“Who the hell are you?” Freya demanded.

The blonde shrugged. “Just someone who doesn’t want to get caught. They’d never believe I wasn’t involved, so I’d rather we didn’t stand around here giving introductions. Do you have a way out or not?”

Freya drew herself up. “Look, I don’t know who you think I am, or what you believe you’ve seen, but I am not to be accosted in this manner, and if you don’t leave I will ask security to detain you.” It was the best impression of her mother she’d ever done.

It didn’t work. “You talk much more and we’ll be attracting the kind of attention neither of us wants.”

“Hmmn.” Freya glowered at her, trying to see past the fog in her mind, but bouncing off it like a rubber wall.

“Frey, who’re you talking to?” Mal hissed in her ear.

“Never mind.” She glanced around once more, then said, “This way.” She led the other woman to the doorway, just visible behind the gossamer curtain that billowed out a little. Taking one last look to make sure no-one was watching, she slipped inside, knowing the blonde was at her heels.

Out of the perfumed air, there was a faint smell of cooking from further up the corridor, getting stronger as they hurried along. At the bend Freya held up her hand, and her companion stopped. Carefully she glanced around, but could see no-one in the kitchen just a short way further along. Nodding, she gestured and walked quickly forward, then felt the blonde almost run into her back as she stalled. Movement, and not the purple and gold of the flunkeys, but the black and shiny guns of the security guards, standing in their exit.

“Gorramit,” Freya breathed, dipping into the only open doorway. The other woman followed her, closing the door behind them until only a sliver of light showed.

“They’re not moving,” the woman said. “I think we’re going to have problems getting out that way.”

Freya looked around the dark room, her eyes adjusting quickly. It was some kind of linen store, table cloths and tea towels piled high on metal