FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. “NOW!” said Ann Veronica. ‘Now, madame, tell me all about your life in France. Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her. The next moment, a struggle was heard, and Blueskin appeared at the door, followed by Mrs. She looked from Anna, who was far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to that reassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. The inside was empty except for an infant, which from a distance looked utterly normal. Maybe others that I do not know about. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house.
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