The Seer by Kirsten Jones Page A

‘Mistral!’
    She started,
‘What?’
    ‘Why are there
two buttons missing from your dress?’

The Tribute
Banquet
     

    At Phantasm’s
repeated insistence Mistral finally threw the mirror a cautious glance. 
She knew whatever she saw there would only catapult her into a whole new
stratosphere of anxiety.  As it turned out, she was completely unprepared for
the dramatic image that met her eyes.  She stared, transfixed by the sight
of some woman dressed in a silk gown of deepest blood red.  The high
collar gave way to a plunging neck line that held her horrified gaze for what
felt like several hours before she finally managed to force herself to examine
the rest; a fitted sheaf of sheer silk that swept down to the
floor.   
    ‘I thought the
sleeves would be ideal for tonight.’  Phantasm informed her while he
brushed a non-existent speck of dust from her dress. 
    ‘The
sleeves?’  she echoed disbelievingly, eyeing the dramatic ensemble again
with fresh horror.  He had dressed her in from head to toe a sock of blood
red silk, apart from a damned great chunk missing from the front … and he was
talking about sleeves ? 
    ‘Yes, bell
sleeves,’ he shifted his attention to her hair, coiling the long plait up in a
tight bun.  ‘They’re perfect for concealing any gestures you make in
code.’
    Mistral
glanced down at the long fitted sleeves of her dress.  They flared out at
the end to drape over her wrists and cover the tops of her hands.  ‘Oh,
right –’
    ‘There.’ 
Phantasm stepped back with a note of satisfaction in his voice.  ‘I would
ask your opinion but you’re not suitably qualified to be allowed one … so come
on, we need to get you downstairs.’
    ‘Don’t even
think about it!’  Mistral snarled when he approached her with his arms
held out.  ‘I can walk!’
    ‘Fine, but if
you fall you’re paying for that dress.’
    Muttering
something rude about not being suitably qualified to make that kind of payment,
Mistral made her way towards the top of the stairs, hampered by the close
fitting dress.
    ‘Small
steps!’  Phantasm instructed in a brisk tone, watching her teetering
precariously at the top of the stairs. 
    Mistral
glowered at him over her shoulder and bent to gather up the hem of her dress to
free her legs. 
    ‘I don’t think
so!’  Phantasm snapped, jerking her hands away.  ‘You’ll mark the
silk!’
    ‘Fabian!’ 
Mistral immediately shouted from the top of the stairs.  ‘Please come and
get me or kill Phantasm!  Actually, can you please do both!’
    Fabian’s
expression when he appeared at the bottom of the stairs was worth suffering a
thousand tedious hours being force-dressed by Phantasm.  His dark eyes
widened and he actually froze with one foot raised to mount first step.
    ‘You look –’
he began and paused, at a loss for words.
    ‘Red?’ 
she suggested acidly.
    ‘Stunning.’
    He ran lightly
up the stairs and gathered her carefully into his arms before carrying her down
again, gazing at her with eyes of liquid night, starless and sublime.
    ‘Not bad, red
riding hood.’  Phantom commented, standing up and stretching. 
‘Right, we’ll get changed then we need to hear what you Saw.’ 
    ‘Please don’t
expect me to dress like this all the time.’  Mistral whispered, meeting
Fabian’s appreciative look with reservation.  ‘I am much happier in
trousers and I really don’t think I could ride in this ridiculous outfit.’
    ‘I am much
happier when you are not dressed at all.’  Fabian growled, catching her
around the waist.
    ‘Please don’t
crush the silk!’  Phantasm shouted irritably from upstairs.
    Fabian threw a
dark glance towards the stairs and reluctantly let her go, ‘Tomorrow.  We
are definitely going home,’ he muttered to her.
    ‘Tomorrow.’ 
Mistral smiled and turned to walk over to the fire, tripping slightly on the
long hem of the dress.  ‘Damn thing!’  She scowled down at the gown
then