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“You had no right to do that!”
I didn’t hear you complaining when I helped you kiss Storm, she says slyly.
The blood drains from my face. “Oh my God,” I whisper. She made me kiss Storm. She had yanked him down by his shirt and kissed him. I close my eyes in mortification. Storm hadn’t kissed me back.
He didn’t push you away either, she says.
That was because I had gathered my wits and snatched control away from the little voice. It had been me that had pulled away and marched back inside the restaurant before she jumped his bones. Thank God for that. At least I hadn’t given him a chance to reject me. Because I know he would have pushed me away. I know it for sure.
I push aside my sheets and climb out of bed. In the mirror that is hanging over the back of my door I can see that I am still in last night’s clothes. I scrunch my eyes shut in dismay. It is not an outfit I would have picked. What must Luca have thought when I walked in wearing that?
“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” I hiss. “Don’t you ever ever do that to me, or I swear—”
Except I have nothing to threaten her with. Dr Carrington had diagnosed it as dissociative personality disorder. But he misjudged it. I’m not like normal people. I’m the Angel of Death. Not that I ever told him that, because then he would have thought I was crazy for sure. And so what if I made up a little voice in my head to turn to for support when life got too scary? She helped me deal with the loneliness of living with the Coltons. It’s no big deal. At some point I’ll unmake her, and that will be that.
I can feel her moping inside my mind. Whatever, she says sulkily as she curls up into a little ball and proceeds to ignore me.
I find the clothes that I had been wearing to Beatrice Grictor’s office dumped in the pile on the floor. I go through the pockets and to my relief I find in there the little envelope that had been hidden behind the photograph in Raif’s office. The photograph is there too, folded into quarters. At least the little voice had the sense to bring them with me. I probably would have dumped them as I ran.
The wizard’s business card is still inside the little envelope. Theodore Grimshaw, Purveyor of Needs, has an address in Soho, which I imagine must be his business address. By the time I get there I have figured out in my head what I need to say to him. I figure that a wizardly purveyor of needs must be a canny sort who won’t be forthcoming with his information.
Grimshaw’s turns out to be what looks like a rundown pawnshop, from the outside at least. The window is full of lots of old jewelry and watches and other bric-a-brac. I peek in the window, but I can’t see anyone inside. Not any customers, and not Theodore Grimshaw himself.
I am just about to push the door open when my phone rings. I pull it out of my satchel. I grimace as the caller ID shows me that it is Smithers. I debate ignoring it, but then I change my mind.
“Hi Eric,” I say, answering it.
There is the tiniest momentary silence. Smithers is shocked. “It’s Mr Smithers to you,” he says.
“Yeah, whatever, Eric. What do you want?”
“Where are you?” he demands. “You didn’t turn up yesterday. You can’t turn up without calling in sick. Who do you think you are? I’ll make an exception for yesterday, but if you don’t turn up within the next ten minutes—”
“You’ll what? I’ve already lost three shifts because of you. What exactly are you going to do to me now?”
“I did no such thing! Three shifts? What are you talking about?”
“One, you wouldn’t let me leave early for a funeral on Friday so I had to give all my money to Rosalie for the Friday shift. Two, you stole my Saturday shift and gave it to Rosalie. Three, because of you Rosalie forced me to give her my Wednesday shift at the Ambassador’s ball too. That’s three shifts. Can’t you count?”
“Don’t you dare blame me for your problems!”
“You’re the one that is causing my problems. You’ve lost me a lot of money by failing to notify me of the fraud incident. And how am I supposed to pay my rent and earn a decent living if you keep giving my shifts away? And then not even notifying me until I actually turn up to work is taking the cake. Now you know how it feels.
”
“Don’t think I haven’t got your number, miss! Your girlfriend calls you and you’re so desperate to get into her pants that you make up some lie about a funeral? What funeral when you don’t even have a family? Rosalie was right about you. Every word out of your mouth is a lie. If you don’t get here within the next twenty minutes you’re fired, my girl!”
“First, I’m not your girl. Second, how can I be fired when I’ve already resigned?” And then I hang up the phone.
My heart is racing. I have to take several deep breaths to calm myself. Girlfriend, indeed. Typical of the perv to think I was a lesbian just because I hadn’t flirted with him like Rosalie had. What a fantastically tiny ego the pig had.
I cannot believe I’ve finally told the prick to shove his stupid job. And I never have to see him again. I could dance a jig!
I giggle at the thought of telling Remi that he had thought we were girlfriends. She would get a kick out of that. But then my smile fades. If she’d forgiven me for my behavior last night, that is.
I push open the door of Grimshaw’s and step in.
“Good morning. How can I help you?” says a smooth and very posh English voice.
