Hazel Praline, being a total star, didn’t just stay in a room at The Glorchester Hotel, she and her crew occupied its entire Moonlight Penthouse. This suite of rooms was laid out over the whole top floor of the hotel and included several bedrooms with four-poster beds, a spa with a bubbling hot tub, a kitchen stocked with cookies and jellybeans and a private cinema with just a handful of squashy velvet seats.
Not that Rose was in the mood to appreciate such luxury. Not with her mind squawking like an overcrowded aviary, the shrills of one side fighting with the shrieks of the other about what might have happened to Alex and Aries.
“You’re going to be fabulous,” said Medea, smiling into Rose’s worried face. She linked arms with Rose as Hazel Praline’s PA, a flustered young woman with a glossy chestnut bob, gabbling into a silver mobile phone, led them down the penthouse’s hallway.
Around them, Rose was aware of Hazel’s entourage, who’d stopped chatting amongst the potted ferns and jewel-coloured velvet chairs to watch them pass. She supposed they made a striking pair, she and Medea in their matching black trouser suits and stripy T-shirts, more like a couple of carefree sisters visiting a famous friend than a fashion designer and her new assistant. Or, squeaked the clear-thinking part of her brain, an ancient sorceress and her utterly confused apprentice.
Snapping her phone shut, Hazel’s PA showed them into the penthouse’s main living area. This room was the size of a tennis court and dominated by a floor-to-ceiling window that stretched the whole length of the far side of the room. London’s skyline twinkled in the morning light beyond the glass and from where she stood Rose could make out the London Eye, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey, standing mistily in the early morning light behind the blue-black Thames.
Around her, yellow satin sofas and curly legged tables stood on soft sapphire blue carpet. Oil paintings in gold frames hung on the walls. Pots of pink roses and lilies stood on almost every surface, their spicy scent filling the air, each bunch displaying cards with messages from fans.
“If you’d like to make yourselves at home,” said the PA, plumping up one of several gold cushions on the nearest sofa, “I’ll let Miss Praline know you’re here. She’s rehearsing in the cinema room.”
Rose watched as the PA walked towards the pair of tall cream-coloured doors at the far end of the room. A snatch of music wafted out as she opened them and Rose recognised the song as one of Hazel’s, with a second identical voice singing along on top. Despite her bubbling anxiety, Rose’s heart flipped like a pancake.
“Gorgeous place, isn’t it?” said Medea, dropping her sewing satchel on the floor to walk over to a giant aquarium in the corner where glittery silver dollar fish flashed through the water.
Rose gazed around her. Soothed by the luxury and reassured by the normality of the familiar London she could see through the window, the bewitched side of her mind began reassuring her more confidently, its voice like a tendril choking her worries.
Things would be all right, it said. She should simply enjoy the morning. After all, wasn’t it already beyond her wildest dreams? Or would she rather be sifting through trays of rhino beetle with her mother? She’d find Alex and Aries again, it promised, and they’d be absolutely fine. After all, if the sorceress were with her now, what could she possibly be doing to them?29
“Miss Praline will see you now,” said the PA, dragging Rose from her thoughts. “I’ve some calls to make, so if you need me, I’ll be down the hall in the office.”
Medea smiled and waited for the PA to leave.
“This is it then!” she said, looking into Rose’s eyes. She tucked a lock of Rose’s hair gently behind her ear. “Just think what we’ll achieve together.”
Feeling brighter, Rose picked up the sewing satchel as Medea tapped on the cinema room door.
“Come in!” called a warm Texan voice.
Hearing Hazel’s famous drawl coming from the other side of the door, Rose’s legs felt wobbly as she followed Medea in.
Hazel Praline, the Hazel Praline, stood smiling, dressed in a pink towelling robe, her long blonde hair piled in glossy curls on top of her head. Her movie Rodeo Love played on the screen behind her but as Medea and Rose entered she snapped a button on the remote control, freezing a picture – of herself in rhinestone cowboy chaps riding a white horse – on the wall.
“Haze,” said Medea. “This is Rose Pottersby-Weir, my new assistant – and a huge fan of yours.”
“How flatterin’!” said Hazel. Pressing more buttons on the control she brought up the overhead lights and picked her way over the empty jellybean boxes scattered in the gap between the seats where she’d been dancing to hug Rose warmly. “’S good to meet ya!”
Rose beamed, hardly able to believe her eyes.
Hazel was just as spectacular in real life as she was in her Saturday morning television series. She seemed to glow with health, her skin golden, her eyes bright, her teeth a perfect white.
“It’s amazing to meet you,” said Rose honestly.
Hazel smiled whilst Medea examined the beautiful pink dress hanging on a silver clothes rail, wheeled against the wall. She lifted its skirt into the air and released it so that layer upon layer of chiffon floated down, each seeming to hang in the air for a moment like pink mist. Under the overhead lights, the crystals sewn onto its top layer sparkled like raindrops.
“Did you ev’ see anythin’ so beautiful?” said Hazel.
“It’s incredible,” agreed Rose breathlessly.
And it was.
Believe me, the way it drifted was more like a wisp of cloud, tinged to a Turkish delight pink by a glorious sunset, than anything as commonplace as a dress.
Medea slipped off her jacket before gently draping the dress over her arm, letting its skirts pool gauzily around her legs.
“Give me about ten minutes to set up,” she said. “Then we can make the final alterations.”
“Sure thing,” said Hazel. She turned to Rose, smiling. “Y’ever had a Texan hot chocolate?”
Rose shook her head.
“Then come with me!” said Hazel.
Hardly able to believe that she was actually here, Rose followed Hazel out into the penthouse’s kitchen. Bright and airy, it was twice the size of her mother’s kitchen at home and gleamed with marble-topped counters and shiny gadgets.
“Secret’s in the cream,” said Hazel, opening the giant fridge and taking out a bar of chocolate, some milk and a small china pot of double cream. “It’s from my uncle’s ranch! Never tour without takin’ some with me.” She set everything down on the island unit. “You find a bowl to mix it with the milk and I’ll grate the chocolate.”
Temporarily distracted from her worries, Rose began stirring the milk into the cream, delighted to be here, to be wearing fabulous clothes, making hot chocolate with a pop star and having fun instead of grubbing around some dusty archive with her mother.
“’S nice to have some company my own age,” said Hazel, tapping the grater. Curls of chocolate fell onto the plate below.
Rose smiled, thinking exactly the same thing. “I suppose it must be hard, travelling so much of the time?”
“It is,” said Hazel. “I mean, it’s excitin’, an’ I know I’m lucky. But when we’re tourin’, Daddy’s so busy fixin’ ev’thin’ we hardly see each other. And even though there’s loadsa people around, it can be real lonely sometimes.”
Rose sighed. “I know what you mean.”
“You do?”
Whilst Hazel heated up the milk, cream and chocolate on the huge stove, Rose warmed two red china mugs and told the star about her father’s disastrous expedition and how her mother had buried herself in work at one big museum after another ever since he’d disappeared. It was funny, Rose thought, the problems they shared, even though their lives couldn’t be more different.
Suddenly the girls heard a rapid frothing noise.
“The milk!” they shouted together.
Hazel grabbed the pan from the stove and poured the steaming chocolate into the waiting mugs before flipping the lid off the cream and adding another hefty dollop to each.
“And finally!” she smiled, plucking a silver shaker off the counter to sprinkle multicoloured sugar crystals over the top.
Rose beamed. She’d never seen hot chocolate so huge and sparkly and crazy-looking. She lifted her mug and took a sip. Or so delicious.
“Like it?” said Hazel, setting hers down and noticing a blob of sugar-speckled cream on the tip of her neat nose. She looked at it cross-eyed. “Like my new image?”
The two girls giggled together.
Hearing Medea calling her, Hazel rolled her eyes and swiped the cream from her nose. “Duty calls!”
Together they walked back into the living room. Medea stepped aside for Hazel to slip into the cinema room and looked at Rose.
“I don’t want to be disturbed by anyone whilst I’m doing this,” she said. “So, please stay out here and take any messages. Okay?”
Rose looked up from spooning the cream from her hot chocolate and nodded happily. Above her the chandeliers scattered rainbow light and she sat down on a squashy sofa thinking, as Medea closed the door behind her, that she might just love this job.
Could this really be her life from now on? Working with Medea in a totally amazing job? And learning magic. A magic that would transform her own life in just the same way? A magic that might help her find her father? A fresh surge of optimism electrified her from her toes to the top of her head.
Which was when she noticed something white and gleaming on the floor. Long and polished, it wasn’t until she’d picked it up from the carpet that she noticed the eyehole at the end and realised it was a needle. It felt warm, like porcelain, and looked ancient. For a moment she wondered what to do. She turned it over in her fingers. Clearly, it must have fallen from Medea’s bag when she dropped it onto the floor. She bit her lip. The needle looked special and she could imagine Medea’s frustration at not finding it, caught mid-adjustment, as Hazel stood for her alterations, the dress pinned, whilst the sorceress cast hopelessly about for the missing needle. Standing up, she looked at the closed door. Medea had said she hadn’t wanted any disturbances. But surely that didn’t include her. Not when she had something that was probably really important to her. After all, she reminded herself, she was Medea’s assistant.
Making her decision, she strode briskly over to the cinema room door and walked in.
And froze.
Hazel wasn’t standing for her alterations. She wasn’t standing at all. She was floating, actually floating, as though invisibly suspended in mid-air, a metre above the floor. Rose felt a small squeal die on her lips as she watched the young singer, just hanging there, her arms outstretched, the gorgeous pink dress rippling around her body. For a moment, Rose thought she looked like an angel. Or at least she would have, if she didn’t have her head thrown backwards, and her eyes staring glassily at the ceiling.
Beneath her, Medea squatted menacingly on the floor, muttering in hisses, her back hunched and uneven between her knees, her right arm little more than a blur as she sewed furiously around the hem of the dress, stitching in something that glittered like gold in the light beam from the projector.
Stepping silently backwards out of the room, Rose’s attention was caught by a flicker on the screen behind Hazel. A film was playing but it wasn’t Hazel’s. It was a clip of what appeared to be a funeral procession. Two black horses, with pink plumes in the crown pieces of their bridles, filled the screen, drawing a glass hearse behind them. A hearse that carried a small pink coffin.
Horrified, Rose crashed back against the door. Startled, Medea spun round as quick as a spider, and stared at her.
“Rose,” she soothed, her voice perfectly calm. “I asked you to wait outside.”
Suddenly a burst of music exploded from the speakers and when Rose looked up, the movie was playing again whilst Hazel herself was standing on the floor, smiling at her.
She held out the skirt of her dress out and twirled like a model. “What d’you think, Rose?”
Rose stared, feeling as though her insides had turned to ice and that if she moved she might crack and fall into pieces. Her feet wanted to turn and run, sprint out of the living room, down the hallway and never come near this place again. Her fingers trembled against the door frame as Hazel waited for her answer.
Meanwhile, down in the horribly white room, Aries’ horns and ears had vanished beneath the sludge, leaving only his upturned face exposed and bobbing like a chunk of white bread in a bowl of revolting green soup.
“Goodbye cruel gods!” he muttered flatly.
Being an ancient Greek it was traditional to depart in a classical fashion, which meant a flowery death speech. Not having had time to compose one of his own, Aries tried to remember Hector’s speech at the battle of Troy. Just before Achilles stabbed him with his spear.
Except that his heart wasn’t in it.
Because, quite frankly, when you’re certain you’ve lost your best friend and are up to your chin in something green and toothy, you’re just not in the mood for fancy words.
He stared down.
Even the tank of bacteria wasn’t listening. Having stopped bubbling altogether, it now lay as still as a swamp.
Then he heard a voice.
“Is that the only bit of the speech you know?” it said.
Aries jerked his head up. It sounded like Alex’s voice and, feeling his heart leap, he scanned the room as the voice went on.
“The next bit goes, ‘For Zeus and Athena have willed it.’”
Aries twisted round to look but the room remained gloomily empty. Freshly disappointed, he decided that the bacteria must be busy after all. They’d simply taken a short cut down his ears and chosen to start their dinner party with his brain cells, which explained why he was hearing voices.
“Oh, Alex,” he sighed to himself. “Even at my darkest moment, it’s your voice I hear.”
“That’s because I’m here, you great steaming dollop,” answered the voice.
Flinging his head up a second time, Aries squealed with delight as Alex appeared in the doorway of the storeroom.
“Alex!”
Aries bounced madly in the mixture – not easy in a halter and floor-stirrups combo, but spectacular in terms of the froth it generates – as Alex hurried over. Plunging his arms into the goo, he laced his arms through the cage bars and wrapped them around Aries’ neck.
“I’ve missed you, too!” he laughed as the splatter dribbled down his face. “We tried to free you last night but she’d put some enchantment on the cellar door. We had to wait until now. Oh, I’m so glad to see you!”
A moment later he drew back, his face pale and anxious (and a little bit green). Laying a hand on the ram’s mottled brow he softened his voice. “I’m sorry, Aries,” he said. “I don’t know how to say this… But, your fleece, it’s all gone.”
“Oh, Alex!” gushed Aries. “I already know!”
“You do?” said Alex, astonished to see that Aries’ excitement hadn’t diminished at all.
“And I’m the one who should be sorry,” said Aries. “Sorry for all those years I spent pining after it. I’ve been so stupid.” He sighed. “Proud and foolish. It doesn’t mean as much to me as…” Aries paused, feeling his face grow pink, “well, other things. I’m sorry I dragged you back to Earth, back here to this place. Can you forgive me?”
“But it means so much to you,” said Alex.
Aries shook his head. “Meant,” he corrected. “Once—”
Aries stopped. Because what appeared to be a weed-covered loofah was now rising from the green liquid around him.
“Have you two quite finissshed?” hissed the loofah, spitting out a straw.
Aries looked questioningly at Alex.
“It’s Hex,” said Alex. “Remember him?”
Aries brought his lips up to the cage bars, closer to Alex’s ear. “But he’s one of hers,” he whispered.
“Not any more,” snapped Hex. The snake’s eyes glittered indignantly behind the mask of dripping goo. “No, now I’ve been promoted to hiding in cake mixture—”
Aries’ ears flew up. “Cake mixture?” he said and licked some off his muzzle. He took a second mouthful. “It’s delicious!”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Last night, whilst Fred wandered around the garden looking for Hex and Pandemic guarded Rose upstairs—”
“Rose?” demanded Aries, between mouthfuls. “Is she all right?”
“For the moment,” hissed Hex.
“Go on,” urged Aries.
“Hex told me what Medea had planned for you,” said Alex. “We tipped the real gold bugs down the drain and refilled the tank with what we could find in the kitchen. Flour, water, eggs and butter, anything that made it lumpy and thick and then loads of mashed cabbage and sprouts to make it green.”
“But the bubbling?” said Aries.
“Hex,” said Alex. “He hid at the bottom of the tank and spun round to make it churn.”
Aries looked at the mamba. “What about the gold ore turning to stones?”
“Easssy,” replied Hex. “The mistresss lovesss the way the bacteria do that. I knew ssshe’d have to ssshow off, ssso I took a tail full of plain rocksss with me.”
“Oooh!” squealed Aries. “I could kiss you!”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Hex coolly and slithered hastily out of the tank. He lowered himself onto the white floor and slid towards the winch, leaving a green smear in his wake. “In fact, if you two are quite finissshed with the big sssoppy reunion, maybe we could think about getting out of here?”
Even though boys aren’t as strong as Cyclopes and mambas have a tendency to accidentally wind themselves around rope winches only to spool out giddily, ten grunting, groaning and griping minutes later, Aries was free. And, having told Alex all about what Medea had used the fleece for, the boy was now thinking hard.
“I should have worked out what she was up to,” said Alex, as Hex shot out into the corridor, tasting the air for the scent of Cyclops and worse, his basket. “I mean, it’s what the Scroll was trying to tell us all along, wasn’t it? ‘Her power’s in the stitches.’ Remember?”
“Power’s in the stitches, my hoof,” muttered Aries, shaking his head and sending a spray of green into the air. “The Scroll’s answers were fuzzier than a statue in Athenian fog. You should have let me eat it.”
“All clear!” muttered Hex, bolting down the corridor like a grey-green lightning streak.
Alex and Aries hurried after him out of the room.
“Imagine all the hurt she’s caused,” said Alex crossly, now breaking into a jog to keep up with Hex who whipped over the stony floor ahead. “All those people she killed.”
“And Hazel’s next,” wheezed Aries. “Whoever she is.”
“Hex!” shouted Alex. “Who’s Hazel?”
“Ssssh! Keep your voice down!” hissed Hex, coiling back at them. “Ssshe’s a sssinger and her film premiere’sss thisss afternoon. Ssshe’s going to sssing a few sssongs before they ssshow it. Medea will have taken Rossse there.”
He flicked his tail and slithered on.
“So, how does Medea intend to kill her?” cried Alex in a loud whisper.
“No idea,” replied Hex, vanishing around the next corner. “And neither hasss ssshe. Ssshe never knowsssss how the curssse will work. Ssshot, ssstabbed, hanged, beheaded, assssssasssssinated,” he shuddered, “finding out isss all part of the fun for her.”
Alex ran after him and turning the corner recognised the same dreary passageway that Medea had led them down the day before. The one that led to the villa’s entrance hall.
And out!
His heart soared. They were almost free!
Which was when he realised that Aries wasn’t behind him any more.
29. And yes, I do know that the correct answer to this question is in fact, “Plenty.”