𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐦 | 𝐜.𝐝 𝐟𝐟

𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙢, 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚.

My fingers stumbled over the keypad, making mistakes. I had to backspace and start again. I concentrated only on the buttons this time, carefully pressing each one in turn. I was successful. I held the phone to my ear with a shaking hand. It rang only once.

"Hello, Zayra," that easy voice answered. "That was very quick. I'm impressed."

"Is my mom all right?"

"She's perfectly fine. Don't worry, Zayra, I have no quarrel with her. Unless you didn't come alone, of course." Light, amused.

"I'm alone." I'd never been more alone in my entire life.

"Very good. Now, do you know the ballet studio just around the corner from the airport?"

"Yes. I know how to get there."

"Well, then, I'll see you very soon."

I hung up.

I apparated from the bathroom, just in time before someone had walked in.

I felt so slow, like I was travelling through wet sand. I couldn't have travelled faster, but yet I felt like I was hindered by dry mud. I arrived at the dark and empty lobby. The plastic molded chairs were stacked along the walls, and the carpet smelled like shampoo. The west dance floor was dark, I could see through the open viewing window. The east dance floor, the bigger room, was lit. But the blinds were closed on the window.

Terror seized me so strongly that I was literally trapped by it. I couldn't make my feet move forward.

And then my mother's voice called.

"Zayra? Zayra!" That same tone of hysterical panic. I sprinted to the door, to the sound of her voice.

"Zayra, you scared me! Don't you ever do that to me again! " Her voice continued as I ran into the long, high-ceilinged room.

I stared around me, trying to find where her voice was coming from. I heard her laugh, and I whirled to the sound.

There she was, on the TV screen, tousling my hair in relief. It was Christmas, and I was twelve. We'd gone to see my grandmother in Sheffield, the last year before she died.

We went to the beach one day, and I'd leaned too far over the edge of the pier. She'd seen my feet flailing, trying to reclaim my balance. "Zayra? Zayra!" she'd called to me in fear.

And then the TV screen was blue.

I turned slowly. He was standing very still by the back exit, so still I hadn't noticed him at first. In his hand was a remote control. We stared at each other for a long moment, and then he smiled at me.

He walked toward me, quite close, and then passed me to put the remote down next to the VCR. I turned carefully to watch him.

"Sorry about that, Zayra, but isn't it better that your mother didn't really have to be involved in all this?" His voice was courteous, kind.

And suddenly it hit me. My mother was safe. She was still in England. He took this tape from my locker, where I hid most of my memories.

"Yes," I answered, my voice saturated with relief.

"You don't sound angry that I tricked you."

"I'm not." My sudden high made me brave. What did it matter now? It would soon be over. Dad and Mom would never be harmed, would never have to fear. I felt almost giddy. Some analytical part of my mind warned me that I was dangerously close to snapping from the stress.

"How odd. You really mean it." His dark eyes assessed me with interest. The irises were nearly black, just a hint of ruby around the edges. Thirsty. "I will give your strange coven this much, you humans can be quite interesting. I guess I can see the draw of observing you. It's amazing — some of you seem to have no sense of your own self-interest at all."