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I was certain they’d hear my heart pounding as it thumped in my ears.
As they filed in through the door, a mini bus pulled up behind them with more staff pouring out.
They were dressed in black, the women with beige aprons, hair tied back, whilst the men wore waitering suits. All human.
“Now’s our chance Elsa, come on.”
“No. Look at us, we don’t look like them. Wait a moment.”
Moving my fingers, he sucked in air. “It’ll be alright. Here…”
As I drew the runes, he shivered as magic rippled through him. Then I did the same for myself.
“It’s such low level magic, hopefully it won’t be detected. It’s only used on humans, and it won’t last long, ten minutes if we’re lucky. What they’ll see, fingers crossed, is staff, we’ll look like them.”
His jaw open he glanced down at his t-shirt. “I don’t see any change?”
I whispered urgently back, “Well no, it’s not for you. They’re mortals, so casting an illusion is easier. Just hope we don’t bump into actual witches.Otherwise, get ready to run like hell.”
“I can do that. If we have to run, jump on my back.”
“Ok, Edward.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
For an instant he shot me a lopsided smile, but his face quickly changed to serious.
“It looks like they’re filing in and going straight ahead of that doorway, I suggest we go right?”
He shrugged. “Why, is that the way?”
“Who knows. We just need to lose them once we’re inside.”
“Ready?”
I nodded.
I pulled him back, or rather I grabbed his arm. “One last thing, keep your head down. They look drugged, or bewitched. We must act the same.”
A curt nod and we checked to see if the way was clear.
A tall man dressed in a formal day jacket with waistcoat and extremely pressed trousers came striding towards the door. His short jet-black hair contrasted with his pale skin and small mean eyes. He surveyed the area like a hawk.
Behind him half a dozen men, dressed in jeans, boots and t-shirts carried heavy trunks. The hawk-eye man stood by the door, overseeing them as they shuffled inside.
Please don’t close the door, please don’t close the door…
I saw Lycaon’s muscles twitch. I thought the same.
Shifters.
As soon as they disappeared, we strode over fast. Checking inside the door that the way was clear, we stepped through and took a sharp right.
Almost letting out a sigh of relief, but we weren’t out of the woods yet. Before us was an old fashioned kitchen with what looked like a Victorian washing machine, or mangle.
The mangle is basically a bucket with a turn handle. Was this a museum? Hanging from the ceiling, fake hops and spices. Along the back wall, a huge range for cooking,and other antiquated kitchen equipment that I’d seen in old houses open to the public.
