Puppets
Prologue
"I'd like to have the motorcycle parked in front of your store," I said to the balding man in charge of this bakery.
"And I'd like to meet the bloody Queen of England!" he retorted sneeringly.
Bad move. I removed my dark sunglasses, took one good look into his eyes and I watched as his pupils began to shrink. He was now my own personal slave, willing to do anything I told him to do. "What I meant to say was, enjoy this bike, miss…," he bowed then blushed.
"Swan, Isabella Swan."
I then straddled the blue Buell motorcycle and rode off into the busy streets of Salford, Manchester, leaving a confused and utterly clueless shop keeper in the dust.