It had been such fun to watch Josse eagerly taking notes throughout that day he seemed to think of as lively. At sunrise on the following morning, Adelphine stretched out lazily on her mattress as she remembered him repeatedly pulling the biro out of his man bun, releasing all that hair to fall in his face as he attempted to document his endeavours.
Men and their pride. Josse was harder to egg on than most, unless you knew which buttons to press.
It was time for some yoga while everyone was still asleep. She had a mat waiting in her favourite full-moon unit, the one that got the best light. Early morning practice in a clean, empty room. It sets you up for whatever the day might throw at you.
Six rounds of sun salutations, many a stretch and a prayer twist later, she checked on the arrangements for the residents’ breakfast as she headed for the shower. Residents took turns to fetch pastries, prepare assorted hot beverages and set up the buffet, under her watchful eye. If the volunteers were left to their own devices, standards would soon slip. She shuddered at the thought of juice cartons and kitchen roll on every table, much-thumbed cereal boxes being handed around, and butter served straight from its foil.
This time, she had found little to complain about. The were-beings’ housekeeping committee had drawn up a checklist, and it so happened that today’s little crew were all lycanthros. Unless the moon was full, they revered law and order.
***
The morning check-in with Josse focused mainly on security throughout the stay of the ancients, who were due to arrive just before dawn the next day.
“Weren’t they due here this morning? I thought their booking was urgent?”
“Apparently, they had already checked into some hotel while their tour operator was trying to work something out,” Josse replied. “The agent says they’re old school; they’re probably travelling in grandiose period garb, with expectations to match. How they’ll fare in a regular hotel full of tourists is anyone’s guess.”
“We need to set out wards just to be on the safe side. I’ll prepare fresh spray bottles. And do you still have those necklaces?”
“Yes, I guess we had better. I’ll tell them to keep their fangs to themselves, of course, but I doubt they’re the kind to abide by house rules.”
“So far as I can tell, only Jade is at risk,” Adelphine mused. “They don’t usually go for humans over thirty, and apparently other supernaturals just aren’t to their taste.”
“The social media team is meeting at the tavern later today. We can talk to her together once they’re done.”
“What about potential targets outside?”
“I don’t think there’s a lot we can do. We can hardly put a warning on social media. I’ll ask Azélie to keep tabs on them, just to make sure they don’t decide to go for a picnic while they’re staying here.”
***
When Adelphine arrived at the infirmary, the usual scraped knees, torn wings and hay fever sniffles had lined up for her attention. She had nearly dealt with the lot when a new patient was brought in: a teen witch who had fallen off her broom during a training flight.
The accident hadn’t seemed serious, and the girl’s coven had had the presence of mind to have her checked over at a nearby hospital. No brain damage or memory loss, no broken bones, perfectly alert and oriented. The wannabe spell-slinger seemed completely fine, apart from the fact that she now claimed to be a third-circle demon.
She had certainly picked up the attitude, Adelphine thought as she attempted to ask her new patient a few questions.
“What’s your name?”
No reply. The young woman was sprawling in a chair, chewing gum and watching her with a sly grin.
“It’s Amélie,” her tutor chimed in from the back of the room.
“Can I check you over, Amélie?”
“You can try.”
No clear reason to intervene without the patient’s consent. Adelphine decided to try a different approach.
“How are you feeling? Does anything hurt, or is there anything worrying you?”
“Never been better.”
Amélie observed Adelphine through narrowed eyes as the healer walked past her to rummage through a medicine cabinet. Her neck turned farther than a person’s neck should.
Something about the situation gave Adelphine visions of pea soup. She made a mental note put some on the menu as she returned to her desk with a selection of small jars.
“I’m not sure what to say,” she said with absolute certainty, settling back into her chair. Upon closer inspection, none of the jars appeared promising. “I think you need a specialist, or maybe a priest.”
“We tried. There’s no point; she’s good at hiding her symptoms.”
“So why aren’t you hiding them now?”
“Because I’m getting stronger. There’s nothing anyone can do to me now.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Adelphine replied. “So far as I know, lutins are the only species beyond anyone’s control.”
Was any of this real? Or was the whole thing a delusion, or maybe even an act? That said, even if Amélie was just pretending, there might well be an underlying issue that couldn’t just be ignored.
“What else have you tried?” Presumably, the coven had attempted a few well-chosen spells?
“Everything we could think of. Purification draughts and rituals, a gluten-free diet, and her GP put her on anti-depressants for the few symptoms she would actually own up to. We even organised an all-wands energy circle for her. Which I think actually made it worse.”
Adelphine nodded, eyebrows raised and lips pressed together. Clearly, the witches had left no stone unturned. All-wands ceremonies were held only in the direst of circumstances. They traditionally involved practitioners of grey or white magic within a two-night-flight radius, and they were a massive headache to arrange.
“Sorry we didn’t think to invite you. Brussels is out of summoning range for us, but we could have used your help.”
“I’m not sure what I could have added to your combined expertise,” Adelphine responded with unusual grace. “That said, at this stage, you could probably do with a fresh pair of eyes.”
“If you’re quite done with the bowing and scraping, can we get back to me?”
“Actually, if you’re such a happy little psychopath, why did you agree to come here?”
“Oh, I just love the attention,” Amélie leered. “Bored now, though; I’m off. I want to try some waffles.”
“Why don’t the two of you stay for a few days while we figure this out? Don’t you want to know if you’re at risk from the real Amélie? Or maybe you’d like to learn how to be a well-adjusted demon? I know nothing about them, third-circle or other, but I do know someone who does.”
“Maybe. Do you have Wi-Fi?”
***
The odd consultation had left just enough time to race into her kitchen and make a start on the residents’ lunch. Pizza, for a change; she had prepared the dough the previous evening, and today’s lunch volunteers had prepped the community’s favourite toppings. Several litres of her homemade tomato sauce were thawing on the counter.
Luckily, someone had finished the rest of yesterday’s lentil bake, so she didn’t have to deal with the leftovers. It was a mystery to her why people seemed to like this dish so much; personally, she couldn’t stand the stuff.
She had a mere hour left to toss and garnish and bake and serve a first round of twenty pizzas, and there’d be two more rounds to follow. Of course, it would all be a great deal easier if she didn’t insist on working alone. Residents on the rota had their own food prep area, but no one was allowed to enter her kitchen. Ever.
Well. Maybe if they spotted her sprawled on the floor and in clear need of urgent medical help. Maybe.
***
With lunch tidied away and a few dozen pineapple pizza jokes studiously ignored, she finally found time to take Eric his tray.
Today’s menu seemed to find favour, in contrast to yesterday’s. A glimpse through the newly installed serving hatch in the door of his unit revealed a large serving of lentil bake firmly stuck to the wall. Dribbles of gravy ran down to the floor, onto the shards of the plate on which the meal had been served.
[Adelphine rarely made it into her workshop before 3 p.m. – read on for part 2 >>>]