by Lucy Banks
“It’s only been a few days,” Kester replied, looking round the room in awe. It really was a remarkable living room, and the amber twilight emphasised its beauty. “I just needed a bit of recovery time. Speaking of which,” he said, suddenly remembering, “Serena, how are you?”
Serena sipped her wine before answering. “Fine,” she replied pertly. “Completely recovered. It was lucky the Bloody Mary managed to knock me out cold, because if I’d been conscious, I would have seriously kicked her head in, I can tell you.”
“I’m just really glad you’re okay,” Kester said. “It was horrible seeing you like that. Probably even more horrible than seeing the Bloody Mary herself.”
Serena’s expression softened, just for a moment. “Heard you did a rather good job of dispatching her,” she said, fingering the rim of the wine glass. “So it seems you can control when the spirit door appears, after all?”
Dr Ribero sidled up behind Kester, patting him on the back and thrusting an over-full glass of wine into his hands. “Oh yes!” he beamed. “Kester saved the day, he really did. What talent! I knew you had it in you.”
“It honestly wasn’t that big a deal,” Kester replied, feeling embarrassed, especially with Serena’s scornful gaze scorching holes into the side of his face. “I can’t really take much credit.”
“Yes you can,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted, getting to her feet. Without warning, she pulled him into a hug, with a ferocity that quite took him by surprise, not to mention made him spill red wine all over the floor. No one seemed to mind though, nor make any attempt to clear it up.
“I didn’t thank you properly on the night,” she continued, placing her hands on his shoulders. “So I want to thank you now. Kester, you were amazing that evening. Your mother would have been so proud of you.”
“And your father is very proud of you too,” Ribero said, whipping out his handkerchief and dabbing at his eye. He beamed round at everyone, then gestured to the dining room table, an enormous oak affair flanked by carved benches and a pair of antlers on the wall. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced grandly. “Dinner is served. And you had all better be hungry, right? I’ve been cooking for three hours now.”
“You’ve been cooking?” Miss Wellbeloved exclaimed, placing her hands on her bony hips. “I did most of the work, if you remember? Marinating the steaks doesn’t really count.”
“Ah, but that is the most important part!” Ribero barked, scuttling off to the kitchen. “Sit down, sit down!” he shouted, in such an authoritative tone that they all scurried to the table.
A few minutes later, Ribero returned, complete with platefuls of sizzling steaks, which were releasing the most deliciously spicy smell. “This is how we eat in Argentina,” he announced, slamming the plate down in front of Kester. “This is your heritage, yes? Right here, in front of you. Now enjoy.”
Kester got started with great enthusiasm. As his father had promised, the marinade was particularly good, and he was quite disappointed to realise that he’d eaten it all. Even though it had been an enormous slab of meat, he felt as though he could quite happily eat at least the same again.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Mike said, nudging him forcefully with his elbow. “The magic’s in that sauce. What’s it called again? Chiggichanka or something like that?”
“It is chimichurri!” Ribero snorted. “You just get it wrong to make me get cross, don’t you?”
Mike sniggered. “Whatever it’s called, it’s a doozy,” he concluded, leaning back with a belch.
“It is a traditional Argentinian sauce,” Ribero corrected, wagging his finger. “Not this doozy, whatever a doozy may be.”
“Anyway,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted, “why don’t we stop discussing the merits of chimichurri sauce, and tell Kester the exciting news?”
“If Pamela hasn’t let the cat out of the bag already,” Mike added. “I know what you’re like with a secret, Pam.”
“No, I haven’t given it away at all!” she protested, scooping up the last of the sauce with her finger. “Thank you very much. The cheek!”
“Given what away?” said Kester. “What’s happened?”
“Thanks to my amazing genius, not to mention my super-cool head in the face of adversity, I’ve managed to single-handedly rescue this agency,” Mike announced, scooping up his wine glass and raising it as a toast to himself.
“You did?” Kester said, blinking. He looked round at the others.
“No, he really didn’t,” Serena snipped, leaning over and pressing Mike’s wine glass back down like a deflating balloon. “Mike, stop taking all the credit. You really are a moron at times.”
“Steady on,” Mike slurred, placing the wine glass down in an uncertain manner. “If I hadn’t filmed the Muddy Blairy, then the agency wouldn’t have been saved, and that’s a fact, thank you very much.”
“Did you just say ‘Muddy Blairy’?” Serena replied, arching an eyebrow. “How many wines have you had?”
“Bloody Mary, whatever,” Mike rambled. “I’d call her Bloody Nuisance instead, only you’ve bagged that nickname for yourself.”
“Hang on, when did you film the Bloody Mary?” Kester interrupted. “I didn’t see any film cameras.”
“Film cameras?” Mike exclaimed, slapping the table. “Film cameras? What decade are you living in, mate? I used my mobile phone, didn’t I!”
Kester thought back to the evening at Coleton Crescent. Now, come to think of it, he did vaguely remember Mike mentioning his phone. He hadn’t given it much thought at the time, given that he’d been busy battling with a centuries-old spirit, but now it did make rather more sense.
“So how did filming the Bloody Mary save the agency?” he asked, perplexed. “I can’t see the link between the two.”
“Oh just wait,” Serena drawled, “I’m sure Mike will illuminate you. He’s been bragging about it all day.”
Mike grinned and sat up in his chair, clearly enjoying the limelight. “Well,” he began, stroking his beard, “thanks to my lightning-quick reflexes and good thinking—”
“Oh, get on with it, Mike!” Ribero interrupted. “We have had enough of the bloating for now.”
“Gloating,” Miss Wellbeloved automatically corrected.
“Dunno, he looks pretty bloated with smugness from where I’m sitting,” Serena commented.
“Can I please carry on?” Mike said huffily, glowering at the rest of them. “Right, where was I? Ah, yes. I had the clever idea of filming the Bloody Mary, when you were busy stuffing her back into the spirit world, where she belonged. So, the next day, I downloaded the film on to SpiritNet, and—”
“Hang on a moment,” Kester interrupted. “SpiritNet? What the hell is that?”
“It’s the online network for supernatural investigators and whatnot,” Mike said impatiently.
“Another Swww.co.uk address, in case you were wondering,” Serena added. “Registered users only.”
“Anyway,” Mike carried on, shushing her with a finger. “I loaded it onto the forum, and sure enough, it went completely viral.”
“Hang on a minute,” Kester interrupted. “I’m still getting my head round that. The online network of supernatural investigators has a forum?”
“Yes!” Mike trilled like an enraged parrot, flapping his arms and nearly knocking over his glass. “Yes, just like any other industry, we’ve got websites too. Can we move on?”
“And the video went viral? Are there actually enough paranormal investigators in the country to make anything go viral?” Kester asked, scratching his head.
“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Mike exclaimed, slapping his forehead against the table in mock-frustration. “Look, we’re not talking just the UK, we’re talking the world. Everyone was going completely nuts about it, leaving comments about how it was a miracle, seeing a Bloody Mary again, not to mention the
spirit door. Most paranormal investigators out there haven’t ever seen one in action.”
“So people were actually interested all over the world?” Kester asked in amazement. He couldn’t imagine it. Why would anyone be interested in me? he thought. I’m about as much of a non-event as it’s possible to be.
“You’re actually trending on SpiritNet,” Serena added. “Mike totally hammed your achievements up to the max, and now most of the paranormal world thinks you’re the next bloody Messiah.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Kester said, biting his lip.
“What do you mean, terrible?” Mike squawked. “It’s absolutely bloody fantastic! We’ve never had so much attention! You’ve put Dr Ribero’s Agency of the Supernatural right back on the map, you have!”
“Really?” Kester squeaked.
“Really,” Miss Wellbeloved confirmed. “But there’s even better news.”
“Gosh,” Kester muttered, feeling rather overwhelmed by it all. “What’s that then?”
“We’ve only gone and been nominated for a GhostCon award!” Mike shouted, nearly falling off his chair. “We’ve been nominated for the top prize: ‘Spirit Removal of the Year’! Do you know what that means?”
“Er, no. I don’t even know what GhostCon is.”
“GhostCon is an annual industry awards event,” Pamela explained. “It’s the most prestigious awards ceremony by a mile.”
“It means,” Mike continued, carrying on as though Pamela hadn’t spoken, “that if we scoop the prize, we not only get a big fat gold award and serious recognition, but we get a grant of ten thousand pounds!”
Kester’s mouth dropped open. “Really?” he said.
“Really, really,” Pamela cut back in, with a beaming smile, “even if we don’t win, you’ve made people take us seriously again. We’ve already had job offers come flying in, without us even having to bid for them!”
“They all want the miracle agency that can open spirit doors,” Dr Ribero added, with a proud nod. “And that’s where you come in, my boy.”
“Oh,” Kester said, now realising where this was going. “Oh, I see.”
He looked around the table, at the five smiling faces looking back at him, and saw an energy and joy in them all that he’d never seen before. Ribero raised his glass, delivering him a smile of pure, unadulterated pride.
But I swore to myself I’d never go on another paranormal investigation, he thought to himself, as he nervously raised his own glass. I hate doing it. It’s the most terrifying, horrible thing I’ve ever had to do! Am I really agreeing to do this as a full-time career?
“To Kester!” Dr Ribero declared, raising his glass and clinking with the rest. “To my boy.”
“And to me too,” Mike barked, raising his own glass again and nodding at the rest of them. “And to me, come on! I’m the one that filmed it and got it online.”
“Well, if you’re toasting him, you can jolly well toast me too,” Serena added. “I’m the one who got her out of the painting and nearly got myself killed in the process.”
“You are right,” Dr Ribero said. He raised his glass once more, taking the time to meet each of their eyes in turn. “To you all. To our fantastic team, who have stood together through tough times. To our future.”
“To our future!” they all agreed, clanking their glasses and spilling copious amounts of red wine over the table.
“And to the prospect of winning that award and knocking Infinite Enterprises right off their perch!” Mike bellowed. The others cheered. “And can you imagine the look on Larry Higgins’s face if we win?”
Ribero rubbed his hands together with glee. “That would make my life complete,” he said. “Seeing his fat face looking so disappointed would be a wondrous thing, yes?”
The others nodded.
After a while, they retreated to the comfort of the sofas once again, which Kester was rather relieved about, given that his trousers were uncomfortably tight after all the steak. Ribero threw open the patio doors, letting the warm evening air float in, then lit some candles in the garden, creating little bubbles of light in the darkness. It was a beautiful location, and for the first time in a long while, Kester felt truly contented. Well, as long as he didn’t think too hard about his future job as a paranormal investigator. That rather put a dampener on things.
To save himself from nodding off on the sofa in an intoxicating stupor of good food and pleasant wine, he ventured out into the garden, leaving the others chatting away in increasingly loud, inebriated tones.
The air was fresh and cool. Kester took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He wondered, not for the first time, whether or not his mother was somewhere out there, watching him. I suppose I might be in the right sort of job for meeting her again one day, he thought, deftly flicking a mosquito off his arm. Even if spirits are totally different to human ghosts, there must be some sort of cross-over.
A tap on his back startled him, and he turned to see Serena, standing in the darkness, framed by the glow of the light from indoors.
“Didn’t mean to make you jump,” she said. “Though you are rather skittish, aren’t you?”
“Ironically, not before I met you guys,” Kester replied, grinning. “There’s something about dealing with ghosts on a daily basis that does make one a little jumpy, I suppose.”
She chuckled. “Fair point. I keep forgetting you’re still new to it all. Especially now you’re Ribero’s golden boy.”
Kester studied her expression, unable to tell what she was thinking. “I think he rather thinks of you as a bit of a golden girl too, you know,” he said finally. “You were incredibly brave with that Bloody Mary. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Serena smiled, giving the grass a slow kick with her feet. “Ah, it’s just what anyone would have done,” she said, with uncharacteristic modesty. “I’m just sad that I didn’t get to give that Bloody Mary a good kick up the arse.”
“If it’s any consolation, the Bloody Mary really didn’t look very happy about it all,” Kester said.
“Speaking of which, Isabelle Diderot, the owner of the house, wasn’t very happy either,” Serena added.
“Why not?” Kester asked, feeling indignant. “She got what she wanted, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” Serena said, looking up at the sky. “But she probably wasn’t expecting to have half her lounge burnt down in the process. Not to mention the priceless antique mirror smashed to bits. And I think you might have broken one of the deckchairs in the garden too.”
“Oh,” Kester said. “Oh dear.”
“That didn’t stop Ribero charging her full price for the job though,” she added with a laugh. “But anyway, that wasn’t what I came out here for. I wanted to talk to you about what happened. When I looked into the mirror, you know. When you were next to me.”
“Oh, it’s okay, you don’t have to thank me,” Kester said, placing a hand on her arm. “I honestly only did what anyone else would have done.”
Serena raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t actually going to thank you,” she said, plucking up his hand and dropping it like a dirty puppy that had just left a muddy paw on her. “I was actually going to ask you not to say anything.”
“About what?” Kester asked. “What should I be saying anything about?”
“About who I saw in the mirror when I summoned the Bloody Mary, of course!” Serena snapped. “You really are slow on the uptake at times, aren’t you?”
“But you didn’t see . . .” Kester began, then suddenly faltered. His face broke into a grin of realisation. “Oh my goodness. So that’s why you said Mike’s name, because you were being shown your future—”
“Yes, that’s quite enough, thank you!” Serena said, peering over her shoulder to check no one was listening. She leaned towards him, placing her mouth directly by his ear. “If you breathe a word of this to anyo
ne,” she whispered fiercely, “you’re dead. Okay?”
Kester fought to keep a straight face. “Yes, of course,” he said. “You have my word. Not a word to anyone.”
Serena studied his face, then relaxed. “Thank you,” she said finally. “And, for what it’s worth, I am grateful for your help when I was facing the Bloody Mary. I heard you helped keep me upright when I’d passed out. That was kind of you.”
“Quite alright,” Kester replied. He gestured back to the others. Mike had just fallen off the sofa, much to the amusement of the others, and was flailing around on the floor like a giant, upended tortoise. “Shall we go back in?” he suggested.
Serena looked in at Mike. Her expression curdled with derision. “Yes, I suppose so,” she sighed.
Just before they stepped back into the room, Kester tapped her on the shoulder. “Oh, and Serena?” he whispered.
“Yes, what?” she said, preoccupied by the sight of Mike, who had now somehow managed to pull both the coffee table and Pamela on top of himself, much to the hilarity of the others.
“I’d just like to be the first to say,” he started, unable to stop himself, “congratulations.” He nodded at Mike, who was roaring like a bullfrog, drunkenly pulling himself back onto the sofa. “I’m sure you’ll both be very happy together.”
He skipped into the house before Serena had a chance to reply, but could feel her eyes, daggering into his back as he went.
“You can shut right up with that nonsense!” she shouted after him, a note of desperation in her voice. “It’s just an urban myth! There’s no truth in it at all, and there’s no way I’m marrying that—”
“Of course, of course,” Kester replied. He grinned at Mike, who was in the process of trying to give Pamela a piggy-back. It was a bit like watching a grizzly bear balancing on a spectacularly wobbly ladder. They teetered for a few moments, then Mike tripped over the rug, sending the pair of them sailing over the back of the sofa.
