by Jenna Grey
The boy gave Blaine a curious look, scowled a little and then nodded.
“Okay. Have you seen anyone else coming and going from there since you’ve been hanging around here? Today, yesterday?”
“Might have,” One of the others said. He was a skinny little kid, probably no more than fourteen, with more spots than was healthy for anyone.
Blaine gave him a cold stare.
“Don’t fuck with me. If you’ve seen someone, tell me. If I think you’re telling me the truth, then I’ll bung you a few quid. Okay?”
The cash incentive seemed to be enough to improve their memory exponentially.
“Yesterday, some big sod, looked like a bodybuilder or something, come here with some other geezer, he was a big sod as well. They was only there a few minutes.”
“Why do you say they were bodybuilders. How could you tell?”
“They was built. Yer don’t get muscles like that without weight training.”
“I know one of them,” one of the other boys chimed in. “He goes to the same gym as my brother. The one in Mount Street.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Terry somethink or other. Got a tattoo of flames on his arm.”
The boy waved a hand vaguely up and down his right forearm.
Blaine reached into his pocket and pulled out another twenty-pound note from his inside pocket and handed it to the Neanderthal.
“Keep out of trouble. You only get one chance at life, don’t blow it.”
The boy pulled his shoulders back, still sneering. He took the money and turned his back on Blaine. One more for the loser pile. It made Blaine despair.
The smell of disinfectant and less pleasant odours made Blaine’s nose wrinkle as he entered the autopsy room. He hated these places, but then he supposed that most people did, unless they were pathologists or ghouls. He saw the small, slightly rotund figure of Sarah Mills across the other side of the room and called out to her. She turned and gave Blaine a bright smile when she saw it was him, and there was definitely a hint of flirt in it. Well, it didn’t cost anything to smile back.
“I know, you’re going to tell me off for not sending that owl. It was so crazy; I just didn’t have time. You did get the reports, though?”
He smiled at her, and a full blush rose up to hit her already rosy cheeks.
“It’s okay; I know how it is. So all of the verdicts were open.” It wasn’t a question.
Sarah sighed.
“They couldn’t be anything else. We’re all totally baffled.” She gave him a hard look. “Do you have any idea what killed these people?”
“I already told you – magic.” He added just a little twinkle to the smile.
“Not funny,” she said, tightening her lips. “Come on, what was it, some kind of undetectable poison?”
Blaine feigned defeat.
“Yeah, probably. That’s the only rational explanation, isn’t it? You know damn well that’s what they’ll put it down to – that or a gas leak.”
Sarah tightened her lips to a thin line.
“Yes, and don’t think I won’t make noises about that. I happen to take pride in my work; I’m here to find out the truth of how someone died so that their relatives can have some peace of mind so that the police can find out who took someone’s life and bring them to justice. I’m not here to cover up the truth. I have no idea how these people met their deaths. I’m recording it as cause of death unknown’, and it galls me to think of bureaucrats lying to the general public, the public I’m here to serve, just because they don’t like loose ends.”
“Sarah, it’s not quite like that. The world’s a scary place sometimes.”
“You’re not telling me the whole truth, are you?” she said, and she sounded more sad than condemnatory.
“I could tell you, but I don’t think you’d believe me.” He tried to soften it with a smile, then decided to change course. A strategic retreat. “Have you done the autopsy on that police officer that was brought in earlier yet? Arnold Widget?”
“No, haven’t got around to it yet. Why?” She raised a curious eyebrow.
“I couldn’t take a quick look at the body, could I?”
The eyebrow arched just a little higher.
“Totally against regulations.” Blaine gave her is best lost puppy dog face. Sarah rolled her eyes. “I suppose, as long as you don’t touch anything.”
Blaine put his hands up in surrender.
“No touching – I just need to check something out.”
Sarah shrugged and motioned for him to follow her, leading him into a side room, where two bodies lay covered in sheets, waiting for her knife. She led him over to the furthest one and pulled back the sheet. PC Widget’s body had already gone through the first stage of rigor and was now limp, the muscles relaxed until they set hard in the second rigor.
“What are you looking for?” Sarah asked, intrigued. Blaine couldn’t tell her that he wasn’t actually looking for anything, he was feeling for something. He would have done it at the crime scene, but he didn’t routinely carry around ancient magical talismans that could replay the last few moments of a person’s life.
“You couldn’t leave me alone for a couple of minutes with him, could you? I swear I won’t do anything that will affect the autopsy, scout’s honour. I won’t lay a finger on him.”
Sarah’s head shake was instantaneous.
“I can’t do that – you know I can’t.”
“Not even for dinner at a Michelin 5 star restaurant?” Blaine asked, laying on as much charm as he could, without it being overkill.
Sarah’s shoulders sagged just a little as she started to soften.
“Why do you need to be left alone with him? Tell me, and if it’s a good enough reason I might think about it.”
“I just need to place a small trinket on his forehead – it will help to narrow down what killed him.” Well, it was only a little white lie.
“A poison detector of some kind?”
“Of a sort,” he replied.
Sarah snorted a laugh.
“Do you seriously expect me to believe that bullshit?”
“Okay, if you want the truth...” He pulled the small graven image from his pocket and held it up for her to see. “This will reveal the last few moments of Widget’s life to me, show me how he died. Do you believe that?”
Sarah stared down at the talisman, and then back up at Blaine. It was quite a stretch – she was more than a foot shorter than him.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked, but she was still laughing. “You’ve got ten minutes, and I want dinner at Gordon Ramsey’s for that.”
“You got it,” Blaine said, and bobbing forwards gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
Sarah, her face vermilion, left the room, giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Jack Blaine, you’re a bastard,” he said, when he was quite sure she was out of earshot.
Blaine pulled the amulet from his pocket, feeling the tingle of its power as his fingers touched it. It had been given to him by an old friend, a powerful sorcerer who slipped him the odd trinket from time to time. He placed the small amulet onto Widget’s forehead, pressing his finger onto it, and closing his eyes. He had no idea how this worked; he only knew it did. It was an ancient Babylonian trinket that could reveal how someone had passed on to the next life. He’d tried it three times, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience on two of those occasions. One of the victims had died from stab wounds, and Blaine had felt every one of them. That subject had died some time in the Middle Ages, so it seemed there was no limit to the length of time the talisman could track back. The other unpleasant experience was from a victim that had died of cholera, sometime in the nineteenth century – the vomiting wasn’t a memory Blaine would treasure. The third experience, though, had been different, an elderly woman who had died of old age with her family all around her; that had been... enlightening.
For a moment there was nothing, and then he felt a great surge of power that almo
st knocked him from his feet. He staggered, and the amulet fell, tumbling down and clattering over the steel of the dissection table and onto the floor. The soul that had last inhabited this body hadn’t been PC Arnold Widget, but something far more powerful, something far more malevolent. The podgy face of Dalbert Winchard floated into his mind, and it confirmed his worst fears. Hell was opening up its doors, and he really didn’t want to know what was coming out through them. He picked up the amulet and stared down at it. It had split down the middle; whatever power it had possessed was gone. He put it back into his pocket and turned to leave. There was nothing else to learn here.
Thinking back over what the boys had told him, things were starting to make sense. The two men they had seen leaving Widget’s flat should be pretty easy to find, which was both good and bad news. If Gaunt and Winchard were going to take new bodies, then why not go for a decent model? He doubted that Gaunt and Winchard would have gone back to the gym in Mount Street – why would they? They probably only went back to their new bodies homes to pick up some clothes and then disappeared to pastures new. He pulled out his phone and hooked into the CCTV cameras in the local area. He had instant access to all of their back data through his office – providing it hadn’t been wiped in the interim. He pulled up the nearest CCTV camera; a lot of people going in and out of the flats. He went back a few minutes. There they were, a middle-aged man, grey-haired, but muscular, walking alongside a young Mr Muscle. It was an odds on bet that they were both under new management now. He couldn’t get a clear shot of their faces, though, so located the next closest cameras and got a better shot of their profiles. He screen grabbed them and tried the next ones. There they were – full-face images of the two men. Now he had those, all he needed to do was to run them through facial recognition, and he had everything he needed to know about them. The older man was Ernest Block – could that be Gaunt’s new vessel? Almost certainly the sort he would go for. The other, younger man was Terry Johnson, a fitness trainer and life coach. Poor sods, what had they done to deserve that? One thing was certain; the two of them wouldn’t be holding hands any more. Gaunt and Winchard were going to pay for what they’d done.
Next port of call, the Magic Emporium, Clanger’s Lane, to see if he could prise a bit more information out of the old magician.
CHAPTER NINE
The shop smelt musty. Polly went and opened the door a little, leaving it on the jar. A waft of fresh air blew in, and the place immediately felt better, as if life were returning to it. Polly was determined to make something of this musty old shop, make it thrive again; it would give her some purpose. Finn and Bert had given her their blessing. God knows they’d never bothered with it. She began dusting and rearranging some of the shelves, making space for new stock. Polly turned when she heard the noise behind. The Goth was standing behind her, and she’d never even heard him come in.
“Oh, hi, good to see you again,” she lied, giving him a fragile smile. He smiled back, but she knew he’d sensed her discomfort. She stared at his shoulder, unable to look up into those violent sapphire eyes.
“Hi,” he said, raising his hand in a careless gesture of greeting. Polly still couldn’t look up at him.
“I’ll be getting some new Tarot cards in soon – we’re in the middle of restocking. If there’s anything in particular you had in mind, I could probably order them for you?”
“No, It’s okay, thanks – I’ll have my old pack back soon,” he replied, giving her a strange little smile.
“Well, have a look around and let me know if you need any help,” she said, trying not to make it sound too hostile. Polly finally forced herself to look up; the man just stood there smiling at her.
“You really don’t recognise me, do you?” he finally said.
Polly just stared at him, bewildered, afraid, her brain in turmoil.
“Should I?” she asked, her voice fighting its way out through a mouth that had suddenly become as dry as desert sand. She finally forced herself to look into his eyes, and she knew, just knew; she recognised this man. “Liam?”
“About bloody time,” he said, “I was beginning to lose the will to live.”
Polly just stood, dangling like badly hung washing, her knees only just taking her weight. Then, in one wonderful, life-changing moment, she knew without a doubt that this really was Liam. It didn’t matter how different he looked, how different he sounded; this was Liam, alive and well. She flung herself into his arms, clinging to him as if he were the last real thing in the world and he hugged her back hard, laughing and stealing her breath from her lungs. She pulled away again, gawping at him, trying to stop her heart from pounding its way out of her chest, so happy, so afraid.
“Why didn’t you tell me last time? I mean how... what... Oh bloody hell, we have to tell Bert and Finn. I can’t wait to see their faces.” She threw herself at him and hugged him again, insanely happy.
He gently eased her away and grinned down at her. It seemed so strange to see Liam’s admittedly rare smile in someone else’s face.
“I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t sure if it was permanent or not, I just had to know for certain I could stay. I couldn’t wait to see you. Sorry. I should have told you right away.”
“I thought you were one of my uncle’s minions or something. I mean look at you – you don’t exactly look like an advert for a Young Christians’ Bible Study group. You had me thinking all sorts. How the hell have you managed this?” Polly asked. She’d gotten used to insane happenings since she’d met Finn, but this was beyond anyone’s imagining. Liam gave her a heartbreaking smile, but hidden beneath it was the sadness she had come to expect in one of Liam’s smiles.
“Polly, I was invading bodies from the moment I drew breath. It was too easy.”
And that was true enough. It took a moment for that to really sink in, and then the real horror of what he was saying hit her.
“You mean you stole this body? Liam...”
He gave a chilly laugh.
“He deserved it, trust me. This man was pure filth. He was selling drugs to kids, date-raping women and sacrificing cute little kitties for his magic. It wouldn’t have been long before he upgraded to babies. I did the world a favour.”
Polly was finding it hard to process the information Liam was throwing at her; she was in shock, good shock, but shock none the less.
“He wasn’t wanted by the police was... is he?”
Liam shook his head, taking her hand in his and giving her fingers a little squeeze.
“You’re such a worrier,” he teased. “No, he’s been lucky so far. It’s all good. So what do you think of the new me?” he asked, giving her a twirl. She wasn’t quite sure if she was being honest. He was handsome, yes, but so totally different from the old Liam. There was a kind of wildness about him now, a feral quality that Liam never had. Liam was controlled, too controlled, pulled tight within himself, insular and untrusting. There was a kind of bold confidence in this Liam, a surety of purpose.
“It’s going to take some getting used to, but yes, I like it – just get rid of all of this rubbish,” she said, jingling the hardware around his neck and laughing.
“I kind of like it,” he said. He suddenly grabbed her, and bending down, he pressed his mouth to her face, close to her lips, but not quite on them. He cradled her head in his hands, and Polly felt a wonderful rush of happiness explode inside her.
“What the fu—”
She pulled away and turned to see Finn, his expression murderous. Liam started laughing, and Polly joined him.
“Hi bro,” Liam said.
After a theatrical pause, mouth open and eyes wide, Finn tipped forwards and hit the floor, face first.
It was only a couple of minutes before Finn pulled round, and sat up, staring blankly at the man in front of him. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but seemed to have been temporarily relieved of the power to utter a single word, simply making a rather strange gurgling sound from deep in his throat.
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“I know, it’s monumental,” Polly said, laughing. “But it really is him.”
Finn stared at him hard, examining every millimetre of his face.
“What’s your favourite film?” Finn asked, not taking his eyes off Liam’s for a second.
“The original Blade Runner,” Liam snapped back. “Director’s cut.”
“What did Dad buy you for your tenth birthday?”
Liam gave a lazy chuckle.
“Nothing. He forgot, and you had to rush out and buy a present and pretend it was from him. You bought me a Lego dinosaur because you wanted it and could play with it when I was asleep.”
Finn’s eyes misted with tears and he moved forwards tentatively, then he threw himself into his brother’s arms, making some very strange noises.
Liam eased him away.
“Sorry to say it’s not all good news, Bro. I need to talk to Dad; there’s trouble on the way – and we don’t have long to get ready for it.”
Bert was still looking through the manuscripts when they walked through. He glanced up and seemed not even to see the stranger. Finn was grinning so hard, Polly was worried that his face would set in rigor mortis.
“Dad,” Finn prompted. “You might want to sit down.”
Bert looked up again and vaguely acknowledged that someone had entered the room. Then he smiled.
“Oh, my dear, dear boy. I wondered how long it would take you to find your way back.” He put the manuscript down and walked over to Liam, looking him up and down, with a rather inscrutable expression on his face. “I’m not quite sure about this new body. What do you call this look, then?”
“Goth,” Liam said, and then he began to cry, moving into Bert’s arms and letting his father hold him tight until the sobs had subsided and he could speak again.
“There, there, everything is going to be all right now,” Bert said, speaking as if he were comforting a small child. “Let’s have a nice cup of tea, and you can tell all.”
“It sounds as if some of it isn’t going to be pleasant listening,” Finn said, palming the tears from his cheeks.
