by Helen Harper
Maidmont trotted to catch up with me. ‘Why on earth not?’
‘The Ipsissimus will be in there! He’s the last person I want to know about this! At least until I have a handle on things.’ Or, I added silently, until I’d spoken to Winter first. Going to Maidmont for help was one thing; going to the Ipsissimus behind Winter’s back was entirely different.
‘We’re not going to see him,’ Maidmont said. ‘There’s something in there I want you to look at.’
I shook my head. ‘No way. I’m going back home.’ Where I should have stayed in the first place. I pulled away from him and picked up my feet, determined to get as far away from the Order as possible. Then I saw Tarquin ambling out of one of the far buildings and heading towards me. Damn.
I spun around once more. Maidmont squinted, apparently baffled by my repeated changes of direction. Truth be told, I was starting to feel rather dizzy myself. I thought mournfully of my sofa. I should have stayed there. Who cared if I could converse with the dead? If they stuck around long enough, maybe I’d find out something useful from them. Not like who really assassinated JFK or what happened to Lord Lucan; I was thinking more along the lines of how to train them to do my bidding so they could work for me while I stayed at home and conserved my strength.
‘The Ipsissimus will be locked away in his study, Ivy. We’re just going to the main hall.’
I didn’t think Tarquin had seen me; all the same, I felt his presence looming behind me. He was simply too irritating to deal with. I’d managed to avoid bumping into him at home, which was impressive given that he now lived in my apartment building. The last thing I needed now was to listen to him crowing about his heroics. I had a loose enough grip on my own sanity as it was, thank you very much.
‘Promise?’
‘Cross my heart.’
Maidmont had barely finished speaking when there was a loud caw from a nearby tree. I jumped. Whatever bird it was, I couldn’t see it. ‘Was that a raven?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘I’m sure it wasn’t.’
I gave him a sidelong look. At least he had the sense to look slightly nervous. Ravens were harbingers of all things doom-related and both of us knew it. Maybe it was a sparrow with a sore throat. All the same, Maidmont and I walked a bit faster and without speaking. It was probably wise to get whatever we were going to do out of the way as quickly as possible.
We entered the building through the main doors, watched by several witches who were in the lobby on security duty. This wasn’t the time to continue trying to hide – that would make them more inclined to try and stop us. To make our entry as smooth as possible, I stepped out from behind Maidmont and lifted my head. I have to admit that the looks of respect I received were rather gratifying. Yes, I had saved the country from an influx of zombies. Yes, I had almost martyred myself in the process. Go me.
Maidmont murmured something to the nearest witch and received a small bow in response, then we walked past them and up the first flight of stairs. Despite the guards, we were still on public property; any witch could gain access to this level. When Maidmont veered away from the next set of stairs, I breathed a sigh of relief. He definitely wasn’t marching me up to the Ipsissimus.
Maidmont stopped in the middle of the corridor, in front of one of the many old paintings that lined the walls. Pointing at it, he sent me an enquiring glance. I looked at it and for the briefest moment, my heart stopped.
‘That’s him.’ I stared as the yellow-eyed man with too much hair gazed back at me from the portrait. No wonder he looked so familiar – I’d probably passed that damned painting several times. ‘That’s the man I saw outside the library.’
Maidmont’s eyes closed briefly. ‘When you mentioned the colour of his eyes, I thought this might be him.’
I read the small card next to the painting. Ipsissimus Grenville, 1742–1803. Well, he was definitely dead then.
‘I never liked this painting.’
I jerked and swung round. The man in question was standing next to me. I gave a small shriek and scooted away. It was one thing to think I was seeing ghosts; it was another to have that thought confirmed.
Grenville frowned at me. ‘Death isn’t contagious, you know. I might have died from consumption but I’m reasonably certain that you cannot catch it from my spirit.’
I clutched Maidmont’s arm. ‘You can’t see him, can you?’
The librarian went a shade paler. ‘See who?’
‘Grenville,’ I whispered. ‘He’s standing right next to me. He doesn’t like his picture.’
‘Everything I’ve read suggests it’s a very good likeness.’
Grenville’s ghost rose up, hovering about a foot off the ground. He lunged for Maidmont, stopping short of his face so he could glower at him. ‘It looks nothing like me,’ he hissed. ‘The nose is out of proportion.’
I swallowed. As far as I could tell, the bulbous end and flaring nostrils were totally accurate but somehow I didn’t think it would be wise to say that. ‘He didn’t mean it,’ I said hastily. ‘Besides, he’s never seen you in person. It’s not his fault.’
Maidmont’s eyes widened. ‘You’re not talking to me, are you?’ His fingers twitched at his robe. ‘I … I … could be mistaken about the resemblance. It’s a very old painting.’ He leaned over to me and lowered his voice. ‘Have any of these ghosts ever touched you?’
‘No,’ I replied, not sure why we were whispering. Grenville could obviously hear every word. ‘But, as I said, none of them are very happy.’
Maidmont swallowed and began to back away from me.
‘Of course we’re not happy, you idiot girl!’ Grenville snapped. ‘Would you be happy? Instead of enjoying the afterlife, we’re stuck here and you’re the only person who seems to be able to hear us. I’ve waited over two hundred years to talk to someone with breath still inside them and when it finally happens I get you. It’s bad enough that you’re a woman. What on earth are you wearing?’
I folded my arms. ‘Hey, buster. You’re going to have to start being a bit more polite if you want me to continue listening to you.’
Grenville rolled his eyes then his head jerked up and he looked over my shoulder. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ he tutted. ‘Now this idiot is coming.’ He wagged his finger at me. ‘I need to talk, Missy, and you need to listen. Midnight tonight.’ He glared at me with those spooky eyes. ‘I expect you to be here.’ And with that he vanished from view.
I sagged in relief. Unfortunately it didn’t last long. The ‘idiot’ Grenville referred to strode up to me. The friendly smile on his face didn’t make me feel any better. ‘Ms Wilde. How lovely to see you.’
I grimaced weakly at Ipsissimus Collings, the living, breathing Ipsissimus Collings. ‘Hey.’ Then I frowned at Maidmont and he offered a helpless shrug.
‘Sorry,’ he mouthed.
‘I presume you’re here to see me,’ the Ipsissimus said. ‘Has Adeptus Exemptus Winter come to his senses and decided to return to the fold?’
‘If he had,’ I said, ‘then he’d be here himself.’
I received a faint furrowing of the brow in response. ‘Indeed. So why are you here?’
‘She’s seeing ghosts!’ Maidmont blurted out. ‘Ever since she took away the necromantic magic from the boy! It’s obviously a side-effect. Something must be done!’ His eyes swung wildly between us. ‘I’ve already offended Grenville. They’re going to be after me! I…’
I put what was supposed to be a reassuring hand on Maidmont’s arm. He jerked away in fright. So much for a bit of quiet research on the side; my secret was out.
The Ipsissimus raised his eyebrows. ‘Ghosts? Are you quite sure, Ms Wilde?’
‘Nope, not sure at all. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m sure they’re just residual hallucinations. I should probably go home and lie down with a cold compress.’
‘Let’s go to my office.’ I knew it wasn’t a suggestion. Tough; I wasn’t his to order around.
I stepped
back. ‘No.’ I looked at Maidmont, who was beginning to cower. ‘It would be helpful if you could find out what exactly is going on and if this means I’m about to become Oxford’s next necromancer. But the only place I’m going right now is home.’
The Ipsissimus tightened his mouth. ‘Ms Wilde…’
I held up a palm. ‘I like you,’ I said. ‘I think you’re a good guy. I think you mean well. But I didn’t come here to see you, I came here to get some research done about my current … condition. You have to understand that my allegiance is to Winter. Until I’ve spoken to him, I’m not going to speak to you. I don’t yet feel the need to drain any sheep of their blood or attempt to raise the undead, so I’m going to assume that I’m not a danger to anyone. For now that will have to be enough.’ I turned, half expecting to be body slammed to the ground at any moment.
‘Ivy, wait!’ It was Maidmont.
Still irritated by his fickleness, I glanced over my shoulder. ‘What?’
‘Don’t try any spells, not until I’ve had a chance to research what’s happening to you. Spells of any sort might be a bad idea if it is necromantic magic in your system.’
I grimaced. Fabulous.
‘Alistair has been asking after you,’ the Ipsissimus called, referring to the original teenage necromancer.
I couldn’t imagine why. All the same, I paused. ‘Is he alright?’
‘He’s doing well, all things considered. His brother Gareth is with him. I believe they are repairing their relationship and coming to terms with everything that has happened. They’d both appreciate seeing a familiar face.’
‘I’m sure they would,’ I said softly. And then I got the hell out of there while I still could.
By the time I got home, Winter was back. He was sitting on the sofa with Brutus and looking deceptively casual. That would be fine for anyone else, but Winter didn’t do casual. At least there was no sign of Cobweb Lady.
‘You’ve been out,’ he said.
I walked over and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. ‘I have.’
His eyes met mine. Not for the first time, I felt myself being sucked into their deep blue depths. ‘I bumped into Villeneuve. He was sure he’d seen you at the Order. But that would be impossible – there’s no way you’d be at the Order.’ He raised a single questioning eyebrow.
I looked down. ‘I was there. I’m sorry.’
Winter reached over and tilted my chin upwards. ‘I’m not your keeper, Ivy. You’re free to do whatever you want – and I don’t think I could stop you from doing something if you put your mind to it. Yes, I would like to know why you were there. And no, I don’t think you should be running around Oxford when you’re still recovering. But I’m not going to demand answers, not if you don’t want to give them.’ His voice was soft. ‘I trust you. In everything.’
‘I trust you too,’ I said, even though my actions seemed to belie my words. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you.’ I ran a hand through my hair, realising how knotted my curls were. ‘Some strange things have been happening to me and I thought I might be able to get some answers from the Order.’
He nodded. ‘You’ve been jumping at shadows and staring at things that aren’t there. I know you, Ivy Wilde. I know something is up. I wish you’d felt you could confide in me sooner.’
‘I don’t want you to think that I’m crazy.’
He laughed slightly. ‘You’re the craziest person I know.’ He paused. ‘And I love you for it.’
I leaned my forehead against his. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve such a divine being. ‘I’m being visited by ghosts,’ I told him. ‘It might be a side-effect of the necromancy. Alternatively, I might be turning evil and, if that’s the case, I’ll have to be put down.’
Whatever Winter had been expecting, it obviously wasn’t that. He drew back and stared at me. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I think so. I don’t actually think I’m evil – for one thing, being a villain would take too much energy. Hopefully Philip Maidmont will find some answers for me.’
Winter relaxed a little. ‘That’s who you went to see?’
‘Yeah. Although,’ I added reluctantly, ‘now the Ipsissimus knows as well.’ I told him everything. To his credit, he simply listened. He didn’t question the truth of my words and he didn’t tell me off. I’d been right the first time around: he was far too stressed and worried about me than was natural. I’d expected a telling off; I deserved a telling off.
‘You know the Order aren’t going to be able to leave you alone now,’ he said once I’d finished. ‘You’re having conversations with long-dead people. You’ve met Ipsissimus Grenville, who is credited with turning the Order into what it is today. A lot of witches are going to have a lot of questions.’ His expression turned hard. ‘And the last thing you should be doing is meeting a ghost during the damned witching hour.’
‘It won’t be dangerous if you’re there to protect me,’ I said with a sidelong glance.
Winter snorted. ‘Try and stop me from coming.’ He hesitated. ‘If I’m going to do this though, you need to do something for me.’
I felt a tingle of dread. ‘What?’
‘You owe me, Ivy Wilde. You’ve been running around behind my back. Keeping secrets. Potentially throwing yourself into the path of danger yet again…’ He pasted on an innocent expression. ‘I think I’ve been very reasonable so far. You need to—’
‘Fine,’ I interrupted. ‘What do you need?’
He grinned, the action lending his face a gorgeously boyish slant. ‘You to have dinner with my family on Sunday.’
Uh-oh. ‘You’re right,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m putting myself in far too much danger. I’m going to stay under my duvet for the next fortnight at least.’
‘Ivy…’
Arse. It was clearly important to him. ‘Okay,’ I sighed. ‘I’ll come.’ How bad could one meal with a military family be?
Cobweb Lady flashed into existence, cackling away to herself. ‘This is priceless!’ she gasped. ‘I can’t wait to see what this man’s family makes of you! Hahahahaha!’
I threw her a nasty look. I’d just have to make sure I was on my best behaviour. I might even go all out and brush my hair beforehand. If I could charm the pants off Winter, then his mum and dad would be easy. And those definitely weren’t butterflies I was feeling in the pit of my stomach, no sirree. Bring on the in-laws. At least the thought of meeting them made those ghosts seem like fluffy kittens in comparison.
The phone rang and, even though I was closer, Winter sprang up to answer it. Nice. While he spoke to whoever was on the other end, I glanced round. There was a cardboard box sitting beside the coffee table, which didn’t look familiar. I crouched down and flipped open the lid, sucking in a breath when I saw what was inside. I reached in and carefully pulled out the delicate apparatus, peering at it from all angles. It was an old herb-purifying system. And when I say old, I mean antique – and probably very, very valuable. No doubt it was a Winter family heirloom. I paused and frowned. Except Winter’s family weren’t witches.
It was heavier than it looked so, rather than drop it and smash it into smithereens, I placed it on the table. These items were now obsolete. Not long after the Second World War, some Order boffins had put their heads together and worked out that a pinch of salt was more than enough to cleanse magical herbs so they were safe to use in spells. Most witches who use herblore regularly simply add a few salt grains without even thinking about it. It wasn’t that big a deal; in fact, even if the salt was forgotten and the herbs were technically impure, it wasn’t that big a deal. The worst that could happen was that the herbs would be less effective.
Herblorists enjoyed long-winded arguments about which type of salt was most effective. I had heard that the Order even employed a selmelier, like a sommelier but for salt instead of wine so the end result was far less enjoyable but there was less need for several ibuprofen afterwards. I had a sneaking suspicion that whether you used pi
nk Himalayan rock salt mined by virgins in the foothills of Nepal or table salt from the supermarket shelf, the end results were the same.
‘I’m not going to ask her that,’ Winter said into the phone in a slightly raised voice. ‘You decide. I’m sure it will be fine either way.’
Pulling my attention away from the purifier, I raised an eyebrow. My momentary distraction was long enough for Brutus to take a flying leap towards me. I flung up my hands in front of my face, narrowly avoiding knocking the precious heirloom to the floor. Then I realised that Brutus wasn’t aiming for me. He landed on all fours inside the cardboard box with the satisfied expression that I only received from him when I had the weekend off and no plans.
Winter sighed. ‘No, Mother. I won’t.’
Even more intrigued, I slowly lowered my arms. ‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Ask me.’
Winter’s face was expressing abject misery. He cupped his hand over the receiver. ‘My mother wants to know if you would mind if the dinner is black tie.’ He licked his lips. ‘Sorry. She can be a bit of a stickler for propriety.’
I make a point of avoiding dress codes, especially when they are for dinner. What on earth is the point of getting dressed up to eat? I can eat on my sofa in my ancient stained tracksuit with the frayed cuffs and hole in the knee and the food will still taste the same. But this was Winter’s family. Having already agreed to attend, I couldn’t back out now. If it would make Winter happy, I could make an exception. Once. Especially given that Cobweb Lady was doubled over in hysterics, apparently at the thought of me getting dressed up.
‘Fine,’ I said.
Winter blinked. ‘Are you sure?’
I bit back the sarcastic comment that popped into my head and smiled. ‘No problem.’
Confused, but obviously relieved, Winter removed his hand and spoke to his mother again. I glanced down at Brutus who was still inside the box. His whiskers were quivering as if he were trying hard not to laugh. I flipped the lid so he was no longer visible. ‘Now we don’t know whether you’re dead or alive,’ I said in a hushed voice. Brutus responded by re-opening the lid in a blur of motion, then a paw with outstretched claws snapped out and scraped down my skin.
