Rumour has it the Carnival, which descends on London every year in the week leading up to the Summer Solstice, was given the Regent’s Park pitch in the early eighteen hundreds after some shenanigans between the Prince Regent and the then Carnival Ringmaster, a triton (said to be immortalised in the fountain in Queen Mary’s Garden). Which may be true. But despite its initial colourful royal patronage, now the Carnival has to apply to the Department for Culture, Media and Sport for all the relevant exhibition permits exactly like any other temporary show. Something I knew about in more detail than I ever wanted, since Spellcrackers (thanks to the company’s Witches’ Council associations) had won the contract to provide magical security for the Carnival. Tedious permit details aside, it was a solid high-profile contract and good for business.
The throaty roar of a motorbike drowned out my musings along with the Carnival’s distant noise.
The bike rode up the centre of the quiet road like a modern-day knight on a mechanical charger, and rolled to a showy stop in front of me. The tall, lean rider, dressed in black bike leathers and heavy boots despite the summer heat, silenced the engine, kicked the stand down with casual skill and turned a black-helmeted head my way, face a pale blur behind the dark smoke of the visor.
My lift had arrived.
I raised my hand in greeting. The bike rider dipped her head and removed her helmet in one smooth continuous movement. Lifting her gaze to mine, she hit me with a stunning smile and whisked her swathe of shining blonde hair round in a practised flip worthy of any hair product advert.
Katie: part-time Spellcrackers receptionist (and my occasional taxi service), soon to be full-time student dancer, and the nearest thing to a kid sister I have.
I grinned at her. ‘Ten out of ten for the hair whip, Katie. All you need now is to get someone to pay you to do it.’
‘Well, funny you should mention that . . .’ She did another expert flip and stretched out her arms, excitement glinting in her eyes. ‘Ta da! You are now looking at L’Oréal’s newest hair model!’
‘Really?’
‘Reallyreallyreally!’
‘Woot!’ I held my hand up for a high five, and she slapped my palm with her leather gauntlet. ‘Go you!’
‘Yeah! Go me!’ She beamed and punched her fist in the air. ‘Finally!’
‘That’s brilliant, Katie.’ I hugged her, breathing in the scent of leather, hot metal and the citrusy perfume she always wore as her arms tightened around me. She’d been hoping for this for so long. ‘So what’s the job?’ I said as we broke apart.
‘I’m to be in the background of an ad with about ten others, so there’s no face work. It’s only a couple of days. But it’s a start. And the pay’s good for a chunk of college fees, but then’ – she gave me a mischievous grin that made her look about nine years old – ‘I’m worth it!’
I groaned and rolled my eyes at her. ‘Plea-se. You’re killing me.’
She stuck her tongue out. ‘Wait till you hear my other news.’
By the way she was almost bouncing, I didn’t need to hear, I could guess. Marc, the boy – no, not boy, man, since he was my age: twenty-five – who’d been seriously flirting with her for the last few weeks (at her other part-time job in the Rosy Lea café), had finally asked her out. Marc was the first guy she’d been interested in after her last ‘date’ turned out to be a vamp’s human blood-slave. The vamp had kidnapped Katie to blackmail me into taking his blood-bond. Katie hadn’t been hurt, but I’d promised myself I’d never let anything bad happen to her again. I couldn’t change the fact that her confidence and trust in herself and others had taken a beating, though, so Marc asking her out was momentous.
Especially as he’d spent so long getting to this point, which had taken Katie from agonising over whether to say yes to wondering what was wrong. Katie’s mum, Paula, thought it showed he’d picked up on Katie’s nervousness. But for me, it smacked too much of manipulation and had me uneasy. Of course, anything to do with Katie pushes my Red Alert button. But still, just because I might be rabidly over-protective, and over-reacting, didn’t mean Marc wasn’t someone to watch. Damn it, I so wanted to wrap Katie up in the proverbial cotton wool, but I hate it when people try to do that to me.
I pasted a teasing smile on my face. ‘You won the lottery?’
This time she rolled her eyes at me. ‘Gen-ny!’
‘Kat-ie!’
She crossed her arms with a disgusted glare.
I laughed. ‘C’mon then. Out with the details.’
‘First night at the Royal Opera House for La Sylphide.’
Marc was good; I couldn’t have chosen better for Katie myself. I clamped my mouth shut before my paranoia made me say something I’d regret.
‘And no,’ she said, her glare turning determined, ‘I’m not bringing him into the office so you can give him the once-over.’
Then again, I didn’t really need to say anything. Katie knew me.
‘Look, I’ve got it under control,’ she carried on earnestly. ‘I’m meeting him there. I’ll book a Gold Goblin taxi home. I won’t go anywhere else with him, or get into any strange cars, go down any dark alleys, or drink or eat anything that’s been out of my sight.’ She leaned forwards and hooked her blue heart-shaped pendant out from under her jacket. It carried a mega Personal Protection Ward and Tracker spell that had cost me near enough six months’ wages, even with Tavish doing the casting for free. She dangled it before me. ‘I’ll be wearing this as usual. I know what I’m doing. Marc’s a nice guy. Trust me? Please?’
‘I do trust you,’ I said. Just not him.
‘It’s a first date, Genny,’ she warned. ‘I don’t want to get all heavy about things and scare him off.’
If he likes you, then it won’t. But again I didn’t say it. If I didn’t trust her judgement, then how could she? And really, the vamp kidnap thing had been my fault, not hers. She’d done nothing wrong. She didn’t deserve to have her every date interrogated, magically or otherwise, because I felt guilty. What she deserved was to have an awesome night out with a guy she liked.
‘La Sylphide is a’ – romantic, tragic tale of impossible love; not my choice for a first date, but hey, Katie would adore it – ‘wonderful ballet,’ I said, happy for her, my smile only a tiny bit forced. ‘You’ll love it.’
She grinned and clapped her hands. ‘I know! So exciting.’
I grinned back then changed the subject. ‘So how’s things back at the office?’
Her expression turned businesslike. ‘All under control. Rotas are done and agreed for the Carnival. I’ve got a couple of interviews lined up for the vacancy, and we’re all caught up on the non-Carnival jobs.’
Katie wasn’t our summer receptionist/office manager because she’s my sort of kid sister. She’s also Ms Super Organised. I was going to miss her come the start of college.
‘So all I’ve got you down for tomorrow, so far, is Harrods,’ she finished.
I nodded. Harrods were having problems in their lingerie changing rooms. Their Magic Mirror spells kept mutating and instead of coming up with the appropriate recommendations, they were spouting subtle put-downs that meant customers were walking without buying. Obviously, store management were not happy. It was Spellcrackers’ top contract and, once the Magic Mirror problem was sorted would be a good steady earner.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Anything else come in for tonight?’
‘You’re free as a—’ Katie’s eyes rounded with alarm as she pointed at the park. ‘Look, Genny!’
I looked. And saw nothing. ‘What?’
‘There! In those bushes!’ She waved frantically at a dark clump about fifty metres away. ‘He was naked. ’
I raced alongside the iron railings enclosing the park, through the entrance and ran towards the bushes, clenching my hand around my ring and releasing Ascalon. ‘Naked’ said the male was probably some lowlife pervert so he wouldn’t warrant a killing blow, but as a scare tactic the sword would make him think twice next
time he got the urge to get his junk out. And if he was more than just a lowlife, like, say a peeping tom Autarch, then I was way happier being armed and dangerous.
I slowed as I neared the spot, sending my Spidey senses out. No one. Naked or otherwise. I’m fast, part due to my sidhe blood and part because I run daily, so I should’ve got some sort of ping back. So either he’d disappeared into thin air – possible, but I couldn’t sense any magic either – or he was fast enough to sprint out of range. Which could only mean a vamp. I scowled, ignoring the way my pulse was pounding harder than it should for a short run and debated whether it was worth poking about in the bushes. Katie shouted again.
‘There! Down by the trees.’
I spun towards the wooded area a couple of hundred metres away . . . No naked male, but a brief glimpse of a dark shape moving low and merging into the deeper gloom. My inner radar pinged: ‘human’ and ‘animal’. I started running then stopped as my senses zeroed in on the path coming from the far side of the wooded area. A man was walking his dog. His shoulders were stooped under his beige-coloured shirt and trousers, and the dog – a yellow Labrador – padded slowly on age-stiffened legs. Even without being close enough to see the man’s face clearly, it was obvious he was old. No way was he the flasher. Neither he nor his dog could move fast enough to get over there from the bushes.
I ran to the trees and did a swift check round. Had I seen something, or was my imagination on overdrive? Whatever, there was no hint of vamp, or of magic. Letting Ascalon slide back into the ring, I jogged over to the man and his dog, said a brief hello, and confirmed he was as old and human as he appeared and hadn’t seen a flasher making a fast exit. Then I sprinted back to the bushes, poked around and again found nothing. Rolling my shoulders to get rid of the tension, I jogged back to Katie.
‘Did you see him?’ she asked, expression worried.
Crap. Katie really didn’t need to hear I thought her flasher might be a vamp stalking me; it would knock her confidence way down. ‘Sorry, no. Probably scared him off with the sword.’
She frowned at me. ‘He was weird.’
I snorted. ‘I think sick is the word you want.’
‘No. He was naked, but he wasn’t trying to, y’know, flash. It was more as if he was spying and he sort of fell over.’
I pursed my lips. ‘He fell over?’
‘Maybe not fell over exactly, but sort of crumpled downwards.’
‘Okay, that is weird. But he’s gone now,’ I said, aiming for reassuring. ‘So he can’t have been hurt.’
She hugged her helmet, still anxious. ‘Maybe. Did you see the animal under the trees? It was weird too. Dog-like, but not. And big.’
I gave her a considering look. Maybe my imagination wasn’t on overdrive. A big dog might account for the dark shape I thought I’d seen. ‘I didn’t get a clear look, Katie. Sorry.’
She gave an almost imperceptible shudder. ‘Do you think the animal was something to do with the Carnival? They’ve got some odd exhibits. Maybe one of them escaped? The man could’ve been looking for it?’
I hadn’t thought of that, but then my paranoia was stuck on vampire. Whereas Katie’s was stuck on finding an explanation that wasn’t scary. ‘Could be,’ I said, and dug out my phone and called Carnival security, more to reassure Katie than anything.
The duty manager hadn’t had any escapees reported, so he took my rather sparse details, asked if I was sure they were animals and not some sort of fae, then thanked me and said he’d check it out. He also suggested I phone the zoo. I did. And got almost the same response, albeit with the guarantee that they took security very seriously, and would have known if any animal had escaped. They would, of course, look into it.
‘Nothing, but they’ll let me know,’ I told Katie as I came off the phone. ‘I think we should tell the police about the flasher.’ Which the naked male was, whatever else he might be, and as such needed to be reported. ‘Can you describe him?’
She twisted the strap of her helmet, chewed her lip, frowning at the bushes. ‘Dark, wavy hair. Pale-skinned. Tall-ish . . . I think.’
‘And definitely naked,’ I prompted.
‘Yes, but I didn’t see anything, y’know, important, just enough that I could tell he didn’t have clothes on.’
I gave her a comforting hug, and phoned the police.
An hour later, we waved them goodbye. They’d taken our statements and I’d managed to let them know, without Katie hearing, my suspicion the flasher might be a vamp. They’d said it wasn’t unusual to get flasher reports from the park and they’d do a more thorough check during daylight. Then they wrapped the bushes up in enough blue and white tape that it looked like the vegetation had been a victim of an over-excited troupe of maypole dancers. The coppers’ parting shot had been to ask if we wanted a police liaison officer to contact us to arrange some counselling.
‘Counselling,’ Katie muttered miserably once we were on our own again. ‘We don’t have to, do we? It wasn’t like I even saw anything.’
I hugged her again. ‘It’s only if you think you need it, hon.’
‘Yeah, well I don’t. I had enough counselling last year.’
When the vamp kidnapped her. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. That counselling hadn’t been fun, but it had helped, which was what mattered. ‘Hey.’ I gave her shoulders another consoling squeeze. ‘Wanna hit the Rosy Lea for coffee and a fry-up?’
She eyed me dubiously from under her lashes. ‘You don’t do coffee and I don’t do fry-ups.’
I grinned. ‘Semantics.’
She huffed and handed me her spare helmet. ‘You gonna tell Mum about tonight?’
‘Do you want me to?’
She heaved a sigh. ‘No. I’ll tell her. She’s gonna freak out, though.’
Yep, Paula would. But in a good way, Then again, what mother wouldn’t? She was as protective as I was about Katie, apart from when it came to Katie’s new boyfriend, Marc. But before I could say anything, a bird-like warbling sounded. Katie started, grabbed for her phone. She frowned then shot me a bemused look. ‘You’re never gonna believe this, Genny! Someone’s pulled a “Harry Potter” in Leicester Square!’
‘A what?’
‘A “Harry Potter”. At least that’s what they’re calling it on Twitter. Tavish’s bots picked it up. Look!’ She held her phone out.
The display showed a video clip of the Empire’s façade. The huge poster over the cinema’s entrance advertised Conan the Barbarian. On the poster, a half-naked, muscled-up Conan was looming high above the battling hordes, actually swinging his sword at his legion of attackers. As the video clip played, Conan’s adversaries stopped attacking and traipsed off into the wings as if taking a tea break. Conan looked around in satisfaction, hoisted his sword over his shoulder and followed, leaving the poster advertising nothing more than an out-of-focus vista of an empty, rocky plain.
I looked at Katie. ‘That is a poster, isn’t it? Not some new vid-screen the cinema’s using?’
‘Definitely a poster.’ She tapped her screen. ‘And it’s definitely a prank of some kind; there’re already apologies and reassurances on twitter that it’ll be fixed soon.’ She gave me an expectant glance.
‘You’re right,’ I said, answering her unspoken question. ‘It sounds like an ideal job for Spellcrackers, if we can—’
Katie’s phone gave another bird-like warble at the same time my phone beeped with a text – from Leandra, the witch who monitored our night phones.
Big problems in Leicester Square! Six jobs already and more coming in. You available?
Leandra had sent the text to every witch on Spellcrackers’ books. I raised my brows at Katie. ‘Jobs, plural?’
‘Yep. The rest of the posters are the same. Well, according to Twitter, anyway. Going by the ton of tweets, it looks like it might even be trending soon.’
‘Going by the tweets,’ I corrected, ‘it looks like we’re in for a busy night.’
Conan the Barbari
an twirled his sword like a cheerleader’s baton, pointed it out at the cheering crowds forty feet below in Leicester Square, then did a slow bump and grind as he shot me a salacious wink.
‘Bet you don’t do that in the film,’ I muttered, ignoring the whoops, whistles and calls for ‘more’.
I used the controls on the hydraulic lift basket I was standing in to nudge myself closer to the top of the film poster, then focused on the splatter of muddy-coloured oil paint that was the ‘Harry Potter’ spell. How the hell the magical vandal had got it this high was a mystery – one the police were responsible for unravelling – all I had to unravel was the spell.
Which was proving easier said than done.
‘Okay, let’s try this again,’ I murmured, crunching three liquorice torpedoes to boost my magic, and touching the cleaned mascara brush I held to the paint. Carefully, I teased out a fat orange stripe from the muddy mess, then another of indigo, followed by pink, green, and five shades of yellow, until I had all the stripes separated out into a seemingly random colour wheel. Mentally crossing my fingers, I checked the poster. Conan scowled, hefted his sword like he meant business and froze. I compared it to the A4 copy the cinema manager had given me, and blew out a relieved sigh. They matched. Finally, I’d hit on the right combination. After two long hours.
The time was within the budget, but I’d hoped to nail it in less. Of course, cracking the ‘Harry Potter’ spell would’ve taken a couple of seconds, but cracking a spell also cracks whatever it’s attached to, and shredded posters and damaged buildings were a definite no.
I’d tried absorbing the spell, but all that had done was turn the poster white. Luckily I’d managed to spit the spell back out unchanged before the magic had mutated, though I was still suffering the nasty side-effects: mouth dry with the bitter taste of juniper berries, and six, so far, desperate trips to the cinema’s facilities. Even that hadn’t killed my constant urge to pee. The idea of setting a Privacy spell and making use of the spell-dumping bucket as a handy potty was my newest fantasy. Absorbing magic can sometimes bring out its ‘mischievous’ side.
The Shifting Price of Prey [4] Page 4