There was something about the look in his eyes that made me think he was very earnest. I nodded and tried to smile.
‘I mean it,’ he growled. ‘No matter what it is, if there’s any hint of danger then we investigate it together. Promise me.’
‘I promise,’ I whispered. Very, very reluctantly, I plodded off to the entrance of the producer’s tent. I was pretty certain that Winter watched me the entire way and I couldn’t help injecting a tiny bit of extra sashay into my stride. Unfortunately, it seemed to be about the only part of all this I had control over for now.
***
First of all, I had to sweep the floor. Then re-arrange the schedule board to show the updated version. Then make copies of the new schedule and deliver them to all the crew. When I got back to the tent just about ready to collapse, I was ushered into the main space and told to make coffee for all the producers who were sitting around a large table and too deep in discussion to manage a please or thank you.
I plonked myself down in the far corner and sat cross-legged on the floor. It was all becoming too much. I tried to will my legs to work but it wasn’t happening; instead I pushed my head back so I could see the top of the refreshments table. Then I used a quick series of runes to set out the cups and saucers.
There must have been quite a rattle of china because several of the producers’ heads turned in my direction. One blonde woman nudged the man next to her and the pair of them watched as I lazily lifted my hand. At least there was a decent-sized urn with enough hot water in it to do the trick. I ignored their stares and continued. Some of us had real work to do. The group eventually gave up on the Ivy Wilde Show and continued their discussion. I was too tired even to listen, despite their tones of worry and displeasure.
I’d just finished magically dispensing teaspoons to each saucer from my vantage point on the ground when Belinda entered with a young man who I took to be her assistant. He was holding an umbrella over her head and, rather than fold it up, he left it open. I squeaked in dismay. This might only be a tent but we were still indoors. I’d already had all the bad luck I needed for this year.
Abandoning the coffee cups, I lunged for the still-dripping brolly. The man gave me an astonished look.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ I yelled at him. ‘Don’t you know anything?’ I snapped the umbrella shut and flung it back at him. His reactions weren’t fast enough to catch it and it fell uselessly to the floor.
Belinda raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow in my direction. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I should think,’ I said through gritted teeth, no longer caring that I was talking to one of my idols, ‘that a magical show would know better than to tempt fate.’
A flicker of amusement crossed her face and she exchanged glances with the seated producers, as if to tell them that they’d employed a crazy person. Honestly. I was surrounded by idiots. Famous well-paid idiots, but idiots nonetheless.
She sat down. ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news,’ she began.
I snorted to myself. If she went around indoors with open umbrellas that was hardly surprising. I stopped paying her attention and collapsed in the corner again. My small spurt of energy meant I’d need to sit down for at least another half an hour.
Using some carefully designed runes, I transported each cup to the urn and filled it up before sending it through the air to each seated person. One by one, they all fell silent as my bippity-boppity-boo ensured they were appropriately watered.
‘What?’ I snapped. ‘You said you wanted coffee.’
Morris Armstrong, whom I’d barely noticed near the end of the table, inclined his head. ‘And we thank you for it.’ He reached down and took a sip. ‘It tastes even better for the magic.’
‘Is she with the Order too?’ asked a dapper bloke with slicked-back hair.
‘No.’
‘But…’
‘Let’s just get on with this. You say there’s bad news, Belinda?’
I continued depositing my floating cups. Belinda stared then shook herself. ‘Billy is right. The Bitch is dropping out.’
There was a loud chorus of disapproval. ‘We need her!’
‘I’ve tried. She’s adamant. Apparently she got on well with Benjamin Alberts and his untimely death has hit her hard. With what happened to Trevor’s trailer, she’s decided enough is enough and can’t be swayed. She’s already on her way home.’
Another producer hissed through his teeth. ‘She had the most magic out of this lot. Not that that’s saying much.’
‘At least she’s dropped out before filming began,’ Armstrong interjected. ‘We can use another standby.’
‘Except several of the standbys have already left too. And none of them have the temperament we’re looking for. If we don’t get the fireworks we need, this series will fall flat. We needed the Bitch to cause arguments. We needed some magic. She was a sure bet for the final and now she’s out the door and on the train.’
The woman nearest me caught my eye and pointed to the sugar. I bobbed my head and started a new dance, sending a line of sachets tipping through the air. Casting unnecessary runes like this could be exhausting but I was willing to forego some of my remaining energy for the sake of staying off my feet a little while longer.
‘Your son is champing at the bit to get in,’ Armstrong said.
‘Pah!’ Belinda flicked back her hair with such force that she almost got hit by several sugar sachets. I only just diverted them in time. ‘I won’t have him as a reality show contestant. He’s far better than that.’
‘He’s very keen…’
‘No.’ Her voice was flat and brooked no argument. ‘Besides, we need a female or there will be a gender imbalance. And we need someone who the others are going to hate.’
A tentative hand went up at the far end. It wasn’t seeking Belinda’s attention, though. ‘Could I get some milk?’
I gave a dramatic sigh of irritation and sent a little jug flying over, inadvertently spraying half of its contents across several of the others. A few of the producers leapt out of the chairs in alarm. Belinda, however, turned towards me with a brilliant smile and pointed one long, bejewelled finger. ‘She’s perfect.’
‘Ha ha.’
She tutted. ‘I’m serious. This … runner has got magic.’ She glanced at Armstrong. ‘She’s definitely not with the Order?’
‘No. I had her checked out. She has been with them in the past but she’s not now.’
Belinda nodded happily. ‘Excellent. So there’s no chance that our new resident Adeptus Exemptus can get pissed off. She’s obviously not afraid to say what she thinks. Not to mention that the other contestants will despise her for coming in at the last minute. Wasn’t there some wardrobe kerfuffle because of her as well?’
A few smiles spread across the others’ faces. ‘Yes. The Mouse hates her.’
I took ‘The Mouse’ to mean Harriet, who I’d attempted to help. Yeah. She probably did hate me – but not as much as I hated this stupid job. And there was no way I was going to be one of their contestants. I might love watching the show but I had zero desire to be part of it.
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but no thanks. Find someone else.’
Belinda rose gracefully to her feet and directed her gaze at Armstrong. ‘Make it happen,’ she declared. Then she swept out, her assistant throwing me a nervous look and scooping up the offending umbrella before dashing out after her.
With an effort, I stood up and glared. ‘I am not going to be a contestant.’
Morris Armstrong smiled at me. ‘I think the lovely Ms Battenapple is right,’ he murmured. ‘You’re perfect.’
‘No. Nuh-huh. Absolutely no way.’ I hardened my eyes, hoping he’d remember that I had a secret mission to complete for him. Just because Winter was now on the team didn’t mean I couldn’t still be a useful spy. ‘You need me for other things.’
‘Not any longer.’
I pointed at the cups. ‘Someone has to make you
coffee.’
‘I’m sure one of the other runners can do that.’
‘But…’
Armstrong held up his hand. ‘Would you rather be fêted as one of the contestants on the greatest show on earth or run around in the rain on errands?’
I’d rather lie on my sofa and eat chocolate. ‘I thought you had fond memories of your time as a runner.’
‘I lied. It’s horrific. We all know that. We’ve all been there.’ There were several murmurs of agreement from around the table. ‘This is a fast track to the top, Ivy. You’ll be amazing. You’re just what we need. You could clean and get blisters and bow and scrape. Or,’ he deepened his voice to show just what a fabulous opportunity I was supposedly getting, ‘you could be a contestant on Enchantment. Do you know how many applicants we get?’
‘So choose one of them.’
‘We don’t have time. You’ll have a far easier time on the show than behind the scenes.’
He had a point. But it would be hard to do any proper investigating if I were being filmed at every moment. Winter probably wouldn’t like it either.
‘Nope. Still not doing it.’
Armstrong stood up. ‘Do you want to be here?’
Not really. Not with zombies running around the place. ‘Yes.’
‘Then become a contestant.’ He shrugged. ‘Or get out.’
Arse. His eyes didn’t waver. He wasn’t bluffing. ‘But Adeptus Exemptus Winter…’ I began.
‘I’ll worry about him from now on. It’s not as if you’ve told me anything about him yet anyway. He probably found out about the pentagram in Trevor Bellows’ trailer from you.’
I was prevented from giving an answer by Mazza, who burst in with a newspaper in his hands. ‘I was told to show you this!’ he gasped breathless.
I glanced at the headline. Battenapple’s Horror. I peered closer. It appeared to be a story about how disturbed she was by the death of Benjamin Alberts. My heart sank when I spotted the photo underneath the headline of two familiar teenage boys who were quoting a ‘special on-set source’. Bloody hell.
Armstrong transformed in an instant. His cheeks puffed out and a vein started bulging in his forehead. ‘Where did this come from?’ he yelled. ‘This is supposed to be a closed set! When I find out who has talked, I will rip them a new one!’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll be your new contestant.’ I forced a grin. ‘It’ll be better than being a runner, right?’
Half of the seated producers exchanged knowing looks. I had a feeling I’d just swapped one horrific job role for something far, far worse but I couldn’t allow myself to be thrown off set – Winter needed me. And now that the issue of necromancy meant I had more of an inkling about how bad things could get, I couldn’t abandon my favourite TV show to flesh-eating monsters. I’d have nothing to watch for months.
Armstrong pointed to the well-dressed fellow who’d first asked about the Order. ‘Barry, you’re her new producer. Get her ready for this afternoon.’ He stomped over to Mazza and snatched the newspaper from his hands. ‘This is ridiculous!’
Barry, it appeared, didn’t want to stick around any more than I did. He loped over to me and grabbed me by the elbow. ‘Come on, darling. Let’s go.’
I let him lead me out of the tent. Even though I was escaping the wrath of Armstrong, there was a horrible sinking sensation in my stomach. Just what exactly was I letting myself in for now?
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 che
st 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.