CHARACTERS BELONG TO ANGIE SAGE

Howdy. I've been reading "grown-up" novels, now that my library card permits me access all areas. And I've drawn quite a bit of inspiration from the likes of Danielle Steele and Jackie Collins. Not too much, as there is a limit to exactly how much colourful cocktail of affairs, abuse and secretaries you can fit into the innocent children's world of Septimus Heap.

Anyway, here is my idea. It's a story detailing the nightmares and ambitions of our cherished characters, but with a twist. I haven't worked out quite what that twist is yet, but give me time…

While we're at it, please can someone else have a go? I'm disappointed that the M domain is all mine still. What happens when I get bored and just write T? So readers. I'm begging you to have a crack at a bit of love and violence…

Enjoy!

- - - - -

Marcia Overstrand opened her eyes and wondered where she was. Her head felt heavy and foggy, as though she had been drugged, She rolled over- and memories of last night came flooding back as she stared at the man's face.

There had been a party in a disused warehouse. A large group of teenagers and young adults, and a huge quantity of (stolen) cider. Some men had been singing, crude and funny songs.

Somewhere into the evening, a fight broke out. Watchmen turned up and broke up the gathering. At this point, the man had tapped Marcia on the shoulder.

"Want to stick with me?" he had asked.

Marcia was sixteen. She had agreed.

She finished her drink- that he'd poured for her- and stumbled out into the rain after him. He put his arm around her to help support her.

By the time they had weaved their way through five or six miles of muddy, twisting alley, Marcia felt violently sick.

The man- what was his name again?- had unlocked a door and pushed her into a house. Then he'd shut the door. Trapping her inside.

It was then Marcia realised what he wanted. He must have put something in her cider. But by this time she was weak. She hadn't got the will to say no.

Everything was hazy around the edges; the man was undressing her, then himself. She could feel fingers, lips, caressing her chest, hands straying across skin. Marcia had never been touched before. It was good, but terrifying at the same time.

The man was setting her down on the bed, naked and powerless. His hands snaked down her stomach, between her legs, spreading them wide apart. Marcia shuddered at his touch, scared-but not scared enough.

When he pushed himself inside her, Marcia's few remaining threads of thought blew away upon a gust of horror and fear-induced passion. She gasped and panted, in a deadly brew of torture and lust…

The same man now lay beside her, naked also, apparently asleep.

Marcia wasted no time in finding her clothes and putting them on. She had no idea where she was, but it couldn't be too hard to spot a familiar landmark and work her way back from there.

"What are you doing?" demanded a voice. Marcia turned around, her hand on the doorknob.

"I'm going." She said coolly. "You got what you wanted. Now I'm going."

"I don't think so." The man jumped out of bed and pulled on a frayed night robe, faded and creased. Marcia ignored him and went to open the door.

The man had crossed the dim, filthy room in a second, and put his hand over hers so she could not turn the doorknob. He could easily break her fingers.

"Let me go."

"No. Not yet, anyway." The man began to push her back into the middle of the room.

"Let. Me. Go." she repeated.

"No." he replied again. "I'm having too much fun. Aren't you?" He hand brushed her cheek, tracing a path across her lips and down her neck.

Marcia could feel the bile rising in her throat, his hot breath on her ear and the side of her face.

"Get off me!"

She shoved him off as hard as she could. He staggered backwards.

"That's not very nice, is it?" he taunted, snatching something up from the table behind him.

A knife.

Marcia backed away as the man advanced on her, until she felt the cold wall flat against her back.

"There's nowhere to run," mocked her attacker. "You can't run anyway."

"Try and stop me." Marcia didn't sound as brave as she'd hoped.

"Oh yeah? Who's gonna help you? It's just you and me gorgeous, you and me. Don't panic, 'cause there's really no point."

He was inches away from her. His eyes inches from hers. The savage blade of the knife inches from her throat, glinting almost hypnotically as she stared down at it.

Her fingers scrabbled at the desk behind her, seeking something- anything. They closed around something smooth and cold. A glass.

The man had not noticed her movement. "No-one will notice one girl who's disappeared. Bet you were already missing. They all are. They're found in the end, of course. Some choose to go back home." He grinned a terrible, jagged grin. "Some wash up in rivers. Some rot in alleyways. Some-"

With a desperate cry, Marcia brought the glass smashing against his head. It shattered a sickening crash as it slammed into his skull, dulling his roar of agony and rage.

Marcia didn't wait to watch him fall.

She ran.

- - -

Marcia Overstrand opened her eyes, twenty three years later. She lay shuddering for a while, wondering what could possibly have brought the dream back.

It was a warning sign.

- - - -

Septimus couldn't understand why Marcia was in such a foul mood. All day she had been impatient and snappy, and more than a little pre-occupied.

Maybe she'd had a tiff with a Ghost, or another Wizard. Yes, that was it. Septimus continued his work, taking all the books off the shelf and replacing them in alphabetical order, according to subject then author.

Wonder who said what? he mused as he dusted a shelf in a dark corner. Probably got embarrassed again. His thoughts trailed as he re-arranged a section of books on the Other Side. If she ever gets played a joke on… or faced with a huge spider in public… or her foot stuck in a bucket…

What Septimus didn't know was that the reason for Marcia's temper was hiding in the shadows, just out of his line of Vision.