She realised she was clutching the jacket to her chest, her fingers digging into it, just like they’d been digging into Michael’s back in her vision. She forced herself to put it down in her lap, but couldn’t quite let go of it yet. ‘Hmm.’ Aunt Gertrude looked at her with narrowed eyes. Mel wondered exactly what her godmother had seen. Aunt Gertrude was pretty good at hiding her thoughts from Mel, but if Mel made a really concerted effort sometimes she could chip through her godmother’s defences. But that was when she wasn’t battling a killer migraine. She had no hope today. Mel pushed away the lingering effects of the vision and did her best to ignore the complaint from her almost-but-not-quite-satisfied body. ‘I just had a . . . tough reading.’ ‘Tough how?’ Aunt Gertrude sat down at the tiny table, and Mel had to look away lest the colour and glitter of her godmother’s outfit worsened her headache.
