Re: Cass & Mat: the Quiet Home
If this was magic, if this was how it went, meandered neatly and orderly where you put it, Cass was certain she had no magic at all. Hers was like a tide, a moon-dragged pull that would come whether she bade it or not. She had nothing for the man behind the desk except finger-tip brushes and dulled down to nothing but a vague impression, it was like a fortune-teller at a cheap carnival searching for inklings in someone's face.
But there was magic and magic. Matilda flashed her credentials, her time under studio lamps and the limpid smile of a camera, blank-eyed. Cass had no idea of the outfit, but she saw flickers of lust, of acquisition in the man's face and she'd seen it enough times to know what it looked like, even in flashes.
She smiled like a child at a puppet-show, and applauded faintly, from her position by the door. It was a mad thing to do, from a mad girl who smiled like she was underwater and near-drowning, and here was a rope. "Rehabilitated. Funds released to her, report to the court that no further actions are required, no need to notify her father," she said clearly. It would be easier, with money. Life always was.