“Ramya?” His blonde hair is tousled and he’s wearing an oversized black hoodie and blue jeans. It’s bizarre because I am so used to seeing him in a crisp, private school uniform.
I wait for him to usher me indoors, but he doesn’t move. We stare at each other.
“You didn’t tell me things were this bad,” I finally say.
“I know,” he replies softly. “Come in. But you can’t stay long.”
I frown, following him into the house. It’s so similar to my parents’ home in Stockbridge that I feel slightly unnerved. Freddy leads me into the front room, and I head straight for the white door in the far corner of the parlour. It opens to reveal a hidden snug, just like the one in our house.
“I had one of these,” I tell him, dazedly. “Used to hide in it for hours, waiting for Mum and Dad to get really panicked and worried.”
“Did they?”
I close the door slowly. “No.”
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything. But I knew you would do this.”
“Do what?”
“Come charging down here, trying to fix things, and you really need to stay in Loch Ness.”
“There are Fae working for Portia in Loch Ness. They’re looking for something.”
“Your house is protected though?”
“Yes.”
“Ramya, listen. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
Before he can go any further, a car pulls up outside. I can’t see it, as the curtains are closed, but I can hear it – especially with the quiet of the street. I turn to look back at Freddy and freeze when I see terror cross his face. I open my mouth but I’m being bundled into the hidden snug we were just examining.
“What?” I snap, as he closes the door on me.
“Stay in there, stay hidden,” he pleads, his voice which holds so much power over other people now full of fear and terror. “Please, Ramya.”
I stare out of the microscopic crack in the door and I’m about to ask what is going on when I hear the front door open. Freddy dives to the sofa, flopping down onto it and trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He whips out his mobile phone and starts scrolling.
The living room door opens, and I stifle a gasp as I see who is entering.
Portia.
She looks exactly as she did when I was six. When we last saw each other. She is wearing shimmery tights and a grey work dress. She kicks off a pair of black heels with blood-red undersides.
“Evening,” she says to Freddy.
I almost scream when I see what she does next.
She bends down and presses a kiss to his mussed blonde hair.
The realisation hits me like a sledgehammer to the temple.
Freddy is Portia’s son.
And I’m trapped in their living room wall.
Chapter THIRTEEN
The Why
I’m shaking and silently enraged as I watch Portia sit down next to Freddy and start massaging her right foot with her hands.
“How was your last day of term?” she asks him calmly.
“Fine,” Freddy replies flatly. “Not much fun with everyone rushing to get home before curfew.”
“The curfew is at eight,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You can get up to all sorts of fun before then.”
“We have different ideas of fun.”
Portia throws him a sideways glance. “You’re missing your little friend.”
Freddy is careful to show no reaction. “Yes.”
“No one wants the two of you to be reunited more than me.”
He leaps to his feet and walks towards the bay window. “Don’t.”
“Trust me, darling, you don’t want a friend who is immune to your powers. Where’s the fun in that. I’ve done it once, never again.”
