by Lucy Banks
Ribero sighed, reaching for another handful of crisps. “At the moment I am healthy, yes,” he said, flipping one into his mouth. “But not forever. Now you are studying Spirit Intervention and Business Studies, it is time for you to get hold of the ropes with me and Jennifer, yes?”
“I think you mean ‘learn the ropes’,” Miss Wellbeloved corrected.
“It is the same thing.” Ribero studied Kester fiercely, eyes gleaming. “Soon, we will start teaching you how to manage the business. Okay?”
Kester shook his head. “I don’t feel comfortable with the idea.”
Ribero grunted. “It is not about comfort. It is about family honour. This is my agency. You are my son. So, you take it over.”
“Well, no,” Kester replied. “For starters, it wasn’t your agency until Miss Wellbeloved’s father gave it to you. Secondly, I’m the youngest person working in it. If you think Serena is going to take orders from me, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Miss Wellbeloved laughed. “You’re right, Serena won’t be happy. But she’ll come around, given time.” She reached for a biscuit. “And as for it being my father’s agency, you’re absolutely correct. Which is why you’ll be running it with me, until I retire. I have no children to pass the business down to anyway, and I’m more than happy for you to have it.”
Kester swallowed. He felt overwhelmed at the prospect of taking over the agency, though he was touched at their faith in him. I’ve only been a part of it for a few months, he thought, finally daring to take a biscuit. I’m still not totally convinced I want to be a spirit investigator, let alone the owner of a supernatural agency.
He took a bite, then realised it most definitely wasn’t chocolate. Judging by the strange, vegetable flavour, he presumed it had beetroot or something similar in it. His stomach churned. I wonder if I could distract her, then flick it into the fire without her noticing? However, a glance in her direction confirmed that he probably couldn’t. She had eyes like an eagle.
“Luckily, I had those biscuits left over from last week,” Miss Wellbeloved said as though reading his thoughts. “They’ve got courgette in them. You’d never guess, would you?”
He grimaced, wiping the crumbs off his shirt. “Not at all.”
“So, you will take on the agency once I quit?” Ribero pressed. He clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“I presume it won’t be any time in the near future, will it?”
Miss Wellbeloved and Ribero exchanged a glance. “I’m sure it won’t be too soon,” Miss Wellbeloved concluded. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you feel completely comfortable in the role first.”
Kester rubbed his forehead. It was all too much to take in. In the space of a week, he’d run around Dorset chasing after a murderous spirit, been accepted into a supernatural school, and his girlfriend had been kidnapped by a weird cult. Since when did this sort of thing become normal? he wondered. Is this how things are going to be from now on? Not for the first time, he found himself thinking wistfully about his old life back in Cambridge, when it was just him, his mother, and nothing remotely spooky to worry about. Those were the days.
His phone vibrated. Kester whisked it out of his pocket and scanned the screen.
“Well? Was it Anya?” Miss Wellbeloved asked.
Kester shook his head, disappointed. “It’s Mike. He wants to know if I want the tickets to the Billy Dagger gig. He offered to give me a couple for free.”
“Billy Dagger, he is that musician, yes?” Ribero looked vaguely confused. “The one who wears all the silly make-up like a big girl, right?”
Kester chuckled. “Sort of. He’s a bit of a legend, you know.”
“So I have heard. I have no time for this sort of music though. It hurts my head, all those loud guitars.”
Miss Wellbeloved laughed. “I used to like Billy Dagger’s music, believe it or not. He’s a great performer, so much energy that it’s almost unnatural.” She looked as though she was going to say more, before shutting her mouth and looking to the floor.
Kester grinned. He couldn’t really imagine Miss Wellbeloved bopping away to a Billy Dagger tune, but then, she never ceased to surprise him. He texted Mike with an affirmative. I may as well stay positive, he thought, and presume that firstly, we’ll be able to rescue Anya, and secondly, she’ll actually want to go on a date with me to a rock gig. Let’s hope so.
He stuck the rest of the biscuit reluctantly into his mouth, then gulped the remains of his wine. “I’m going to head home,” he said, yawning. “Thanks for seeing me. I feel much better now that I know Anya’s not in any danger.”
“Any immediate danger,” Ribero muttered ominously. “Don’t trust the Thelemites too much.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer?” Miss Wellbeloved offered, stifling a yawn of her own. “You’re welcome to sleep in the spare room if you want.”
He shook his head. “That’s kind, but I haven’t changed out of these clothes in nearly a week. I’m gagging to get into my own bed, if I’m being honest.”
She nodded. “I can imagine. Let me call you a taxi.”
“It’s okay, I can walk.”
“No, you cannot,” Ribero snapped as he scooped up the poker and gave the fire a prod. “What about all the thieves and the drunk people, eh? No, they will take one look at you and have you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You get a taxi. I will pay.”
Kester grinned. “Okay. Thanks.”
Whilst he was waiting, he went through to the room next door, which Miss Wellbeloved used as a reading room. Her walls were lined with cluttered shelves, stuffed to the brim with ancient texts. With the candle flickering in the window, it looked almost medieval. He stood at the window and stared out at the dark alleyway.
I thought once we’d solved the case in Dorset, things would calm down, he thought, running his fingers over the top of the tiny flame. But surprise, surprise, I was wrong again. He looked up at the sliver of night sky squeezed between the narrow roofs. A few stars cast glowing circles in the black.
I wonder if Anya can see the same stars, he thought. And whether she knows I’m thinking about her, right now.
Pressing his head against the cool glass, he closed his eyes and hoped against hope that she did. Wherever she might be.
Chapter 2: Finding Anya
Unsurprisingly, Kester didn’t sleep well. Even in the few hours that he’d managed to nod off, he’d been plagued by terrible dreams about mad Scottish spirits and faceless cults. Eventually, he gave up all hope of a restful night and sat at his desk, waiting for the feeble sun to struggle over the neighbouring rooftops.
It was a cold, grim morning, an indication of impending winter. Kester readied himself for the day ahead and waited anxiously for Miss Wellbeloved to call.
Rummaging through his kitchen cupboards, he decided to have some breakfast to take his mind off things. To his annoyance, somebody had polished off his box of Coco Puffs, and he knew exactly who it was. Pineapple, his top-knotted, spaced-out housemate, seemed to have no concept of personal belongings and helped himself to whatever was in the house, regardless of who had actually purchased it.
“Hello, stranger!” Daisy breezed into the kitchen, squeezing his shoulder as she passed by. She was wearing one of the most awful knitted sweaters he’d ever seen. Are those pom-poms hanging off it? he wondered, fighting to mask his horrified expression. Or has it just started to unravel in the wash? It’s difficult to tell.
“Morning,” he replied, pulling out some packets of pasta and praying there would be at least one small cereal box hidden behind them. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any cereal, have you? Pineapple’s eaten mine again.”
“I’ve got some Yoga-Brite, if you’d like?”
Kester stood up, bones creaking in protest. “Um, what is it?”
“Yoga-Brite is the ultima
te breakfast cereal for unlocking trapped energy. I love it, it’s my new obsession. It has goji berries and spirulina and everything.”
He grimaced. “Perhaps not.” He could only imagine how rancid it would taste. “Do you have any bread?”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “I bought a fresh loaf yesterday. You know, you should try changing your lifestyle, Kester. Especially now you’re losing weight.”
Kester brightened, instinctively sucking his gut in, which happened to be bulging over his pyjama bottoms even as they spoke. “Can you tell?”
She gave him an appraising once-over. “Not exactly. It’s just you told us you’d lost weight last week, didn’t you?”
Sod it, he thought. He’d got on the scales this morning, and was thrilled to see that he’d lost seven pounds in total. Doesn’t seem much point, though, when no-one notices, he concluded, releasing his gut again in a dejected deflation of defeat.
“Have you got work today?” he asked as he grabbed a slice of bread and chucked it into the toaster.
“No.” Her face fell. “Unfortunately, I lost my job two days ago.”
“Oh dear, not another one,” he said, regretting asking the question already. The last thing he needed was a deep-and-meaningful with Daisy. Once she got going, her intense conversations tended to span on for several hours. “What happened this time?”
She pouted, then twiddled her pony-tail for good measure. “My boss got cross because I was late back from lunch.”
“How late?”
“Well . . .” She shuffled on the spot, picking at a stain on the cupboard door. “I didn’t go back, actually. I sort of forgot. So, the honest answer is nine the next morning. I suppose I can’t really blame him for being a bit cross.”
“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Kester replied. A shrill ring from the hallway pulled his attention, and he held a finger up. “Hang on, I’ve got to get that. Can you pop up my toast for me before it burns?” Without waiting for an answer, he galloped out, seizing the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello, Kester, it’s me.” Miss Wellbeloved’s clipped voice echoed through the receiver.
“Good morning,” he replied, feeling happier already. There was something intrinsically reassuring about her calm, measured voice, which made him feel as though everything would be okay, regardless of the situation. “Did you speak to him?” he carried on. “Barty, or whatever his name was?”
“Barty Melville,” she verified. “Yes, I did.”
“And?”
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “It seems your girlfriend has been causing a bit of trouble.”
Kester massaged his forehead. He could smell burning toast. A quick glance through to the kitchen indicated that Daisy had got distracted by whatever was outside the window. “Is Anya okay, though?” he asked.
“She’s fine. I told you they wouldn’t hurt her. But . . .”
“Yes?”
Miss Wellbeloved coughed. “The situation might be more complex than we thought. Barty said he’ll see us this morning. I’ve checked with Julio, and it’s fine for you and me to take the morning off work.”
Kester looked at his watch. “What time?”
“I told him ten o’clock, so we’ve got to be fairly prompt.”
Kester eyed the kitchen. Daisy had started to read the morning paper, oblivious to the thin wisp of smoke coiling from the toaster. He flapped a frantic hand in her direction, which she ignored.
“Well?” Miss Wellbeloved sounded impatient.
“Yes,” Kester replied. “Absolutely. Ten o’clock is fine. Where do we need to go?”
“The main lodge just past Pinhoe, outside Exeter. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes or so. Okay?”
“Yes. And Miss Wellbeloved?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for talking to him. It means a lot.”
He could almost hear her smile down the receiver. “Not a problem,” she replied softly. “See you in a bit.”
Kester scratched his head. He wondered what Miss Wellbeloved had meant by “more complex.” Whatever it was, it didn’t sound promising. What had Anya done? Oh well, he thought, scampering to the kitchen to rescue his breakfast. At least she’s alive and well. That’s the main thing.
After munching his way through the charred remains of his toast, then diving into the shower, he waited on the wall outside, scanning the horizon for sight of Miss Wellbeloved’s battered old Ford. A group of students emerged from the house next door, laughing loudly, and Kester instinctively shrank back. Although he’d loved university, he’d never felt much at home with young people, who were invariably more attractive, more confident, and infinitely cooler than he was. Which was precisely why he’d lived at home with his mother while studying, rather than living in halls.
He thought about Anya again, the only girl he’d ever met who hadn’t looked at him with either revulsion or pity. She was odd, but her eccentricity was endearing rather than off-putting. I’d thought we were getting to know each other well, he thought, marching on the spot to warm himself up. But this thing with the Thelemites makes me wonder if I actually knew her at all.
A splutter of car engine startled him from his thoughts. He looked up, just as Miss Wellbeloved’s familiar Ford rattled to a stop in the road, clicking and wheezing in an alarming manner. He ran over to the passenger side and clambered in.
“Good morning,” Miss Wellbeloved said, smiling. A vague drift of classical music floated from the radio like a soothing velvet ribbon.
“I’m not sure it is a good morning yet,” Kester said, buckling himself in as the car pulled away. “Though thank you again for trying to sort things out. I know Anya’s nothing to you, and—”
“Yes, but she’s something to you, Kester,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted with a severe nod. “Which means we wouldn’t dream of not helping her. Now, enough gratitude, let’s just get this meeting over and done with.” She swerved out into the main road. “I’m not looking forward to it, to be honest.”
“I thought you and this Barty person were friends?”
She grimaced as they joined the long line of commuter traffic. “Barty was friends with my father, not me. Also, he and my father didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“Oh dear.” Kester frowned. “What happened?”
Miss Wellbeloved glanced across. “Gosh, I’m not even sure I know where to start.”
“Is it because the Thelemites changed? And your father wasn’t comfortable with their new direction?”
She sighed. “That’s the easiest explanation, yes. Put it like this, my father was always passionate about uniting the spirit and human world; he believed we could co-exist in relative harmony. However, he certainly didn’t approve of the idea of inviting the spirits to live here permanently.”
Kester bit his lip. “It’s all a bit confusing.”
“I know.” Miss Wellbeloved inched the car forward, then scowled as the traffic lights went red again. “But it’s something you’ll need to understand, if you’re going to take over the agency one day. Our industry is dominated by politics, and there’s a lot of division. Some think that spirits should be locked out of our world permanently and treated as criminals when they enter. Others, like the Thelemites, believe they should come and go as they please and live here if they want to.”
“And you?”
She paused, searching for the right words. “I’ve known some good spirits in my time, Kester. I grew up with one. A wonderful, caring spirit who lived in the oak tree in our garden. She used to play with me when I was a little girl, and leave me small presents under the branches. I believe humans and spirits can get along just fine—but I also believe that certain systems need to be in place.” She switched off the radio and looked at him. “What do you think?”
“What do I think?” Kester blinked. “Honestly? I have no
idea.”
“You’ve met some spirits now, and you’ve worked with us for over four months. Surely you must have an opinion?”
He reviewed the question carefully. His first spirit encounter had been a hideous experience: a terrifying banshee with a face from a nightmare and a scream to match. He remembered the misplaced Japanese spirit in the woods, as small as a doll, with a tiny parasol and an expression full of pain. There had been plenty of other spirits too. A ghoul who’d had a fondness for tripping people over in a residential home in Torquay. A poltergeist who liked throwing footballs at students in the local school. And not forgetting their most recent case: the Scottish fetch who’d killed several people and had been hell-bent on murdering a few more for good measure.
“I just don’t know,” he said finally as he leaned back against the head-rest. “They’re so different to each other. How can you apply one rule to them all?”
Miss Wellbeloved smiled in satisfaction. “Quite. I knew you’d understand. That’s why we need to have a system in place; so we can allow decent spirits safe passage into this world, but keep the troublemakers at bay.”
The lights went green, and they rumbled onwards up the hill, past the suburban houses, to the outskirts of the city. Kester thought about it all, feeling hopelessly torn. It seemed that there was no real solution to the problem. After all, most people in the world were terrified of the supernatural. How on earth could spirits ever live comfortably alongside them?
They drove through the village of Pinhoe and emerged into the verdant fields.
“Where is this place then?” Kester asked.
Miss Wellbeloved chuckled. “Oh, just you wait. It’s quite something. You’ll be amazed when you see it.”
