I glanced down the road towards the station. There wasn’t a single car parked outside. If he was at Rachel’s, then I wanted to know why. He’d been adamant that this investigation was over, and he’d been a total prat about it, going out of his way to make sure I accepted what he was saying and left him alone.
I stood indecisively on the path, as my stubborn and sensible sides fought it out. My sensible side thought that maybe I should accept it, at least for now. My stubborn side wanted to shake Dylan by the shoulders and ask him what in Hecate’s name was going on.
But sensible me felt a deep, unshakable certainty that Dylan had his reasons, and that they were far from frivolous. I could tell him about Mark’s green eyes over the phone. Or maybe via text message.
‘You all right, Aisling? You look a million miles away?’
I shook my thoughts from my mind. ‘Oh, I’m just deciding whether I ought to annoy the detective while he’s at a crime scene, that’s all.’
Dean patted the seat next to him. ‘This is important, Aisling. He needs to know about Mark’s behaviour – and if he has a problem with us trying to be decent citizens, then maybe he’s not the right man for the job.’
18. Henry Kramer and the Danger Boys
As I sat next to Dean, I noticed there were quite a few instruments in the mini-van. There was an ornately adorned lute in the back, and an ancient flute on the dashboard. There was a harp, too, as well as a couple of recorders and guitars.
‘Do you play all of these instruments?’ I asked. ‘I mean, I’ve seen you play the organ with the choir, but in Dean Danger and the Danger Boys all you did was sing.’
He laughed dryly. ‘That’s all our record company would let us do. They had a definite image in mind. It was a bit restrictive, if I’m honest – which is why I left.’
I thought back to my teenage years. Every girl my age remembered when Dean left, and the band name became the Danger Boys. There had been tears at Dean’s leaving, and one of my foster-sisters had vowed to stop eating until he returned to the band. She made it about two hours before threatening to fight me to the death for a doughnut I was eating.
‘I love to play unusual instruments,’ he went on. ‘I feel as if each one of them has its own special power, in a funny way. But there’s nothing that thrills me so much as conducting choirs.’ He patted his pocket, and I could see his baton sticking out. ‘I’ve been doing it for years now.’
‘Your conductor’s baton kind of reminds me of a wand,’ I said.
He laughed again. ‘So I’ve heard. But I’m no magical wizard, believe me.’
I picked up the flute, looking more closely at it. Even though it was polished and well looked after, it appeared older than any of the other instruments. But its age wasn’t what interested me. This evening, it seemed to have a greenish glow around it – fainter than the glow of the symbols, but a glow nonetheless. ‘Where did you get this?’ I asked, my stomach churning with nerves.
He shrugged. ‘It was a gift from Rachel. She knew how much I liked old instruments, and she had this one lying around. Hey, whatever you do, don’t look at what’s under it.’
Well, of course I was going to take a look once he’d told me not to. It was his driving licence, and there was nothing better than laughing at people’s terrible official photos. For some reason, no matter how many perfect photos there were out there, the ones on passports and driving licences always turned out terrible.
‘Your photo isn’t that bad, actually,’ I said. ‘Hang on a minute – Dean Danger isn’t your real name? Colour me shocked.’
He groaned. ‘I told you not to take a peek. For some unfathomable reason, the record company didn’t think that Henry Kramer and the Danger Boys had quite the same ring to it. For years, even if I told people to call me Henry, they still called me Dean. Eventually I just gave up and started calling myself Dean, too.’
There was something tugging at the back of my brain as I looked down at the name on his licence. ‘Henry Kramer. That name sounds vaguely familiar.’
‘Does it?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think Kramer with a K is all that common in Ireland.’
We’d arrived at Rachel’s property, and as he turned down her driveway he frowned. ‘That’s funny – I was sure I saw the detective head this way when I was getting into the mini-van. But I can’t see his car.’
I glanced around, but Dylan’s car was nowhere in sight. ‘The barn is out back.’ I pointed to a narrow drive that ran around the back of Rachel’s house. ‘There’s space to park in front of it, so maybe he’s there.’
Dean nodded, and we headed around the back. There was no sign of Dylan’s car at Rachel’s barn either, but he pulled over nonetheless, peering in interest at the wooden building. ‘I heard that there was an enormous satanic circle beneath her body when she was found,’ he said. ‘Even bigger than the one under Heather. And that she and her coven used to do all their spells in there.’
He opened his door and hopped out, and I followed him curiously. ‘Coven?’ I said, incredulous. ‘People are saying she was part of a coven now?’
It should hardly have surprised me, considering the conversation I had with Hilda. But Riddler’s Edge was a town where the human citizens usually looked the other way. If they started making assertions like this, then who knew where it would end? Hopefully not with me tied to a burning stake.
He looked at me, his eyes filled with laughter. ‘Oh, it’s just a rumour. I don’t take it seriously. Rachel, Margaret and Heather were a coven, according to some of the gossip in the town. There are supposed to be even more witches in Riddler’s Edge, too.’ He paused at the open shed door. ‘That’s another weird thing, don’t you think? How they call this place a town when there aren’t many more than two hundred residents. The place barely qualifies as a village.’
He looked at me as though he was fully expecting me to reply, but what could I say? Well, actually there are a whole lot more than two hundred residents – they just happen to live in supernatural enclaves that you can’t see. An answer like that might make him call the funny farm.
‘And in that shop – Norman’s – there are always a lot of customers,’ he went on. ‘Except I have no idea where they’re all coming from. And what’s with all the vegan food he has for sale? I mean, I know healthy eating is on the rise, but to have that much vegan food in a tiny convenience store in the back of beyond is just odd.’
As he prattled on, I remained silent. Hilda had been bad enough, but this conversation with Dean was a whole new level. He wasn’t just repeating gossip. He was asking astute questions. In all my time in Riddler’s Edge, the only human to ask those kinds of questions was me. And given what had happened during Brent’s revelation spell, it was clear that I was far from human. So what did that make Dean?
‘Oh my God!’ he cried out, pointing to the floor of the barn. ‘There is a circle, just like with Heather. The rumours were right.’
My eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the circle on the floor. Without Rachel’s body there it looked larger and more ominous. Even the symbols seemed to glow more brightly than before.
‘Wow.’ He laughed out loud, taking his baton from his pocket. ‘I think I might go into the middle of it and pretend to be a wizard with my wand.’
I grabbed his arm, pulling him back. ‘Maybe that’s not such a good idea, Dean.’
‘Don’t be such a killjoy.’ He moved away from me, entering the circle. He began to wave the baton in the air, making exaggerated movements with his arms and dancing and thrusting this way and that, like a duelling wizard. ‘You should come and join me,’ he said. ‘It’s fun. You can be the dark witch and I’ll be the good wizard.’
I’d taken a full three steps towards him before I halted and shook my head. ‘No. I should call Dylan – I mean, Detective Quinn. I still want to speak with him about Mark.’
Dean smiled, waving his baton again. ‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘Do what I’m doing.’
Okay, so I need
to pause here and give you a bit of an explanation. Because the thing is, we’re all very clever from a distance. For instance, if I were reading this story right now instead of living it, I might have said to myself quite a few paragraphs back – hang on one cotton picking minute, this Dean Danger guy might not be all that he seems. After all, these weird murders only began once he rolled into town. Maybe it might be wise to take a closer look in his direction.
But I wasn’t viewing any of this from a distance. I was right there, with him, in the barn with the creepy circle and glowing symbols on the floor. And although I was beginning to get the bad kind of tingles – the sort that tell your body to run very far and very fast – I found myself doing precisely the opposite to what I should have done.
I walked right into that circle, and I followed him around. Even when his baton began to glow with that same odd green hue, I carried right on following him. I didn’t know why I was doing it – all I knew was that I couldn’t stop.
‘See? We’re having fun, aren’t we?’ he said, grinning at me. ‘Let’s play a little game I created. It’s called Witchy See, Witchy Do. Every move I make, you follow.’
I somehow managed to shake my head, standing firm on the ground. ‘I’m not going to do that, Dean. I’m leaving this circle right now. I’m going to call Dylan Quinn and tell him I think you’re the killer.’
He laughed. ‘But you’re not leaving the circle, are you? You’re following my every move.’
Well, he had me there. I was once again following him around, growing dizzy with the repetition, raising my arm every time he did, jumping up and down every time he jumped. I was caught in some seriously messed-up children’s game and, even though I wanted to snap myself out of it, I couldn’t.
Even when he ordered me to give him my mobile phone, I didn’t put up a fight. I just handed it to him and then watched, in motionless horror, while he stamped his foot on it and threw it across the barn.
Once my phone was destroyed, he pointed his baton to his throat and let out a beautiful note. ‘Now you,’ he said. ‘Sing like an angel for me, Aisling.’
I opened my mouth, and sang.
This time, he laughed louder than ever. ‘See? See how much fun it is to play Witchy See, Witchy Do. It’s nice isn’t it? Here you are, an evil, witchy crow, and yet as long as I’m in control of you, you can sing like an angel. I can control everyone and everything with this baton. Even Mark, this afternoon. I told him exactly what to say just to make himself come across as a creepy weirdo – the kind of creepy weirdo that would make you want to jump in my mini-van to get away from him. But don’t worry – we’ll be playing much nicer games for the next wee while.’
The smile left his face. ‘It’s important to me, you know – to at least try to make something better of the witches I’m going to kill. Give them a little bit of levity in their lives before I send them to where they belong.’
I managed to shake my head, but it was more than just a little bit difficult. How in Hecate’s name was he doing this to me?
‘My methods are stronger than your evil powers, Aisling. If you make any move that I don’t want you to, it’s going to hurt like hell,’ he said. ‘Hah – hell! That’s exactly where your kind belongs. You’re going to follow Heather and Rachel down there very, very soon. And after you’re dead, I’m going to draw you a pretty little circle like this one, to make sure you stay in hell. But before I send you to join Heather and Rachel, I’m going to have a bit of fun with you.’
‘Heather and Rachel weren’t witches,’ I managed to say, my voice rasping with the effort. What? Now he was even controlling when I spoke? Well, stuff that. ‘You’re a moron, Dean Danger. And the leather jacket and the hair dye? It’s not a good look on you.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s this, Aisling – trying to weaken a decent, hardworking man, are you? You really are a typical witch. I know how to identify your sort. My family have been doing it for centuries, after all. Oh – maybe that’s why my name rang such a bell with you? A distant relative of mine wrote quite a decent manual on witch hunting. Of course, he was stupid enough to let it out into the world so that evil witches like you knew exactly what to expect. But believe me – we hunters keep our methods much more secretive these days.’
A cold fear settled in my stomach. Henry Kramer had been a familiar name. I thought through all of the witch hunting books Greg had shown me in our search for the symbols. One of them, a book from the fifteenth century, had been written by a man called Heinrich Kramer. It was Malleus Maleficarum – the Hammer of Witches.
‘My organisation has been hunting evil witches down for a very long time,’ he said. ‘I knew this town had to be full of them. I see things other people don’t, Aisling. I notice the things that don’t make sense. It’s a gift handed down to me from my father, and his father before him, and his … well, you get the picture. And when we hear of a place that doesn’t make sense, like Riddler’s Edge, we know precisely what to look for. All of you witches fit the bill – you even more than the others. All of you match the signs. You have black cats. You gossip a lot. You’re terrible singers.’
‘Hey! I might resemble that remark, but Rachel had a lovely voice. Everyone in the choir does!’
He snorted. ‘I make the people in this town sing like angels.’ He waved his baton again. ‘Or at least my wand makes them sing that way.’ He gave a sheepish little shrug. ‘Sure, I’ll admit it – it’s a wand. But not an evil one. It’s one that helps me control people. Makes them highly suggestible – like when I controlled poor Mark earlier on. I don’t always use it to conduct choirs, but it’s kind of a necessity in a town full of witches like this one. Unfortunately, I can hear your real voices – and believe me, yours is just about the worst I’ve ever heard.’
I completely agreed with him about that. If a sailor heard my voice he’d probably crash against the rocks. Not because he was lured there by my siren song, though – rather so he could make the horrific sound stop. Having people tell me that my singing was angelic should have been the biggest clue of all. But he was wrong about witches having terrible voices in general. Roarke was a wonderful singer, and from what I’d heard of the witch charts he wasn’t the only one.
‘Black cats and terrible singing voices are not signs that a person is a witch,’ I informed him. ‘So whatever new manual your organisation is following these days, tell them it needs a rewrite.’
He shook his head dismissively. ‘It’s just part of the bigger picture. Those aren’t the only reasons I could tell you were a witch. I’ve seen you with an old-fashioned broom, too.’
My eyes rounded. ‘You can see my broom fly?’
He thrust his fist into the air in a little victory-pump (which meant that I also fist-pumped the air, regardless of the fact that I was feeling far from victorious). ‘I knew it! I knew all you evil women could fly those things. No, I didn’t see you fly it. But I knew. I could tell. You’re a member of the same coven as the other two were. And Margaret is one of you, too – which was why I made her carry out Rachel’s murder. Two birds and all that. And very soon I’m going to use you to help me kill another witchy bird.’
I looked in horror at the baton. The glow was growing stronger all the time. If that little thing could make one woman kill herself and another murder her best friend, then what hope did I have? ‘I’m not a member of a coven. Neither were Rachel, Margaret and Heather. They had no power. You were wrong about them.’
He clenched his jaw. ‘You’re more powerful than them. All I needed was to wave my wand and they shut right up and did everything I said. Heather killed herself without question. Margaret was practically a zombie when I controlled her. And Rachel … she just lay down and let herself get shot in the head without an argument. But you? You still haven’t stopped prattling. Luckily, my wand isn’t the only trick I have up my sleeve.’
I gritted my teeth. Sure, I was talking, but it was taking a whole lot of effort. ‘Believe me, Dean – if I actual
ly had any control right now, then I’d be shoving your wand where the sun doesn’t shine. I mean, talk about hypocritical – using magical green glowy wands and circles to fight magic? Because I have to tell you, if you can use supernatural things, then you’re probably supernatural yourself. Which means you’ll have to hunt yourself, too.’
He narrowed his eyes at me, looking both irritated and confused at once. ‘What green glow? I have no idea what you’re talking about. But as for using magical tools – sure, we do that. Witch hunters use whatever it takes to get the job done. So just stay still and shut up, witch, while I decide what tool I need to use on you.’
He patted his pockets, frowning. Then he extended his wand, and the ancient flute that had been on his dashboard flew towards him. ‘No – it wasn’t a gift from Rachel. But you were looking at it with a tad too much interest, and I couldn’t risk the chance that you’d leave the car. Now we’ll get you under full control,’ he said with a smirk as he brought it to his lips and began to play. I didn’t recognise the tune, but it was possibly the most horrible song I’d ever heard. It was even worse than my singing.
He took the flute from his mouth, and the tune kept right on playing.
‘You feel like you have a ball made of razor wire in your throat,’ he said in an eerie voice as the music swirled around us. ‘No matter how much you want to make one of your smart little comments, you can’t. It would hurt too much. It would tear your throat apart.’
As soon as he spoke, I could feel it in my throat – a lump of razor wire. I knew it wasn’t real, but the pain it caused most definitely was. I doubted I would even be able to swallow.
‘You feel like your entire body is hollow,’ he went on. ‘Like you’re a marionette, and I’m your puppeteer.’
From the moment he started using his stupid wand on me, I’d felt like I couldn’t break free. But now that he was using the flute, too? Now I felt empty. I felt like there was no me in me. I really did feel like little more than a puppet.
Witchy See, Witchy Do Page 12
