Spirit Witch

by Helen Harper

  ‘And here we are,’ the male ghost muttered. ‘Not resting.’

  Finding my voice, I looked round. ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘Seven.’ She looked sad. ‘One man killed our entire coven.’

  I quashed my rising horror – it wouldn’t help any of us right now. I had to focus on the details and find out what had really happened. I looked at the three of them, taking in their matching robes. They were white, not red, and even in ghostly format the material seemed to have a homespun quality.

  ‘You’re non-Order witches,’ I realised. The fact that their disappearance had gone unremarked was starting to make sense. Not a lot of sense, admittedly, but a little.

  The man threw himself down the small hill, ignoring the trees in his path, and planted himself in front of me with a bullish stare. ‘You’re in the Order? The one person we can communicate with and they’re in the bloody Order?’ He threw his hands up in disgust. ‘She won’t help us. We’re damned for all eternity.’

  I counted to ten in my head. ‘First of all,’ I said calmly, ‘I’m not in the Order. My name is Ivy Wilde.’

  Phantom Karen jerked. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard of you. You were kicked out for assault.’

  ‘And cheating,’ I added. ‘Don’t forget the cheating.’

  ‘I heard other covens approached you to join them but you told them to sod off.’

  I shrugged. What could I say? ‘I’m sure it would be lovely having other witches to talk to. But non-Order covens have to work hard and the results are never that…’ I paused, trying to think of the right word. This lot were grouchy enough as it was without me insulting their abilities. ‘Never that successful. I’m not much of a worker bee.’

  She snorted. ‘She sounds just like your kind of person, Amy.’

  The other female witch, Amy, looked irritated but she didn’t rise to the bait. ‘And how can you see us?’ she asked. ‘How can you talk to us?’

  ‘I absorbed the magic from a kid who was playing around with necromancy. By doing that, I stopped half of Scotland from exploding.’

  All three jaws dropped simultaneously. ‘No way,’ the man breathed.

  ‘Yes, way.’

  ‘That’s so cool.’ He danced around from foot to foot. ‘So you must possess necromantic magic now. You can raise us up! You can let us return to our families and—’

  Amy cleared her throat. ‘There’s just one small problem,’ she said. ‘We’ve all been cremated.’

  For a moment the man’s brow furrowed and he stopped moving, then he shrugged as if his lack of a body were a trivial matter and returned to bouncing backwards and forwards. He was making me dizzy. ‘I’m sure that won’t be a problem. This woman is clearly a strong witch, just like we were. She’ll find a way around that.’

  I shook my head. ‘I can’t. And even if you’d been buried, I couldn’t raise you up. Necromancy is evil – not to mention impossible to control. The repercussions are potentially catastrophic.’

  ‘But you must be using necromancy now if you’re talking to us,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I am not.’ I was aware that my voice was overly loud.

  Bored with the chatter, Karen wandered back to Winter who was watching me like a hawk. It must have been strange for him only hearing half of the conversation. She fell to her knees in front of him and appeared to examine his groin with great interest. ‘I’m never going to have sex again,’ she said sadly.

  I’d just about had enough. ‘Karen!’ I barked. ‘Get over here and sit down. You,’ I said to the man, pointing at him as I obviously didn’t know his name.

  ‘Paul.’

  I nodded. ‘Thank you. Paul, you sit next to her. Amy, you go there. I need you all to stop moving around, stop yapping and asking questions, and start telling me exactly who you are and how you ended up here.’ I looked around. ‘Not to mention where the other four members of your coven are. If they’re also dead, where are they? They must be here too, right?’

  The three ghosts exchanged glances before Amy piped up, ‘We should start at the beginning.’ Finally someone was talking sense.

  Paul nodded in agreement. ‘I was born in June. I was always told it was unseasonably hot for that time of year and my mother—’

  ‘For Pete’s sake!’ Karen howled. ‘Not that beginning, you nincompoop!’

  I looked at Winter. ‘This might take some time.’

  ‘I was beginning to realise that,’ he said drily.

  I sat down and stretched out my legs. I might as well get comfy and settle in for the long haul.

  ***

  By the time the three ghosts had finished their tragic story and Winter and I were trudging back towards the car, the sky was darkening and it felt even colder. Now less concerned that he’d need to conserve his magic in case of an emergency, Winter conjured up a heat spell for us but the chill had already settled in my bones.

  ‘All seven of them are dead,’ I said. I shivered. Seven was supposed to be a lucky number; that was why there were seven members in their coven in the first place. Unfortunately, it wasn’t particularly lucky for them any more. ‘However, only three of them are in Wistman’s Wood. Every new moon, their killer comes and scatters another witch’s ashes. Until they arrive here, the last thing any of the dead remember is the night they were killed.’ My mouth flattened. ‘And yes, they were all killed at the same time and in the same place. They’d got together to try and perform a concealment spell. They were worried that the Order were after them.’

  Winter grimaced. ‘Unlikely. Unless they were performing illegal or dangerous spells, I doubt anyone at the Order would care what they were up to.’

  ‘They were sure they were being followed. And if it wasn’t the Order tracking them…’

  ‘It was probably the killer.’ Winter rubbed his chin.

  ‘That’s what I was thinking.’ I hunched up my shoulders against the cold wind and plodded on. ‘Anyway, the spell exhausted them so they fell asleep after they cast it. At some point the killer appeared and stabbed them all, one after the other. He was – er – adept because only two of them woke up. One had time to mutter a curse. The other tried to fight back but the killer was too strong.’

  Winter halted. ‘They both saw him?’

  ‘Yep. Karen, the one who made the curse that’s keeping them here, described him in great detail. A bushy black beard but no moustache, and a bald head. He had a stud earring of a skull and his skin was a mess, as if he’d had bad acne when he was a kid and the scars had never quite gone away. He was just over six foot and large. Not fat,’ I said, repeating verbatim what she’d told me, ‘but a large build and fairly muscular.’

  Winter nodded approvingly. ‘That’s good. It gives us a lot to work with.’

  ‘Yep. Not to mention the fact that they were all cremated before they were left in the wood.’ I still felt a bit nauseous from the mouthful of Karen I’d eaten with my tuna sandwich. ‘The temperatures required to burn a body properly are too high for anyone to do it without professional equipment.’

  ‘Unless they’re a witch with a particular propensity for fire,’ Winter pointed out.

  ‘True,’ I admitted. ‘But even in that scenario it can’t be common to have that kind of skill. We’ve still got a good starting point. Whoever our murderer is, he must be keeping the other four bodies back then dumping them one by one when the moon is right. I don’t know why the coven members don’t remember anything until they’re left here, but there’s definitely a disturbing ritualistic nature to all this.’

  Winter ran a hand through his hair. ‘Everything about this is disturbing. Has the killer done something to stop the spirits from moving on? Is that why they’re still trapped here?’

  ‘As far as any of them can tell, they’re trapped in Wistman’s Wood because it’s an old pagan site. Magic lingers in the trees and prevents their souls from travelling anywhere else. I don’t see how the killer would know that, but at this point almost anything is
possible. And the reason the ghosts haven’t moved on to the afterlife is because Karen woke up just before he slit her throat to tell him that their coven wouldn’t rest until he was brought to justice.’

  ‘They’re stuck until he’s stopped?’

  I nodded. ‘Essentially. But he can’t know that their spirits are still around and talking to us. How could he? And we know exactly where he’ll be in less than two weeks’ time. He’ll return to this spot at the next new moon to scatter another set of ashes. When he does that, we’ll find him.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand what his motives are but one thing is very clear.’ I gazed morosely into the distance. ‘Ipsissimus Grenville wasn’t making things up. He wasn’t even exaggerating. We’re dealing with a serial killer. He’s murdered at least seven witches in cold blood and no one has even noticed.’

  A muscle jerked in Winter’s jaw. I was impressed he was managing to keep his fury at bay; I could virtually feel his body quivering with rage that someone was doing this.

  ‘We have another point in our favour,’ he said. He met my eyes. ‘He doesn’t know that we know. We’re on his tail and he doesn’t have a clue. This will be over before he even realises it because we have surprise on our side.’ He scratched his chin. ‘And, no, you don’t have to say it. We have to inform the Order. We can’t keep this to ourselves.’

  I touched his arm. ‘They’ll want to help – in fact, they’ll have to help. But they’ll also want us to work with them.’

  Winter nodded but he didn’t say anything else.

  Chapter Six

  It didn’t take much to persuade Winter to book a room in the pub where we’d parked. There weren’t many guest rooms – although the bar was packed – and we weren’t exactly in a bustling metropolis. This place wouldn’t even count as a village. Still, staying here would give us a chance to dry off, sort ourselves out and plan our next move.

  The coven had been slaughtered in Dorset, where they were based. Even Winter recognised that traipsing a couple of hundred miles to investigate the exact spot would be better accomplished in daytime.

  I called Eve and persuaded her to drop in on Brutus and Princess Parma Periwinkle to feed them and ensure they weren’t killing each other. It was tempting to ask Tarquin to do it because I had no doubt that Brutus would make him pay several times over for being a plonker. But the thought of the floppy-haired one pawing through my underwear drawer was too much to cope with.

  Although the last thing I was feeling was content or happy, I was impressed with our room. The mattress was comfy – and it wasn’t a large bed. We’d have to snuggle very closely together. Perhaps I could pin Winter to one spot and force him to appreciate the joys of a long lie-in before we headed up the coast. It was unlikely but a girl could still try.

  While he got on the phone to inform the Ipsissimus about our discoveries, I headed for the shower, turning the dial to super-sexy steaming hot and all but crying out in ecstasy. It was a mystery to me how the mud had managed to invade so many layers of clothing and I wondered idly whether I should inform the Environmental Department so some government-sanctioned scientists could come out to investigate the phenomenon. At least pondering the properties of sludge kept my mind off Blackbeard, as I’d christened the serial killer.

  Apart from the shower, the other good thing was that I’d brought a change of clothes with me. My delight was somewhat tempered by the fact that I’d not checked what I was throwing into my bag when we’d left Oxford that morning. This was what happened when I was forced to get out of bed too early: I ended up wearing clothes that made me look like an Eighties pop princess covered in cat hair. At least the clashing neon colours meant I wouldn’t get lost in a crowd.

  I ran my fingers through my hair, decided I’d done the best I could and went out to check on Winter. I found him sitting on the edge of the bed and staring into space. ‘Hey, are you okay?’ I perched next to him.

  ‘Mmm.’ He sighed. ‘You were right. The Ipsissimus does think we should work together. He’s prepared to promote me to Third Level if I come back as the prodigal witch.’ He grimaced. ‘As if he thinks a bribe would make me forget what he’s done.’

  I ignored the mud still caked on him and leaned against his shoulder. ‘Maybe it’s not a bribe, maybe it’s the Ipsissimus recognising your value. He’s not a bad man, Rafe. And no matter what you say, he didn’t do a bad thing. There’s nothing wrong with swallowing your pride and going back to the Order. In fact, it would be incredibly brave.’

  ‘Then come with me. The Ipsissimus said there would be a place for you too.’ Winter arched a sceptical eyebrow. He knew me too well.

  ‘You know the Order’s not for me. It doesn’t mean it’s not for you, though.’

  He heaved in a breath. ‘I don’t know that I can trust them. If it came to it again, if it was the choice between the life of an Order witch or the life of someone like you, I think they’d always choose to save the Order.’

  ‘Life is full of impossible choices, you know that. We do the best we can with the information we have at the time. There’s hardly ever a right way and a wrong way, there’s just your way. I take the lift and you take the stairs but we still meet together at the top, Rafe. And,’ I brushed my lips against the stubble along his jaw, ‘if I had to make the decision again, it would be the same. It was the best decision to make for everyone.’ I met his eyes. ‘Deep down you know that. That’s why you’re still so pissed off.’

  Winter stared at me for a long moment. ‘Who are you?’ he asked finally. ‘And what have you done with Ivy?’

  I laughed. ‘Occasionally I have flashes of intellectual brilliance – but they don’t last long.’ I gave him a tiny shove. ‘You are pretty smelly. Go take a shower and I’ll go downstairs and see if I can rustle us up some dinner and a bottle of wine. I think we deserve it.’

  He smiled at me. I could live a thousand lives and I’d never feel the same lurch in my chest that Winter’s smile provoked. ‘That sounds like a plan.’ He half turned for the bathroom before pausing. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘the Ipsissimus is still advising you not to try any spells. Maidmont has found some old tome that discusses an ancient witch who experienced something similar to you, but it’s in archaic Latin and is taking some time to translate. He thinks you’re probably fine and using magic won’t release any latent necromancy which you’ve absorbed. But to be on the safe side…’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah. I can be a good non-practising witch for a little while longer. Maidmont’s going to have to get a move on, though. Once we locate Blackbeard, it’s going to be all witches on deck. I’m not staying out of this fight. That bastard is going to get what’s coming to him.’

  Winter grinned. ‘I love you, Ivy Wilde. But, damn, you can be scary.’

  I tossed my blonde curls and wiggled my hips with as much sass as my tired body could muster. ‘You betcha, honey bun.’

  ***

  There was a pleasant smell of yeasty beer in the bar and, from somewhere further in the depths of the pub, the waft of some kind of meaty stew. Virtually drooling, I went through the crowd and hopped up onto a bar stool. There was no jukebox and no piped music coming through speakers, although the far corner of the room did boast a small stage area that was already set up with a drum kit and microphones. Given the crowd, the warm atmosphere and the hubbub of voices, this was clearly the place to be on Dartmoor on a Thursday night.

  I caught the barman’s attention and snagged a menu, then ordered two bowls of Lancashire hotpot and two pints of local beer. I almost hoped that Winter would take his time in the shower so I could eat his portion then order another one when he arrived. Maybe there was something to all this fresh air stuff; I felt hungry enough to eat a vat of stew and it seemed unlikely that one bowl would cut it. Maybe part of it was also that I wanted to remind myself that I was alive. There’s nothing like chatting with several recently deceased witches to make you realise how important it is to savour every moment. And every mouthful.


  I wiggled around to get comfortable and took a large gulp of beer. Closing my eyes briefly in delight, I smacked my lips. Winter and I were going to catch Blackbeard before he could do any more damage. No one else would die. Winter would return to the Order and be his satisfied, workaholic self. I’d teach him how to binge on box sets; he’d show me all the best gyms within a ten-mile radius and I’d pretend to be interested. Everything was going to work out perfectly.

  I opened my eyes to grab my glass and take another glug. It was halfway to my mouth when my eyes fell on a man who’d just made his way to the other end of the bar. A bushy black beard, a bald head, pockmarked skin and a skull-shaped earring. And dead black eyes. Neither Karen nor Amy had mentioned his eyes. I froze, unable to move. He felt my gaze and glanced over, stiffening when he caught my expression.

  ‘The hotpot won’t be long,’ the barman said cheerfully. ‘I’ve set up a table for you in the corner.’

  I put the glass down slowly and tried to look casual but I had the horrible feeling that it was already too late and I’d given myself away. I forced my lips to curve upwards in a smile. ‘That’s great,’ I managed. ‘Thank you.’

  Arse. Arse. Arse. Keeping Blackbeard in my peripheral vision, I glanced towards the stairs. Come on, Winter. Bloody come on.

  ‘So you walked to Wistman’s Wood?’ the barman enquired.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered. I couldn’t have sounded guiltier if I tried. Summoning every particle of my being, I pulled back my shoulders and smiled harder. ‘I love hiking. Especially in the rain. It makes me feel so much closer to nature, you know?’

  The barman looked amused but I could still feel Blackbeard watching me. I had to do better. If only I could have cast a spell without worrying about the consequences. Damn Maidmont for not being fluent in archaic bloody Latin. Damn me for not checking out sooner why I was seeing ghosts. Most of all, damn bastard Blackbeard for showing up when I least expected it. It had been a reasonable assumption to think that he didn’t live anywhere near here and this was nothing more than a convenient dumping ground because it was so remote. After all, the coven had been killed in Dorset which was a few hours’ drive away.