by Helen Harper
‘Immune to magic?’ I said slowly. How on earth was that even possible? I looked at Winter; he seemed just as baffled as I was. ‘Have you ever heard of a null?’
‘No.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘But if that’s what our Blackbeard is, it makes a lot of sense.’
‘If it makes you feel any better,’ Iqbal said, ‘they’re incredibly rare. We’re talking about maybe one person in a million who’s affected, so it stands to reason that you don’t often hear about them.’
I grimaced. ‘Better odds than being a serial killer,’ I said. ‘Probably.’
‘Well,’ Iqbal demurred, ‘your guy is not a serial killer, he’s a mass murderer. Until he’s actually killed more than three people on separate occasions, he doesn’t count as a serial killer.’ He scratched his head. ‘So, uh, there’s that.’
Whoop-de-do.
‘This could be good news,’ Winter said. I glanced at him askance. I couldn’t possibly see how. ‘Someone somewhere must have noticed that Blackbeard is a null. It might have been a schoolteacher or a friend or a doctor. But whoever it was or whenever it happened, nulls are rare enough that there must be a record of who he really is. It might not lead us right to him but it could teach us a great deal about him.’
Okay, that kind of made sense. ‘So, as the Arcane Branch expert among us,’ I said, ‘how would you search the records for him?’
‘I’d put in a bi-request for Order and police records. For something as vital as this, it would be a rush job so it would take two or three days. Obviously, I can’t request it in my current position.’
I was getting a headache. ‘We need to go back to the Ipsissimus and get him to do it.’ Winter nodded. He really didn’t look happy about it. ‘Maybe you should re-join…’ I began. His expression stopped me from finishing my sentence.
‘Is there anything else about nulls that you can tell us?’ he asked Iqbal. ‘Anything at all?’
My friend shrugged. ‘There’s not much to tell. They’re just the same as any ordinary person. They don’t have magic and magic can’t affect them. To stop a null you need to use other means.’ He paused. ‘You two are smart. You can work it out.’
Judging by the expression on Winter’s face, he felt as doubtful as I did. Magic was what we did; it was in our blood and in our DNA. If we couldn’t rely on it, I didn’t know what we could do. It felt like our chances of catching Blackbeard and bringing him to justice had gone from slim to none.
The ghost frowned at me. ‘Give me a break,’ he complained. ‘You think that just because you’ve found someone who you can’t bespell it’s the end of the world.’
I glared at him. ‘It was the end of Clare Rees’s world.’ And Karen’s. And Paul’s. And Amy’s. Not to mention the other three whom I had yet to meet but who I knew were out there somewhere.
‘Death isn’t so bad,’ the ghost went on. ‘It’s the hanging around that sucks. All this waiting for something to happen and nothing ever does. Being here is like being stuck at the dentist and waiting to have your teeth pulled without anaesthetic. Except you don’t know when it’s going to happen. Or if it’s ever going to happen. You just know that you can’t do anything apart from wait.’
Damn. ‘I’m … sorry,’ I said. It was inane but true.
Crazy Hair sighed. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Who is it, Ivy?’ Iqbal asked. ‘Who’s the ghost? Why are they here haunting me?’
I raised my eyebrows in question. Crazy Hair shrugged. ‘I’m not haunting him. I used to work here. It’s a good place. I normally hang around the canteen because that’s where you get all the best gossip but I got word that Grenville wanted me here. He really does want to talk to you.’
It was my turn to shrug. ‘I’ll try to drop in when we go to see the Ipsissimus.’ The current Ipsissimus. Man, this could get confusing. ‘How can I help you?’ I asked. ‘How can I help you move on? Who do I need to talk to?’
A calculating look flitted across his expression. ‘You’d do that?’
I blinked. ‘Of course.’
‘It’s not a person who can free me,’ he said. ‘It’s a plaque.’
‘I thought you guys wanted things like plaques.’ And shrines and paintings and whatever.
‘You guys?’ he snorted. ‘You’ll be dead one day too, you know. Then you’ll see.’
Iqbal reached forward and touched my elbow. ‘I can only hear a bit of what’s going on,’ he said, ‘but if it’s a plaque you’re looking for, I might know what you mean.’ An expression of reverence crossed his face. ‘Is the ghost you’re talking to male, with frizzy hair that looks like yours? You know, like it’s been electrocuted?’
‘Electrocuted?’ the spirit spat. ‘Just because I had better things to do than worry about my appearance! I’ll have you know that I was the one who discovered the gene that is responsible for determining magic ability. Hundreds, no, thousands of witches have been discovered because of my work, instead of being left to languish in anonymity!’
I felt a sudden kinship with the phantom. After all, I also had better things to do than worry about my appearance. My better things weren’t amazing scientific breakthroughs, however; they were amazing days snuggled up underneath my duvet. I decided I probably shouldn’t say that.
‘That’s him,’ I said to Iqbal instead.
He fixed his gaze on a point over the ghost’s shoulder. ‘Professor Wiggins,’ he breathed. ‘It’s a genuine pleasure.’
Crazy Hair – or rather Professor Wiggins – looked slightly embarrassed. ‘That’s okay,’ he said gruffly. He glanced at me. ‘You should tell your friend that he needs to have another look at the third chapter. He’s got his sums wrong.’
I relayed this information to Iqbal, who didn’t look exactly thrilled. I suspected that he already knew that but hadn’t got around to fixing it. Or maybe he’d hoped no one would notice.
‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘I appreciate the help.’
‘Why don’t you take us to the plaque, Iqqy?’ I suggested, before he gave himself away completely.
‘Sure, yes.’ He bobbed his head vigorously. ‘I did wonder about it, you know. There’s something about the wording that always makes me feel uncomfortable and now I know why.’
‘What does it say?’ Winter asked.
It was Wiggins himself who answered. ‘“It was on this spot in 1989 that Professor Horace Wiggins changed the course of biological magic study for decades. May his zest for science and his soul endure here for eternity, affecting all these walls and all who study within them.”’
I winced. That was a pretty definitive curse, even if it was nicely worded.
‘Of course,’ Wiggins continued, ‘it wasn’t on that spot at all. I was trying to get the Dean’s secretary into the stationery cupboard when the real breakthrough actually came to me. You see, she had these massive—’
‘Professor,’ I said in an overly loud voice, ‘if you want my help, then you should probably stop talking now.’
He paused. ‘Uh, okay. Yes. Good idea.’
Brutus sighed. I shrugged at him. ‘You could have stayed at home, you know. There are plenty of corners to sulk in there. You don’t have to do it here.’
He raised a paw as if examining it, then extended his claws one by one.
‘Come on, Iqbal!’ Winter said cheerfully, with as much haste as he could muster. ‘Let’s go!’
And with that, we all barrelled out of the room.
Chapter Fourteen
One minor act of vandalism and a short journey later, we arrived at the Order Headquarters. Winter couldn’t wipe the guilty expression off his face, as if he were about to be carted away to complete ten years’ hard labour for prising an old plaque from a wall. He’d never make much of a criminal, I thought fondly.
‘You know,’ I said, as we got out of the taxi, ‘maybe this ghost business isn’t so bad after all. I’m starting to feel like I’m getting the hang of it. That’s two spirits I’ve already helpe
d cross over. I realise there are problems with Clare and her coven but that’s different. All I need is to set up an office where the ghosts can come to me, and hire an assistant to sort out the curses, and I reckon I could be on to a winner. I’d miss taxi driving but I’d be prepared to give it up to be altruistic and help out all those lost souls.’ I paused. ‘And work for only twenty minutes or so a day.’
‘Who would pay you?’ Winter asked.
Hmm. Good question. I pocketed the keys and we walked towards the main building in search of the Ipsissimus. Brutus fell in beside us, although he seemed rather distracted by the new environment and kept stopping to sniff suspiciously at scary objects. He appeared convinced that the empty packet of crisps tumbling in the breeze was out to get him.
‘I could get the families to pay me,’ I said finally. ‘You know, the descendants of the ghosts or whoever it is who cursed their souls in the first place. I’m doing them a favour – they should pay for the privilege of no longer being haunted.’
‘Except,’ Winter said, bending over to grab the crisp packet and drop it in a nearby bin, ‘they don’t know they’re being haunted. So why would they be grateful?’
I rubbed my chin. ‘Maybe before the curses are cleared, we get the spirits to tell us where all the ancient family heirlooms are buried.’
‘Because every family must have buried heirlooms?’
Brutus leapt onto the top of the bin and peered inside before pawing for the crisp packet. He obviously didn’t get out enough.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘For a start, in the corner of my parents’ garden there’s the head of a Barbie doll that I buried when I was a kid. Goodness only knows what else is there.’
‘The head of Barbie doll? Treasure indeed.’ Winter smiled.
‘For all you know,’ I said, ‘it could be a collector’s item.’
A small group of red-robed witches appeared from round the corner. When they caught sight of us, one of them immediately peeled away and raised a hand in greeting. ‘Adeptus Exemptus Winter!’
Winter let out a hiss of irritation but he stopped and waited for the witch to catch up to us. ‘Magister Templi Kirk,’ he said formally.
I stood to one side, watching with interest as Kirk, a Third Level witch and therefore higher in the Order hierarchy than Winter, all but bowed to him.
‘You’re back!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m so pleased! We’ve missed you hugely. I cannot wait to get your opinion on my latest project. It’s really suffering for not having your input. You see I’m trying to combine—’
Winter held up a hand, interrupting the flood of words. ‘I’m not back. I’m just here with my partner to see the Ipsissimus.’
I smiled and waved. ‘That’s me. I’m his partner. Me. Ivy Wilde.’
Magister Templi Kirk threw me a distracted glance. ‘Oh yes. You’re the one who stopped the teenage necromancer. Well done.’
I beamed. A beat later, however, Kirk returned his full attention to Winter. ‘Why aren’t you back?’ he demanded. ‘We need you.’ His words could have sounded petulant but instead he came across as confused – and more than a little desperate.
‘I don’t belong here any more,’ Winter said. ‘The Order is not the place for me.’
‘Of course it’s the place for you!’ Kirk protested.
Winter smiled. ‘We should get going.’
‘Wait! Can you tell me if you think I’m doing the right thing? I’ve been using catnip and hibiscus to work on a spell to alleviate depression but every time I test it, it creates a terrible skin rash.’
Winter frowned. ‘How are you purifying the catnip?’
‘The usual way, with a pinch of salt.’
He shook his head. ‘No. That won’t work. Catnip has unusual properties. Stick with the salt but try adding some dried sage. That should clear up your problems.’
Kirk’s expression transformed in an instant. ‘Sage,’ he breathed. ‘Of course, I should have thought of that. I asked several other herblore experts and none of them mentioned it but the purifying properties will definitely make a difference. You’re a genius, Adeptus Exemptus. Thank you so much.’
Winter forced a smile. ‘It’s just Rafe. I’m not an Adeptus Exemptus any longer.’
‘You always will be in my eyes,’ Kirk said, without a trace of irony. I glanced round, half expecting to see a full orchestra playing a stirring soundtrack. Honestly, the situation really called for it.
‘I have to go now, Magister,’ Winter said.
Kirk’s eyes widened in apology. ‘Yes, yes! I’m so sorry to have kept you. You must be very busy.’ He hesitated. ‘Please reconsider your decision to return.’
Winter half grimaced and half smiled and turned away. I shot Kirk a quick smile of my own and joined him. ‘I thought I was the only person in the world who could possibly be in love with you,’ I said. ‘Now I realise I have a lot of competition.’
Winter looked exasperated. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not. Seriously, Rafe, that witch was ready to prostrate himself at your feet.’
‘He’s like that with everyone,’ Winter dismissed.
Actually, I didn’t think he was. In fact, I didn’t think Winter had any idea just how much people around here wanted him. I understood it because I wanted him too. The trouble for the Order was that I had him and they didn’t.
‘Let’s focus on the matter in hand, shall we?’ he grunted. ‘Look, there’s the Ipsissimus. We can talk to him here without going up to his office. That’ll please you.’
I glanced over, following his finger. He was right: Ipsissimus Collings was strolling along a well-kept path round the corner of the Runic Magic building. He wasn’t alone; Philip Maidmont, handily, was with him. The pair of them were deep in conversation, their serious expressions and stiff body language suggesting that they weren’t discussing what was on television last night. I bet that their topic of conversation started with the letter ‘B’ and ended with ‘beard’. I opened my mouth to shout to them. That was when I realised what they were walking towards.
‘No!’ I shrieked.
Both the Ipsissimus and Maidmont glanced up. They saw us – but they also carried on walking. No, no, no, no, no! Round the corner of the building and out of their sight – but visible to me – was a ladder. If the pair of them took just four or five more steps they’d walk right underneath it. If there is an omen that is destined to screw up your day, your week, your month and quite possibly your entire life, it is walking under a ladder.
Freaking out in a manner most unusual for me, I flapped my arms. Winter stopped and stared at me, mystified. But then he’d never understood superstitions and the power they really held.
Realising that something was wrong, the Ipsissimus did exactly the opposite to what I wanted and sped up to find out what the problem was. Time slowed around me, like in a Hollywood movie when you know the hero is in mortal danger. Reminding myself to breathe, I lifted both hands and concentrated. This needed to be one of the fastest spells I’d ever cast but I couldn’t afford for it to be sloppy.
‘Ivy?’ Winter began.
From behind, Brutus let out a yowl and barrelled towards the two men. At least he recognised the danger. As I flicked out a double-handed rune, Brutus bounded towards the ladder. Almost simultaneously, my spell toppled it as Brutus also smashed into it. There was a loud clatter as the offending object hit the path. Praise be – that was a close-run thing. I doubled over, breathing hard.
Maidmont spotted the ladder and started to hyperventilate whilst the Ipsissimus definitely appeared concerned. Winter just looked a bit puzzled. ‘What’s wrong? Is someone there? Is there a problem?’ he asked.
Jeez. I gasped, trying to catch my breath. ‘Ladder,’ I wheezed.
‘Huh?’ There was a pause. ‘Oh.’
I twisted my head towards him in time to catch his beautiful blue eyes rolling in amusement and exasperation. ‘It’s just a superstition.’
I managed t
o straighten up, although my breathing still wasn’t back to normal. ‘It’s not just a superstition, Rafe!’ I shook my head and jogged over to Maidmont and the Ipsissimus. At this rate, I’d give myself an aneurysm.
‘How can you let ladders onto this campus?’ I yelled, admonishing the Ipsissimus. ‘And who the hell would leave one lying around like this?’ I swung my head from side to side as if expecting a ninja assassin to appear at any second.
Ipsissimus Collings didn’t look particularly happy but he wasn’t panicking either. ‘There are renovations taking place. We’ve recruited a non-witch construction firm. One of them must have left the ladder here by accident. I’ll have words with them. It won’t happen again.’
I was tempted to continue yelling at him to press home the potential consequences of such death traps in the Order headquarters. Given the circumstances of our visit, however, there were probably more important things to talk about. Brutus, almost as shaken as I was, leapt into my arms. I stroked him, as much to calm myself as to calm my cat.
‘We need to talk about Blackbeard,’ Winter said. ‘There have been some developments with our investigation.’
The Ipsissimus nodded. ‘Excellent. We have some new information too, although I’m not sure how helpful it will be. We should move inside for some privacy.’ He looked around. ‘And so that we’re not in any further danger from construction equipment cursing us to eternity.’
Maidmont looked ready to turn tail and run screaming for the hills. I didn’t blame him; I was tempted to jump on his back and demand a piggyback to the same place. Instead, I stroked Brutus a bit more and remembered to breathe.
‘Sure,’ I said, the epitome of casual behaviour. In fact, if anyone looked up ‘relaxed’ in the dictionary, my photo would be right there. Nobody would be able to tell that I was actually quaking in my boots. ‘That sounds fabulous.’
Winter patted my hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘The nasty ladder has fallen down and can’t hurt you any more. We’re all perfectly safe. You don’t have to panic.’
