Necropolis

track of the date but guessed that it would be performed — without her — in a couple of weeks' time. All the parents would be there, along with some of the boys from The Hall. She thought of Aidan. And as she sat there, trapped in a warehouse full of fireworks, Dulwich seemed a very long way away. She wondered when, if ever, she would see it again.

    Jet's phone rang. He snapped it open and muttered a few words into it, then nodded at Sing, who went and unlocked the door. They opened it just a little bit, enough for Scarlett to see that it had stopped raining outside. Bright sunlight streamed in through the crack, lighting up the dust that hung in the air.
    Two more people came into the warehouse.
    The first of them was Lohan. He went straight over to Scarlett. "Are you okay?" he asked.
    Scarlett was relieved to see him. "How about you?" she asked. "What did you .do with the pendant?"
    "The pendant is on a flight to Australia. Hopefully the Old Ones will follow it there."
    "I'm glad you're okay."
    "And I will be glad when you have gone."
    He gestured at the man who had come with him. The man hurried forward, carrying a canvas suitcase about the size of a weekend bag. This man was quite a bit older than the others, wearing a crumpled cardigan and glasses. He placed the suitcase on the floor and opened it to reveal scissors, hair brushes, lots of bottles, and pads of cotton wool. There were clothes packed underneath.
    It was time for Scarlett to change.
    Jet dragged one of the crates over and Scarlett sat down. The older man examined her for a moment, using his fingers to brush her hair back from her face. He nodded as if satisfied, then reached for the scissors.
    Scarlett would never forget the way he cut her hair. She wouldn't have said she was particularly vain, but she had always taken care of how she looked. There was something brutal about the way he attacked her, chopping away as if she had no more feelings than a tree. She looked down and saw great locks of her hair hitting the ground, and although she knew that it was necessary and that anyway it would all grow back soon enough, she still felt like a victim, as if she were being assaulted. But the man didn't notice her distress — or if he did, he didn't care.
    He kept cutting, and soon she felt something she had never felt before: the cold touch of the breeze against her scalp. He finished her hair with a scoop of gel, then set to work on her face, turning it first one way, then the other, his fingers pressing against her chin. There was absolutely nothing in his eyes.
    He had done this many times before. It was his business, and he did it well. He just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.
    He painted her skin with a liquid that smelled of vinegar and stung very slightly, then added a few splotches with a thin brush. After that, he set to work on her eyes. Just when Scarlett thought he had finished, he muttered something to Lohan, the first time he had spoken. His voice was completely flat.

    "He wants to put in contact lenses," Lohan explained. "They're going to sting."
    They did more than that. The man had to clamp Scarlett's head while he pressed them in, the lens balanced on the end of his finger, and when he backed away, the entire room was out of focus, hidden behind a blur of tears.
    "Now you must get dressed," Lohan said.
    They didn't allow her any privacy. The four men stood watching as she stripped down to her underwear, and then the man in the cardigan dug a white, padded thing out of his case. Scarlett understood what it was. The boy whose place she was taking must have been quite a bit fatter than her. She slipped the pads over her shoulders and saw at once that she had a completely new body shape and that the slight curve of her breasts had gone. The man handed her a shirt, linen pants, a blazer, and a pair of black leather shoes that added about an inch and a half to her height. Finally he gave her a pair of glasses. The disguise was complete.
    "Look in the mirror," Lohan said.
    They had brought a full-length mirror out of the kitchen. Scarlett stood in front of it. She had to admit that the transformation was incredible. She barely recognized herself.
    Her hair was now short and spiky, held rigidly in place by the gel. Her eyes, which were normally green, were now dark brown, the color magnified by the glasses, which were clumsy and old-fashioned, with plastic frames. There was a touch of acne around her nose. She had become