The Case of the Hidden Daemon

by Lucy Banks

  “Not really,” Kester said as he pulled out his phone. Anya still hadn’t replied to his text messages. Perhaps I should try to call her, he thought as he headed to the door, then he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

  “I don’t believe it,” he whispered. Horror blossomed in the pit of his belly.

  “What’s the matter?” Miss Wellbeloved asked, wrapping her scarf around her neck.

  “I forgot to call Dr Barqa-Abu.” Kester groaned. Could things get any worse? he wondered.

  Mike whistled. “You’ll catch it tomorrow, then. She won’t be happy.”

  Serena’s eyes glittered. “Yes. You never keep a djinn waiting. It’s the height of bad manners.”

  “Should I call her now?” Kester gulped. He knew only too well how terrifying Dr Barqa-Abu was, and now he’d given her reason to be even more frightening towards him.

  “Oh, really, Kester.” Miss Wellbeloved rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to just leave it now. I’ll let her know you’ve had a difficult day. But for goodness’ sake, phone her first thing tomorrow, okay?”

  He nodded glumly, then stepped out into the dark landing, making his way down the stairs and out into the car-park. A loud, rhythmic clanking told him that his father was hobbling close behind him.

  “Hey, wait up!” Ribero wheezed, shaking a crutch in Kester’s direction. “You go marching off without waiting for me, that’s not good! I am an old man, you know!”

  “Sorry,” Kester muttered, as he braced himself against the cold. “I just wanted to get home, that’s all.”

  “Okay. But why don’t you walk with me to the bus stop? I want to have a talk with you.”

  Kester scratched his head. “I’ve got to try to call Anya, and I really just want to get back—”

  “—Ah, your girlfriend. She can wait, right?” Ribero nodded as though the matter was already settled. “Come. Help me along here, these crutches are killing me.”

  Together, they paced down the alleyway past tired shoppers burdened with Christmas wrapping paper and presents. Garish accordion music accompanied them, echoing off the old, narrow walls. Kester flicked a coin into the hat in front of the busker, who gave him a watery smile and a thumbs-up. His father chuckled.

  “That is the sort of thing your mother would have done,” he muttered as they emerged onto the high street.

  “I know,” Kester said as he escorted his father over the road. “She always used to say it was important to be kind to people who weren’t as lucky as we were.”

  “That is very true,” his father said with a glance to the night sky. “Gretchen was always far wiser than me.” He winced, struggling to rearrange the crutches under his arms.

  “How long do you have to keep using them?”

  Ribero coughed. “A few more days, maybe. But it is my own silly fault, yes? For falling down the stairs like a feeble old man.” He sighed and looked down at his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe that is what I am becoming, right?”

  Kester smiled awkwardly. “Age is only a number, Dad.”

  “Easy to say when you’re twenty-two.” He patted his chest mournfully with a look that was suddenly alarmingly vulnerable.

  Kester nudged him. “So,” he asked as they nimbly avoided a crowd of giggling teenagers coming the other way, “do you stay at Miss Wellbeloved’s house often then?”

  His father gave him a wry glance. “That is a personal question.”

  Kester shrugged. “You’re my father. Can’t I ask whether or not you’re romantically involved with someone?”

  Ribero grimaced and settled himself on the plastic seat by the bus stop. “It is not like that. When you are old, it is not about the fire and the passion, you understand?”

  “Sort of . . .” Kester replied uncertainly.

  “Sometimes,” his father continued with a pensive stroke of his moustache, “it is just about being less lonely. And me and Jennifer, we go back a long way. We have a lot of the history, yes?”

  Kester nodded. “I understand. And of course, it’s nothing to do with me anyway. As long as you’re happy.”

  Ribero smiled, his face lighting like a child’s. “That is a kind thing to say, Kester. Thank you.”

  A rush of wheels through the nearby puddle announced the arrival of the bus. Kester helped his father to his feet, where he wobbled unsteadily before straightening himself.

  Gazing down the high street, Ribero suddenly clapped a hand on Kester’s shoulder. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

  Kester smiled. “I’ve absolutely no idea. Why?”

  His father gestured at all the shop windows with their twinkling displays. “You cannot spend it alone. And you must not spend it with that Pineapple person. He is a monstrosity, and I forbid it. Come to my house. It will be nice, right? I will cook a traditional asado.”

  “What’s an asado, again?”

  His father snorted with canine irritation. “You are half-Argentinian, boy! You should know these things! It is the finest Argentinian meal, full of cooked meats.”

  “Oi, mate!” The bus driver waggled a finger in their direction. “You getting on or not?”

  Ribero gave the driver his most imperious stare, then began to hobble up the steps. “Is that a yes, then?” he called over his shoulder.

  Kester laughed. “I think so. Yes. That would be nice.”

  “Good! That is the right choice. I will start planning a big meal, yes?”

  The doors slid shut, leaving Kester faced with his own chilly-looking reflection. He waved, then ambled back onto the pavement, feeling a little more contented with the world. A child, clutching his mother’s hand and licking a lollipop, skipped past. Kester was reminded violently of his own childhood: walking through Cambridge at Christmas time and pointing at all the toys in the window as his mother smiled indulgently over him.

  He gulped, embarrassed to feel the prickle of tears in the corners of his eyes. I still miss you, Mum, he thought and looked up at the darkening sky. Wherever you are now. It’s pretty lonely sometimes, without you.

  Tugging his phone out of his pocket, he scoured the screen for messages, but there weren’t any. He dialled Anya’s number and waited.

  A flat tone answered him before promptly cutting the call off.

  That’s a bit odd, he thought, staring at the screen in the dumb hope that it might miraculously provide him with some answers. He tried again and received the same monotone ring before being cut off.

  What the hell? he thought as he gave the phone a frustrated shake. Perhaps she’s somewhere with poor signal, though it’s unusual for the phone to just go dead. He found Anya’s landline number and tried that instead.

  “Hello?”

  It was Wendy, Anya’s housemate. He quickly cleared his throat.

  “Hi, Wendy, it’s me, Kester. Is Anya there?”

  Wendy paused. “No, I thought she’d moved into yours. Hasn’t she?” He could hear the sound of her fingernails tapping against the receiver.

  “Well, she was meant to be staying with me for a while,” Kester replied uncertainly. “Not moving in, though. Why do you say that?”

  Wendy laughed nervously. “When she came in this morning, she packed all her belongings; I presumed she was moving in with you. She’s been a bit odd recently, to be honest.”

  Kester’s heart sank. She’s gone, he realised, and his chest tightened with panic and horror. I’ve blown it, big time.

  “What do you mean, odd?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

  “Don’t know, really. Just not herself. But she hasn’t been herself for a while now; not since she disappeared to wherever it was she went to.”

  You mean, not since she was kidnapped by the Thelemites, Kester corrected silently. He waited for her to continue.

  “She was muttering about her clothes and how she hate
d all of them, which was quite weird. And she left Thor here too, without even asking me. I wasn’t too worried, because I presumed she was only at your house. I’m a bit concerned now, though.”

  Kester swallowed hard. The shop windows had taken on a rather garish quality around him, glaring with fluorescent gaudiness and hulking over him from all sides. He swerved to avoid a man on his bike, who swore at him as he passed. “She didn’t give any indication where she was going, then?” he asked, already worried about what the answer might be.

  “No. What should we do? Do you think she’s safe?”

  Kester looked around him at the stalls selling Day-Glo Santa hats and the herds of people making the most of the late-night shopping. He felt overwhelmed, lost amongst it all, and he longed to be back home. “I have no idea if she’s safe or not,” he said finally, his voice cracking. “But I’ll do my best to find out.”

  Slipping his phone away quietly, he clenched his eyes shut. Fear, sharp and weighty as a lump of lead, settled in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He debated calling his father or Miss Wellbeloved, or even Serena, for that matter—given that he was now concerned she might have been right.

  No-one just runs away after a minor argument like that, he realised as he pulled his jacket up tightly around his neck. And no-one gets that upset. But someone might just flee, if they felt they were under suspicion and had something to hide.

  He winced as the full realisation hit him like a battering ram. I suspect I know exactly where she’s run away to, he thought, oblivious to the swathes of people mingling around him. She’s returned to the Thelemites. Because she never really left them in the first place.

  Chapter 14: Back to London

  Kester spent the following week in a depressed haze. Each evening, he returned home, hoping to find Anya sitting in the lounge waiting for him. However, each evening, the only welcome he received was a chilly, desolate room—or occasionally a chilly, desolate room with Pineapple or Daisy in it, which was even worse.

  His conversation with Dr Barqa-Abu hadn’t exactly helped lift his spirits either. He received a sharp telling-off, combined with an ominous warning to “look out for trouble,” as she was “picking up on some intention towards him.” He had no idea what on earth she was talking about and thought it best not to dwell on it for the time being. After all, he had enough to worry about.

  To take his mind off of things, he buried himself in his work, trying feverishly to work out the meaning behind the Billy Dagger songs. Frustrated with his lack of success in deciphering the latest track, he focused on the older songs instead and found hidden clues in several of them.

  “Open Your Eyes,” an old song from the 70s, featured plenty of anagrams, which he shared gleefully with the others. Mike had been shocked to find that “I spit Maria” was an anagram of “I am a spirit,” and that “I, male hematite” was an anagram of “I am a Thelemite.”

  “It’s like he’s been playing with us all along,” he commented, wide-eyed, as they sat in the Fat Pig on Tuesday night.

  Kester fiddled morosely with his beer glass and wondered if he should get a bag of dry roasted peanuts. He no longer cared about his diet, but ironically, since Anya had disappeared, his appetite had completely vanished. In fact, in the short space of a week, his trousers were almost falling off him.

  “Still with us?” Serena, who was sitting next to him, waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Wakey-wakey, Kester.”

  He shook himself and looked blearily at them both. “Sorry, I was miles away. What were you saying?”

  “I was just saying about those lyrics in ‘Open Your Eyes’,” Mike said, polishing his pint off with a slurp. “I can’t believe he was leaving clues in his songs, even forty years ago. How come no-one realised?”

  “Because they weren’t looking for them then, of course.” Serena examined her sharp nails, then drummed them irritably against the table. “It’s worrying, though. It’s all getting rather worrying, in fact.” She turned to face Kester. “Have you heard anything from her yet?”

  He didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. “No,” he replied as he cast his eyes to the floor. “I said already, I have no idea where Anya is. And it’s probably not worth me being too concerned about it either, since she was probably lying to me right from the start.”

  Serena’s expression softened. “I’m not sure that’s true.” Sidling along the bench, she wrapped an arm around him in an uncharacteristic show of affection. “We won’t know what happened until we find her.”

  Kester shrugged her off irritably. “We won’t find her though, will we? She’s a member of one of the world’s most secretive cults. Of course we’re not going to find her.”

  “Yeah, but they might have kidnapped her again, mate,” Mike said consolingly.

  “Her housemate saw her packing her bags. She wasn’t forced.”

  “Well,” Serena placated, “we don’t know the facts. She may have been coerced.”

  Kester thought back to all the times Anya had been so curious about the case, all the questions she’d asked, and how insistent she’d been about getting information. I should have known, he thought glumly. There was me, thinking a girl actually liked me for once, and she was just pumping me for information. He felt hollow, as though someone had sucked his emotions out with a vacuum cleaner. How stupid I’ve been, he realised, downing the rest of his ale. I should have known that someone as pretty as her would never be attracted to someone as irrelevant as me.

  “You’ve gone quiet again, Kester,” Mike said, breaking the silence. “Let me get you another drink. Booze always numbs the pain of woman-troubles.”

  “Since when do you ever have woman-troubles?” Serena snapped. “You don’t even have a woman.”

  “Charming as ever, love.” With a parting glare, he stalked off to the bar.

  Serena tutted, then leant back against the bench. “You know, I’m not convinced she wasn’t forced by the Thelemites to spy on you,” she said as she rubbed off an imaginary speck of dirt from her trouser-leg.

  “Can we just drop the subject?” He glanced at his watch. It was already getting on seven o’clock; not that there was anything particularly exciting waiting at home for him, apart from a half-eaten bacon baguette in the fridge.

  “Why not come with us tomorrow, to the London stake-out?” Serena pressed. The determined expression in her eyes indicated she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “I don’t know,” Kester said uncertainly. “What if Anya comes back?”

  “Kester, you can’t just wait around on the off-chance that she returns with her tail between her legs.” Serena eyed Mike at the bar, who was currently sampling a local ale and nodding enthusiastically. “Besides, Miss Wellbeloved has already ordered a twin room for you and Mike.”

  “Has she?” Kester felt nettled. “I told her I didn’t feel up to going.”

  “Let’s all go,” Serena said loudly, drawing attention from the group of young men at the neighbouring table. “Come on. It’s just what you need, something to take your mind off things. Otherwise, you’ll be in the office all by yourself, which will be no fun at all.”

  “I don’t know,” Kester grumbled. “I could always start making Christmas decorations to hang around the desks.”

  Mike returned with a tray of drinks. He placed them down carefully, then grinned. “Thought I’d get us some tequila shots,” he said as he removed the tiny glasses and positioned them in a line at the centre of the table. “It They might lighten the mood a bit.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mike!” Serena glared at him. “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow; we can’t all turn up with hangovers.”

  “It’s just a sneaky one. Come on, don’t be such a party-pooper.”

  “No.” Serena folded her arms and stared mutinously at the glasses. “It’s a silly idea.”

  Mike rolle
d his eyes, grabbed a tequila, and downed it in one gulp. Then he reached for the next one and did the same again. Kester laughed in spite of himself and quickly rescued the third, before Mike could devour that one too.

  “Honestly, you’re the most immature man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,” Serena snapped. “When are you going to grow up?”

  “Hopefully never,” Mike concluded with a belch as he started to tuck into his fresh pint. “Lighten up, this is meant to be an evening out, okay?”

  “Children, please,” Kester murmured. He was starting to get a headache, and their bickering wasn’t helping.

  “So, Kester,” Serena continued, relentless as a terrier. “Are you joining us in London?”

  “Yeah, come on, mate,” Mike added. “They’re putting us up in a fancy hotel. It’ll be great. And remember, London pubs are amazing.”

  “You’re not there to do a sodding pub crawl!”

  “Stop lecturing me, you old witch.” Mike wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, then belched again. “So, what do you say?”

  Kester rolled his eyes. “Fine. Count me in. You’re right, I’ll only brood if I stay here.”

  The other two drummed their hands on the table with delight. “I knew I could convince you,” Serena said smugly, nudging his shoulder. Despite his moroseness, Kester grinned and raised his glass to her.

  That night, he slept badly, as he had done for the last seven nights in a row. He kept rolling over and expecting to see Anya there, breathing quietly in the darkness. Instead, his bed felt vast and empty, making his bedroom desperately lonely. Where are you? he wondered, trying to imagine where she might be hiding. Was she with the Thelemites, laughing at his stupidity, making fun of him? Or was Serena right? Had they forced Anya to leave against her will?

  Or am I completely wrong, he thought, and she’s actually run away somewhere completely different? Who knew? Endless questions raced around his head until the early hours of the morning, when he finally collapsed into sleep. It seemed like only minutes later that his alarm buzzed him back into wakefulness, leaving him feeling more exhausted than ever.