by Helen Harper
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.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ the barman grinned, ‘but you don’t strike me as the type of person who spends a lot of time in the great outdoors.’
Using the opening to shrug off suspicion, I laughed and raised my voice so that Blackbeard would hear me. ‘Well, I’m a taxi driver by trade,’ I said. Not a witch. Never a witch. I don’t know anything about witches. Only maps and one-way streets. ‘I spend more time driving than I do walking. That’s why it’s so great to be able to have a break somewhere here with my, er, husband.’
Out of the corner of my eye, it seemed like Blackbeard was starting to relax again. My terror slowly dissipated, to be replaced by a sense of euphoria. We were going to nab him two weeks early. Talk about fortuitous. I thought back to see I’d missed any good fortune omens but I couldn’t remember any. I was still ecstatic, however. Capturing a serial killer three hours after you learned of their existence is about as good as it gets.
Schooling my face into a careful mask to hide my glee, I babbled away to drive away any last vestiges of suspicion that Blackbeard might possess. ‘I’ll admit,’ I said, ‘that we didn’t spend very long in the wood itself. The weather was pretty atrocious. It’s a lovely place, though. I’d like to come back one day. Preferably in summer.’
‘Yeah,’ the barman agreed. ‘It can be a bit bleak at this time of year.’
I nodded. When Blackbeard crooked his finger at the barman to ask for another drink, I gave a long, silent sigh of relief. There should be plenty of time for Winter to get down here. In fact, what I could do was make noises about nipping up to tell him to get a move on then I could tell him in person before he came down. Not that Winter’s expression would give him away as mine almost had; he did stoic and bland better than anyone else I knew.
I was just about to slide off the stool when a fresh-faced young woman with a jauntily swinging ponytail wandered in. ‘Jerry,’ she said to the barman, ‘do you know where the couple in room two are? They have a phone call. I’ve tried ringing up but there’s no answer and I thought they might be here instead.’
He turned and grinned at me. ‘One of them is right there.’
The woman smiled at me. ‘There’s a man on the phone for you. He says he’s calling on behalf of the Ipsissimus and that he’s looking for Adeptus Exemptus Winter. He’s called Tarpaulin Vol-au-vent.’ She paused. ‘Or something like that.’
I stopped breathing. Blackbeard’s head snapped in my direction and his gaze was hard and unyielding. Think, Ivy. Bloody think.
I tried to laugh. ‘That’s my brother. He’s such an idiot. He likes pretending that we’re in the Order because my husband knows a couple of card tricks.’ The words tripped out of my mouth. That was good, right? That was believable? ‘He also likes using stupid names because he thinks it’s funny. He’s not really called Tarpaulin Vol-au-vent. His name is Joe Smith.’
The smile left her eyes. She clearly thought I either possessed an IQ similar to the temperature outside or I was pulling her leg for my own amusement. ‘Yeah, okay. Shall I send the call up to your room or do you want to take it here?’
I couldn’t let Blackbeard out of my sight now. ‘Here is fine,’ I chirped.
She nodded and the barman reached over for an old-fashioned phone, placing it in front of me.
‘I’ll just go back and press the right button to transfer the call,’ she said. ‘I should have known the man was joking. He said you were both to be treated like royalty because you were highly talented witches who could commune with the dead and were about to bring down a serial killer.’ She laughed politely, albeit without humour. ‘It did seem a bit too far-fetched. As if you’d get either witches or serial killers hanging out here!’
Blackbeard was already standing up. He really was immense; he towered over everyone else. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him this time. His fists were curled into tight balls and I could make out the faint lines of a tattoo across his knuckles. No wonder he’d managed to murder the entire Dorset coven with such ease – everything about him suggested brute power. And hatred. The ice-cold venom emanating from his every pore – which was completely directed at me – was utterly terrifying.
I reached for the phone and lifted the receiver to my ear. ‘Hello? Joe, are you there?’ I don’t know why I was continuing with the fiction. It was obviously pointless.
‘Hi, Ivy! It’s Tarquin, not Joe. I don’t know who Joe is.’ There was a pause. ‘Is he in the Order? Is he someone I should know?’
Blackbeard released the tension in one of his large hands, flexed his fingers and reached into his back pocket. If he pulled out a knife or, worse, a gun, then I’d have no choice but to cast a spell. I couldn’t let this bastard hurt more innocent people. I’d have to pray that I wasn’t turning into a necromancer and that, even if there was collateral damage, it could be contained.
‘Joe,’ I said into the phone, ‘are you calling because you have some news for me?’ For example, news that I can happily use as much magic as I want to? Because if there was ever a time to let all my witchy skills come to the fore, this was it.
‘I told you,’ Tarquin said, with confusion colouring his voice, ‘it’s Tarquin. Tarquin Villeneuve. Your ex-boyfriend and lover. Your current neighbour. The blond-haired boy wonder who’s set to become the youngest Order Department Head in history.’
Not if I cut him up into little pieces and fed him to Brutus. I tried very hard not to grit my teeth and appear relaxed. Come on, Winter, I prayed. Bloody come on.
‘So you’ve said,’ I murmured into the receiver. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you’re calling? Is Mother alright?’
‘Huh?’
Tarquin really wasn’t the sharpest witch in the West. I weighed up my options. I could cast a spell – well, several spells – and bring Blackbeard to the floor. He’d kill no more witches, Order or otherwise, and the world would be a far safer place. Not to mention that all those ghosts might live in peace for a while. But if I did that, I might also let loose all that blacker-than-black magic that might be residing deep inside me. Hundreds could suffer, thousands even. But that was the worst-case scenario. Nothing might happen at all.
The alternative was that Blackbeard would be free. Free to kill again. Free to cause disaster and mayhem. The seven witches he’d already murdered would continue to be trapped here. There might even be more than that one coven. I had no way of knowing.
‘Forget the drink,’ Blackbeard said to the barman in the hoarse, gruff tone you’d expect a serial killer to have. I couldn’t hear any particular accent but he might have been trying to disguise his voice. ‘I’ve got to go.’ Without waiting for an answer, he pulled his dead eyes away from me and strode towards the door.
I glanced at the stairs one last time. Winter still hadn’t appeared. Blast it all – this was the one occasion in his life when he had decided to take his time. If he was down here in my place, he’d know what to do. And he’d have no fear about doing it.
As Blackbeard hefted open the main door and I felt the cold air on the back of my neck, I leaned across the bar. ‘Call up to my room. Get my partner down here pronto.’
The barman looked confused; it probably didn’t help that Tarquin’s tinny voice could still be heard from the phone’s receiver. ‘Ivy? What’s going on? Ivy! Are you there? Do you remember what happened the last time when you couldn’t be arsed to listen to me? The Ipsissimus wants…’ I hung up and pushed the phone across to the barman with a meaningful glance before running out after Blackbeard. I still didn’t know what I was going to do but I couldn’t just let him walk away.
It was even colder outside than I expected. Out here on the barren moors there was little shelter. I cast around, searching desperat
ely for my quarry. He couldn’t just disappear into the night; I wasn’t going to let him.
There was a crunch of heavy footsteps on gravel then Blackbeard’s voice came at me from the darkness. I still couldn’t see him – for such a large man, he was good at concealing himself. At least he was still here. Right now I’d take every small mercy I could grasp hold of.
‘I thought you’d follow me,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who you are or how you know about me – but I do know that you can’t stop me.’
I swallowed. My mouth was bone dry. I’d only just recovered from my last near-death experience; I had zero desire to throw myself into that kind of scenario again. Desperate to stall him until Winter showed up, I found my voice. ‘You’re killing witches,’ I said. ‘An entire coven. From Dorset. Why?’
His voice drifted through the darkness. ‘The more pertinent question is how do you know that?’
‘Seriously? That’s the most important question? Not who are you, or what’s your motive, or what the hell do you think you can gain? Or are you just a deluded psychopath? You think the biggest question is how I know about you? Pah!’ I scoffed. ‘There’s no limit to what I know.’ I racked my brains. There had to be something I could do here, some information I could use against him. ‘I know that the coven murder wasn’t as smooth as you’d have liked,’ I said. ‘That one of them came round at the last minute and fought you. That made you angry.’
There was silence. Damn it, had he already somehow made his escape? There was nothing around here apart from a quiet country road and mud-filled moors. He could head off in virtually any direction and I wouldn’t have a clue where he’d gone, at least until Winter got here and performed a tracking spell. Right now, there was nothing happening which was worth the risk of me being overpowered by necromantic magic.