Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

beautiful (back in the days when there was a decent amount of traffic on the road), 120 wpm, blessed with the gift of the gab that charmed any visitors and charisma by the bucketload. She doted on him, totally in love with him, one of the many. The mirror revealed a good-looking chap, above average height, reasonably athletic for a 27-year-old who performed light bodyweight exercise a couple of times a week, good thick head of medium brown hair, very thick on top (as such he allowed it to grow a little whilst remaining tidy) and odd coloured eyes that most saw as an asset due to the unusual nature of it. Most had a matching pair (or near enough, the Love Phantom’s eye colours making him notice minor differences in the eyes of others), not one green, one brown. Physically, he had a lot going for him – but he was not in Fernande’s league. The model in the stimulating campaign had only had eyes for him throughout the shoot without even knowing his position. Back in his late teens, he’d taken advantage of such attentions, living out his fantasies via a revolving door of beauties before something approaching conscience kicked in. There was guilt for that, but the memories were mostly pleasant.

The Love Phantom had parked around the back of the factory in his reserved spot. He never struggled for fuel. He was mindful not to park outside the café, finding a suitable back street to leave his Porsche in as he joined Marcella at her table. She had her makeup tin and mirror with her, closing it upon seeing him. He knew the lure of the mirror himself; she looked good, he could understand why she wanted to look. She wore a lot of makeup in her job and away from it too, a fan of dark eyeshadow and light lipstick. Her hair was very fine in comparison to his but styled to suit her perfectly, her honey blonde hair (with roots naturally darker than his brown hair) shoulder length with a fringe. She said to him, “You didn’t have to come that quick, you know.” He could tell she was pleased he had, flattered.

“I’m curious how they had your address.” A waitress came over to serve him before he even had a chance to sit down, the Love Phantom requesting an espresso and asking Marcella what she wanted, Marcella answering with a shake of the head. The waitress dashed back to her counter, the Love Phantom sure that she’d be focusing on his order first, as was the norm.

“She seems okay. A young black woman who’s wanted by you know who.”

“Why are they after her?”

“The theatre. She has good information about that,” Marcella said, relishing revealing this juicy detail. The mysterious deaths at the theatre were big news without actually making the news. Who needed the press when you had word of mouth? There were about five different versions, facts and conjecture merging at some point.

“Okay. Do you want to stay here while I go and see her?”

“I’ll come back with you.”

“I’ll just wait for this, then we’ll go. How did she find you or hear of me?”

“Her hand led the way. Potential new recruit for your uncanny army. A spirit told her about you. She doesn’t know who. Her power doesn’t work like that. She was really quite emotional, absolutely scared stiff. She was convinced I wasn’t going to believe her. I wanted to say, ‘Honey, I sleep with somebody with weirder shit than that going on’, but I resisted.”

“Good. And we’ll have words later about this other man you’re sleeping with,” he joked dryly.

The Love Phantom had a variety of thin white full-face masks that only exposed his eyes. He usually kept one in the car, he had a couple hidden in his office and a few in the house. One at Marcella’s tenement flat too, though she claimed to have misplaced it. It wasn’t as if he needed it on around her. He generally preferred cloth as it was easier to fold them and keep them hidden upon his person this way, but he had a couple of plastic volto masks too, a throwback to the original mask provided to him. He waited until they were in Marcella’s building and pulled it out from under his shirt and put it on when she unlocked her door. It would look strange to the neighbours – most of whom were pretty strange themselves, from what he had seen of them. This was a far cry from his neighbourhood of four-storey homes with servants and gardens. He had no servants himself and no plans to hire any. They would be too desperate to please him; it would be exhausting for them and him.

The Love Phantom found Patience sat on Marcella’s sofa just as she described her. Marcella had said she was pretty and she wasn’t wrong. Patience was fresh-faced and blessed with a wonderfully thick head of hair, not quite shoulder length, making the Love Phantom wonder how good it would look if longer. The dress was a fashion fail, the chartreuse green patch at the collar of her otherwise dark green and black check dress making it look like a factory reject, but clothes could be changed, upgraded. She was trying to look confident and wasn’t doing badly, but it was obvious the mask perturbed her. He spoke quickly and smoothly, “I can take the mask off, but then you’ll fall in love with me. They always do. We’ll try to make it so that you never see my face. I’m the Love Phantom, the contact your spirit guide led you to.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Patience went as though to stand and then stayed in mid-air extending her hand instead. The Love Phantom took her hand in his and lifted it to his masked lips. “Patience Condeh.”

“We’ll come up with an alias for you. Just until this is over. She’s Chablis.”

“She knows my real name,”