Another Bloody Love Story

by Rachel Green

  “I don’t know then,” said Winston.

  “Don’t know what?” asked Jim.

  “What Goofy was,” said Winston.

  “A dog, wasn’t he?” Jim sat down. “Drink up mate, you’ve got two pints in front of you there.”

  “Thanks.” Winston gave a half-hearted smile. “You know, I don’t actually drink any more.”

  “It won’t hurt, it’s only a couple of pints.” Jim punched him on the shoulder. “I’ve seen you put away a dozen of those and not miss a step. You can make an exception for my stag night, surely? This time tomorrow I’ll be your brother.”

  “I suppose,” Winston said. “I’ve tried to keep off the pop since the accident.” He scratched his chest absently. “You’re right though, one won’t hurt, will it?”

  “That’s the spirit.” Jim downed his second and picked up Harold’s untouched refill, placing it in front of himself. He winked. “He won’t know.” He stood up again to signal. “One for the road then.”

  * * * *

  “Its times like this I wish I were still alive.”

  Harold jumped, and missed the urinal, splashing the floor and having to skip backwards. “You’re not allowed in here,” he said. “This is the gents.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so protective about it,” said Pennie. “It’s pretty disgusting. This is the first time I’ve been glad I don’t have a sense of smell any longer.”

  “Don’t you?” Harold frowned. “Then how do you taste things?”

  “I don’t.” Pennie gave him a quizzical look. “I’m a ghost, stupid. I don’t have to eat or drink or…” She looked down, “…poo.”

  “Curious.” Harold did himself up and went to the sink to wash his hands. “What are you doing in here, anyway. You can’t have been curious.” A thought struck him. “Hey!” he said. “How come you’re free to wander about? I thought ghosts were tied to their place of death.”

  “How should I know?” Pennie shrugged. “Perhaps that’s only if you’d found somewhere you wanted to be. I never really did care for that flat. I’d go and haunt Steven if he wasn’t dead already.”

  “I heard about that,” said Harold, checking the soap from all three basins to use the one with fewest hairs attached. “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” Pennie pointed. “Why is the soap hairy?”

  “This is a gent’s,” said Harold. “Soap gets used up quickly in here.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s cheaper than petroleum jelly.”

  “Oh.” Pennie appeared to darken. “Winston sent me in.”

  “Why? Did he want you to compare us?”

  “No, though you have an edge, if you want to know. He wanted me to tell you that Jim isn’t possessed right now. He said, this is the Jim he used to know. The demon’s not inside him.”

  “I could tell that,” Harold said, “by the distinct lack of scintillating conversation and the fact he couldn’t see you. All demons can see the supernatural. It comes with the species.” Harold dried his hands on his trousers and pulled open the door.

  “So what made him leave?”

  “What?”

  “What made the demon leave Jim’s body?”

  Harold shook his head. “I haven’t a clue. I’ll work it out later when it’s not so loud, as I can’t think.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “I thought it was urgent.”

  Julie folded her arms as she waited for her sister to lock up the gallery.

  “It is urgent.”

  Felicia turned the keys and dropped the bunch in her briefcase. “I locked up early, didn’t I?”

  “Early?” Julie spread her hands in exasperation. “It’s half past seven at night. We decided that saving Chase was a priority at lunchtime.”

  “I usually have the gallery open until ten on a Friday,” said Felicia, “so seven-thirty is early. It’s not as if Silver Steve is a killer is it? It didn’t try to hurt Pennie.”

  “It killed her.”

  “Only because she fell down the stairs.”

  “It killed her downstairs neighbours.” Julie walked to the car in front of her, glancing back every time Felicia stopped talking in case the werewolf had paused to sniff a lamp-post or something.

  “We don’t know that.” Felicia fished in her pocket for the keys to her car. The restaurants and pubs in the town were already serving food and the rich blue aroma of cooking meat made her stomach rumble. She forced herself to ignore it, unlocking the car and getting in. Wrack, swinging off Julie’s shoulder, climbed the wall of Harold’s bookshop and disappeared. “We don’t know if Silver Steve had anything to do with their deaths.”

  “You’ll admit the coincidence, though.” Julie climbed into the passenger seat, buckling her seatbelt before she’d even closed the door.

  “I’ll admit that, yes, just not the intent. I mean, look at it from Hunt’s point of view.” She swung herself into the driver’s seat and put the keys in the ignition. “He goes to all the trouble of hiring this demon…”

  “Keritel.”

  “Keritel, yes, to help him create a life-sized homunculus which costs him thousands of pounds in time and effort, and then he sends it to kill a couple of nobodies and one of his ex-employee’s ex-wives. Why? Why bother? It would have been a lot easier to poison them. Hell, hiring an assassin would have been cheaper.”

  “Then why did he go to all that trouble in the first place? Why send Steve to Pennie’s flat at all? Why make him at all?”

  “I don’t know.” Felicia started the car and backed out of the parking space. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. What does a demon want with a homunculus? Wouldn’t an imp be better suited for just about any job?”

  “Not always.” Julie sniffed, looking up at the overcast sky. “They have free will, remember, like all demon-kin. While they are bound to serve their masters, they do it in their own good time. Take Wrack for example. Where’s he gone? We come out of the gallery and he buggers off looking for…who knows what.”

  “If we had the answers, we’d be the Lords of Misrule,” said Felicia. “Ours not to reason why and all that.”

  “I’m not so sure the Lords of Misrule know what’s going on half the time, and I’m damned sure God doesn’t, ineffability notwithstanding.”

  “Don’t let Jasfoup hear you say that.” Felicia put her foot down and the car roared onto High Street. “Where does this bloke hang out, anyway?”

  “Restless Paws.” Julie pulled an A to Z out of the glove compartment. “The animal sanctuary.” She studied the map. “It’s not marked on here. Do you know where it is?”

  “Nope.” Felicia put her foot down. “But I can find it easily enough. I can smell it from here.”

  A few minutes later they were sat outside the gates, looking at padlocks and chains.

  “I’m guessing he’s not here,” said Julie. “I very much doubt he locks himself in with padlocks on the outside.

  “I could hop over the gate and take a look,” said Felicia. “Might as well, since we’re here.”

  “I suppose.” Julie was reluctant. “I’ll stay here shall I?”

  “Sure.” Felicia vaulted out of the car. “If he isn’t here I’ll be straight out again.” She trotted over to the gate.

  Julie shuffled upright, standing on the seat of the open-topped car and resting on the leather upholstered back. “What if he is here? How will I know you’re all right?”

  “I’ll bring him out.” Felicia put a hand around the top chain. “Damn it!”

  “What’s the matter?” Julie was already opening the car door but her sister waved her back. “I broke a nail,” Felicia called. “I hate that. They don’t grow back supernaturally quickly.”

  “Sucks to be a lycanthrope,” said
Julie, sliding back into her seat. She watched Felicia climb over the fence and disappear. To pass the time she took out the town map and a biro and began filling in the sanctuary at the bottom of Heath Lane.

  Fifteen minutes passed before Felicia came back.

  “What took you so long?” Julie asked. “I was starting to get worried.”

  “Did you know there were dozens of frickin’ animals in there?” said Felicia as she climbed back into the car. “No Chase, but literally dozens of animals.”

  “Of course I do. It’s an animal sanctuary. Pennie said they had cows and pigs and goats…”

  “Goat. One goat.” Felicia burped. “Sorry. I was hungry.” She looked at Julie’s astonished face. “What? I put a donation in the slot on the wall.”

  “The animals are there for their protection,” said Julie. “It’s not a self service restaurant.”

  “It did have a funny taste,” said Felicia. “That was the down and out of the animal kingdom.”

  “Where now?” said Julie. “Should we try Pennie’s house again? The police should be long gone, so he might try to get in.”

  “Yes. We’ll try there.” Felicia spun the car, spraying gravel over the gates and sped off. They pulled up outside Pennie’s flat less than ten minutes later. Julie stayed in the car again while Felicia checked. She was back far more quickly this time.

  “There isn’t any sign of movement,” she said, “except for the lone policeman guarding the entrances. He said there’s been no-one but me since he came on shift at four.”

  Julie raised her eyebrows. “You talked to him?”

  “Yes. I said I was from the paper, wanted the low-down on developments for the late edition. No news of Pennie or Steve, but I did find out that the Palmers in the ground floor flat were gassed.”

  “How horrible.”

  “Not really. There are a lot worse ways to die. My point is that it’s possible that their deaths were accidental too. Maybe Silver Steve kicked the gas pipe or something.”

  “Kicked the gas pipe?” Julie looked almost amused. “In a fit of pique perhaps?”

  “How should I know? Why don’t you ask them? You’re the one who talks to dead people.”

  “Only if they’re earthbound or they didn’t believe in an afterlife,” said Julie. “I can’t see Pennie’s neighbours. Besides, she said she’d seen them ride the escalator to Heaven.”

  “Good for them,” said Felicia. “What’s the betting they were shown the Fireman’s Pole of unearthly Delights when they got up there?”

  “Ha!” Felicia laughed. “The only thing to do now would be to go to Chase’s house.”

  “Sure.” Julie shrugged. “I don’t know where that is.”

  “Didn’t you ask Pennie?”

  “As a matter of fact I did, but she didn’t know where he lived either.”

  “Fat lot of good that is then. Have you got his phone number?”

  “No.”

  “So how do we find him?”

  “We could go back to the animal sanctuary, break into the office, find the employee records and get his address from there.”

  Felicia gunned the engine. “You couldn’t have thought of that when we were there before?”

  “It didn’t occur to me, sorry.” Julie shrugged. “Look can we stop at a chippy? You may have eaten but I’m famished.”

  “You’re not eating chips in my car,” said Felicia. “You can have them in a bag and eat them sitting on the bonnet.”

  Another ten minutes and Felicia was climbing the sanctuary gate again. “Ow. Damned chain got me again,” she said, resting on the barbed wire at the top.

  “What this time?” Julie asked through a mouthful of heavily salted chips. “Another nail.”

  “No, a cut.” Felicia watched the wound close up. “It’s okay, it healed.” She dropped down into the compound, returning before Julie had even begun to eat her piece of cod.

  “Got it,” she said, waving a slip of paper at Julie. “It was in with his accounts. Did you know how much debt Chase is in?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” Julie said, re-wrapping her dinner and wiping her hands on a napkin. “How much?”

  “Half a million.” Felicia spun the car again. “Where’s Hunloke Crescent?”

  Julie whistled. “That’s a lot of debt.” She thumbed through the map book. “Turn right at the bank,” she said, “Then second left and first left.”

  “Right.” Felicia hit High Street and increased speed.

  “No, left.”

  Felicia grinned. “Roger.”

  They pulled up outside a large house in a well-to-do area of Laverstone. The sisters got out of the car and stared at the large Edwardian Townhouse.

  “There are lights on,” said Julie, fishing inside the newspaper wrapper for another chip.

  “Give us one.” Wrack appeared on the tree above their heads and dropped to her shoulder. Julie handed him a cold, salted chip.

  “Where have you been?” Julie asked.

  “Stuff to do,” said Wrack, stuffing his mouth full of potato. “Demon stuff.”

  “Time to meet Mister Chase,” said Felicia. “Come on.”

  “I haven’t finished.” Julie hurried to catch up to her sister. “Wait up.”

  Felicia had got as far as the front step, when a chair came flying through the lounge window. Abandoning the cautious approach she kicked the door in, splintering a piece of oak board that hadn’t so much as had a wormhole in almost eighty years. It was easy to navigate to the action―the bright green scent of human fear and the sharp cobalt blue of Silver Steve.

  The room, when she reached it, was already a mess of splinters and broken glass, reminiscent of Pennie’s flat after the break-in. Chase was cowering in a corner while Steve rampaged about, breaking every item that could be broken, but otherwise ignoring the cowering man.

  “Hey, tin man,” said Felicia.

  The homunculus turned its expressionless face toward her and it was, perhaps, the scariest thing about it. There was neither malice nor joy in the destruction. It was performing its duties with no more emotion than if it was mopping a floor. It paused as it assessed Felicia, which gave her time for a high kick to its chest and a second to its head. “Have a heart, would you?” she said.

  It hardly even staggered under the blows. When Felicia kicked it the third time, it caught her foot and twisted it. With a sharp crack the bone snapped and Felicia dropped to the floor, her face white as a sheet.

  “Stop it!” Julie cried from the window.

  “I don’t know how.” Felicia scrambled away from the monster as it came toward her.

  “Who does?” shouted Julie. “And why didn’t we think of this before? You and your ‘it doesn’t want to hurt anybody’.”

  “I didn’t think it did. Ow. Phone Harold.”

  Julie pulled her mobile out of her pocket and dialled Harold. “Harold?” she shouted. “It’s Julie. What? I can’t hear you. “She looked over to see Felicia dive under Steve’s legs, dragging her broken one. She had partially shape-shifted, she hated ripping her clothes. That would annoy her more then the broken limb.

  “Harold? How do I stop a homicidal homunculus?” she shouted. “No, I can’t just tread on it. Nor drop it in salt water.” She paused and listened. “No, it’s carbon core resin.”

  She paused again to throw a length of wood, once part of the window frame, to Felicia.

  The were hefted it and struck. The wood splintered.

  “What? A Sigil? Which one? Kaeylarae? I don’t know it.”

  “I do,” said Wrack. He pulled a nail from the broken window frame and, when the homunculus turned, jumped on its back.

  Silver Steve whirled round and round, trying to dislodge the imp, but line by line Wrack scratch
ed the figure into the skull. At the final line, the creature stopped flailing, turned and, still silent but for the crunch of wood and glass under its feet, stalked off into the night.

  “Thanks Wrack,” said Julie. “I owe you one.”

  “I know.” The imp winked and pointed at the forgotten meal still wrapped in newspaper. “Are you going to eat that?”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Bishop Wolsey stepped off the eight-forty-two from Oxford and looked for the rector. Purvis Mackenzie was nowhere to be seen. Only three other people got off the train: a tall gentleman of African descent clutching a briefcase and an umbrella, and a couple who looked to be dressed for a wedding, the man in a morning suit and the woman in a meringue of pastel yellows.

  They all headed toward the exit. The tall gentleman, a good twenty yards ahead of them, vanished as soon as he passed through the gate, seemingly into thin air.

  When the Bishop emerged, blinking in the sunlight, he found a woman waiting with a sign that said ‘Saint Jude’s’ in large, black felt-tip letters.

  “Your Grace,” she called, waving the sign. “Over here. I’m afraid Reverent Purvis couldn’t make it to welcome you, on account of being busy. ‘Mrs. Lowry,’ he said, ‘You’ll have to go and meet the Bishop off the eight-forty-two.’ Though I have to say I’ve been here for an hour, waiting.”

  “It means that it leaves Oxford at eight-forty-two, not arrives at Laverstone.” The bishop frowned. “Mrs. Lowry?” he said. “Not Betty Lowry, surely?”

  “That’s right, Your Grace. How kind of you to remember. I think we only met for a minute during your last visit.”

  “You’ve recovered fast, I must say. You can’t have been in the hospital more than a night.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Betty, shaking her head and wondering if the bishop had finally lost his reason. She had no clue what he was on about. Something clicked. “You mean my church organ, don’t you?”

  “What a splendid way of putting it,” said the bishop. “What a perfectly lovely way of describing a heart.” He took a deep breath and looked around at the stone cottages surrounding the station. “Ah, Laverstone,” he said. “There’s something in the air of Laverstone. It’s like taking a drug that makes you want more.”