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  “Months after the fact and clearly just as friends.” Harcourt rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have worn such a beautiful dress for him if I was you, Miss Roberts.”

  I didn’t miss how Harcourt referred to the dress itself and not the person in it. I got that a lot, people often complimented what I was wearing, or doing or saying without managing to attach me to it.

  “It was the perfect excuse to wear it,” I answered.

  I wasn’t dressed up to try to lure Cornwall back for a second date, it was just the only thing I owned I could call ‘fancy’.

  “What do you do, Miss Roberts?” Heronsgate asked.

  I could have hugged the man for changing the topic even as I bit my tongue against my automatic answer of 'as little as possible'.

  “I work for the Pre-Pause Society in restoration and preservation. Sounds complicated and impressive but basically I catalogue and value Pre-Pause antiques which are then sent on to museums and stately homes to be put on display.”

  “Do you do any of the restoration work yourself?” He asked.

  “No. I do the administrative work for a small team of very talented people,” I smiled.

  “Speaking as an administrator,” Adams offered. “Juggling paperwork and appointments is a lot harder than people realise.”

  “I value every dedicated moment of your time,” Heronsgate smiled.

  “Be careful, Greyson, it sounds like he wants something,” South warned.

  My mouth very nearly dropped open, I didn’t doubt that in some way Heronsgate had a sense of humour and whenever he did an interview he was always the picture of relaxed confidence and charm, but to be comfortable enough to tease and make fun of one the most influential people on the planet?

  I decided that South was very brave, definitely a little crazy, but brave none the less.

  Luckily, a waiter approached us before I could make a fool of myself and we were guided towards the other end of the room where a pair of double doors had been opened to allow people into the restaurant itself. We were led down a set of low stairs covered in a rich blue carpet, the dining hall itself was long and thin, and the table and chairs followed the same décor as the bar. It was low lit with shallow wall lamps of pale white lights.

  Tea-lights flickered from inside the table decorations, classical music played low and unobtrusively in the background and there was even a small dance floor tucked neatly to one side. However, the one thing in the room that drew everyone’s attention was the wall on the left-hand side, which was a long section of plate glass without reinforcements of any kind that I could see which allowed an unbroken view of the Thames beyond that.

  Strategically placed little lights shone out into the river and the early evening summer sun landing full on the water from above cast natural dancing lights against the walls and interior of the restaurant. The water was clean but murky as the silt and sand of the riverbed swirled with the tide, and as we watched, a shoal of small fish swam past.

  The waiter took us to a long table where South thanked him for the quick work he had done to organise moving the table Cornwall and I would have been sitting at to the end of theirs.

  Cornwall rather graciously held out my chair, the act ruined by his smirk, and I found myself next to him, across from Harper with Adams next to him. Harcourt sat next to Adams, while Heronsgate sat next to Cornwall with South at the end of our row. Heronsgate hadn’t really taken his gaze off the window or the view and I had the distinct impression he was looking for the reinforcements as I had and was wondering if it would be impolite to ask to eat upstairs and away from the water.

  “Henry,” South complained. “It’s not going to break.”

  “I feel like I’m in a goldfish bowl,” he replied.

  “It’s different,” South answered, a smile pulling at her mouth.

  “It’s something,” Harcourt grinned.

  “You are all so dull,” South complained again, enjoying the good-natured teasing with more confidence than she had displayed before. “Next time I want to try something new

  I’m just going to come on my own.”

  “Or with Simon,” Cornwall suggested himself.

  “Or with Simon,” South agreed.

  I smiled as the waiter offered me a menu and the table fell quiet as we collectively turned our attention towards dinner.

  I felt as intimidated by the menu as I had with the company, it was set in a leather-bound folder with each page containing a different course and it had no prices, which I knew meant that I was going to be grateful that Cornwall was paying. The whole thing was decorated in gold leaf and looked like it cost more than my years salary to produce.

  The atmosphere at the table was light and friendly but had moved on to new season fashions, charity galas and business ventures, no-one looked at me or asked my opinion and I didn’t offer any. I had a uniform for work and a wardrobe full of odd mismatching items I wore because they were comfortable or I liked the colours. They mention attending events like the one the PPS often held but unlike them I would work behind the scenes or as a guide, I wasn’t involved with business or the stock market, I got my monthly payslip and promptly spent it.

  When the waiter came back around he took the ladies orders first, naturally I was last. I went with a Ceaser salad to start, I skipped the soup course and went for the lemon sorbet instead, followed by a whole skate wing in a cream and butter sauce, seasonal vegetables and a non-alcoholic summer fruit cocktail.

  After the men had placed their orders Cornwall coaxed Harcourt out of her chair and onto the dance floor and easily into a complicated step and twist dance popular with the elves.

  Heronsgate had fallen into quite an intimate conversation with South about her book, which left me abandoned at the end of the table with Adams and Harper.

  “Do you dance, Miss Roberts?” Adams asked, thankfully breaking the tense silence that had befallen the three of us while we struggled to think of a topic would could all get behind.

  “I can waltz,” I answered.

  Almost everyone could manage a few steps of one formal dance or another. Dance was a very popular pasttime on Favlas with different Factions and Races each having their own unique steps for friendship, family, love and heartbreak.

  “Straight waltz?” Harper asked.

  Modern Earthling dance had become a mix of the Pre-Pause Ballroom steps and Favlian influence. Anyone who could dance to the Pre-Pause rules and standard was known as being able to dance ‘straight’.

  “I am afraid I am rather immersed in anything Pre-Pause,” I smiled.

  “My son dances straight,” Harper replied.

  I nearly blanched, I had forgotten that the man sitting across from me had two children not much older than I was. Sarah Harper was constantly in the tabloids having been seen at one party or another, though I couldn’t remember what she did for a living, Frederick Harper was a ballet dancer.

  “He’s on Broadway at the moment isn’t he?” Adams asked.

  “Yes,” Harper agreed his smile proud. “But he is coming to the West End in a few days to kick off the Festival Celebrations here.”

  “The straight ballet of Sleeping Beauty. He is dancing with Teresa Purcell,”

  remembered.

  “You have tickets?” Adams queried.

  On opening night? Was he mad? Only people like his boss could get tickets for the red carpet event at the beginning of the Pause Festival.

  “No, it’s being televised though, I’ve seen the adverts.”

  “Me too,” Harper smiled. “Freddie was a bit embarrassed by them.”

  The waiter came back around with our starters, poured everyone a glass of water and moved on. My salad was fresh and delicious, with small, toasted croutons and the whole thing had been tossed in a generous amount of sauce, anchovies and flakes of Parmesan cheese so I wasn’t surprised when Cornwall’s fork snuck onto my plate and scooped up a bite of cheese, sauce and croutons.

  Food was important to wil
dlings; the animal instincts that they shared their souls with saw it as something that was only shared between family and very close friends. Though my friendship with Cornwall was only a few months old, he had always been comfortable in displaying his animal nature and as during our first meeting we had spent the time swapping snacks and sweets. Sharing food was always something that we did almost without thinking now.

  Adams scowled in a disappointed sort of way as if my friendship and comfort with Cornwall’s nature was inherently wrong somehow but I shrugged it off, thankful that I hadn’t taken his approach as an invitation, hadn’t disgraced myself by flirting and that I didn’t have to worry about his excuses over latte come the morning.

  I surprised myself by falling into an easy conversation with Harper, maybe it was because he was old enough to be my father and there was no pressure. Or he might just have been an excellent actor and capable of disguising how he really felt and what he found interesting, but whatever the reason he seemed genuinely curious about my work and let me tell him about the new exhibition I was involved in covering the upcoming Pause Festival, and the excavations on Favlas I wanted to visit. In return he described several Pre-Pause electrical gadgets he had had passed down as family heirlooms and the kind of condition they were in.

  I often wondered what our ancestors would have thought it they had known that their everyday electronics would eventually end up as covered historic artefacts. They would probably have thought we were crazy to value them.

  Harper was very animated about his son and told me about the dance competitions he had won when he had been growing up and how proud he was that his son's performances continued to get better and better.

  The main courses were served and everyone gave up on conversation to enjoy dinner.

  Once again Cornwall’s fork found its way onto my plate, scraping along the skate wing taking a sizeable strip of flesh he hummed in pleasure as he tasted my dinner.

  “Good?” I asked.

  “Very.”

  “Maybe you’ll let me eat it then?” I asked.

  Harper chuckled and Cornwall rolled his shoulders completely undeterred. I very deliberately pulled my plate a couple of inches further away from the wilding.

  I didn’t want to share my fish.

  My request and my movement were ignored as barely a minute later Cornwall scooped up another mouthful of my dinner.

  “Simon,” I complained, remembering to pitch my voice low enough not to disturb the other diners.

  “What? It’s good.”

  “I’d also like to eat it.”

  “Then eat faster,” he teased.

  “Or you could back off?” I suggested.

  Cornwall had never pushed like this before and I didn’t find it as funny as he seemed to, his return smile had more than one sharp fang in it and appeared more of a challenge than a share in a joke.

  Another mouthful later Cornwall’s fork was back and I decided to get my own back by stabbing my fork through one of the grilled baby octopus on his seafood platter and ignoring his snarl of dissatisfaction as I put the whole thing in my mouth. It was tender and soft and had been delicately flavoured with lemon and I only resisted going in for another at the black and angry look on Cornwall’s face.

  “Eat faster,” I suggested.

  Cornwall moved his plate away from my reach and deciding that I had proven my point I turned back to enjoy my dinner only for Cornwall to intercept the move. Pushing my fork away and helping himself to the piece I had been aiming for, all the while engaging an uncomfortable looking South in light hearted conversation about how they had first met.

  A little voice inside my head told me to just let him have his way, it told me he was acting out of character and that something was probably wrong and by fighting back I was only going to make it worse and likely regret the outcome. On top of which this wasn’t really the time, the place, or the company to assert my independence in our friendship. But I decided to ignore it, I wasn’t the pushover Cornwall thought I was and I wasn’t going to let him get away with walking all over me because something was pushing his inner animal's buttons.

  I put down my fork, picked up my spoon and waited, Cornwall continued talking to South and ignoring me, so when he stole food again he didn’t notice my move until the spoon struck his hand hard across the back of his knuckles.

  Under normal circumstances a wildling, with their faster healing, wouldn’t have given the strike a second thought, but though my hand was holding the spoon it was with my telekinetic ability that I aimed and attacked with. It allowed me to reinforce the spoon and move it with greater speed and force so that when metal met knuckles Cornwall let out a yelp of surprise and pain and dropped his fork snatching his hand back to rub his knuckles.

  “What was that for?!” Cornwall snapped.

  “Stealing my dinner,” I answered calmly, trying to remind him that he was bringing attention to the table.

  “Your dinner? “ Cornwall scoffed. “Like you could afford to pay for it.”

  Harcourt sucked in a swift started breath and I shouldn’t have been surprised by either his direct attack or the fact it had claws and they went in deep and gouged painfully across my confidence.

  I had asked for it really when I had fought back.

  “You're right. This is out of my pay grade,” I put the spoon on the table and got up with as much dignity as I could muster. “Enjoy your meal, Mr Cornwall.”

  I nodded to the rest of the party and walked away, thankfully just getting out of earshot as Cornwall began to apologise for my behaviour.

  # # #

  Night Terrors was a Dependant haunt in Soho.

  It was not to be confused with an Earthling pub that would serve alcohol, food, played music and everyone went for the relaxed atmosphere and a good time.

  It was not to be confused with a Favlian Companionship club with the pay by the hour rooms above. Where people could go and pass the time in any way they wished, be it with alcohol, dancing, sex, Essence or blood.

  It was not to be confused with an Essence or Blood Bars where anyone could go to share Spells, magic, Essence, Bespelling or blood without the flirting or casual sex shared in the Companionship bars.

  Night Terrors specialised in serving Blood Dependants, it had enchantments laced through its dark wood walls and furniture that instilled a bone shattering fear in the average person. People often crossed the street rather than pass by its windows, those who dared to step inside usually wouldn’t make it through the entrance before they scuttled in the other direction. Even the magical or Eternal creatures of Favlas, who knew what this place was, found it difficult to circumvent the security of the enchantments and those who did find their way within usually ran out again within minutes fearing for their lives.

  Of course these Spells and wards didn’t affect the already dead Dependants who were reanimated like the vampires of Earthling Pre-Pause literature they lived on ingesting blood. The Dependants who frequented Night Terrors didn’t hurt anyone who wasn’t one of their Eternal Faction if someone found their way inside, but they would usually place quiet bets on how long they could withstand the wards.

  The Spells were there as a way of keeping the bar quiet and exclusive. It was a place for Dependants to come to for some peace without being propositioned by people looking for the high of a Bespelling and the reportedly exquisite pleasure of their Bite. It was a place where they didn’t have to disguise their age and could carry on conversations with friends who could argue in circles for hundreds of years on end.

  Of course, there were exceptions to every rule, and sometimes people without any sense of self-preservation found their way inside. Most of the time these people weren’t even aware the place was enchanted. If they were and they could stomach the oppressive atmosphere for more than a few minutes, then they quickly found that there was no food, spirits or beer on offer. If and non-Dependant intended to stay they had to pay a fee to do so, and that once they had a chair they w
ould be promptly ignored.

  Dependants were just that; they didn't eat or drink anything other than fresh blood. Once the liquid had cooled in a bag it was no longer edible so keeping it on tap for patrons wasn't an option. I had always wondered why they had a bar, and a man prowling behind it when the Dependants who visited the place couldn't order blood to go. But they kept the set up as if they took comfort from the familiar nature of the surroundings. Instead, the bar owners had to charge its patrons for the use of a chair, it was the only way they had to pay the rent on the property.

  Rumours circulated that the Dependant Council continued to experiment with donated

  blood in order to discover why stored blood didn't nourish them but as yet they hadn't

  disclosed any of their data, and as there wasn't a line of Dependants at the bar queuing for food I had to assume they had failed in their endeavours.

  I had found my way inside Night Terrors three years ago.

  I did have a healthy sense of self preservation but my telekinetic ability was strong enough for me to be able to formulate solid ‘walls’ of air partials less than a finger in thickness meaning that nothing, and no-one, could touch or get near me unless I permitted it. On top of which I could easily pick up objects that were on the other side of the room, nailed down or even thousands of times my own weight and accurately throw them at people, so there wasn’t a lot I actually feared.

  I had liked the place the minute I had stepped inside.

  I had just suffered another depressing coffee house let down and had wandered in an obscure pattern through London’s back streets in the general direction of home before ducking into what I thought had been a bar to drown my sorrows in.

  I had registered that it had a very unfriendly feel about it but once I had been noticed by the few patrons that had been scattered about I had felt the need to suffer one drink rather than cowardly slink away. Instead there was no drink to be had and I had been charged to sit on a stool at the bar.

  It hadn’t changed in three years, the floor, tables, chairs and decorations were all varnished wood, and the walls weren’t wallpapered but instead were decorated with pleats of thick over-lapping cotton in a rich plum purple, leaving the room dark and spooky to match the atmosphere of the wards.