Unusual Practices

By Jackie Lawrence

Sasha Blythe, police sergeant and Guardian of the only remaining active stone monument in the three lands, realises that shes only got seventeen days until her first solstice ritual. Maybe she should get off her backside and find out why the events of the previous solstice killed the old Guardian, her all powerful grandmother. If only to ensure that it doesn't happen to her because if it does and she can't take the power up through the stones and disperse it back into the land then 63 million humans will starve to death. No pressure then.
The good news is that her grandmother arranged some help from her deathbed. The bad news is that it's the Prince of all the vampires, quite simply the most dangerous creature on the planet.
Or is he?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie Lawrence
• Release date: Jun 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311667991

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Special Smashwords Edition

UNUSUAL PRACTICES

by

Jackie Lawrence

Copyright © Jackie Lawrence 2015

This book is a work of fiction. The moral right of the author has been asserted. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events are purely coincidental.

All rights are reserved.

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DEDICATION

I would like to dedicate this book to my sister, Anna. While it's true that I scribbled all the words onto paper with a pen, she did absolutely everything else.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One - Seventeen Days to the Summer Solstice - Tuesday

Chapter Two - Tuesday

Chapter Three - Malpurgo - Tuesday

Chapter Four - Sixteen Days to the Summer Solstice - Wednesday

Chapter Five - Fifteen Days to the Summer Solstice - Thursday

Chapter Six - Fourteen Days to the Summer Solstice - Friday

Chapter Seven - Friday

Chapter Eight - Thirteen Days to the Summer Solstice - Saturday

Chapter Nine - Saturday

Chapter Ten - Twelve Days to the Summer Solstice - Sunday

Chapter Eleven - Eleven Days to the Summer Solstice - Monday

Chapter Twelve - Kane - Monday

Chapter Thirteen - Ten Days to the Summer Solstice - Tuesday

Chapter Fourteen - Nine Days to the Summer Solstice - Wednesday

Chapter Fifteen - Eight Days to the Summer Solstice - Thursday

Chapter Sixteen - Kane - Thursday

Chapter Seventeen - Seven Days to the Summer Solstice - Friday

Chapter Eighteen - Six Days to the Summer Solstice - Saturday

Chapter Nineteen - Four Days to the Summer Solstice - Sunday & Monday

Chapter Twenty - Three Days to the Summer Solstice - Tuesday

Chapter Twenty-One - Thursday

About the Author

PROLOGUE

Cadwallader surveyed the scene unfolding before him with well stoked satisfaction. It was going to happen, he could feel it, he could taste it. He wasn’t entirely sure what ‘it’ was but it was going to be big and, with any luck, impressive enough to stop that ‘other’ bitch treating him like some Cro-Magnon wannabe. He had been instructed to ensure that at least three hundred of his druids attended the ancient ceremony at one of the oldest and most important stone monuments on the island and three hundred there were, all of them now becoming very slightly the worse for wear as the planet’s star started its descent into the west and the ancient blue stones became even more mystical by the light of the roaring braziers.

The fortified mead was helping the druids get into the mood. He hadn’t a clue what those vials of red liquid had been that his sons had added to the barrels but anything that made that disgusting brown sludge taste of anything but mead was a plus in his book. Where were his boys? It would soon be time for him to begin what would surely be the most important night of his life and he needed his sons’ support with the props.

He had to admit they had been lucky so far. One of his instructions had been that he should make every effort to get him and his followers to the monument without rousing the attention of the village and, most importantly, the Guardian of the Stones. Though he would have quite liked for the old woman to see him in action, he would just have to settle for the grudging respect she and the rest of her self-satisfied bunch of fairytale characters would have to afford him once news of his night’s work got out. He just wished that he was a little better informed about what exactly was going to happen. While he was more than happy to trust to the assurance that if his efforts were successful he would become every bit as powerful as the most revered of ‘other’, he would like to be a bit more certain that he wasn’t going to be responsible for nuking a large part of the Midlands. But his sponsor hadn’t let him down so far, whoever he was.

The ambitious Arch Druid consulted his Philip Patak and decided that it was time. Yes it was supposed to be a summer solstice celebration but he couldn’t risk waiting for the sun to rise. The druids were becoming more than rowdy and all it would take was one village resident to be out for an extra long walk with his dog and they would be discovered.

Cadwallader made his way over to the little raised platform that had been constructed next to the massive altar stone and called his brethren to attention. This was his time, he had prepared and he was ready; he had left nothing to chance and he was supremely confident that absolutely nothing could go wrong.

Chapter One - one year later

Seventeen Days to the Summer Solstice

Tuesday

Sasha heard the phone ring in the outer office and waited for her constable to pick up the call and tell her that the DCC wanted a word. She didn’t need the heads up, her talent for sensing who was calling was in full working order. It was some sort of electrical shit apparently.

I know, it’s the boss, she shouted at Otis who she could see waving his handset at her through her office window. Put him through, she said, wondering what the hell he wanted now.

Deputy Chief Constable Malcolm Drury greeted his sergeant and made a little small talk before coming to the point.

So, everything coming along nicely for the solstice? It’s just that we don’t want a repeat of last year’s… he was going to say ‘fiasco’ but changed his mind at the last minute, …events. He paused, waiting for reassurance.

Sasha was only too glad to give it. I can absolutely guarantee that this year will be completely devoid of screaming virgins and rampaging druids, sir. Cadwallader has been made aware that if he tries any funny business he’ll be banned from the monument for life. The Doc had assured her that the disgraced Arch Druid was aware of the penalty, even if she hadn’t issued the threat to him herself.

The Deputy Chief Constable seemed relieved. And you’re not expecting trouble from any other quarter? he enquired. Nothing I should be aware of? Sasha frowned. The DCC didn’t usually take this much interest in the ancient stone circle that sat on the hill to the east of the village. In fact, the less he knew, the happier he was. It’s just that I might need a favour, he continued, a slightly weary tone to his voice. For a while now Mrs Drury has been interested in, shall we say, the esoteric side of life. It’s lonely sometimes for the wife of a career policeman. The children have all left home and she’s wanting to expand her horizons. What she actually wants to do is attend the solstice. Since I assumed responsibility for this Force I’ve obviously been aware of you and the village and your special status and it appears that the circles in which Mrs Drury has been moving are aware of you too. Not sure if this is normal. The DCC now sounded really uncomfortable. She’s very keen but she won’t get in the way. Will that be a problem, sergeant?

Sasha screwed up her face as if in pain to indicate to Otis the turn the conversation had taken.

Do I have a choice, sir? she asked.

None at all, he replied.

Then in that case we’ll be thrilled to see her. I’ll book her a room for a couple of nights at the Moon Inn.

The DCC seemed relieved. Excellent, thank you sergeant. Keep me advised of the preparations won’t you. She said yes, acknowledging the remark as rhetorical. She knew that he didn’t really want to know. When details of some of the more unsavoury aspects of the last solstice had filtered back to her boss he’d been horrified. Mind you, so had she.

For fuck’s sake, she cursed as Otis sank into a chair across the desk from her. Now we’ve got his menopausal missus coming down for the solstice. I swear Otis, if Cadwallader pulls anything this year I’ll have him banished to Newcastle, see how many druids he can string together there.

Otis commiserated with his boss. They’d been to school together, always friends, and Sasha couldn’t imagine working in the little village police station with anyone else. Actually ‘station’ was a bit of an exaggeration. They had converted the downstairs rooms of the cottage next door to Sasha’s by bisecting the space with a glass partition with a door in it, giving them a front office for Otis and a back office for her. Policing the village wasn’t exactly CSI Miami. In fact if it wasn't for the Eversleighs making it their business to annoy the hell out of the local residents, Sasha and Otis would've been much further up the Candy Crush ratings.

Sasha mused reluctantly on the solstice and her part in the ancient ritual - her rather important part. She resisted the familiar rising panic. It was far too late for that, seeing as in a couple of weeks she was going to carry out the most important pagan rite in the three lands, four if you counted the old country. She still didn’t know how it worked. She could see how taking the power up through the stones from deep in the earth and thrusting it back into this land to ensure its fruitfulness for another year would work but how did her Gran managed to sort out the Irish since their Guardian had gone AWOL? Add that to the list of stuff she should know but didn't and Sasha felt the reality of her heritage weighing down on her with that familiar heft of dread. She shouldn't be in this position. It was too soon and she didn't know nearly enough.

She glossed over her responsibility with practised ease, leaving it as something gooey to wallow in later. For the millionth time that year she asked herself exactly what she was scared of. It wasn't really the burden of tradition, the fact that she was the last Guardian left on the island, the fact that if she didn't perform the ritual within the ancient stone circle to the dancing light of the summer solstice then the land would wither and die. Big hoodoo yes but let's be honest, her Gran had pulled it off for the last seven hundred years without much hassle. Until last year. Last year had seen an appalling sequence of events resulting in, amongst other things, the death of her grandmother, that glorious epitome of ‘otherness’, one of the strongest beings on the planet with centuries of accumulated power within her, reduced to a desiccated mass of failing cells by... And there it was, the million dollar question. Exactly what had happened that lovely summer night nearly twelve months ago? Why had an age old and familiar series of events meant to thank the gods for the bounty and fruitfulness of the land gone so cataclysmically wrong?

Sasha had head-butted this frustrating wall so many times since being dragged back almost a year ago from her hedonistic bouts of earth-shattering sex with Sholtoe. She didn’t get any further because the next logical question was: what if it happened again this year? What if Cadwallader, the power crazy Arch Druid, tried to do to her what he had done to her Gran, whatever that was?

Sasha came back to herself and found Otis looking at her expectantly.

I'm not ‘other’ so I'm going to have to ask what you’re thinking, he said.

She pondered briefly before answering. I love this place. It was a huge bloody shock coming back from London to a funeral and the responsibility for the ritual and feeding the land and stuff but still, she reflected, I think it’s because Gran didn't lay the whole responsibility thing on me when I was little. D’you remember all the times you, me and Meredith, Gavin and Barry used to play up at the stones?

Otis laughed. I seem to remember that we spent half our childhood up there. I saw my first sunrise up there, though I think that was with Violet. We’d just...

I am not going there with you Otis, for fuck sake. Sasha scowled at her happily reminiscing constable. I always get a sense of the Old Ones when I'm there. I see them walking along the ancient trackways from the village to the river and across the fields to the monument for the great rites. They used to be huge affairs then, all the villages from miles around bringing offerings and vast quantities of alcohol.

Otis grinned. They had a good old time, I bet, he said.

It was important to everyone back then, the rituals and the stones, Sasha mused. I know the Guardian is still important but I just can't understand why Cadwallader went to such ridiculous lengths last year. I mean I don't even know most of what happened but sacrificing three human virgins? Really? Then Gran finds out what they're up to, rushes up there and after barely a couple of minutes at, what is in effect her monument, she's reduced to a decrepit old crone, barely alive! Sasha thanked the gods for the thousandth time that she hadn't been there to see it. Not many monuments left now, she continued, staring past Otis at nothing in particular. The big henge is fractured with all the human activity. I can still remember when Gran told us that the humans had dug up the old Guardians, that it was the final nail in the henge’s coffin?

Otis nodded. You wrote to Time Team didn't you?

Sasha smiled at the memory. Blimey I'd forgotten about that. They really should take eight year olds more seriously.

Maybe we'll never know what Cadwallader was up to, Otis said.

Fucking druids, Sasha cursed under her breath.

What are you going to do? Otis asked.

Sasha stood up and retrieving her shoes from under her desk and slipping them on, said, I’m going to see the Doc.

Chapter Two

Tuesday

The pretty little waiting room of the village surgery was empty and the equally pretty little receptionist said that she could go in and see the doctor.

The Doc was, as always, sitting low in his big old leather swivel chair, his hands crossed over only a slight paunch. He had the regulation half cigar drooping from the corner of his mouth and indicated a chair across the desk from his.

Guardian, always a pleasure, he said with his customary lopsided half smile. You’re looking rudely healthy so what can I do for you? He reached down to the bottom right drawer of his desk and bought out a bottle of Glen Morangie and two glasses. She accepted the drink and took a sip. ‘Nectar,’ she thought.

I’m hoping to survive this year’s solstice and seeing as the world will probably come to an end if I cock it up, I thought I’d get some advice.

The Doc studied her for a second before leaning forward to consult a desk calendar that appeared to be a gift from a drug manufacturer.

Seventeen days to go, he said. Nice to see you’re taking it seriously.

Sasha acknowledged his point. I’ve been busy.

The Doc glared at her through narrowed eyes that screamed at her not to take the piss and appeared to come to a decision as he topped his drink up.

Well, Cadwallader is your biggest problem obviously. He’s a right royal pain in the arse and I’m afraid he’s been inferring that he is more powerful than the Guardian of the Stones, seeing as that stunt he pulled more or less destroyed your grandmother. If I were you I’d be tempted to just kill him. He’s way past his sell-by date. The druids need bringing into the 21st century.

Sasha snorted. The druids don’t want the 21st century, Doc, they want the old ways and the last two thousand years of Christianity to disappear.

The Doc shook his head. No, Cadwallader wants the power that the druids had, that’s all, and he thinks that the old ways, the old gods, will give it to him. What he doesn’t realise is that the old gods have moved on. They want their followers to wear Amani and Jimmy Choo, not last year’s mouldy rabbit fur. Even Mrs Geranium has got a mobile.

Sasha grinned. Mrs Geranium was one of her Gran’s oldest friends and lived in the cottage across the road from hers.

Will our warning stop him from attending this year? Sasha asked.

The Doc considered the question. Seriously? Not a clue. We should have done something about him right after the last solstice.

Sasha groaned inwardly at another hint at her incompetence but was heartened by his self inclusion in resolving the problem.

He’ll ignore you because his ego is massively inflated and if you try to stop him in person he’ll have a hundred ugly druids behind him and we’ll be back where we were last year. No, this is a contain-and-control situation. We could do with Sholtoe actually. Cadwallader would never have the nerve to take him on. The look the comment provoked on Sasha’s face made the Doc think better. Perhaps not, he said.

What was he trying to do last year, Doc?

Who knows? I think they’re just humans looking for a meaning to their lives. The death of their religions has left a big hole. They call it spirituality, the desperate need to believe that there’s more to life than their miserable day to day drudgery. They believe that they’ve lost something that their ancestors had, a link to the land and its mysteries. Of course, they forget that their ancestors pissed in the gutters, wore the same clothes for twenty years and bathed once a month with the livestock. I’d just leave them to get on with it. At least while they’re cavorting naked on our monument they’re not fracking or killing polar bears.

Sasha loved to listen to the Doc’s acerbic philosophies, they were so reassuringly brutal. For ages she had tried to work out who he reminded her of, finally getting it after watching Peter O’Toole ham it up as a drink-sodden Irish aristocrat trying to put his haunted castle over as a B&B to gullible Yanks. She knew that he was ‘other’, just as she knew that Malpurgo was, but she didn’t know exactly what either of them was. She sometimes wished that ‘other’ would wear identity tags so that she could spot them easily.

Should I speak to Cadwallader personally, give him the full Guardian hoodoo?

The Doc looked horrified. Absolutely not, he exclaimed. His smug-o-meter would be off the scale if the Guardian was reduced to consulting him. We need some druid inside info. Leave it with me.

Sasha nodded thankfully.

So what’s your mother planning for this year? Will I need a new frock? asked the Doc, grinning at Sasha’s obvious discomfort.

Who the hell knows? I haven’t spoken to her for weeks. As long as she doesn’t order a bouncy castle and plant it in the middle of the stones I think I can handle it.

Sasha had painful memories of some of the celebratory events her mother had staged in the past to honour the solstice. The stunningly beautiful woman possessed not one molecule of power or ‘otherness’ in her body but that didn’t stop her pretending to the besotted human population of the village that she did. Though an empty vessel, one of the very few ‘other’ born to a first family but totally lacking in any form of ‘otherness’ whatsoever, through her very obvious physical charms and the gullibility of humans her mother, Vivienne, had become a renowned and acclaimed psychic with many famous and infamous clamouring for her totally spurious predictions. They all seemed utterly mesmerised by her black-haired, porcelain-skinned beauty and the farm turned holistic healing and all things esoteric establishment that she ran about five miles past the village made a fortune. Only the influence of Sasha’s grandmother, Vivienne’s mother, kept the lovely woman from turning the stones and the village into Other Land. Vivienne had been wary of her mother, even more than the thug she shared her life with, a skin-headed streak of nastiness called Lucien, AKA Ronald Arthur Tate (or as Sasha took delight in calling him, Ronnie the Rat, something that never failed to piss him off).

When she was approaching her sixth birthday, Sasha had announced that she wanted to live with her grandmother. Not at all coincidentally, this was two months after Vivienne and Lucien started cohabiting. Her grandmother had seemed only too pleased to have her beloved granddaughter live with her, all the better to teach her some of the many things she would need to know when Sasha finally took on the heavy burden that she was born to.

Sasha stopped herself reminiscing. Thoughts of her childhood led to only one thing: Kane, that glorious powerhouse of a male and she absolutely couldn’t go there, not now. He was far, far too distracting. Where was he by the way? A couple of days earlier they had enjoyed one of their frequent bouts of gladiatorial sex and she hadn’t seen him since.

Back in the present she picked up the threads of her conversation with the Doc. He was saying, ... have you had a word with Malpurgo? See if he can come up with anything from the literature? Virgins, for heaven’s sake! It’s not as if humans can make that stuff work anyway. You need to be ‘other’ and an adept for that sort of thing and even then it’s hit and miss.

I’m hoping to see him later after work. He might have some gen on mother’s plans for this year as well. Surely if Malps knew anything he would have told me by now anyway?

The Doc shrugged. Just clutching at straws. Ask Malpurgo to look into it.

They were interrupted by the doctor’s assistant telling him that he really needed to start his home visits. Sasha accompanied him onto the street and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. She walked the short distance to the police office and turned and walked straight out again as Otis reminded her that she was supposed to be having tea with the new vicar. What exactly was a vicar doing in the village anyway? She’d asked that of Otis a week ago when a letter from the Arch Diocese arrived, informing her as Guardian of the Stones that a new vicar, Samson Fairbrother, had chosen the village church as his base of the five that came within his ministry. This was unprecedented in Sasha’s opinion. The Church of England was well aware of the nature of the village and the stones and only too keen to encourage her grandmother’s success in keeping both totally off the radar.

The church was very old and sound in structure but without any spiritual ambience whatsoever. All faith and worship in the village was directed towards the true power of the stone circle. There were some Christians in the village but they travelled to Leintwardine or Clun if they wanted to attend a service. Couldn’t do any harm though, she thought.

No one answered the front door of the cottage that the Rev had taken, the vicarage having been sold long ago, so Sasha made her way around to the back of the building. It was a glorious English summer afternoon, a soft, sweet breeze accompanying the singing of the birds, and as the sun glinted on the soft blond hair of the smiling man that greeted her, Sasha resisted the urge to look around for a teddy bear for here, surely, was Sebastian Flyte’s younger, more handsome brother.

The gloriously pretty man held out a tanned hand and shook hers warmly. Excuse the gear, he said cheerfully, leading her over to a set of wooden garden furniture and inviting her to sit. He was wearing cricket whites, trousers held up with a tie that she was sure she should recognise and a jumper tied by the arms around his neck. Just got back from Frayne. Trying to teach the boys a few things about the old game. Frayne was the local boarding school, privately funded torture in the old tradition for the sons of the great and the good.

He had tea ready and after establishing that it hadn’t gone too cold, he poured them both a cup. Sasha watched him. His golden hair, longer at the front and falling hopelessly into his eyes a la Hugh Grant, his skin tanned and healthy, his teeth white and straight.

And are they benefitting from your instruction? she asked with mock formality.

D’you know, they’re not, he replied, his painful expression equally mocking. They both laughed. They’re absolutely bloody hopeless to a man.

Sasha grinned and drank her tea. Well, despite your failure as a cricket coach I’m here to welcome you to the village, not the first to do so I’m sure. Also to warn you that I take a dim view of drug trafficking, slave trading or soliciting. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The vicar nodded his head. And where do you stand on ritual sacrifice? he enquired.

Sasha winced. Ah, you heard then. She studied him closely. Exactly how much did this human know?

Damn druids, he said. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill ‘em.

Sasha snorted. If there’s a repeat of last year’s performance I think you’ll find that I can, she said with a confidence that she absolutely didn't feel. You’re very well informed for a man of the cloth. Should I be worried?

The vicar held up his hands in supplication. Heavens, no. My father’s interests are many and various. He felt it would be in my interest to be aware of a few things when I told him that the village was in one of my parishes. He flashed her a glorious smile .

And should I know your father?

No, no, he’s merely a man with a finger in many pies. Picked up a lot of knowledge here and there. But back to our friends the druids, I would like to help you if I can. Not that I’m saying you need help. I am aware of the power you have as the Guardian, you hardly need me for support, I understand that. But… he shrugged prettily, … just call on me at any time.

Sasha finished her tea, thanked him for his offer of help and walked out into the village, wandering what the hell the conversation had been about.

She checked her watch - just after five o’clock: perfect timing. Her mother and Lucien had more than likely gone up to their house from the Emporium, leaving Malpurgo free to talk. The old man ran her mother’s business with military precision, leaving him free to pursue his real vocation: the accumulation of knowledge. He was an internet legend, advising on all things from Satanism to Wicca and everything in between. He wasn’t completely human. Somewhere in his family history was enough ‘otherness’ to give him an unnaturally long life. Unfortunately it didn’t stop the ageing process so Malpurgo might live to be two hundred but he’d look and feel it. Sasha wondered again if she shouldn't be able to spot ‘other’ species, maybe with an ‘other’ equivalent of gaydar.

Sasha called the Emporium and he answered on the third ring. Malps, it’s me. Have you got anything on tonight? Malpurgo seemed pleased to hear from her and confirmed that he hadn’t. He agreed to meet her in the Seven Stars, a newly refurbished pub a few miles up the road in the next village, at 6.30.

Chapter Three - Malpurgo

Tuesday

Sasha was starving by the time she entered the Seven Stars so was pleased to find that the place had been turned into a bistro. She joined Malpurgo, kissed him on the cheek, and ordered steak and ale pie and mash for both of them and two pints of best bitter. They took long draughts of the ale, savoured it and took another one. As the place wasn’t too busy the food arrived quickly and only after ordering another pint of bitter did Sasha tell him why she wanted to see him.

Last year, Malps, the solstice. I know I’ve left it stupidly late but I need to do what I can to try and find out what happened last year and ensure that it doesn’t happen again.

Malpurgo nodded his agreement and didn't dig at her guilt for which she was grateful. I’ve been in contact with lots of people since the solstice and I’m yet to talk to anyone who knows what exactly the druid did.

Sasha frowned. You mean other than cut the throats of three human virgins? she said, more than a little sarcastically.

Well yes, actually. Apparently that was the least of his antics. It’s ages since I heard of a human trying to perform a ritual sacrifice. In fact, it might have been at the Manor. Sasha grimaced at the mention of the benighted old house that sat on the border of the village. Humans can’t perform magick no matter how many girls they kill or how much blood they spill. It’s an ‘other’ thing, usually performed by the very unpleasant and unmentionable Warlocks amongst us.

Sasha was wide-eyed now. Warlocks? Aren’t they male witches? Blimey. Gran didn’t like them did she?

Malpurgo looked like he didn’t like them either. Didn’t I just say that they were unmentionable? He looked really unhappy at the turn the conversation had taken. Anyway, wizards are male witches. Warlocks are... something your Gran wouldn’t like me to discuss with you. ‘Spooky’, thought Sasha, parking that for later. But the point is blood and semen and stuff smeared all over an altar is totally 1800s Hellfire Club and humans with a bit of knowledge trying to call up the Devil. Nonsense, in other words. Very Hammer House of Horror and Denis Wheatley.

Maybe there was a, you know, Warlock among the druids, Sasha mused aloud.

Bloody hell, I hope not, said Malpurgo looking appalled. No, they don’t like an audience as a rule, they practice alone which makes them more secure. This was all druid in my opinion. I suppose that one of us should have spoken to Cadwallader in person by now, try to appeal to his ego, get him to talk. It really grates on him that he hasn’t got any real power. I think he’d do almost anything to have some real link to the craft.

The Doc thinks that he'd wet himself if I went to him for advice.

Malpurgo chuckled his agreement. I understand that he made overtures to your mother for your hand, he said quietly, not looking at her. Sasha nearly choked on her beer. In the absence of your father she is the first point of contact for any joining of power.

Sasha moaned audibly. She was aware that this was likely to happen. She was a Guardian of a first family of the earth. It would be like the joining of two dynasties if she were to take a mate.

You are aware that Cadwallader has access to great material wealth through his sons?

Sasha knew that the family had money. Yes, but we rarely need material wealth. And I’ve got enough as it is.

You might but Lucien doesn’t.

Sasha stared at him and scowled. Are you saying that that… she struggled to find an appropriate word, …arsewipe would sell me for money? Sasha couldn’t believe it. Not in this day and age, surely.

Don’t forget my dear that neither your mother nor Lucien possesses any craft of any sort. They sit on the outside always looking in. Your mother has had some experience of what real power can bring. Her great beauty is a sort of power. It has enabled her to do things and meet people otherwise closed off to her. She sees her daughter possessed of what could be deemed her share of power as well as your own. I know that it is no surprise to you that she resents you greatly. You’ve got it all: your grandmother’s skill and your mother’s beauty.

That’s not my fault. I didn’t make her powerless, being born an empty vessel is just bad luck, it happens. And as for Ronnie the Rat, what the hell does she see in him anyway? She’s had millionaires, royalty, bloody soap stars at her feet. What is she doing with a loser like him? Well, I’m not hooking up with Cadwallader so they can think again.

Sasha fumed in silence while Malpurgo fetched another pint. She knew that it would take her over the limit but she would try very hard not to breathalyse herself.

They sat in companionable silence for half a pint, Malpurgo greeting a couple of friends who greatly resembled himself.

She’s having a party this year, by the way, said Malpurgo.

What else is new? Sasha grumbled. The Emporium is party central these days.

I’m sure your invitation is on its way. Much hiring of outside caterers and topping up of tans. It’s been a while since I’ve seen so much effort put into one of your mother’s soirees. Can’t wait to see the guest list.

As long as Cadwallader isn’t on it I don’t bloody care. They both tacitly agreed.

Changing the subject utterly, Sasha said, "Malps, I need you to do some