Bloom

Every day I've got a smile where my frown goes

The combination of the gentle rocking of the carriage as it speeds along the tracks, and rereading the same file for the third time has my eyes drooping on the train. I try and shake myself awake, taking a giant gulp of my now cold coffee. I sit up, and pull the file closer to me, willing my eyes to stay open, wanting to get the details fully in my brain before it's time to get off.

Three girls missing, no bodies discovered, no real evidence to speak of. It was the exact type of case I would be able to help out on.

I could see the clear pattern, it was so obvious I'm sure even the police could see it: dark hair, petite girls that were places they shouldn't be. The first was Becky Bixley, fifteen and walking home from a club she'd used her sister's ID to get in to. Hallie Jones, sixteen skipping school to meet her boyfriend. Georgina Cohen, seventeen and attempting to head to a friend's house after an argument with her mother.

I look at the girls, the photos I have clipped from papers and printed from their social media. Pretty, bright eyed with a rebellious glint. They were all very present online, first two girls from working class families but the Cohen girl has a much more middle class upbringing. I stare at the pages spread out in front of me, searching desperately for some other connection I have missed, willing a sign to leap out of me. I place my hands over their photos and close my eyes, and focus on the girls. Trying to get a feeling from them. They're not dead, I can feel them on this plane very well, better now I'm physically closer to where they were taken, and hopefully where they are..

The tinny voice of the announcer makes me jump back into my body, telling the train that we're now arriving at our final destination. I carefully put back my files in order and place them in my bag, taking my time so the carriage empties and I can leave on my own.

I stand up and turn to collect my case from the rack and I'm irritated to see someone standing in the way of it. He's tall, bald and broad. He smirks at me and it makes me visually grimace.

"Excuse me, can I grab my bag please?" I ask him

"I waited to see if you needed any help lifting your case."

"I'm fine, thank you. I just need you to move,"

"Are you new in town, you look like a lost little bird?"

"I am here for an MMA championship, I'm defending my belt."

I see him prickle and I tap into his unease and exacerbate it with a wiggle of my fingers. His confused look turns to fear.

"Now can you get out of my way please?"

He nods and leaves the train and I let out a sigh of relief. Even with my powers these interactions pose a risk to me, just like any non-magickal person.

I lug the suitcase off the train and look around the platform to make sure the stranger wasn't feeling braver than he should. I check my hotel reservation again and put the address into the map and begin my short walk. I made a booking for a week with potential for longer. Maybe that was already too long, there's never a guarantee the police will let me get involved, or the families even want me.

I'm pleased with the hotel, I stick to the cheapest budget digs I could find and usually it's a generic shithole. But this is quirky and seems very clean and the reviews were great.

The reception of the hotel has tall ceilings, the walls were painted a deep navy colour, the occasional wall covered in navy and gold brocade wallpaper. The floor is made up of dark wood panels laid in a herringbone pattern, expensive looking navy and gold rugs are tastefully placed around the floor. The furniture are selected jewel tones with gold pickups. I spot an emerald green chaise lounge with gold feet and snap a photo and sent it straight to Rhiannon.