Sparkle Witch: A Novella (The Lazy Girl's Guide To Magic Book 4)(7)
‘Utterly spineless?’ I asked. I hated the thought of losing my backbone – in more ways than one.
She nodded vigorously. ‘Yes! That's exactly what will happen.’
Her version didn't sound any more believable than the previous suggestion of volcanoes. What was apparent was that neither scenario was very pleasant. I looked askance at Abigail, who was now so pale she was giving Grenville a run for his money. Perhaps she would be more sensible. I crossed my fingers tightly.
‘The truth is,’ Abigail whispered, ‘nobody knows what will happen. We know that the Angel is vital for the well being of the Order. We know that it’s an object to be treated with reverence. We know that there is a curse attached to it should it ever be lost or broken. But we don't really know what will happen if it doesn't turn up.’
Grenville slowly unfolded his arms and swept his gaze across us. ‘Well,’ he drawled, ‘you are about to find out. You will suffer the consequences of losing the Angel of the Order. This is what happens when you mistreat such a valuable object and throw it on top of ugly trees.’ His voice rose with every sentence. ‘There will be fire and brimstone and plague and disaster and—’
I held up my palm. ‘I get the point, Grenville,’ I said. ‘There’s no need to go on about it.’
He shrugged. ‘I just wanted to make it clear that you understand what is about to happen. I think you should go back to Winter and tell him that you need to be released from these other silly duties immediately. There is no time to spare. If you're going to die in a brutal and agonising fashion, we need you to get back to releasing as many ghosts as possible before the pain overtakes you and you can’t perform.’
‘Gee,’ I said. ‘Thank you for your worry and concern.’ I stared at the tree. Why couldn’t the Order just keep the objects that had the potential to cause death and destruction locked away safely? It was hardly rocket science. ‘Find a star for the top of the tree instead,’ I said. ‘Maybe no one will notice the Angel is missing.’ Then I turned on my heel and started to march away.
‘Ivy!’ Abigail called out in alarm. ‘Where are you going?’
Timbuktu preferably, I thought. ‘To check the train timetables,’ I said aloud.
I ignored the worried murmur from the assembly of witches and wrapped my arms around myself. Grenville was right about one thing: I had to find Winter.
Chapter Four
Winter wasn't in his office when I went up to look for him but his secretary, an enthusiastic young Zealator who terrified me every time I saw her with her bubbly zest for life and the way she bustled around the piles of paperwork that always sat on her desk, told me that he was in a meeting on the third floor. What I should do, I decided, was to put some kind of GPS tracer on the man. That way, when I went looking for him I wouldn't have to trudge up several flights of stairs and then seconds later traipse down several more to locate him. Winter seem to think that the exercise did me good but the way my thighs ached told me otherwise. Pain is not my friend. Pain is not anyone's friend. In fact, anyone who tries to persuade you otherwise is several ice cubes and a slice of lemon short of a gin and tonic.
When I finally spotted Winter in one of the grander conference rooms, he was deep in discussion. I didn't think he realised what kind of picture he presented to the world. From the other side of the glass wall, I could see him sitting at the head of the conference table in a high-backed leather chair. In his lap, Princess Parma Periwinkle lay curled up and, even though Winter was beyond busy, he still managed to pause every so often to stroke her fur. Anyone else looking at that image would immediately think he was some kind of Bond villain – admittedly better looking than any other Bond villain that has ever existed, but a villain nonetheless.
Despite my concern over the missing Angel, I took a moment to watch him. He listened carefully, his head tilted to one side as someone at the end of the table spoke. He continued to listen when one of the Order assistants thrust a piece of paper in front of him and tapped at it to encourage him to sign. Then, a door at the far end of the conference room opened and somebody stuck their head in and began talking. Winter said something back, his expression intent. Now he was not only reading a piece of paper while listening to a colleague, but he was also talking to an underling.
Winter is the very definition of multi-tasking. Frankly, it surprises me that he wasn't doing all this from a treadmill. That way he'd have been able to get in his daily exercise at the same time as everything else. I keep trying to tell him that multi-tasking doesn’t exist and that current thinking suggests it is far better to focus on one job at a time. Mindfulness is the word of the day; scratch that, it is the word of the year – nay, the decade. Winter just accuses me of subverting current popular opinion and adapting it for my own uses. I don’t deny it. Of course, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that; if the facts don't serve me, I don't want to know them. Who would?
All the same, there was something rather wonderful about watching Winter at work. He was like a conductor in front of an orchestra, in full control of everything that he was doing. The man had no idea how sexy he was. Then he looked up, his sapphire eyes catching mine, and the world seem to stop. We gazed at each other, lost in a single moment of togetherness; it was as if the world had stopped spinning on its axis just for us. A moment later someone waved another piece of paper in front of Winter’s face and the spell was broken. It didn't matter; I knew that if I wanted it I would always have his full attention.