Grey Magic

2. Old Claw

The hotel porter swings open the main door and Raven thinks she has made a lucky escape. The 6 a.m. air streaming into the stale lobby is cool and fresh. She can smell toast and car exhaust fumes and jasmine blossoms. In short: she can smell freedom. She quickens her pace but, as she's about to step over the threshold and into the sky-coloured world outside, there is an old claw on her shoulder. Rum and maple cigarette smoke.

Damn it! thinks Raven. Caught out! I knew it was too good to be true.

"Raven Kane," says the crone, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

Raven recognises the scented voice. Spins around. Lavinia Barkridge, resplendent with her coiffed blue-grey hair, hipster pin-striped suit, roll-up glowing from in between her immaculately varnished fingernails. Eighty years in the shade and more fashion-forward than Raven could ever hope to be.

"High Priestess," Raven says, forcing a smile.

"You're not staying for breakfast? I heard that their Eggs Benedict is outstanding."

"I have to be somewhere."

"You're going to hospital," says Lavinia. She frowns.

There's no use asking her how she knows. Raven herself didn't even know up until twenty minutes ago.

"You're ill?"

"Oh, I'm not going for myself. I have a... client there."

"I hope it wasn't your doing."

It was indeed Raven's doing. She opens her mouth to answer but the High Priestess squeezes her shoulder, then lets go. Her eyes are twinkling. "I'm only joking."

Raven attempts to laugh. It doesn't work.

"Are you quite sure you're not ill? I had a vision of you. Pale. In a hospital bed."

The idea is inviting. She wouldn't mind a couple of days off, lying in a white room with no responsibilities, with people to bring her tea and badly-made cheese sandwiches.

"Will you come back here afterwards?" asks Lavinia. "The Coven was hoping to have a proper catch-up with you."

"Sorry Lavinia but I have to get back to the menagerie. Eternally hungry maws. You know how it is. The Grimm Brothers have probably eaten Lily Lightfoot on toast. And I have so much work to catch up on..."

Lavinia looks into her face. Her eyes may as well be titanium-tipped electric drills.

"That's a shame. We were worried about you last night when you left the forum discussion so abruptly."

"Yes. Well, er... I had to —"

There was no point in telling Lavinia about the attack. Raven pulls her sleeves down to hide her mottled skin.

"To be honest, we were worried about you before your hasty exit. You haven't quite... been yourself."

What she actually means, says the voice, is that you HAVE been yourself. They would rather you be more polite and pro-social. Tactful. In other words, NOT be yourself.

"You weren't at the Gibbous ritual last month or the Michaelmas Feaste."

"I've been extremely busy."

Don't lie to the High Priestess! cautions the voice. She sees through anything. I'm convinced that she can see through a bulletproof car.

I have been busy!

Busy lying on the couch, says the voice. Busy binge-watching television series. Busy staring at your house crumble around you. Busy procrastinating. Busy Not Writing Your Book.