by Helen Harper
He was obviously still suspicious and on edge. He sidestepped and, in the process, slid in one of the small pools of splattered gravy. Winter reached out and grabbed him just before he went crashing to the floor.
‘Ivy is a pain in the arse,’ Winter said gruffly.
‘Hey!’ I protested.
He flicked me a look. ‘It’s true. You’re the laziest person I’ve ever met. You’ll take shortcuts wherever you can and you never do anything the way it’s supposed to be done.’ He smiled and my heart flip-flopped. ‘But you’re honest to a fault. You don’t lie and you wouldn’t deliberately hurt someone.’ He paused and I knew he was thinking about what I’d done up in Scotland. ‘Not unless you really had to, anyway.’
‘So, ridiculous as it sounds, you finally forgive me for sacrificing myself for you?’
Winter’s expression was earnest. ‘Yes. But don’t do it again.’
‘I’m not sure I can promise that,’ I said with a wry grin.
He leaned towards me. ‘Maybe I can make you.’
‘How? By tying me up?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘By flashing those sexy blue eyes at me? By kissing me until…’
Both Willie the ghost and the barman cleared their throats at exactly the same time. Oops. I’d completely forgotten they were there. I coughed. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s alright.’ The barman stared round the room as if expecting Willie to jump out at him at any moment. ‘William Barcell. I, er, take back what my ancestor said. She was wrong to want all your money and she shouldn’t have cursed you. You are now…’ He scratched his nose.
‘Free?’ I suggested.
He nodded. ‘Sure. You are now free.’
Willie’s eyes went round. ‘Really? I can pass on? I don’t have to stay here? Thank you!’ He blew me a kiss. He leapt over to the barman and tried to hug him. It didn’t really work because the barman couldn’t see or feel him but the sentiment was nice.
Willie pulled back and looked around. ‘I’m ready to go now!’ he called out. ‘Where’s the light?’ He swung his head in every direction. ‘I don’t see it. Where am I supposed to go?’
‘What’s happening?’ Winter asked.
I considered the matter. ‘I think,’ I said, ‘that Willie has been telling a few porky pies.’
The ghost stared at me. ‘What? No, I’ve not! I’m not a liar!’
‘Then why are you still here?’
He appeared momentarily nonplussed. ‘I don’t know.’ Fear crossed his face but was quickly replaced by fury. He jabbed the barman, who was looking perplexed by my one-sided conversation, in the chest. ‘You didn’t mean what you said! You’re the reason I’m still here!’
‘You can shout at him until you’re blue in the face,’ I said calmly. ‘He can’t hear you. Why don’t you go back to the beginning and tell me why you were really cursed?’
‘I did tell you!’ Willie shrieked.
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
He glared at me. ‘Fine,’ he mumbled. ‘His great-grandfather,’ he said, without looking at the barman, ‘said that if I showed my … parts to anyone else, I’d be damned for all eternity. It’s the only other curse I can think of.’
‘And you ignored him and exposed yourself?’ I probed.
‘Only a few more times.’
I didn’t say anything.
Willie sighed. ‘Maybe it was a lot more times.’
I folded my arms. ‘I’m not sure you should be allowed to pass on. I imagine you caused considerable distress to those poor people who had to see…’ I gestured down at his crotch ‘…that.’
His head drooped. ‘I am very sorry.’
There wasn’t much else I could do. The offense was generations old and Willie had probably served his time. I shrugged at the barman. ‘He has reconsidered,’ I said. ‘He was actually cursed because he continued to flash himself.’
‘By flash, you mean…’
I nodded. ‘Yes.’
The barman swallowed. ‘Okay. So I forgive him for that and this is over? You crazy people will all leave me alone?’
‘After you let us see that room,’ I reminded him.
He grimaced. ‘Oh yeah.’ He sighed. ‘Fine. I forgive William Barcell, my ancestor, for exposing himself so he can now stop haunting me and move on to … heaven? Hell? I really don’t care.’
Willie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Hell? It’s not like I murdered anyone, you little shit. I…’
There was a sudden flash of light that was so bright I had to cover my eyes. Both Winter and the barman jumped. When I looked round, Willie had gone. ‘I think it worked,’ I said slowly, hoping I wasn’t tempting fate by speaking too soon.
‘I felt it,’ Winter breathed.
The barman nodded, his face white. ‘Like a shadow crossing.’ He raised his eyes to mine. ‘Wow. Just … wow.’
I smiled, as if helping cantankerous ghosts pass to the other side was something I did on a regular basis. ‘No problem. Now if I could get some more stew and the key to that room, in that order, it’d be very much appreciated.’
Chapter Eight
Blackbeard wasn’t our serial killer’s real name, of course. He’d checked into the pub as Nicholas Remy. That wasn’t necessarily his real name either, as I pointed out to Winter when he unlocked the room. ‘Until we know for sure, we should just stick to Blackbeard,’ I advised.
‘Is that because it’s catchier?’
I shrugged. ‘And I came up with it. I’ve not achieved much else lately, so I’ve got to take all the brownie points I can.’
Rather than turn the doorknob and enter, Winter looked at me. ‘Ivy,’ he said, with a funny look on his face. ‘You can communicate with the dead. I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do anything like that before. You just helped a ghost cross over. Without you, he’d still be stuck here. You did that – Ivy Wilde. Magic or no magic, you can do things no one else can. Face it, we might have temporarily lost him but the only reason we know Remy exists is because of you.’
‘Blackbeard,’ I said.
A trace of a smile crossed his mouth. ‘Fine. Blackbeard it is.’
I bit my lip and looked away. ‘He knows your name,’ I said quietly. ‘He knows who you are.’
He reached out and tilted my face back towards his. ‘Well, it’s lucky I’ve got you to protect me then.’
I didn’t smile back. ‘He’s staying in room number four, Rafe.’
‘Four is only unlucky in Eastern superstition.’
‘Eastern superstition tends to be more accurate than ours,’ I argued. ‘And four represents death. That can’t be a coincidence.’
‘It’s just a number,’ he soothed.
I sighed and shook my head. ‘I have a theory,’ I told him. ‘You’re not going to like it.’
Winter stilled. ‘Go on.’
‘I don’t know very much about the ins and outs of the spirit world so I might be wrong. And I might be committing the cardinal sin of getting the evidence to fit the theory. I know how much you hate that.’
‘Ivy, it’s okay. You can tell me.’
I sighed. ‘William Barcell, the guy haunting this place, vanished on Tuesday. He didn’t reappear until this evening.’ I tapped lightly on the door. ‘Blackbeard arrived on Tuesday.’
‘Where did Barcell go?’
‘He had no idea. He thought I had something to do with it but he had no memory of where he’d been. It was as if he’d simply been blotted out of existence.’
Winter nodded slowly. ‘The coven. They experienced the same thing.’
‘Yep. From the moment they died until the moment they were left in Wistman’s Wood, they have a blank. And they’ve all been dumped there at different times. They were all killed at the same time, so their lack of awareness is not because it takes a while for phantomly consciousness to seep back in.’ I drew in a breath. ‘Then there’s the spell you threw at Blackbeard. It’s like you weren’t even trying.’
&n
bsp; Winter’s expression closed off.
‘Sorry, that came out badly. What I mean is that there’s no way you could have missed. I saw the rune you used. That was powerful stuff, Rafe. The magic wasn’t aimed anywhere other than at our very own serial-killing bastard.’ I paused. ‘So why didn’t it hit him? It didn’t even slow him down. You didn’t think you’d missed him. I didn’t think you’d missed him. So what the hell actually happened?’
He rubbed his chin with the base of his thumb and looked thoughtful. ‘I see where you’re going with this. You think that magic doesn’t work around him. The ghosts cease to exist when he’s in the vicinity and spells don’t work.’
I bobbed my head. ‘It’s only a theory.’
He met my eyes. ‘It does fit.’
‘Maybe it’s some kind of amulet. You know, like the one that Tarquin gave Belinda Battenapple to stop her from ageing. Or maybe he is a witch and he hates magic so much that he’s cast a spell on himself to avoid it entirely.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But if we can’t use magic against him…’
‘Then this is going to be even harder than we thought,’ Winter finished for me. ‘Let’s hold that thought for now. I don’t think it’s a crazy theory.’ He sighed. ‘Unfortunately.’
Winter cautiously opened the door to Blackbeard’s room and I held my breath. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting – some kind of booby trap or explosive device maybe – but nothing happened. A musky scent floated out towards us, as if the room hadn’t been aired for days. Other than that, the room was almost identical to the one that Winter and I were sharing.
Winter stepped inside and looked around. I followed. We knew that Blackbeard had left in a hurry but there was little evidence that he’d left behind anything that he would miss. The bed was made, with the sheets neatly smoothed over and the pillow plumped up. There was a duffel bag on the chest of drawers by the window. Winter walked over to it while I headed for the bathroom.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ I said, apologising to the young woman sitting on the toilet. I quickly pulled back and closed the door. Winter turned towards me with a question in his eyes. I frowned. Hang on a minute.
Re-opening the door, I peered inside again. She was still sitting in the same position. She raised her head slowly and gazed at me, her dark hair hanging limply around her face. ‘I’m dead, aren’t I?’
I grimaced. ‘Yeah. I think so.’
Winter reached into Blackbeard’s bag and pulled out an urn. He waved it at me. I gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and returned my attention to the woman. ‘You were in a coven. In Dorset.’
She stared at me. ‘Were you the one following us?’ Before I could reply, she answered her own question. ‘No,’ she said. ‘That would have been him, wouldn’t it? The one who did this to me. To us.’
This wasn’t an enjoyable conversation but I had to continue. ‘You were awake? When he killed you?’
Her fingers went up to her neck where there was an ugly wound. ‘I was first,’ she whispered, ‘and he was clumsy. I came to as my life was ebbing away and I saw what he did to the others.’ She looked around. ‘Where are they?’
‘Three are in a place not far from here called Wistman’s Wood. Three are probably still with the man who killed you. He’s been dumping your coven’s ashes one by one, every time there’s a new moon. Wistman’s Wood is an old pagan forest and your companions there cannot leave. We don’t know whether that’s deliberate on the part of your murderer or not.’
I glanced back at Winter. If my theory about Blackbeard’s ability to avoid all magic was true, it was certainly possible that he was aware of the strange properties of Wistman’s Wood and had chosen it specifically.
‘Tonight is a new moon?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘No. We think he was planning to leave your remains in the wood with the others, but we don’t know why he’s not waited until the moon turns when he always has before.’
‘He’s bored,’ she said softly. ‘He needs more.’
I started.
She smiled sadly. ‘I wasn’t just a witch. I trained as a psychologist too. I didn’t work with murderers but they were part of my studies. He has a taste for killing now and he wants to keep going. He’s drawn out disposing of our remains because he thought it would prolong his enjoyment, but he’s realised it’s not enough. He’s moved his schedule up. He’s going to get rid of all of us as quickly as possible so that he can move on to a new target.’
Her voice was so matter-of-fact that it sent a chill down my spine. ‘It’s possible that he’s targeting witches,’ I told her. ‘He doesn’t seem to like them. And it’s possible he can nullify any spells thrown his way.’
She considered this. ‘That makes sense,’ she nodded. ‘Timothy was the second one to die. He had herbs with him for protection because he was more convinced than the rest of us that we were being followed. He used them to set up a ward before we started chanting.’ She raised a shoulder. ‘Obviously the herbs didn’t work.’
I absorbed her words with a faintly sick feeling. ‘Why did he think he was being followed?’
‘He’d had strange messages. Threats, that kind of thing.’
I sucked in a breath. Timothy hadn’t been one of the coven members at Wistman’s Wood but if he had evidence that might tell us more about Blackbeard, I had to find out more from him. I swung back to Winter. He was still holding the duffel bag but he’d abandoned rummaging through its contents in favour of watching me. I wasn’t sure how much he could glean from what was going on.
‘Are there any other urns there?’ I asked.
‘No. There’s just the one. There’s a name on it,’ he added, ‘if that’s helpful.’
‘I’m Clare Rees,’ the woman said.
I checked with Winter. ‘Clare Rees?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘It was our custom to perform coven spells in ceremonial robes,’ Clare said. She gestured at herself and I realised she was wearing exactly the same outfit as the three others from her coven. ‘There aren’t any pockets. In any case, we tend to leave all real-life objects at home. Karen was convinced that they would interfere with the magic.’
In other words, she didn’t have any ID on her when she’d died but Blackbeard had still known exactly who she was.
‘She cursed us, didn’t she?’ Clare said. ‘Karen, I mean.’
I tried to demur. ‘It wasn’t really your coven she was cursing. She just wanted to make sure that your murderer receives the justice he deserves.’
‘Funny that we’re the ones who are suffering,’ Clare commented. ‘I can feel it, you know. It’s like a block. My body is being tugged away but something’s preventing it from going. I can’t see it but I can feel it. It’s all around me.’ Her shoulders drooped. ‘It’s awful. There was so much I still wanted to do. I never travelled. I always wanted to visit South America but now I’ll never get the chance. I was going to tell Mike at work what I really thought of him but I was too scared. I was going to learn how to fly.’ Her voice fell to a whisper. ‘I’ll never do any of that.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Never had an apology felt so inadequate.
‘It’s not your fault.’
I watched her for a moment or two. ‘We can take your ashes to the wood so you can be with the others. Blackbeard, the man who killed you, cremated you somehow. I guess it made it easier to transport your bodies.’
‘Blackbeard?’
I scratched my neck. ‘That’s what I’ve christened him. He checked in under the name Nicholas Remy but we don’t know if that’s his real name. It could—’
‘It’s not.’ I glanced at her askance and she explained. ‘Nicholas Remy is the name of an old French witch hunter from the sixteenth century.’
I sucked in a breath. Well, that made a kind of sense.
Clare got to her feet. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could give my remains to my parents,’ she said. ‘I have no desire to be trapped with the others in an ancient forest. They
were bad enough when they were alive. I can’t begin to imagine how annoying they’ll be now they’re dead.’
She had a point. ‘We can do that,’ I promised.
‘Thank you. I’m going to leave now. I want to find my family. My real family. I want to find out if they’re alright.’
I nodded and watched her dissipate into nothingness. I hoped for her sake that everything was alright. It would be torture if her family were suffering and she could do nothing but watch.
Winter strode over and put his arms round me. ‘Are you okay? You’re shaking all over.’
‘I’m fine.’ I ran a hand through my hair. ‘This is just so hard.’ I met his eyes. ‘I don’t want to be the only person in the world who can talk to ghosts, Rafe. I can’t cope with this kind of responsibility. It should be someone else.’
‘You’re stronger than you know, Ivy Wilde,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘And I’ll be with you every step of the way.’
I leaned into him, taking a moment to enjoy his closeness. I had a horrible feeling I was going to need all the comfort I could get.
Chapter Nine
If this had been a normal kind of day, driving to the arse end of the country to tramp around soggy moorland, converse with dead witches and almost catch a bearded serial killer would have resulted in a good night’s sleep. There again, if this had been a normal day, I wouldn’t have left my sofa for anything more than a choccie biscuit – and even then I probably could have inveigled Winter into getting it for me. I might have had to put up with him presenting it on a lace doily, followed by him passing judgment when I ate not one biscuit but twenty, but it would still have been better than this.
It was rare that anything prevented me from sleeping; the last time I suffered from a bout of insomnia was around the time Billy Smythe stole my Barbie and set her hair alight and I couldn’t decide between turning him into a Barbie himself or making him my personal slave. I think that was when I decided that I was going to do everything I could to avoid letting life’s travails stress me out, whether they involved mutilated Barbies or not.
