Twisted Fortune

Ch. 1: the letter

**

The letter arrived on a Monday morning. Which was to say, it was already a bad morning, and it was about to get worse.

Gemma Addington plucked the letter from the delivery boy's hand. She looked a mess, which was so unusual that it amused her. Her auburn hair was in curlers, and her silk pajamas were wrinkled. The teenage boy's gaze darted from the fresh, vicious scar that bisected her face — gleaming with ointment — to the swell in her pajama top, and Gemma hid a smile.

Nice to know that her new appearance wouldn't deter anyone.

Then her gaze dropped to the letter and any amusement vanished. "Where did you get this?"

The teenager shifted. "Er. The sorting facility?"

"When?"

He blinked. "This morning."

"How many of them were there?"

Gemma took a step forward, and the teenager eyed her with alarm. She was aware that she must look half-mad — hair falling out of her curlers, gripping the letter as if it was a throwing star — but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Addressed to Opal House?" the delivery boy asked. "Just the one."

"No. How many letters did you deliver this morning that looked like this?"

Because the letter was unmistakeable. The creamy cardstock was heavy and expensive, and the wax seal held the imprint of a diamond. She didn't need to see the contents to guess what it was.

"Oh." The teenager hesitated. "I'm not sure."

"Guess," Gemma said flatly.

He shifted his weight. "It's only, I'm kind of new to this job. My mate Ed is taking a gap year in Peru, and he asked if I'd mind stepping in for a—"

"How. Many. Letters?"

Her voice was half-growl. The teenager flinched.

"I don't know. Twelve?"

Twelve. Her minds spun, trying to do the maths. Every pack in the area must have received a letter then, in addition to Goddess only knew how many packs outside of northeast England. She ripped open the letter, and the delivery boy made a noise of alarm.

"That letter's addressed to—"

"I know who it's addressed to," Gemma said tightly.

She scanned the words. It would be inaccurate to say that a weight settled in her stomach; it was a boulder, and it was in the process of crushing her organs. She thrust the letter out towards the boy.

"Take it back."

He blinked. "What?"

"Quickly," Gemma said. "Before anyone sees."

She waggled it, as if enticing a small child to take a spoonful of mashed broccoli. How old was this kid, anyway? Sixteen? Seventeen? She was so bad with ages. Anyway, Gemma had basically skipped the teenage years; she'd filled out at thirteen, and she'd been drinking champagne and extorting favours from men within six months. It was that or let them paw at her, and she'd figured that she might as well profit from their unwanted attention.

The teenager eyed the letter warily. "I don't know if I'm allowed to do that."

"Tell you what," Gemma said, leaning against the doorframe. "Get rid of this letter, and you can tell all your mates that I snogged you in a pub."