Prologue

I stuffed my hands in my pocket. I had decided to walk home to think things over for the last time. I had just quit my job and my house was already sold to a nice elderly couple. When they had asked me where I was going I had answered, "Back to my roots." I smiled ironically. A little bending of the truth never harmed anyone.

My mind returned to more pressing matters. Maybe walking home on my high heels wasn't such a good idea. My feet were killing me. I took off my shoes and moved to the grass on the side of the road, lifting my face to catch the warm summer rays. I smiled. Against all odds I had been happy here.

No one here knew who I was, of course. All they knew was that I was from Britain. Just a woman who needed a change. Well, no truth-bending there, a sarcastic little voice said. The inhabitants of the village had accepted me after they saw I had accepted them. Their straightforwardness and averse of intrigue and deceit appealed to me. Intrigue and deceit, I had seen enough of that for the rest of my life.

There were certain things my neighbours didn't know about me. Certain things about my past, my family, my kind… They didn't know my real name either. I was very good at hiding those things from them and they accepted there were certain things I didn't want to talk about. The old ladies of the town all thought I had been through some tragic love affair that was still painful for me to talk about. It was true, in a way, but certainly not the way they thought.

Twenty minutes later I reached my house. It was a small cottage with plastered walls, red tiles, and an abundantly growing garden for which I could take no credit at all. I owed it all to my neighbour's green fingers. Inside the cottage it was cool and dim. Suitcases and trunks were lying around. I stood still in the middle of the living room and bit my lip. There was one thing I had to do first.

I climbed the stairs and walked into my bedroom. I opened a drawer, reaching all the way to the back of it. There was a small object taped to the wood. I took it out and looked at my wand. I hadn't used it for many years. When I'd disappeared I had thought it best not to use any magic, fearing someone would pick up my trail.

Slowly I turned to the suitcase lying on my bed, recognising the opportunity to practise I pointed my wand at the wardrobe and demanded, "Pack!" Clothes flew out and folded themselves neatly in the suitcase. Not bad, I thought. I repeated the spell on the drawer and the bathroom. Several other objects landed safely in the suitcase too. I closed it and took it downstairs, leaving it near the door to go into the living room again.

Within minutes I had packed everything I needed in another suitcase and put it next to the other near the door. My dinner-service, tea-sets, cutlery, and glasses were wrapping themselves in old newspapers and storing themselves in boxes. I could store my belongings at my neighbours' for a while and Pierre would be here any minute. That moment I heard a knock on the door. I glanced around quickly and checked if everything had stopped moving on its own. I put my wand in one of the suitcases before I opened the door.

Pierre greeted me as jovially as always and kissed me on the cheeks. "Chérie, you mustn't leave. This town wouldn't be the same."

"Pierre, I have to go back to look after some things, you know that."

Pierre may not have been an old lady, but he was old and had a romantic soul. He believed firmly in my tragic past.

"Oh well, I suppose you're right. But you can't blame a man for trying, non? Have you got everything packed?"

"Yes, I have."

"Let's get your things then." We put everything in his truck. The only things left in my house were the heavy furniture, which the buyers had agreed to buy along with the house.

"When will you leave?"

"Tonight." I glanced at the broom next to the front door. "My flight leaves tonight."

"Ah - well, you come with me now. Jeanne wishes to say goodbye too." Pierre's wife was tiny, slender, and very French. She chattered non-stop, making lots of gestures, bickered with her husband, whom she absolutely adored, and made me try all of her recipes, which were all exceptionally good.

"Oh, ma petite, I will miss you so much!" she exclaimed when I greeted her. She flung her arms around me and hugged me tightly. I wasn't tall, true, but Jeanne was almost a head shorter, so 'petite' had always struck me as a bit funny. When I had said that to her once, she had gestured my remark away and replied, "You are at least thirty-five years younger than me. You are petite." And that was her final point.

I smiled and hugged her back. "I will miss you too."

"Now, I have made you something to eat during the flight. You cannot eat that airplane food. C'est dégoûtant!" Jeanne, who had never been in an airplane in her life, was convinced that all food that did not take at least two hours to prepare was disgusting and not fit for consumption.

I groaned. "I will miss you, Jeanne, but my figure won't! I have gained at least two hundred pounds since I came to live here."

"Well, that is a good thing. You were such a little, skinny girl when you came here," Jeanne answered motherly. I grinned. Jeanne was clearly exaggerating. I had never been skinny in my life. I had lost quite some weight before I came here, due to stress and illness, but my weight had re-established itself at its normal level after a while, with Jeanne's help.

I accepted Jeanne's invitation to dinner. I would not have been able to refuse, even if I'd wanted to. Afterwards, Pierre offered to take me to the airport, but I said I already had arranged transportation. Jeanne was crying when she waved me goodbye and I had a hard time swallowing away a big lump in my throat. She and her husband had made their village a home to me. Pierre drove me home again and walked me to the front door.

"Take good care of yourself, chérie, I don't want you to get hurt."

I smiled reassuringly and hugged the old man. "Don't worry, mon ami, I'll be careful."

"Au revoir."

"Au revoir, Pierre," I smiled through my tears. Slowly he walked to his pick-up truck, examining a rosebush on the way. He waved and drove away. I walked back into the house where I had lived for fifteen years.

I took my wand and a warm sweater out of the suitcase and fastened the suitcases to the broom, growing more more nervous every minute. For almost two years I had denied what was going on. Denial was very powerful and I was an expert at it.

I looked at my left forearm. Some things, however, refused to be denied indefinitely. The mark there had turned darker and darker, now burning painfully whenever he summoned his followers.

It was time to go back and finish what was started so long ago.