by Helen Harper
‘Rafe!’ I yelled. What the hell was he doing? It wasn’t like him to grow suddenly violent. He should be doing everything in his power to calm the situation down, not escalate it. There was no way I was clambering out of the window to try and sort things out, though. It had taken far too long to get inside and I didn’t think I could do it again.
‘We’re friends of Clare’s,’ I shouted.
Pete’s fists were tightly bunched. He ignored me and took a swing at Winter, smacking a hefty punch into his jaw.
I yelped, ‘Leave him alone!’
Winter and Pete began to circle each other. Good grief, this was about to turn into a full-blown cock fight. I certainly felt like I was watching two cocks, anyway.
‘You idiots!’ I bellowed. We were hunting a serial killer. There wasn’t time for tests of strength or testosterone-fuelled one-upmanship. ‘Clare told us about you, Pete. You have a Chihuahua called Bruiser.’
‘It has the hots for the cat at number ten,’ Clare said helpfully. ‘Keeps trying to hump it.’
‘Bruiser’s in love with one of the cats from this same street!’ I shouted.
Pete paused for a moment. Unfortunately, it didn’t last as he bounced round and took another shot at Winter from the side. This time Winter managed to duck in time and I prayed that he was keeping at least some of his cool. If he resorted to using magic against this guy, all was lost.
‘This is so stupid,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Winter’s been possessed.’
‘Nah,’ Clare said. ‘He’s just defending your honour. Pete said he’d never seen a burglar with such a fat arse.’ She tilted her head. ‘To be fair, it was all he could see of you at the time. He doesn’t usually say much at all.’
I should probably have been offended but I actually felt kind of warm and fuzzy that Winter was so worked up on my behalf. But that didn’t mean I could allow this to continue.
Until we knew the lay of the land, I didn’t want to alert Pete to the fact that Winter and I were witches. I could search for a bucket to throw water over them but in the time it took to find one, both Winter and Pete could end up knocked out. Instead I did about the only other thing I could think of. Pulling down my waistband, I turned round and mooned the pair of them. ‘You want a fat arse?’ I screeched. ‘Here you go!’
‘Nice,’ Clare said with an approving nod. ‘They’ve both stopped and they’re just staring at you.’
I sniffed, returned my clothing to its appropriate position and turned round.
Winter threw me a glare. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’
‘Getting you to stop acting like idiots,’ I yelled back. ‘This guy is a friend of Clare’s. He’s only looking out for her. Just because he’s a misogynistic bastard doesn’t mean you need to hurt him.’
Surprisingly, Tattooed Pete looked rather abashed. He put his hands in his pockets and looked away. ‘I’m sorry. But Clare is a nice lady,’ he said. ‘A really nice lady. She always has a kind word for me. And I promised her brother I’d keep an eye on her place. I didn’t mean to be rude but you’re breaking in.’
Oh, Pete. Poor guy. ‘We’re not breaking in.’ It was unfortunate that I still had to shout to make myself heard; it didn’t exactly ease the situation that I was bellowing out of the window like a fishwife. ‘And he wasn’t her brother. Clare doesn’t have a brother.’
Pete stiffened, his spine rigid. He obviously didn’t know whether to trust us or not but either way he was still alarmed. ‘Then who was he? Is Clare alright? Where is she then?’
I glanced at Clare. Her head drooped. ‘Tell him,’ she said, turning away. ‘Tell him the truth.’ I nodded at Winter. He understood and spoke awkwardly to Pete. His voice was low, so I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but the moment that Pete realised that Clare was dead was obvious. His body language said it all.
‘I think he really liked you,’ I said to Clare.
She wouldn’t look up. ‘I never knew,’ she said. ‘I thought he was just a bit rude and bullish. Sometimes he wouldn’t even look at me when I said hello in the street. I’ve been such an idiot.’ She sighed. ‘About so many things.’
There wasn’t very much I could do to comfort her. I couldn’t give her a hug; I couldn’t tell her that things would look much brighter tomorrow, or that this was just a passing phase. She was dead. That was all there was to it.
I pinched off a headache. When in doubt, be brusque and to the point. I had no words for Clare other than the stark truth. ‘I can’t make this better for you, Clare. I can’t make you undead.’ Not without becoming a freaky necromancer who might destroy the entire country in the process. ‘All I can do is try to bring the person who did this to justice. That’s all I’ve got.’ I gestured downstairs. ‘Blackbeard obviously has plans in place. He spoke to Pete and he set up that booby trap. Whatever’s going on here, he’s nowhere near finished.’
For a beat or two Clare didn’t move, then she tilted up her chin. Her jaw was set and her expression firm. ‘Then let’s see what we can find out.’
Good. That was good. ‘You see if he’s touched anything, been through any of your stuff or taken anything. Even it’s small and inconsequential, it might help.’
She nodded. ‘Trophies. Serial killers like trophies.’
I couldn’t look her in the eye. ‘Yeah, so I’ve heard.’ I licked my lips. ‘While you do that, I’ll go and check out the booby trap and try not blow myself up.’
Not exploding was always on my daily to-do list. Let’s hope today wasn’t going to be any different.
Chapter Eleven
In the end, I took various photos of the booby-trapped door with my phone – at a distance, of course – so that I could show it to both Winter and whoever else decided to appear. Clare mooched around, looking for anything out of place. Apart from the door and the precariously balanced grenade, everything else seemed untouched. It felt like I’d gone to considerable effort to get in here but there was actually nothing to be seen or learned. More to the point, it was even harder to wriggle out than it had been to wriggle in.
By the time I was standing with Winter and Pete, who by now had fully abandoned his bid to destroy Winter’s good looks and appeared to have transformed into our latest cheerleader, I’d had enough. I didn’t think there was any skin left around my hips at all.
‘Here,’ I said, sulking. I passed the phone to Winter. Both he and Pete were far too eager to see the grenade. Boys and their toys. Frankly, it seemed to me as if it was more like the kind of daft – and very crude – thing a kid would do to annoy a younger sibling. Except a kid would use a cup of water or flour or something, not an explosive device.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Pete breathed. ‘What on earth was Clare mixed up in that someone tried to blow her up in her own house? Someone was really desperate to kill her off.’
‘The man who put this here knew she was already dead. He killed her. He did this,’ I said, pointing to the photo, ‘to kill whoever came looking for her.’ I glanced at Winter. ‘In other words, us.’
Winter scratched his chin. ‘We could have been the police or Clare’s family or the damned postman. This trap has been here for a while. Blackbeard might be a witch hater but he didn’t know for sure that the first person through that door would be a witch. I think this was less to do with killing anyone and more to do with knowing exactly when the coven’s disappearance was discovered. We already know he wants to stay anonymous and he’s tried to hide what he’d done.’ He gestured towards Pete. ‘He risked blowing his cover to pretend to be Clare’s brother. He was desperate to hide his murders but he was also desperate to know if – when – they’d been found. Setting bombs across a quiet Dorset town would be one way to make sure you hit the national news.’
‘Either everyone knows or no one knows.’ Pete nodded. ‘Makes sense.’
Winter frowned as he thought it through. ‘I think the best way to deal with this is to make sure that he doesn’t get what he want
s. We need to get a media embargo to ensure this is kept quiet. No headlines, no whisper in the papers about serial killers or bombs or missing witches. Effective radio silence. He knows we’re onto him but if we don’t play the game the way he wants, maybe we can gain some leverage. And he might come back to find out why no one’s been to any of the coven’s homes to find out where they are.’ He paused and looked at me. ‘What do you think, Ivy?’
Something Winter had said was gnawing at me. ‘Hmm?’
Winter stilled as he clocked my expression. ‘You’ve thought of something.’
‘It does happen from time to time.’ Not that often, admittedly. I looked at the photo I’d snapped of the door. It included the doorframe and the doormat lying just inside. ‘You mentioned the postman. You said that the postman could have been the next person through the door.’
‘Well, he wouldn’t have had a key but he might have knocked and rattled the doorframe enough to set off the trap.’
I flicked a look at Clare. ‘You’ve not just moved here, have you?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t have a PO box or anything like that?’
She looked confused. ‘No. I get post through the door like most regular people. What…’ her voice faltered. ‘Oh. I see what you mean.’
Pete stared at me. ‘Who are you talking to?’
‘Clare,’ I answered. ‘She’s here.’ He went as white as a ghost, which was kind of funny if you thought about it. I patted him absently on the shoulder. ‘She wishes she’d known you liked her before she died,’ I said. ‘She’d have loved to get to know you better. Maybe go on a date or two. Maybe more. She thinks you’re really good looking.’
‘I didn’t say that!’ Clare burst out as Pete’s skin almost immediately transformed to bright red. It was an improvement on terrified white.
‘Ivy…’ Winter said, clearing his throat.
I nodded. ‘Sorry. It’s quite distracting carrying on two conversations at once. Multi-tasking is not my thing, I tend to have a single-minded focus. Stay on the straight and narrow until a job is done. In fact…’
‘Ivy…’
Oh yeah. I got back to the point. ‘I once stayed inside for ten days straight. Didn’t go out, didn’t talk to anyone, just lay on my sofa with my duvet and my cat.’ I sighed. ‘It was wonderful.’ Both Winter and Pete looked at me as if I were mad. I shrugged. ‘Anyway, by the time I finally ventured outside again, I had to clear a path to the door. There were bills and junk mail clogging up my doorstep. It took ages to open the door and it had only been ten days. Clare Rees hasn’t been home in weeks.’ I jabbed at the photo. ‘Where is her post? Where are the flyers for the local takeaway? Where are her bills? Or postcards? There’s not a single letter lying on her doormat.’
‘I know the postman,’ Pete argued, momentarily abandoning his bid to wheel round and stare at thin air as if he expected Clare to materialise spookily any second. ‘He’s a good guy.’
‘I’m sure he is. I think Blackbeard has had Clare’s post redirected.’
Winter’s brow furrowed. ‘To what end?’
‘Goodness only knows,’ I said. ‘But if I’m right, we need to find out where her letters are being sent and we’ll find him.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘It’s not just booby traps we need to look for at the other coven members’ homes, it’s letters as well. As Clare said, serial killers take trophies. Maybe junk mail is the trophy Blackbeard is after.’ I wrinkled my nose at Winter’s expression. ‘I’m not saying it makes any sense. I’m just saying it can’t be a coincidence that there aren’t any letters waiting for Clare.’
‘Are you telling me,’ Winter said, ‘that you once were too lazy to get up and pick up the post from your own doorstep? For ten days?’
I grinned. ‘And look where that attitude has got us! Halfway to solving a series of tragic and brutal murders.’ Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Clare wincing. ‘We’ll get all the way there, Clare. I promise.’
‘You shouldn’t make promises you can't be certain you’ll keep,’ she whispered.
‘We could still go out on a date,’ Pete broke in. ‘I could book a table at La Boheme. The lazy blonde one can come and translate for us.’
‘I have a serial killer to catch,’ I informed him sniffily. ‘I don’t have time to go on dates so I can act as a conduit between the spirit world and the real world.’
‘You mean you’re too lazy to do it,’ Pete said.
No. I meant yes, kind of, but it was also too damned weird.
Clare smirked. ‘This is what you get for suggesting I fancied the pants off him.’
I rolled my eyes. Bloody ghosts.
Winter went off to speak to both the police and the Arcane Branch witches who were here to investigate the other coven members. He decided, all on his lonesome, that he’d do a better job persuading them to apply for the media embargo without my help. Apparently I had problems conducting myself in a professional manner and that might discourage them from acceding to our wishes. Pete seemed to agree with this assessment even though he’d only met my front half fifteen minutes earlier. Whatever. My ego could take the hit if it meant that Winter was the one who wasted time answering inane repetitive questions. When it comes to government agencies, whether we are talking about serial killers or rotas for recycling paper clips, the forms and bureaucracy can destroy your psyche in a manner which even Nietzsche couldn’t have envisaged. Unless you are Raphael Winter, of course. I secretly suspect he lives for that kind of thing.
Tempted as I was to take advantage of Winter’s absence and have forty winks, Clare’s obvious unhappiness precluded any naps. Given what neighbourly Pete had told us about the lies Blackbeard had spun him, I reckoned her family had probably been told something similar. Finding out for certain would at least cheer her up; she’d still be dead but she’d know that her family cared about her. Of course, that meant I’d have to be the bearer of bad tidings and tell her family that she’d been murdered. It wasn’t exactly my idea of fun by the seaside. Ice cream, yes; lying in the sun, yes. Informing a family that a serial killer had slaughtered their nearest and dearest several weeks ago and they’d not realised anything was wrong … no. It was tempting to sprint in the opposite direction as fast as my chubby little legs would carry me.
Clare’s parents lived in a quiet cul-de-sac less than twenty minutes from her house. It was the sort of place where the neighbours all spoke to each other, not just to murmur a hello in the morning but to stop and have a real chat. When someone baked cookies, Tupperware boxes were probably passed around every house on the street. My witchy senses might have never experienced precognition but I foresaw many casseroles in the Rees family’s future. I gave a loud sigh.
By my side, Clare was twitchy and nervous. ‘What if they really don’t care that I’m dead? Blackbeard might never have come here. He might never have spoken to them. They simply might not have noticed that I’m not around.’ She wrung her hands and I saw that her fingers were trembling. She might be a ghost but she was still afraid. Apparently you don’t lose your emotions or humanity when you lose your life. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or dismayed by that.
Unable to place a reassuring hand on her arm, I forced a smile in her direction. ‘How often did you see your family when you were alive?’
Her expression creased into worried guilt. ‘Not as often as I should have. We lived close to each other so I should have been round more often but they were always here, you know? I might have postponed a lot of dinners or days out, but it was only because I thought I could see them any time.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I didn’t know. I didn’t know I had such little time left. No wonder they don’t care that I’m gone – I didn’t care when they were here.’
Clare was seriously over-thinking. ‘Stop it,’ I said, harshly enough to make her glance at me in surprise. ‘You were human. You are human. You did something that people all over the country do. You can’t beat yourself up for living or for making
a few mistakes. To err is human, Clare.’
She screwed up her face. ‘And to forgive is divine.’ She waved a hand around. ‘I’m dead and I don’t see anyone divine around here. I’ve even managed to mess that up.’
I was starting to get the impression that nothing I said was going to make any difference. When Clare’s family heard what had happened to her and collapsed, devastated, she wasn’t going to feel any better about herself. To err was human indeed – I should never have come here. Some things were better left to professionals. What the hell did I know about grief?
I pressed my finger on the doorbell and stepped back. With any luck, no one would be in and the police would come later and do this themselves. I counted to three in my head.
‘No one’s here! We should go.’ I twisted round hurriedly and walked away far faster than I normally did.
‘Ivy!’ Clare protested immediately. She needn’t have bothered – I could already hear the door opening behind me. Arse.
I turned back slowly, my stomach churning and my mouth dry. I’d take on a platoon of zombies over this any day. Hell, I’d take on Tarquin – and that was saying something.
The woman had Clare’s face but with a few more careworn lines around her eyes and mouth. She started to smile at me but something about my expression gave her pause because her smile faltered. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
Big fat ghost tears started to roll down Clare’s cheeks. ‘Mummy.’ She ran towards her, arms outstretched, and tried to throw herself into a hug. Of course it didn’t work and Clare fell through her mother’s body, stumbling to the other side. She let out an anguished sob and slumped down.
I swallowed. ‘Mrs Rees.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Do I know you?’
I shook my head. ‘No, but I know your daughter, Clare.’ Or should that be knew your daughter Clare? I’d not said more than two sentences and this was already one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
