Brutus butted his head against my shin and I crouched down to scratch behind his ears. ‘It’s cold here,’ I told him, rather unnecessarily. ‘I’m going to Eve’s to feed Harold and wait for help to arrive. Right now, a Saint Bernard with emergency rum rations would be particularly appreciated. You’re welcome to come with me if you want.’
He flung a disdainful look in my direction. He’d never said anything but I had the distinct impression that he considered Harold – or rather Harold Fitzwilliam Duxworthy the Third, to give Eve’s familiar his true title (witches enjoy long titles and lines of heritage) – was beneath him. He abandoned my bid to stroke him in favour of turning round and presenting me with his arse, before sauntering off to find a morning sunbeam. I checked the clock. Okay: afternoon sunbeam. But only just. Still, I felt guilty for grousing at Brutus when he’d clearly been very patient before waking me up.
‘I’m sorry!’ I called out. ‘I hadn’t realised the time.’
There wasn’t an answer. I shrugged. Without wasting any more time or body heat, I grabbed Eve’s keys and shoved my feet into a pair of wellies, which I’d bought last year as part of a misguided and impulsive plan to go foraging for herbs. The boots had lain unattended in the same corner ever since.
Hugging my dressing gown closer, I nipped out into the shared corridor. Fortunately, no one else was around; the last thing I wanted was the good-looking guy at number twenty-three to see me wandering around with a shabby dressing gown and bed hair, even if it might have given me an effective opening to encourage him round to inspect my own bed. I darted to Eve’s place, quickly unlocked the door and hopped inside.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been round to her flat. I’d looked after Harold on a few other occasions when she’d been away for work and had once ventured there for a party she put on to impress her boss. Alas, I inadvertently mistook him for one of the local binmen who serve this building and always have a cheery smile and a kind word. When I asked him how the rubbish business was going, he assumed I belonged to one of the many witch-hating chapters and looked ready to throttle me. I apologised profusely but the situation was only compounded when Eve appeared to smooth things over and introduced me. Of course, he recognised my name. It might have been years since I had anything to do with the Order but apparently I was still mud as far as the upper echelons of the Second and Third Levels were concerned. Whatever.
Every time I was in Eve’s flat, I was struck by how clean everything was. I’d have known if she paid someone to do her dusting for her. It was possible she’d mastered a complicated series of runes that enabled her to use magic to keep the place spick and span but I suspected that she used nothing more than elbow grease. The poor woman needed to get out more.
‘Harold,’ I called. ‘Harold! It’s Ivy from down the hall.’
The cat didn’t answer. Perhaps I was being too familiar with the familiar. I tried again. ‘Harold Fitzwilliam Duxworthy the Third? Are you there?’
There was a faint meow from the living room. My brow furrowed slightly. I followed the noise, pushing open the door in time to see a small brown shape dart at full speed across the coffee table. A heartbeat later Harold flew after it, knocking over several black candles and what had to be a year’s supply of enchanted bee pollen across Eve’s spotless floor. I sucked in a pained breath; I knew how much that stuff cost. Then I sneezed three times in quick succession and grimaced.
‘Sneeze on Friday, sneeze for woe,’ I muttered to myself. That didn’t bode well.
Leaving the pollen for now, I edged round the table to try and find Harold and discover what he’d been chasing. He was squeezed into the gap between the wall and the sofa, staring fixedly with huge pupils at something underneath it. I grabbed him and received a yowl and a vicious scratch for my efforts. I tossed him into the kitchen and locked the door then hunkered down on all fours and peered under the sofa. From the gloom in the corner, I could make out a tiny twitching nose and quivering whiskers. A mouse.
I pulled back. Huh. Although Eve had said she was doing well at Myomancy, it seemed likely that the little creature was scampering around and causing havoc not because her flat had a nest of rodents but because she was using him to hone her skills. I tapped my mouth thoughtfully. It was a long time since I’d practised the art of reading rodent behaviour; I wondered whether I could still do it.
I let myself relax, emptying my mind as I’d once been taught, and focused on the mouse. For a long moment it remained frozen but, when I crooked my little finger, it skittered towards me. I let out a silent breath. I still had it.
I reached underneath the sofa and turned over my palm. The mouse wasted no time; it tentatively advanced, its small paws tickling my skin. I gave it a moment to get comfortable and then slowly drew it out. Standing up, I held it aloft and looked into its shiny eyes. ‘So, Mister,’ I began. The mouse twitched. ‘Sorry. I mean Miss.’ It relaxed again.
‘What do you have to tell me?’ I enquired, pushing out a tendril of magic towards it. ‘I could do with some good fortune coming my way.’
The mouse quivered, its long tail falling over my thumb. As if startled by its own actions, it spun round, lunged for my thumb and sank in its teeth. I yelped and dropped it. From the kitchen, I could hear Harold hissing and scratching at the closed door. The little rodent darted back for the safety of the sofa whilst I stared at the beads of blood rising up from my skin. This was not good, not good at all.
Before I could seek out the mouse once more, there was a sharp knock on the door. I cursed. Eve was never around at this hour – who on earth could be calling on her? I shuffled over and opened it, gazing at the two figures waiting there.
Given that the nearest one was wearing a red, hooded cloak, it didn’t take a genius to work out who they were. Order geeks – and Order geeks here on official business. Honestly; didn’t they check their own work schedules before they came out all this way?
My gaze swung to the other figure and I registered close-cropped dark hair and a clean, square jaw. There was a long scar running from his ear almost to his nose but it didn’t detract from his appearance; if anything, it gave him a deliciously dangerous air. Two piercing blue eyes watched me expressionlessly. Less of a geek and more of a walking advertisement for virile masculinity. Hello.
‘Eve Harrington,’ Red Cloak intoned. ‘We are pleased to inform you that you have received provisional Second Order status.’
My mouth dropped open; Eve had told me yesterday that she’d not even taken the exams yet. She really was a rising star in the Order. Before I could tell him that she wasn’t in, Red Cloak grabbed my arm and began to mutter.