Modern Magick

Royalty and Ruin: 1

'You look dishy,' I told him.

'Dishy.'

'Yes.'

'No one has used that word since about 1953.'

'And you are insufficiently quiffed to merit the term? I see your point.' Actually, the Danny Zuko quiff-and-jacket combo would suit Jay down to the ground, but I kept that thought to myself.

He grinned at me, and eyed my dress, then my hair. The former was a violet silk confection with a subdued (for me, anyway) knot work print in bejewelled colours. The latter was golden — not golden-blonde but actually pale gold — and loosely piled up on my head. Well, if there is a day for looking respectably drab and anaemic it certainly isn't the day you're whisked off to the heights of royal luxury.

'You look bonny,' said Jay.

'Which no one has said since 1927.'

'I am absolutely certain they did not have dresses like that in 1927.'

'Says who? They were wild back then. Short hems and everything.' Not that my dress was short. It was swishily long — I prefer that term to the soulless "maxi dress" — but it did leave me just a bit bare about the shoulder area.

Gravel crunched on the driveway outside as a sizeable car purred to a stop by the doors. A flash of glossy mulberry-coloured paintwork caught my eye.

'Here we go,' I said, collecting my shoulder-bag.

'You aren't taking that?' Jay did not move.

I hefted the bag. 'This? Why wouldn't I?'

Jay just looked at me.

All right, perhaps it is inconsistent to deck myself in colour and silk like a gilded butterfly and then sling my faithful old satchel over my shoulder.

'I need it.'

'You need what's in it. Surely we can find a better solution.'

I laid the bag back on the floor and looked at it. It is a purple cloth thing, a bit scuffed around the edges, and sturdy. It has a single dragonfly embroidered upon the flap. I put it there myself. Just at present, it was bulging with soft things for the pup to sleep in, underneath which lay Mauf-the-smart-mouthed-book, my Sunstone Wand (apparently I'm really not taking that back to Stores), and a variety of other necessities.

'I could make a smart suitcase of it if I had a bit more time,' I said doubtfully. I'd need to dig out the Wand, and then I'd need about half an hour. The process is a bit delicate. 'And then the flying charm — the one we use on the chairs — should take—'

I stopped talking, because with a wiggle and a shimmy my bag was changing. It flexed its seams, and with an audible pop it became a neat oblong case, stacked high, and tinted a soft heathery-purple. The dragonfly embroidered had become an embossed design spanning the top from edge to edge.

I rapped on the top and the lid bounced open. My tiny sunny-yellow pup smiled at me from inside, and rolled onto her back. The underside of the lid revealed a scattering of tiny air holes, invisible from the surface. 'Pup travels in style,' I said, patting her soft head before gently closing the case again.

'Nice work,' said Jay, as he sprang out of his chair (which promptly melted back into the wall).

'But, not mine.' If Jay hadn't done it, then who...? We were alone in the hall. 'Did you do that, House?'

There was no answer, precisely, but as I watched, my new case rose three feet in the air and began to glide slowly towards the door.

'You've got style, House,' I said, following my jazzy new luggage. 'Thank you.'