Going Your Own Way, but with Magic

Chapter 8

Of course, peace can never last for long. At least for me it can't. There's a knock at the door an hour after closing time. Mr Bates answers it and leads the man into the back room.
"He says he's here to see you, Max." He looks wary. He has his arms folded across his chest and he doesn't take his eyes off the man. It instantly puts my guard up. "I'll be outside." He leaves the door slightly open. The man sits down. He doesn't move. I can't even see his chest rising and falling. He looks normal. Or, more accurately, I can't put my finger on what's wrong with him. Tall, pale, grey eyes, brown hair, faded brown suit. Hair slightly thinning, looks about fifty. His hands are by his sides and his eyes point straight ahead. I thought they were staring at me, at first. They aren't. They aren't staring at anything. They are flat and completely motionless. He blinks, but only about twice a minute. His skin has an odd pallor, like he's made of wax. And I swear he's yellowing at the edges. I want to touch him, to see if he's real. I don't like this. I resist the urge to call Mr Bates. I have faced a lot worse than a mildly creepy man.
"So, what do you want?" The aim: neutral, slightly irritable, in control. The result: freaked out and aggressive.
"I am sent to deliver you a message." There is, again, nothing immediately wrong with his voice. It doesn't sound robotic. It sounds out of synch. His mouth moves and I hear words, but one is slightly behind the other. It looks like he's been badly dubbed over.
"Deliver it then." I think freaked out and aggressive is the best I'm getting. He pushes the note into the middle of the table and then folds his hands back in his lap. After he's back, there's no sign he moved at all. I take the note cautiously, trying not to betray my excitement.

The note is parchment. Brown and crinkled at the edges. It's handwritten with an expensive ink pen. It takes a lot of effort to keep up my poker face.
The Raven wishes to meet you. Come for tea.
There's a London address, and nothing else. The Raven. Someone spent too much time on the internet.
"So...The Raven. They never grow out of their goth phase or what?" He doesn't reply. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't stiffen in disapproval. He doesn't seem to register me speaking at all. "So...if I decide I want to meet them, when?"
"At any time."
"Wait. Any time? They're always sitting by the door with tea ready." No response. "Great. Um...great. I'll think about it. You can go now." He doesn't move for a few moments and I have a fireball all ready when he stands up and walks out. I swear his strides are all the exact same length. I wait until the front door shuts to release the power. The leftover adrenalin leaves me shaky, and I have to hold on to the table for balance. Okay. That was weird.

"I'm not going." Mr Bates raises a single eyebrow. "I'm not. I'm not going to a creepy tea party at some creepy spellcaster's house. I don't go into regular stranger's houses. That's how you get murdered."
"I bet you twenty pounds your curiosity will get the better of you."
"Don't encourage children to gamble."
"So you don't like the odds?"
"You know I'm going, don't you."
"I've bought you a train ticket and packed you a bag."

I like trains. And long car journeys, and I think I'll like planes if I ever go on one. I like the movement, and I like the nothing-time that passes. I like being in very contained limbo, pulled away from the world for a few hours. This time, I can't still my nerves. I have a sense, and it's not good. I don't have any special intuition, but I do have a pretty good radar for when to get the hell out of there. Right now, that radar is going off. A lot. I have an uncomfortable sense I'm making a terrible mistake. Even Daphne hasn't fallen asleep. There's nothing stopping me from turning around. Except for curiosity. Stupid curiosity. I want to know. I want, desperately, to know. And if I ignored the invitation I would never forget it. So I'm on a train to Victoria Station, with my sense of foreboding growing rapidly. The only thing I'm happy about is my ticket. I keep looking at it. It's a return ticket. I return tomorrow morning. I'm going to check this out, and then I'm going to go home. Home, definite and safe. The words feel luxurious. I have a home to miss, and a return ticket to take me back. I am grounded. This isn't running away. This is leaving for about twenty-four hours and then going home.