I've been a valet for four days, and hated every second of it.
‘Chin up, Collins. You’re not at a funeral.’
Lord Alfred Gordon Byron Lyte Cadogan. A long name for a long pedigree that would look better on a dog than a man. He holds out his arm. The creases in his shirtsleeve are so perfect they’re almost a work of art. I think about stabbing him with the cufflinks, but instead thread them through his sleeves. He fastens them himself, which is a miracle, as I have to do practically everything else for him.
I hate rich people. I hate wizards. Most wizards are also rich. I don’t know why that is. Maybe the poor don’t have enough time to wonder about the existence of the supernatural or magical. Maybe the wizards have a system where one has to live in Kensington or Belgravia to discover their innate magical talent. Either way, they’re all snobs. I think they take extra delight in hiding from the rest of the world. A secret club that only the privileged and well-bred even know about, and only a handful of people are able to join.
Cadogan flicks his hand in my direction. ‘Collins. Jacket.’
Fuck you and your jacket.
'And now, it's time for the fox hunt. So I'm turning you into a hound dog. If you corner the fox there will be a nice biscuit for you.
'And Collins, I advise you not to poop on the oriental carpet. You'll just have to clean it up when I transform you into the maid.'
'As you wish, My Lord.' Fuck you and your carpet.
'Apparently you've forgotten, Collins, that wizards can read minds. After the hunt, I'll be changing you into a hot eighteen-year-old nymph and I will fuck you.'
Opening: Alice Smales.....Continuation: Mister Furkles