by Helen Harper
‘No,’ Winter said easily. ‘She’s off running an errand for me. She can sneak into hard-to-reach areas so I’ve sent her off to get some milk thistle. There’s a particular strain I’m after which I think will work wonderfully in a new spell I’m developing.’
‘This creature is not running an errand for you?’ George asked me.
I tried to imagine what Brutus’s response would be if I asked him to hunt for a particular herb in some godforsaken corner of the country. He’d probably return with a pile of stinging nettles and leave them in my bed so he could piss himself laughing when I tried to go to sleep. ‘Uh no. I don’t tend to use herblore much. I’m more of a rune girl.’
Winter’s father looked distinctly underwhelmed.
Sophia cleared her throat. ‘Let’s all go and sit down, shall we? Ivy, would you like a cup of tea? Dinner won’t be for another couple of hours yet.’
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. ‘I would bloody love a cup,’ I said. Then, rather belatedly, I winced. ‘I mean, that would be lovely. Thank you.’
She quirked an eyebrow in a mannerism I instantly recognised. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell whether she was amused or horrified because she was a lot harder to read than her son. And a whole lot scarier too. I think it was because she kept smiling at me.
We were led into what I think was a drawing room. I’d never been in a drawing room before but, now that I was standing in one, I had no doubt that is what it was. Carefully taking a seat in a high-backed chair that was considerably older than all of us in this room, I felt incredibly uncomfortable – but I still couldn’t prevent myself from letting out a groan at taking the weight off my feet.
‘Make yourself at home,’ George said, flicking his hand in the air.
Thank goodness. I slumped back and began to raise my legs to tuck them underneath me. When I saw the expression on his face, I changed my mind. That hadn’t been a literal ‘make yourself at home’; I couldn’t get cold pizza out of the fridge and demand to know where the television was.
I tried to ignore the fact that Winter’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter and looked round for Brutus. When I saw him poised to sharpen his claws on what looked like a very expensive chest, I sprang to my feet and grabbed him. He writhed in my arms and reached up with one paw to scratch my cheek. Fortunately, Winter was also standing and took him from me before I strangled him right then and there.
‘Your familiar is … interesting,’ George remarked politely.
Brutus’s head shot up and he glared at him. With one twist of his body, he leapt out of Winter’s arms and sauntered over to George. ‘Pet,’ he demanded.
Winter senior raised his eyebrows. ‘Very interesting.’ He leaned over and looked Brutus in the eye. ‘I will pet you if you behave.’
Cat stared at man and man stared at cat. I had the uneasy feeling this was going to end badly. However, Brutus flopped onto his back and presented his belly. Winter’s father did indeed reward him with a stroke. Okay, then.
Sophia bustled back in, carrying a silver tray. She set it down gently on a table. Seeing doilies and delicate china, my heart sank.
‘How do you take your tea, Ivy?’
‘Milk and four sugars.’
‘Four sugars?’ she asked, as if I wasn’t sure of my own preferences.
‘Yes.’
She pressed her lips together. I resisted telling her that I needed the energy after what Winter and I had been through. Given the visible bruises we were both sporting, our recent experiences were obvious but his parents had not commented on them. It made me wonder what Winter normally looked like when he showed up for formal dinners.
Sophia poured tea and passed me a cup and saucer. I generally like my tea in gigantic mugs I can wrap my hands around. This dainty little thing seemed like it would snap if I looked at it for too long and contained little more than a mouthful of tea. Great. I tried not to look too disappointed and murmured my thanks.
‘I cannot believe it!’ shrieked a high-pitched female voice. It shocked me so much that I jerked and spilled tea all over myself. I leapt up. It was scalding.
Sophia’s eyes widened and she dashed over with a cloth. ‘Is something the matter?’
The ghost glared at her. ‘I’ll say something’s the matter! That’s the best china! What are you doing giving this gerrl the best china?’
Winter watched me, fascination lighting his eyes. ‘Who is it, Ivy? Who do you see?’
His mother dabbed at my front while the ghost put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, that’s hardly going to help, is it?’ She tutted. Of course; where there was a ghost, there was bound to be tutting. ‘My name is Hetty, for his information.’
I licked my lips. ‘Uh, a woman called Hetty.’
Sophia stopped what she was doing and stared at me. ‘Great-aunt Hetty?’
Winter coughed. ‘Recently, Ivy has discovered that she can communicate with the dead.’
‘And she’s talking to Hetty?’ Sophia’s gaze swung from Winter back to me again. ‘You’re talking to Hetty?’
Hetty herself rolled her eyes. ‘She never was the brightest gerrl.’
George looked mildly interested. ‘Fascinating.’
Sophia started to back away very, very slowly. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she whispered.
‘Tell that gerrl that she should believe it. I’ve been haunting her for years. I know everything there is to know about her. I’ll give away all her secrets.’ Hetty smacked her lips with self-satisfaction. ‘I know what happened at the Pickwick.’
I patted myself down to get rid of the remaining dregs of tea. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Hetty. But this really isn’t the time.’
‘Not the time?’ Hetty flounced. ‘You’re supposed to help me pass over, gerrl!’
‘Apparently there’s a queue.’
She glared at me. ‘I’m practically family. I should be given special treatment.’
‘Come and find me later,’ I told her. I couldn’t cope with the expression on Winter’s mum’s face for much longer. She either thought I was making all this up for some underhand reason of my own or I was someone to be avoided at all costs.
Hetty opened her mouth to speak. I drew myself up and gave her my best icy glare. ‘Come and find me later,’ I repeated. ‘Or I will never help another ghost pass over ever again.’ I almost meant it. Hetty, no longer quite the lady she was pretending to be, spat in my direction and disappeared. I breathed out. ‘She’s gone,’ I said to no one in particular.
Sophia stared at me. ‘What did she say?’
Uh… ‘She wasn’t very impressed that you’d given me the best china. And she called me gerrl a lot.’ I made an attempt to roll my rs in the same way as Hetty.
Sophia breathed out. From the look in her eyes, she was starting to believe me. ‘She did that a lot. Did she say anything else? Why is she here?’
Winter took over, briefly explaining the situation whereby ghosts wanted my help in clearing the curses that were holding them here. George, apparently already bored, nudged Brutus out of the way and got up to pour his own tea.
‘I never met the woman,’ he said to me in a shrugged aside. ‘She died before I came on the scene.’ He seemed unperturbed by all this. Maybe that was what came of a lifetime in the army; after a while nothing shocked you any more.
Sophia looked back at me. ‘Did she say anything else?’
I wondered if she really wanted to know. I shrugged. It was hard to believe that Winter’s mother could have any skeletons in her closet to worry about. ‘She said she knew your secrets and all about Pickwick.’ I shrugged. ‘That was about it.’
Sophia’s brow creased. ‘Pickwick? I don’t have the faintest idea what that is.’
George chuckled. ‘It’s not a what. It’s a where.’
She shook her head. ‘I still don’t…’ Her expression changed. ‘Oh.’ She sneaked a look at Winter.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘What’s Pickwick?�
�
‘The Pickwick Inn to be precise,’ George boomed, while his wife started blushing. ‘I was on leave. Only had a few days before I was due out again and we were determined to make the most of it, weren’t we, dear?’
Sophia choked slightly. ‘I don’t think this is the best time for this conversation. Maybe I should get out the baby photos.’ She gave me a desperate glance. ‘You’d like to see those, wouldn’t you? I have a wonderful photo of Raphael in the most adorable little dungarees—’
‘You were conceived there,’ George said, choosing not to hear a single word that Sophia had said. She briefly closed her eyes while Winter’s mouth dropped open. ‘We weren’t quite married at the time so we checked in as Mr and Mrs Smith. We thought we were being very clever.’ He glanced at me. ‘Those were the times we lived in. Things are much better for lovebirds like you two these days. It’s a very different world.’ His eyes dropped to my stomach. ‘When is your baby due?’
Sophia gasped in horror while Winter began to cough. Even Brutus seemed to be laughing his feline head off. I didn’t smile, however; I just stared at him.
‘Didn’t mean to offend you,’ George said. A little voice in the back of my head told me he was telling the truth. Whatever. The chill was still descending down my spine as I thought about what he’d said.
I reached into my pocket and took out my phone. Very slowly, I found the number I needed and held the phone to my ear. George glanced askance at Winter. ‘Is she calling a cab already? We’ve not even sat down to our starters and your mother’s got her famous Yorkshire puddings ready for the mains.’
Winter finally managed to stop coughing. Something about my expression must have alerted him to the seriousness of the situation because he suddenly looked concerned. ‘Ivy?’ he asked.
I shook my head at him as Tarquin answered. ‘Tarq,’ I said. ‘I need you to tell me one thing.’
‘Ivy, darling! How are you? Are you busy? Because I’m still trying to finish off that paperwork and there’s no movement yet with our murderer, so there might still be time for me to hoof it over there before the fireworks begin.’
‘Has anyone actually seen him?’
‘You mean Hal Prescott? No. Not since that initial sighting yesterday. He knows he’s under surveillance, though, and that he can’t go anywhere. The entire hotel is surrounded. He’s in his room. I think the bomb squad is preparing to go in but—’
I interrupted him. ‘Under what name did he check into the hotel?’
‘Pardon?’
I tapped my foot. Winter stilled completely and watched me. ‘The hotel in Uffington,’ I repeated. ‘What name did he register when he checked in?’
‘Hal Prescott, of course. What other name would he use?’
I swallowed. ‘I need you to double check. Are you absolutely sure he used his real name?’
‘Yes,’ he said, sounding hurt. ‘I have the paperwork right here. He checked in yesterday morning at 11.32am. He…’
I hung up the phone and looked at Winter. ‘Blackbeard is not in Uffington. If he was, he’d have used an assumed name like he did last time. He’s still a step ahead of us and he’s still toying with us. He’s set us up, Rafe. It’s the only explanation.’
Winter’s blue eyes met mine. ‘If he’s not there, there’s only one place he’s likely to be.’
I nodded. ‘The Order.’
Winter made for the door. ‘Mum, Dad, thanks for the tea. We have to go.’
‘Come on, Brutus!’ I yelled, running after Winter. Given my limbs were still stiff and unyielding that wasn’t a particularly easy feat.
Brutus let out a yowl. ‘Mouse!’
It was our secret, pre-arranged signal designed to cause havoc and offer me an escape. His timing sucked. ‘Not now, Brutus!’ I yelled over my shoulder.
There was a faint mutter, ‘Bitch,’ then he came careening out after us. We had to get back to Oxford. Right now.
Chapter Nineteen
While I drove, Winter called just about everyone he knew. Unfortunately half of his ex-colleagues were already in Uffington and had their phones turned off so they didn’t get distracted. The other half proved equally elusive. It seemed that no matter how hard Winter tried to reach them on the phone, they were screening his calls; he was either persona non grata or they were incredibly busy. Truthfully, either was possible. It was a requirement that all phones were checked in at the front of every Order building to avoid untoward accidents caused by magic and technology mixing when they shouldn’t. It was a highly unlikely scenario but, if they did mingle, the ensuing explosions and catastrophic disasters would make Blackbeard’s efforts to spread horror look like a five year old dressing up for Halloween.
‘Phone the Ipsissimus,’ I said, with my foot down to the floor. ‘If his phone is with him, he’ll take your call. He can’t wait for you to make up your mind and go back to the Order.’
Winter’s mouth flattened. ‘He was the first person I tried.’
Oh. Well, that sucked. I threw out names, one after another. Winter left messages all over the place but there wasn’t a soul picking up. When Eve didn’t answer, it was clear that everyone we knew in the Order was either at Uffington or buried in meetings. Winter even tried Tarquin. His phone rang but he didn’t pick up; that was probably my fault for hanging up on him mid-sentence earlier.
It was clearly time to take drastic action. ‘Take my phone,’ I said. ‘Call Iqbal.’
‘He’s not in the Order, Ivy. He’s not even a witch.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But he can get to the damn Order and find out what’s happening.’
‘Okay.’ Winter dialled and I waited with bated breath. When Winter started speaking, my body sagged with relief. Finally someone was answering their damned phone.
‘He’s in Manchester,’ Winter said. ‘He’s even further away than we are.’
I let out a strangled scream. I never should have broken that bloody mirror. There had to be some way of contacting the bloody Order, even if we had to set signal fires or send out carrier pigeons. There had to be a bloody way.
‘Try the magic hotline,’ I said finally. ‘You’ll be able to get through to someone on that number.’ It was a helpline designed for non-witches to use when they required magical intervention. It was notoriously inefficient but we were running out of options.
‘Good idea.’ He nodded and found the number. After a moment or two, he swore violently.
‘What’s wrong?’
He turned the phone onto speaker. A tinny voice chimed out: ‘…press three if you believe you have triggered an omen. Press four if you have discovered a family member has magical abilities. Press five if…’
I passed a hand over my forehead. Good grief. ‘Screw that,’ I said. ‘Call the police. Tell them it’s an emergency and get them to the Order.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Winter’s expression grow even grimmer. ‘They won’t go. It won’t matter what I say to them, the police won’t interfere with anything that happens on Order grounds without direct orders from the Ipsissimus.’
‘So pretend to be him! He won’t mind! Not given the circumstances, anyway.’
‘There’s a code word. Only the Ipsissimus knows it.’
Bloody hell. Order geeks didn’t half like making life difficult for themselves. Plonkers.
Winter pressed nine. Apparently this was for emergencies, although a few beats later the same recorded voice happily informed us that we were thirteenth in the queue but that our call was being taken very seriously. The melody for I Put A Spell On You kicked into action.
‘Thirteenth,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘Of course we are.’
Winter opened his mouth, ready to tell me yet again that my superstition fears were nonsense, but clearly thought better of if it. No wonder, given our current predicament. Instead, he switched subjects while I continued to speed back down the motorway towards Oxford. Three speed cameras had already flashed us; that wouldn’t go down well
for my career as a taxi driver. I sighed. Whatever.
‘What made you check?’ he asked. ‘About what name he’d registered under at the hotel?’
I ignored the angry gesture from the motorcyclist in the lane next to me as I overtook him and answered. ‘It was always too easy. It’s been niggling away at me that we know how clever Blackbeard is. We know what he’s achieved so far. Would he really allow himself to be surrounded by both police and witches?’ The heavy weight that had settled across my shoulders when I hung up on Tarquin increased. ‘I should have thought of it earlier. I should have asked about it earlier.’
‘Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were lying unconscious on the floor of a pet crematorium. Not to mention the fact that you’re still recovering from Scotland.’
‘I can’t use either of those as an excuse.’
Winter looked at me sternly. ‘This is not a one-man band, Ivy. It’s not even a duet. There are hundreds of people involved in this operation. It’s not your fault if we all believed he was in Uffington.’
I bit my lip. ‘It feels like it is.’
The taxi’s dashboard flashed an orange warning light. Arse. ‘We need petrol,’ I hissed in irritation.
‘There’s a service station coming up. Don’t worry,’ Winter said. ‘We’re getting closer to Oxford. We’ll be there soon.’
‘Let’s just hope it’ll be soon enough.’
The song still chiming out of Winter’s phone came to an abrupt halt and the recorded voice broke in again. ‘Your call is very important to us. You are now number fourteen in the queue.’
My knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. Throwing the phone out of the window would really not be helpful right now.
I slowed down, indicating left to pull off the motorway. At least the service station wasn’t too busy and there wasn’t a queue at the fuel pumps. As soon as I stopped the taxi, I leapt out to fill it up. There were still another sixty miles to go until we reached Oxford and the Order Headquarters. It was barely midday on a Sunday; the roads would be quiet. But we had no idea what Blackbeard was planning, or when he was going to try and pull it off.
