Chapter Eleven

 

If I thought that I could take things easy now that my position as runner had been swept away at the whim of Armstrong and Belinda Battenapple, I was sorely mistaken. Barry the producer whisked me over to a dilapidated trailer where the legal team were located. They immediately abandoned their paperwork about the company’s lack of responsibility should any death and dismemberment occur for any and all crew members, and threw various wads of legalese at me to sign.

‘This is a waiver for any injury caused by your own actions. This is a waiver for any injury caused by the actions of other contestants. This is a waiver for any injury caused by marauding zombies.’

Okay, I was kidding about the last one but, given what other contingencies they’d prepared for, I was surprised that monsters weren’t included on the list. I wondered whether that meant my family would get compensation if a member of the walking dead ate me. Given how many bits of paper I had to sign, it seemed unlikely.

I’d have read through everything if the first paragraph of the first sheet hadn’t given me a headache. I had the feeling that it was designed to be as complex and incomprehensible as possible. In the end I gave up trying to be responsible and scribbled my name on everything they put in front of me.

Barry appeared positively giddy. He seemed to think that my magical powers meant I’d have a sure-fire ticket to the finale. If I did well he did well, or so he kept telling me. As if I cared.

He skipped me along from one person to the next. When he led me in the direction of Wardrobe, however, I began to protest. ‘I think what I’m wearing is fine,’ I told him.

He didn’t pay me any attention. ‘Don’t be silly! We want to make you a star, darling.’

We did not want that at all. With considerable reluctance, I allowed him to drag me into the tent. Apparently the women there had been forewarned because Barry’s delight was nothing compared to their glee. The woman who’d shrieked hellfire at me for daring to alter Harriet’s clothes had a particularly nasty gleam in her eye.

‘Well, well, well,’ she purred. ‘Look who’s now a contestant!’ She drew me in close and whispered in my ear, ‘I hope you get voted out first, you little harlot.’

Harlot? I wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. That was until she reached out for my costume.

‘We’ve thought long and hard about what would suit you best in the ten minutes since we were informed of your new status. And we know exactly what will work for you.’ She held up what could only be described as a scrap of fabric. ‘Mr Bellows was kind enough to bespell it for us so that you can’t alter it with your magic.’ She sneered the last word, somehow forgetting that this was supposed to be a magic show.

I doubted whether Bellows’ magic would withstand what I could produce if I really wanted to, but I had the feeling that if I tried to change my designated outfit I’d be given something far worse. Not that there could be much that was worse than this, I thought miserably.

Wardrobe Lady all but threw it at me. ‘Go on, then. Go and get changed. Time is ticking away!’ She let out a peal of laughter. At least the others looked slightly guilty at what they were forcing me into.

Was it too late to back out now? I frowned down at the poor excuse for clothing and shrugged. ‘It’s stunning,’ I lied. ‘I’m so lucky!’

Her smile faltered. ‘Glad you like it.’ Her voice hardened. ‘Put it on.’

I plodded round to the changing area. The dress looked as if it were about two sizes too small for me. I stripped off and squeezed into it. Make that three sizes too small. It was a strange combination of something Snow White would wear coupled with a dominatrix’s favourite costume.

I stared down at my cleavage. Enchantment was supposed to be a family show. Not only did I look as if my breasts were about to fall out at any moment but I also had a built-in leather corset contraption to contend with. The bottom section only reached mid-thigh, but if I hiked it down to cover some of my wobbly flesh all I succeeded in doing was displaying more skin up top. The billowy sleeves were sort of pretty, I supposed, but they were made from sheer material. We were in the Highlands! How was I going to get any protection from the notoriously wet Scottish weather while wearing this?

‘Are you ready?’ Wardrobe Lady called out.

I grimaced and drew back my shoulders. I wasn’t going to let her break me. I’d flaunt this ridiculous garb to the very best of my ability. With my head held high, I strutted out.

Even Barry appeared shocked. He didn’t know where to look: his eyes drifted from my face to my chest and back again. He eventually fixed his gaze on a midpoint around my collarbone. ‘That’s, uh, that’s pretty.’

Wardrobe Lady tapped her mouth. ‘Something’s missing.’

Several yards of fabric?

She squinted and then her expression cleared. ‘I know!’ She bent down, reached into a chest and drew out a pair of knee-high boots. With stiletto heels.

‘No.’ I folded my arms across my chest. Even I had limits. I wouldn’t be able to walk three feet in those things without toppling over.

Wardrobe Lady smiled. ‘Yes. I’m in charge here, darling.’

I shook my head. ‘This show needs me more than I need it. No heels. If you’re that desperate to get your revenge on me by making me wear this, fine. I’ll let you have your moment. But I won’t put on those shoes.’

Her mouth tightened fractionally. Whether it was because I’d called her out on her petty plan or because I was refusing to tramp around muddy Scottish moors in those boots, I wasn’t sure. She’d be sorry if she ended up getting her face eaten off because I couldn’t get to her in my heels in time for a rescue.

Seeming to realise that she’d gone too far, she relented. ‘Fine,’ she snapped. She reached into the chest again and took out some ballet pumps. ‘Will these do her highness?’

Nah. Too flimsy. I glanced over her shoulder and spotted a heavy, scuffed pair of Doc Martens. ‘I’ll take those.’

Wardrobe Lady opened her mouth to refuse so I forestalled her. ‘You’ve seen a tiny amount of what I’m capable of,’ I said softly. ‘But changing a few seams isn’t what I’m really good at. My magic skills are far beyond anything you can imagine. You might think you know magic from working on Enchantment. The truth is that you don’t have a clue.’ To emphasise my point and make sure she didn’t mistake my meaning, I added a close-mouthed smile. It didn’t reach my eyes.

Wardrobe Lady swallowed. ‘I think those will look good,’ she said eventually.

I clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Great minds think alike!’ I bent down and put them on. A perfect fit.

Gazing in the mirror I decided that, despite her best efforts, I looked rather cool. The Doc Martens made me seem more like a grunge princess than a showy hooker. At least that’s what I was going to tell myself.

When I finally left the trailer, with Barry still firmly by my side, a gust of cold air immediately gave me a serious bout of goose pimples. And it was clear from my producer’s embarrassed cough that the flimsy material was doing little to hide my reaction to the cold in other areas as well.

I spotted Winter on the far side of the set. He glanced over and beckoned me. It took him a moment but, when he finally realised what I was wearing, his mouth slowly dropped open.

‘We need to get to make-up,’ Barry told me.

‘Just give me a minute. Stay here.’

‘But…’

I ignored his protests and set off. When I reached Winter, he was trying hard not to stare. I twirled for full effect, almost losing my balance in the process. Winter reached out and grabbed me before I fell over. Slightly breathless, I grinned at him. ‘Whaddya think?’

Winter’s jaw worked. ‘What…?’ For once he was lost for words.

‘I’ve been press-ganged into becoming a contestant,’ I informed him. ‘I think I’m to play the role of evil slut.’ I grinned at him. ‘Of course, I’m sure you know where the word slut comes from.’

‘Huh?’ He blinked rapidly.

‘Slut,’ I said, rather enjoying myself. ‘What’s the etymology of the word?’

Winter shook his head in disbelief. ‘I have no idea. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about.’

‘Well,’ I informed him airily, ‘technically it’s of dubious origin and possibly generates from the German word schlutt meaning slovenly woman. But there’s also an argument to be made for the Swedish term slata which translates as idle woman.’ I beamed triumphantly. ‘It’s like these people see right through me.’

Winter’s mouth flattened into a grim line. ‘I can see right through you! Right through that dress anyway. You can’t wear that!’

‘Wardrobe Lady made me put it on. She doesn’t like me very much.’

Winter looked even more annoyed. ‘Every man on set will be leering at you!’

I shrugged. ‘That’s their problem. Not mine.’

‘It’s…’ He suddenly halted. ‘Hang on,’ he said slowly. ‘What did you say? You’re a contestant?

‘It was either that or be thrown off set.’ I tried to look apologetic. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, this is brilliant. Well done, Ivy.’

I smiled again. ‘Thank you.’ Then I hesitated. ‘Why is it brilliant?’

‘We’ve not been able to get close to any of the contestants. After Alberts was killed, I’m sure the police interviewed them all but the Order hasn’t been given access. Considering it was a contestant who was murdered, and that the contestants are all here ostensibly because they can use at least some magic, it’s quite possible that one or more of them is involved.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Even if they’re not, they might still be targeted by our would-be necromancer. If you’re one of them, you’ll be able to investigate them and protect them at the same time.’

I hate multi-tasking. ‘Or I could make them all my bitches and have them running at my beck and call.’

Winter frowned in exasperation. ‘Did you see the papers this morning? Someone has been talking to the press. Not to mention allegedly buying cigarettes for some children. You should take some time before this afternoon to find out who. Anyone who would stoop that low is bound to have sneakier plans. Perhaps not necromancy, but it’s a slippery slope to evil, Ivy.’

‘Mmm.’ I started to fidget. I needed to change the subject. ‘Do we have any information on who our zombie was?’

Winter muttered something under his breath at the z word. ‘He was a local man who died just over two years ago in a farming accident. I have spoken to his family and there’s no magical connection with them and no reason to believe he was specifically targeted. The Order will keep looking into it but I don’t think we’re going to draw any leads that way.’ He shrugged. ‘All indications suggest his rising was due to chance and perhaps opportunity. There is nothing to suggest he was chosen for a reason.’

For some reason that disturbed me more than if his body had been specifically selected. Lack of clear motive meant that the person behind this could have much grander designs for bringing the dead back to life. Grander designs that I doubted would be warm or fluffy for the rest of us. I tugged at the bodice of my dress, irritated by the scratchy material, and sighed.

‘Do you really have to wear that?’ Winter enquired.

‘It’s not that bad.’

He harrumphed. ‘You look like you’re serving yourself up on a platter.’

Wincing slightly, I smoothed down the skirt. ‘Let’s not talk about humans as food while there are zombies around, shall we?’

‘I told you,’ he began, ‘it’s not zomb—’

‘What gives?’ Moonbeam marched over, interrupting Winter and glaring at me. ‘I’m supposed to be the replacement! All that work I put in and they chose you instead?’ His voice dripped with disdain. ‘You!’

I shrugged. ‘Unless there’s something you’re not telling us, you’re not quite what they’re looking for.’

He rose up, even more piqued than before. ‘I’m exactly what they’re looking for! I can fill any role!’

‘They want a woman, Moonbeam.’

‘I…’ He deflated. ‘Damn it.’

‘Sorry.’ I wasn’t but he looked so dejected that I figured I could say it.

Moonbeam ran a hand through his hair. ‘All that work.’ He sighed and glanced at Winter. ‘You’re the Order witch.’

Winter was staring at Moonbeam in fascination. ‘Yes, I am.’

From behind, I saw Barry desperately try to catch my eye and point to his watch. I played dumb and looked confused.

‘I’m a big fan!’ With an impressive mood change, Belinda’s son switched from looking pathetic to complete enthusiasm. ‘I love the Order! How difficult is it to get in? I can do magic, you know.’

Both Winter and I gazed at him with sudden interest. ‘Can you?’ Winter asked. ‘Have you ever performed any spells?’

‘Like raising the dead and creating an army of zombies?’ I butted in.

Winter jabbed me sharply in the ribs. ‘Ignore Ivy,’ he said with an irritated glance in my direction. ‘We used to work together and she seems to have delusions of grandeur where her magic ability is concerned.’

It was my turn to frown. ‘But you said…’ Winter’s glare intensified and I paused. ‘Yeah, okay. I’m crap at spells,’ I lied.

Moonbeam wasn’t interested. His attention was wholly on Winter. ‘You know I have friends in the Order? They’re very highly placed.’

I could tell from Winter’s expression that he was about to snap. It might have been because of Moonbeam’s overly earnest nature or the fact that he’d interrupted us. Either way, it seemed appropriate to get Moonbeam to a safe distance. The last thing any of us needed was the Order making an enemy of Belinda Battenapple’s son.

‘Time to go!’ I chirped. ‘Come on, Moonbeam! I need your help.’

He dragged his eyes away from Winter. ‘What with?’

‘Tactics,’ I said, trying to think of something that would entice the poor boy away. ‘I want to talk strategy with someone who has your intellect and capacity for dissembling.’

Moonbeam looked pleased. Thank goodness. ‘Is that Barry?’

I nodded.

‘First of all, you don’t want him as your producer,’ he said, as I linked arms with him and drew him away from a still-glowering Winter. ‘You need someone with some real bite if you want to go far.’

Again with the damned eating analogies. The only difference this time was that I couldn’t tell Moonbeam off. Winter obviously didn’t want word of last night’s zombie getting out. And it definitely had been a bloody zombie, regardless of how much he protested. ‘Tell me more,’ I murmured.

Unfortunately, Moonbeam was only too happy to oblige.

 

***

 

With his diabolical plan to usurp one of the contestants almost certainly sunk, Moonbeam seemed to have moved on to trying to take Barry’s place. Every time the producer opened his mouth, Moonbeam jumped in. He stuck to our sides like a limpet. I’d have done something to get rid of him but he actually had some useful information to impart. Besides, I was curious to know if he was aware of what his mother had hanging around her neck.

‘See,’ he said, clutching at my arm in order to emphasise his point, ‘you need to ensure you have as much camera time as possible. That means you need to be out there. Do you get me, Ivy?’

‘I have to be out there,’ I repeated. Whatever that meant.

‘Exactly. So if someone starts an argument, you step in and smooth it over.’

‘Should I start arguments?’ I enquired.

He was horrified. ‘Definitely not. That’s a sure-fire way to be voted out. You want people on your side. Both the contestants and the viewing public. It’s the only way.’

I pursed my lips. ‘What about my outfit? I think it’s a bit risqué.’

Moonbeam cast a critical eye at the dress. ‘It does show rather too much flesh,’ he agreed. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d be the one to be set up as the seductive honey pot but,’ he shrugged, ‘I guess it takes all sorts.’

Plonker. I wasn’t going to rise to his backhanded criticism, though, not when I’d finally managed to find a way to ask him about his mother. I touched my neck and assumed a wistful air. ‘I just wish they’d let me keep my necklace on. I miss its weight against my skin.’

Moonbeam drew breath, as if to jump back in with some other inane observation. I hurriedly continued before he could. ‘I saw your mum was wearing a necklace yesterday. It looked pretty.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘What? Yeah, she has a lot of jewellery.’ He rushed into his next sentence. ‘So if Barry and the other producers want you to play the part of—’

‘Where did she get it from?’ I asked, unwilling to let him change the subject. ‘I’d love to get one to match.’

‘It’s one of a kind,’ he said, tugging uncomfortably at his sleeve. ‘Besides, it’s pretty ugly. Anyway, you should—’

Moonbeam was determined to talk about something else. I was equally determined to stay on topic. ‘What’s inside it?’

‘Huh?’

‘It looks like a liquid,’ I said patiently. ‘Mercury or something.’

He tugged at his sleeve again. ‘Yeah,’ he said unconvincingly, ‘that’s what it is. Mercury.’ He checked his watch. ‘Bugger. I’d better go. I promised the boom operators I’d help them out before the opening.’ He turned and skedaddled.

I frowned, watching his departure. Moonbeam definitely didn’t want to talk about his mother’s necklace. I was sure he was lying and knew more than he was letting on. The question was why.

I didn’t have the chance to go after him and find out more. Barry leapt into the void Moonbeam had left and dragged me away. ‘The other contestants are arriving,’ he informed me. ‘You need to join them. They’ve had a couple of weeks to get to know each other, remember, so you have a lot of catching up to do.’

I lifted an eyebrow. ‘Why do you do that? Why do you let them … us … meet each other before the show?’

He spoke without thinking. ‘People are on their best behaviour when they meet someone else for the first time. Generally it takes a few days for strangers to settle down in each other’s company. Add the unfamiliar cameras into the mix, and we’d have the talent tiptoeing around each other for a full week. That doesn’t make for good television. It’s far better to make sure that everyone already knows who they like and dislike beforehand. It cuts out a lot of the boring stuff.’ He glanced at me. ‘Of course, you’ll be at an advantage. You’re the unknown quantity.’

We joined the other contestants, re-dressed in their finery. Harriet shot me an evil look, even though I was certain that she was the one who’d screwed things up by pointing the finger in my direction for her wardrobe change.

‘Oh,’ I murmured to Barry, ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. I think I’ve already made an enemy.’

When Bellows appeared, wearing his ridiculous Halloween costume again, and sniffed imperiously upon spotting me, I knew it wasn’t just Harriet I’d have to worry about. The other contestants looked at me curiously. I briefly considered telling them not to worry. I wasn’t here to win in order to carve out a career in morning television; I wanted to find the zombie master. Somehow I didn’t think that would go far in the reassurement stakes.

The macho guy ambled over, leering in my direction. ‘So you’re the newbie.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Mike.’

I put on my prettiest smile. ‘Hi, Mike!’ I trilled. For all his muscles, his handshake was surprisingly weak.

‘I like your dress,’ he told me. ‘You stick with me. I’ll keep you safe.’ He leaned down and lowered his voice. ‘I’m an expert at all this magic stuff. Last year I found a spell to hotwire cars. Now I can travel at full speed without the need for any petrol. I’m saving the planet and my money at the same time.’

Mike was obviously an idiot. ‘Except that’s impossible. You can’t mix magic and technology like that.’

He flexed his muscles and grinned at me like I was stupid. ‘That’s what the Order wants you to think.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘It’s the truth.’

‘She’s an Order witch,’ Harriet interrupted. ‘There’s no point saying anything about magic to her.’

Mike stiffened, while the other contestants stared at me. ‘You? You’re in the Order?’

‘No. But I could be if I wanted.’

‘So could I.’

No, he couldn’t. I didn’t need to present him with the entrance exams to know that any magic he possessed wasn’t worth the Order’s time. Even the lowest and weakest Neophyte would leave this plonker in the dust. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Whatever you say.’

Mike glowered at me. ‘I do say.’

I noticed that the others were shuffling away from me, as if I’d taint them by simply standing too close.

A weedy guy in a suit spoke up. ‘Do you remember Faith in series four?’ Various people nodded. ‘Well,’ he said knowledgeably, ‘she was in the Order. She was voted out in the second episode.’

I gritted my teeth. She had tried to enter the Order but failed at the first hurdle. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Bellows smirking and tried to relax. I wasn’t here to win the show, I reminded myself. If I wanted to find out anything useful, I had to be more congenial. It would do the investigation no good if everyone refused to speak to me. My movements were going to be curtailed enough now that I was a contestant and not a runner. I had to show Winter that he needed me; I just wished it didn’t have to be such hard work.

‘The Order didn’t want me,’ I said in a slightly raised voice. ‘They kicked me out. Sure, I’ve got a bit of magic in me but I bet it’s nothing compared to you lot.’ I pasted on a wistful expression. ‘I’m just here as a last-minute replacement to make up the numbers. I know I’ll be voted out quickly. That’s okay.’

An older woman, dressed in a painfully tailored power suit, smiled at me. ‘Don’t say that. If you were in the Order even for a short while you must be able to do some spells. Don’t worry about this lot. We’re all just nervous.’ Mike let out a snort. She ignored him. ‘I’m Lou.’

An ally – unless she was only pretending to be on my side so she could shaft me later. Good grief. No wonder I preferred watching Enchantment from the safety of my sofa. Being here could drive a person nuts. ‘I’m Ivy,’ I told her.

She patted my cheek in a motherly fashion. ‘You’ll be fine, Ivy.’

Trevor Bellows looked away in disgust. He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat. ‘You’ll have plenty of opportunity to judge each other’s abilities soon,’ he said, his jowls juddering as he spoke. He still looked rather pale. I fixed my attention on him, examining his tired eyes. Perhaps he really was being targeted by our nasty necromancer. He certainly didn’t look like he’d had much sleep last night. ‘Remember,’ he continued, ‘you are only to use magic when we tell you. We can’t have you lot shooting off spells and destroying half of the Scottish Highlands in your wake, now can we? I’ll be on hand to help you if you need me to. You’ll all be perfectly safe. We’ve even managed to get extra security, just to be sure.’

No wonder the set looked busier than yesterday. I guessed Enchantment weren’t taking any chances.

Another producer wandered up with a clipboard. She had an earpiece and was obviously listening to something. After a moment or two she nodded before clapping her hands together. ‘It’s time, people!’ She spoke with an odd accent that made her voice rise at the end of each sentence, a strange mixture of peppy American cheerleader and overly excited Australian soap opera star. It should be illegal to expend that much energy while speaking. ‘Follow me! We’re off to the stage!’

Lou sighed. ‘Let’s hope nobody dies this time around.’

Amen to that.