by Rachel Green
“I did. I told you to never use the back door.”
“You told me it was a security measure.”
“And so it is.” Harold smiled as Jasfoup led them out. “I’ll see you in the yard.”
Felicia followed Jasfoup, her sister touching her arm. Harold was waiting in the yard.
“I’ve got to stop off at my flat on the way.” Felicia went to her own car. “I need some clothes for Julie and I and a couple of bits and pieces.”
Harold looked dubious. “Let us know at the first sign of trouble. Send Wrack and we’ll come running.”
Felicia bobbed a thank you. “It’ll be fine. I’m stronger than I was last time, and Julie’s with me. I’m sure she’s got something in her book she can zap it with.”
Julie laughed. “Only if our attacker’s lost a button off his robe. I could tell him where to find it.”
When they reached Felicia’s flat, she was surprised when Wrack offered to make them coffee.
Julie sat in one of the armchairs while Felicia went into the bathroom. When she came back she pressed a tissue into her sister’s hands. “I had to dig this out of the bathroom bin. Tell me if you can find the person this belongs to.”
Julie spread the tissue out and a small sharp piece of what appeared to be gravel dropped into her palm. “What is it?”
“Hair of the dog. Or tooth of the wolf, to be more precise. That’s what was left in my neck after I was bitten last week.”
Julie raised her eyebrows. “I should be able to work with this.” She unwrapped the book of spells. “If she’s within thirty miles, I should be able to find her.”
Felicia waited until Wrack brought them each a mug of coffee and one for himself, the mug almost bigger than his head. Julie opened the book and found the page. “Here it is.”
“What do you need? I’ve got some candles under the sink.”
“That’s thaumaturgy. Ceremonial magic. I’m not summoning anything, so all I need is a glass of water and a piece of cotton thread.
“Okay.” Felicia fetched the two items. Julie drank the water. “Thanks. I was thirsty and the coffee’s too hot.” She made a noose in the thread and, entirely by feel, tied the splinter to the end.
She recited words Felicia would never remember. They slipped off her tongue like marbles off a conveyor belt, shattering as they hit the object in her hand. When she had finished she looked drained.
“Are you all right?” Wrack felt her forehead. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” Julie managed a tired smile. “Remind me to talk to you about tact. Now that there are other people about who can hear you, it might be a good career move.”
“Tact, sure. Can I get you anything? Sugar? A burger? You need to take in a high amount of calories if you’re going to be performing magic. Where do you think the energy for a spell comes from?”
“I assumed from the spirit world.”
“It is, in a manner of speaking.” The imp patted his belly. “The problem is, in order to take energy out of the spirit world you have to put an equal amount back in. The law of conservation of energy, see. The only stuff you have to swap with is your own body and soul. That’s why you never see a fat magician.” Wrack paused. “Not a good one, at any rate.”
Felicia stood. “I’ll see what I’ve got in the fridge.”
“Don’t bother.” Wrack vanished.
“Here.” Julie held out the thread, the piece of tooth acting as a pendulum. It wasn’t vertical but raised to one side like a magnet attracted to steel. “That’s the direction of the owner. The angle from the vertical will become less acute the nearer you are to the target.”
“Brilliant.” Felicia held the pendulum up. “How long will the spell last?”
“I don’t know. I put as much into it as I could. Perhaps a day or two?”
Felicia nodded. “That’ll be enough.”
Wrack reappeared with four burgers and several bags of chips. He handed one to each of the women. “Good British fat. There’s nothing like it for replacing lost body mass.”
“Thanks.” Felicia bit into it, the grease running down her chin. “You know, I wouldn’t have dared eat this last week. I’d have been too afraid of putting on weight.”
“You shouldn’t have worried.” Wrack looked her up and down. “You’re not attractive anyway.”
Felicia got up and went into the bathroom. Behind her, she could hear Julie’s voice. “Remember what I said about tact?”
* * * *
Night had closed in by the time Felicia pulled up at the iron gates of Laverstone Manor. She reached out to press the intercom button on the gatepost.
“We were getting worried. Drive up and park in the stable yard.” Harold’s voice through the speaker sounded more like a toy robot. A tiny camera tracked their progress as the twin gates swung open. She sped up the curved drive, surprised to realize that the trees lining the route were elms. Hadn’t they all been destroyed in the seventies? She told Julie, who didn’t seem to care either way.
Jasfoup came out to help them with their bags. “We’ve given you adjoining rooms. Julie, you’re in the same one as last night and Felicia’s next to you in the Palmer room. There are some originals in there, though, so if you feel the need to break something, please go down to the gymnasium.”
“I won’t break anything.” Felicia glared at him. “I’m an art lover, remember?”
“You’re also a werewolf. Is a bed all right for you or would you prefer a basket in the corner?”
“Ha ha.” Felicia pushed past him and followed her sister, who seemed to know her way around already, even to take her hand away from the wall just before a series of knives and spears hung for display. “What time is it? I need to phone my solicitor.”
Jasfoup frowned. “It’s after seven. Isn’t that a bit late to be telephoning solicitors?”
“I’m only phoning one. They have late hours.”
“Who is it?” The demon’s eyebrows raised. “My line of work is quite similar to a lawyer’s.”
Felicia dug a card out of her purse. “It’s lucky I’ve got this. Mother gave me the card when I was thinking of buying a house. I’d never have known who her solicitor was otherwise.” She read out the name. “J. Isaacs?”
Jasfoup laughed. “On Bridge Street. That’s serendipitous. He’s one of us.”
“A demon?” Felicia looked dubious. “I’m not sure I could trust another one.”
“You can always trust a demon.” Jasfoup took her case from her hand. “We’re very up-front about things. We want your soul and we’re not afraid to say so. But no, I mean Isaacs is on our side. He’s a vampire. Almost one of the family, in fact. The Watermans have used him for generations.”
“Ah.” Felicia frowned. “Hang on, I thought demons were liars by nature?”
“So we are.” Jasfoup grinned. “But only when I’m on duty. Otherwise I tell the truth as often as the next person, as long as the next person isn’t Harold.” He backed through the door and dumped her case on the bed.
Felicia looked around the room, Jasfoup remaining in the doorway. “They really are Palmers. Every last one of them an original.”
“Told you.” Jasfoup looked smug.
“They’re worth a fortune. I’ve never even seen reproductions of these. You know, I wondered if Palmer had ever been here when we were looking for Julie. Now I know.”
“They’re from one of his sketchbooks and have only been photographed for insurance purposes. Otherwise we’d have every Tom, Dick and Harry wanting to see them.”
“But they should be seen.” Felicia cocked her head and looked at a sketch of a pastoral scene where two figures were entwined. There may well have been a snake too. “Except this one.”
“Then you get collectors wanting them, followed by thieves when we refuse to sell. It’s far easier to keep them quietly in this room and not mention them at all.” Jasfoup opened her case and rooted through. “These knickers are bigger than my granny’
s, and she was a gluttony wraith.”
“I’ll thank you not to nose through my underwear.” Felicia stood to snatch them away. “Give them back.”
“I’ll leave you to freshen up.” The demon dropped the knickers in her hand and stalked through the door, closing it behind him. “Dinner will be in an hour.”
“Previously unknown Samuel Palmers.” Felicia sat on the edge of the bed and stared at them.
Chapter 22
Felicia showered in the en-suite bathroom and checked herself in the mirror. Her eyesight was perfect for the first time since she could remember. The school photographs her mother used to treasure–all lost in the fire–showed her as a chubby child with thick, bottle-glass spectacles. That had been a contributing factor to her becoming a lesbian. She often wondered if she’d have felt the same antagonism toward men had she been more attractive. Would she have been straight?
She dropped her towel and checked her breasts for suspicious lumps. Probably not. She felt a tingle of anticipation as her fingers brushed across her nipples. She liked her breasts. She examined the rest of her body, turning this way and that in the mirror, pleased to find she’d lost weight. She sucked her belly in, surprised at how far it went. She wondered if she dared weigh herself.
She glanced around. Who would know?
She managed to repress the scream as the needle twisted to seven pounds heavier than she was the last time she’d dared to weigh herself.
“Muscle.”
Felicia spun around, trying to cover herself with her hands. One of the imps was sitting on top of the shower cubicle. “What?”
“Muscle.” Wrack shifted and smoothed his tail. “You’re one of the Changed now. Your shape-shifting abilities have to take energy from somewhere, so they’re working through your body fat. You’ll have to start eating more.” He grinned. “All the increased mass is muscle tissue.”
“Thanks, I think.” Felicia stooped to pick up the towel. “But I’d rather be alone to dress, if you don’t mind.”
Wrack shrugged and opened a gate. “If you need some company, don’t hesitate to call.” He vanished, the gate closing with the sound of splintering glass.
Felicia shook her head and dressed in fresh clothes. After drying her hair and applying the minimum of makeup, she knocked on the adjoining room.
“Julie? Are you awake?”
“Of course I’m awake.” Her sister sounded distracted. “Why would I be asleep at...eight o’clock?”
Felicia opened the door. Julie was sitting on her bed, the book of spells open in her lap. “These are fascinating. There are spells to do anything.”
“Oh?” Felicia sat on the end of the bed. “What sort of spells? I’ve had to change my thinking in regard to mythical creatures, monsters and theology, so why not in regard to magic as well?”
“Some of them are useful, others less so.” Julie flicked back a few pages. “There should be a glass of water on the bedside table. Pick it up, would you?”
Felicia did as she was asked. “Now what?”
Julie bent over the book and murmured some words. When she held her hand out toward Felicia, her hand burned and she dropped the glass.
“Shit,” she said, expecting the water to be all over the duvet, but when she looked the water was a solid lump of ice.
“You froze it. That could be useful.”
“It reduces the temperature in a specific point to thirty degrees below freezing, according to Wrack.”
“Where is Wrack? I just caught him watching me while I took a shower.”
“He’s over there.” Julie pointed. There was a swift movement as her imp flinched. “He hasn’t forgiven me for freezing his tail yet.”
“Nor will I.” The imp peered out from under the pillows. “Not while you keep waving your arms about. I want hazard pay.”
Julie snorted. “I’ve changed pages since then. Now I’m learning to summon ghosts, though I don’t see why I’d want any more around than I have already.”
“Are there any here?” Felicia glanced about. “I can only see them if I concentrate.”
“Not in this room, no.” Julie looked up, fixing blank eyes on her sister. “There are a couple in the house, though. An old man and a young girl, both fully aware of what they are.”
“Oh, dear. Poor souls.”
“Actually, they seem to be quite happy. The old man writes poetry and paints watercolors and the girl seems to be some sort of cleaner.”
“I hope I don’t have to spend my afterlife cleaning. I don’t even like having to clean my flat.”
“I know.” Julie wrinkled her nose. “I could smell the laundry basket.”
“Are any of the old man’s watercolors in the house? I wonder if I could make a show of them.”
Julie laughed. “He’s a ghost, remember? You’d only be able to show them to people with the Sight.”
“I suppose.” Felicia blushed. “Listen. I’ve got to phone the solicitor about Mum. Is there anything you want me to ask him?”
“What happened to my trust fund?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask him. Anything about Mum?”
“Nah. Just check the insurance.”
“Of course. Is there anything you need?”
“No, I’m good.” Julie stretched, interlocking her fingers and pushing her arms forward. It made her breasts even more pert, and Felicia wondered if she was still a virgin. Not that it was any of her business. “I can always send Wrack for food.”
Felicia nodded. “I’ll see you later then.” She regretted the turn of phrase as soon as it was out of her mouth.
“A lot quicker than I’ll see you.” Julie flashed a smile. “Later, taters.”
Felicia went downstairs, pulled a card from her purse and dialed the solicitor. “Hello? Is that Mr. Isaacs?”
“Quite.” The voice on the other end of the line was dry and rasping, as if the speaker were short of breath. “To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Felicia Turling. You handle my mother’s affairs? Patricia Turling?”
“Indeed I do.” There was the sound of shuffling paperwork. “What can I do for you, Ms. Turling?”
“My mother died.” At least she could remain calm over the telephone. “The house burned down. I’d like you to chase up the insurance on the house and on Mother and then sell the plot.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Felicia could hear the scratching of a pen. “My rates are seventy pounds for the first hour and forty thereafter. If I spend more than twelve hours on your case in a single week, I’ll drop my rates to half time. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes. That seems reasonable, I suppose.”
“I shall begin at once, though I shall need the certificate of death to proceed.”
“I collected it today. I’ll drop it off, shall I?”
“You do that, Ms. Turling.” She could hear him rooting through a file. “There are also personal effects you might wish to examine.”
“There are?” Felicia was surprised. “I’ll be right over, then, if that’s all right with you.”
“By all means.” Isaacs gave a wheezing chuckle. “I’d love to have you. Perhaps I could tempt you to a bite afterward.”
Felicia laughed. “Twelve pounds of raw steak would sound pretty good.”
Another wheezing chuckle followed. “Not quite what I had in mind, m’dear. I’ll see you shortly.”
Felicia put the phone down, shaking her head. She’d met Isaacs several times during the course of Julie’s psychiatric care and he’d always come across as a rather dotty old man. If only she’d known then he was special.
She poked her head through the kitchen door. “I’m going out. I might be a while.”
Harold looked up from the television, where he was engrossed in the static of an untuned station. “Where? It’s not safe for you to be alone.”
“I’m going to see my solicitor.”
Harold looked at the clock. “Now? Gillian will be up shortly.”
Jasfoup chimed in from the sink, where he was washing dishes, a flowery pinny around his waist. “It’s Isaacs.”
Harold made a silent O. “You’ll be all right with him. Just be careful. He’s a lecherous old bugger.”
“I’ve met him before,” Felicia smiled. “He’s harmless.”
Harold turned back to the television. “Is he? My mum will be disappointed then. They’ve been stepping out for months.”
* * * *
Felicia knocked and went straight into the dingy solicitor’s office. A woman old enough have retired decades ago looked up from a desk piled several feet high with manila-encased bundles of papers. “Can I help you? Do you have an appointment?”
“Mr. Isaacs is expecting me. I’ve got the death certificate for my mother.”
“Ah.” The woman looked down at a diary. “Ms. Turling. You can go right in.” She indicated a door to Felicia’s right.
“Thanks.” Felicia went into the inner sanctum of the office. It was almost the same as the last time she’d been in here, with the exception that the old solicitor smelled of dry soil and river mud, something she hadn’t noticed before. He resembled a squat toad roused too soon from his slumbers, his black suit more in keeping with a Victorian funeral than the courts of justice. “Your mother left this box with me a long time ago.” He indicated a paper-wrapped package as she sat.
She opened it to find a series of photographs of her mother and father, Julie and herself, taken before Julie had lost her sight. They seemed happy, smiling at the camera, and Felicia wondered when they’d all changed. There was a letter addressed to Julie, which Felicia pocketed.
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t it enough?” Isaacs smiled, startling Felicia with the sight of his pointed eye teeth and prompting the memory of Jasfoup saying He’s one of us.
“I suppose.” Felicia smiled back. “Here’s the death certificate.”
“Good.” Isaacs looked it over. “That seems to be in order. I can apply for the payment of life assurance now. I’ve already applied for the insurance on the house fire. I presume you’ll not be wishing to rebuild, hmm?”
He looked up at her over his glasses, the whites of his eyes beneath his pupils magnified by the lenses.
