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" Well my PR advice would be to seize the initiative, contact him directly and explain what happened. I'd get Alana out of her cell and into more comfortable accommodation and suggest that you and he get together so he can be reunited with her as soon as possible." Well, it's a start. I'm not sure he'll respond to just an 'I'm terribly sorry, old man, ' but I guess we can try. Mind you apologising isn't really my style." No," I said. "That's why he just might believe you." Clegg just grunted and looked thoughtful.I saw Tricia shortly afterwards. "You just had to stick your nose in didn't you? You couldn't just leave it to me to sort out?" Hang on," I said. "Clegg called me in. What am I supposed to so? Tell him to get lost because you're being precious about your first mission?" Precious! I am not being precious. This wasn't my fault." Nobody said it was, Trish. But if Freddie asks me to help then I have to help, don't I?" Why can't he trust me to sort it out?" Because it looks like. The sickly, sweet smell of rotting vegetation nearly knocked me to the floor. ‘You tried to keep me out, but you forgot to block the windows. You under estimated me. I told you, my love, you are mine.’ I was suddenly afraid. Instinctively I grabbed at the side of my chair wanting to bolt. ‘Don’t bother getting up, Ilene, just look at me.’ As he came around the chair I turned my face, hidden in the hood of Ilene’s jacket. Voicelessly, I re-cast the charm of illusion. I needed him closer and couldn’t chance the charm ending suddenly. He had to believe that I was Ilene. His hand slid down my arm. I could hear his fingernails rustle the fabric of Ilene’s jacket. He asserted such little pressure that his touch felt like a spider running on my arm. In the distance a church bell tolled. One. He slid his hand over the jacket. It rested over my left breast. The smell of rotting meat gagged me. I reflexively pulled back, stopped by the hard back of my chair. Two. ‘You called me heart to.
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