The Phoenix

In reality, Ella was by no means sure she was ready. It was true that, ever since Camp Hope and starting her brain training, she was growing in confidence. With the white noise in her head under her own control for the first time in her life, she was starting to feel different. It was as if a thick layer of cloud had cleared, and she was seeing the world as it really was – the way everyone else saw it. Socially she felt less awkward. And in a strange way, taking on a cover story, an alter ego, made it even easier to practice her newfound skills. Even so, she knew she had a history of saying the wrong thing. If she made a misstep as Persephone Hamlin, the consequences could be grave. It wasn’t just her own life she’d be risking.

On the other hand, if she didn’t project confidence to Nikkos now, she might never get another chance to avenge her parents. Destiny was calling, and ready or not, Ella wasn’t about to miss her shot.

In the distance, the church bells tolled once for one a.m. Tonight had gone well, better than she’d expected. Makis Alexiadis wanted her. She’d sensed it in the club, and confirmed it waiting for her cab outside, when to her delight she’d managed to tune successfully into his cell-phone communications. Since leaving Camp Hope, Ella’s attempts to use her powers on her own had proved worryingly hit and miss, despite her daily mindfulness practice, as prescribed by Professor Dix. But on this occasion, Makis’s calls came through loud and clear.

‘He requested two different escorts, both to have short blonde hair, within ten minutes of me leaving,’ Ella told Gabriel after her shower, in what would be the first of their regular nightly debrief calls. ‘That means he is very interested.’ She wisely chose not to add the part about her own, powerful attraction to Makis, the ruthless killer with the raw sexual magnetism of a young Marlon Brando on steroids.

‘Good,’ said Gabriel, although nothing in his tone suggested that he thought Makis’s intentions towards Ella were ‘good’ at all. ‘Stay close and let me know of your next contact. And be careful, Ella.’

‘It’s Persephone now,’ she corrected him, teasingly. ‘And don’t worry. I will.’

She found it hard to sleep that night. Not because of the white noise traffic from her fellow hotel guests – she was now mostly able to lower that fairly easily to an almost comforting hum – but because of the adrenaline coursing through her veins, mingled with a raging river of untamed and unquenchable lust. It seemed impossible to think that only six weeks ago she’d been Ella Praeger, lonely data analyst at Biogen Medical, working for the loathsome Gary. And now here she was, an international spy, on a mission to seduce a crime boss and help bring down his evil, global network. And hopefully, in the process, exact vengeance on the woman who’d stood by and watched her mother drown.

Thinking about her mother’s death brought Ella back down to earth. Would vengeance bring closure? Ella didn’t know. But for the first time in her life she felt she had a purpose; that her actions and decisions mattered. Being Persephone Hamlin was going to be an adventure, but an adventure that meant something.

It felt good.

Ella was still finishing breakfast, a delicious buffet of creamy Greek yogurt, honey, fresh fruit and various different breads and cheeses, when she got the first call.

‘Good morning, Miss Hamlin. This is Makis Alexiadis. We met last night.’

His voice sent shivers down her spine, and then directly between her legs, but Ella quickly pushed them aside and jumped into character. You can do this.

‘It’s Mrs Hamlin,’ she said primly. ‘And how did you get my number?’

‘I’m a resourceful man,’ Mak replied smoothly. ‘I wanted to apologize.’

‘I see,’ said Ella. Her tone wasn’t rude, but neither was it exactly inviting. ‘For what, exactly?’

‘You found me to be impolite last night. I would hate to leave you with that impression.’

‘Thank you. I accept your apology,’ Ella said regally, and hung up.

Sprawled out in his four-poster bed in Villa Mirage’s sumptuous master suite, Makis laughed out loud.

Bitch!

Who the hell did Persephone Hamlin think she was?

The next call came that afternoon. Ella was reading by the pool, a new biography of Lincoln. (For reasons best known to himself, Gabriel had declared Persephone Hamlin to be a history buff.)

‘Persephone. May I call you Persephone?’

‘Mr Alexiadis.’ Ella sighed. ‘Is there something else I can help you with?’

‘As a matter of fact, there is. I’d like you to have dinner with me tonight. And I insist that you call me Mak.’

‘Mak.’ She softened just fractionally. ‘Look, I do appreciate the invitation. Truly. And I admire your persistence. But as I told you last night, I’m married.’

‘To a man who isn’t worthy of you,’ Mak shot back.

‘Oh, and you are, I suppose?’ she retorted archly.

Sitting at the desk in his glass-walled study, Mak felt a surge of triumph. The cold Lady Persephone was beginning to defrost. Only slightly. But there was definitely a playfulness in that last response that hadn’t been there before.

‘Have dinner with me and find out,’ he purred.

She hesitated, just long enough to give him hope.