The Winter Phoenix (WAYHAUGHT)

Journey Begins

Why was it always the last customer?

Nicole spotted the young woman waving to flag her down. Gone eleven o'clock on a wet winter's night in London's West End, she hadn't intended stopping for anyone else. As the woman opened the door of the taxi a sharp gust brought with it the rain, Nicole cursing under her breath as the person climbing in the back dripped water over the seat and the floor.

"What brings you out on a night like this?" Nicole asked, failing to hide her irritation.

"I needed to speak with the soothsayer," the woman replied, the hood of a cloak covering her face.

"Where to?"

The woman lowered the garment from her head, Nicole glancing in the rearview mirror, struck by the delicate features of whoever was travelling on such a foul night. "The City of Angels, I beg you."

Nicole's brain whirred into action. City of Angels. Probably a pub, most likely a new one, drawing a blank on where it might be. "Sorry, I'll need a road name. Not heard of that one."

She wanted to ask her passenger why she needed an after-hours drinking venue. Then again, it was none of her business. Her job was to ferry people, not discuss someone's life choices. She felt the woman's gaze on her, looking again in the mirror. For a split second she could have sworn she recognised whoever this person was, like a face picked out in a crowd only to find they're not the person you think they are. "Take me to the gate which is high on the hill," the woman instructed. "The one to the west, where the many rest."

"You don't mean Highgate Cemetery? Bit late isn't it. The place will be closed."

"If that's what it is called, then take me there. And, hurry. I don't have much time."

Nicole pulled away from the curb, the windscreen wipers flicking frantically in a bid to remove the water cascading down glass. Car lights glared, bedraggled pedestrians sought shelter under brollies, or in doorways, on a night when no living soul should be out, let alone a young woman wanting to be taken to a creepy Victorian cemetery on the other side of the city.

And, what was with all the poetic description? All she had to say was Highgate Cemetery please. And, step on it. Nicole's gut told her she should have driven past, left the next taxi take this woman to wherever she needed to go. But no, damsel in distress and I'm there, every flippin' time.

Nicole sighed audibly without meaning to, glancing again at her passenger. Early twenties she guessed, possibly five or so years younger, wearing what could only be described as a cape more suited to someone in their eighties, a badly dressed octogenarian at that. Not in the least bit fashionable, if such an outer garment ever was fashionable. Not that Nicole could claim the upper hand in the fashion stakes, her own clothes a mix of comfort and convenience, having to sit all evening behind a wheel.

As they neared the cemetery the woman pulled the hood over her head once more. Extracting a small purse from a pocket in the cape, she edged forward on the seat as if preparing to leap from the vehicle as soon as it stopped. An uneasiness prickled Nicole, wondering if this stranger might flee without paying, or worse ask her to wait. She did neither, handing over a twenty pound note, thanking Nicole as she opened the door. Before Nicole could give the woman her change she had exited, forced to lower her window despite the icy wind and torrential rain lashing the side of the vehicle.

"You forgot this," she said, holding out a handful of coins. "Is...is everything okay? You seem lost."

The woman stared directly at Nicole, giving the impression she wanted to tell her something, something very important. Without uttering a single word she turned, running in the opposite direction, disappearing into the shadows.