It was dark by the time Mark Anderson opened his front door and staggered into the house clutching the dead weight of the shoebox to his chest. He gagged as manure-smelling blue slime oozed from the base of the box, down his suit jacket and onto the hall rug. He pushed the door shut and put the box on the hall floor.<\/p>\n
Black beady eyes peeped through the air holes cut in the box, and a tiny finger ending in a brown, gnarled claw poked through. \u2018Careful, yer clumsy git!\u2019 came a voice from the box. \u2018Yer nearly broke me back, chucking me down like that. Yer past it, yer silly old sod.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Save your breath, kobold,\u2019 Mark said. \u2018I\u2019m not listening.\u2019<\/p>\n
The kobold was a domestic goblin. Helpful around the place till it didn\u2019t get its own way. After that, pure spite. Mark locked the front door and put his keys into his jacket pocket. His fingers brushed against the pink envelope containing the birthday card he had bought for Pat Court, his boss. It had taken him ages to find, hidden among cards showing fake knitting patterns with obscene captions, garishly coloured landscapes and cute teddy bears. Didn\u2019t they have any that would be suitable for a woman who \u2013 like him \u2013 was sixty two, and not into foul language, soft toys or boredom? In the end he\u2019d settled for a print of van Gogh\u2019s sunflowers, blank on the inside.<\/p>\n
\u2018Mark! Ma-ark! You\u2019re feeling sleepy,\u2019 the kobold wheedled.<\/p>\n
Mark leaned against the wall, wondering what present to get for Pat. What about that perfume she liked? She always smelled lovely. Now, what was it called? Mark closed his eyes and tried to remember.<\/p>\n
\u2018Come on, me old mate, old son, that\u2019s it.\u2019 Just let me out and we\u2019ll say no more about it.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark crouched down next to the box and his hand edged towards the lid.<\/p>\n
\u2018Nice and easy, Markie.\u2019<\/p>\n
His eyes snapped open and he stood up. Nobody called him Markie, at least not more than once. \u2018I said, shut it. You won\u2019t get round me that way.\u2019 He shook himself.<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019ll get yer next time. Yer spineless wimp.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark pulled the bunch of keys out of his jacket pocket and chose one engraved with a pattern of sigils and ornate ancient Phoenician characters. It seemed to suck in the light around it, so that it pulsed blackness.<\/p>\n
He went into the kitchen. Next to the washing machine stood the safe, the containment facility for unwanted entities. Its thick iron door was carved with the same ornate script as the key. He\u2019d been careful not to install it next to the fridge. Despite guarantees that the safe would be impermeable to all sorts of magic, Mark didn\u2019t want to risk food contamination. It wouldn\u2019t do to open the fridge and find the food covered in mould, or worse, as though he was living in a student flatshare.<\/p>\n
Mark unlocked the safe door. The walls were solid lead. The latest theory was that magic existed as a very high frequency wave form. Lead worked as well against magic it as it did against gamma rays, provided you knew the right incantation. The same black light lurked inside the safe.<\/p>\n
He went out to the hall, picked up the shoebox and heaved it into the kitchen.<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019ll \u2018ave yer! I\u2019ll ave yer! Wimp!\u2019 the kobold poked another finger out of the box.<\/p>\n
\u2018Not so smarmy now, are you? But I\u2019m no wimp, and I\u2019m not listening! La, la, la.\u2019 Mark shoved the box into the safe.<\/p>\n
\u2018La la? Call that magic, yer big nellie? Yer great big pansy!\u2019 The kobold\u2019s voice quietened in a foul-mouthed diminuendo as Mark shut the door. Silence. He locked it and went into the hall to put the key away.<\/p>\n
Back in the kitchen, he heard snoring coming from the safe. He took his jacket off, looked at the label and put the jacket into the washing machine. He\u2019d switch it on in the morning.<\/p>\n
The owners of the infested house had paid well. Pat should be pleased with the initiative he\u2019d shown, being proactive. Silly word. Lovely woman. His next door neighbour; one day he would get up the courage to tell her how he felt. Today, business partners. One day, maybe more. Mark sat for a moment, thinking of Pat\u2019s smile, wondering why she\u2019d never married and didn\u2019t seem to have a partner. He didn\u2019t think she was gay. Too busy with her career, he supposed, work took up all her emotional slack.<\/p>\n
Mark had suggested going for a drink on Friday evening to celebrate her birthday. Perhaps he\u2019d finally tell her. There was a spell for bravery, but he wanted to do it unaided. But, what if she didn\u2019t feel the same? How could they go on working together?<\/p>\n
Mark yawned. Tapping into his own will had taken it out of him. There was still the marking of his fourteen- and fifteen-year-old pupils\u2019 English homework to be done. Two jobs is one too many, at my age, he thought. Although, teaching teenagers and dealing with demons were much the same thing.<\/p>\n
He got up and walked over to the washing machine. The snoring coming from the safe grew louder as he took the jacket out and retrieved his red pen from the pocket. Good job he hadn\u2019t been able to do any washing, it was bad enough having kobold slime all over the jacket without red ink as well. He put the jacket back and shut the door.<\/p>\n
He sat down at the kitchen table and took an exercise book from the top of the pile. It read \u2018A sonnet is like a poem, only it\u2019s got 14.\u2019 He circled the figure 14 and wrote \u2018Fourteen\u2019 in the margin. Then added \u2018and fourteen what? Apples? Oranges?\u2019 The last book in the pile contained some typed pages, at least they were easy to read. The material looked like it had come straight from Wikipedia, including hyperlinks the student hadn\u2019t bothered to take out. But she deserved credit for doing a bit of research, and the information was correct. Mark wrote \u2018well done. You\u2019re a shining example of what can be achieved with a bit of work.\u2019<\/p>\n
The doorbell rang. Mark saw Pat\u2019s outline through the frosted glass panel. He straightened his tie and let her in. She walked past him into the kitchen and put her bag on the table next to the books.
\n
\n\u2018D\u2019you get it?\u2019<\/p>\n
He nodded. \u2018Turned out to be a kobold. Put it in the holding safe. It\u2019s asleep. Listen.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Hmm,\u2019 she said, cocking her head in the direction of the safe. \u2018OK, you did well to trap it. But I haven\u2019t dealt with one of those before, I\u2019m not sure what to do with it.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Doesn\u2019t it just disintegrate if we keep it in the dark till the next new moon ?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018No, that\u2019s bunyips. I\u2019ll give Alex a ring, he\u2019ll know.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark frowned. \u2018Who\u2019s Alex? A rival exorcist?\u2019 His heart sank and he held his breath waiting to hear about someone else competing for work. And maybe for Pat, too.<\/p>\n
\u2018I forgot, you haven\u2019t met him yet. No, he\u2019s no threat to the business. He\u2019s useless at detecting entities or trapping them. But once you\u2019ve done all that, if you can\u2019t get rid of them, he\u2019s your man. I suppose he\u2019s what they call a geek. Early twenties, sits in front of a computer all day. Writes programmable spells. They\u2019re reusable. So we\u2019ll get him to write us a spell and next time we get a kobold, no problem.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark breathed out. \u2018Sounds like a sort of magic anorak.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Something like that. One thing he has told me is that if you don\u2019t know what you\u2019re dealing with you should put a chunk of obsidian in too. Soaks up any excess magic.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark nodded. \u2018I read something about that, but I thought it was just a lot of new age crystal claptrap.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018No, for once they\u2019re right. If the snores can get out, so can some of its magic. The lead lining in the safe stops the creature itself escaping, and weakens the effect of its magical field, but even so the obsidian is a good precaution against the magic leaking out.\u2019 She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a jagged-edged black stone the size of the palm of her hand. \u2018Funny to think it\u2019s volcanic glass. These sharp bits cut the lines of magic force. Go and get the key to the safe.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark did as he was told. When he came back into the kitchen, Pat had spread a pile of leaflets across the table. Mark picked one up and read it aloud. \u2018\u201cTraversing the City and the East End, these ghostly walking tours explore the old thoroughfares, haunted prisons and abandoned alleyways of London, each one with its own ghostly theme.\u201d But these things are a load of nonsense, aren\u2019t they?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yes, usually. But I\u2019ve been asked to lead that one and a few of the others, on a trial basis for a few days. Invoke some real ghosts, give them their money\u2019s worth. If the organisers like what I do, who knows where it might lead? I\u2019m driving to London as soon as I leave here. Hang onto these leaflets, you can give them out to clients. You never know, they might fancy a trip down south.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark looked down and fiddled with the key. \u2018I wouldn\u2019t mind one. But not during term time. How long will you be away?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Just two nights. I\u2019ll be back on Friday, in time for my birthday. Then we\u2019ll go out for that drink.\u2019<\/p>\n
She took the key from him and opened the safe. The snoring grew louder. Slime oozed from the open doorway and ran onto the floor. Pat threw the obsidian inside, slammed the door and locked it. She pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and cleaned up the slime trail.<\/p>\n
\u2018Burn that,\u2019 she said, screwing the used tissue up and passing it to him. \u2018And the rug. You can\u2019t leave any of it around.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018It got on my jacket. Can\u2019t I just wash it off that?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018And have all that magic leaking into the water? That doesn\u2019t bear thinking about. No, you\u2019ll have to burn that too. And you\u2019d better bury all the ash, for good measure. OK, I\u2019ll love you and leave you. See you on Friday! Do a bit of revision while I\u2019m gone.\u2019 She handed him her notebook.<\/p>\n
Suddenly the payment he\u2019d got for getting rid of the kobold didn\u2019t seem like such a good deal. Maybe the jacket could also be charged as an expense. Mark sighed, shut the front door after Pat, put the notebook in the bag with the books and picked up the rug. He went back into the kitchen, took the jacket out of the washing machine and emptied the pockets onto the table.<\/p>\n
He took the jacket and rug and went outside to get a bottle of paraffin from the shed. He put the jacket and the rug on the ground at the end of his back garden, poured on the paraffin, set fire to the tissue with a match and threw it on. If there was a spell for starting a fire he hadn\u2019t found it.<\/p>\n
He stood and yawned as the sparks flew upwards. It had been a long day. At least, with Pat as his next door neighbour, he\u2019d get no complaints about having a bonfire at 10 pm. Not that she was there, anyway. And what did she mean by \u2018love you?\u2019 He decided to let the fire burn itself out and went back into the house to make a cup of tea.<\/p>\n
He emptied one bottle of milk but there were four in the fridge. More than enough for one person. He picked up the red pen, wrote \u2018no milk today\u2019 on one of Pat\u2019s leaflets and put it in the empty bottle. He noticed the birthday card on the table and picked up the pen lying next to it. If you really are no wimp, like you told the kobold, he thought, then prove it.<\/p>\n
He opened the card, took a deep breath, and wrote: \u2018Pat, when you read this, you will know what I\u2019ve been too scared to tell you. You have made my life complete. Take me to your heart. I\u2019ll be yours through all the years, till the end of time.\u2019 He paused and put the pen down. Would Pat think it was silly? He took a sip of tea. Get on with it, he told himself, putting the cup down again and picking up the pen. You can\u2019t stop now. You\u2019ve got to give her that card, it\u2019s too late to get another one. So you might as well get it over, finish the job.<\/p>\n
He wrote \u2018You\u2019re pure magic. I know I can make you happy. The things I have to say won\u2019t wait until another day. Be mine, be mine. I love you. Mark.\u2019 He shoved the card back into the envelope, sealed it and wrote Pat\u2019s name on the outside. He picked up the milk bottle and went outside, leaving the bottle on his doorstep. He went next door and pushed the card through Pat\u2019s letterbox, holding onto the trailing edge for a moment. Go on, he told himself, you\u2019re no wimp. He let it go. Well, you\u2019ve done it now, he thought. He went home, to bed.<\/p>\n
On the way to work next morning, he stood in a queue in the corner shop, looking at the empty fridge.<\/p>\n
\u2018You want milk?\u2019 the shopkeeper said. \u2018Sorry, no can do. Out of stock at the cash and carry. Same all over the place.\u2019 He pointed at the headline on a tabloid paper: \u2018Milk production halted. Is Europe to blame?\u2019 The text continued \u2018Saucy Sally says there may be no milk today, but she\u2019s got lots up top to take your mind off it. See page 3.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark shuddered, paid for his paper and put it into the bag with the books. A woman rushed into the shop, knocking into him in the process.<\/p>\n
\u2018Where\u2019s your milk?\u2019 she shouted to the shopkeeper, looking at the fridge. \u2018Milkman\u2019s really late and they haven\u2019t got any in the supermarkets.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark drove away, past a milk float. The crates on the float were all empty and the milkman had climbed onto the roof. People surrounded the floats, shouting and waving their fists.<\/p>\n
At school Mark turned down the offer of a cup of tea without milk and walked into the empty classroom. His bag felt heavier than usual as he put it down on the table at the front and took out Pat\u2019s notebook. He put it in his pocket and pulled out the books. Underneath them were pieces of fruit. He didn\u2019t remember putting them in. His heart raced faster. Early dementia? He named the Prime Minister, checking it in his newspaper. No, he still had his marbles, even if the PM didn\u2019t. Perhaps the fruit fell into the bag in the corner shop. He took it out and lined it up on the table. Fourteen apples and fourteen oranges.<\/p>\n
The fourteen and fifteen year olds slummocked into the room and sat down. Mark got a boy in the front row to hand out the books.<\/p>\n
\u2018None of you would know a sonnet if you fell over it. And, Philip, it\u2019s got fourteen lines.\u2019 Mark noticed a girl at the back.<\/p>\n
\u2018None of you would know, except for Elsa. Read what you wrote, please.\u2019<\/p>\n
Elsa used non-poetic Anglo-Saxon language and a bit of two-fingered obscenity stifled the muffled comments of her classmates. She opened her book and read a paragraph.<\/p>\n
\u2018Now read what I said, so the rest of them will find out how to do their homework.\u2019 Maybe they\u2019d listen to Elsa telling them to do research.<\/p>\n
Elsa cleared her throat and smirked. \u2018You are a shining-\u2019 She stopped and screamed, holding her hands over her face. The students on either side of her leaned away, knocking tables over in the process. Mark looked up, and his eyes watered as the white light jetted, lighthouse-like, from between Elsa\u2019s fingers, reflecting off the shiny table tops.<\/p>\n
\u2018It\u2019s hot! No, cold!\u2019 She screamed, waving her hands above her head and turning her face from side to side like a spotlight. Books and furniture flew as her classmates shoved each other aside in their desperation to dodge its beams and escape into the corridor. Classroom doors opened and teachers looked out.<\/p>\n
Mark ran to her and took her elbow. Looking away from her, he rushed her to the sick room. He told the school secretary to call her parents. Mark ran into the staff room.<\/p>\n
It was empty, as he had hoped it would be. As though Elsa\u2019s light had forced its way right into his mind, he realised what must have happened. With shaking hands he took his mobile phone out of his pocket and keyed in Pat\u2019s number. It rang on and on. Just as he was sure it would go to voicemail, she answered.<\/p>\n
\u2018What\u2019s wrong, Mark? I can\u2019t talk for long, I\u2019m leading a bunch of tourists round Jack the Ripper territory. They\u2019ve paid to hear about possessed pubs, mass burial and murder and I don\u2019t want to keep them waiting.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Why do you assume that something\u2019s gone wrong? Technically, everything is going right. Weird stuff is happening. Everything I wrote yesterday evening is coming true.\u2019 He explained about the fruit, the milk, and Elsa\u2019s shining example.<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019ve never heard anything like that before. What did you write with? Did you use the same pen for the apples and oranges sarky bit on the homework as for everything else?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yes, it\u2019s just an ordinary biro. I\u2019ve had it for ages, right there in my pocket, nothing like that has happened before.\u2019<\/p>\n
He heard Pat gasp.<\/p>\n
\u2018In the pocket of your jacket?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yes.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018The pocket of your jacket that got kobold slime all over it?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Er\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018And that you put in the washing machine next to a leaky containment safe, just in case it hadn\u2019t got enough kobold magic all over it? Mark, how could you?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019m really sorry, Pat. What can we do?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Well, I can\u2019t do anything now. I can\u2019t run out in the middle of this job. And if we leave it till I do get back, goodness knows what will have happened. Fruit pouring out of your house when you open the front door. Milk riots. And that girl\u2019s parents will be going mad.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018OK, what do I do?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018You\u2019ll have to call Alex. His number\u2019s in the back of my notebook. OK, I\u2019ll have to go. Don\u2019t call me again, I\u2019ll come and see you as soon as I get back tomorrow.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark found the phone number.<\/p>\n
\u2018Leaky magic?\u2019 Alex said. \u2018I can\u2019t come over to you till Monday, I\u2019m mad busy \u2013 no, don\u2019t cry, I\u2019ll e mail you details of where you can download my spell-reversing app. That\u2019ll do the trick.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018App? What\u2019s that? Because of the apples? What about everything else?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Haven\u2019t you got a tablet?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What, one of those giant mobile phones? No, a laptop\u2019s good enough for me.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Smart phone?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018No need. Can\u2019t you send me something to download?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Uh-uh. Got to be my app. A simple download\u2019d spread right through the web, bugger everyone\u2019s computers up. You\u2019ll have to come round here.\u2019 Alex gave him his address.<\/p>\n
Mark ran back to the now empty classroom, stuffed the fruit into a bag, told the secretary he had a migraine, and rushed to his car.<\/p>\n
Alex\u2019s flat was on the 20th floor of a council block. In front of the door was a mat shaped like in inverted letter L, bearing the word Enter next to a reverse L-shaped arrow. A sign on the door read \u2018There\u2019s no place like 127.0.0.1\u2019. Mark knocked.<\/p>\n
Alex had floppy hair down to his shoulders and wore jeans slung low on his hips, revealing grubby green underwear. His t-shirt bore the slogan \u2018Make a date with a geek and your computer will stop misbehaving.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Kobold?\u2019 he said. Mark nodded. \u2018Come this way.\u2019<\/p>\n
He led Mark into a room about 6 foot square, curtains closed, crammed from floor to ceiling with computer equipment, trailing wires and empty fish and chip wrappers. Through the gloom Mark saw open and closed laptops, and multiple computer screens, some displaying the same thing, others not. Alex picked his way around grey and black electronic components with flashing lights to a desk at the end. Papers spilled out of the half-open drawers. Mark stared.<\/p>\n
\u2018What did you expect,\u2019 Alex said, \u2018Piles of grimoires? Fuming alembics? A pointed hat? This is the 21st century.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I know. Just give me the spell. Please. A hundred pounds, I think you said.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yeah, a ton. Got cash?\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark nodded.<\/p>\n
\u2018OK, where\u2019s your laptop? I\u2019ll type it in.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018You never told me to bring it. If I have to go back and get it, it\u2019ll take even longer.\u2019 Mark thought of people blinded by Elsa. And they wouldn\u2019t be able to buy milk.<\/p>\n
Alex flopped down into a chair with a ripped cover, put his hand over his closed eyes and shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u2018OK, keep your hair on. What\u2019s left of it. I thought it\u2019d be OK to assume you\u2019d know you had to bring it.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Assume! Assume makes an ass of U and ME. Now what am I going to do?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I don\u2019t believe it,\u2019 Alex said. \u2018How did you think I\u2019d give you the spell? Telepathy? I\u2019ll have to print it out. You\u2019ll have to type it into your laptop yourself. Then run the program and it\u2019ll all go away. Just like magic.\u2019 He turned to one of the keyboards and flicked a key.<\/p>\n
On the other side of the room, under a pile of magazines, a printer powered up and hummed into life. Alex fished under the detritus and pulled out a sheet of paper. He took an envelope from under a mug full of grey liquid, put the printout inside, sealed it and handed it to Mark.<\/p>\n
\u2018Don\u2019t open this till you get home. Now, watch this.\u2019 He tapped at the keyboard. \u2018Boot your laptop up. Once it\u2019s running, do this, this and this, you\u2019ll get a screen you can type the spell into. Then do this to run it. Just make sure you copy exactly what\u2019s written here.\u2019 He held his hand out and Mark paid him.<\/p>\n
\u2018Sweet as,\u2019 Alex said. \u2018That\u2019ll get rid of the magic that\u2019s leaked out. I\u2019ll be over on Monday to sort the kobold himself. That program\u2019s too long for the likes of you to type out. I\u2019ll bring my own machine. By the time I\u2019ve finished, he\u2019ll make a nice garden gnome. Got a pond?\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u2018Want one? I\u2019ve got an app that\u2019ll make him dig one for you.\u2019<\/p>\n
Mark said he\u2019d think about it, and went home.<\/p>\n
Mark put the fruit onto the kitchen table next to his laptop. The cursor winked in the top left hand corner of an otherwise blank screen. He opened the envelope, read the printout and copy-typed:<\/p>\n
10 PRINT \u201cAnti-kobold spell v1.0.0.1\u201d<\/p>\n 20 PRINT \u201cPen magic deletion charm. One star per spell\u201d<\/p>\n 30 INPUT \u201cWhat is your name: \u201c, U$<\/p>\n 40 PRINT \u201cHello \u201c; U$<\/p>\n 50 INPUT \u201cHow many spells do you want to delete: \u201c, N<\/p>\n 60 S$ = \u201c\u201d<\/p>\n 70 FOR I = 1 TO N<\/p>\n 80 S$ = S$ + \u201c*\u201d<\/p>\n 90 NEXT I<\/p>\n 100 PRINT S$<\/p>\n 110 INPUT \u201cDo you want to delete more spells? \u201c, A$<\/p>\n 120 IF LEN(A$) = 0 THEN GOTO 110<\/p>\n 130 A$ = LEFT$(A$, 1)<\/p>\n 140 IF A$ = \u201cY\u201d OR A$ = \u201cy\u201d THEN GOTO 50<\/p>\n 150 PRINT \u201cGoodbye \u201c; U$<\/p>\n 160 END<\/em><\/p>\n Mark ran the spell. The display on the screen read<\/p>\n What is your name:<\/em><\/p>\n He typed Mark<\/em>.<\/p>\n How many spells do you want to delete:<\/em><\/p>\n There was the fruit, since Mark didn\u2019t think he should eat it or just throw it away. Then the milk. Then Elsa. That was three. But, there was also the small matter of Pat\u2019s birthday card, written with the same pen.<\/p>\n He was glad that he\u2019d put \u201cwhen you read this\u201d before his declaration, but as soon as she did, she\u2019d fall in love with him. He could never let her do that, even if she thought it was all her own idea. And, what if she did but the magic wore off? He imagined Pat holding his hand then dropping it, shaking herself, standing with her brow furrowed. No, he\u2019d rather it didn\u2019t happen at all, if it couldn\u2019t happen naturally.<\/p>\n He wished he\u2019d asked her for a spare key, at least he could have taken the card back, she would never have to see the wretched thing. But now she would, and he would rather run the risk of her reading the card and wanting nothing further to do with him than have her love him on false pretences.<\/p>\n He typed 4<\/em>. The screen displayed<\/p>\n ****<\/p>\n Followed by<\/p>\n Do you want to delete more spells? Goodbye Mark<\/em> appeared on the screen.<\/p>\n With a series of pops, the fruit disappeared, leaving behind a blend of cider and marmalade smells.<\/p>\n The next morning, the fruit hadn\u2019t reappeared and the milkman had left two pints on Mark\u2019s doorstep. He drove to work past a milk float laden with bottles. He walked from his car towards the school, his heart pounding. With relief, he saw Elsa standing next to the bike shed, talking to her friends. As Mark walked past, she shoved the cigarette she\u2019d been smoking behind her back. He heard her say \u2018three hours we waited in A & E and the glow just stopped. Said there was nothing wrong. My mum\u2019s grounded me for winding her up. Cow.\u2019<\/p>\n At home that evening, the doorbell rang. Mark opened it and Pat barged past him into the kitchen, a wad of envelopes in her hand.<\/p>\n \u2018Well?\u2019 she said.<\/p>\n She didn\u2019t seem scared to meet his gaze. Was she going to ignore what he\u2019d written? Would it be an unspoken awkwardness between them or would they pretend it hadn\u2019t happened? Better to get it out in the open.<\/p>\n \u2018Happy birthday. I\u2019m sorry about the card,\u2019 he said, reddening and looking at his feet.<\/p>\n \u2018What card?\u2019 Pat shuffled through the envelopes. \u2018You mean this? I haven\u2019t had the chance to open it yet. I just went home, dumped my bag and ran round here. No, what happened about the leaky magic?\u2019<\/p>\n Mark looked up. \u2018Alex sorted it out, everything\u2019s fine. Tell me about your ghost tour.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Good news. I found a new one the organisers hadn\u2019t known was there. They asked me to find out more about it. Then either I have to get rid of it, or recruit it. I only came back to grab some books and equipment, then I\u2019ve got to go right back again.\u2019 Pat\u2019s cheeks reddened and she looked away. \u2018But, I missed you. It wasn\u2019t the same without you by my side. It\u2019s Friday, why don\u2019t you come back to London with me?<\/p>\n Mark gulped and stared at her.<\/p>\n Pat turned towards the kitchen door. \u2018Let\u2019s just forget all about it.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Don\u2019t go. Just give me a moment to pack a bag.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Good. I\u2019m glad to see you doing something reckless, something unplanned, for once.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I can throw caution to the wind, when I want to.\u2019 He\u2019d told the kobold he was no wimp. He cleared his throat and took Pat\u2019s hand. \u2018Go on,\u2019 he said. \u2018Open your card.\u2019<\/p>\n Judith Field writes fiction, mainly speculative, and has had stories accepted by Fabula Argentea, Stupefying Stories, Untied Shoelaces of the Mind, The Lorelei Signal, Aoife’s Kiss and other publications in the USA and the UK.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It was dark by the time Mark Anderson opened his front door and staggered into the house clutching the dead weight of the shoebox to his chest. He gagged as manure-smelling blue slime oozed from the base of the box, down his suit jacket and onto the hall rug. He pushed the door shut and …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2296,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,703,108],"tags":[704],"class_list":["post-4997","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-8-summer-2013","category-urban-fantasy","tag-the-colored-lens-8-summer-2013","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4997","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2296"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4997"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4997\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139658,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4997\/revisions\/139658"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4997"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4997"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4997"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n<\/em>
\nMark typed No<\/em><\/p>\n
\n