Chapter Four

 

There were three other runners besides myself. One was Amy, my helpful room-mate, while the two others looked young enough to have just stepped out of high school. I eyed the first one’s acne and shook his hand when he introduced himself with a mumble as Mazza. I sincerely doubted that was the name his parents had christened him with.

The other one was almost as posh as Tarquin, with the kind of floppy hair and expensive clothes that marked him out as defiantly upper class. I was betting that he was called George or William or Henry but, when he gave his name as Moonbeam, it took everything I had to maintain a straight face. That couldn’t be his real name – could it? He was clearly used to painful reactions at his name, judging by the way he rolled his eyes at my stifled smirk, but at least he seemed to be enjoying himself.

We hustled towards a large silver contraption that I took to be Morris Armstrong’s trailer. I did my best to stay behind the others but, with only four of us, it was obvious that I couldn’t stay hidden for long.

Moonbeam took the lead, marching up the steps and knocking on the door. There was a muffled yell from inside and he shrugged then entered with the rest of us on his heels.

The trailer’s interior was considerably more spacious and luxurious than I imagined. I gazed round in awe at the plush decorating and shiny surfaces. I could easily live like this, I decided.

I wasn’t the only one who was impressed. Mazza’s expression was something akin to a small child being introduced to ice cream for the first time. He let out a low whistle and then blushed immediately. He flicked a quick look at Amy and blushed even more. I decided that I liked him the most.

Armstrong appeared from the far end, wiping his hands on a towel. He tossed it to the floor and stared at our little group as if he’d completely forgotten the reason why he’d asked us here. Then his expression cleared. ‘You’re the runners.’

Moonbeam again stepped forward. ‘We are.’ He put out his hand. ‘I’m Moonbeam.’

Armstrong gazed at him with a blank face. ‘No, you’re not.’

‘I am. It’s a strange name but…’

The director held up a palm and Moonbeam fell silent. ‘I will not call anyone Moonbeam. You are Number One. That is what you will answer to from now on.’ He pointed at Amy then at Mazza. ‘Number Two. Number Three.’ His head turned to me. As soon as he registered my face, his mouth snapped shut.

‘Number Four,’ I offered helpfully, in case his arithmetic had suddenly deserted him.

Armstrong’s eyes narrowed. I held my breath and waited for him to throw me unceremoniously off his set. Instead he muttered something under his breath and gave a barely perceptible nod. He recognised me from the train – of that there was no doubt – but for some reason he was declining to mention it just yet.

‘Your job is going to be the most vital of all,’ he barked. ‘You might only be runners but everyone has to start somewhere. I was once like you, you know.’ His eyes took on a faraway cast as if he were fondly remembering his golden days of being a dogsbody when he didn’t have to worry about large gleaming trailers and lots of money.

Armstrong shook himself. ‘As runners, you have access to all areas. Naturally we have security on hand to deter any trophy hunters or rabid fans or,’ he shuddered, ‘the press. But that doesn’t mean that the more cunning of them will not find ways of gaining access. This is supposed to be a closed set. In my experience there is no such thing. This area was chosen because of its longstanding historical links to witchcraft. It’s certainly not the sort of place I would have chosen if I’d had the choice. There are simply too many opportunities for outsiders to sneak in. We can’t completely barricade ourselves off. More’s the pity.’

Amy nervously raised her hand. ‘Sir? Mr Armstrong?’

‘What is it?’ he barked.

‘Doesn’t everyone have identification tags?’

He drew himself up, looming over her in an almost sinister fashion. ‘That’s what makes their kind so insidious! And where you come in. One of your tasks will be keep track of those tags. You will frequently be approached by crew members who have misplaced their badges. I have already sent out an email to everyone. If your ID tag is lost, then so are you.’ He glared at her as if she’d already dared to forget her own. ‘Got that? There will be no duplications or replacements. I will not have my set sullied by anyone not of the industry who might have stolen a tag for their own ends.’

He wagged a finger at her in further admonishment. ‘Keep a particularly close eye out for anyone who might be a journalist. The last thing we want is their kind here revealing all our secrets to the world before we are ready to broadcast them.’

This time it was Moonbeam who dared to speak up. ‘What about the murder?’

‘What murder?’ Armstrong snapped with such ferocity that Mazza took a step backwards, colliding with me.

‘Er… the contestant who was…’

‘I know who you mean!’ Armstrong bellowed contrarily. ‘But what happened to him is nothing to do with us. Nothing, do you hear me? His death was unfortunate but completely unrelated to Enchantment. There will be no further discussion on this matter. Get out of my sight!’ For a moment we all just stood there. ‘Get out!’ Armstrong roared.

I twisted round and made for the door while I still had my eardrums intact.

‘Not you, Number Four! You will stay here.’

Uh-oh. I guessed I’d not managed to slide by after all. Maybe I should be grateful that I’d be fired out of earshot of the others.

I sighed and moved to the side to let them leave. Amy looked especially worried on my behalf. I gave her a small reassuring smile as she left, with Mazza biting his lip and Moonbeam blithely unconcerned. The door banged shut behind them and I tilted up my chin. Morris Armstrong might be shouty but I wasn’t intimidated. Not much, anyway.

He sank down into a chair, his heavy frame making it a tight squeeze. ‘Moonbeam,’ he muttered. ‘Where on earth do they dig these idiots up?’

I licked my lips, wondering whether I was supposed to answer him or not. Fortunately, he didn’t give me much chance. He raised his head and looked at me with suddenly tired eyes. In a flash of insight it occurred to me that, with the contestant’s death and his new role as director, he was under a great deal of pressure. If this new and supposedly improved version of Enchantment went tits up, there was no doubt that the blame would be laid firmly at his door. The revelation didn’t make me feel much sympathy for him but I did understand his violent swings between enthusiastic encouragement and terrifying rage a little bit more.

‘Ivy Wilde.’ Armstrong rolled my name round his mouth. I rather thought I’d preferred Number Four; at least then I’d been anonymous. ‘You’re a witch.’

The plain, unvarnished truth. So much for my undercover work. Still, there was no point in lying about it now. ‘I am,’ I said cautiously.

‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m a big fan of the show.’ I paused. ‘I’ve been watching it from the beginning.’

Armstrong’s lip curled. He clearly didn’t believe me for a second. ‘Who’s been your favourite contestant?’

That was easy. ‘Ally,’ I answered.

He snorted. ‘She’s everyone’s favourite.’

I couldn’t win. ‘Ask me something else.’

‘What do you think has been the greatest magic trick ever seen on the show?’

The fact that he called them tricks told me far more about him than he probably wanted me to know. ‘Most people would say the second series,’ I said in earnest, ‘when three contestants banded together and used their powers to make it snow in Knightsbridge in May.’

‘You disagree?’

‘The weather was already cool for that time of year and the snow shower was localised. Any Order Neophyte could do that. The actual best spell was series four when Jonathon was the first contestant to get voted off. He used magic to heal a cut on Becky’s finger.’

‘He slept for three days afterwards.’

‘True,’ I agreed. ‘But there are very few witches of even Second or Third Level who have mastered healing. The human body is too complex and there’s too much potential for disaster. We’re talking about knitting together skin and ensuring that blood flow isn’t hampered. In fact,’ I said, warming to my subject, ‘closing a tiny cut is harder than fixing a broken bone because of the delicate touch it requires.’

Armstrong scratched his chin. ‘Do you know what happened to Jonathon?’

Yeah, I did. ‘He entered the Order on a fast track to Second Level and he’s currently working in the depths of South America helping out the tribes there.’

Armstrong’s eyes half closed but I was aware that he was still watching me with all the attention of a hawk eyeing up a mouse. ‘Are you with the Order?’

I didn’t hesitate. ‘No.’

‘They want to come here but they don’t understand what it is that we do.’

I didn’t imagine that they did. ‘Would their desire to come here be as a result of the Benjamin Alberts’ murder?’

Armstrong opened his eyes fully again. ‘What happened to him is a terrible shame. But nothing to do with Enchantment.’

‘How do you know that?’ I pressed, half expecting to get my head bitten off and spat out for asking. ‘He was only here because of Enchantment.’

For the briefest moment Armstrong seemed to shrink into himself. ‘Because if Alberts died as a result of our show, I’m sunk before I get started.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘And the police have found no evidence to suggest his passing had anything to do with us.’

I reiterated my point. ‘Apart from the fact that he was a contestant, you mean.’

He gazed at me. ‘You seem to know a lot about what happened.’

I gestured uneasily to where the others had been standing. ‘There’s been a lot of gossip.’

Armstrong’s mouth tightened. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose there has.’ Then he apparently remembered who he was and why I was here. ‘There was an Order witch on the train yesterday.’ His voice grew hard. ‘You were on the train yesterday.’

I swallowed. At least he’d not made any reference to my allegedly smelly contagion. ‘I was.’ I made a quick decision. It was highly possible that he’d clocked me talking to Winter. ‘Adeptus Exemptus Raphael Winter. I’m sorry. He’s following me. We were temporarily forced to be partners last month and now he seems to think I’m up to no good.’ I dropped my eyes. ‘I understand if that makes my position here untenable.’

‘You think he’s here for you?’ Armstrong spoke sharply.

I looked up, mentally crossing my fingers. ‘I do think that, actually. Unless you believe he’s here because of the death.’

He folded his arms. ‘The Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment doesn’t like programmes like ours. They’d prefer to keep the magic to themselves.’

I refrained from pointing out that what Enchantment did involved such weak magic spells that the Order wouldn’t give a toss what they did, as long as their name was kept out of it. But it was time to keep my mouth shut and see what Armstrong was going to do.

‘Can I trust you, Ivy Wilde?’ he asked.

It was make or break time. I pulled back my shoulders and met his gaze. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You can. Check my background. I’m no Order flunky.’ I had no doubt that he already knew my history but it was worth mentioning to labour my point.

Armstrong rolled his tongue across his teeth and stood up. ‘You will make contact with this Winter. You will watch him and find out what he’s doing and report back to me. I won’t stand for Order interference, regardless of the circumstances.’ He glared. ‘Got that?’

I blinked rapidly. ‘Er, okay. But…’

‘Just do it. If you want to get anywhere in television, you will move every mountain to find out what he’s up to and keep me appraised.’

Winter wanted to me spy on Enchantment and report back to him and Enchantment wanted me to spy on Winter and report back to them. How very messy. I hoped that didn’t mean I’d have to work harder. There were already far too many threads to keep track of.

‘Okay. I’ll do that.’ I hesitated. ‘I might need some extra time away from my runner duties to…’

‘You’ll do it in your time off,’ Armstrong barked. ‘We don’t need the rest of the crew alerted to the fact that there’s a damned Order witch watching our every move. They’re on edge enough as it is.’

It had been worth a try, I supposed. ‘Sure. Whatever you say.’ I added a smile to show him that I was on his side but he was no longer watching. Instead, his attention was caught by something out of the window.

‘Brilliant,’ he said under his breath. ‘Just bloody brilliant.’

Before I could crane my neck to see what he was talking about, the door to Armstrong’s trailer opened and a man strolled in wearing the most extraordinary set of clothes.

Trevor Bellows. Even if I hadn’t recognised his face, his outfit would have given him away. He had on a long purple robe that didn’t look a million miles away from the outfits the Order geeks wore, except their robes didn’t generally include embroidered stars. Perched on top of his head was a conical witch’s hat with an artfully crooked tip. Frankly, I was surprised that he wasn’t carrying a broomstick. When I saw what he was holding in his arms, however, my mouth dropped open.

‘Greetings and salutations,’ Bellows said with an oddly squeaky voice that didn’t match either his attire or his demeanour.

Brutus purred.

Armstrong’s eyebrows flew up. ‘Is that a cat?’

Bellows pushed his spectacles up his nose and flashed the director a smile. ‘There’s no pulling the wool over your eyes! Why, yes.’ He held Brutus up in the air. If I tried to do that to him, I’d lose an eyeball. ‘This is indeed a cat. I need a familiar to help me with my spells and this is the perfect creature.’

I stared in astonishment as my cat delicately licked Bellows’ hand as if to show his admiration for all the world to see.

‘Where did you get it from?’ Armstrong enquired.

Good question. Bloody good question.

‘It was fate,’ Bellows said smugly. ‘When I woke up this morning, he was right there on my doorstep. Cats can sense powerful magic, you know. He was obviously drawn to me.’

I reached out one hand towards Brutus. I was going to throttle him. His head whipped towards me and he hissed.

Bellows turned to me, a glint in his eyes as he looked me up and down. Something about his expression made me feel rather grubby. ‘He doesn’t like you,’ he proclaimed. ‘Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault you don’t have magic like I do.’

My fingers curled into tight fists while Brutus looked away from me and head-butted the so-called witch’s chest in apparent adoration.

‘Who are you anyway?’ Bellows enquired. ‘I thought all the contestants were being kept away from here until filming starts.’

‘This is Ivy Wilde,’ Armstrong said. I didn’t think I was imagining his sudden hint of glee.

All suggestion of friendliness vanished from Bellows’ features. His eyes narrowed as his gaze continued to sweep me up and down. ‘You’re blonde,’ he said.

My mouth twitched. ‘Why, yes, I am.’ How … astute of him to notice.

He sniffed. ‘And messy.’

I crossed my arms. If I looked like I stuck my pinkie in an electrical socket then that was my business. ‘I had a late night,’ I said stiffly, biting back the urge to turn his elbows inside out. It would do the magical investigation no good if I offended the show’s only magical consultant.

‘Now, now children,’ Armstrong said. He was clearly enjoying every minute of this. ‘I have phone calls to make. The two of you should run along.’

Bellows pouted. Actually pouted. ‘But I want to talk to you about the plans for next week when we…’

‘Later. We’ll discuss it later.’ Armstrong grabbed both our elbows and propelled us towards the door. He glanced at me meaningfully. ‘Report to me with your first findings before filming tomorrow morning,’ he said. And that, apparently, was that.

Back outside, Bellows wasted no time. He drew in close to me, with Brutus still in his arms. ‘Listen up, girly,’ he hissed quietly to avoid being overheard. ‘No one is taking my job away from me. I’m the magical expert around here and if you so much as think about commenting or showing off or doing anything that even ventures towards a spell, you’ll be out on your ear before you can so much as say abadarabacadra.’

I blinked at him. ‘Don’t you mean abracadabra?’

‘I meant what I said. Watch your step.’ And with that, he picked up his robe and flounced off. Brutus popped his head up from over Bellows’ shoulder. I could have sworn the damn cat was smirking.