by Lucy Banks
“I ordered the full breakfast for you, Mike; for Kester, just some baked beans on toast.”
“Why?” Kester squeaked, feeling put out.
“Because you told me you were on the diet, yes? I do not want to stop you losing this belly of yours.”
Kester sighed. It was probably too late now to change the order. Baked beans it is then, he thought. Great. The day’s already off to a flying start.
“Can we start making plans, then?” Serena poured herself another glass of water and wiped her eyes. She’d clearly slept in her make-up, if the dark rings around her eyes were anything to go by.
“Yes,” Miss Wellbeloved said, resting her elbows on the table. “Julio and I have already discussed it. We’re going to head out to the countryside, then Kester’s going to do his thing.”
“And that’s it?” Serena trilled, nearly spilling her drink. She gestured at Kester with all the horror of a schoolgirl pointing out a particularly hairy spider. “Are you serious?”
“What else did you have in mind?” Ribero asked, eyes narrowing.
She pondered. “I don’t know. But something a bit more solid than that, ideally. What happens if he can’t see the spirit door? Which is, let’s face it, highly likely?”
Miss Wellbeloved grimaced. “That would be a bit of a problem, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t fancy your chances of getting it back into Lara’s extinguisher box once you’ve let it out,” Mike added, fixing his eyes on the door that led to the kitchen.
“Luke,” Pamela corrected automatically. “Come on, Mike. If I can remember his new name, I’m sure you can. I’m twenty years older than you and far more forgetful.”
“Yeah, you didn’t spend all day yesterday driving, though,” he muttered. “Where is our breakfast? I’m starving.”
Everyone ignored him. “Kester?” Miss Wellbeloved continued. “Do you think you’ll be able to do it?”
The table fell silent.
Kester swallowed. His throat felt suddenly uncomfortably dry. “I’ve been asking myself that question since yesterday,” he said. “The truth is, I haven’t been able to see it again since that time in Coleton Crescent with the Bloody Mary spirit. I don’t know why, but that’s the truth.”
“Which spells disaster for the rest of us,” Serena added. “Nice one, Kester. Once again, you’ve landed us in a right mess.”
“It isn’t a mess yet,” Miss Wellbeloved snapped. “We’ll give it a go. After all, what choice do we have?”
“We could have just driven down to Infinite Enterprises and given them the spirit to dispose of,” Mike suggested, patting his stomach reflectively.
“Let’s not start this again. We made a promise to the spirit, so we’re duty-bound to honour it.”
“And what happens if it escapes and goes charging over the Scottish hillsides on a murderous rampage?” Serena asked.
“She’s got a point,” Pamela said, polishing off her orange juice with a slurp.
“We have to try,” Miss Wellbeloved said. “Lying to the spirit could cause a lot more problems. Remember, the fetch could return to our world again. If the fetch had felt angry that we’d tricked him, he might come back and take revenge.”
“Or he might not,” Ribero added.
Miss Wellbeloved flashed him a look that made him wilt in his seat. Thankfully, the food arrived, providing a welcome distraction.
After they’d had breakfast and freshened up, they met outside in the car park. Kester tucked his phone away, perturbed that he’d still heard nothing from Anya. I hope she’s not annoyed, he thought as he clambered into the back seat of the van. Maybe she’s got sick of all the secrecy and has given up on me. He vaguely remembered her mentioning something about going to her book club; maybe she’d gone last night, had a late one, then left her phone at home by accident when she went to work. Yes, he thought, satisfied. That sounds entirely plausible. She’ll reply when she gets back this evening.
“Right, everyone,” Miss Wellbeloved said as she fastened her seatbelt. “Are we all ready?”
“Ready for certain doom, yes,” Serena moaned. She stared out the window, glowering as though the landscape itself was offending her.
“Ready to fall asleep again,” Mike added, yawning. “I’m sick of the sight of this steering wheel, I can tell you.”
They sped out of the village, past granite cottage after granite cottage, out into the lush green countryside. Although it was cold, a strong winter sun shone, casting a deceptively warm glow over the ploughed fields and bushy fir trees. They rolled past racing streams and heather-carpeted glens until they were out in the middle of nowhere, bouncing along a narrow farm track.
“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” Mike asked as he fought to avoid the deep ditch beside them.
“Kind of,” Miss Wellbeloved said with a nervous nibble of her lip. “As long as we get the general area right, I think it should be fine. It’s not an exact science.”
“Why is it so attached to here, anyway?” Kester asked.
Miss Wellbeloved turned around. “It’s how most spirits operate,” she explained. “No one’s quite sure why. When they visit our world, they invariably link with a particular place, and it upsets them very much if they’re displaced.”
“Yeah, don’t you remember the little Japanese spirit? Out in the woods?” Mike reminded him.
Kester nodded. He could remember it well. It had been his first job with the team, and he’d been utterly terrified. He recollected being told that the Japanese spirit had got lost in England, which was why it was causing such problems for the unfortunate MP it had chosen to set up home with.
“So the fetch will be pleased to be back home, then?” he said a little too hopefully. Maybe it’ll be so pleased, it will forget all about the promise I made to get him back to the spirit world, he thought, without much conviction.
Miss Wellbeloved blew out her cheeks and sighed. “Let’s hope so.” She pointed at a grass verge. “Why don’t you park here, Mike? I saw a footpath back there; I think that should lead us into the fields. It’ll be nice and quiet there, and we won’t be disturbed.”
“Please don’t tell me I’ve got to do yet another hike in the mud with high-heels on,” Serena moaned as she staggered out the van. “My feet can’t take much more. Even my blisters have blisters.”
“Perhaps you should invest in some sensible shoes then,” Miss Wellbeloved tutted. She surveyed the road, then pointed. “There we go, there’s the footpath. You can just see the sign from here.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my shoes,” Serena muttered, following them. “They’re just not designed for crazy marches across the countryside.”
“For what it’s worth,” Mike said over his shoulder, “I think you should carry on wearing them.”
Serena raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, without them, you’d only be about four foot ten, wouldn’t you? You’re child-sized.” He yelped as Serena kicked him firmly up the backside, like a horse being whipped on a racecourse.
They waded through the thick mud until they reached the path, which, to everyone’s dismay, was even muddier than the road. It winded for an indeterminable length into the distance with no signs of ending. Dense brambles knotted and twined at either side.
“Obviously been raining here,” Pamela commented as she weaved a path around the puddles.
“That is all it does in this country, yes?” Ribero added as he slid into a particularly gloopy pile of mud. He cursed in Spanish, then gestured at the ground as though berating it personally. “Rain, rain, and more rain!” he concluded with a flourish to the sky. “How I miss Argentina.”
“Shall we just get on with this and stop whining about it?” Miss Wellbeloved plucked a bramble from her cardigan. “Then we can return home and forget all about this.”
>
They trudged along, single file, until finally they emerged into an open field. The area was completely deserted, save for a silhouette rooted behind a stone wall in the distance—a solid mass of dark, unmoving flesh, hulking on four solid legs. Kester pointed. “Is that a bull?”
Ribero squinted. “No, that is a cow. I am sure of it.”
“Are you? It’s got big horns.”
“Er . . . yes. Yes, I think it is a cow. They don’t have bulls in Scotland, do they?”
Kester coughed. “Yes. They definitely do have bulls, Dad. And that gate’s not closed either, so there’s nothing to stop it coming into this field.”
“Let’s just ignore it for now,” Miss Wellbeloved suggested and fished Luke’s spirit extinguishing device from her bag. “It’s miles away, anyway. We need to get on with this.”
Mike surveyed the animal with narrowed eyes. “What, ignore it until it starts stampeding us, you mean?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
Kester studied the beast. Especially the horns. They were pretty huge. Oh boy, he thought, looking to the sky. It’s never easy, is it? “Are you sure this is a good place to do it?” he asked.
“Hey, I’m not wading through any more mud,” Serena snapped.
Kester sighed. Well, it’s now or never. He bit his lip. Please let this go well, he thought without any real hope. Let’s face it, he thought, this is going to be a complete unmitigated disaster.
“Go on then,” he muttered. “Let’s get it over with.”
“The voice of optimism has spoken,” Mike snorted. He planted his hands on his hips. “Kester, try to sound a bit more positive. You’re not filling us with confidence here.”
“That’s because I’m not filled with confidence myself!” Kester gulped. Perhaps it’ll be fine, he thought, desperately trying to give himself some reassurance, a small glimmer of hope to cling onto. Maybe the spirit door will reveal itself, and it’ll all be okay. A low, ominous rumble echoed in the distance from somewhere across the other end of the field. He prayed it wasn’t the bull.
“Shall we get on with it?” Miss Wellbeloved held up the extinguisher device, finger poised on the button.
“Um, perhaps?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Without any further preamble, Miss Wellbeloved pressed down. For a second or two, nothing happened. Then a thick mist started to ooze into the open, coiling around itself like an awakening snake. Kester briefly toyed with the idea of running away but suspected the others wouldn’t be too impressed. He desperately scanned the landscape, silently begging for the air to start opening up. But, as he’d predicted, nothing happened. The Scottish scenery remained resolutely the same, though the bull looked suspiciously like it had edged a bit closer.
A low hissing began, which slowly got louder as the fetch swelled to greater proportions. It weaved above them, hovering over their heads like the world’s strangest parasol and filling the air with a foetid, sulphurous stink. Miss Wellbeloved nodded urgently at Kester, who pretended not to notice.
I don’t believe it, he thought, his heart racing. I always knew this plan wouldn’t work. But I didn’t actually really think it wouldn’t work! This is a disaster!
“Spirit!” he quavered, scarcely daring to look up. He didn’t want to encounter the raging, fiery eyes again or the mouth that seemed to stretch to horrific proportions at a moment’s notice. The hissing stopped, as though the fetch was listening.
“Spirit,” he repeated again with less confidence. “Uh, we’re experiencing some delays here, but . . .”
“This isn’t a bloody train announcement!” Mike whispered. “Get on with it, mate; otherwise we’re all screwed!”
“If you’ll just bear with me a bit,” Kester continued, squeezing his eyes shut, “we hope to get the spirit door open for you soon. Okay?”
The spirit was silent a moment, before it unleashed a roar. Hot air gusted over Kester’s head, which burned through to his scalp. He resisted the urge to burst into tears. “It’s not happy, is it?” he whispered.
“I should say not,” Mike retorted. “Shall we make a run for it?”
Ribero squinted into the mist. “He is angry, yes,” he began, scratching his head. “But the spirit is also scared. And disappointed.”
“How can you tell?” Kester asked. He lurched back as another scorching burst of air erupted around his ears. “It just seems plain furious to me.”
“I can see spirit intentions, can’t I, stupid boy? You need to reassure him. Get on with it, Kester.”
“Easier said than done!”
“Er, I hate to interrupt this wildly successful event,” Serena said as she poked Kester urgently on the shoulder, “but could you hurry up a bit?”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Kester squeaked. He gestured to the spirit, who was rearing back, ready to spew another gust of boiling air at them all.
“When I say hurry up a bit, I mean hurry up a lot,” Serena continued. She sounded oddly nervous and even more twitchy than usual.
“Can you get off my case? I really don’t need additional aggravation at the moment when—”
Serena grabbed his arm, swivelled him around, then pointed. “You need to hurry up,” she repeated, “because the bull is now charging at us.”
Kester looked up. Sure enough, the bull was galloping across the field, head down, horns locked firmly in their direction. He swore and felt his stomach turn.
“Oh bugger,” he said, heart sinking. He wasn’t sure what was worse: being murdered by a furious spirit or being gored to death by a charging bull.
“Yes, that’s a fair summary of the situation,” Pamela agreed faintly. “I suppose he must have noticed the spirit and come over to see what’s going on.”
“Right, dunno about the rest of you, but I’m off to the nearest tree to get out of its way,” Mike announced. In a series of surprisingly nimble leaps, he bounded off into the distance. Serena followed him, running as quickly as her towering heels allowed her, with Pamela wobbling close behind.
“Thanks very much, guys!” Kester shouted. Above his head, the spirit wheeled with a yowl and pressed down into his face. He hissed a series of words that Kester didn’t understand—ancient, guttural words that chilled him to the core.
“I’m trying to help you!” he bellowed above the noise; he didn’t know whether to focus his attention on the angry spirit or the crazily stampeding animal, which was now almost halfway across the field. “Don’t you see? But now we’ve got a bloody great bull about to attack us!”
“Kester, we need to get away!” Miss Wellbeloved shouted, tugging his arm. “That bull is getting horribly close!”
“Yes, it is definitely a bull,” Ribero announced with a ponderous stroke of his chin. “I can see I made a mistake earlier. That is a shame. A cow would have been much easier to deal with.”
“You two go,” Kester shouted as the spirit took another swoop above his head, raining down red-hot sparks. “I’ve got to keep trying!” He scanned the landscape again, praying for even the tiniest hint that the spirit door might be opening.
“No, my boy! You come away now!” His father surveyed the approaching bull, shaking his head. “That is a big animal, and you are a small, plump boy. It would make a mess of you. Come on!”
“Yes, hurry up!” Miss Wellbeloved grabbed Ribero’s arms and started pulling him towards the hedgerow. He yanked himself free, shaking his head.
Kester closed his eyes. The situation was hopeless. He’d failed, yet again. I’m such a let-down, he thought. He felt bitter rage at himself and his own incompetence.
Suddenly, an image of his mother filled his mind. Smiling, waving him gently on. He had no idea why he should think of her now, in this moment of utter madness, but he was grateful nonetheless. The thought of her settled him,
made him calmer in spite of everything. I wish you were here, he thought, remembering her endless encouragement, her unshakeable belief in him. He looked upwards, and took a deep breath.
Mother, what would you do? How can I make this right? It was a desperate situation, and he simply didn’t have any ideas left. He imagined her again, as clear as a photograph: smiling, firm-backed, and strong-chinned—not as she was after the cancer took hold. I can imagine how good you were at this job, he thought and remembered her resolve, her quiet determination. You wouldn’t have messed up like this.
“Kester, if you are going to do it, do it now.”
He glanced over to see his father waiting—gazing at him with steadfast faith. He’s still here, he realised and felt suddenly much more clear-headed. He could have run away, but he stayed. Him and Miss Wellbeloved, they’re both here, despite being scared.
Suddenly, it happened. The air rippled, and, without warning, it fractured like a balloon bursting in slow motion. Kester watched with fascinated detachment as a rip formed, then splintered down through the air like a tongue of lightning.
“There it is,” he whispered. The spirit stopped hissing and froze.
“Kester, you’ve done it,” his father said, gawping, the bull momentarily forgotten.
Kester felt his focus weaken and deliberately concentrated on his mother, holding onto the feeling he’d had earlier when he’d remembered her strength. The rip remained, widening until it had formed a shimmering, quivering door.
“Go on,” he said. The spirit wavered, hovering before the entrance. “Go on!” Kester shouted again with greater urgency. “Now is your chance! I’m not sure how long I can hold it open for!”
The spirit paused before floating through. Kester couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the spirit raise a hand in farewell as it passed. He sighed as the fetch disappeared, then slumped down to his knees, exhausted. I did it! he realised, pride rising within him. I managed to do something right for once!
“Ah, I know you are tired, my boy,” Ribero muttered with a rough tug on his arm, “but this is not the time to be having a rest, right?”