Sadie Madison and the Boy in the Crimson Scarf

14 | The Invitation

Every nose in the Madison house tipped up, sniffing joyously at the festive aroma bleeding from the kitchen. The smell of Christmas drifted to the landing, where Sadie and Oliver stood, peering over the bannister at all the people below.

"Ah, here she is," said Michael in a loud voice. "The remarkable, the sensational, the miraculous and talented...Miss Sadie Madison!"

Sadie felt like the main attraction at a circus being presented to the crowd.

A performing seal, a dancing pony, a sad little clown.

Descending the stairs as gracefully as she knew how, Sadie edged past her ardent admirers while awkwardly balancing the breakfast tray. She passed it to her father who looked down at the empty bowl and gave her a half-smile. "Good...girl," he said, the words catching on his tongue.

Hundreds of eyes followed her into the library.

Sadie settled her skirts, licked both hands and attempted to flatten her tousled hair.

As she nestled onto the piano stool, a brilliant light flashed, disorientating her, angering the throb in her head.

A pictographer, brandishing a wide moustache that curled up at the edges, smiled playfully. "He's getting a shot for the Iron Bridge Illustrated News," said a middle-aged woman, emerging from the crowd like a blooming flower.

She wore a vivid purple suit over a lime blouse, buttoned tight under her chin. Her white-gold hair had been scraped back in a topknot, her face long and sharp, her mouth a dark thin line. In her small hands, whose nails were decorated with dark green polish, she held a bundle of papers, a pencil poised.

"I'm going to be in the newspaper?" Sadie asked, still dazzled by the flash.

"Of course," the woman replied. "Take a look around. Quite the sensation. We're not sure whether to put you under Entertainment or Miracles," she laughed, scribbling spidery words. "Cassandra Monkford-Corpse," she said, introducing herself. "Reporter. Nosey-parker. Your new best friend." She held out a hand. Sadie shook it softly. "Now, tell me. Any plans to perform on the wireless? Perhaps the National Broadcast?"

"New best friend?" Sadie echoed, her voice a whisper.

Murmurs of discontent rumbled through the house. Cassandra waved a theatrical hand to silence them. "How did this all happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Practice? Natural ability? Talent? Magic?"

"A story," Sadie answered cautiously, looking past Cassandra for her father's reassuring face. "Grandfather William."

"Ah, so your grandfather taught you?" Cassandra concluded. "Is he a magician?"

Sadie shook her head. The black flecks were creeping onto the edge of her vision again. Sickening pain surged through her. "I've never met him," she answered, which made Cassandra stop mid-scribble.

The audience mumbled their discontent once again, more forcefully this time. "I'm sorry," the reporter muttered, clearly annoyed she'd got precious little from Sadie. "Not to worry though, I can fill in the blanks." She stared at Sadie, her eyes hard and penetrating. "Mustn't keep you from your audience." She nodded slightly. "Oh, and have a magical Christmas and a wonderful New Year, my lovely."

Cassandra vanished into the audience as another flash erupted from the pictographer.

Sadie turned back to the piano and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hands. She wanted to collapse into her bedclothes and coil herself deeper and deeper into their embrace. But the audience pressed in.