17
The last time I’d seen Fenella Beaumont, she had been wearing a flashy designer evening-gown and too many diamonds. She’d hosted a massive party for a large group of magickal invitees — including us — in this very castle, specifically for the purpose of breaking the news about the fifth Britain. Jay and Zareen and the Baron and I had wrecked her little coup, which hadn’t exactly made us popular with her.
Her smiling friendliness unnerved me. So angry had she been about our interference, she’d taken an axe to poor Millie’s doors and windows. Now she welcomed us to her ancestral castle with impeccable manners and a smooth smile — the same castle Zareen had lately endeavoured to wrest from her entirely, with the help of George Mercer, supposedly one of her own employees. Was her friendli
