by Helen Harper
‘Ancient. It’s been around for even longer than Grenville has, and that’s saying something.’ I tapped a paragraph towards the bottom. ‘I don’t read Latin. What does this say?’
Iqbal frowned and bit his lip as he translated. I could tell the moment he’d worked it out because he paled dramatically and snapped the folder shut. ‘Maybe you should get Winter to take you on that holiday now, Ivy.’
‘Iq…’ I wagged my finger in warning.
He sighed. ‘Fine. But you’re not going to like it.’ He cleared his throat. ‘If the Angel is removed from the Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment, then the earth shall be rent open, fire shall spew forth, the witches shall be afflicted with disease and magic itself will be forever cursed.’
I absorbed this. ‘So,’ I said slowly, ‘fiery volcanoes and green pustules.’
Iqbal nodded. ‘Effectively.’
‘Maybe it’s talking about a different angel. Maybe there are lots of valuable silver angels hanging around the Order.’
‘Sure. I’m sure there are hundreds. Thousands. There’s no chance that this angel is the same as the one that’s gone missing.’
I ran a hand through my hair and slumped. ‘We’re all doomed, aren’t we?’
He beamed at me. ‘Yep.’
***
Iqbal took me back to the main entrance to show me out. I was just about to take my leave when a familiar figure walked in, shaking out her shiny brown hair. Her face lit up when she caught sight of Iqbal and then her cheeks turned bright red when she noticed me.
‘I—Ivy!’ Eve stammered. ‘What are you doing here?’
The last thing I wanted to do was panic her with tales of the witchy apocalypse. ‘Research,’ I said smoothly. ‘On Christmas traditions.’ Sort of. ‘You?’
She licked her lips. ‘I’m doing research as well. On witch–human relations.’
I nodded sagely. ‘Well, have fun. I’ve gotta dash.’
I nipped out of the door, then darted to the side where I couldn’t be seen and pressed against the wall. After waiting for a beat or two, I peered back in, grinning to myself before using up the last vestiges of magic left inside me to cast a quick rune and create the illusion of a sprig of mistletoe. It wasn’t as if the Arcane Historical Society had any other decorations to boast of. Just to be sure that one of my sneaky friends noticed it, I gave it a little magical shake. Iqbal glanced up and, when the smile spread across his face, I knew. A heartbeat later he was locking lips with Eve. He was at least half a foot shorter than her and they were as much opposites as Winter and me. Apart from their mutual hearts of gold.
I allowed myself a tiny inner squeal of happiness. If this was the end of the world as we knew it, at least we’d all die happy.
Chapter Six
Given that initially I’d been trying to stop someone from making life difficult for Winter and that I was now attempting to avert an actual apocalypse, I was feeling remarkably chipper. Maybe it wasn’t just my giddiness at seeing Eve and Iqbal get it on; maybe I was also being infected by the holiday spirit. I might not have worn the Santa suit for long but it could have rubbed some Christmas magic onto me. I wouldn’t put it past Maidmont to have imbued the fabric with some kind of happy-making spell. If that were the case, of course, then it was even more miserable being St Nick than I’d already experienced. The real Santa certainly had a cushy enough life though – I wouldn’t mind only working one day a year. Assuming I wasn’t swallowed by the earth. Perhaps I’d suggest it to Winter later.
With that thought in mind, I made my way back hastily to the Order, avoiding any more interaction with trains or trees at the station. I had good reason now to involve as many witches as possible in locating the Angel. Certainly Abigail and the other Neophytes who’d been dressing the tree knew about the Angel’s disappearance so they were already panicked. I didn’t have to worry about worrying those who were already worried. I turned that over in my head a few times; it made sense to me.
Munching on another biscuit as I walked, I followed the nearest pale-faced witch. Before too long I found myself faced with a large group of them.
‘Ivy!’ Abigail dashed over to me. ‘You’re still here! We’ve been searching and we can’t find the Angel anywhere.’ She pointed behind her. ‘Adam found its box but it’s empty apart from some odd gunk.’
Smoothing my features to make myself appear as brisk and business-like as possible, I glanced over at the box and then at Abigail. ‘Odd gunk?’ Odd gunk was never innocent.
Adam, another Neophyte who looked about the same age as Abigail, pointed. I squinted. There was a small clump of something brown, dried and crusty. It wasn’t much and it wasn’t pretty. I leaned over to get closer and gave it a cautious sniff. There was a faint fishy odour but I couldn’t detect anything else.
‘Perhaps,’ Adam interjected helpfully, ‘the thief left this as a calling card.’
‘A little pile of dried goo?’ I could think of more elegant ways of leaving your mark. ‘Was the box open or closed when you found it?’
He bit his lip. ‘Open.’
‘So this odd gunk might be mouse droppings.’
He shook his head. ‘No. Mouse droppings look more like grains of rice.’
I gave him a long look. ‘First of all, mouse droppings were just an example of how anything could have fallen, or been deposited, into the Angel’s box. Second of all, how do you know so much about mouse poo?’
Adam’s eyes lit up. ‘We’ve been using it in our herblore studies. Apparently if you combine mouse droppings with some dried rosemary and—’
I held up my hands. I really didn’t want to know. ‘Has anyone done a tracing spell?’ I enquired. ‘You know, to see who’s been near the Angel recently and provide a shadow of what’s past?’
The expression on Abigail’s face told me what I didn’t want to hear. ‘Several of us. We even combined our magic to give it a shot. Nothing came up. And of course we have no way of knowing when the Angel was stolen. It might have been the first week of January for all we know.’
It wasn’t likely, given that the curse had not kicked in yet, but it was a nice thought. I gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’m sure it will turn up but let’s put all our efforts into finding it. Where is the Angel normally kept when it’s not on top of a tree?’
‘The Antiquities department.’ Abigail paused. ‘We’ve been over it from top to bottom. The Angel’s definitely not lurking in some corner.’
I considered this. ‘Is anything else missing?’
Abigail’s eyes went wide. ‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. But perhaps the Angel was just the subject of a random theft. If that’s the case, other things might have been stolen too.’
She straightened. ‘We didn’t think to check. I’ll send a group back over there now.’
‘Good.’ I tapped my mouth thoughtfully. ‘Have most witches heard of the curse?’
‘Yes. I mean, I thought everyone knew about it until I spoke to you.’
I snapped my fingers at a couple of witches hovering nearby. ‘Go to HR. Find out which witches have put in complaints over the last year.’
Eager to please, they bobbed their heads with vigorous, youthful enthusiasm. They’d learn. ‘What kind of complaints?’ the shorter witch asked.
‘Anything against the Order or against Ipsissimus Winter. It’s possible we’ll find someone who is holding a grudge and is looking for revenge.’ After all, it was difficult to imagine that a non-witch had snuck in and stolen the Angel; the rest of the world tended to be wary of the Order. ‘There might be some non-Order covens looking to make their mark as well.’ I gestured at some other Neophytes. ‘You lot start investigating the local covens. Have any been seen in the neighbourhood recently?’
They bowed deferentially, making me feel oddly flustered. Abigail stared at me with something akin to awe. ‘You’re so good at this.’
‘Delegation? I’ve had a lot of practice.’
�
��I meant investigating crime.’
Oh. Well, I suppose I was motivated. I directed the other witches to start going door to door around the Order itself. In the unlikely event that the Angel had merely been misplaced or mistakenly appropriated, someone might know where it was.
It wasn’t long before I was the only one left. Abigail departed with the very last group, leaving me all on my lonesome ownsome. I considered everything and realised that there was virtually nothing left to do. Almost every avenue was already being investigated by someone else. Bonus. I could get used to this teamwork thing.
Catching sight of one of the newer Order ghosts floating up ahead, I called out. ‘Hey!’
She turned towards me and frowned; the disastrous effects of a herblore spell gone wrong revealed how she’d died. Meandering in my direction, she raised her only remaining hand as if to ward me off. ‘I’m not next,’ she said, with a definite lisp. ‘There are 32,674 spirits in front of me in the queue.’
Not for the first time I was depressed by the thought of how long it would to take to get all these ghosts to pass over to the next plane. Last month I’d even tried to institute a proforma email to help move things along a bit.
Dear …
You are being haunted by a ghost. He/she has been cursed by you/your ancestors. In a loud, clear voice state the name of said ghost [insert name here] and the words, ‘You are now released from the curse by the power invested in me.’
Kind regards
Unfortunately it was proving more complicated than I’d anticipated. Some emails went to spam folders or to defunct addresses and the rest were disregarded or disbelieved. It was, like most of my life, a work in progress. At the moment, I was debating using Order funds to buy some television airtime. I could simply tell the viewing public to take a couple of hours to run through the names of everyone they’d ever met, along with everyone their ancestors had ever met, and release any potential trapped ghosts. Like I said, work in progress.
Of course, if I died in the witchy apocalypse none of that would ever happen. I grinned to myself. Those spirits needed me. That meant they had to help me locate the dratted Angel.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said to the spirit. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disrupting Grenville’s orderly queue. I understand how important it is that the more ancient ghosts are released from their curses first. I do want to speak to all the Order spirits together though. Can you get them all to meet me?’
She looked at me suspiciously as if I could only be up to no good. Honestly, most of these dead dudes seriously needed an injection of their own holiday joy. Some kind of ghostly version of eggnog, perhaps. ‘Meet you where?’ she enquired.
‘The cafeteria,’ I said cheerfully. I might as well kill two birds with one stone. Without waiting for the grumpy ghost to either agree or disagree, I ambled off. The biscuits had been good but now I needed something more substantial.
Chapter Seven
I’d barely strolled through the main cafeteria doors when one of the chefs came striding towards me. He wasn’t a witch but he had several family members who were. Usually he was very proud of his position at the Order but today his face was so red and rage-filled that I almost turned on my heel and left again. Almost. I was still hungry.
‘Ivy Wilde!’ he roared. ‘I want to see the Ipsissimus and I want to see him now!’ He slammed his foot down on the floor and glared at me, as if I could conjure up Winter out of thin air. Now, there was a thought. Raphael Winter, naked and on a platter and there for my taking whenever I decided I wanted him…
‘I cannot work under these conditions!’
I snapped out of my sudden vivid daydream and fixed my attention back on the chef. ‘Ipsissimus Winter is busy,’ I said. ‘But I can pass along your message.’
‘You could help me yourself!’ he bellowed.
Mmm. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I’d only mess things up if I got involved.’
‘You don’t even know what the problem is.’
‘If you want to keep it to yourself for now, that’s absolutely fine. I understand that some information must be kept privileged from non-Order ears like mine.’
The chef’s eyes flashed. ‘There’s a magical delegation visiting from Tokyo tomorrow. I ordered in an entire salmon for them, the very best that our country has to offer and the sort of fish that sushi lovers would adore.’
Yum. ‘Did you burn it?’ I asked, hazarding a guess as to the problem.
‘Don’t be an imbecile! I can hardly burn something I’m going to serve raw.’
He was a man after my own heart. Why go to the trouble of cooking something when you could simply carve it up and hand it over?
Unfortunately, the chef wasn’t finished. ‘It’s been stolen!’ His hands shook with frustration.
I gazed at him stupidly. ‘Someone nicked a fish?’
‘Not just a bloody fish. A prime salmon from Scotland!’ He put his hands on hips. ‘Now what are you going to do about it?’
A lost salmon was hardly high on my list of priorities. Not right now. ‘If I see it,’ I said carefully, ‘I’ll let you know.’ His mouth opened to reply and I knew I was about to get another earful. I continued quickly before my eardrums were shattered. ‘Now, I have an important meeting here which is about to begin.’
The chef’s eyebrows snapped together. ‘Meeting? Who with? I don’t see anyone…’ His voice trailed off as dawning realization lit his eyes. ‘No. Not the ghosts. Tell me you’re not meeting the ghosts here.’
I offered him a rueful smile but said nothing.
‘They make the milk go sour!’
They didn’t really but it was a superstition I’d invented for just this sort of eventuality. Of course, just because I’d made this particular superstition up didn’t mean that the rest of them weren’t true.
I raised my shoulders helplessly. ‘The end of the world is nigh. I have to meet the ghosts somewhere.’
‘Not here, you don’t.’
‘There’s nowhere else.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want to go away and take your spookies with you?’
My answer was prompt. ‘A bacon sandwich with the crusts cut off and lashings of brown sauce.’
He sighed and gritted his teeth, acknowledging he’d been outmanoeuvred. ‘Done.’
It really was that easy. Then a thought struck me. ‘But if you or anyone else spits in it, I will know. And I’ll be able to use the DNA to conjure up all sorts of nasty things that will—’
He interrupted me. ‘Nothing untoward will happen to your damn sandwich. Just take your ghosts and get out of here. I’ll have the sandwich brought to you.’
I leaned across and gave kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks! You’re the best. And the best bacon-sarnie maker this side of the Channel.’
He muttered under his breath and stalked away. There was just enough of a spring in his step for me to know that he was secretly overjoyed at the compliment.
I wasn’t perfect but I wasn’t wholly evil either.
***
I was in the small park in front of the cafeteria finishing off the last bite when Grenville appeared, flickering into existence right next to me. ‘Everyone’s here,’ he said. He stared at my empty plate for so long that I was certain he was starting to drool. The suggestion of a good bacon sandwich could do that to anyone, even a centuries-old ghost who’d probably never had one in real life.
He looked away and I licked the grease off my fingers. This was one of those occasions when it was wise not to remind Grenville that he was a mere ghost and could neither eat nor drink.
I thanked him and looked around. There were more ghosts here than I’d realised – and at least three unfamiliar faces. I coughed then stood up on a park bench so they could all see me.
‘The Hallowed Order of Magical Enlightenment requires your help,’ I intoned formally. ‘The Angel of the Order is missing. If we do not locate it soon, a terrible curse will be unleashed which will no doubt cause my death.
If I’m dead, then so are you.’ I wrinkled my nose. That hadn’t come out quite as I’d intended. ‘I mean, you’re already dead now but you’ll be dead in the sense that you won’t be able to pass to the next plane. Not until some other poor sap who can talk to ghosts shows up. The only chance for all of us is to find the Angel – and find it soon.’ Realising that I was babbling, I did what I could to regain control of my mouth. I took a deep breath. ‘I command you all to go forth and seek out the Angel of the Order.’
For a long moment there was nothing but silence. Then, towards the back of the crowd of assembled ghosts, a tentative hand went up. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Yes?’ I asked benignly.
‘There are only twelve people in front of me in the queue. Can you just help me get rid of my curse now, so I can pass over before you die?’
‘Hey!’ roared another nearby ghost. ‘That’s not fair! My curse is held by the Littleby family. They work right here. I might be further down the queue than you but mine will be easier to remove.’ He snapped his head towards me. ‘Help me!’
Something or someone shoved him and he went flying. An old woman threw herself up into the air. ‘When I was alive, I worked in a soup kitchen! I rescued a small child from certain drowning! I had eight small children of my own! I deserve to be released first!’
‘If you were so good,’ yelled yet another ghost, ‘then why were you cursed to remain here in the first place?’
A cacophony of voices rose. ‘Release me!’
‘Help me first!’
‘I deserve this!’
I glanced at Grenville helplessly. This was the last thing I’d intended to happen. I had enough things to worry about; rioting ghosts were not going to help matters.
‘I could have told you this was a bad idea,’ Grenville said. He looked as if he were enjoying himself. ‘The absolute worst thing you can do is give someone hope and then snatch it away from them at the last minute.’
‘I’m not snatching away hope! I’m just saying that without their help, things might get a bit hairy and there will be…’