The Lazy Girl's Guide To Magic : The Complete Series

by Helen Harper

  The bed was comfortable and Winter was his usual warm, snuggly self. He didn’t snore and he didn’t hog the bedcovers. His feet were toasty warm. There weren’t any ghosts in the vicinity chatting to me and trying to keep me awake. Brutus wasn’t even there, pawing at my face and demanding attention. So why the hell couldn’t I sleep?

  I sighed heavily and turned over. Maybe counting sheep would help – except that reminded me of what had happened up in Scotland just last month and only exacerbated my sleeplessness. A hot milky drink was supposed to be another helpful remedy – or so I’d heard. Unfortunately, the only milk here was in those little plastic containers designed for tea and coffee. Even if I could work out a way to heat them up without using either a microwave or magic, they’d provide little more than a single mouthful.

  If Winter were awake, I’d have asked him to bespell me but he was fast asleep. His jaw was slack and, for once, he was utterly at rest. I screwed up my face. This was ridiculous: Ivy Wilde did not suffer from insomnia. Unless it had something to do with the latent necromancy swirling around my system. That chilling thought had me sitting bolt upright and breaking into a cold sweat.

  I got out of bed and padded naked into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I was dabbing it dry with a towel when I heard the sound of an engine outside. That couldn’t be right; it was three o’clock in the morning and we were in the middle of nowhere. Even farmers wouldn’t get up this early.

  I checked on Winter, who’d not even stirred, and grabbed my coat, shrugging it on to preserve my modesty. Then, doing what no one should ever do when it’s the middle of the night, there is a serial killer on the loose and many, many ghosts to contend with, I slipped out.

  The pub was silent inside but I could hear voices outside. Frowning, I walked over to the front door and put my ear against it.

  ‘We should just ring the bell.’

  ‘Or spell it open and find rooms for ourselves. We can settle up with the owners tomorrow.’ There was a pause. ‘I mean, today.’

  ‘We will do no such thing,’ the familiar voice of the Ipsissimus – the living one – said. ‘There is plenty of room in the car. Besides, we’re not here to sleep.’

  ‘We can’t investigate anything while we’re out here.’

  ‘Honestly, I never knew witches could whine so much! Villeneuve, get back to the car. You can sleep in the boot. Masters and Houseman can have the back seat. The other two can take the front.’

  ‘What about you, sir?’

  ‘I’m going for a walk. I want to see this wood.’

  There were a few audible intakes of breath. ‘But it’s the middle of the night! It’s too dangerous!’

  ‘I rather think,’ the Ipsissimus said drily, ‘that the only risk will come from stumbling in a pothole. As I can use magic to light the way, that will not be an issue. Go on, you young folks, get your rest. I’ll see you in a few hours.’

  ‘I’ll go to the wood!’ Tarquin burst in. ‘I don’t mind. I’m not tired anyway.’

  ‘I’m a higher rank than you, Villeneuve,’ another voice said. ‘I’ll go. You stay here with the Ipsissimus. It might not be safe for you.’

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘Hmm,’ the Ipsissimus said, staving off the impending argument and sounding for all the world as if he were trying to come up with an amicable solution to suit everyone. I grinned to myself. It appeared that he was a man after my own heart. ‘You’re right. It probably would be better if more than one person went to the wood. I tell you what, you lot go and investigate then report back to me. I’ll stay here.’

  There was a moment of brief and, to my mind, sullen silence then the witches acquiesced with a series of quiet mumbles. I listened as their footsteps drew away. I could learn a lot from the Ipsissimus, I decided.

  ‘Are you going to open that door, Ms Wilde?’ he enquired.

  Startled, I drew back. My smile grew and I unhooked the chain and let him in. The other witches, Tarquin included, had already been swallowed up by the night.

  ‘Don’t worry about them,’ the Ipsissimus said cheerfully. ‘They’ll be quite some time before they return. Between their bickering and the fact that none of them can navigate their way around clearly marked roads, they won’t be going anywhere fast.’

  I couldn’t help asking, ‘If they’re such an annoyance, why bring them?’

  The Ipsissimus knitted his fingers together and looked astonished. ‘This is the Order, my dear. We work together as a team. Besides,’ he added on a grimmer note, ‘from what Adeptus Exemptus Winter has told me, there may be serious danger. There are more Order witches on the way. We were caught short in Scotland but I won’t let that happen again. Not when there are very real risks to consider.’

  ‘And then some.’ I met his eyes. ‘There have been some further developments.’

  ‘Excellent,’ he replied flatly. ‘That’s always what I want to hear.’

  I drew him over to the deathly silent bar area and we sat down before I filled him in. I have to say this for the Ipsissimus – he knows when to keep quiet and listen. It wasn’t until I’d finished talking that he started to ask questions. ‘There was no other identification in the room at all?’

  I shook my head. ‘The Barcells, who own this place, have agreed to seal the room off until the police can get here and dust it down for prints.’

  ‘They’ll be here first thing in the morning. It’s already arranged.’

  I nodded acknowledgment. ‘That’s good. I just…’ I sighed.

  ‘Go on, Ms Wilde.’

  My unhappiness was obvious. ‘I think that Blackbeard is going to prove a lot more clever than that. He was forced to leave here in a hurry but there are no identifying features anywhere. Not to mention that we only came across his existence by accident. We don’t know how long he’s been operating for, or how many others he’s killed. How can an entire coven vanish and no one think to report them missing or to ask questions? Whether they’re in the Order or not, you’d think that someone would have said something.’

  ‘You think that Blackbeard has been covering his tracks.’

  ‘I do.’ I grabbed a curl and wound it tightly round my finger, cutting off circulation to the tip and watching absent-mindedly as it turned red. ‘This isn’t about ego. We weren’t supposed to know what he’s been doing. He doesn’t want fame or notoriety or a following, he’s all about the mission.’

  ‘And the mission is to kill witches?’

  ‘So it appears.’ I released the curl but the tension still remained.

  The Ipsissimus stood up and walked to the window, gazing out at nothing. ‘She was right, you know, your ghost. Nicholas Remy was indeed a witch hunter. By all accounts he was a nasty bastard. It cannot be a coincidence that the killer selected that as his name. If we do not find him soon, I have no doubt that there will be more deaths.’ He stroked his chin. ‘I shall have to reach out to the non-Order covens and tell them to be on the lookout.’

  ‘I think that would be very wise,’ I said quietly. ‘And as for my theory…’

  He turned and faced me. ‘If your theory proves to be true and Blackbeard is immune to magic, the situation is incredibly grave. I shall set the librarians to research the matter immediately. If there are amulets to negate the effects of spells or the supernatural, or any precedents for this kind of situation, we shall know about them soon.’

  Shifting slightly, I eyed him. I felt guilty for asking about myself considering everything else that was going on but I had to know. ‘Speaking of scholarly research,’ I said. ‘Has Philip Maidmont uncovered anything about my, er, condition?’

  ‘Hmm?’ For a brief moment the Ipsissimus looked blank then his expression cleared. ‘Ah, yes. You’re perfectly safe. Your ability to converse with the dead is indeed a side-effect of the necromantic magic you absorbed from the boy but, as all the energy you displaced is now focused towards the spirits, there is no need to worry. Unless you act
ually try to raise the dead, you are no danger to either yourself or to others.’

  I breathed a sigh of relief. It felt like a massive weight had been taken off my shoulders. An involuntary chortle of glee escaped my lips and I raised my hands, my fingers sketching a rune. The nearby fireplace roared into life, the flames dancing and writhing in an unnatural manner.

  ‘Man, that felt good.’ I examined my hands. ‘I hadn’t realised how much I needed magic until I couldn’t use it.’

  A faint smile crossed the Ipsissimus’s face. ‘Yet you did not hesitate to deny yourself that which you so desperately desired. You are to be commended, Ms Wilde.’ He looked me up and down. ‘Perhaps Adeptus Exemptus Winter is rubbing off on you in ways both seen and unseen. It is obvious that you are affecting him.’

  ‘You keep calling him that,’ I said. ‘But he’s not in the Order, Ipsissimus. He’s no longer Adeptus Exemptus.’

  ‘He will change his mind.’

  I shook my head. I wasn’t so sure about that.

  The Ipsissimus leaned towards me. ‘We need him to change his mind. He is vital, Ms Wilde. To everything.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘The recent events in Scotland have forced me to reassess many things. I need to stop pussyfooting around and ensure I have an appropriate successor in place. I did not believe Raphael was ready for that role, but the way he left the Order behind because of his loyalty to you…’

  Whoa there. I held up my hands. ‘Don’t bring me into this. He left on his own terms.’

  ‘Ms Wilde, until you came along he lived, breathed and ate the Order. Many of our witches do. But to be Ipsissimus is to take on board heavy responsibilities. Without a strong and steady network and a life outside work, it is impossible to succeed. The pressure is too great. And that is not all. If one is wholly absorbed in the Order, one can lose sight of the bigger picture. Now that Raphael Winter – Adeptus Exemptus Raphael Winter – has you, he possesses that bigger picture.’

  I felt uncomfortable at having this conversation without Winter present. The Ipsissimus kept on dangling juicier and juicier carrots in his bid to get Winter to return but somehow I didn’t think Winter would give two hoots about what was on offer. All the same, my curiosity got the better of me. ‘But you’ve said it yourself. He’s Adeptus Exemptus and that’s only Second Level. There have to be at least a couple of hundred witches who are ranked higher than Rafe.’

  ‘Two hundred and thirty-three, to be exact,’ he said. ‘Most of whom are tied to their specialisms and who are unable to see the wood for the trees. Adeptus Exemptus Winter has already proved he can manage upwards as well as down. You have more magical talent than he does, after all. His ego doesn’t interfere with that fact and he is more than capable of getting the best out of you.’

  ‘I’m one person, Ipsissimus Collings, and I’m in love with him. He gets a lot of leeway as far as I’m concerned. The Order, however, is thousands of people, most of whom probably hate him for being better than they are and for leaving when he could have stayed. Rafe doesn’t want it.’

  The Ipsissimus’s answering gaze was frank and earnest. ‘And maybe that’s why he should have it. He has already shown he has more integrity than ambition. Besides, I’m hardly at death’s door. There is plenty of time for Raphael to take the necessary examinations and move up the hierarchy.’

  ‘Not if Raphael doesn’t want to,’ said Winter from the doorway. He looked pissed off. I wasn’t really surprised. ‘What exactly is it going to take for you to leave me alone?’

  ‘Come back,’ the Ipsissimus entreated. ‘Just think about all the good you could do.’ He reached inside his coat pocket and drew out a scroll.

  I sucked in a breath. The last time the Ipsissimus had given me a scroll, it had been an incantation which had almost caused my death.

  Winter’s expression was flat. ‘What is that?’

  ‘The paperwork that will bring you back in, Raphael. Your promotion. And more. I’ve already signed it. All you have to do is add your name and we can forget everything that has happened in the past. It’s time to move on.’

  Winter crossed his arms. ‘No. I don’t know how many times you expect me to say the same thing.’

  ‘You belong in the Order. You know you do. You thrive on what we can offer you.’

  ‘I’m doing just fine.’

  The Ipsissimus took a step forward. ‘As far as this investigation goes, you have no place in it,’ he said gently. ‘Because you’re on the outside. You’re not in the Order and you’re not in the police. I could force you to stay away from anything related to this Blackbeard fellow.’

  ‘Try it,’ Winter growled.

  ‘But that’s just it! I don’t want to do that. We need your expertise, Raphael. We want you on our side. But you know as well as I do that there will be more doors open if you are in the Order – and more doors slammed in your face now that you are not. There is only so much I can do. Return to the fold and you can take charge of this. You can find Blackbeard and bring him to justice. You can second Ms Wilde to your team and have the might and power of the Order behind you. You know it makes sense.’

  Winter crossed his arms over his chest. Despite – or perhaps because of – his anger, he looked incredibly sexy. I’d happily have jumped him right then. Maybe I should have kicked the Ipsissimus back out to his car.

  ‘You need Ivy’s ability to talk to the dead,’ Winter snapped. ‘You don’t need me.’

  ‘You’re wrong about that. If you think things in the Order should change then tell us and we can look at implementing those changes. You know this is right. You know your place is with us.’

  ‘I’m not staying away from the Order because I’m sulking or because I want you to make me a better offer,’ Winter said. ‘I can do just as much good on the outside as I can on the inside. Except on the outside there will be less bureaucracy and less chance that innocent people will be hurt in the hunt for your supposed greater good. There’s nothing wrong with independence.’

  Even I could see that the Ipsissimus was growing desperate. ‘We’re all on the same team.’

  ‘Good,’ Winter declared. ‘So let’s work together and find Blackbeard. We’ll get justice for the Dorset coven and we can do it by working together. I just won’t have that piece of paper stating I’m in the Order.’

  The Ipsissimus splayed out his hands in defeat. ‘Do I have any choice?’

  Winter shrugged his wide shoulders. ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Then that will have to do.’ The Ipsissimus gave us both a benevolent smile. But even I could hear the unsaid ‘for now’, which was tagged on the end of that sentence.

  Chapter Ten

  Clare Rees lived – or had lived – in a nondescript little terraced house in the picturesque town of Weymouth in Dorset. We found it with no trouble and, even more helpfully, just as we reached the door Clare herself reappeared, gazing morosely at the pavement. ‘They don’t care,’ she said.

  I looked at her askance. ‘Who?’

  ‘My family,’ she said. ‘My family don’t care that I’ve gone. They’re just getting on with their lives as if nothing’s happened. My mum is still helping out at the Salvation Army, my dad is still going to all his local darts matches with his drinking buddies. They’re laughing and joking. They don’t care. My sister, the person who I was closest to in the whole world, is planning a round-the-world trip for three months. She’s not seen me since May and yet she doesn’t care. No one’s so much as mentioned my name. It’s like I don’t exist. What the hell is going on?’

  By now Winter was getting used to my sudden silences as I listened to my phantom friends. He stopped and waited while I gave Clare a sympathetic look. I could well understand what she was going through. When I die, I expect copious weeping. In fact, not just weeping but renting of clothes and gnashing of teeth. I want my funeral to take place in Westminster Abbey and to include at least two renditions of Tragedy – the Steps
version and the Bee Gees one. While I lounge back in final rest, everyone else can do the hard work. I will demand elaborate outfits with lacy black veils for both the men and the women. Maybe I’ll force my remaining family members to perform a contemporary dance number to express their dismay at my passing. Considering how often I seem to be close to death these days, this is probably something I should sort out. I ought to make a will and make my last wishes clear. Tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. Next week at the absolute latest. It is important to be prepared, after all.

  ‘You could look on the bright side,’ I suggested to Clare. ‘At least they’re getting on with their lives. They’re not wallowing in misery or letting grief ruin what’s left of their days. In fact, they might not even know that you’re dead.’

  She wrinkled her nose as if I were spouting nonsense, probably because I was.

  ‘Yeah, screw that,’ I said. ‘They’re bastards who never deserved you in the first place.’ At least that raised a small smile.

  Winter cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to hope that’s Clare and that she can tell you there’s a spare key hidden somewhere.’

  ‘Under the flowerpot,’ she muttered.

  I pointed down. Winter bent over and retrieved it. Clare watched him with a downturned expression until he put the key in the lock and sudden fear flashed across her face. ‘What is it?’ I demanded. ‘Clare? What’s wrong?’

  Winter froze.

  ‘I live alone. I’ve had other things on my mind and I’d forgotten that I was in a rush before I left for the last time. I think my dirty underwear might be strewn across the floor.’

  I gave her a wise nod. ‘It’s the best place for it,’ I agreed. ‘You just have to be careful to keep it in localised piles otherwise you can trip on a loose bra strap in the middle of the night, go flying and end up in casualty with several contusions and a broken tibia.’ I paused. ‘Or so I’ve heard.’

  ‘I don’t want him to see my smalls!’ Clare half yelled.

  ‘Huh?’ I glanced at Winter. Oh. ‘Don’t worry. We virtually live together now. He’s seen much worse from me.’