by Helen Harper
‘Hello?’ I called out, my voice carrying across the silent car park. ‘Are you still there? Or have I scared you off?’ My eyes darted from side to side. Damn, it was dark out here. ‘Mr Serial Killer?’
I felt the hot breath against the back of my neck and the cold steel tip nick my skin. ‘It’d take a lot more than a blonde woman with dodgy dress sense to scare me,’ Blackbeard murmured.
I didn’t dare move a muscle. He reached up with his free hand and brushed my hair away from my cheek. His other hand was still gripping the blade – I could feel it pressed against my flesh. One swift movement and he’d slice through my carotid artery. It would be adios muchachos. We were too far from any hospital; no matter what Winter did, this time I wouldn’t be coming back from the brink.
‘You don’t want to do this,’ I whispered. It was probably about the stupidest thing I’d ever said. Something about being a mere centimetre away from death was hampering my eloquence. Telling a man who was responsible for at least seven murders that he didn’t want to round that up to an even eight didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.
‘Why not, Blondie?’ Blackbeard asked. ‘Because lover boy is a witch and he’ll come after me in revenge?’ He laughed softly. ‘From what I’ve gathered, he’s already after me. Your death won’t change that.’
Arse. Weren’t evil villains supposed to be numbskulls with no brain cells to rub together? Why did I get the smart one? I breathed out. I felt strangely calm; every second that I wasn’t creating a messy pool of blood was a positive.
Blackbeard moved the blade, scraping it gently against my neck in a caressing motion. ‘I should just slit your throat,’ he said. ‘The fact that you open your legs for a witch should damn you. But I’m not a bastard and I’m not a cold-blooded murderer, either. If you’re not a magic freak then you get to live. I can’t say the same for lover boy, though. He’s already crossed the line. He should be afraid.’
It was the threat to Winter that did it for me. I leapt away and spun round, breathing heavily and glaring at Blackbeard. He didn’t look even remotely intimidated. He’d learn.
‘You’ve screwed up,’ I said. There was no need to fake the venom in my voice. The dead eyes that glittered back at me told me everything I needed to know about this prick. ‘I’m as much a witch as he is – and I’m more powerful than you could ever dream of.’
He laughed, a cold, grating noise like the sound of fingernails scraping down a blackboard. ‘If you were a witch, you’d have already tried your magic against me. You should be pleased, Blondie. You’re not a witch – it’s the only reason you’re still living.’
There was a shout from the doorway of the pub. Winter. Finally. Blackbeard’s eyes narrowed then he darted to the side. I raised my hands, ready to fling whatever I had at him and damn the consequences.
‘Ivy! No!’
The panic in Winter’s voice was enough to make me pause. I dropped my hands just as the sound of a revving engine lit the air. A single headlight flicked on, blinding me. ‘Winter, it’s him!’ I screamed. ‘We have to stop him!’
‘I’ve got this,’ he called, his voice even and calm.
Several people spilled out from the pub behind Winter. ‘What’s going on? Is there a fight?’
Blackbeard’s huge motorbike took off, speeding towards me. As I flung myself to one side, Winter raised his hands to complete a double rune. I hit the ground and rolled, twisting round to watch. Winter’s expression was filled with concentration. Not for the first time, genuine awe filled me at his ability to work under pressure. Even from this distance, I could see the spark in his sapphire-blue eyes and the deft way he flicked his fingers to complete the rune. Tough luck, Blackbeard, I thought sardonically. Your time is up.
The motorbike skidded, sending a spray of gravel towards the onlookers. Then it mounted the verge, hit the tarmacked road and sped off into the distance, its red taillight visible only for a few moments until it – and Blackbeard – disappeared round the corner.
I pulled myself up to my feet. Catching a quick glimpse of Winter’s frown, I shook out my hair and ran for his car. ‘Rafe!’ I yelled. ‘Car keys!’
The cloud passed and Winter re-focused. He reached into his pocket, his face falling. ‘They’re still upstairs,’ he ground out. He turned and ran inside. Ignoring the rigid tension that made every step jar, I ran after him.
‘Hey, are you alright?’ the barman asked. ‘You’re bleeding.’
I touched my neck where Blackbeard had cut me. My fingers came away wet and sticky. I grimaced. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll live.’ But others might not, I hissed under my breath, causing the barman and several others to pull back.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
Winter reappeared, the keys jangling in his hand.
‘Long story,’ I called out, bolting back to the car. We could still catch up to Blackbeard. We could still do this. Winter unlocked the doors and we leapt inside as if the fires of hell were after us. ‘I really want to get this bastard.’
Winter nodded. ‘You and me both.’
Chapter Seven
When we limped back into the pub after two fruitless hours of driving around narrow, dark roads and scrutinising country tracks and village side streets, a crowd of happy customers turned to stare at us. I wasn’t surprised; I was caked in dried blood and Winter looked as if he were about to murder someone. If only. I stalked up to the bar and, without being asked, the barman poured me a shot of vodka. I downed it in one.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘You looked like you needed it.’ He paused. ‘Should I get the kitchen to re-heat your stew?’
The last thing I felt right now was hungry and I was ready to politely decline but Winter was more sensible. ‘That would be great,’ he said. He took my elbow and drew me over to a small table, away from the rest of the punters.
I flopped down and dropped my head into my hands. ‘We had him, Rafe. He was right here. I could have stopped him. If I’d used magic…’
‘It was just as well that you didn’t,’ he growled. ‘Anything could have happened. Besides, I had every opportunity, too. I was sure that spell had smacked right into him but…’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Maybe you were tired,’ I suggested gently. ‘It’s been a long day. We drove all the way here from Oxford then tramped across those moors in the driving rain. And you used magic out there to keep us warm.’
He shook his head vehemently. ‘No. I know myself and I know when I’ve reached the point of exhaustion where my magic will fail. I wasn’t anywhere near that point.’ He drummed his fingers against the wooden table and cursed loudly enough to upset an elderly couple enjoying a quiet sherry. Winter murmured a brief apology and looked at me. ‘Maybe he’s a witch too and he’d set up some kind of warding spell. It would have to be a damn powerful one to withstand the magic I flung at him but it wouldn’t have been impossible.’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘No, I already told you. He hates witches. It was about the only time I saw any emotion in his expression. Anyway, the reason he didn’t kill me is because he assumed I wasn’t a witch because I didn’t use magic against him when I could have.’
‘So his motive is that he’s a witch-hater. That’s why he murdered that coven.’ Winter sighed. ‘The question is, why did he go for them? Order witches are more establishment. Surely someone who despises magic would be more inclined to hit out at us than at a non-Order group.’
I chose not to comment on his use of the word ‘us’. This wasn’t really the time. ‘Non-Order covens are weak by their very nature. Maybe he was testing the water and he’s going to move on to other targets in the future.’ I grimaced. It was just a theory; it didn’t have to be true.
Winter met my eyes and we shared a moment of quiet horror. ‘I can’t believe he got away.’ His voice was quiet. ‘I can’t believe that our strongest weapon against him was knowing about him and where he’d be in the future, an
d we’ve fucked that up. He won’t come back here again.’ He sighed. ‘I had him, Ivy. I’m sure of it.’
I put my hand over his. ‘I believe you.’ I paused then said, ‘I think there’s more going on here than we realise. We’ll get to the bottom of it. We won’t let this bastard stay free for long.’
Winter’s fingers entwined with mine and he squeezed them briefly as if in thanks. ‘It’ll be my fault if someone else dies. If he kills again, that blood will be on my hands as much as on his.’
‘That’s not true and you know it. Besides, I was there too. I had more time and I didn’t stop him any more than you did. We both screwed up.’
The waitress appeared at the open doorway. I gestured silence to Winter and we both waited while she put two bowls of hotpot in front of us. The fragrant smell reminded me that a while ago I’d been really hungry. My stomach gurgled. There you go. I grabbed a spoon, ready to dive in.
As the waitress smiled, blushing at Winter’s murmur of appreciation and the crinkle in his sexy blue eyes, I caught sight of an old man leaning on a stick and looking confused. The waitress passed right through him as she departed. The old man barely noticed; I pretended not to. At the very least I was going to enjoy the return of my appetite. I’d worry about ghosts and witches and serial killers later.
Unfortunately, the old ghost seemed to have other ideas. ‘You!’ He finally spotted me and stomped over towards us, which was no mean feat considering he was hovering about an inch off the floor. ‘What did you do?’
I looked into Winter’s face and smiled, then took a slurp of stew. The potato was tender and the faint hint of rosemary, combined with the way the meat almost melted in my mouth, was orgasmic. I was going to enjoy this. I was not going to pay the damn ghost any attention. Not until I’d finished eating.
‘I’m talking to you! You did something! I was here and then I wasn’t here. It wasn’t my choice, something made me leave.’ His eyes flicked suspiciously from side to side. ‘Except I don’t know where I left to.’
I took another mouthful. ‘Mmm. This is delicious.’
The ghost snapped his attention back to me, his expression shifting from confusion to hatred. ‘You’re deliberately taunting me!’ he hissed. ‘You know I can’t eat. You know I can’t taste anything. That stew was my grandmother’s recipe, it’s been passed down for generations and you’re using it to make me feel inferior. Well, wait until you’ve been dead for fifty years, Missy! Wait until you’re trapped on this plane and you have to watch idiots treat your family inn like some kind of despicable bawdy establishment. It was bad enough when they used to allow members of the public to get on stage and sing. Now they let people like you inside!’
‘I hate karaoke too,’ I mumbled through another delicious mouthful.
Winter glanced at me. ‘Ghost?’
‘Yeah. He’s pissed off. They’re all pissed off.’
‘Pissed off?’ the man shrieked. ‘Pissed off? I’ll show you pissed off.’ He leapt onto the table between Winter and myself.
‘Go away,’ I told him. ‘I’ll talk to you when I’ve finished my dinner.’ I checked the clock on the wall. ‘Twenty minutes. If you’ve been here for fifty years, I’m sure you’ve learned something about the art of patience. You can wait that long.’
‘Oh, I’ve learnt plenty about patience, Missy,’ the ghost sneered. ‘Mostly that it’s over-rated. Don’t worry though. I know how to get you to finish up quickly.’ He started unbuttoning his trousers.
I sighed. ‘If you think that mooning at me is going to put me off my food, you underestimate how many hairy bottoms I’ve seen in my time. The only one that could ever keep me from my food belongs to the man sitting opposite me. Your ugly arse isn’t going to work.’
He snorted. ‘You lack imagination.’ He took out a flaccid, pale penis, directed it downwards and, with what I could only describe as a contented sigh, began to pee.
I slowly put down my spoon and pushed back my chair. There was a ghost standing on the table in front of me and pissing into my food. Admittedly, it was ghost pee. It wouldn’t taste of anything – it probably didn’t even exist. Not in any real sense anyway. All the same, the scabby plonker had achieved what he wanted. I no longer wanted to eat a thing.
‘What’s wrong, Ivy?’
‘Nothing.’ I crossed my arms and glared at the ghost.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Winter said.
‘It’s not you I’m looking at.’
The ghost smiled. ‘I’ve got your attention now, haven’t I?’
‘Do yourself up,’ I snapped. ‘If you want to talk, damn well talk.’
His lip curled. ‘I’m not here for chit-chat. Why would I want to pass the time of day with you? All I want to know is what you did. Why did I disappear and where did I go?’
‘I don’t know. You’re going to have to give me a little more information.’
‘I was here then I was not here.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. You must have had something to do with what happened to me. You’re the only person on this earth who can both see and talk to us. It cannot be a coincidence that you show up here and I vanish from existence.’
I ran my tongue around my teeth. I was going to have to order some more stew and make up a reason for why I couldn’t eat what was in front of me. ‘When exactly did you vanish?’ I enquired.
‘It was a Tuesday. I know it was a Tuesday because that waste of space great-nephew of mine gets all the deliveries on a Tuesday. In my day, we…’
I held up my hand in a bid to get him to stop talking. ‘What happened in your day isn’t relevant. What is relevant is that today is Friday and I only arrived today, so your disappearance obviously has nothing to do with me.’
I rocked forward, using my elbow to nudge the almost full bowl of stew and send it crashing to the floor. ‘Oh no!’ I gasped. I looked at the barman who was already bustling over with a towel in his hand. ‘I’m so sorry! I’m such a klutz.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘It’s not a big deal. I’ll get this cleaned up in a jiffy.’
The ghost tutted loudly. ‘In my day, we’d have made you clean it up yourself.’ He jumped soundlessly from the table and eyeballed the poor barman who remained oblivious to his presence. Winter at least knew something strange was going on; he’d stopped eating and was watching me carefully. ‘It’s difficult to believe,’ the ghost continued, ‘that I’m related to this idiot at all.’
I got down and tried to help, although I probably just made more of a mess. Then I paused. Hang on a minute. ‘That man,’ I said slowly. ‘The one with the beard who raced out of here.’
‘The one you were having the altercation with?’ the barman asked.
I scratched my neck, wincing as my fingernails scraped the edge of my wound. ‘Er, yeah. Him. When did he arrive?’
‘Tuesday. I wasn’t expecting him, to be honest. He’s here regularly, about once a month, but he doesn’t normally stay for more than a night. And it’s only been a couple of weeks since his last visit. He gives me the creeps, if I’m honest. I won’t be upset if he doesn’t come back. There’s something about his eyes, you know?’
Oh, I knew. ‘So he was supposed to be here tonight? He has a room here?’
‘He does.’
I looked over at Winter. He was already getting to his feet. ‘Can we see it?’
‘I dunno. Maybe we should leave it for the police or until he comes back. I can’t just let people wander around guests’ rooms.’
I tilted my head to one side. We needed to see that room and I preferred to do it without breaking in. ‘We can help you,’ I said eventually.
The barman stood up, abandoning the splattered hotpot in favour of looking at me warily. ‘How?’
‘This pub is haunted.’
He took a step backwards. ‘Excuse me?’
I glanced at the ghost. ‘What’s your name?’
‘William.’
‘By your great-uncle Willie,’ I said to the barman.
‘William!’ the ghost howled. ‘Not Willie!’
‘Well then,’ I snapped, ‘you should have kept your willie inside your damn trousers then, shouldn’t you?’
Both Winter and the barman started. ‘My great-uncle was known for exposing himself,’ the barman said, staring at me.
I raised an eyebrow in Willie’s direction. That figured. The ghost pretended to be suddenly fascinated by a stain on the old flocked wallpaper.
‘How did you know that?’ the barman asked. ‘It’s supposed to be a family secret.’
‘I told you,’ I said patiently. ‘This place is haunted.’
He looked very pale. ‘No wonder the milk keeps going sour.’
‘Actually,’ William declared loudly, ‘that’s because the silly woman in the kitchen keeps forgetting to put it in the fridge and she leaves it out next to the oven.’
I focused back on him. ‘Why are you here? I’m going to assume it’s not just because you want as many people as possible to see your poor excuse for a penis.’
Winter started and, predictably, his expression grew closed and angry. He stayed quiet, though; he knew I was a big girl.
William sniffed. ‘The family always hated me. They were jealous. My sister despised me so much that she cursed me to find no rest, not even in death, unless I promised to name her as my sole heir when I died. She was a money-grabbing whore who—’
‘Shut up.’ I glanced at the barman. I wasn’t entirely sure how all this was supposed to work but how hard could it be to rescind a generations-old curse that transcended death? ‘One of your ancestors cursed ol’ Willie to find no rest unless she was given his stuff when he died. I’m presuming that she didn’t do that. I guess that to get rid of him and allow him to pass to the next plane, where he’s supposed to be, you just need to take back her words.’ I shrugged. Maybe. What the hell did I know?
The barman scratched his head. ‘Are you trying to fleece me or something?’
‘Nope. This is for real. I promise. All I want in return is to get into that room.’
