“What’s for dinner?”
The voice sounded like Josse’s, but he wouldn’t dare. Nor would the question be followed by a chorus of expectant giggles.
“Set one foot into my kitchen and I swear it’ll be nut roast!” Adelphine whipped around from where she had been focusing on her chopping board.
Predictably, she wasn’t in one of her lighter moods as she turned to face the kitchen door. The spectacle of a teetering tower of lutins collapsing all over her spotless worktops did little to soothe her soul.
“Hazelnut roast, it would seem,” she added once she had fully taken in the view.
Given a choice, lutins wouldn’t have been the supernatural infestation she’d have picked, she mused as she watched them play hide and seek among her pots and pans.
Hobgoblins, fine. At least you don’t usually get more than one or two at a time, and they’re easily repelled: offer them clothes and they’ll head for the hills.
Better yet, a leprechaun. Solitary and able to bestow prodigious wealth, and she could definitely have done with some of that.
Even imps would have been preferable. Annoying, but rarely malevolent, and a few well-placed wards tended to keep them off the furniture.
But no. This was Belgium, and so lutins were likelier – a leprechaun would have been a rare sight indeed, so it would. There’s no such thing as a lonely lutin; they’re rarely more than a few paces away from half a dozen more. And once they’re in your home, no means known to man will dislodge them.
Just now, three of them had joined forces to lift the lid of her stock pot. A fourth had begun to sprinkle salt, and a fifth was balancing on the rim while attempting to unbutton his flies.
Luckily, after all those years, her aim was still good. A flying tin of tomato paste convinced the would-be Manneken Pis of the error of his ways, and the first syllables of a cat-summoning spell sent the entire pesky posse on its merry way.
***
“What are you up to? Plotting world domination?”
Minuit the cat stretched and yawned. All that power-grabbing nonsense sounded like a lot of hard work. No need to go to such lengths so long as food, shelter and soft cushions were in plentiful supply.
***
“Mais elle est où, ma perruque blonde?” Cara cast an accusatory glance at her fellow performer in mirror of their shared dressing room. “Mais non, pas celle-là. La Rachel, pas la Marilyn.”
“Comment tu veux que je sache, ma chérie?” Zelda was projecting innocence, but Cara wasn’t convinced.
“Je l’avais posée dans l’étagère avec les autres en arrivant. Et là, pas trace.”
“Comme si j’allais te la piquer, cette mocheté!”
In fairness, the Rachel wouldn’t have suited Zelda’s fierce cyberpunk-meets-mermaid-queen aesthetic. Friendly acts of sabotage were, however, very much her style. And indeed, Cara soon spotted a telltale strand of golden hair shining out from behind the hangers on Zelda’s heaving clothes rack.
Luckily, Zelda had kept the wig on its stand. “Je te jure, si tu me l’as décoiffée…” Cara didn’t stop to improvise suitable threats as she grabbed her property and smoothed it over the wig grip on her bald pate. Twenty minutes to curtain; no time to lose.
***
On the other side of the cabaret’s back wall, Josse was giving his new friend the tour.
“Completely secure, very roomy, and great views of the night sky,” he explained as opened the door to one of the self-contained units in the loft.
“I’m surprised that you need so many!” Mirko was impressed. He hadn’t expected a modern set-up with stylish en-suites and breakfast nooks.
“There’s quite a demand,” Josse replied. “We have seven regulars just now, so we’ve had to add a spare one just in case.”
***
Outside, night was falling. Huddled in the doorway of a nondescript building in a featureless street in a bland business area where absolutely nothing happens once the offices close, Jade was pleased with the clean, sturdy length of cardboard she had found early that day. Folded over twice on the puke-pink marble floor, it did at least provide some insulation.
And her parka would keep out the night air. As she settled back against the locked glass door and her mind began to drift, she immersed herself in possible colour schemes for the cosy flat she inhabited in her dreams.
She’d nearly dropped off when a sense of being watched pulled her back. A man was observing her from the pavement, a mere three paces away. His face, barely visible in the dusk, seemed all darkness and hungry angles.
The only feature that stood out was a prominent eye tooth in an even row of pearly whites, reflecting a ray of dying light. Presumably, it had a twin on the shadow side of that twilit face. Was he smiling?