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He opens his mouth to speak, and I pinpoint the precise moment he remembers he’s there on business and meant to be protecting the outsider.
“This is Miss Elner, the Sadlers’ new lawyer. It’s her job to get Brendan out. It’s my job to keep her safe until she does.”
I relish the pride in his voice and don’t attempt to point out for the hundredth time that I’ve not committed to being their lawyer yet.
Everyone turns weirdly respectful when they hear that, like some diluted version of the reception I’d get if they knew who I really was. The Windmill is a solidly Sadler establishment. Most bars, clubs and restaurants in town are owned by or under the protection of the Sadlers, the Thornbers, or one of their associates. And even those that aren’t tend to have an informal loyalty one way or the other. There are few people in Mannith who don’t know both families and owe at least a vague sense of allegiance to one of them.
My family’s commercial interests are a swirling web of magic and business. Firstly, there are the companies they own, which magic helps to protect from competition or recession. Secondly, endless numbers of people within the Dome owe them fealty and pay for the privilege. It’s sort of like a protection racket, but a very civilised and consensual one, based around respect and love, rather than fear and violence. And thirdly, in what was the foundation of the family business a few centuries back, they sell spells at an eye-watering but ultimately fair price.
“I’m taking her up to see the family now,” Connor continues, despite the fact I’d argued this would be a terrible breach of protocol.
“Good luck, love,” someone says. “I hope you’ve got what it takes. Brendan needs a bloody miracle.”
I grin back at him and allow a tiny hint of my personality to shine through. “He’s got me.”
They all raise their pints then down them in support. It’s a little off-message, but it’s worth it for their reaction.
Connor whispers a few words to the barman, who doesn’t need asking twice.
He hands him a key, then gestures towards the stairs. “Top floor. Do you need a hand?”
Connor shakes his head, scoops up my suitcase, then leads me up the stairs. I can’t help but check him out as I follow behind.
I’ve never visited the hotel part of The Windmill before, but unsurprisingly, my bedroom is lovely. Everything in this town is lovely. Whitewashed walls with black beams. A big bed with pure white cotton sheets that give off a freshly laundered scent. Views out over the courtyard garden at the back, and a gentle cooling breeze drifting in through the sash window. It’s nicely quiet considering it’s only two floors up from the noisy bar. Probably some sort of soundproofing spell.
“Step outside for five minutes,” I say to Connor. “I need to get ready. If you’re insisting I meet my potential client’s family tonight, I want to make a good first impression.”
It’s ridiculous. I spent years slobbing round my parents’ house in pyjamas. But my family cares about outward appearance, and I care about what my family thinks of me, especially after being away for so long.
I throw off the smart-casual dress I’d travelled in and pull on a black, sleeveless suit dress, cut just above the knee, along with a matching tightly tailored jacket.
I rummage around in my suitcase until I find my make-up bag, and start to redo my face. It’d looked pristine when I’d left London, but travelling, nerves, and now the heat of Mannith have faded it. My hands are trembling far more than when I was getting ready to meet Christopher. A date is one thing. My mum and sister are quite another.
It’s weird looking in the mirror while I’m under Chrissie’s glamour. I look like myself, and yet not. Light bends around me in a different way. It makes getting my make-up right even trickier than usual. And in the magic-laden air of Mannith, it’s a real challenge to stick to doing it by hand, but it’s even more important that I don’t give in to temptation.
I manually slick on some bright red lipstick and spritz myself with a citrus perfume. Once I pop my sunglasses back on, I’m done. There’ll be no need for them with my family, but I ought to be careful around Connor, at least for the moment.
Connor’s nervousness is saturating the air, even through the door. He doesn’t want to be held responsible for the meeting with the Sadlers starting late. Neither does he want to hurry me along when he’s meant to be taking care of me on their orders.
“Right, done,” I say, bursting through the door. “Let’s go and meet the family.”
“You look great. Now, can you do me a favour? Don’t argue with Mr Sadler about whether you’re taking the case. If you really decide against, you can always take it up with his wife later.”
“Fine.” I’ll argue with Dad as much as I want, but if Connor’s worried, I’ll try to have the decency not to do it in front of him.
My dad is a good man. He uses his powers to protect Mannith and make it a wonderful place to live. And on a day-to-day basis, he helps people out with magic in ways both big and small. But as he told me endlessly as a child, being good is not the same as being weak. Sometimes, it’s not the same as being nice either.
Dad treats acolytes with respect and kindness, but he asks for absolute obedience and loyalty in return—the risks of betrayal or even just half-hearted service are too high to contemplate. Likewise, he does what needs to be done to keep those who’d want to harm Mannith or the family at bay. And to stop anyone who doesn’t treat magic with the necessary seriousness from abusing it.
Keeping Mannith perfect requires both magic and strength. Heisa good man, definitely. But, if I’m absolutely honest, if you didn’t know him well, you’d probably also say that he was something of a scary one.
Connor escorts me back down one flight of stairs, to a familiar room on the middle floor. My dad’s used it for both business meetings and family gatherings for a long time. It’s got oak-panelled walls, a thick red carpet, no windows, and is almost as well warded as the family home.
Connor knocks. “It’s me, sir. I’ve brought the lawyer.”
“Come in.”
Once the door swings open, I stare at my father. He appears older than the last time I saw him. Hardly surprising, considering six years have passed, but he looks good for his age. Greying but full hair swept back. His hard face softened by a few lines. A dark suit, cut to show he still has the kind of muscles a twenty-something would be jealous of.
