In the frantic day after the first visitation, Fran never could find any of the clues she’d missed.

Fran’s flat was small and neat, not unlike it’s occupant. She’d been staring at the ‘Sits Vacant’ column in all the newspapers, sighing. There was nothing for a twenty-one year old enchantress with a recent degree in English and reasonable IT skills.

Being an enchantress hadn’t done Fran any favours in life, with the possible exception of teething. As far as she could see, there was no reason why any baby needed to be born with a full set of teeth. And from there on in, it had been an unmitigated nuisance.

Now, she threw herself onto the sofa, wondering whether to stay in or go down the pub. She could probably blag her way into one of the more exclusive student bars, if she cast a glamour on herself and chatted up the bouncer a bit.

Whoomf.

"Such a scintillating lifestyle."

Fran’s eyes slammed open. Two men, in cheerful disregard of the wards she’d set up, had materialised in her living room. The older man was the one who had spoken, a well-heeled English accent. There was a neatly trimmed little beard and moustache, that on anybody else would have made them look like the Great Alphonso. Here, it was balanced by the sheer intelligence in the man’s eyes.

The younger man was in his twenties, and just handsome enough to put Fran in a forgiving mood. He had curled dark hair and chocolate eyes, but was saved from blandness by an expressive mouth.

"Francesca Holmes?" Alphonso asked.

"She wasn’t what I was expecting," said Cute. He had a Welsh accent.

"I’m Fran. Who are you?"

"I am Riarté, and this is my apprentice Fynn. You have twenty-four hours to prepare, then you will leave this life behind you."

The two enchanters disappeared, leaving Fran feeling sick. Twenty four hours.

"Oh, Jesus," she whispered. Riarté hadn’t threatened or mocked, but she believed him implicitly. One day left to live. How would she spend it? With her parents? Oh, heaven, no , she couldn’t bear all that fussing. She tried to think of all the people she could visit- and arrived at a truth.

Francesca Holmes had no real friends.

"But how could that be? All the people I went to Uni with? Or school, or, or anything?" She realised she was crying. Was it so unreasonable that she wanted someone to be with her at the moment? Fran shook her head. Well, it was a bit late now. Everything she had done, for good or ill, was just going to have to do.

"I mean, I’ve never done anything harmful with my abilities... no, nothing more than cutting myself an extra day for an essay. But come to think of it, I’ve never really used them at all. Never used any of my talents except for school."

It was such a waste. But Fran knew that given a second chance, she’d do it all the same way again. She didn’t know any other way to be. Really, all she wanted to do was sit on her sofa and sob for a bit, but time was ticking, she could see her own heartbeats twitch against the fabric of her T-shirt. Only a few left.

"Right. First things first. I’ve got to buy some stamps."

The next day found Fran in London. On the basis that she wouldn’t be needing it any more, she had emptied out her life savings account, and gone shopping for some serious dresses. It was what her mother always said about being run over in clean underwear, only on a more organised scale. One frock was worn to lunch in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the entire city, which meant mesmerising quite a few people into believing she was a food critic for a national paper. Her savings funded that, as well, but what she mostly did was wander around in the sunshine. Enchanters, it was said, were created in the twilight and the dawn, but Fran wanted to remember the warmth, just once more. She found a second hand bookshop, and finally got around to reading the end of ‘The Lord of the Rings’, but decided she really could die without reading all the appendices. So that was the wish list more or less taken care of. There was a little bit of Fran disappointed that she was about to die a virgin, but she was damned if she was remedying that at such short notice.

There was one thing, though. Fran was frustrated that she didn’t know how she was going to die. Had those two enchanters been messengers, or would they prove active participants? So, just in case, Fran went into a little shop mortals generally didn’t notice.

"Miss Holmes!" Gregor knew every customer by name, but that was hardly surprising. "Long time no see."

"I need some advice. Couple of guys, Riarté and Fynn."

Gregor tapped his teeth. "Riarté, ah yes, I know. He’s very old, and cunning with it. Well, he was. That cow Cora broke his heart."

"Spare me the gossip. How do I defeat him?"

Gregor took one look at Fran, and laughed.

"All right, then, tell me about Fynn."

"No idea. What did Riarté say about him?"

"Just said he was an apprentice. He was Welsh."

"And just the thought of him makes you blush. Child, I think you’d better tell me about this."

"Francesca, may I call you that?"

"Sure. Fran for short."

"Fran, it doesn’t make any sense. Why should they want you dead? And, in doing so, why warn you in advance?"

"I don’t know. But I’m scared."

"I can tell. I remember you when you first came here. What was it, a school trip? You stared me down as though you were an empress. And I sold you all those damn books. All those grimoires and spellbooks and old bits of papyrus."

"And they were a help. That’s how I learnt my craft."

"That is not how you learn it, and it never was. Now Riarté can chew you up and spit you out and you don’t have a clue. Oh, I could dig out a runic knife, but you’d probably try to stab him with it!"

"What’s the alternative? You’re the only other enchanter I know. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this. I live a normal life, a life like thousands of other girls like me."

"There are very few girls like you, however you try to hide it." Gregor’s temper subsided. "Fran, would you like me to go back with you? To try and negotiate with Riarté?"

Fran nodded. "Okay."

"So, Gregor... tell me about your family, and stuff. Any brothers and sisters?"

"All dead now." Gregor sighed. "I was a proper seventh, you understand? What mortals forget is that it only has to be a seventh child, not seventh son. I had five sisters, so my brother and I were spoilt rotten. What about you?"

"Well, I was adopted, then my parents had another girl, Helen. They tell this story about when she was born, I looked down at her, said she was beautiful and went upstairs. They found me carefully packing my teddies into a box and when they asked what I was doing it turned out that I’d assumed that because they now had a natural daughter, they were going to send me back to the home."

"Oh, dear. And your natural parents?"

"I don’t know. I was found abandoned. They must have known what I was, and freaked."

Gregor patted her arm, and only then did Fran start to wonder how old he was. No enchanter ever looked over fifty, and sometimes, they were a lot older than that...

Fran must have fallen asleep as soon as she crashed through her front door, because the next thing she was aware of was the three enchanters talking.

Gregor: "I know. And she doesn’t deserve that."

Riarté: "You have no idea what I intend."

With surprising gentleness, Fynn nudged Fran. "Time."

She sat up, hugging her knees. "So, what happens now?"

Gregor started forwards, but Riarté did something, and the old enchanter couldn’t move. Riarté turned, pointed at Fran- and everything vanished.