Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place (Ghosts of London Book 1)

by Saint,Nic

  “We’re going after the book, Darian,” Harry informed him.

  He frowned. “You’re clearing the building ASAP, and that’s an order.”

  She’d folded her arms across her chest and was staring at him, visibly dismayed. “I suggest that you get with the program ASAP, Inspector Watley,” she said. “Peverell has just told us how to defeat Clavicule Necroire, and we’re going to do exactly what he says.”

  “Your imaginary friend might be whispering all kinds of crazy stuff in your ear but now’s not the time to play make-believe, honey,” he grunted. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Oh, no!” she cried. “You’re not going to lock me up in your car again.”

  “Or arrest me for simply being present,” Jarrett put in.

  It was obvious this was a classic standoff, and he decided to work with these two stubborn mules instead of butting heads with them. “All right. But you’re going to stay behind me, all right? And if there’s any sign of danger—“

  “We’re going to face it head on,” Harry completed the sentence and started to walk away from him, Jarrett right on her heels.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “I told you to stay behind me!”

  But even before he could complete the sentence, he was suddenly spun around, and directed the other way.

  “Hey! What’s going on?!” he cried to no one in particular.

  “I’m sorry, Darian!” Harry shouted.” But Peverell feels you’ll create a great distraction!”

  “I’ll create a great what?!” he yelled back, but she was gone. It was so weird. There was no one around, and still he felt being pushed. He could feel fingers digging into his arm and the definite shove in his back even as he dug in his heels. This was getting too much. Weird priests, screaming bums, people locking him up… “Stop that!” he thundered, fighting invisible hands. But whoever was responsible didn’t relent until he was standing in front of an open door. And what he saw was enough to curdle the blood in his veins.

  The Elder of the Absinthian Church stood in front of Clavicule Necroire, but it wasn’t Clavicule Necroire anymore. It had grown into a giant maw, sharp teeth slicing around a huge black hole. Two priests were holding the vagrant he’d bumped into and were pushing him toward the book’s snapping teeth!

  “Hey!” he cried. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

  The Elder looked up, as did the half-dozen priests present in the small chapel, and the bum seized the moment to drop to the floor and scramble to safety.

  “Christ,” muttered Darian. If only he had his gun right now. Though he didn’t know whether it would be of much use against this monstrous book.

  “Well, well, well. Inspector Watley,” said the Elder, clasping his hands in front of him. “So nice of you to join us.” He gestured at the book. “And so nice of you to return our most prized possession. Clavicule Necroire.”

  “What is that thing?” he asked, watching the snapping jaws in horror.

  The Elder smiled. “Clavicule Necroire is a force of nature, and as long as you feed it regularly, it will grant its benefactors a long and healthy life.”

  “You… perform human sacrifice?!” he asked, horrified.

  “I wouldn’t call it that,” said the Elder. “Life is all about balance, Inspector, with the undeserving at one end of the equation and the deserving at the other. We take a few undeserving, like this derelict here, and Necroire allows us to give life to the deserving, like Pearl Zephyr.” He spread his arms. “A perfect metaphor for life itself, don’t you think? Karma in action.”

  “You can’t just murder people,” Darian said. “That’s just horrible!”

  “Not so horrible if you consider the kind of people we remove from circulation.”

  “But they’re human beings!”

  “They’re the scum of the earth, Inspector. They crawl the streets, annoying decent, upstanding citizens with their panhandling and mugging and drugs and acts of degeneration. We’re merely doing you a service by cleaning up your streets. Free of charge!” he said with a mild chuckle.

  “I can’t let you do this,” he said, a note of iron slipping into his voice.

  “You don’t have a choice, Inspector.”

  “Oh, yes I have.” He put a hand on the man’s arm. “I’m placing you under arrest.”

  “Oh, please, Inspector,” said the Elder, shaking off Darian’s hand. “I’m really not in the mood for games.”

  “I’m not playing games. You and your cronies, you’re all under arrest, and I’m confiscating that book of yours.”

  He took a step toward the book, but it growled fiercely, snapping its teeth. He took a step back. “Can’t you get it to shut its… pages?” he asked.

  “Yes, I can, but I don’t think I will.” The Elder smiled lovingly at the book. “You see, Clavicule Necroire has its mind set on its next target already.”

  “It has, has it? Well, you can tell it to unset it. Read my lips: no more!”

  “I very much doubt that. You see, you’re its next target, Inspector.”

  Darian stared at the man. This was a contingency he hadn’t considered. The two priests, who’d apparently grown quite fond of him, took hold of his arms again, and now started wrestling him toward the book.

  “Stop that!” he cried, fighting the two men.

  And as he was pushed closer to Clavicule Necroire, its teeth dripping with saliva, he thought he could see the book’s maw shaping into a smile, pages fluttering eagerly. The damn thing was looking forward to its next meal!

  But just before he was going to be turned into book food, there was a loud cry behind him, and suddenly he saw that Jingoist was standing in the doorway, his eyes a little wild, his hair electric, his goatee quivering anxiously. He was behind the Elder, who was watching Darian’s final moments with glee. Then, just when the Elder became aware of his colleague creeping up behind him, Jingoist gave the Elder a mighty push, and cried out, “That’s for a hundred and fifty years of utter boredom, you monster!”

  And with a terrifying cry, the Elder was being flung into Clavicule Necroire’s teeth, and before Darian’s horrified gaze disappeared into its gullet and was soon swallowed up whole.

  His two attackers promptly let go of Darian’s arms and threw themselves onto the floor, crying loud laments at the sudden demise of their Elder. This was obviously not what they’d bargained for, and nor had Darian. Throwing a man into the teeth of a murderous book wasn’t his idea of justice.

  The book, however, having swallowed up its master, seemed to be going through a remarkable transformation. And as Darian watched, it grew smaller, the snapping and pulsating gorge closing, the snapping teeth diminishing in size, and then it dropped down on the altar in a cloud of smoke. When finally the dust settled, he saw it was a regular book once more.

  “Phew,” he said, blowing out a long, steadying breath. “That was one hell of a trip.” Then he glanced over at Jingoist, and said with satisfaction, “You’re under arrest for the murder of… whoever the other guy was.”

  The man nodded, still staring at the book. He didn’t seem to mind.

  Just then, Harry and Jarrett came storming in. “And? Did it work?”

  “Did what work?” Darian asked, surveying the duo curiously.

  Harry pointed at Jingoist. “Did he end the Elder’s reign of terror?”

  Darian frowned. “So this was your idea, was it?”

  “Not my idea, Darian. I told you. It was Peverell’s.”

  Darian rolled his eyes. Not again with the ghost stuff. He placed both hands on Harry’s shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes. “Harry, I know you’re a very humble person, and I like that about you. But this was your idea, not Peverell’s, or Buckley’s, or Jarrett’s. Your idea. You told Jingoist to feed the Elder to the monster book, and you saved my life in the process. You and you alone. Take a little credit once in a while, will you?”

  She looked up a
t him a little dazedly. “Well, if you put it that way.”

  “I am putting it that way,” he said with a smile. “You did good, Harry.”

  Jarrett cleared his throat rather noisily, and he gave him a cursory glance.

  “You did all right too, Zephyr.”

  “I thought you’d never say!”

  “So now what?” Darian asked.

  “Now the book won’t ever bother anyone ever again,” Harry explained. “Peverell said—I mean I figured out that the book and the person in charge of it were in a symbiotic relationship. Without the priest, the book couldn’t function properly. In a sense, the book and the person using it became one, and the only way to break its spell was to let it feed upon itself, or, in this case, upon the Elder.”

  “How did you get Jingoist to do it?” Darian wanted to know.

  “We, erm, we tricked him,” Harry whispered, darting an eye at the priest. “We told him that the Elder was going to sacrifice him to the book and that if he wanted to survive he needed to turn the tables on him. And so he did.”

  Jarrett stared nervously at the book. “Are you sure that thing’s safe?”

  “Lakesha certainly seems to think so,” Harry said with a shrug. Then, after a quick look at Darian, “I mean, I’m sure it’s safe now. Though I’d still advise you to keep it under lock and key, Darian. Just in case.”

  He picked the tome from the table and flipped it over in his hand. “I think this will look rather nice in my library. I’ll be sure to give it a place of honor.”

  “Darian,” Harry warned.

  “Just kidding, Harry. This book is going straight to the shredder.”

  Harry’s and Jarrett’s cries of dismay were drowned out only by those of the priests still stretched out on the floor, and Jingoist.

  “All right, all right!” he boomed over their loud complaints. “I’ll keep it in storage at the Yard, all right!”

  “Put it in that big vault where you keep all your other secret artifacts,” Jarrett muttered, earning himself a curious look from Darian.

  “I think our finest universities should have it,” Harry said. “So its secrets can be studied by scholars of every discipline. There’s much to learn here.”

  “And I think it should go to my mother,” Jarrett opined.

  Harry patted his back. “We’ll find another way to heal your mother.”

  “Yes, a way that doesn’t involve flesh-eating books,” Darian told him sternly.

  “Or killer priests,” Harry added with a keen look at Jingoist.

  Darian got the message, and he resumed his task of formally placing the priest under arrest. Even though nobody would believe him if he told them about the book, he’d seen the man murder the Elder in cold blood, and the word of a policeman counted for something—or at least enough to put Jingoist away for a while. He might not be sentenced for the murders of Buckley and Lakesha Fenton, but he’d receive his punishment regardless.

  Epilogue

  Strange things had been happening of late, and Harry still wasn’t sure how to make heads or tails of them. First this whole Wraith Wranglers thing had landed in her lap, courtesy of Alice, and she now saw that she might be able to give it a place in her life after all. Helping ghosts find eternal peace was something that felt so right she simply knew she had to be a part of it.

  Lakesha, after helping them end the terror reign of the Absinthian Church, had gone on to greener pastures, as had anyone else who’d been caught in the book’s evil ways. And even though now she was back at her old flat, and induced to find a job once again, she still felt as if something monumental had changed since Sir Buckley had died. It seemed as if months had passed since his death, she thought as she stared out the window at the unrelenting rain driving against the window, but it was only a few days.

  Jarrett had dropped by once or twice, and had vowed they’d form a team from now on, but she knew that the man’s attention span was more or less that of a gnat, so she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He’d returned to his suite at the Ritz-Carlton, after giving his father the sad news that Clavicule Necroire wouldn’t be able to save his mother after all. Her healing would have to be accomplished through more traditional means instead. Luckily there had been some progress on that front, as Peverell Wardop had given Jarrett the coordinates of a very good specialist.

  It was worth a shot. Peverell credited the doctor with extending his own life long past its due date, which had been quite a miracle at the time. He’d lived with his disease for many years, searching for his successor, until finally he’d found Brian, and had been able to stop his struggle to cling to this shore.

  Chief Whitehouse and Darian had agreed to end their intercontinental partnership now that the Clavicule Necroire case was finally closed, and Jingoist and an entire contingent of the Absinthian Church’s priests were in prison, awaiting extradition to China, where they would face rather harsh sentencing. The Chinese justice system, unlike the British, didn’t seem bound by such trivial matters as the non-existence of flesh-eating books. Whether they believed in the powers of Clavicule Necroire or not seemed irrelevant. Jingoist and the others would be sentenced and imprisoned for a very long time, possibly even for eternity, which was all right by Harry.

  Meanwhile Darian was keeping a close eye on the rejuvenated Master Edwards, but so far he hadn’t put a foot wrong. Perhaps he’d decided to use this new lease on life to live that life in a more lawful way for a change.

  And then there was Sir Buckley himself, of course. She turned to face the old ghost. “So what are you telling me? That you want to make me the beneficiary of your will? You can’t do that, Buckley. We’re not even related.”

  Buckley smiled. “I don’t have any relatives, Harry, which is why I never drew up a will in the first place, figuring my possessions might as well be scattered to the four winds, or, more prosaically put, go to Mother England. But now I have you.”

  “But I was just your employee,” she pointed out.

  “And the best one I ever had. And a dear, dear friend as well, I might add.” He shifted slightly, seated in his usual place beneath the picture of Grand Central Station. “I’ve been spending a little time at my solicitor’s, unbeknownst to him, of course, carefully drawing up an actual will, and you will find that I’ve left you a few items of choice, Harry.” He quickly held up his hand when she started to protest. “Now, before you speak, I want you to know that this is my decision to take. I am of sound mind and body—well, more or less, anyway—and this is my final wish.”

  She sighed, deeply touched. “Oh, Buckley. You shouldn’t have.”

  “Yes, I should,” he insisted stubbornly. “In fact I should have done it a lot sooner. Of course, you never know when you’re going to expire. If only I’d known…” His voice trailed off, and she watched as he grew a little dimmer.

  “You’re not going already, are you?” she asked, alarmed.

  He stared at his arm as it became more translucent. “Oh, my. I do believe I am, my dear.”

  “Oh, Buckley. I’m going to miss you terribly,” she said, and as the old ghost stood, she gave him a final hug.

  “Be well, Harry,” he whispered, “and give that nice Inspector Watley a second chance, will you? He is a good man, you know.”

  She was going to insist that she wasn’t the least bit interested in the Inspector Watleys of this world, but when she pulled back to tell him, she found that Buckley was gone. Her old employer had finally moved on to that great big realm in the sky, and as she dropped her arms, tears filled her eyes.

  Just then, her phone chimed, and she picked up, sniffling distraughtly. “Yes, this is she,” she replied when the man asked if she was Henrietta McCabre. She listened for a few minutes, then plunked down on the couch, her legs unable to carry her. And when she hung up, she simply sat there for the space of a few minutes, her mind a whirlpool of thoughts. And then she really burst into tears. “Oh, Buckley,” she whispered.

  The doorb
ell rang, and she staggered over, wiping the tears from her eyes. When the door opened, and she saw it was Darian, she collapsed against him.

  “Harry!” he cried, shocked and appalled. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Buckley,” she muttered against his chest even as he wrapped his arms around her. “He left me…”

  “Buckley left you?” he asked softly, stroking her hair. “Honey, Buckley left a little while ago. But I’m sure that wherever he is, he’s in a better place.”

  “No, I mean he left me everything. I just talked to his solicitor. Buckley left me his house, his store, all its contents and one million pounds in cash.”

  She looked up when he pulled back and found him gazing down at her, his lips quirked into a half-smile. “So you’re an antiquarian now, huh?”

  She nodded, also smiling now, in spite of her tears. Give Darian another chance, Buckley had said. And perhaps she would. And when finally they kissed, she knew that her life would never be quite the same again…

  Excerpt from One Spoonful of Trouble

  Chapter One

  “A storm is brewing off the East Coast. It is predicted to hit land within the next forty-eight hours…”

  Felicity was barely paying attention to the news broadcast, her mind occupied with other, more important matters such as the right consistency of Bundt cake batter, when the next topic came on.

  “And in other news, the snow monkey that was caught roaming Central Park late last night is now safely back where it belongs: in the Central Park Zoo. The Japanese macaque, affectionately called Zebra by its keepers because of its distinctive stripes, managed to escape the confines of the so-called Temperate Zone and was found crashing a wedding party at The Loeb Boathouse. Unlike Zebra, who devoured the entire wedding cake, the newlyweds were not amused. Representatives of the Central Park Zoo promised this would never happen again.”

  She chuckled quietly as she returned her attention to the menus she was writing for next week. Even though she’d lived all her life in New York, or rather on Long Island, she could safely say she’d never heard of a monkey feasting on wedding cake in Central Park.