Fated

I don’t sleep well. I never did, even as a child, but the things that happened in Richard’s mansion made it worse. Usually the nightmares are pain and fear, but it had been a long time since I’d remembered Shireen. Seeing her again, even in a dream, made my heart clench. Watching someone die is bad, but knowing that they have to be dead yet never being sure is worse. Instead of one clean cut it allows you to keep a tiny sliver of hope that fades only gradually, bit by bit, as the years slip by. It’s cruel.

I tucked my head into my hands and breathed steadily, letting my heartbeat slow. As I did, I ran through my mental exercises, pushing the memories away. I’d just finished when the phone rang. The screen read ‘Caller ID Unknown’. I let the phone ring eleven times, then on the twelfth hit the ‘Talk’ button and put the phone to my ear. ‘Lyle, you have thirty seconds to explain what’s so important you needed to wake me up.’

‘Alex? It’s Lyle.’

‘Gosh, Lyle, thanks. There’s no way I could have figured that out on my own by, oh I don’t know, seeing the future.’

‘There’s no reason to be so rude.’

‘Reason number one: because I hate you. I’d add more, but you’ve only got fifteen seconds left.’

‘There’s something we need you—’

‘Heard it.’ I leant back.

‘We’d be prepared to—’

‘Heard that too. Five seconds.’

‘Wait! It’s urgent that you—’

‘Bye, Lyle. Don’t call back.’

‘There was an organised attack on the Precursor relic last night,’ Lyle said, his voice crisp. ‘The Council met for an emergency session this morning.’

All of a sudden I was wide awake. Adrenaline will do that to you. ‘Okay,’ I said at last, once it was clear Lyle was waiting for a response.

‘The Council has decided secrecy is no longer an issue.’

‘Okay.’

‘This brings us to you. You understand?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, at least you’ve finally got a civil tongue in your head,’ Lyle said dryly. ‘I’m glad you’ve grasped the gravity of the situation.’

Gravity was an understatement. If the Council thought I was part of Cinder’s group, I was dead. I waited, heart in my throat.

‘So, I’m offering you the same job as before.’

I stared at the phone for five seconds. ‘You’re what?’

‘The leader of the investigation team would like to employ your services,’ Lyle said. ‘We’ll work out the details later.’

I closed my eyes and silently let out the breath I’d been holding. Lyle wasn’t calling about last night. Well, he was, but not the way I’d been afraid of. ‘Look,’ I said after a moment’s pause. ‘I said already—’

‘Your problem was that the job wasn’t official, correct?’

‘… Yeah.’

‘There’s a ball tonight at Canary Wharf,’ Lyle said. ‘You’re invited. Council members will be attending, including the member directly responsible for the investigation team. He’ll speak with you personally.’ His voice was dry. ‘Official enough for you?’

For the second time, I was left speechless. ‘Um …’ I said at last.

‘Oh good. The invitation will be delivered to your door in sixty seconds. Hopefully you’ll consider it important enough to get out of bed. Oh, and do pay attention to the dress code. It would be very embarrassing if you and your escort were turned away at the door. I’d offer to lend you something, but unlike you I don’t have the luxury of sleeping all morning. See you tonight.’ Lyle broke the connection before I could think of a comeback.

I listened to the dial tone, then hung up. If Council members were going to be at this ball, that made it an Event with a capital ‘E’. Everybody who was anybody in the mage world would be there. Lyle was serious, and that meant the Council was too.

Out of perverse curiosity, I lifted my watch and looked at the time, watching the seconds ticking off. Lyle had finished his call at 9.38 a.m. Exactly as the display ticked over to 9.39 a.m, there was a distant banging at my front door. I hate show-offs.

I pulled myself to my feet, wincing at the stiffness in my legs, and went downstairs. A teenager was standing outside my shop window, holding a white envelope in his hand. Apprentice employed as a gofer; some things don’t change. I unlocked the door, nodded at the ‘Alexander Verus?’ and took the envelope from him. As he disappeared up the street, I opened the envelope and took out the card inside.

It was the real thing. In flowery language and copperplate handwriting, the card stated that the High Council of the British Isles would be honoured if Alexander Verus, etc., etc., would present himself with an escort of his choosing, etc., etc. There was a footnote about the dress code in slightly pointed language that I couldn’t help wonder if Lyle had put in specifically to have a dig at me. Like there’s anything wrong with jeans and sweaters.