Page 3 of Secrets of the Frostbound Cottage

She was looking up at me so entreatingly that I knew, whatever she asked, I was all in.

Chapter Two

In all my years in this job, I’d never heard someone say I wassupposedto help them as if it were some kind of obligation. That was not how this gig usually worked. I ran my own business and if I wanted to take on someone’s case, that wasmychoice. Nobody wants toneedthe services of a PI – people arrived looking like they’d rather chew gravel than hire me – but my young visitor was different. There was something so tangible about her fear that I already knew she was right: Iwassupposed to help her, and I intended to do so.

The girl standing in front of me was in her mid-teens, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. She was fresh-faced and looked so damned innocent; she wasn’t the type that could get herself into a club with a bit of eyeliner and a cheeky smile.

Her eyes darted about as she dubiously examined the corridor of my flat. Her assessment was correct: it didn’t look like much, because it wasn’t. It was cheap, though, and when your income fluctuated wildly month to month like mine did, cheap was good.

‘Youdohelp people, right?’ she asked as she wrung her hands. Her green eyes were fixed on me and I was pretty sure it was those eyes that made her look so young. Those and her clothes.

Everyone knows teenagers like to express themselves through their clothing, but I couldn’t quite work out what this girl was trying to say. She was wearing a full-length green dress with spaghetti straps, heavy boots and a bright pink baseball cap. She had a large, rainbow-coloured scarf draped over one shoulder and a gold bumbag strapped around her waist. It was less of an outfit and more of an argument. Either she had an extremely eclectic taste, or she wasn’t used to dressing for the non-magical world. My money was on the latter.

‘Who are you, honey?’ I asked softly, ignoring her question.

She bit her trembling bottom lip and a wave of fear blossomed from her again. Magical or not, she was still a kid. A scared one. Then she stepped back. ‘I’m sorry. I must have got it wrong.’ She shook her head and turned to leave.

‘You don’t have to go,’ I said quickly. ‘You’re right, I do help people.’ I gave her a wry smile. ‘Though full disclosure, I also help myself to biscuits if they’re lying around.’

I motioned towards the sitting room, hoping my weak attempt at humour would settle her a little. ‘Perhaps you should come in and tell me what you need help with?’

She looked anxiously behind me to study the room I was trying to coax her into. Apparently something about it eased her fears because relief billowed from her as she walked into my very humble abode.

I waited until she was perching on the sofa before I closed the door. I deliberately didn’t lock it, though I usually would have. I didn’t want her to thinkshewas about to be kidnapped. No, that dubious honour had been poor BonBon’s.

I joined her on the sofa and leaned back, keeping my posture relaxed, like I could soothe her with my own calm. Sadly, thatwas a skill this lousy empathdidn’tpossess. ‘So, kid, what’s happened?’ I asked evenly. ‘Why do you need my help?’

The trembling in the bottom lip increased. ‘My parents – they’ve gone missing.’

So that was why her fear had resonated so deeply with me: parental loss. You couldn’t get closer to the bone than that. I crossed my fingers that her loss wasn’t permanent, like mine had been.

‘Do you think you can help me?’ she asked. The tears she’d been holding back so bravely were now tumbling down her cheeks. ‘I think you’re meant to,’ she said desperately. ‘I think … I think that’s why they guided me here. I need you to… I need... I need…’ She was sobbing now, barely making sense as she tried to drag in breaths.

I gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘It’s okay. It’s okay. Just let it out.’

With no tissues nearby, I grabbed a roll of kitchen paper and handed it to her; it wasn’t elegant, but itwasabsorbent. She pulled off a sheet and blew her nose noisily before reaching for another piece.

As she wiped her eyes and face, I studied her. We were in the centre of London, but her boots were caked with thick mud. Although there were parks and open spaces nearby, the weather had been unusually mild and dry for April – but her ankle-high boots were covered in sludge, as if she’d been walking in them for days. I got the scary feeling that she might have done exactly that.

But it wasn’t just her boots that weren’t sitting quite right with me.

‘Okay,’ I said gently, when she had herself under control. ‘I’m going to try to help you, but I’m going to need to ask you a few questions first. Is that all right?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded quickly. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Great. First, I’d like to know your name. Could you tell me that?’

‘It’s Orla,’ she replied. ‘Orla Oakenfold. My parents are Simone and Barrie Oakenfold.’

‘Thank you, Orla. Now, if you don’t mind, I need you to take off your hat.’

I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her eyes widened even further. Her pupils dilated and her green irises seemed to glow faintly as her lips pressed tightly together.

‘I promise you’re safe here, no matter what,’ I said evenly. ‘I just need to know all the facts. Do you understand?’

Her mouth remained a perfect straight line as she nodded slightly. A moment later, she reached up and removed her cap. Her hair was so blonde it was almost white, but it was what lay beneath it that held my attention. Her slender ears were slightly larger than mine or any humans that I knew of – and they rose to a perfect point.

I’d done my damnedest to leave my magical upbringing behind me and yet here it was knocking on my door.

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