by Helen Harper
‘Clare? Where is she? How is she doing?’ She pursed her lips. ‘Honestly that girl is terrible at keeping in touch! She could be dead for all we know!’ She laughed at her weak joke. When I did nothing more than wince slightly, her hand rose to her mouth. ‘Wait. What’s happened?’
The doorstep was not the place for this conversation. ‘Perhaps we should go inside.’
Clare’s mum’s face went even whiter. ‘Tell me. Tell me where she is.’
From behind her mum, Clare pushed herself back up to her feet. She wiped her eyes and looked at me. ‘Do it, Ivy.’
I pulled my shoulders back. Woman up, Ivy. This was not the time to hide under the bed and be a wimp. Tell the truth and stop prolonging this woman’s misery. ‘I’m sorry to tell you,’ I said, in a voice that I was relieved to hear was both clear and audible, ‘that Clare has been the victim of a terrible crime.’
Her mother gasped. I ploughed on; I had to say this now, before I lost what little gumption I had left. ‘She was killed, along with the rest of her coven, by a man we believe to be a serial killer with a grudge against witches.’
Mrs Rees’s eyes were wide open. I had to give her credit – she was holding herself together better than I was. Clare stared at her, taking in every nuance of her expression. ‘In Iceland?’
What? ‘No. On Dartmoor.’
A door opened across the street and a group of laughing children piled out, the occasional delighted scream punctuating the air. Clare’s mum didn’t even look at them. ‘You’d better come in,’ she murmured. She led me into the living room and gestured. ‘Please. Have a seat.’
I moved to the nearest chair. Clare let out a small shriek. ‘Not there!’ I sprang up again. ‘That’s my dad’s chair,’ she said. ‘No one sits in that chair apart from him.’
I edged round to the sofa and did my best to look casual.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ Mrs Rees asked. ‘Tea or coffee or something?’
It should probably be me asking her that. ‘No. But I can put the kettle on if you…’
‘No.’
Footsteps sounded outside and a man appeared, wiping his hands on an oily rag. He glanced at me, then at Clare’s mum. ‘What’s going on?’
‘This is…’ Mrs Rees faltered. I hadn’t even introduced myself yet.
‘Ivy Wilde,’ I said. ‘I’m…’ I’m what? A taxi driver? A medium?
‘She’s here about Clare,’ Mrs Rees said. The note in her voice said it all.
The man, presumably Clare’s father, stiffened. He sat down in the chair, his shoulders slumping. ‘Fuck.’
That’s pretty much what I was thinking too.
It took some time to explain everything. A lot of the conversation had a strange roundabout fashion.
‘So you’re with the Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment?’
‘No, but sometimes I work with them.’
‘You’re not a witch then?’
‘I’m a witch.’
‘You’re in a coven like Clare was?’
‘No.’
‘So who the hell are you?’
I wasn’t sure even I knew the answer to that any more. About the only thing that was clear to all of us, even Clare, was just how devastated her parents were. There had been a few quiet tears and very little in the way of hysterics but that was because they had so many questions and, right now, I had very few answers.
‘She’s here then?’ her mother asked. ‘She’s dead and she’s been dead for weeks. Her body has been cremated. But she’s here as a ghost and you can talk to her?’
I nodded. ‘Pretty much.’
‘We don’t have any money,’ Mr Rees said, with a hard, sceptical look in his eye. ‘If you’re trying to get us to give you some so that we can talk to Clare then…’
I held up my hands, palms facing outwards. ‘I don’t want your money. I’m not here for that.’
Clare knelt down beside him. ‘He was so proud when my magic first appeared,’ she said. ‘Even though we all knew there wasn’t much of it. There hadn’t been a witch in our family for generations. He thought I’d go on to do great things.’ She sighed. ‘Yeah, right. Tell him that I’m sorry about the money I stole when I was twelve. And that I wish I’d come back to visit more often. And that I’ll always be his munchkin, no matter what. Tell my mum that Granny’s necklace is in my old jewellery box. There’s a false bottom. I only took it because…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
I repeated what she’d said. Both her parents stared at me as if they weren’t sure whether to hug me or grab the nearest barge pole with which to prod me out of their house.
‘I know this is difficult,’ I said. ‘Truthfully, I can’t begin to imagine how difficult. But the man who did this to Clare and the rest of her coven is still out there. The faster we find him, the less chance there is he’ll do this to someone else. I just have a few questions.’
They nodded.
Drawing a deep breath, I tried to prioritise. ‘Why did you think she was in Iceland?’
‘We got a postcard,’ Clare’s mum said. She went to the mantelpiece, picked up a pretty card and passed it over to me. ‘Here.’
Clare was at my side in an instant. ‘I’ve never been to Iceland,’ she said, looking at the photo of a shooting geyser. ‘Turn it over.’
Apart from the address, there were only three words scrawled on the back: ‘Love you. C.’
‘It looks like my handwriting.’ Clare’s voice started to rise. ‘How the hell does he know my handwriting? He copied me. Blackbeard bloody…’
I hushed her while her parents looked on with frozen watchfulness. ‘He was inside your house, Clare. It probably wouldn’t have been difficult to find an example of your writing and copy it.’ I bit down hard on my bottom lip. No, it wouldn’t have been difficult. But it did show a level of premeditation that chilled me.
‘She didn’t write this?’ her father probed.
‘No. I’m sorry.’ I paused. ‘Did you ever meet anyone with a black beard and a skull earring who came round and said they knew Clare?’
They exchanged glances. ‘No. There’s not been anyone,’ Mrs Rees said. ‘Apart from that Order witch conducting the diligence checks.’
I sat up straight. Clare’s gaze shot to her mother as well. ‘What?’
She stood up once more and walked over to a bureau, opening a drawer and taking out a business card. ‘He left his details.’ She passed it over to me. I stared at Tarquin’s gold-embossed name and tried very hard not to scream. ‘She’d finally given up on that foolish idea of the coven and had applied to become an Order witch.’
Clare’s mouth dropped open. ‘I didn’t! I wouldn’t do that! I hate the Order! I’d never join them.’ She gave me a sidelong glance. Both of us knew that her magic wasn’t strong enough for her to do well in the Order. She’d probably be accepted but she’d never progress beyond Neophyte. She’d been in a seven-strong coven outside the Order for a reason.
‘Can I keep this?’ I asked.
‘Of course. Does it mean something?’
I had a horrible feeling it did. ‘No, but it’s good to explore every clue.’ I stood up. ‘I should probably get going.’
Clare’s parents also rose to their feet. ‘Clare?’ her mother asked, almost timidly. ‘Will you stay? It will make me feel better knowing you are here.’
Clare sniffed loudly. ‘I’ll stay. Of course I’ll stay.’
I nodded to her mum in acknowledgment.
‘We also need to get her remains so we can give them a proper burial,’ her father added, in a gruff voice choked by tears.
‘The police will be in touch about that,’ I said. ‘But here’s my number as well. Call me any time. I’m so very sorry for your loss.’
They reached for each other, their hands clasping together for comfort. And even though they couldn’t see her, Clare leaned in towards them, her head bowed and her hands outstretched towards them for further c
omfort. I let myself out.
Chapter Twelve
I walked away from the house with a lead-filled soul. I knew speaking to Clare’s parents was going to be hard but it had been much worse than I’d anticipated. Taxi driving was a far simpler proposition than all this, even if it meant I had to have the same conversation about the weather twenty times a day.
I trudged away, turning everything over in my mind. The sensible thing to do would be to tell the Ipsissimus, the Order and the police and wash my hands of the entire affair. I’d already done what was required of me.
I’d barely turned the corner when my mobile phone rang. Half expecting it to be Winter, I pulled it out of my pocket. When I realised the number calling me was my home phone, I felt my pulse rate increase.
‘Eve?’ I asked. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Brutus? Is everything alright?’
There was no immediate answer. Frowning, I tilted my head and listened harder. Was that heavy breathing? Trepidation building, I tried again. ‘Hello? Eve?’
‘Fooooooooooooood.’
I frowned. ‘Brutus?’
‘Fooooooooooooood.’
Since when had he learned to use a damn phone? ‘Brutus,’ I said slowly. ‘Where is Eve?’ A horrible thought struck me. ‘You’ve not … done anything to her, have you?’
‘Bitch.’ Whether he was referring to me or to Eve wasn’t clear. It was probably to both of us for not pandering to his every need. There was a long drawn-out pause. ‘Where?’
I was glad no one else was around to realise that I was conducting a phone conversation with my cat. I’d been talking to Brutus for years but even I felt ridiculous doing this. ‘I’m in a place called Weymouth, tracking down a serial killer. This is serious stuff, Brutus. I think we’ll be back later today but I can’t promise anything. This is a fast-moving investigation and I am an integral cog in it.’ I hesitated. ‘But I really don’t want to be. I want to be back at home. And not just because I’d quite like to lie on my sofa with you and a family-sized bar of chocolate. I’m not cut out for this, not because it’s work but because it’s too emotional. I’m not sure I can cope. But a serial killer is out there and other witches might be in danger.’
‘Home,’ Brutus said with more than a hint of imperious command. It was more like a smack-you-in-the-face-before-bringing-you-to-your-knees imperious command.
‘Believe me, that’s what I’m planning to do.’
There was a strange clunking sound in the background then I heard Eve’s muffled voice. ‘Brutus? Princess? What is that smell?’
My eyes narrowed. What smell?
‘Miaow,’ Brutus said. Then he hung up.
I ground my teeth. Why, that little… I hissed under my breath. Every moment he got, he complained. Goodness only knew how he was treating Eve or what the smell was that she was referring to. If he thought he was getting his Friday tuna treat now, he was sadly mistaken. Although at least now I was thinking about something other than Clare Rees and her family. I had a sneaking suspicion that Brutus had somehow known how I was feeling and had called me to take my mind off things, but that was crazy. Then the phone rang again and, without looking at the screen, I answered.
‘Brutus, how on earth can you get your paws to dial the number?’ I asked. ‘And what is that smell Eve was talking about? Have you been peeing in the corner?’
‘Certainly not,’ Winter said. ‘I used the toilet and I even put the lid down afterwards.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Has Brutus been phoning you?’ he enquired. ‘That cat is bloody amazing.’
That cat is bloody annoying; I think that’s why I love him. I shook my head in exasperation and changed the subject. ‘I think that Blackbeard sent Clare’s parents a postcard and pretended it was from her. He was desperate that no one knew she’d disappeared.’
Winter’s answer was grim. ‘Unfortunately that’s what we’re discovering as well. The police have agreed to the embargo, not least because steps have been taken to conceal the disappearance of the other coven members too. And all their houses are booby-trapped in exactly the same manner as Clare’s. Blackbeard means serious business.’
I grimaced. ‘There’s more.’ I told him about Tarquin visiting the Rees’ family.
Winter drew in a breath. ‘How does that boy manage to sneak his way into everything? And why?’
‘He has a particularly annoying and peculiar skill set,’ I agreed. ‘We need to talk to him.’
‘Agreed. We should also see if we can get hold of your friend Iqbal. He has proved himself incredibly helpful in the past when it comes to research. The way that Blackbeard is managing to avoid magic concerns me. If anyone knows how he’s capable of that, it’ll be Iqbal.’
‘It sounds like we need to skedaddle back to Oxford.’
Winter agreed. ‘The police and Arcane Branch have everything under control here. It’ll take some time to defuse all the traps because they’re trying to do it quietly so that Blackbeard isn’t alerted.’
I ran a hand through my hair. ‘He’s not just one step ahead of us, Rafe,’ I said quietly. ‘He’s several miles in front. And we both know that I’m no runner.’
‘It’s not just you on his tail, Ivy, or me. Between the Order, the coven’s families and the police, we’ll catch this bastard before the week is out.’
Winter was trying to sound confident but I knew him too well. Both of us were feeling the strain – and the doubt. Maybe Blackbeard was just too good. And if his only clear motive was to kill witches, where could we go from here? There were thousands of witches across the country and Blackbeard could be targeting any of them. Talking to the dead was all well and good, but so far the ghosts had only proved helpful in offering glimpses into the past. We were all going to have to step up our game.
We made it back home in record time. It was a measure of how seriously Winter was taking things that he didn’t comment after I magically encouraged several cars to come to mysterious halts so we could overtake them and get back that little bit quicker. Using magic against vehicles could play havoc with their engines but none of them exploded, so I decided my spells were a resounding success.
Winter wasn’t the only one being encouraging. More than one ghost waved enthusiastically as we zipped past. I suppose I should have been cheered by all this support from the dead but I wished they’d leave me in peace.
Winter bounded up the stairs to Tarquin’s flat while I waited for the lift, explaining that I should probably make sure that Brutus wasn’t gnawing on Eve’s cooling corpse. When I stepped out onto my floor, however, I could already hear Winter’s barrage of questions from the floor above.
‘What were you doing in Weymouth? How did you know the Rees family? Did you speak to Clare? Have you been annoying Ivy again? If you do anything to set back her recovery even slightly, I will serve your head up to my cat on a platter.’
I smiled at the last part. Given the anger rippling through Winter’s voice, not to mention Tarquin’s propensity for being the most irritating witch this side of the yellow brick road, I decided I should join them and make sure no blood was spilled.
Tarquin, bizarrely, was bare-chested except for a heavily embroidered waistcoat. He was smiling at Winter in a way designed to encourage violence. Before he met me, Raphael Winter always managed to present himself as a slightly standoffish and occasionally offensive witch – and one with absolute control over his emotions. I wasn’t the same person I had been back then and neither was he. Usually that was a good thing – but not always.
Rather than answering any of the questions, Tarquin’s gaze switched to me as I came up the stairs. He loped towards me and stretched out his arms, trying to draw me into a tight embrace. What he didn’t yet know was that I could perform magic safely again. I flicked out a surreptitious rune that I doubted even Winter would notice.
Tarquin drew in a sharp breath and stepped back, dropping his arms; otherwise he didn’t react. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked. There was a faint squeak in his voice.
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‘You were in Dorset recently,’ Winter said, folding his arms. ‘Weymouth, to be exact.’
Tarquin suddenly looked bored. ‘I’ve been in a lot of places recently. The folks in Human Resources can’t seem to let go of the fact that I’m now in Arcane Branch and they keep demanding my time.’ He shrugged and examined his fingernails. ‘I can’t help it if every other witch in HR is incompetent and they need me to do their work for them.’
More like Arcane Branch had quickly realised Tarquin was incompetent and were trying to palm him back on his original bosses. Rather than say that, I focused on what was important. Go me – I could be the bigger witch after all. ‘What work are you doing exactly?’
‘Pre-entrance interviews for mature non-Order witches who wish to gain entrance to our esteemed establishment,’ he said. He looked at me archly. ‘If you want to join the Order, Ivy, I promise to treat you fairly and in the same manner as the others. I won’t automatically turn you down just because I know how to make you scream in the sack.’ Beside me, Winter stiffened. I nudged him with my elbow. I was by his side, not Tarquin’s.
My floppy-haired foe continued. ‘And I won’t automatically add you to our ranks either. We are a merit-based organisation, as I’m sure you know. If you can prove yourself to me, I’ll consider your application.’
From anyone else it would have sounded as if they were taking the piss, but Tarquin managed to sound sincere. It took everything I had for me not to burst into giggles. Insults would slide off his glossy exterior; laughing at him meant he’d refuse to talk to me for a month. Normally that would be a good thing but, with Winter no longer in the Order, we needed Tarquin on our side if we were going to find out the information we wanted.
Winter, speaking through gritted teeth, stared at him. ‘You make the decision whether new witches are allowed into the Order?’
‘New old witches,’ Tarquin said. ‘And yes, that responsibility is mine. It is a heavy burden, I admit, but someone has to step up to the proverbial plate and take charge.’
