Page 57 of A Kiss from the Fae (Mistress of Magic #2)

‘Scotland? Really?’ Zelda Hicks had been leaning on the desk, looking at her colleague Emery’s computer screen as he flicked through various websites belonging to Scottish castles.

The white leather heeled boots she had worn to the office that morning were killing her ankles, so she sat down gingerly next to him instead.

‘Afraid so, darling. The boss has her heart set on it: stone castle, brooding lochs, all the haggis you can eat. This whole collection’s tartan.

’ Her British colleague, Emery, the photographer for The Village Receiver – a small but respected New York newspaper – tapped a pile of test shots on his desk.

Zelda flicked through images of red, blue and purple tartan pencil skirts, one-shoulder mini dresses and revealing bustier tops worn by models.

She lowered her reading glasses onto her nose, pushing her black fringe out of the way.

She’d just started wearing glasses for reading and screens, and tended to put them on her head when she was working, but then she’d forget where they were and spend ten minutes searching her desk until Emery or some other kind soul pointed them out.

‘Shooting in Scotland’s so unnecessarily expensive , though.

We could do it in Queens and it’d look just fine.

Union Square. The lost and found office of the Empire State Building,’ Zelda suggested.

The Village Receiver , based in a slightly down-at-heel building just off Bleecker Street in the West Village, usually didn’t have the budget for international travel: they were an artsy, local newspaper that generally featured New York artists, fashion, musicians and restaurants.

However, since their new editor, Mira Khan, had been appointed, she had been spending money like it was going out of fashion.

Zelda had serious doubts as to whether Mira sending her and Emery to Scotland just for a fashion editorial was wise, but her opinion didn’t mean much.

Ultimately, she wasn’t in charge; even though she’d worked herself up to the position of Features Editor from an entry-level position and Mira had come from a well-known fashion magazine where she was probably used to having more money for things like sudden trips to Scotland.

‘Maybe. But may I suggest that you say yes with a bow on top? Sales are down for the fifth month in a row since she started and she’s on the warpath.

’ Emery shot a glance at Mira’s office, which sat at one end of the high-ceilinged loft space the newspaper occupied.

Mira’s was the only private office on the floor; the rest of the staff (Emery joked that she regarded them all as ‘her minions’) shared the open-plan space, which was draughty in the winter and boiling hot in the summer, but had a lovely view of a park below from its tall, loft-style windows.

‘Do you really think she’s going to send us to Scotland?

’ Zelda pulled a little at her neckline.

She’d been trying to dress more smartly since Mira had started working at The Village Receiver , to create a good impression.

But none of her pencil skirts or power outfits (vintage eighties numbers in electric blue or pink, with shoulder pads and big belts) had been clean that morning, so she’d come in wearing black jeans, a vintage Snoopy sweatshirt and the white leather boots, which were killing her.

‘That’s what she said, so, yeah. I’d have thought you’d jump at the chance for some free international travel. Personally, I like Mira’s whole spendy vibe. Long may she reign.’ Emery clapped his hands together enthusiastically. ‘Oooh. I’ve got to think about what to wear!’

‘So, we’re going to Edinburgh?’ Zelda thought about her choice of sweaters.

She was prone to dressing for comfort at home, but she liked to dress up for work most of the time, apart from today, when just getting out of bed had been an effort.

Usually, she wore a statement black eyeliner on her top eyelids, which suited her cat eyes and long, straight black hair.

Often, she also wore a statement red lip.

She was short, so she tried to wear heels when she could.

Her mom had always told her that her hair was her best feature, but that she could make more of her mouth.

‘Nope. We have the choice of… West Highlands. East Highlands. Midlothian.’ Emery flicked through various web pages he had open and stabbed his finger on the screen each time, naming three different Scottish regions. ‘All different castles.’

‘Those words mean literally nothing to me. Just so you know.’

‘Different parts of the mainland, but not in Edinburgh.’

‘I thought there was a castle in Edinburgh?’

‘There is, darling. Edinburgh Castle.’

‘So, can we shoot there?’

‘No, we can’t shoot at Edinburgh Castle. It’s like asking if you can do a shoot at Buckingham Palace.’ Emery was indignant.

‘Oh, jeez.’ Zelda sighed. ‘I have no idea why Mira thinks this is a good idea. So, Scotland has a couple of castles. So what? So does Germany. So does damn Transylvania, if she really has to send us somewhere.’

‘Well, Scotland has hundreds of castles, actually,’ Emery insisted, a little doggedly. ‘And are you really saying you’d prefer to go to Transylvania? Longer flight time, if nothing else.’

‘Umm. No, I guess not. Though I’ve heard it’s very beautiful.’

‘Right. Scotland, tartan. Makes sense, even if some people might think it was an unforgiveable cliché. It sounds as though you don’t want to go. What have you got against the place? Come on, be honest.’

‘My dad was Scottish.’ Zelda moved her chair for the office assistant who staggered past, dropping a pile of packages on Zelda’s desk. ‘Hey. Thanks, Midge.’

‘Welcome, honey.’ Midge was in her early twenties, wore her green hair in pigtails and had so many tattoos that Zelda wondered how she had ever earned enough money to afford them at such a young age. ‘There’s muffins in the kitchen, you guys. And Dave brought bagels.’

‘Ah, great. Thanks.’ Zelda smiled warmly. ‘We’ll be right there.’

‘ What? ’ Emery hissed, as soon as Midge was out of earshot. ‘Your dad ? As in, the dad you’ve never known?’

‘Yep.’ Zelda gazed at her pile of post. ‘I did know him. Sort of. I just haven’t seen him since I was three.’

‘Jeez. “Hicks” doesn’t sound very Scottish.’ Emery frowned.

‘No, that was my mom’s name. His name was Mackay.

’ Zelda’s stomach twisted. It had only been a few months since her mom had died from an aggressive cancer that had come out of the blue.

It was difficult to talk about it without tearing up: in fact, Zelda tried not to talk about it at all, especially at work.

‘Zelda Mackay. Who knew?’

‘Not really,’ she replied, shortly. ‘I mean, I’ve never used his name, and I never will.’ It had always been just her and her mom. Zelda had the sense of being unmoored from reality without her. Her mom had been her anchor. Now, she didn’t know what she was doing with her life any more.

There had been many nights since her mom had passed away when Zelda had wondered what she was supposed to do.

Work felt like a huge, elaborate circus with no meaning.

For a long time, she’d been passionate about telling stories and loved the creative world that the newspaper brought her into contact with.

But now, it felt meaningless. What point was there to an art gallery opening in the Village when her mom had passed away?

It felt to Zelda that she had been skating on the surface of a frozen lake, blithely paying attention to what everyone else was wearing, when she should have been looking for the crack in the ice that had dragged her mom under with no warning.

‘I never really knew him. I don’t remember him, in any case.

I have zero interest in him or my Scottish heritage,’ Zelda snapped. ‘Okay? Can we focus on work, please?’

‘Fine, fine. No need to bite my head off.’ Emery blinked.

Zelda felt awful: he had been nothing but kind to her when her mom died.

He’d come around to her apartment, armed with a ridiculously large bouquet of white roses and two full bags of groceries, dropping it all at the doorway when Zelda opened it and enveloping her in a huge hug.

Emery had been at the end of the line, late at night, when she’d needed someone to talk to.

He’d listened to her, hugged her when she’d cried.

He didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of her rudeness now.

‘Sorry. It’s just a sore subject.’ She patted his arm awkwardly.

‘It’s okay. I understand.’ He gave her his gentle grin and looked back at the screen.

‘What about that one?’ Zelda pointed to a picture of a grand-looking castle with lots of turrets. ‘That’s historic-looking.’

‘Loch Cameron Castle,’ Emery read aloud. ‘It’s lived in by the Laird… let me see. Okay, yes, it’s available to hire for weddings and events, so we might be able to get it.’

‘The Laird?’

‘The owner. “Laird” is the Scottish word for “Lord”. Usually, the title involves owning local land as well. A lot of these places have been sold off to trusts that look after them, or are ruins.’

‘Huh. She doesn’t want ruins, then? Wouldn’t that be more atmospheric?’ Zelda glanced over to Mira’s office, where she could hear her boss berating someone on the phone.

‘She told me she wants a Scottish castle with period interiors. This has interiors.’ Emery flicked through a few unhelpful photos on the castle website, frowning. ‘Though I do think this place would benefit from some better photography. I can’t tell what condition the interior is in.’

‘The gardens are good, though. We could shoot outside too,’ Zelda observed.

‘The gardens are nice. Shall I email and see what we can arrange?’

‘Okay, sure. We’re going to need to book it all in pretty quick, if she wants this for the next special issue.’ Zelda went back to her desk opposite Emery’s and opened her calendar. ‘That’s where we’d have space for something like this.’