objection as she opened her mouth to argue. "Let's see the damage. Answer my questions. Were you enchanted?"

"What? I guess so."

"No, I want a proper answer. Can you remember someone putting you under an enchantment?"

In her mind's eye Ess saw the fairy king.

"Yes."

"What sort of creature?"

"A f-f-f --" Ess swallowed and closed her eyes. She was a sister of Gaia, damn it. "Fairy."

Dorothy nodded. "Who?"

"K-k-k-k-" Ess shook her head. Why was this so hard? She'd done everything the women had said. "K-king."

"A fairy king?" Dorothy raised her eyebrows. "Well, if you're going to have someone bugger up your mind, it might as well be royalty. What was the injunction?"

"Go back." That had come out without a stutter, but she had to fight back the nausea.

"Bugger that for a game of soldiers, girl. Okay, see how it works? You have to practice, understand? You have to keep pushing against it. Your stubborn streak should help you there. It's not going to be pleasant. Now, where did you get all this dust from?"

Ess shook her head. "I don't know."

"Your boyfriend is drugged to the gills too. Did he get it off you? Was there a lot of physical contact last night?"

"Mind your own business." Ess frowned. If she was on a high, had Shades been on one too? They'd certainly both been lovey-dovey last night, before getting home. And there had been no 'physical contact' that Dorothy was asking about. When had she last felt normal?

"Davenport," she said at last.

"Excuse me?"

"It was Davenport. It must have been. He told us to relax, take a couple of days off. He said we were a lovely couple, even though we'd been fighting." But she'd been so sure. His aura gave no clue he was lying. Unless...

"My God, he's a fairy."

Chapter 37
Anger

By snodlander

Ess crashed through the doors of her bedroom and flung open the wardrobe doors. She grabbed at the first set of clothes that came to hand. When she tugged at her undies drawer it flew out of the chest of drawers and upended the contents onto the floor. She screamed a wordless cry of anger and frustration and swept up a set of underwear.

"Do you think you might want to pace yourself?" asked Dorothy from the doorway.

"Shut up!" She ripped off the bathrobe and pulled her clothes on.

"Okay, but if you're going to do what I think you are, I'd not want to burn myself out. What about your boyfriend?"

Ess turned to face the bed. Shades murmured in his sleep, lying on top of the covers, his feet still on the floor.

"Yeah, hose him down too."

"Excuse me? I'm not your servant, and I'm definitely not going to strip a strange man naked."

"I trust you." Ess kicked the shoes piled in the bottom of the wardrobe. She grabbed a pair of boots. Sandals were not going to be up to the job when she started kicking arse.

Dorothy said, "Besides, you don't want to face one of the Gentle Folk alone."

"No? Because company has been naff all help the last couple of times." Ess turned to the door, but Dorothy held her position.

"Even so. Do you want me to come along?"

"You?" Ess paused for a moment. She was a Daughter of Gaia, and this time she knew what Davenport was and what he was up to. Anger helped compensate for the dust, and it was all she'd needed before. On the other hand Dorothy had taken her under her wing when she was still a teenager at college. She'd taught her the basics of the craft, more than the basics if she was honest. Two sisters were better than one. If she couldn't ask for help from her teacher, who could she ask it from?

But that was the problem. If she asked her for help now, what would she do next time? She'd been under her wing when she was an apprentice, but now she was a woman, full-grown in the arts. There was a time for asking for help, but there was a time for standing on her own two feet. She was a Daughter of Gaia, damn it.

"No, you sort Shades out. Stick him under the shower fully clothed if you're shy. I'll get backup. Don't worry, I won't go in alone. But don't do it yet. If he wakes up he'll want to tag along, and he's fine at muscle but not the craft. Besides, he'll get all protective and bossy, and I don't need that right now."

"You think we've got all day to run around after you?"

Ess grabbed the iron talisman she'd bought earlier and slipped it over her neck, then picked up the rowan wand. She paused and tempered her anger just a tad.

"Dorothy, you were my teacher and my light when I was trying to find my way. You dropped everything to help me, you and Flo came all the way down here just to help me out, and I can never thank you enough for that, for any of it. But this is my fight. The bastards screwed with me, and if they think they can get away with it they'll screw with everyone. Davenport is in politics. Mother and the earth spirits, can you imagine what he'll try and get away with if he gets into a position of power? So I've got to put him right, and it's got to be me, so he knows he can't pick on any daughter. He has to know he hasn't won. I've got a friend I can call, someone who's dealt with the other side before. Shades isn't him, not by a long chalk. He's cute, but he's not powerful, not in the way he would need to be. But I can't leave him like this, knowing anything might happen to him. I know this stuff messes with your mind, I know how permanently screwed up people can get after they've been touched. So I need to make sure he's okay, but if I stay behind I'll run out of steam and then what good would I be? But if you and Flo could just see to the basics, just so I can put everything into stamping Davenport into the ground and not have to worry, that would be amazing." She paused as she drew in a long breath and looked at the recumbent form on the bed.

"Last time stuffing him under the shower fully clothed was enough, but do what you have to. Only leave it for ten minutes, otherwise he'll jump on a white charger and then I'll have to give him a good kicking as well. Don't tell him where I've gone, but he'll probably work that out, I expect." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she steeled herself for the next word. "Please," she said at last.

"Davenport?" said Dorothy. Ess nodded. Dorothy shrugged. "Each sister has her own path, but we're not called sisters for nothing. Blessings of the Mother on your endeavour, but if you're unsuccessful, well, the whole sisterhood will know his name, I'll make sure of that. Then we'll make sure he knows us." She reached into a pocket in her tweed jacket and pulled out a bulky old sock, tied at the end. "Take this. It may help."

Ess took the sock, then nearly dropped it as the weight surprised her.

"I thought it was herbs or something."

Dorothy shook her head. "The Gentle Folk, they can't abide iron, but in my experience no one can abide iron when it's in the form of steel ball bearings packed inside a sock. Besides, I'm an old woman and this is London. A girl has to be able to protect herself." She stepped aside to let Ess through.

"Thanks," she said to Flo as she left. Flo nodded, and then Ess was pounding down the stairs.

Chapter 38
Confrontation

By snodlander

Outside the building she pulled out her phone and hit Oz's number as though she had a grudge against it.

"Oz? Get your arse over here now."

"Certainly, dearheart. Um, who is this calling?"

"Don't be a smart-arse, I'm not in the mood."

"Just checking. You'd be surprised at the number of summonses from females demanding my body I receive. You sound vexed, which, admittedly, is not unusual. Has anything in particular caused this, or are you just royally pissed-off in general?"

"Daisy. I know who's behind it and we're going to kick his majority right in the polls."

"Excellent. Your place?"

Ess looked around. The street was quiet. She couldn't go back to the flat, not now, and Shades would be awake in ten minutes or so. Besides, she was so angry she couldn't just stand still.

"No. Outside the library. Ten minutes. Oh, and bring a bit of iron with you."

She hung up and marched down the street. Davenport had messed with her head. Her! A sister of Gaia. Not only that, he'd messed around with her relationship with Shades. How had he thought to get away with it? Well, admittedly, he almost had. If it hadn't been for Dorothy... She pushed the thought away, angry at herself for nearly falling for it, almost as angry as she was at that smarmy politician. He was going to be lucky if she just used the sockful of shot on him. Well, he'd picked on the wrong sister this time, and he was going to find that out big time.

Oz arrived at the library almost as soon as she had. She wrenched open the car door and flung herself into the passenger seat. Oz looked her in the face and raised his eyebrows.

"Gods, I'm glad I'm not on the receiving end."

"Its Davenport," said Ess. "He enchanted me and Shades to put us off the scent. It all makes sense now. How else would he be so successful? I mean, you've seen him. He's nothing special, but everyone raves about him. And he tried to flim-flam me. Mess with my head, would he? I'll show him messing with people. I'll mess him up so bad he'll be whimpering for the rest of his life."

Oz held up his hands. "Whoa, I'm not the enemy. Let's try and keep to our indoors voices, shall we? So, where to, my incandescent amazon?"

"Davenport's place."

"His house?"

"Yes. Um, I mean, I guess so."

"Let's save us a bit of time, shall we?" Oz pulled out his phone and started hitting keys on the screen.

"What are you doing?" asked Ess.

"Trying to harness the wonder that is the Interweb. Damn these things, they make the keys far too small. Politicians, they're all on Twitface or whatever, and the Freedom of Information Act makes it easier too. Ha, there, see?" He waved the screen in Ess' face. "He runs a surgery one morning a week. Boreham Wood."

"Okay, Boreham Wood, then. What are you waiting for?"

Oz shrugged and pulled out into the road. "Thanks, maybe," he muttered. "An acknowledgement of my genius. An admission that I'm more than just a sidekick. But no, I'll just do all the donkey work, that's fine."

"I said, I'm not in the mood."

Oz muttered something inaudible and turned the ancient vehicle north.

The surgery was held at a non-descript little building that might once have been a newsagent or corner shop, but had been converted into the local party offices by the expedient of frosting the wide front window. Ess strode in, Oz skipping behind her in an effort to keep up.

"I need to see Davenport. Where is he?" she demanded of the woman seated behind an ancient desk.

"He'll see you shortly," said the woman, smiling without involving her eyes in the operation. "There are a couple of other constituents before you, Ms...?"

For a moment Ess considered barging through doors and hunting the little rat down, but Oz laid a hand on her arm.

"Tell him it's Ess Williams. He knows me and he's going to want to see me ASAP."

"Come on," said Oz, tugging at her arm gently. "It's Davenport you're angry at, not the rest of the world. Come sit down."

Ess allowed herself to be led to the row of seats along one wall. A couple of people already sat there, studiously avoiding her eye.

"Give me a sec," said Oz, winking at her. He turned and made his way over to the woman at the desk, who eyed him warily. Oz leant over the desk and talked at a volume too low for Ess to hear. Gradually she saw the woman thaw, throwing the occasional glance across to Ess. Then she giggled. Ess shook her head and looked away. Whatever it was about Oz, when he wanted to he could charm a smile from a lemon farmer, if she was female.

Oz returned and sat next to her. He leant close. "The thing about people behind desks," he said in a low voice, "is that the only power they have is how flexible they are in the execution of their duties. Screaming and demanding works sometimes, but not nearly as often or as well as charm. Now I understand you're angry, and you have every right to be, I'm sure. But screw the lid on it. Keep it nice and tight until we actually get to see the man, okay? She may well let us jump the queue, but shouting at her is going to put the mockers on it, so just stay shtum, okay?"

It made sense, but that didn't mean Ess was happy about it. She let herself resent the power of the secretary to keep her waiting, of Oz's patronising and calm attitude and even the hard plastic chair she was forced to sit on, and added it all to the fury at Davenport trying to hoodwink her. For once Oz remained mercifully silent, perhaps sensing the inevitable eruption and not wishing to be in its path when it happened.

A door behind the secretary opened and an old man shuffled out. The secretary rose and leant into the room. Ess couldn't make out the words of the muttered conversation within, but seconds later she straightened and turned.

"Mister Davenport will see you now," she said haughtily, as though it were a special audience. Ess bounded from the seat and angled for the door, Oz following in her slipstream.

Davenport rose from behind his desk, his face beaming and his hand extended.

"Ms. Williams, what an --"

"You're a fairy!" spat Ess, jabbing a finger at him.

"Indoor voices," muttered Oz. "People in the waiting room."

"Excuse me?" said Davenport, taking a step back.

"You're a fairy, and don't pretend you're not. You think you can run people's lives, run the country's lives, just because you can sprinkle fairy dust wherever you please?"

"Look, I really -- "

"No, you look. You're trying to put me off finding Daisy, and I've found out why."

"You have?"

"Yes. It's because you're a fairy. Don't deny it."

Davenport stared at Ess for a moment, glanced at Oz then sat down.

"Please, take a seat. Your friend too."

Ess vibrated with righteous anger, determined not to let it off the boil in case he tried to enchant her, but when Oz sat down she felt awkward being the only person standing. She hesitated, then sat, as angrily as the motion allowed, and perched on the edge of the seat.

"Ms. Williams, firstly let me say that I represent my constituents as fairly as possible. That's all my constituents, regardless of political affiliation, race, creed, gender and lifestyle. I find it particularly offensive that you should use such a derogatory term. And whilst it is nothing to be ashamed of, I can assure you that that side of my life is an open book, and nothing, I repeat, nothing in my private life can lay me open to that sort of claim."

"Are you denying you're a fairy?"

Davenport winced. "Believe me, Ms. Williams, that whilst I feel no need to deny it, as though it were some crime, it just so happens I am very happily heterosexual. And if you are going to make a fool of yourself with these ridiculous allegations, could you perhaps use the term 'gay'?"

"What?"

"The LGBT community fight hard for equality. Frankly, I'm surprised that a young educated woman such as yourself would use such terms."

"What? I'm not -- I wouldn't -- I'm not accusing you of being gay."

Davenport sat back and frowned. "You're not?"

"No, of course not. Why would I do that?"

Davenport spread his hands. "I have absolutely no idea. Why are you?"

"I'm not. Why would you say that?"

"Because you said it."

Ess closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She snapped them open and fixed Davenport with a triumphant glare.

"Then why are you using fairy dust?"

"Fairy dust? Sorry, are you accusing me of being a drug addict now?"

"Don't try to enchant me. You know full well what I'm talking about. Yesterday you dosed me and Shades up with fairy dust. You know you did."

"Oh, so I'm a drug pusher, as well as being an addict and gay? Ms. Williams, I have no doubt that you have been under the influence of illegal substances, but I assure you, you did not get them from me."

"Yeah? Well, what about this then?" Ess grabbed her talisman, pulled it over her head and thrust it forward. "See? You're not dealing with some amateur here. This is iron, this is. I've got bread in my pocket too. Oz, get your iron out."

"Excuse me?" said Oz.

She turned to him and gave him an urgent look.

"Your iron," she hissed.

"Oh, right." Oz fished into his pocket and held out a horseshoe, then shrugged an apology at the politician.

Davenport licked his lips nervously and glanced at Oz. Then he leant across and took the talisman from Ess. Caught off guard, she let it slip through her fingers. Davenport examined it.

"Um, very nice, I suppose. And this means?"

"It's iron," said Ess, doubt creeping into her voice despite the anger.

"Yes?" He shrugged and offered it back. Ess snatched it from his hand and clutched it to her chest.

"Um, Ess, dearheart --" said Oz.

"Shut up."

"No, but it's iron, and this gentleman handled it quite easily."

"Shut up, Oz. He's a fairy, he has to be. How else do you explain the dust?"

"But he handled the iron. Can't you read him?"

Ess glared at the politician. "Fine," she said at last and unfocussed her eyes. It wasn't easy. Reading auras required a still centre, and a tornado whirled in her centre at the moment.

"Perhaps you could explain just what the hell is going on," said Davenport, turning to Oz.

"My colleague is under the impression that you are a person of a supernatural persuasion," said Oz. "Not human. To wit, a fairy." Ess let Oz run with the conversation. She couldn't do both at the same time.

"A fairy? You mean... " Davenport raised his hands and flapped them in imitation of tiny wings. "A fairy?"

"A fairy," confirmed Oz. "One of the gentle folk. Elfin in the very core meaning of the word. A fairy."

For a moment Davenport snorted before recovering himself.

"And is she under some sort of medication?"

"Not intentionally, though we have reason to believe that her mind was affected by a foreign substance. As it happened in the same timeframe as your meeting we rather assumed it was you."

Davenport's aura swam into Ess' view, faint and blurred. Not enough to make an accurate and detailed reading, but good enough to see he was human, and as far as she could see, he wasn't lying either. But she had been so sure. What other explanation could there be?

"Has she often been, um, under these impressions?"

"Oh, we both are, though I must admit, fairies is a new one. Ess, dear?"

Ess snapped her vision back.

"I know you're involved," she said through gritted teeth. "You can use dust as much as you like, but I know you're involved."

"With...?" Davenport gave every impression of being nonplussed.

Ess turned the laser beam of her gaze to Oz. He shrugged and had the grace to look embarrassed.

"I'm not giving up on Daisy," she said, rising.

Davenport leant forward to Oz and said in a voice not quite low enough, "I have some good contacts in social services, you know, if you need them."

"Oz!" Ess turned on her heel and marched out the door.

Author Notes

Merry Christmas to all our readers

Chapter 39
Santa and the Easter Bunny

By snodlander

In the street Ess marched up to Oz's car and kicked the rear tyre repeatedly until the whole car shook.

"Um, Ess, dear?" said Oz, keeping his distance.

"Shut up!" She took a final kick, swinging all her weight behind it, before slamming her palms on the roof. Oz winced and made to move her hands, but quickly thought better of it.

"How can he be human?" she asked the car.

Behind her, Oz shrugged.

"We were dusted, and it had to be at his house. Didn't it? Unless it was just before, or maybe just after. Someone had me followed the other day. Maybe they did it."

"Can you remember when you started feeling woozy?"

Ess whirled on Oz, and his face showed his instant regret at having spoken. "What a bloody stupid question. That's like asking where you put something down you've lost. Of course I don't remember the exact second. I didn't even realise it at the time. But me and Shades got a massive dose."

"Maybe it's like lead."

Ess frowned. "What? Make sense. What's like lead?"

"Fairy dust. Maybe it's cumulative, like a heavy metal. You've taken a couple of hits. Maybe Davenport wasn't dusting you, you were just open to suggestion, based on the toxins already there."

Ess stared over Oz's shoulder. Oz had the rare good sense to remain silent as she thought.

"No," she said at last. "I mean, if it was just me, maybe, but Shades had it all washed off him. He didn't breathe it in like us in Regent's Park. And Dorothy and her chatty friend said I had to detox. That wouldn't do any good if it couldn't be purged. And it would mean I was open to any suggestion, which I'm not."

"I can think of a suggestion or two we could test -- no, no, wrong time for jokes, sorry." He backed away from Ess' glare. "Did Davenport use any form of words or phrases that struck you as odd?"

"Like what?"

"Anything that could have been a spell or incantation."

Ess thought, but the memory of the previous evening slipped and shimmered like an old childhood recollection. "Not that I can remember. Why?"

"Just exploring possibilities. What did you get from your reading of Davenport's aura?"

"He's human."

"Unusual for a politician, but besides that. Did you read anything significant?"

Ess shook her head. "I was too angry to do a full reading."

"It's just that he was either totally confused or a bloody good liar, even for a politician."

Ess thought back. There hadn't been any hint of a lie in his aura, not that she could tell. It wasn't conclusive, of course. It wasn't a full reading and some people lied all too easily, but she was usually pretty good at picking that up.

"He did it," she said, but the anger was slowly decaying into doubt.

"Oh, I'm not going to stand here and defend a politician. I'm an academic. If word got back to my students my street cred would go straight down the gutter. But it might be that he accidentally manipulated you whilst you were under the influence. I've been reading up on him. He seems to have fooled a lot of people. Either that or, you know..." Oz shrugged.

"Or what?"

"Or he is what it says on the tin. He's a politician who genuinely is a good egg. Which could explain why he's sat on the side-lines for so long. It's not cream that floats in politics."

Ess clenched and unclenched her fists, staring into the middle distance. Damn Oz and his reasonable arguments. It was Davenport, she knew it. But why? Was it just that her fury needed a target, and kicking Oz's car wasn't nearly as satisfying as burying her boot into guilty flesh? There was something wrong there, something she should be able to see, just on the edge of her perception. She turned her phone on, off so she couldn't be badgered by Shades. She patted the roof of the car.

"Sorry about kicking your car," she said.

"Well, better her than me, though I did wonder of the old girl would be able to stand up to --"

Ess' phone rang. She answered it without thinking.

"Ess," she said.

"Ms. Williams." It took her a moment to place the voice, then she recognised him.

"Mister Whitmarsh." Of course. Who else would it be, having just confronted his boss?

"I've just had a rather disturbing conversation with Mister Davenport." 'Mister Davenport'. Not 'Peter' anymore. She'd dropped in the social rankings, obviously.

"There's a coincidence," she said. "So have I."

"I have to ask, what's the angle?"

"Sorry?"

"I mean, as far as I can gather, you're accusing him of being a pixie. Is this some sort of psychological interrogation technique they teach in whatever Internet school of pretend detectives you've got a certificate from? Has Santa Claus kidnapped that woman you were asking about? She must have been a naughty girl indeed."

Ess felt the heat rising up her face. "Did you have something to say, or did you just phone to make stupid comments?"

"Stupid? I'm not the one who's accusing the Easter Bunny in the library with the lead pipe."

"Goodbye."

"Wait!"

Ess hesitated, her thumb over the disconnect button. Finally she returned the phone to her ear.

"What?"

"Ms. Williams, you are in serious trouble, not least from yourself. I deal with people. That's my job, twenty-four seven. PR people, politicians, the great unwashed and, of course, journalists. Trust me when I tell you I could take a mass-murderer and make him the darling of the press, and vice versa. That's what I do, but in this case, I don't have to. You are doing it yourself. Listen to yourself. Fairies? Really? Where are you going to go with a story like that? Name one person that won't laugh in your face if you tell them. I could let it be known that you have no qualifications or experience in detective work. I could let drop rumours I've heard about your belief in demons and vampires and whatever else you've read about in comic books. I don't suppose your professor friend would fare well either if it got around he was facilitating you in this. As it is it's going to be difficult to persuade Mister Davenport to employ Simon. I could do all this, but I don't have to."

"You can do whatever you want. I'm going to find Daisy."

"And you are free to do whatever you want, but actions have consequences. I would think very carefully before screaming from the rooftops that you believe in fairies. People do, I'm sure, but they tend to be people who are under close medical supervision. Now, I advised my employer to have nothing more to do with you, but despite your little show this afternoon, he is still concerned. He is worried about you. He wants to know if there's anything he can do to help. Frankly, I think the only help you can benefit from is psychological, but he's a kinder man than I."

"Stuff you!" Ess hit the disconnect button before Whitmarsh could respond to her scathing wit.

"What did he say?" asked Oz.

"That I'm bonkers. That if I step out of line he'll get you and Shades sacked and me committed. More or less."

"The little shit. I'll snap the turd in two."

Ess bit her lower lip. "You can sort of see his point though. I mean, we know there are fairies, but how can we say that to normal people? And anyway, we're no nearer to finding her."

Oz stabbed his finger at her. "Don't you dare! Don't you even think about quitting."

"I thought you wanted me to quit."

"Yes, well, that was before he threatened me. The arrogant little fart. Me! Not that he could get me sacked. The faculty have tried for years, and they've not even got close. But that's not the point. He threatened me, and by Jupiter he's going to regret that."

Chapter 40
Owned

By snodlander

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Ess was still buckling her seat belt when her phone rang again. She looked at the caller id. Shades. She took a deep breath, forced a smile on her lips and answered.

"Darling," she said, her voice bright and brittle.

"What the fuck?"

Ess held the phone away from her ear as Shades screamed on the other end

"Hello, lover. You're awake."

"Where the hell are you?"

"Coming home."

"Well, you can just get your fanny over here now."

"Yes, I said, I'm coming home."

"What? Oh, right, yeah. Well, just do it." Despite herself she smiled at his sudden floundering, like a drunk who has missed the invisible top stair that wasn't there. Then he recovered. "What the hell do you think you're up to?"

"My job."

"Your job? What? Don't you ever turn your phone off again. You left me here with the ugly sisters while you blundered into dangerous people, and you turn your phone off? Really?"

"How much did you pay?"

"What?" The sleeper she dropped across his train of thought had the desired effect. "What are you talking about?"

"When you bought me, how much did you pay to own me body and soul?"

"No, look, it's not like that."

"Only, if you don't own me, I'm pretty damn sure I can go wherever the hell I like without your permission."

"I was worried, right? More than that. I wake up in the shower with Thelma and Louise's grannies soaking me in cold water, and they told me I wasn't allowed to even talk to you? What the fuck, Ess! I'm not saying you need permission, but I'm not some bystander. They screwed with me as well as you. We're meant to be a team. Why would you want to face that alone? Jesus, I don't think --"

"Shades!" She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. "I said, I'm coming home. We can talk about it then. Not now, sweetheart, because we both need to calm down, and I think it might be an idea for Oz to act as referee, or at least to administer first aid."

"No," said Oz. "I don't do other people's domestics."

"Really?" Ess turned raised eyebrows at him. "Only I seem to remember someone sticking his oar in big time recently." She turned back to the phone. "Babes, I'm going to hang up now. Stay there, make yourself a camomile tea and I'll be there in a minute." She hung up and turned to Oz.

"Besides, we need to formulate a plan, and as you insist on taking a cut, you should at least be involved in the work."

Chapter 41
Council of war

By snodlander

Oz pulled up on the yellow lines outside of Ess’ building.  He ratcheted the handbrake on and remained seated, staring out of the windscreen as though the street held a fascination invisible to mere mortals.
 
“Well?  Come on,” said Ess.  She unbuckled her seat belt but felt strangely reluctant to leave the car and face Shades alone.
 
“Other people’s domestics?  I’m not sure that’s in my purview.  Don’t you and lover boy want to kiss and make up first?”
 
“What happened to snapping Whitmarsh in two?  What was all that about not quitting?”
 
“Oh, I’m all for that, but I think you and your young man should have a little quality time first.  I don’t think I should interfere.”
 
“Really?”  Ess folded her arms and stared at Oz.  He had the good grace to look uncomfortable.
 
“What?” he asked at length.
 
“You hypocritical old fart.  You’ve been interfering since day one.”
 
“No.”  Oz so-soed with his hand.  “I may have given a little consultancy when less experienced youths were in need, but interfere?  That’s harsh.”
 
“I’ll bloody give you harsh if you start.  Get out this car.”  She shoved at his shoulder.  “Get out.  We need to figure this out, the three of us.  It’s more important than me and Shades, or your bloody cowardice.”  She shoved him again.  “Get your fat arse out of this death trap and into my flat.”
 
Oz mumbled something about cowardice in a voice too low for Ess to catch, but he struggled out of the car and followed her to the entrance hall.
 
“It’s not fat, either,” he said.  “It’s relaxed muscle.”
 
“It’s fat,” she said, slamming her key into the lock and yanking the door open.
 
“So, you admit to looking at my bum then?”
 
Ess ignored him and marched up the stairs to her flat door.  Before she could insert the key into the lock the door flew open and Shades glowered down on her, before stepping aside for her to enter.  The effect would have been intimidating save for the lilac towel around his waist and an old sweatshirt with ancient tomato stains on the front.
 
“Very fetching,” said Oz as he stepped in.  “Not a keen follower of fashion myself.  Style will always out, regardless of fashion.”
 
“Heckle and Jeckle took my clothes,” said Shades to Ess, pointedly ignoring Oz.  “Said they were going to burn them.  Contaminated.  If you’d let me keep just one change of clothes here…”
 
Ess whirled and squared up to Shades.  “Yeah, because it wouldn’t grow to two, then three, then a wardrobe full, would it, and I’m not doing your laundry.”
 
“I’ll just go make a cup of tea, shall I?” said Oz.  “Better still, I’ll nip out and get some of those fancy Italian coffees.”
 
Without interrupting her glare Ess held up a finger in Oz’s direction and commanded, “Stay!”  Oz stayed.  Ess took a deep breath, glanced at Oz then turned her back on the two men.  Oz and Shades exchanged a glance that spoke of shared comradery in the face of a common if unknowable enemy.  Eventually Ess pirouetted into a cross-legged seated position facing them, her eyes closed and her hands on her knees.
 
“Ess –“  Ess silenced Oz with a motion of her hand and breathed slowly.  Then she opened her eyes and looked at the two of them.
 
“Sit,” she said.  Her tone brooked no argument.  They sat on the couch.  Shades arranged the hem of the towel decorously.
 
“Shades, we have issues.  No one’s fault, or at least, both of ours.  Anyway, after all this I promise we will sit down and talk.  I don’t think either of us want to screw things up, but right now, we have other priorities.”
 
Oz beamed.  “Ah, young love.  That’s –“
 
“Shut it!  I love you, Oz, but now’s not the time to clown about.  We’re at war, and I need to know you’re in.  Because if you’re just going to fart about I shall kick you out this flat and out my life, understand?”  When Oz didn’t reply she repeated the question.  “Do you understand?”
 
“Understood, my captain.”
 
She gave him a long look that said that she had her doubts but would take that at face value for the moment.
 
“Then we’ve got to find Daisy, and I mean now.  Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to block us, and that means we’re not the only ones who think she’s missing.”
 
“Davenport,” said Shades.
 
Ess shook her head.  “No, he’s human.  Besides, he wasn’t lying, not just now and not earlier.  I think he doesn’t have a clue what’s happened to her.”
 
“His shadow, then.”
 
“Whitmarsh?  He’s greasy enough, but he’s human too.  I saw the auras of Daisy’s people, and they’re not the same as ours.  I’d have known if he was one of them.”
 
“Well, someone has been using fairy dust.”
 
“Not fairies, though,” said Oz.
 
“Excuse me?”  Ess turned her attention to Oz.
 
“Oh, excuse me, did I say that out loud?”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“Well, I’m only a philosophy professor who dabbles with alternative religions.  I’m not James Bond or an aura reader, what do I know?  I just clown around, apparently.”
 
“Oz!”
 
Oz sighed.  “Stuff the tea, have you got anything stronger?  A single malt perhaps.”
 
Ess glared at him, but finally rose, stamped to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of Chardonnay and three glasses.  She slammed them on the coffee table and resumed her cross-legged pose on the floor.
 
“I’ll be mother, shall I?”  Oz unscrewed the cap and poured the wine into the glasses.  He took a generous gulp then grimaced.
 
“As I say, it’s not fairies.  It doesn’t fit the M.O.  Did I use that in the right context?  M.O?  Odd that PC Flatfoot would use Latin, grammar school oiks the lot of them.”
 
“Oz.”
 
Oz took another gulp and smiled at Ess.  “Well, it stands to reason.  Look at what happened when we went to Regents Park.  Was there dust?”
 
“Everywhere.”
 
“Indeed.  But there was more.  Spells and incantations.  Probably.  You know more about that than me.  I was away with the fairies, so to speak.  Touched.  And you, you were different afterwards.  You’re terrible at hiding secrets, you know that?  Oh, very endearing, but something you need to work on if this is to be your career.  You’ve been hiding something ever since.”
 
“The k-king.”  Ess fought the nausea.  “He… said something.”
 
“A spell?”
 
“Sort of.”
 
“There you go.  And when the fairy heavies came round for a visit, didn’t you say they whispered in James Bond’s earhole?”
 
Ess nodded.
 
“Can we assume then that the gentle folk use dust to augment their spells, to put us mortals into a more receptive state?  And yet, judging by what you’ve said, no spell was used the last time.  You were merely tripping into a more suggestable state of mind.  Which suggests to me that someone quite unfairylike is using the stuff.  Perhaps there’s an illicit market in it.  I can think of quite a few uses for something like that.  Oh, not for me, because I am naturally gorgeous, but it could put GHB out of business.”
 
”Whitmarsh?”  Ess frowned.
 
“Excuse me.”  Shades rose and made for the bedroom, picking his phone up from the table as he did so.
 
“I suppose he could be responsible,” said Ess.  “I mean, I’ve not searched his aura when he’s been talking to me, but I suppose it could make sense.  But why would he want to put us off finding Daisy?”  Even as she said it, it started to make sense.  Right from the start he’d been trying to hinder her investigations.  That first evening at the art gallery he’d steered Davenport away at the first mention of Daisy’s disappearance, and there was that file he’d shown her to imply she was flaky and probably off gallivanting somewhere.
 
“Perhaps Daisy is his supplier.  Even fairies need money that doesn’t evaporate when the sun rises, I suspect,” said Oz.
 
“Daisy?  A pusher?  No.”
 
“You’re far too naïve, you know that?  Just because she’s pretty and nice, and not some unshaven scallywag lurking in dark alleyways, doesn’t mean she can’t be running an illegitimate enterprise, especially as fairy morality is a far cry from ours.”
 
“So you think Daisy is selling drugs, well, not drugs, you know what I mean.  Daisy?  But why would she disappear?  Why would she leave her boyfriend?  That doesn’t make sense.”
 
“We’re not talking about people here, remember.  Does it make sense to live in Regents Park?  What’s nonsense to us might not be to her.”
 
“But her father doesn’t know what’s happened to her.  Her brothers too.  No, she’s missing, and not just because she’s on the lam with a haul of drugs.”
 
Oz chuckled.  “I’m pretty sure no one has been on the lam since Phillip Marlowe retired.”
 
Shades re-entered the room, flipping his phone closed.
 
“It’s Whitmarsh and Davenport,” he said.
 
“What is?  Who?  Why?”  Ess shook her head.  “I mean, why do you think it’s them?”
 
“I spoke to a friend.  You know why James Bond is bollocks?”  He raised his eyebrows at Oz, then counted on his fingers.  “First, he’s not a spy, he’s just an assassin.  When has he ever gathered intelligence?  Second, everyone knows who he is.  How can you operate like that?  But mostly, he’s always swanning about the world.  Most of UK intelligence is gathered domestically.  Especially around Westminster.  No MP can smuggle in a rent boy or make a bid for a committee chair without some spook reporting it up the chain.  So I’ve got a friend who owed me.  Davenport came out of left field.  Not a whisper of anything in his file till a few weeks ago.  Round about when Daisy disappeared.  Then suddenly everyone thinks he’s golden balls.  Nobody does that, not out of the blue.”
 
“Not unless – Dust?“  It made sense to Ess, at least as far as Davenport and the dust.  But where did Daisy fit in the picture?
 
“That must have been a big debt he owed you,” said Oz.
 
“The kind that costs you an arm and a leg, literally.  So I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t keep calling me James Bond.  I don’t take lives.”
 
“Fair enough, old boy.  So, what’s the plan of action?”
 
“First thing,” said Shades, tightening the towel, “is to get me some clothes.”
 

Chapter 42
favours

By snodlander

By the time Ess returned to her flat with clothes trawled from Shades' flat it was already evening. Whilst Shades retired to her bedroom to dress, Ess sat opposite Oz.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Oz answered.

"You're looking conspiratorial. What have the pair of you cooked up?"

"As if we'd decide anything in your absence."

"Yeah, yeah. Stop messing about."

"Well, provisionally, we're going on a black-op stake-out. Very Secret Squirrel. Your young man was telling me all about it."

"Mind sharing?"

"Davenport is at some local shindig for his local party this evening, out Elstree way. Whitmarsh will in all likelihood be there too. So we set up a surveillance operation at the hall, wait for our men to stagger out, then follow them. You know, almost like we were proper detectives."

"That's it? That's our grand plan? I was away an hour."

"It's a bit more complex than that," said Shades, appearing from her bedroom. "But we can't just shoot and pray. We need evidence, or at the very least intelligence. So we tail them, see their routine. If they're using this stuff liberally, then it needs to be somewhere they visit daily. Either Davenport's drum or Whitmarsh's. Or someplace else, somewhere they visit regularly. Now, we know where Davenport lives, but Whitmarsh, well, pass, I couldn't track his address down on the Internet. So we wait, follow, observe. If the opportunity presents itself, we poke around, but only if there's no risk. One sniff of us on their tail and they'll shut it down, at least for as long as it takes to get us sectioned."

"No. We need to find her now."

Shades sighed. "I know you're anxious to find her, babes, but trust me. I used to do this as my bread and butter. This is the only way it'll work."

"No. We have to find her in the next couple of days."

"Look, I know how you feel, but --"

"No! You don't know how I feel. Don't be so bloody patronising and if you call me 'babes' again I will gut you. We need to find her now."

Shades frowned. "Why the urgency?"

"Because -- " She could see the king's face in her mind's eye, the way it had filled her vision and filled her world with dread. "B-because --" She screwed her eyes shut, fighting down the nausea and forcing the words out. "Because I have to report back to her father." She gagged, but the words were out now. She dragged her sleeve across her brow, smearing the cold sweat across her face.

"Why?"

"Because I have to. Because I can't stop myself. It's an otherworld type of thing. An injunction. I just have to, and I really don't think reporting back with nothing is going to go down well." She glanced at the coffee table. Oz had finished the bottle of wine. She would kill for a drink right now.

Shades walked over to the window and stared down on the street below. After a few moments he turned. He didn't look happy.

"Okay, we watch Davenport's house. Whitmarsh too, when we find it. Any opportunity when the houses are empty we turn them over. Same goes for any place they visit that might be tasty, somewhere they've got exclusive access to." He shrugged. "It's the best we can do."

"But what if the house is occupied for the next couple of days?"

"I didn't say it was a perfect plan. We've just got to hope."

"How are we going to do all this, old boy?" asked Oz. "We can't be staking out the houses and following them around at the same time."

"I've got help coming. If you've got any favours you can call in, that wouldn't hurt."

"Help?" asked Ess.

"Ted."

"Ted?" She knew the name from somewhere, and then the penny dropped. "The guy that kidnapped you yesterday? Are you joking? That Ted?" And then a whole bagful of coins hit the floor. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God, I'd forgotten. Mister Schustek. I'm so sorry. I was asleep when you came home, and then the sisters got me so riled. God, how can I have forgotten?"

"Don't sweat it. To be honest, I'm a bit vague on it all too. That happy dust is powerful stuff. He wasn't too chuffed, but he's not exactly emotional at the best of times. I can clear it with him, I'm sure. I might have to sacrifice every remnant of self-respect, but I expect we can work things out. But that can wait for a couple of days if we need it to. First we have to sort these two chancers out."

"What sort of favours are you asking us to call in?" asked Oz.

"Normally we would want six bodies on each target, two to a car. When Ted gets here we'll be two bodies to a target. They won't be looking for us, but it's still going to be pretty tight. If you have anybody you can trust who's prepared to sit in a car for forty-eight hours and aid and abet a bit of breaking and entering, it couldn't hurt."

"I could ask a couple of sisters," said Ess.

"How far can you trust them?"

Ess gave him a withering look. "You think playing at soldiers forms a bond? Try crossing a sister." It would have been better if she were in a coven, or even had an apprentice, but there were a couple of sisters she could call on, if they were free. "They might not have a car, though."

"I have a wealth of drinking buddies, but we'd have to spring for a bottle or two to keep the chill out," said Oz cheerfully.

"No," said Shades, before Ess could slap down the idea. "It's bad enough we're operating with amateurs, no offence, but amateur drunkards, no way."

"How dare you! I'll have you know we could be professional drunkards. I personally could drink for England."

"No alcohol. If you haven't got anyone who can keep dry for a couple of days, they're no good to us."

Oz scowled. "Well, that's bloody difficult, then. Oh, wait, there is one who'll do me a favour. I'll give her a call."

"Her?" said Ess. Oz grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

"She's uniquely suited to night operations. Oh, don't give me that look. She has a car, is what I meant." He took out his phone and shrugged. "Plus she would do anything for me. And occasionally has."

Chapter 43
Lock and Load

By snodlander

By the time darkness fell they were all gathered in Ess' flat. They made a motley crew. Ted and Shades could have been brothers, discussing tactics in low voices, using innocent phrases in odd contexts that made no sense to Ess. Their body language conveyed a quiet confidence born of long practice. Had they been comrades before they'd entered private service, she wondered. Oz had introduced his friend as Dot, a middle-aged woman of generous proportions who seemed equally keen to flirt with Ted and Shades as she did with Oz. She slapped Oz at every double entendre he made, but sniggered at the same time. They were cut from the same cloth, obviously.

The only sister Ess had been able to find was Angie from the shop. She wondered how many salves and ointments this was going to cost her. Not that Angie had explicitly said as much, her help was one sister to another, gratis and freely given, of course. Nevertheless, under the chit-chat they both knew that while Angie would not be so crass as to ask for stock outright, Ess would have no choice to donate her potions as a freewill offering.

"Okay, listen in," said Shades, clapping his hands and standing to face the assembly. "We are not cops, we are not soldiers and we're not bloody superheroes, so whatever goes down tonight, you keep this foremost in your mind: Watch your backs. If there's trouble, you stand down. If you're recognised, you stand down. If the police get involved, you do whatever they say, then stand down. No one gets hurt tonight, understand? You've got no expertise, no experience and no chance if things go pear-shaped, so you protect number one. This is not a game. Do I make myself clear?" He stared at each one. "Do I make myself clear?"

There was a murmur of assent.

"Good. Now Ted and I have done this sort of thing before, so rule number two is you do exactly what we say, when we say. I don't want any backchat or arguments." He stared pointedly at Oz, who to Ess' surprise merely nodded.

"Okay, so we're splitting into three groups, two to a car. Logistically it makes more sense to go boy, girl. It's not chivalry for the feminists in the room, it's operational. A couple look less conspicuous. Oz, if I team you up with Dot are you going to take this seriously? No drinking and no messing about?"

Dot giggled. Oz nodded. "Of course, dear boy."

Shades didn't look sure, but nodded anyway. "Then, Angie is it? Angie, you'll go with Ted in his car and Ess and I will take the other. Oz, you and Dot are going to get eyes on Davenport's house. Park up somewhere where you can see the front drive, but not obvious. Keeps obs until Davenport returns. Ted will relieve you and then you go home and get some shut eye. You'll relieve someone in the morning. Dot, what sort of motor have you got?"

"An estate." She giggled again. "Plenty of room in the back."

"Good. That'll be less conspicuous than Oz's heap. Oz, I'll take your car."

"A stake out? Really? Can't I be in on the action?" Oz reluctantly held out his keys.

"No you bloody can't, and what did I say about backchat? Following a car unnoticed is difficult at the best of times. Ted and I need to be doing that.

You two." He turned to Ess and Angie. "You're going to be in the cars with us. We're going to pick up Davenport and Whitmarsh when they leave this thing and follow them. When they split I'll take Whitmarsh, Ted will take Davenport. Angie, that's going to mean a night in a car. You up for that?"

Angie nodded, her mouth a thin line.

"Ess, we'll follow Whitmarsh to his drum and keep obs there. Any questions?"

"Is your friend as full of himself as you?" asked Angie.

Ted grinned. "I'm totally full of myself, Darling, but then, I know what I'm doing."

Ess saw Angie tense and grabbed her hand as surreptitiously as she could. She squeezed gently.

"Ted," said Shades, "Don't wind her up. Angie, do we have a problem?"

Angie smiled sweetly. "No, I'm sure we'll get on like a house on fire. And he knows I'm a witch, right? It's in his best interests to get on with me."

"Then let's do this. And remember. Watch your backs."

Shades turned to Ted and whispered to him, his finger jabbing into Ted's chest as he spoke. Ess didn't think Ted would wind Angie up anymore. Even so, she leant close to Angie.

"Thanks, sister. This means a lot, not just to me."

Angie nodded, and Ess saw the price of Angie's cooperation rise by a dozen jars. They filed out of the flat in silence, six mismatched individuals, the banter and chit-chat of an hour ago gone.

Author Notes

Don't start, I've been ill!

Chapter 44
Whitmarsh's flat

By snodlander

Davenport and Whitmarsh rolled out of the constituency meeting at nine-thirty, Whitmarsh driving a BMW with Davenport in the front passenger seat. Shades and Ted followed, sometimes Shades in the lead, sometimes Ted as they leapfrogged each other through the light traffic of north London.

"They're not looking for us," said Shades, "but there's no point in advertising the fact. Besides, we may not be the only ones tailing them."

Ess looked around. "Who else might be, then?"

Shades shrugged. "Rising star, your MP. Special Branch, Close Protection, the Met. He's not a minister yet, but who knows? But I've not seen anyone, so probably not."

"You've tailed people before." It wasn't a question, but Shades didn't provide confirmation. She wondered if he'd ever open up about his past life. Much as she had reservations about Ted, Shades trusted him. Perhaps he opened up to him, sharing a common experience? A brother in arms? She tried not to feel jealous.

"Looks like he's going home to wifey," said Shades, as they turned off the A1 and into the suburbs.

They fell behind, till Ess began to feel concerned they might lose him. As they passed Davenport's house they saw the BMW parked in the drive. Shades muttered curses as Oz flashed the lights of Dot's car, parked a few yards up the road. He parked further on, well away from Oz.

"Tell the idiot to go home and relieve Ted at zero-six hundred. No." He laid a hand on Ess' hand as she reached for the door handle. "Phone. I don't want to draw even more attention to the plonker."

Ess got out her phone and dialled Oz's number.

"Oz? Shades says to go home now and come back at six, okay?"

"Roger dodger," said Oz. "Ten-four, wilco. Shouldn't we have code names or something? Can I choose my own? Ooh, ooh, let me choose yours, please."

"Goodnight, Oz." She hung up before he could reveal what disgusting alias he'd thought up.

"No nightcap," said Shades, starting up the engine. "Chummy's on the move." He stared into the rear-view mirror, then pulled away, executing a three point turn in the deserted road. Ess saw the brake lights of the BMW as it halted at the end of the road, then turn left. Shades accelerated and followed.

They drove through Boreham Wood and Elstree, then headed south, Shades keeping a little closer than before.

"The Met will have no interest in him," he explained. "Besides, he's not driving like he thinks someone's following. It's easier at night, anyway. Most people can't tell one car from another when you've got headlights on. Shit!"

Two cars ahead the lights turned red. Whitmarsh made the lights and turned left. The car in front of Shades stopped.

"Out! Run to the corner and watch where he goes. Move!" He shoved at her, and Ess tumbled out of the car. She ran to the corner and watched the lights of the BMW go down the street. A couple of hundred metres ahead it stopped at pedestrian lights as a group of women out on the town crossed. The traffic lights Shades was stuck behind stubbornly refused to change. The pedestrian lights turned green and Whitmarsh pulled away. Just as the road curved to the left Whitmarsh indicated right, then disappeared from view round the bend. She turned and ran back to the car, jumping in just as the lights changed.

"He went down the road as far as I could see, but just at the end he was indicating right."

Shades checked all his mirrors then the engine roared as he barrelled down the street.

"Have we lost him?" she said.

"Buckle up," was all he said in reply.

Ess buckled up. A frequent victim of Oz's driving, she was no stranger to speed in suburban streets, but this was different. Oz drove as though the roads were clear in front of him and the demons of hell were behind. Every journey seemed like a frenetic gamble with death. Shades drove fast, but with a smoothness and calm that made it seem like a Sunday outing, despite the speed.

Immediately after the bend they turned into a side road on the right. It was empty. Shades accelerated.

"Look to see if he's parked up." He drove on and Ess stared at each car parked on the road, fighting the sudden nausea. As they passed a crossroads Shades suddenly braked to a stop and reversed.

"Gotchya," he said, spinning the wheel and turning left.

"Where?" The street looked deserted.

"On the right."

Up ahead Ess could see a single lit taillight in a row of cars, the reversing light just winking out.

"How did you know that's him?" she asked.

"Been staring at his rear lights for the last hour." Shades pulled into a space on the left, well short of Whitmarsh. Twisting in his seat, he pulled a small bag from the back seat and rummaged inside.

"What's that?" asked Ess.

"Essential supplies." Shades pulled out a flat cap and rammed it on his head. "See? A disguise."

"Oh my God, who are you? What have you done with my boyfriend?"

Shades grinned. "Yeah, very funny, but I'm not intending to let him see me, not close anyway." They watched as Whitmarsh left his car. The street consisted of long terraces of Edwardian houses, once home to the middle classes with space enough for servants, but long ago converted to flats. No leafy gardens or driveways here, steps from the pavement led directly up to the front door or down to the basement flat. Cars lined both sides of the street. Whitmarsh descended into the basement area of one of the houses.

"Be back in a mo." Shades opened the door and strode down the footpath, hands thrust into his jacket and his head low. Some way ahead he crossed the street onto Whitmarsh's side and started his return journey. As he passed the house he casually glanced down into the basement, and again at the front door. If Ess hadn't been staring at him she wouldn't have noticed it.

He carried on walking, past Ess and on. She frowned. What was he doing? She realised she was twisting round, following him with her eyes. Was that good surveillance practice? Was she giving everything away? She faced front, seeking out Whitmarsh's house. All was quiet. The urge to twist back and look for Shades was almost overwhelming. She settled for grabbing at the rear view mirror and turning it to locate him, but turn it as she might, she couldn't find him in the dark street. The side mirror that gave her a view of the footpath on her side of the street offered no clues either. Where was he?

A movement in front caught her eye. Whitmarsh trotted up the steps and onto the footpath. Without looking round he marched along the road, following the same path Shades had. Ess threw herself sideways, lying across the driver's seat and scrabbled for her phone. As Shades' number rang in her ear she edged her head over the bottom of the car window and peered out into the street.

"Yeah?" said Shades.

"Mother Gaia, where the hell are you?"

"Recceing the back of the property, why?"

"He's on the move. Whitmarsh, I mean. He's left the flat and he's walking down the road."

"Okay, follow him. Other side of the road, keep well back, just make a note of any building he enters. That's all, just keep tabs on him from a safe distance."

"Me? What are you going to do?"

"Have a quick shufti while the flat is empty. Give me a shout if he comes back, okay?"

"What if he sees me?"

"Should have brought a hat. Relax. No one looks behind them when they walk. Just keep well back. Be safe."

"You too."

Ess sat up, rammed the phone into her pocket and scrambled out of the car. Whitmarsh was already a hundred metres away, almost at the junction. Ess trotted after him, stooping to keep low behind the cars, realising as she did so nothing looked more suspicious but unable to stop herself. Ahead, Whitmarsh turned left and Ess broke into a run. What if she lost him? What if he had stopped just around the corner and saw her chasing him? How could she keep close and keep far enough away at the same time?

As she neared the end she forced herself to slow to a trot, then a rushed walk, and finally a stroll for the last metre. At the end she turned right and stopped. As casually as she could, as if she were checking for traffic on the deserted side street, she glanced behind her in the direction Whitmarsh had gone.

Nothing.

Panic hit the pit of her stomach. Had she lost him? Had he somehow seen her and shaken his tail? She scanned both sides of the road but there was no hiding place. Perhaps he'd turned down another side street? She scurried along the road. A little way ahead another side street crossed this one. Shops marked the corners, two shuttered and dark, plus a Chinese takeaway and an off-licence. She peered through the bottles which crowded the window of the off-licence. It was empty. Across the road the takeaway had two or three customers. There! At the counter Whitmarsh was punching his PIN into a card machine.

Ess spun on her heel and marched back the way she'd come, hand groping for her phone in her pocket. She hit Shades' number and held the phone to her ear. As it rang she muttered encouragements. "Come on. Pick up. Pick up, damn you. Answer your frigging -- " The call went to voice mail. She redialled, resisting the urge to turn around and see where Whitmarsh was. She had no better luck. She started a text.

She'd seen people text faster than she could type on a keyboard, their thumbs a blur on the screen. How did people do that? Scurrying forward, each step jogging her thumbs, it seemed impossible, but she couldn't stop, not when Whitmarsh could even now be behind her.

Whtmsrh cming bsck leave

It would have to do. She hit send, wondering even as she did so why she thought he'd answer a text when he wouldn't answer a voice call. Maybe he was running silent, or whatever the jargon called it. Unwilling to talk, phone on silent. Yes, maybe a text would save the day.

Like hell.

She turned into Whitmarsh's street, glancing back as she did so. The street was clear. A couple of paces in she stopped and edged back. Risking another look, craning around the corner house, she could just make out the shape of Whitmarsh in the takeout. She turned and ran.

Maybe he had just ordered and would have to wait twenty minutes. Would a man like him hang around? No, he would have phoned his order in. A local takeaway, he'd have their number. Maybe they'd quoted a shorter wait time than was actually the case. People did that. When a cab company told you the car would be there in five minutes, it was never less than fifteen. So how long had she got?

There was his house. Shades said he was going to recce the rear. How did he get round the back? There! Every dozen or so front doors a narrow alleyway punctuated the terrace. She turned into the one before Whitmarsh's, slowing down in the sudden dark. A short alley ended in a T junction with another narrow alley running parallel to the street, even darker, with the silhouettes of houses both sides standing against the background yellow haze of the sodium street lights. Which was his? The backs looked totally different. Cursing, she turned and ran back to the street. Heart in her mouth, she peeked down the way she'd come. Clear. She ran into the middle of the road and counted the number of houses from the alley to the flat. Five.

Sick with the fear that Whitmarsh would at any moment cry out in recognition she ran back into the alley. Hand on the left wall, she scrambled along, counting the gates she passed. Five!

She tried the latch. Locked. She shoved hard, but it gave no better response than before. It was only six feet high. Nothing, right? She could do that. She backed up the metre the alleyway allowed, took a little jump forward and leapt. It resulted in her hanging from the wall, arms stretched, feet still on the ground. Cursing, she scrabbled with her feet, finally getting a little purchase on the gate handle with one foot. She hauled herself up and fell into a heap onto flagstones on the other side.

She was not, she decided, cat burglar material. No time to award points for grace and elegance. She pulled herself up and limped across a concrete yard to the steps that led down to the basement.

"Shades?" She managed to shout and whisper it at the same time, guaranteeing Shades wouldn't hear but making her feel vulnerable. Through the glass of the door she could make out the vague shapes of kitchen appliances. "Shades!" The whisper brought no answer. She tried the handle. The door opened onto the dark interior.

Chapter 45
Discovery

By snodlander

Ess crept into a darkness crowded with all the monsters her imagination could supply. The fact her imagination was short on detail made them all the more terrifying. She held her hands out and edged forward, wishing she'd brought her bag with her. Her bag contained her magic knife of dubious provenance, etched with runes that might have been spells of healing, but definitely had an edge of finest Sheffield steel. A rectangle of black against the general darkness revealed itself to be a door. She eased it open, praying to the Mother and her handmaidens it wouldn't creak.

Beyond a dark corridor led to the flat's front door. A streetlight outside illuminated part of the carpet at the far end, but it was enough to silhouette a coat rack on one wall and doors, two opposite each other at the far end and one just to the right. She took the door handle and raised her hand, poised to rap gently before she caught herself. What sort of burglar was she if she knocked before entering? What would she do if someone answered? She turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The interior was impenetrable, black on black. Something about it suggested a small enclosed space, though, and she caught the whiff of herbs and chemicals. Something moved by her face and she recoiled before she could focus. She almost cried in relief when she recognised a light cord, swinging in the slight breeze the opening of the door had made. A bathroom then, windowless and mercifully empty. Ess backed out and closed the door, her heart thumping.

She edged along the corridor, hand gently resting on the wall to guide her. The door to the left stood ajar. She poked her head round. It looked empty.

"Shades?" she whispered, in case he was hiding behind the couch. Nobody answered. She turned. As she did so there was a noise from behind the opposite door, loud enough for her to be sure she hadn't imagined it, but too quiet for her to identify what it was.

As she stared she thought she could see the suggestion of light under the door. Not a lightbulb, something more ethereal. It shifted. Shades? Who else could it be? She tried to classify that as a rhetorical question, but the monsters she'd conceived in the kitchen had bred and multiplied behind the door.

The noise again, a suggestion of metal on metal. It was Shades, she told herself. It was. It had to be. Unconvinced, she reached out and turned the handle and silently opened the door.

Heavy blackout curtains masked the window at the front of the room. At the opposite end a figure stood at the head of a bed, his hunched figure shown in sharp relief by the light reflected from a small torch held in his teeth.

"Shades?"

The noise that greeted her whisper put every hair on end and turned her stomach. No human could have made that noise; it was a feral snarl of pure hatred from some primeval creature. Shades half turned and Ess saw Daisy lying on the bed, ropes crossing her body and handcuffs keeping her hands chained to the bedstead above her head. A gag lay around her neck, but above it wasn't the pouting innocent face beloved by the fashion magazines, this was a face crazed by fear and anger.

"Release me!"

Ess was at Shades' side before she even registered the fact. She fumbled with the knots of the ropes even as she fought the compulsion. How long had Daisy been kept in this room? How much dust had accumulated? How much was she breathing in even now? She closed her eyes and fought the desperate urge to obey.

"We're here to help you," she said, forcing the words out as her fingers pulled at the rope. "We've been looking for you."

"Release me!"

It was irresistible. She tugged more frantically at the rope.

"Martin sent us. Please, let us help you."

Daisy writhed on the bed. "Release me!"

"Whitmarsh is on his way back." It took all her effort to squeeze the words out. She glanced at Shades. He didn't appear to have heard, working at the handcuffs with a nail file.

"Shades?" How much had he breathed in? And he had no training.

"I met your father." The first knot gave way and she moved down the bed to the next. "Your brothers too. We're friends. Please."

"Release me!" The voice was in her head, in her chest, in her soul. Was it even audible?

Keys in the front door. She focussed her anger at her helplessness against the fairy's spell, at the frustration at losing control of her body and her will. Anger. Build it, focus it, use it. The front door rattled but didn't open.

"He's here. Shades, he's here."

"Deadlocked," said Shades. She glanced sideways. Sweat dripped off his face. How much effort had that cost him?

"You deadlocked it?" Ess asked. He nodded but didn't stop from his attempts to pick the handcuffs.

The door rattled as Whitmarsh kicked it, then she heard feet stamping up the steps to the street.

"Daisy, the back door. Unlocked. Let me stop him. I'm a witch. Please." Gods, how stupid was this girl? They were trying to help her, for crying out loud. She forced her fingers to stop. "Daisy, let us go. Let us help."

Daisy glared at her, eyes blazing. Then she blinked, and the sudden change made Ess stagger back, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath.

"Him too. I need him."

"No." She turned to Shades. "Release me!"

Shades stabbed at the lock, his fingers slipping. Ess could see a smear of red seep between his fingers.

"Please," she implored, but Daisy shot her a wild look and snarled, "Go!"

Ess staggered out. It was down to her, then. She'd coped with worse before she'd had Shades, she didn't need his muscle now. She didn't need it, but it would have been a nice reassurance to know it was at her back. The door! She shrugged herself off the wall and turned towards the rear of the flat, but before she had taken two paces she heard the back door crash open. Under the kitchen door a light snapped on. Too late to lock the back door now. She planted her feet wide and placed her hands on her hips. She would have to psyche him out, then, or at least delay him long enough to let Shades do his thing with the cuffs.

The kitchen door sprang open and Ess blinked in the sudden light. Whitmarsh stood there, furious, a rolling pin in his hand. Ess supressed a laugh born of terror. All the potential weapons in a kitchen and he'd picked up a rolling pin? It must have been the first thing to hand. If only it had been a spatula. Thank the spirits it wasn't a carving knife.

"You!" he said.

"Me," she confirmed. "Daisy's gone. The game's up. It's over. The police are on their way."

She put all the confidence into the lies she had. For an instant it worked, then his gaze moved to over her left shoulder. She glanced back. Through the open doorway to the bedroom reflected light from Shades' torch shifted and shimmered.

"I don't think so," he said, and stepped forward.

"Stop!" She threw her hand out. "I'm a Daughter of Gaia."

He frowned. "What?"

Ess grinned. "Yeah, that's right. I'm a sister of the daughters of Gaia, one with the Mother and the Earth. Touch me, you bastard, and you take on the whole sisterhood. We will rain curse upon curse onto your sorry head till you beg to die. You, sunshine, are for it!"

Whitmarsh shook his head. "So, you're some frustrated New Age tree-hugger? That's it?" He walked forward.

Ess waved her hands in what she hoped looked like an eldritch and powerful invocation. "May the Mother turn --"

Whitmarsh's fist connected with her face in a sudden jab. As her hands flew to her face he grabbed her hair and pushed her back along the corridor. Blinded by tears and stunned by the sudden pain, all she could do was hold onto his wrists and stagger back. He threw her into the bedroom and snapped on the light. As Ess sprawled onto the floor Whitmarsh turned and raised the rolling pin. On the bed Daisy screamed and cowered as far as her restraints would allow. Shades didn't seem to notice.

"Leave her alone," Whitmarsh said. Shades, compelled by Daisy's invocation, continued to work at the cuffs. "I said, leave her alone." He brought the rolling pin across Shades' wrist with a crack that turned Ess' stomach. Shades grunted with pain and dropped the nail file. Then he reached for it again, dead fingers fumbling uselessly.

Whitmarsh sighed and shook his head. "Pathetic," he muttered, and brought the rolling pin down on Shades' head. Shades didn't even attempt to deflect it, dropping onto the bed then sliding onto the floor, unconscious. Whitmarsh prodded him with a toe then turned to Daisy.

"Release me!" she snarled, and Ess felt her limbs twitch in response even though it was directed at Whitmarsh.

"Let's put this back in place, shall we?" As Daisy tried to scrabble backwards Whitmarsh pulled the gag up and forced it into her mouth. "We don't want you disturbing the neighbours, now do we."

Satisfied, he turned to Ess. "Is that it? Is that your grand plan? You think with all your outraged feminism and butch boyfriend you can just waltz into my house, my home, and take it? You thought you were strong enough to do that? One word, that was all it took. One word from that," -- he pointed to the bed behind him -- "and with all your wiccan mumbo-jumbo and all his special forces training you couldn't help yourself, could you. God, why are people so weak? It's not even human, you know that, right? It's just an animal, an insect. Buzz, buzz, and you kow-tow to it. Woof, woof, and you rush to do whatever it wants. Pathetic."

He looked around the room. "God, what a waste. How much had you horded up, you bitch?" He raised the rolling pin as if to hit Daisy, who shrank in fear. "Looks like I was too gentle before. Maybe I should scrub harder, eh?"

"Let her go," said Ess. "It's over now. We know. Keeping her any longer is just going to make matters worse."

"Yeah, sure. Give away my meal ticket. Yeah, no problem." Whitmarsh reached inside his jacket and pulled out his phone. Keeping his gaze fixed on Ess he hit a key and held it to his ear.

"It's Whitmarsh. That favour you owe me. My place, now. You'll need a van." He glanced at Shades' body and nodded. "Two of them, and it can't lead back to me... I don't give a shit, you owe me, and now's the time you clear the slate... Fine, I'll sweeten the deal, but you come now. How long?... Fine."

He hung up and glared at Ess.

"You're a royal pain in the arse, you know that? I could have played rough, right from the start, but no, I gave you a get-out. All you had to do was accept she was a spoilt little bitch off playing with some rich old perv. You stupid cow. Why couldn't you just do that instead of stirring everything up? Now look at what you've made me do."

"Just let us go. Like you said, she's not human. She'll go back to her own kind. No one need know."

"But that's not the point, is it. Even if she did disappear, even if she didn't order your boyfriend or some other muscled idiot to come after me, what then? You think Peter would get any further? Oh, maybe he's done enough to carry him on to a junior position, but how long do you think that would last? But with her dust, he can get the recognition he deserves. So many weak people in positions of power. What do you think would happen if one of them wanted to take over?" He thrust a finger in Daisy's direction. "You want them in charge? Seriously? But the right people, with their secretion..."

"The right people?" On the floor Ess twisted, trying to present her right side to Whitmarsh. "You mean you?" She edged her left arm out of view, trying to make it look like she was uncomfortable in her current pose.

"Me? Why not? I'm not weak. Seriously, what do you people see in her? Can't you see? She's not the woman in the photos. The camera lies. Look at her." He turned to look at Daisy. "How can you think that even looks human, never mind beautiful? God, it's hideous. It's face, it, it's just --" he shuddered. "Your phone."

"Sorry?"

Whitmarsh raised the rolling pin. "Your phone, Miss Williams, if you'd be so kind."

Reluctantly Ess withdrew her right hand, clutching the phone. Whitmarsh gestured and she tossed it to him. He placed it on the chest of drawers then brought the rolling pin down on it.

"Hey, that was new."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter, not to you."

Chapter 46
Immunity

By snodlander

Whitmarsh loomed over Ess, eyes darting from her, to Daisy, to Shades' body and back. Ess looked at Shades, slumped on the floor, half propped up by the bed. Blood matted his hair and his head lolled forward.

"Let me help him," she said.

"Stay where you are."

"But he could swallow his tongue like that. He should be put in the recovery position."

Whitmarsh glanced down and shrugged.

Ess looked at Shades again. The blood appeared to have stopped flowing, at least. That was a good thing, right? And his face wasn't blue. Even so, she needed to do something. Whitmarsh wasn't a big man, but he obviously had no compunction about using violence. Appealing to his better nature wasn't going to work; she doubted he had one. "You think we're alone? There's others who know where we are, what we were doing."

"I doubt that."

"But there are. Standard operating practice. How do you think we followed you unnoticed? Multiple cars, backup teams."

Whitmarsh snorted. "You think I haven't had you investigated? By proper investigators, that is. What the hell does a new-age therapist know about anything?" He glanced down at Shades again. "Okay, soldier boy might, from what little in his record isn't redacted, but it doesn't matter. So what if someone else comes? I have dust to spare." He glared at Daisy. "A lot more, seeing as it's obviously been holding out on me." He pointed the rolling pin at her. "I'll deal with you later. As for you --" He turned back to Ess and frowned. "You were pretty susceptible the other evening at Michael's, but not this evening. Why's that?"

Ess looked at Daisy, the fear and hatred on the model's face unable to mask the perfect bone structure, the smooth skin, and those eyes... What had Whitmarsh said? She didn't even look human? Wasn't he even a little enchanted?

"You think you're the only one that's immune to dust?" she said. Ah, that struck home. Whitmarsh raised his eyebrows for a moment. So he was immune? How did that work? She tried to remember what Oz had said about fairies. Something about susceptibility. The more something, the more enchanted. Artistic? Something like that. So did Whitmarsh lack any artistic talent? No creativity, so Daisy was unable to enchant him? That would explain why he was Davenport's monkey, and not the organ grinder. Could she use that? She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to lie with the conviction Oz found so easy.

"Okay, it took a little while to work out the cure, but we did. Did your research tell you I'm bloody good at remedies and potions? And now we're spreading it around, me and my team. Your little game is over."

Whitmarsh pursed his lips and stared at her, then looked down at Shades. "No, I don't think so, otherwise soldier boy here would have been immune too. No, I reckon you've just got a degree of immunity. How much, I wonder." He moved to the doorway. "Lots of dust in the air, I imagine. Stand up."

Ess rose cautiously, eyes fixed on Whitmarsh. He grinned. It wasn't a pleasant expression.

"Kick him." He jerked his head towards Shades.

"What?"

"Kick him. Hard. In the face."

"Fuck you!" Ess remained where she was, the fear in the pit of her stomach suddenly turning to anger.

"No? Not even the slightest urge?" Whitmarsh shook his head. "Shame. Because if you'd done it, I might have been convinced you could be persuaded to forget all of this. As it is --" he shrugged. "We can't have you running around trying to tell the electorate that Michael is in league with fairies and goblins."

"So you're going to kill us? You think that's going to help his political career?"

"Kill you? Oh dear me no." He looked down at Shades for a moment and see-sawed his free hand. "Mind you, now you come to mention it. But no, that's not my style. Besides, I would hardly want the attention. Not yet. Not until we've established our seat of power. No, I'm going to do a lot worse than that."

He'd chained Daisy up for weeks in this claustrophobic bedroom. How long could the three of them survive chained up in this room before someone went stark raving mad? Or did he mean something even worse?

"Do you know how many media people I have in my phone?" Whitmarsh reached into his inside pocket and took out his phone. He wiggled it in her face. "Not just journalists and editors, but spin doctors, marketing people, campaign managers, the works, not to mention people in Whitehall. Do you know how little it takes to turn Fleet Street into a mob? Who are they going to believe in a couple of days? Some new-age spinster who believes in fairies and magic, or the combined forces of reason, science and the government? By tomorrow morning half a dozen people will be briefing against you. I wonder what sort of sexual deviations could be hinted at? By tomorrow afternoon you'll be trending on Twitter, along with UFO conspiracy nuts and sad perverts caught having sex with sheep. It might even help us. At least it'll raise Michael's profile." He sniggered. "A witch-hunt. How appropriate. I'll just have to keep you quite for a day or so. And even if you find one person to believe you, so what? Daisy won't be here anymore." He glared at Daisy. "And it'll be producing much more dust for us, now I know it can produce more. No, in twenty-four hours you'll be a laughing stock, and then you can shout from the rooftops, dear. No one will be listening."

"No one? Are you sure?"

He shrugged. "No one who matters. Now, I wonder if you'll be so good as to lie face down on the bed for me."

Ess glared at him, clenched her fists and made no move towards the bed.

"Or I could just break your knuckles. That would work." He hefted the rolling pin, testing the weight. "Or your boyfriend's."

She looked down at Shades, still and slumped on the floor. Be faking it, she thought. Leap to the rescue. Just this one time, do your macho thing. Either Shades couldn't hear her desperate thoughts or he was a very good actor. She sighed and moved towards the bed.

Chapter 47
Captured

By snodlander

Ess lay face-down on the bed, her wrists bound by cable-ties. Whitmarsh crouched down by the side of the bed, presumably binding Shades' wrists in the same way. She tested the ties. They'd looked so flimsy, but as she flexed her arms the plastic cut viciously into her flesh. Any chance of slipping her bonds Nancy Drew style was out of the question. At least Shades would be on his stomach; even Whitmarsh wouldn't want him to swallow his tongue or choke on his own vomit.

A sudden flurry of movement followed by a sharp gasp of pain sent Whitmarsh suddenly vertical and for a moment Ess' heart soared. Shades was back! But instead of leaping to his feet and kung-fu kicking the smug bastard across the room, the sounds stopped as suddenly as they'd started.

"Now, now. Behave," said Whitmarsh, backing towards the door. "That wrist looks broken. I can break the other one if you want. Or your girlfriend's. Or you can just lie there like a good little boy and no one gets hurt."

"Gor release her," Shades mumbled. Concussion? Ess prayed to the Mother it was just that, and not a skull fracture.

"You're not releasing anyone. Ah-ah." Whitmarsh stepped forward and pushed Shades back to the floor with a foot as he tried to rise.

"It's the spell," said Ess. "Let her take it off. Please," she pressed, as Whitmarsh hesitated. "He can't help himself. He'll keep trying otherwise."

Whitmarsh shoved at Shades with his foot again. "Fine." He marched round the bed and pulled Daisy's gag free with a sharp tug. "Do it!"

Daisy snarled an invective in a strange tongue, but there was no mistaking the general message.

"Please," said Ess. "We came to help, but he's only going to get hurt otherwise. Please. Trust me. Please."

Daisy stared at Ess, the look conveying anything but trust. Finally she turned to where Shades was struggling to rise. "Sleep," she said. Her voice carried a timbre that brooked no argument, full of so much authority emperors would bend the knee. She forced herself to kick against it, summoning all her rage. Shades had no such defence. He slumped to the ground unconscious.

"No!" cried Ess, but it was too late. Shades lay deathly still. Oz's warnings came flooding back. Lovers asleep for a hundred years. Men returning to their homes to find their family and friends long gone. Human feelings and mortality a mystery to the Gentle Folk.

Whitmarsh pulled the gag back into place. "There. All safe and sound. Now you be a good girl Miss Williams or I'll put you to sleep as well, and I've not got any magic words to do it."

"Shades?" she said quietly. He didn't reply.

"Listen up," said Whitmarsh, sitting on the bed beside her and patting her on the back. "This is what's going to happen. You and your friend are going to have a little holiday, just for a day or so. The day after tomorrow you can do whatever you like. Talk to the police, there won't be anything here by then. Talk to the papers. By then they'll want to talk to you, especially the tabloids. Nothing like a nutter seeing fairies or being abducted by aliens to fill a couple of paragraphs in the Weird World section. Talk to the druids or the witches or the Pope for all I care. It's all mumbo-jumbo and I don't care how many curses they put on me. It's all bullshit. But you go near Allen again, or me, and I will serve an injunction on you in seconds. Then I'll have you sectioned and pumped so full of drugs you won't know your own name. I will take the trouble to find every friend you have and make their life hell." He leant close so she could feel his breath on her ear. "You lost. Accept it."

The doorbell chimed, followed by two sharp raps on the door. Whitmarsh slapped her on the rump and stood. "Sounds like your taxi is here."

As the door closed behind him Daisy kicked Ess on the shoulder. Ess squirmed to turn her head in Daisy's direction. Their eyes met. The fairy's eyes were still full of anger and hatred, but there was something else. Desperation?

Daisy turned her head to look at her hands, the wrists raw from the handcuffs where she was tethered to the bedstead. She opened her fist. Something shimmered in her palm like a heat haze over tarmac, intangible, on the edge of vision.

"Dust?" whispered Ess. Daisy nodded once.

Ess wriggled to the edge of the bed, swung her legs down and rose. She glanced at the door. Muted voices could just be heard on the other side. She scurried over to Daisy and backed up to her, hands scrabbling at the bedpost, feeling her way along. She found Daisy's hand and forced herself to slow down. Carefully she closed her fist over Daisy's palm. The dust felt insubstantial, hardly different from the air. Had she got it, or had she simply grasped at nothing?

"I'll come back for you. I will," she whispered.

The voices stopped. She made for the end of the bed, but the door opened before she'd taken two steps. Whitmarsh stopped short in the doorway and raised his eyebrows.

"Really? Where did you think you were going to go? Were you looking for a broomstick to fly away on? Come on." He jerked his head towards the hallway. Ess glanced at Shades then shuffled into the hallway.

Two men stood in front of the door. One was tall and middle-aged, wearing an expression that looked as though he was sucking lemons. The other was in his twenties, hair cropped close to his scalp, eyes darting every which way. They both shared the same build, though; stocky but definitely not fat. They were the sort of men you crossed the road to avoid.

"You sure we can't wait?" said the elder one. "The pubs haven't long chucked out. Don't want to be spotted."

"No, I want them out now."

"I was told two."

Whitmarsh glanced back into the bedroom. "The other one's... asleep."

"Shit." The heavy sighed and turned to his companion. "Go get the van and double-park outside."

The younger heavy nodded and left at a trot. His companion squeezed by Ess in inte hallway and looked in the bedroom. "It'll take the pair of us to shift him," he told Whitmarsh. "What about the girl? We weren't told about no third one."

"There is no girl," said Whitmarsh.

"Fair enough. We'll take the bloke, if you can hold on to this one, and then I'll come back for her."

He gave Ess a shove towards Whitmarsh, who grabbed her arm and held onto her in a grip that promised bruises in the morning.

"You'll go to prison for this," said Ess. The heavy grinned. Two gold teeth glinted in the smile.

"Been to prison for lots of things, darling. Some I did, some I didn't. It all evens out in the end."

The younger returned and they disappeared into the bedroom. Moment later they reappeared, Shades hanging between them. Ess could only watch as they sidled through the flat door and up the steps to the footpath.

"What are you going to do with Daisy?" she asked.

Whitmarsh shrugged. "I'd be more worried about yourself, if I was you."

The elder thug returned and took her arm. He leant close. "I'm a bad man, understand? A very bad man. I got no worries hitting girls, if they ask for it. So if you make a fuss, I'll give you a slap. Trouble is, I only hit one way, and that's hard enough to break a bloke's jaw. Little thing like you, who knows the damage it'll do? So you keep nice and quiet and behave, and I'll try not to be bad, okay?"

He nodded to Whitmarsh. "The governor says he'll be in touch, and this one's going to cost you."

With that he turned and pushed Ess towards the door.

Chapter 48
WWSD - What Would Sades Do?

By snodlander

The van interior was dark, the only light coming from the streetlights as they strobed across the windscreen.  The older man was driving.  The younger man sat on the floor in the back, barely a shadow behind the cab seats.  Ess and Shades lay on the metal floor.  She’d been thrown in through the sliding side door, no chance to read the registration number or even be sure of the make of the vehicle.
 
She kept her fist tightly clenched around the dust.  How did it work?  She’d have been happier if she had her hands tied in front, then she could blow it into her guard’s face.  How was she going to get him to breathe it in like this?  Maybe she didn’t have to.  No one had blown any into her face, just the mere presence of it had been enough, but how much had been in the air?  A handful?  Weeks’ worth of accumulation?  And then what?  Well, only one way to find out.
 
“My wrist,” she said.
 
“Shut up.”  There was no anger in the young thug’s voice.  If anything, he sounded bored, as if kidnapping women was his nine-to-five.
 
“No, but it’s bleeding.  The plastic is cutting into it.  Please.”
 
“We’ll sort it later.”
 
“Can you at least put a bandage on it?”
 
“This ain’t no ambulance, love.”
 
“Even a hanky.  Please?”  She put on her most girly voice, hating herself even as she did it.
 
He cursed under his breath but she heard him stir.  A square of dim light shone in the dark as he opened up his phone and used the light from the screen to see where she was.  He shuffled over and grabbed her hand.  Ess opened her fist and did her best to waft the dust with her fingers.  He shoved her hand back.
 
“Nothing wrong.  Stop whining.”
 
He sat back.
 
“You need to untie me,” she said.
 
“Ha, right.  Now shut up.”
 
It hadn’t worked.  Was this another one like Whitmarsh, immune to dust?  What were the chances of that?  There had to be something more.  She recalled Daisy in the bedroom, her voice when she’d tried to impel Ess to free her.  Her command to Shades to sleep.  Her authority, the pitch of her voice, the tone.  Ess closed her eyes and tried to live in those moments, to be Daisy.
 
“Untie me.”
 
“What?”
 
Nearly.  He’d sounded confused, but he wasn’t moving.  She hadn’t quite got the voice.  She’d pitched it too high and she lacked some of the confidence, the expectation that the order would be carried out.
 
“Shut her up, for fuck’s sake,” said the driver.  The younger man shifted in the dark.
 
“Untie me,” Ess repeated, quieter as the man leant over her, summoning all the authority she could muster.
 
“Shut up,” he said, but there was no intent behind the message, as though he were muttering a stock phrase to someone he wasn’t really listening to.  His hand closed painfully around her wrist.
 
“Untie me!”  It was as close to Daisy’s voice as she could manage, at least in tone.  It hadn’t worked.  Now what?
 
His grip tightened as the driver glanced into the black interior.
 
“What’s going on back there?  No fiddling about with her, you hear?  Just keep her quiet.”
 
And suddenly her hands were free.  She rolled onto her back, rubbing her wrists where the cable ties had dug in.  She could see the silhouette of her guard against the windscreen, crouched down, facing her.  This would be so much easier if she could read his expression.
 
Ess leant close.  “Give me your phone.”
 
He shuffled something around in his hands and handed his phone over.
 
“Stop the van,” she said into his ear.  “Stop the van and get you and your friend out.”
 
He turned, moved towards the cab and leant over the seats.  Ess heard the ratchet of the hand brake and tumbled forward as the van screeched to a halt.  The driver screamed curses at his friend.
 
“Get out,” his companion shouted back.  As Ess rose onto all fours she saw the reason for the hand shuffling he’d performed in order to give her his phone, the reason the cable ties had suddenly parted.  The driver saw it too, eyes wide with surprise and anger.  He raised his arms as the blade swung through the air.
 
“No!” screamed Ess, but neither man was listening to her now.  The driver opened the door and fell out of the cab, the younger man scrabbling after him.  For a moment Ess knelt there, frozen, then she dived forward, falling into the cab and pulling the driver’s door shut with a slam, slapping the locking pillar home.
 
The driver was screaming with rage in the street, blood running from a gash in his hand, but he wasn’t running.  His companion stood there, dazed, looking at the knife in his hand as though it was the first time he’d seen it.  The driver slapped the knife from his companion’s hand then felled him with a blow to the jaw.  Ess scrambled at the keys as the driver ran forward.  The engine coughed into life and Ess stamped on the accelerator pedal as the thug tugged at the door.  For a moment he clung on and Ess wondered if she was going to have to scrape him off on a parked car, but then he released his grip and fell tumbling to the ground.
 
Ess threw the vehicle into the first junction on the left, barrelling up a side road before turning left again, heading back in the general direction from which they’d come.  It was several blocks before she felt safe enough to pull over.  Shaking, she hit switches on the dashboard until she found the interior light.  Shades lay crumpled on the floor motionless, his hands bound behind him, one wrist swollen and blue.  She scrabbled through the door pockets and glove compartment but there was nothing that would help her cut the bonds.  She should have asked for the knife as well as the phone.  The phone!
 
She dialled Oz’s number.  It rang for long seconds, then went to voice mail.  She hung up and redialled.  Voice mail again.  This time she waited for the beep.
 
“Oz, this is Ess.  I’m in trouble.  Ring me back on this number.”
 
Damn it.  She didn’t have Ted’s number.  Dot would be with Oz, no doubt, and Angie’s number was on her broken phone back at Whitmarsh’s flat.  Should she phone the police?  And say what?  Whitmarsh seemed awfully sure he had the police and the press in his pocket.  She phoned Oz’s number again.  Still no reply.  Well, it was down to her, then.  She dropped the phone onto the passenger seat and started up the engine.
 
It took a while for her to find the main road on which they’d almost lost Whitmarsh.  She retraced their route and paused at the top of his road, squinting up in the gloom at the street name screwed high on a house wall.  Somerton Street, NW2.  Should she park up in the road?  She let the van crawl along the road as she weighed her options.
 
She should get Shades to a hospital, but turning up with an unconscious man, hands bound, in a stolen vehicle would lead to awkwardness with the authorities.  No, she had to rescue Daisy and get her to wake him up, if she could.  What would the heavies Whitmarsh had hired do?  Would they phone him?  Would hard men like that want to admit a woman tied up in the back of their van had overpowered them?  Would they come back here looking for her?  Whitmarsh was going to move Daisy; he’d said as much.  Tonight?  Possibly.  Definitely if he heard about her escape.  She pulled into a space by the kerb and switched off the engine.  What should she do?  What should she do?
 
She picked up the phone and phoned Oz again.  Still no answer.  She texted him.
 
Daisy @ Whitmarsh.  Somerton St nw2. Shades unconscious. Get here now.
 
She waited, but no cavalry bugle call in the form of a ring tone sounded.  No, it was down to her.  She was going to have to rescue Daisy all by herself somehow.  How she’d do it, and look after Shades, and not get arrested, and avoid Whitmarsh’s heavies, she had no idea, but she had to, and so she would.  She climbed into the back and examined Shades.  She put him into as close to the recovery position as she could.  And that was it.  Her train of thought hit the buffers and slammed to a halt.  She had no plans.  No idea.  No resources.  What would Shades do?  Other than kick the door down and slam Whitmarsh around.  If he couldn’t do that, what would he do?
 
Never mind that.  What would a witch do?  What would she - .  His car!  He’d had a bag in the car.  Essential supplies, he’d said.  What would that include?  Something she could use?  She bent over him and kissed his cheek.  It felt cold.  A hundred years asleep.  She pushed the thought from her mind.  She was a daughter of Gaia, and nobody was going to take her man from her, not for a night, never mind a hundred bloody years.  Damn Daisy, she was going to rescue her and get her to wake Shades up, or she’d make the bitch beg her to return to Whitmarsh.
 

Chapter 49
What to do

By snodlander

Ess slipped out of the van and trotted back along the road until she arrived at Shades' car. A vague glow from Whitmarsh's basement window suggested he was still at home. She opened the driver's door, wincing as the interior light betrayed her actions, then closed it as quietly as she could when she'd slid into the seat. His holdall still lay on the back seat of the car she'd left unlocked. That would never have happened outside her flat. She needed to move to a better neighbourhood, one where people didn't steal everything not nailed down but preferably didn't keep young women chained up in basements.

She pulled the bag onto her lap and tugged it open. A flask, probably coffee, strong and bitter if she knew Shades. A dark sweater. Chocolate bars full of refined sugar and E numbers. She dumped each item on the seat beside her as she rummaged through the contents. A knife. Now we were cooking with gas. It was a Letterman, not exactly a Swiss Army knife, but enough for a rough engineer to fix most things. She opened the blade. Three inches. Hardly a Samurai sword but the edge was sharp. A gal could always do with a blade in a tight spot. She placed it in her lap and rummaged further. A pencil light, a pair of opera glasses and the smallest crowbar she'd seen, hardly bigger than a bicycle tyre lever. A small paper bag whose contents rustled when she felt it. She opened it and sniffed the contents cautiously. A familiar smell assaulted her senses, hot spices and warm flavours. Her special pick-me-up Shades always mocked her for. Bless him. The flask must be full of hot water. He knew she hated coffee. She upturned the holdall and shook it, but it had revealed all its secrets. She stuffed the melange, torch and jemmy into her jacket pockets.

She drummed her palms on the steering wheel and glared at Whitmarsh's apartment. It was hardly James Bond equipment. Essential supplies, he'd said. Less than bare essentials in her view. Q would be very disappointed. At least she could free Shades. She opened the door, Letterman in hand, and sprinted back down the road to the hijacked van. Shades was still asleep, of course. She felt for his wrists then worked at the plastic ties. In the films the hero made one sharp sweep with the blade and the bonds fell to the floor. In the real world it was hard work. Ess sawed at the tough plastic, swearing under her breath. What if the two kidnappers came back? What if Whitmarsh left whilst she was blindsided in the van? What if, what if, yet still she sawed at the plastic, even though Shades might not wake up for -- no, she wouldn't think it.

The plastic parted suddenly and she grunted with relief. What now? His hands were free, but he was still sleeping the sleep of the -- he was still asleep. There was no way she would be able to schlep him over to the car. She couldn't wait in the van; the thugs could return any minute. Sod it! She arranged him into some semblance of the recovery position. Shades was as safe as he was going to be. Muttering half remembered protection spells over his recumbent body, knowing they were no good at all but at least they were something, she took a last look around and slipped from the van.

The street was empty. It was past one o'clock and all the comfortably well off were either asleep or partying in the West End. She trotted back to the car, slid in and adjusted the driver's seat. She couldn't launch a frontal attack on the flat and she didn't know what else to do. He would leave his flat sometime tonight, taking Daisy to a safer place. She'd act then. She didn't know what she'd do exactly, or even approximately, but --

The unfamiliar shriek of the phone caused her to cry out in counterpoint. She grabbed at it and hit 'answer'.

"Ess?"

"Oz! Oh, Oz, Jesus am I glad to your hear your voice."

"We're on our way. What's this about Shades?"

"He's asleep. Daisy did it. Whitmarsh has got her. There's a couple of other men. They caught us. I think his wrist's broken. He's in a van. He's going --"

"Slow down, slow down. We're on our way. Christ on a pogo stick, get out the road!"

Ess jerked the phone away from her ear at the scream. A short interlude of percussive sound effects ended in an unfamiliar voice saying, "Hello?"

"Hello?"

"This is Dot. No, you keep your eyes on the road, you old fool. I'll speak to her. Hello? Ess? We'll be there shortly, if the old goat doesn't wreck my car on the way. What's the sit rep?"

"Sit rep?"

"What's going on? Are you safe?"

"Yes, well -- " I'm sitting outside a psycho's flat in a stolen vehicle, awaiting the imminent arrival of two underworld thugs, my boyfriend is unconscious and I'm totally out of my depth. "No, I'm fine."

"I'll call the police."

"No!"

"No?"

"They'll take Daisy away, and she's got to wake Shades up. She's put him to sleep, and he'll sleep like that for ever and ever if she doesn't revoke the spell. Anyway, he says he's got the police in his pocket. Whitmarsh, I mean. No, we've got to do this ourselves."

"Okay." She didn't sound very sure, but hopefully Oz would see the sense of it. "Well, you keep your man nice and safe and don't do anything silly. We'll be there in fifteen."

Ess stared at the phone after Dot hung up. They had to do it themselves, however that was going to work. She wished Shades was awake. He'd know what to do. Perhaps he'd even done this sort of thing before, in whatever secret squirrel job he used to do in the forces.

Ess reached for the car key, but the ignition was empty. What had Shades done with the keys? She closed her eyes and replayed the scene in her head. Nothing. He must have put it in his pockets. What if Whitmarsh tried to move Daisy before the cavalry arrived? She needed transport. She would have to risk another trip to the van, search Shades and get his car key.

Fear filled her stomach, but at least she was doing something as she opened the car door and slipped out into the silent street again. No cars screaming down the road, no gangs of heavies descending on her with murder in their eyes. She ran along the centre of the road towards the van. A few yards past Whitmarsh's flat she heard the rattle of locks behind her. She glanced back but the door was below street level, out of sight, and parked cars obstructed her view. Panic flooding through her, Ess sprinted forward, sure that at any moment a cry of alarm would wake the whole street. Fifty metres. How could she cover that amount of ground in time? An age later she reached the vehicle. Wrenching the door open, she flung herself into the driver's seat and then closed the door, fighting the urge to slam it shut.

In the side mirror she scanned the footpath. Seconds later Whitmarsh emerged from the basement area, clasping Daisy's arm and half dragging her along the path. He opened a car door and threw her in, then climbed into the front. Moments later she heard the engine cough into life.

She watched as the headlights swept across the road, swept back and approached. Whitmarsh drove past her without so much as a glance. Fumbling for the van keys she coaxed the engine into life and pulled out into the road to follow.

Somerton Street was a narrow residential street in a pre-war estate, fed by identical streets that criss-crossed the road. They had the right of way over the minor roads, no need for Whitmarsh to slow or give way. Ess tried to drive the way Shades had, keeping far enough back but not too far. But theirs were the only two vehicles on the street at this hour. Wasn't he bound to notice? Up ahead the street ended in traffic lights. Whitmarsh was a hundred metres away when they turned red. His brake lights lit up as he slowed. What was she going to do now? Pulling up behind him was going to be a bit obvious. Stopping a hundred metres short even more so. What should she do? She glanced back, as if Shades could give her advice. In the gloom she could just make out the still darker shadow of his body on the floor.

Ess faced front, her mouth a thin line and her knuckles white on the wheel.

She stamped on the accelerator.

Chapter 50
Daisy's Rescue

By snodlander

Whitmarsh’s car stopped at the lights.  Ess felt her stomach lurch as a bus passed the junction, but she kept her foot on the gas.  The old London cliché rang in her head.  You wait for an hour for a bus, then three come at once.  It was a joke, it didn’t really happen.  Not at this time of night, anyway.  Please don’t let it really happen.
 
The van smashed into the back of the car.  Ess expected some sort of slow motion experience, like you saw in films, glass fragments floating dreamily through the air as the vehicle panels crumpled like Sunday morning’s duvet.  In fact it was over as soon as it began.  One moment she was hurtling towards Whitmarsh, the next the van stood in the middle of the road, the echoes of the impact resounding from the shop fronts and the stalled engine arhythmically pinging as it cooled.  Whitmarsh’s car stood in front of her, skewed to the right, the boot of the BMW considerably shorter than the manufacturer intended.
 
Whitmarsh!  Ess fought her seat belt free and jumped from the cab.  Whitmarsh slumped over the wheel, conscious but stunned.  Ess grabbed at the rear passenger door and wrenched it open.  It was the spur Whitmarsh needed.  He pushed open his door and stumbled into the road.
 
“Jesus, what the –“  He stopped as Ess’ face finally registered on his brain.  Ess thrust a hand in her jacket pocket.  The little jemmy wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all she had.  She whipped her hand out and high above her head, ready to strike.  For a fraction of a second Whitmarsh’s expression changed from anger to puzzlement.  Ess glanced up.  In her hand, the jemmy looked remarkably like the bag of herbal tea Shades had packed.  As Whitmarsh dived forward she brought it down anyway.  The bag burst in Whitmarsh’s face.  Whitmarsh grabbed Ess by the throat, then suddenly screamed, releasing her to claw at his face.
 
Ess might not be the leader of a coven or the most versed in Celtic magic, but no one brewed a herbal potion like her.  Her pick-me-up had a mix of anti-oxidants, rejuvenating herbs and natural flavourings.  Amongst other things, it also had generous amounts of ginger, capsicum and peppers.  It was no steel bar, but at that moment she bet Whitmarsh would have chosen a crowbar over the spice that filled his eyes.  She kicked out, putting Whitmarsh on his arse against the car.
 
Above the shops lights were coming on.  To the left a car sped along the road.  Time to move.  She stuck her head into the back of the car.  Daisy cowered away from her.
 
“Daisy.  It’s me.  Remember?  I’m here to rescue you.”  Ess held out her hand.
 
Somewhere a door opened.  The engine of the approaching car grew louder.  In moments the junction would be full of concerned citizens offering help and hoping to gawk at spilled blood.
 
“We have to move.  Make up your mind.  Now!”
 
Daisy made up her mind.  She shuffled along the seat, her hands held awkwardly behind her.  Ess grabbed her elbow and pulled.  She heard the other car squeal to a stop and a car door open.  Ess jerked Daisy out of the car and took an abortive step towards the van.  She didn’t need to be a mechanic to see that the van had participated in its last kidnaping adventure.
 
Footsteps behind her.  Ess let go of Daisy and whirled round, swinging her fist even as she did so.
 
“Ow” shouted Oz.  “Is that any way to greet your knight in shining armour?”
 
“Oz!  Thank the Mother.  We’ve got to get out of here.”
 
“Okay.  To the Ozmobile.”
 
“Oh, wait.  Shades.”
 
“Shades?”
 
“He’s in the van.”
 
“What’s he doing in there?”
 
“Sleeping.”  She saw his confused expression.  “She did it.  Daisy.  Like they did to you.”
 
Any suggestion of banter dropped from his face.  “Get her in the car.  I’ll deal with Shades.”
 
Ess grabbed Daisy’s arm and hustled the unresisting girl towards the car.
 
“You all right?”
 
A middle-aged man, jeans pulled over pyjamas, came running up.
 
“Over here, old son,” called Oz as Ess tried to keep Daisy’s handcuffed wrists angled away from the Samaritan.  As he hurried over to the van Ess corralled Daisy into the car.
 
“Is every night like this with him?” asked Dot from the front passenger seat.
 
“No.  I think you’re a calming influence,” replied Ess, strapping Daisy in to the back.  As she straightened Oz and the local appeared from behind the van, Oz carrying Shades under the armpits, whilst the stranger did the same at Shades’ feet.  Ess sprinted to the other side of the car and held the door open.
 
“You think that’s best?” asked the stranger, hovering over Oz and Ess as they manhandled Shades into the seat next to Daisy.
 
“Yes.  I’m a first-aider, trust me,” said Oz, bundling Ess into the cramped back.  Behind the Samaritan Whitmarsh pulled himself up his car, eyes swollen and streaming.  “Every second counts, and it’s be ages before the ambulance arrives.  Do us a favour.  Just look after the other driver and we’ll whisk these off to hospital.”
 
With that he jumped into the car, slammed the door shut and with a cheery wave he gunned the engine.
 
“See what happens when you try and do things without me?” he said, swinging the car into another street in a scream of tyres.  “Five minutes alone and you end up on the run from the Old Bill.  I always knew you were a bad influence.  Where to?  Peter the Painter?”
 
“Take these off me!” said Daisy.
 
Ess was getting used to the voice now she recognised it, and her hands hardly twitched.  Oz, however, immediately pulled over.
 
“Oz, what are you doing?” asked Ess.
 
“Got to get those handcuffs off the poor girl.”  He manipulated his bulk out of the car.  Ess leant past the unconscious form of Shades.
 
“Daisy, hon, you don’t have to keep doing that.  We’re here to help you.  We’ve been looking for you for days.  We’re going to get you straight back to your father.  You don’t have to keep putting spells on us.”
 
Oz opened the back door.  “Let the dog see the rabbit then.”
 
Daisy turned to offer her wrists, glaring at Ess.
 
“Oh, these are amateur things.  I’ll have those off in a jiffy.  I just need pin or paperclip or something.  Ladies?”
 
“Will a matchstick do?”  Dot fished in her bag and produced a box of matches.  She twisted round in her seat and watched as Oz poked at the cuffs.  “I didn’t know you were an expert lock-picker.”
 
“Never get yourself into a situation you can’t get out of.  There’s one.  Hold on a tick.  What if a young lady had a heart attack in flagrante and I was manacled to the bed?  Besides, these are hardly more than toys, not proper police cuffs at all.  There!”
 
He stood, handcuffs dangling from a finger.  Daisy winced as she brought her hands round and massaged her wrists.
 
“Marvellous,” said Ess.  “But we’re still only a couple of blocks from the scene of the crime.  Any chance we could bugger off now?”
 
“Buggering off at your command.”  Oz threw a salute and climbed back into the driver’s seat.  “Where to?”
 
“Home,” said Daisy.  “My family.  Now.”  It was haughty and sullen, but at least it was delivered in an ordinary voice.
 
“Regent’s Park?  Righty-ho.”  Oz pulled out into the deserted streets once more.
 
“Daisy?”  Ess leant around Shades again.  “Listen, we’re taking you right home.  Oz will drive as close as we can, then I’ll walk you the rest of the way, all the way home, just like your father told me to.  But my friend –“  She jerked her head at Shades.  Daisy continued to stare at her.  “I need you to reverse what you did to him.  Please.  Whitmarsh is an evil bastard, but we’re not all like that.  Shades, he’s definitely not.  He gave up his job to help rescue you.  He was injured trying to help you.”
 
Daisy continued to stare, her face betraying no sympathy.  Oz caught Ess’ eye in the mirror and raised his eyebrows.
 
“Look, we’re going to take you home regardless.  Oz isn’t going to stop till we get there.  I’m not going to make you.  I’m not bargaining.  You’ve had a shitty deal and we’re going to put it right.  I’m just asking.  Please, take your spell off him.”
 
Daisy turned away and stared out at the dark streets speeding by.
 
Ess sat back and closed her eyes.  She wasn’t going to cry.  She hated when women tried to get their own way like that.  The lump in her throat wasn’t tears, it was anger.  She couldn’t really blame Daisy.  She’d been kept prisoner, chained up while Whitmarsh harvested dust.  Who could blame her for resenting humans?  But Ess wanted to blame someone.  She’d ask the sisters.  Someone must know how to reverse the spell.  Dorothy, perhaps, even though that would mean Ess demeaning herself in front of her old mentor.  And she would get even with Whitmarsh.  It was all his fault.  She didn’t know how, but she was going to make his life a misery.
 
“We’re here,” said Oz, mounting the kerb and jerking to a stop.
 
Oz, Ess and Daisy stepped out of the car.
 
“You know your way from here?” said Oz.
 
“It’s okay,” said Ess.  “I’m going with her.”
 
“Are you sure?  I mean, last time wasn’t exactly a picnic.”
 
“I told her dad I would.”
 
“Yes, but she’s a big girl, besides, - ”  He raised his eyebrows and jerked his head at Daisy.  “You know.  What we talked about.  Sleeping, disappearing, that sort of thing?”
 
“Someone from our side has to show them we’ve got some honour, that Whitmarsh is a grade one bastard, but he’s an exception.”  She turned to Daisy.  “Right?”
 
Daisy stared back, her face unreadable.  Then she turned, leant into the back of the car and muttered something.
 
“Thanks,” said Ess, when Daisy straightened and faced her.  Daisy nodded and strode out into the park.
 
“I’ll wait here for you, then,” said Oz.
 
“Too bloody right you will,” called Ess as she hurried after her.  “Or I’ll come back and kick your arse all the way from here to Brighton.”
 

Chapter 51
The Stars

By snodlander

The walk through the park was still no walk in the park.  Oh, it was easier with Daisy taking the lead, but at a certain point she felt the push, and the further she walked, the harder it was to concentrate.  It didn’t help that the trees in the centre were just a dark shadow against the western horizon.  Even Daisy seemed to shimmer and verge towards disappearing, just a metre in front of her.  Would it have been easier if she hadn’t learnt how to fight against the king’s injunction?  Probably, because the thought of facing him, even with Daisy safe, was not a prospect she relished.  But she had to do it.  Somehow it rested on her shoulders to apologise for what had happened, and hope the apology was enough.
 
Daisy had gone.  Damn it, I’m a daughter of Gaia.  Bloody concentrate, girl.  She refocused.  There was Daisy, several metres off to her right.  She corrected her course and pushed forward, fighting the repulsion she felt, throwing away the distractions and wool-gatherings that tried to break her concentration.
 
Eventually she broke through.  Despite the chill of the night Ess’ clothes clung to her sweat-drenched body.  Daisy stood, waiting for her.  Ess put her hands on her knees and breathed in hard gulps.
 
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.  Just give me –“
 
A body slammed into her, lifting her off her feet and suspending her clear of the ground.  She looked down into a face filled with fury.  He looked vaguely familiar.  One of her brothers?
 
“Told you I’d bring her back,” she said, smiling weakly.  He barked something in a strange language, and the world went away.
 
---
 
It was a wooded clearing at night, but details stood out as clear as day.  Ess looked up.  Once, when she was a girl, her parents had taken her to rural Portugal and she’d seen the Milky Way.  It was nothing like the stars above her now.  Millions upon millions of stars stretched across the sky, visible even through clouds, each star individual with its own unique colour.  She tried to turn, but her feet felt as though they were embedded in treacle.
 
I’m dreaming, she thought.
 
“Witch!”
 
In the centre of the clearing a convoluted tangle of trunks had grown into a magnificent throne.  The king sat there, leaning forward, eyes fixed on her.  He was the most beautiful and terrifying creature she’d ever seen.  As Ess looked at him he seemed to grow in stature, filling her vision.  Around him the clearing darkened, as though a thunder storm grew, born from his anger.
 
Next to him stood Daisy.  It was Daisy, but she looked totally different, even though Ess couldn’t put her finger on why.  She seemed more real than she ever had in the waking world.  The silent storm grew, and Ess could see that it came from Daisy as well as her father.
 
Their wrath was a solid thing, engendered by the treatment Daisy had suffered at the hands of Ess’ people.  She could feel the horror of captivity to a free creature like Daisy, the desperation to escape, the helplessness suddenly visited on someone who had always been in control before.  The king’s fury was the wrath a father feels when his daughter has been harmed, multiplied by all the stars above.  And it was all focused on her, humanity’s representative.
 
In the way of dreams, she knew all this without a word having to be said.
 
“It wasn’t me,” she said, but the storm wind whipped the words away, even though she couldn’t feel so much as a breeze on her face.  They knew it wasn’t her, but that wasn’t the point.
 
“We’re not like that.  Well, not all of us.  Most of us are good people.  At least, we try to be.  Whitmarsh, he’s an aberration, an exception.  What he did was wrong, absolutely and unconditionally.  Look, Martin loves Daisy.”  She glanced at Daisy.  “You know he does.”  Despite herself, her eyes were drawn back to the terrible face of the king.  “And I did all I could to find her.  Not just me, my friends too.  We looked and looked and then rescued her.  You tried to make me come back, but I broke that.”  Even to herself she sounded as though she were whining.  She stood straighter.  “I’m a daughter of Gaia.  I know what you did to my mind, and I broke it.  But I still came back, because it was the right thing to do.  We’re not perfect, the Mother knows that, but then who is?  The point is, we try.”
 
Their anger was unappeased.  The clouds grew thicker.  The copse was no longer visible, the stars blotted out.  The only thing in the world was the fury of the king, hot enough to melt diamond.
 
“Okay, I give in.  What do you want me to say?  Sorry?  Of course I am, but what can I do?  I can’t make it all go away like it never happened.  Yes, you have every right to be angry at him.  I’m bloody furious, and I didn’t suffer a fraction of what Daisy did, but I’m not taking it out on all and sundry.  You think that’s going to make it better?  I told you I’d get her back.  I was getting her back before ever you whispered in my ear.  I got her back after I broke your spell.  And I’m here now, not as Whitmarsh’s representative, not as the human race on trial, not even as a daughter of Gaia.  I’m here, me, Vanessa Williams, a human being who gives a damn and fought bloody hard just to get your daughter back.  You’re welcome.”
 
Anger, Dorothy had said.  That and a good scrub.  Well, if that was all it needed she was just one shower away from being invulnerable to the Gentle Folk.  She glared at the king, daring him to judge her after all she’d done, trying to match his anger, even though it was just shining a penlight at the sun.
 
“Ess.”
 
His lips didn’t move, but she could hear his voice.
 
“Ess.”
 
But the voice didn’t match his face.  Something wasn’t right.
 
“Ess!”
 
She closed her eyes.  She felt so tired.  The anger drained out of her.  Let him do whatever he wanted, she was through.  When she opened her eyes the king’s expression had changed.
 
“Ess?  Gorgeous?  Are you with us?”
 
“What?”
 
“Come on, wakey-wakey.  Don’t give your uncle Oz an anxiety attack.”
 
“Oz?”  She looked around.  She was standing at the edge of the park, being held upright by Oz, his face a picture of concern.  “Did I fall asleep?”
 
“Oh, Ess!”  He pulled her into his chest and crushed her to him.  “You cow.  You had me worried.  Don’t do that to an old man.”  He released her.  “What happened?”
 
“Um, I’m not sure.  Wait, Daisy.  Did we rescue her?”
 
“Yes.  Well, you did.  The car crash, remember?”
 
“Oh, right, the crash.”  Slivers of memory, like images in a shattered mirror, pushed their way to the forefront of her mind.  “We’ve got to return her to her dad.”
 
“Already done, old girl.”  He looked worried.  “An hour or so ago.  You took her there.  Don’t you remember?”
 
“I did?”  There had been a dream.  Something about trees.  And stars.  There had been stars.  She looked up.  The sun had risen and the sky, studded with cotton wool clouds, hid them.  “Oh, no stars.”  Disappointment filled her voice.
 
“Never mind.”  Oz started to gently lead her back to the car.  “I expect they’ll be back tonight.  In the meantime, let’s get you back home.”  He opened the rear door of the car.  “In you get.”
 
She fell into the back seat, already occupied by a still body.  “Shades!”  She snuggled up to him.  “Sleepy head.  You’re missing all the fun.”  She closed her eyes and nestled against his shoulder.  “And the stars.”  She yawned so hard she heard her jaw crack.  “You missed the stars.  Sleepy head.”
 

Chapter 52
Awakenings

By snodlander

Ess stretched, feeling her legs slide against crisp covers. She reached sideways, arms instinctively wrapping around a body that wasn't there. She pulled a pillow down instead. How quickly that had happened, expecting Shades to be there, her first action to snuggle against --

Shades! She snapped open her eyes. Shades. He was in trouble. What was it? Dust? She had to --

"It's alive!"

She rolled over. Shades sat in a chair brought in from the kitchen, grinning. One arm was encased in plaster.

"I thought you were going to sleep forever," he said, setting down a mug that smelled suspiciously of coffee.

"Don't joke about it. You're awake."

"Yeah. A couple of hours now. Awake during the day. So this is what it feels like. Maybe I should see if that job with Davenport is still open."

"Yeah, right. What time is it?"

"About ten."

Ess tried to run her fingers through her hair, but the tangles were too tight. "Ten?" She yawned. "No wonder I'm so tired. How much sleep have I had? Four hours?"

"Try fifty-four."

"What?" She sat bolt upright. "I've slept for two days?"

"We both have, apparently." He rose from the chair, leant over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Then he turned to the door, opened it and said, "She's awake."

"Ess!"

Oz came bounding into view. Ess pulled her neckline closed with one hand, then looked down. She was wearing her best pyjamas, the ones she saved for special occasions. She looked up again. Oz held up his hands.

"I closed my eyes while I undressed you. And when I rubbed you down in the shower."

"What?"

"Well, I had to get that dust off you." He tried to look innocent in the way the only truly guilty can, then he grinned. "Relax, your witch friend sorted you out while I did the same for Shades. And I can see why you like him so much." He winked. "And they say it doesn't matter."

"Friend?"

"Angie? I have to say, that was a surprise. Still, friction causes heat I suppose."

"Oz, talk sense. What's going on? What's been happening?"

"You want the skinny?" Oz sat on the edge of the bed. "Well, let's see. Me and your friends have spent the last forty-eight hours looking after you. I've practically lived here, because I love you more than the others, but Ted and Angie have done their share too. Ted and Angie. It has a sort of ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Don't be stupid. She hates him."

"Ah, but lust is blind. What else? I've phoned Martin. I was going to meet him as soon as Angie relieved me. Other than that, it's been very quiet. No visits from the filth, no threatening messages from Whitmarsh. All suspiciously quiet on that front."

"Martin. Yes, we've got to tell him. I'll get ready." She was suddenly aware of the pressure on her bladder and the taste of two days' sleep in her mouth. She rose and made her way towards the bathroom. At the door she paused and turned.

"Angie? And Ted? Really?"

--

Martin opened the door and let them in. He looked like hell.

"You've found her." How could a voice be full of such hope and such dread at the same time?

"She's safe."

Martin collapsed into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

"I'll go find a kettle to put on," said Oz.

Ess looked around the studio. Nothing much had changed since they were last there. Had he done any work? She found a stool and pulled it over to Martin's chair.

"Where is she?" he asked, his voice muffled by his hands and tears.

"She's gone back home to her family."

He nodded. "Did she say when she'd be back?"

"No. To be honest, she didn't say much of anything. She's been through a lot. I think she just needs some time."

"Time. Ha!" Martin sat up and dragged a sleeve across his face. "You know what they say about them and time. A hundred years is like a second and all that." He sniffed and squared his shoulders. "She's not coming back, is she." He didn't voice it as a question.

"I don't know. Maybe not. She had a really rough time."

"Is she okay? I mean, was she hurt?"

"No. At least, not physically."

"What happened?"

Ess saw the tension in his jaw, the knuckles whiten on his fists.

"She... she fell in with a bad lot. They mistreated her. She doesn't want to be around people right now. Not even people who want to help her."

"Who? Who did this to her?"

"It doesn't matter. She's safe now."

Martin jumped out of his seat. "No, you tell me! I'm paying you, so you tell me. Who?" He loomed over Ess, fists clenched, eyes wild.

"And then what? You know Daisy. Do you think if you beat someone into a pulp that would win her back? Besides, how's she going to find you if you're in prison?"

"I don't care!" he screamed. "Who was it?"

"Oi!"

They both turned. Oz slammed a fistful of coffee mugs onto a table and strode forward.

"Do you want me to give you a good slapping?" he thundered.

"Oz, no!" But Ess was too late.

"Come on then!" Martin leapt forward, fists swinging. Oz stood his ground, arms up to protect his face as Martin slammed punch after punch into Oz's ample midriff.

"Martin!" Ess leapt up but Oz caught her eye and shook his head. After a few seconds the screams devolved into sobs and the power left the punches. Oz wrapped huge arms around the young man and pinned his arms to his side, but there was a tenderness to the action.

"I'm going to kill him,"" sobbed Martin.

"Yes, I know," said Oz, his voice surprisingly soft, hugging the distraught man close. "But first you and me are going out and getting pissed out of our heads. There won't be a pub for miles we won't be thrown out of. We'll call them all bitches and lie to each other that we're better off without them. Then tomorrow you'll spend the entire day in bed crying it all out. And the day after tomorrow? Who knows? We're not planning that far ahead. Come on. The first round is on me." He released him from his bear hug and turned him towards the door.

"Oz?"

Oz waved Ess away. "Man stuff. We'll be fine. Besides, we might need someone sober to put up bail."

The two left, Martin looking as though he were sleepwalking. Ess looked around the studio. Daisy looked back at her, clothed, naked, laughing, sultry but always, always beautiful. More than that. Enchanting. Dear Mother, was there enough booze in London to help the poor boy get over her?

She left, pulling the door locked on the images.

--

Shades sat at the kitchen table, nursing another mug of coffee, when Ess returned. He raised the mug. "I've been asleep for two days. I need the jag to get me awake."

She smiled. "There's no need to be so defensive about it, just because you know I hate the stuff. You'll just have to do without my kisses till the smell has gone."

Shades pulled a face. "Kissing's for girls. I know much more fun things we can get up to."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but before we do, page seven."

"What?"

Shades nodded at the Evening Standard folded on the table. Ess set her shoulder bag down on the table, picked up the paper and turned to page seven. Near the bottom of the page a couple of column inches were dedicated to the story of a man found unconscious outside London Zoo and rushed to Guy's. His name jumped out at her.

"Whitmarsh?" She picked up her bag again.

Shades sighed. "Or we could go on a wild goose chase. That's much more fun."

As they stepped out into the street the door of a familiar black car opened and Ted climbed out.

"I told you you didn't need to come round," said Shades. "I'm fine. Appreciate it, though. You know, for everything."

"Yeah, well, you know." Ted looked uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Well, the thing is, I got orders. The boss left instructions. He wants to see you as soon as you're both awake."

"And you've come mob-handed again?"

"Not this time. Anyway, he knows. You know, all the airy fairy stuff. I don't think it's a bad thing." Ted shrugged. "But I'm asking. If you want, I'll go back and tell him I couldn't find you. Your call."

Shades turned to Ess. She squeezed his arm. "You go. Whitmarsh is finished. I just want to make sure he knows, that's all. He's in hospital. How dangerous can it get? Go."

"Thanks, love." He bent down and kissed her.

"Eew! Coffee. Get out of here. And go suck some mints." She pushed him towards Ted, turned, and strode towards the Tube station.

Chapter 53
Daisy - the epilogue

By snodlander

Guy's General Hospital used to tower over London Bridge station. Now it cowered in the shadow of The Shard. The woman on reception directed Ess to the ninth floor, the Sir Humphry Davy ward. Ess stepped out of the lift into an atmosphere of disinfectant, echoes and quiet panic. Gone were the days of middle-aged nurses standing around drinking gallons of hot tea and gossiping about the young doctors. Everyone marched purposefully in sensible shoes, pieces of arcane equipment in their hands. She waited at the ward reception until the nurse finished whatever it was she was doing on the PC and looked up, a professional, sterile smile on her face.

"I'm looking for Mister Whitmarsh?"

The smile was instantly replaced with a look of sympathy.

"Are you family?"

"No, just a -- just an acquaintance."

"Do you know of any family? We're having problems tracing any."

"Sorry. I'm not that close. I just wanted to visit him, see how he's doing."

"Of course. Bay D, bed three. Visiting hours end at seven."

With that the nurse switched off her sympathy and turned back to the screen.

Ess click-clacked down the corridor. Bay D overlooked the east end, miles of flat roofs with the Docklands in the distance. A woman sat by bed three. She turned as Ess approached and Ess recognised her.

"Missus Davenport?"

"Oh, you're the private detective woman, right? My husband's not here, I'm afraid."

"No, I heard about Mister Whitmarsh and I was in the area. I just thought I'd stop by."

The woman smiled and turned back to the bed. Whitmarsh lay under crisp sheets, eyes closed, looking so much smaller than when he was awake.

"He was good to Peter. Really pushed him. Peter just, I don't know, shone when Allen was around. I don't know why. But now, like this..." She shrugged. "Peter would be here, has been, of course, but he was called away to Westminster."

Ess looked at the man in the bed, tubes in his nose and hand.

"What happened?" she asked.

Missus Davenport shook her head. "No one knows. They just found him in the park, unconscious. Goodness knows what he was doing there. A stroke, they say, a massive one. He's been like this ever since. They don't know when he'll wake up, or even if he will. Brain damage, see?"

Whitmarsh stirred and muttered something unintelligible. Under his eyelids his eyes flickered and he whimpered.

"Dreams," said Missus Davenport. She smiled again. "Let's hope they're pleasant ones." She sighed. "Not like ours."

"Sorry?"

Missus Davenport treated Ess to a sad smile. "Oh, nothing. He was a dreamer, Whitmarsh. Said Peter could climb all the way to the top. It was happening, too. But in the last day or two... Oh well, look at me. A lovely family, nice house and I'm complaining he's not Prime Minister. And here's poor Allen, laid low by a stroke." She frowned. "It's an odd word, 'stroke'. I wonder why they call it that?"

Stroked by fairies. Touched by the Gentle Folk. Whatever dreams he's having, I bet they're not pleasant.

Missus Davenport looked at her watch. "Anyway, I must be getting on." She rose and thrust out her hand, the politician's wife once more. "So nice of you to visit."

Ess stayed for a few minutes more, looking down on the man who had kidnapped, threatened and done who knew what else? Even so, an eternity trapped in whatever hell Daisy's family had put in him was not something she'd wish on anyone, even a little shit like him. Then she turned and click-clacked out of his life.

--

Shades got home just before midnight. Ess threw a cushion at him as he walked in through the door.

"What?" he asked. He stood upright and looked at her in all innocence, but his speech was too precise, his stance too poised. Scrawled graffiti covered his cast.

"I've been sat here worrying about you all evening, and you've been getting drunk with your mates down the pub. Not even a phone call?"

"Yeah, sorry." He staggered over to the armchair and collapsed into it. "Should have phoned. Sorry."

"Well?"

"I love you."

"Stop that right now, sunshine, and tell me what happened with your boss."

"Yeah, right, that." He took a deep breath. "Well, he was pissed off, what with me buggering off with no notice and all that. Ted had explained about all the stuff." He giggled. "Off with the fairies. But still, he was not a happy bunny. Made sure I knew that. Slapped my wrists in no uncertain manner."

"But you've still got your job?"

Shades winced. "Well, not exactly. Like I said, he was pretty pissed off at me. So yeah, I'm still working for him, but I got a demotion."

"Oh darling, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, no longer personal protection." He struggled to lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know what the bastard did? He only made me head of the day shift. What good is that to me?" He grinned. "What am I going to do in the evenings now?"

Ess clapped her hands. "Permanently?"

"Pretty much. I'll probably have to do the odd night here and there. So, sorry, but I had to introduce myself to the day guys and say goodbye to the others. What about you? What's the SP with Whitmarsh?"

"He's -- been taken care of. They got to him, Daisy's family. He's in a coma."

"Just as well. I'd have done it otherwise. Evil bastard."

"No. Well, okay, he was one, but no one should be punished like that."

"You're a very forgiving woman, you know that? Very forgiving. You can forgive a guy like that, and he hadn't even been drinking with his mates."

"Stop it."

He slid off the chair onto his knees and started to waddle towards her.

"Such a forgiving woman. I'm so lucky."

She tried to compose a stern face, and failed. "Stop it now. I'm still cross with you."

"I bet he didn't even have to go on his knees." He stopped at her feet and looked up at her with puppy-dog eyes.

"It's not going to work. You should have called."

"And look." He held up his arm. "I'm a wounded soldier. I only drank for the pain."

"Oh, you'll know pain in a minute." He continued to look cartoon-contrite. She burst out laughing. "You're an idiot and I'm still angry. It's a bloody good job you're so cute."

Shades grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I am, aren't I." He looked down at his wrist, then at the bedroom door, and finally back to her. "You know, I'm going to need a little help undressing...."

"Ha! Best of luck with that." But, laughing, she still rose and made her way towards the bedroom.

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