CHAPTER 4

The first meeting of Poppy and Fynn was artfully arranged. Fran had to attend a job interview, so Fynn would simply bump into Poppy while he was alone.
Fran sat at the table in the cottage, applying her makeup without bothering to consult a mirror. After all, she knew what she looked like.
Lipstick. Muted, but still undeniably red, much like Poppy's mouth. For once, it silked over Fran's lips instead of leaving the slightly oily, gritty feeling she usually found in cheap cosmetics.
Eye shadow. Fran had long ago been given a palette of shades, a dusty rainbow of colours in a black box by some long forgotten relations. Her two favourite colours had almost been worn away, but she didn't have the heart to throw the rest of the box away because at least six of the little tablets had never been brushed. Today she chose one of the less used shadows, and smiled as she imagined the effect.
Clothes. Formal, of course, for an interview, but today was time to dig out that necklace, a piece given to her long ago in one of Riarté's sudden bouts of generosity. At first glance it looked like an ordinary Celtic knot, but if you kept watching it you'd see the necklace continually unknot and reknot itself, trying out new combinations.
Finally, shoes. Impressively sensible, with black laces. The heels were rather lower than Fran felt comfortable with, considering she was returning to civilisation.
"There," she said aloud. "I'm ready now."
It was only when her lips moved did she realise she was still smiling.

"I'm off out," called Fynn. "Anyone want anything?"
"No, thank you," said Hannah stiffly.
Amanda was more forgiving. At least she merely glared at Fynn as he went to pick her up. Fynn stopped dead, too guilt-stricken to even cuddle his daughter.
"Fine," he snapped. "If you're all going to be like that, I'll see you later."
It wasn't fair, thought Fynn, as even the car took three tries to start. It wasn't as though he wasn't sorry, or that he could go back and sling a bucket of cold water of his past self when he'd arrived at the restaurant.
At any rate, it was easier to be in town just now. Hannah would eventually get over it, of course, since Fynn's transgression wasn't directly related to her or the baby. But Fran…
Fynn shook himself awake. The only thing worse than not having Fran beside him was it being his fault. There must have once been a time when he wasn't around Fran, of course. But that was a long time ago, and-
"Eeeek!"
Fynn looked up from the driving wheel. There was woman on the lying on the grass verge, her leg bent back under her. Fynn couldn't tell if she was conscious. A red Sierra drove away. Its bonnet was open, probably as a result of the sudden impact.
Fynn's first instinct was to drive like hell, but he couldn't leave the poor woman to die by the road, and he would probably be more use than an ambulance fighting its way through traffic.
"Miss?" Fynn scrambled out of the car a little before it had rolled to a halt on the hard shoulder. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes," she said faintly. "I think it's just my leg. And I'm cold."
"Oh, that's just shock," said Fynn reassuringly. "And as for your leg…"
He closed his eyes. He could feel the injury, the leg… torn? It felt strange, but more painful than serious. He put just a little bit of his life into it, and knew before he opened his eyes that it was all but healed. God, he loved having this power. The girl's eyes opened in wonder.
"I don't know what you did, but thanks. What? Why are you staring?"
Fynn blinked. "Sorry. It's just… you look like someone I know."
"That's all right, then. I thought I'd had my face smashed in, the way you were looking. Oh, I'm Poppy, by the way."
"Fynn. With a Y."
"Ah." Poppy sat up. "Look, I was on my way to lunch. Would you like to join me? It's the last I can do. "
"I'd like that," said Fynn, unaccountably breathless. "Oh, just as long as it's not Esme's."
Poppy smiled. "It's a deal."

Fran was in two places at once.
This was a definite problem during a job interview, and Fran found it a disorientating new sensation. Poppy was at the back of her mind, accessing her life skills for all the world as though Fran was a database.
Still, it suited Fran's purposes. Poppy was turning out to be, basically, a second her. And she'd suited Fynn for a while, hadn't she?
She realise she was smiling again. It was creeping out one of her interviewers, and impressing another with her confidence. God, people were so easy to manipulate, weren't they? Wind them up, and watch them go. Right into the abyss, in most cases.
"You need me," she said suddenly, cutting across a question she hadn't heard. "The people, the machinery, the stones of the walls need me. So isn't it lucky I'm here?"
The uneasy interviewer gaped, as though trying to hang onto his shredded willpower. He tried to say something, tried to protest, but all that came out was:
"Can you start on Monday?"
"Hello, Cora," said Gregor, behind them.
Fran jumped. The two interviewers looked dozy, as though the effort of staying awake had suddenly become too much for them. Gregor was perfectly framed in the window, the blinds turning him into a series of enchanter-shaped slices.
"Er, hi, Gregor. How's the shop?"
"Never mind the shop. You've been a bad girl. Do you know why?"
Fran waved a helpless hand at the interviewers. "I didn't really mash their minds, you know."
"I know. I wasn't thinking of the job."
"Oh. Fynn."
"Fynn." Gregor sat down. "He and Poppy have started dessert, but I suppose you know that, don't you? And if you've created her well, then Fynn will break his word. What then?"
"I don't know. I'll think of something. "
"He'll be yours, a slave, unable to help but obey you. That's what you're planning, isn't it?"
Fran realised she was shrinking into her chair, false confidence utterly evaporated. "I hadn't thought of it in so many words. That's horrible. No, I won't do that, not to Fynn."
"Then to whom? Who is an acceptable slave, Fran?"
"Nobody!" She paused. "But… he hurt me. It hurts so much, Gregor."
Surprisingly, the old sighed, looked up at the ceiling, then wandered over and hugged her. "Oh, Frannie. It doesn't go away, not even if you break him in two."
Fran didn't move. "I'm not going to sit here and victim my life away." She sighed. "But I'm not going to turn into Cora, either. Or Riarté for that matter, torturing anyone who reminds me of the betrayal."
"Then what will you do?"
"I don't know yet." Fran smiled suddenly. "How about we find out when we get there?"
Gregor nodded. "All right, then. You can wake up now."
The two interviewers shifted slightly in their slumber. Fran politely let herself be distracted by the movement so that she didn't see precisely how Gregor vanished. She didn't think for a second he'd stopped watching.
"Uh…" said an interviewer uncertainly.
"Monday?" Fran beamed savagely. "No problem. See you then, then."
"Er, yeah."

© Naomi Claydon, 2000