Paranormal Magic (Shades of Prey Book 1)

by Margo Bond Collins

  I had no idea what happened inside. I remembered reaching the bottom of the attic stairs, and then nothing else. I assumed one of the fire-fighters had found me. How lucky was I that they had been in the house when they were.

  “There you are!” Bianca stepped up into the ambulance. She fumbled for my hand against the mattress and clasped it in her own. Her fingers felt warm, reassuring. “I was so worried about you. What on earth did you go back into the house for?”

  I was too tired and sore to answer, and even if I could have, I didn’t even know how to begin to explain. So I just smiled weakly back at her.

  “But don’t worry, you’re going to be just fine. We’ll make sure of that,” Bianca said. “I was just talking to the fireman who pulled you out, and he said that when you’re better again you’ll have to thank the man in the black suit who pulled you out. He said the guy was an idiot going into a burning house like that, but he was also incredibly brave. Who was it, Elinor? Did you see his face?”

  I nodded again, and closed my eyes. I was so tired, so very tired ...

  ***

  They kept me in hospital overnight for monitoring. The doctor treating me reiterated how lucky I was—there was no long-term damage done. I knew I wasn’t lucky. Eric had saved me. He’d carried me down the stairs and handed me to the fire-fighter. And the fire-fighter had seen him.

  Despite my short stay in hospital, my room was still bursting with flowers. Cindy and Bianca had both brought bunches from Tesco’s. Duncan sent some beautiful white lilies that I suspected might have been recycled from the funeral. And Allan sent some blood-red roses and a big box of Bewitching Bites chocolates. I turned his arrangement to the wall so I didn’t have to look at it. I ate the chocolates, though. Chocolates should never be wasted.

  Cindy went to town and brought me some clothes to wear. She said no one was allowed in the house while the police and fire department investigated, but my clothes were probably ruined, anyway. I didn’t think dry cleaning got the burnt smell out.

  My dress, my beautiful red dress, was ruined. It reeked of smoke and the hem had been singed beyond repair, and the ambulance officers tore open the corset when they resuscitated me. I was grateful for their efforts, but it was still sad.

  Elinor and Cindy took turns to stay by my bedside, reading interesting articles from the newspaper, filling me in on the details of the funeral, and making disgusted faces at my hospital food selections.

  “They’ve yet to determine the extent of the fire,” said Bianca. “But right now it’s looking as if it’s nothing structural, just a bit of a hole in the wall behind the porch. The worst damage was to the marquee, and now there’s a big, charred patch on the back lawn. The press are going crazy with all the stories about the mysterious second violinist. One girl even swore she saw a man in black playing at the attic window. ”

  “No one was hurt,” added Cindy. “The band are safely back in their Crookshollow hotels. They can’t go anywhere because of the police investigation, so there are hundreds of fans camped outside the hotel entrances. It’s practically impossible to drive down the high street because of the traffic jams.”

  “Even the caskets were saved. The police weren’t sure what to do with the coffins, so they interred them in the mausoleum—”

  But even when they were there, my mind was somewhere else—with the one person who couldn't visit me. Where was Eric now? What did this mean? Was he still a shade? I hoped like hell Clara’s book hadn’t burned up—I desperately wanted to sit down with it and research, but I couldn’t exactly tell Bianca to get it for me without arousing suspicion.

  Luckily, neither Bianca nor Cindy mentioned the police finding a violin case full of blow inside the house.

  The next morning, the doctor came back to check on me, bearing mostly good news. I was going to be fine. I needed to rest my voice for a few days, take it easy. He gave me a smorgasbord of drugs to take, and discharged me.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” said Cindy, as she helped me into the passenger seat in Bianca’s car. “Bianca and I have worked everything out. I called Clyde and told him what happened and that you won’t be in the office for at least a week. I’ve called your parents and they’re on their way up here as we speak. And when you get back to London, I’m going to look after you and bring you all the best comfort foods and fluff your pillows and—”

  “What happened to Damon?” I croaked.

  “Oh, he made a couple of good contacts at the funeral,” said Cindy. “He’s gone back to London to put together a demo CD. I’m free to dedicate 100% of my focus to looking after my best friend.”

  I nodded, groaning inwardly. I wasn’t sure my weakened state could hold up to 100% of Cindy’s exuberance.

  “We weren’t sure if you wanted to go back to London right away,” said Bianca. “Or if you needed to stay here because of your work. I imagine the fire has complicated things somewhat.”

  I nodded. I didn’t care about paperwork or the house. I cared about Eric. I needed to get back to Marshell House as soon as possible and find out what happened to him. And I had to go to the police with everything I knew about Allan, and Duncan, and ...

  My throat hurt just thinking about it all. I nodded at Bianca, indicating that I was going to stay.

  “You can’t go back to Marshell House right now, so you’re coming to stay with me,” Bianca grinned as she pulled out of the parking lot. “The couch folds out into a bed, and it’s all set up for you. I could say it’s a comfortable bed, but that would be a lie. At least Macavity will keep you in cuddles.”

  I mouthed thank you to them both, and settled back into the car. I closed my eyes to the world, letting my weariness wash over me and searching the darkness of my mind for some answers.

  ***

  Marshell House was a mess. The whole house and surrounding garden area was roped off with police tape, and black scorch marks trailed up the exterior walls. Police offers and fire-fighters stalked through the site, muttering to themselves as they checked the wiring, trying to see where the fire had started. They talked in small groups or barked orders into their phones. Two guys in lab coats and latex gloves shuffled back and forth between the house and a large white van. I knew they wouldn’t find anything conclusive, because the fire had started in Eric’s fingers.

  I talked to the inspector on the scene, and he assured me they were nearly finished. “Just give us another couple of hours, and then you can go inside and fetch whatever you need. The house is going to be fine, she’s an old girl, built to last, but she’s got some pretty bad smoke damage. I can get you in to find your stuff, but I definitely wouldn’t recommend staying here any more. We’ll also need you to come in to give a statement, of course, but it can wait until later, when you’re feeling a little stronger.”

  I nodded, grateful I was off the hook for the moment. I was still feeling exhausted. Desperate as I was to tell them about Allan, I still couldn’t speak, and the idea of writing several pages of detailed notes made my head spin. I’ll leave it until I can contact Helen Manning, I thought. The ticket stub had been lost in the fire, so I needed Helen if I was going to construct any kind of case. If I came forward with the drugs now, they’ll just draw the same conclusion I did—that is was Eric who was involved.

  I went to Bianca’s studio and watched her ink a hedgehog onto a burly biker. While she worked I wandered around the room, fingering the different inks and tools and poring over the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffin-shaped coffee table. The beginnings of an idea were starting to form in my mind. But I needed a bit more time to think.

  When we returned to the house at lunch time, the police were just finishing up.

  “You can go inside,” he said. “Just be careful, and stick to the front rooms for now, the fire has done some damage at the back, and it’s not safe.”

  “Thanks,” I croaked out. Bianca laid a steadying hand on my shoulder.

  “Do you need me to come in with you?” she asked,
her voice concerned. “I’ve got a client in thirty minutes, but I can cancel on him—”

  “No, that’s fine,” I croaked. “Go ink your client. I need to see what I can save from the study, so I might be a while. I’ll see you for dinner.”

  Giving me a final squeeze, Bianca rushed off, leaving me alone on the porch with a familiar heavy key ring in my hands. Taking a deep breath and steadying myself against the doorframe, I stepped over the police tape and stood in the entrance to Marshell House. I took a deep breath, and stepped over the police tape that roped off the front door.

  It was hard to believe this was the same house I’d stepped into the previous week, with its drab Victorian wallpaper and heavy furniture. Now, every surface was charred and blackened from the smoke. The place smelled like soot. Ash sifted across the floor with every step I took. From somewhere at the back of the house I could hear water dripping. The grandfather clock no longer ticked ominously.

  I hadn’t realised until I peered into the study and saw a layer of black soot covering the floor just how much I’d grown fond of the house. It really did have a kind of life force all of its own, and it had been wounded badly. I walked deeper into the house. There was more police tape on the stairs. I wasn’t supposed to go up there. “Eric?” I called out, my voice barely projecting two feet in front of me. Curse this smoke-damaged throat. “Eric, where are you?” I tried again.

  Silence.

  “Eric? If you’re here, I need you to give me a sign. Anything, please.”

  Nothing. Eric wasn’t there. He didn’t come down.

  Feeling heartbroken and defeated, I slunk back into the study. There would be no answers here for me. Maybe Eric was up in the attic and hadn’t heard me, or he could have been, or he was ignoring me because he thought I was flirting with Allan.

  So I did what I always did when I was worried about something I couldn’t do anything about; I buried myself in work. I went back into the study and started to stack up everything I needed to bring to Bianca’s. Luckily, I’d locked the office doors before the funeral, so hardly any smoke had entered the room. My laptop was fine, and while the papers and ledges smelled awful, they were fine, too.

  I was just collecting up the last of Eric’s creepy fan mail, when I heard the doorbell ring. Thinking it must be Bianca coming back to see how I was going, I wandered into the hallway with a stack of books. “I hope you’ve made some room for me in that little apartment of yours, because I’ve got a stack of books as high as—”

  I flung open the door, and leapt back in fright.

  “Elinor,” Allan tilted his head to the side, smiling his mischievous grin. “Can I come in?”

  “Allan?” My hand flew to my throat. His name came out as a choked gasp. “What a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you after you ran off after the funeral.”

  “That was some adventure, eh?” He gave me a crooked smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you afterward. I was worried about you, but I couldn’t leave the hotel without being harassed by fans and media. Did you get my flowers?”

  “I got them, thank you.” I said stiffly, starting to close the door. “I’m quite busy, so—”

  “I just have something to show you, is all. Open the door, sweets.”

  My heart pounded against my chest. The last thing in the world I wanted was to be alone in the house with Allan, but I couldn’t let on that I knew the truth. Take him into the kitchen, and stay close to the knives. “Sure,” I said slowly, opening the door.

  Allan made a gesture over his shoulder. A tall, burly man stalked out from behind the flower bed and stepped onto the porch.

  “Who’s this?” I asked, my foot catching the door. Now I was scared. Really scared. Why had Allan brought a bodyguard with him? Did he know I was on to him?

  Allan kept that grin plastered across his face. His eyes were wide as saucers. I used to think his expression was adorable, but here, in the harsh light of reality, he looked manic. He’s high right now, I realised with horror. “This is Colin. He does sound and security for Ghost Symphony. He’s cool, you can trust him.” I didn’t want to trust him, but Allan leaned against the door, pushing my foot back. The door flung open, clattering against the stopper. Allan and Colin sauntered inside.

  The kitchen, I reminded myself. Get them into the kitchen, where you will at least have access to a weapon.

  Behind me, the staircase creaked. I whirled around, my heart pounding against my chest. In the shadow on the corner of the upper landing, I saw a flicker of movement in the darkness. I could just make out the outline of a man dressed all in black hiding in the darkness. My heart soared. Eric.

  “What’s wrong?” Allan asked, staring at the staircase as well. I quickly spun back to face him, unsure if he’d be able to see Eric in the shadows or not. The fire-fighter saw him, but he might have become ghostly again. Please Eric, don’t let him see you. He’s on drugs. I don’t know what he’s going to do.

  “Oh, nothing. This old house still creeps me out,” I said, my hands in my pockets. “As I said, I’ve got a lot of work to do, so—”

  “Yes, yes, but I have something really exciting to show you. Trust me, you’re going to love it.” Allan held up the leather jacket he had balled up under his arm. I could see he had wrapped it around some small object. My heart sank like a stone in a swimming pool. I had a horrid feeling I knew exactly what was underneath that coat.

  “Are you going to offer us a drink?” Colin asked. His voice was harsh, filled with gravel.

  “Um, sure.” I glanced toward the kitchen. “I’ve only got wine, but—”

  “That’s fine.”

  They followed me through the receiving room and into the old-fashioned kitchen. Allan leaned up against the island, following close behind me as I moved around the other side toward the stove. Colin leaned against the doorframe, blocking the exit. The only other ways out of the kitchen were the window, which was latched shut, and the door to the basement. I’d seen enough horror films to know not to run down there. Right, I’d better try that knife, then.

  I pulled three wine glasses from the drying rack without taking my eyes from Allan. I opened the fridge wide, so the door blocked Allan’s view of my hands. As I grabbed the wine bottle from the shelf, I also leaned across the bench and plucked a knife from the rack. I shoved the knife through the waistband of my skirt and shut the fridge. Allan was still smiling that maniacal grin. I unscrewed the cap and started pouring. “So, what do you have to show me?”

  “This.” Allan dropped the leather jacket to the floor. Clasped in his hand, the barrel pointing directly at my chest, was a pistol. I froze, my hand dropping the glass, which shattered around my feet.

  A gun. It looked like an antique gun, too. The kind of gun that made an awful mess. Even though I was expecting it, the sight of that barrel pointed directly at me made me feel faint.

  “Allan, what’s going on?” Shaking all over, I staggered backward, my arse pressing against the bench. My hand flew to the handle of the knife in my belt. If he comes any closer, I can whip it out and—

  “Don’t try that, honey. You’ll get yourself hurt.” Allan waved at the security guard. “Colin, get that knife out of her belt.”

  Sweet holy fuck.

  Colin walked around the kitchen counter, grabbed my hands roughly, and twisted my arm around. I cried out as he applied pressure to my elbow, and my fingers dropped the knife handle. “Allan, please …” I choked out, my ruined voice trembling with fear. Tears steamed down my face.

  “What’s wrong, Elinor? It’s unusual to see you, the unshakeable lawyer, in such a mess.” Allan stepped forward, placing his fingers under my chin and lifting my head up. My chin quivered as I tried to shrink away from his repulsive touch. Allan pulled my head up, so that I looked straight at him, straight into those piercing blue eyes. “Look at me, Elinor. Now, for someone who was completely into me only a couple of days ago, you sure seem jumpy now. See, I can’t help but get the feeling you know why I’m h
ere, which is good for you, because it means you can help me find what I’m looking for.”

  I wanted to say something witty, like heroines in action films always do when they’re facing death, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

  A warm hand pressed against my chest, pushing me back. “Now, lovey,” Allan’s voice purred in my ear. “I don’t want to hurt you, but we need some information. Just tell us where the case is, and we’ll leave your pretty little self in peace.”

  The case. Allan meant the violin case. We were right, it was Allan all along. I realised with a sinking heart that I had been hoping against all the odds that it wasn’t true. I liked Allan. I didn’t want him to be a bad guy. But then, I had liked Joel, too. I thought of that moment on the front porch on Thursday, when Allan’s lips pressed against mine. My stomach heaved.

  “You are a pretty good actor, you know.” I was stalling, trying to give myself time to think. “I really believed you were here for Eric’s memory.”

  “Oh, I am. Just not in the way you assumed,” Allan said. “I admit that you were a very nice distraction, and under different circumstances, I would definitely consider dating you. But unfortunately, I have some other priorities right now, and you’re kind of in the way.”

  “You had Isolde all along, didn’t you?” I asked. “That letter from Eric’s lawyer was a ruse.”

  Allan nodded. “We removed the violin from the case in Prague. We needed the space for our own cargo. Eric took the case with him before we had the chance to swap it back. And as for the lawyer, you should know better than most that many in your professional aren’t above a bribe—”

  “Don’t tell her shit!” Colin snapped.

  “Relax, she’s not going to talk.”

  I gulped. I so didn’t want to know why he assumed that.

  “I don’t care if she’s deaf, blind and mute,” Colin snarled. “You don’t fucking go around casually talking about what we’re doing. Christ on a rope, Allan. You sound like a bad comic book villain.”