Arthur glared at the flimsy plasterboard wall that separated his student room from Tahlia’s – it was undulating. He forced his attention back to ‘Enchanted Flora: A Guide’ and tried to shut out the roaring crescendo of thrash metal and the faint tinkling of wind chimes. It didn’t work. Again, the wall wobbled, sending his already-cracked picture frames tumbling to the floor. He closed the book, pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d already complained about the noise to the housing officer, but all he’d gotten was a sympathetic head tilt and a hearty reassurance that it’d be a good learning experience. Even more preposterous were the two neighbours on the other side of the hall, who claimed not to hear or see anything untoward coming from Tahlia in 4b. Not even when purple smoke curled out from beneath her doorway and ingrained itself in the carpet, giving the hall that swirling pattern that made your eyes groan. Boom! His book – and indeed everything not bolted to the floor – suddenly leapt a foot in the air and crashed back down. Arthur, who’d shuffled forwards at the wrong moment, was now slotted between his chair and the table, his coccyx throbbing. "Right!” He shoved the table away. “That's it!" He staggered into the hallway, knocked twice on Tahlia’s door, and waited. “Who is it?” “Arthur.” “Oh!” The screech of guitars subsided to the sound of bare feet padding towards the door. He squared his shoulders, determined not to be distracted this time. Two weeks ago, he’d banged on her door, requesting that she keep it down. She'd had a party with students from another dimension, making her apartment a temporary temporal node or lobe or somesuch (which apparently, according to the aforementioned housing officer, was so difficult to prove it wasn't worth trying). Somehow, he’d ended up apologising to her. The door opened. Tahlia stood there, draped in some light-blue contraption trimmed with beads that drew attention to her every movement, and every curve. Not that he looked. "Everything alright?" she asked. "Uh no, you see, I was trying to study and my entire room just, well, jumped." "Oh! I'm so sorry. Are you OK? I must have got the parameters wrong again." She ran the palm of her hand over the wall – their wall – and clicked her tongue. "I bet it's because it's so damn thin." "Yes, maybe, but in the meantime, could you not—" "It's just so tricky working with exploding fungus." Arthur cocked his head; he hadn’t yet reached the chapter on unstable fungi. "I didn't realise it did that." "Oh yeah! Why do you think they call it a mushroom cloud?" He frowned. "Because it looks—" "Come in," she said, stepping aside. "I'll show you." "I don't think—" "Come on." He took one step, and stopped. She’s doing it again, he thought. "Look, I just want to be able to study in peace," he said. "Can't you ask your tutor or someone for a better containment spell?" She raised an eyebrow. "It's more complicated than that." "You manage to keep the others out of the loop.” He gestured behind him. “They never hear anything." "They wouldn't," she said. "They don't want to." "What do you mean?" "They're studying politics, they only hear what they want to hear." "But I don't want to hear it either!" "If you say so." She placed one hand on her hip; numerous bracelets jangled. Was everything about this woman noisy? Even her eyes – big, dark and hooded – were mesmerising in a way that drowned out the rest of the world. Arthur glanced past her, but the layout didn't allow him to see much from the doorway. Exploding fungus… "Alright. I'll take a look." She grinned as he slid past her, and told him to have a seat whilst she made some tea. A forest-green armchair appealed, which would have looked incongruous in any other student room, but not hers. Once settled, Arthur examined the space, enjoying the eclectic style. A vibrant red dreamcatcher spun by the open window, along with the silver wind chimes. Every surface appeared to be draped in colourful handmade blankets with tassels hanging over the edges. Her room looked more lived-in than his; clearly, she liked to nest. Or was it that he hadn’t made an effort? “What were you looking at?” she asked. Arthur flinched, picking up on her snappish tone. Did he do something wrong? “Oh, just, you know.” He waved a hand. “The wind chimes and that.” “What else?” “Uh, the dreamcatcher?” She froze, and for a second he thought she was going to cry, but then, just as quickly, she wasn’t. “Are you OK?” he asked. “Of course.” She glided over and placed a steaming mug on the silvery-blue fabric coaster. “Here you go.” "Thank you." He lifted the mug. "Oh, that's… " "Ginger and orange blossom." The vapours tickled his nose and tugged at his memory. He’d had this tea before, but where? Tahlia perched on the wooden chair opposite. Hands clasped on her knees. “So, uh, why are you studying magic?” he asked. And even as he said it, another part of his mind was trying to remember why he was there. "My grandmother," she said, smiling. "When I was little, she told st

Marie S. 5/5 Stars Vivienne is incredible! My life has completely changed since my visit. It’s like a light came on and she’s somehow unlocked all this hidden potential. She’s the best, seriously just go. Call today! Bradley J. 5/5 Worth every penny. Highly recommend. Kevin R. 5/5 Stars I never thought I’d come to a place like this, but when I was at an all-time low, I just needed someone to tell me if life was worth sticking around for. I wanted to know if it ever got better. Vivienne made me believe that it would. She told me true love was right in front of me, and now I’m dating my best friend and am the happiest I’ve ever been. She’s the real deal. Linda K. 5/5 Vivienne showed me the most beautiful future and now I am not afraid to go after my passions. Life changing. I know your type. You’re all the same. You come to me, seeking something you believe life has withheld from you. Desperation hangs on you like a garment; you wear insecurity like a second skin. You shift and fidget in my doorway, hoping no one will recognize your car in the street and spread the word that you’re seeking wisdom from a godless heathen and her crystal ball. Yet, here you are.

My name is Patricia Deacon and I want to tell you about my grandfather, John Deacon. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t really know him when I was growing up, he lived a long way away on a mountain and recently when he became ill it fell to me to go stay and care for him up in his cabin. We talked, he and I and as the days passed and he grew weaker he told me a tale from years ago and gave me the files to prove it was true. He passed peacefully a few weeks later. This is his tale. I used to be a professional hunter, worked for the Government and the State culling deer and wolves, a bear or two a year when they got troublesome. Never liked it much but the army taught me to shoot and it was a living, kept me out of the city too. Culling is easy if you just want a head count but that don’t make it right. So I took the time to take the old, the injured, a cripple if one still lived, mountain living is hard living, man or beast. They opened the research station in the spring of ‘70. A bunch of city folk playing at being outdoorsmen, I got hired to guide them, Babysitting more like. Stopping them from doing dumb stuff that’d get ‘em killed. They told me they were from the University and going to study the wolves, tag them and track them. Right. That first year none of ‘em could track a plough in a hay field. Anyways I played guide, showing them the main tracks on the mountain, making sure their maps were the right way up. The rest of the time I went off on my own to check on the wolves. I knew where most of the packs had territory, just had to find which dens were in use. Finding them wasn’t hard, tagging them was gonna be a whole lot harder. The only one of them I cared to take with me was a girl that came with them, boss said she was a student but treated her like a slave. Anyone with eyes could see she was playing along, fetching and carrying, sorting washing, but her eyes gave her away, that girl wasn’t on the mountain to do laundry. First time she just snuck out, following me, wasn’t light yet, she wanted away from the fools so bad she could taste it. I sent her back to wash, gave her lye soap. Told her I would give her twenty minutes and if I could smell her before I saw her she was getting left behind. Never had to tell that girl anything twice. Doubt she used her fancy soap or toothpaste again whilst on the mountain, no point being stealthy if every living creature can smell your perfume from across the valley. First time out on the mountain she impressed me, never needed to stop and rest, watched where she placed her feet and kept her mouth shut and eyes open. I took her up around a bluff that overlooked a den I thought was active, sure enough the wolves were there. Girl didn’t move for hours except to refocus her binoculars and write in her notebook. After that I let her scout with me whenever she could slip away. That lasted until the end of the summer when most of them packed up and headed back to the city. The girl went too, no choice, told me she’d be back though, thanked me for teaching her, promised she wouldn’t forget her lessons. Spring of ‘71 they were back. Girl was with them. Wanted to go out that first day, kept her word too, not a whiff of perfume, just healthy young woman. I took her out on the long hike, up around widows peak and across to the high valley, wolves there had bred early that year and I guessed we might see cubs. We don’t have big packs on the mountain, most are just the alpha pair and their young from a couple of years past. When the alpha bitch is ready to whelp she will chose a small den and woe betide any male wolf that gets close, even their mate, some will let an older female close once the pups are mobile and need teaching, others do it all themselves. The alpha bitch was missing, I guessed she was about ready. I knew a few places she could be, ought to, I was born on the mountain. Anyways I told the girl we could check out a few, turned out the one she chose was across the river and hard to see from our side. I got us into the best place to watch and let the girl do her thing. Maybe two hours later she decides she needs to get closer, I allowed that if she was careful she might work her way from our spot down to the river bank. Next thing she is walking away, headed for the game trail I pointed out. Took her about an hour to reach the riverbank, never made a sound either. I used my binoculars to keep an eye on her just in case. Then damn me if she didn’t strip off, buck naked, packed her clothes in her rucksack and tied her boots to it by their laces, next thing she is swimming the damn river, it’s not that much of a river but it’s ice melt, cold as a witch’s tit. Once across the river she hikes up closer to the den, but not too close, good girl. Moving slowly too. Her back pack goes behind a rock and she sits jaybird naked on the rock with her notebook and gets back to work. Never seen the like. I stayed where I was, had the rifle handy because I’d never get to her in time if trouble