‘I think we should consider it.’ He stared at his pen for a while. ‘Anton, if involving the police would ensure your safety, I’d do it in a flash.’
‘You never promised me that ghost hunting would be danger-free.’
‘But this is different. The Rogues…this is a bad time. I only wish I could…’
He trailed off, but I knew what he was going to say: ‘I only wish I could do the job and spare you, Anton.’
‘I can’t do it all,’ I said. ‘I need your help.’
One corner of his mouth twisted up. ‘So the old man can do his part, eh? The helpful assistant? The minion?’
‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘I know you didn’t. I’m sorry, Anton. This is all very trying.’ He stood. ‘Let me transcribe these notes. If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.’
‘When’s Bec coming in?’
‘She’s not. She has a full day at the university. Don’t worry – I’ll send her an electronic mail message with a copy of this report.’
‘Email, Dad. Email.’
‘I was going to send her a text message, but she laughed after I sent her the last one.’
‘You sent a text message? Hallelujah!’ I’d been trying to get Dad to send texts for years.
‘I couldn’t work the keyboard – too tiny – so I wrote out what I wanted to tell her, then photographed it and sent it to her.’
I kept a straight face. ‘And she laughed at you? Bizarre.’
I was a bit disappointed Bec wasn’t around. Her levelheadedness could be useful. I wanted to see her reaction to the Holmes-like conclusions I’d drawn from the visit to the roadside tribute.
Instead, I inventoried my little fingers to the bone, scanned and snuck in some more internet research.
When it was time for me to go, I’d nailed down ‘Religions, Animist’ and ‘Inorganic Cooking’, and a stack of old newspaper clippings now had a new life as digital files.
That night, Rani and I checked out a bunch of the tip-offs from Dad’s informants. Along the way, I kept my city guide hat on.
We went to the Victoria Market, which is like Ghost Central for Melbourne. I’d cornered four ghosts there in my short time, and Dad’s archives have dozens of records of encounters. I thought I felt the trace of a Whisperer, but after spending half an hour poking around the rubbish skips, Rani said she didn’t feel anything so I logged the GPS coordinates and we moved on.
I took her down Chapel Street, just to hear her try to pronounce Prahran. It was a crack-up. She did better than the car’s GPS, but that’s not saying much.
Must say, it was great having someone with their own car as part of the team. Made things so much easier.
Later, we had an awkward time down in Williamstown around what used to be the Naval Dockyard. The security guys must have been trying to impress. No slacking off, no dozing, nothing like that, so Rani and I had to use extreme caution in our sneaking around. The tip proved to be another dud, though. Military bases, or ex-military bases, are often good ghost attractors or ghost-spawning areas, especially if they have a bit of history about them, but even though we roamed right over that site from waterline to run-off tanks to office buildings to slipways: zilch.
None of this was wasted, though. Rani and I swapped city facts. I filled her in with all sorts of stuff about Melbourne and its history, while she did the same for me with London. I actually impressed myself and I realised that I’d absorbed more than I thought I had from Dad’s encyclopedic knowledge of the past.
Rani had plenty of London factoids at her fingertips. I had no idea that actual rivers run under some of London’s busiest streets, f’rinstance. Rani had been a part of a team hunting ghosts along the Fleet River, right under Fleet Street, central London. Very cool, in a slightly steampunk way.
‘So there are tunnels all over the place in London?’ I asked her as we headed back out of Williamstown.
‘So, so many. Some go back to Roman times, some were put in during the Second World War, some are more modern than that. Ghosts love them.’
‘Why, do you reckon?’
‘Perhaps those who die underground die in circumstances that spawn more ghosts than usual.’ She hit the wipers to get rid of a film of drizzle. ‘You’re relaxed tonight, Anton.’
‘I am?’
‘You’re not trying so hard.’
I thought about that for a while. ‘Trying is good. It means that you want to do something properly.’
‘Perhaps the problem is over-trying. Talking too much, not listening enough…’
I winced. ‘That sounds like someone I know, someone who’s bordering on clueless and who’s lucky not to trip over his own feet.’
‘Someone who is starting to realise that there are other ways?’
‘Maybe. Oh, he’ll probably flub it plenty more times, but later, at least, he’ll understand what he did and kick himself over it.’
‘Small steps, then.’ Rani tapped the GPS. ‘Where next?’
‘Sunshine Plaza, and step on it.’
‘No time to explain?’
‘What?’
‘Haven’t you ever wondered about how often that happens in the movies? Someone jumps into a car and says, “Quick, go here! No time to explain!” It happens all the time.’
‘You’re right. Why is there no time to explain? They’re in a car, probably stuck in traffic. There’s plenty of time to explain.’
‘The world of movies has rules of its own,’ she said, and she downshifted to make the lights ahead.
We found a Moper at the plaza, near Aldi. Before we went in, Rani pointed out the comings and goings of the delivery trucks, and the way goods were shifted into the stock area. With some prompting from her, I was able to plan our movements to maximise local cover from rubbish skips and light posts, and I even nominated a couple of alternative routes of retreat, to be used if necessary. She came up with a twist, though, that showed her experience in these matters – she went in and asked for directions. While she kept the unloaders busy, I homed in on the ghost and did one of the quickest dispatchings I’d ever dispatched, barely taking in the ghost’s impressions of machine oil and a pair of canaries before it went.
Mopers are some of the least troublesome ghosts. Like their name says, they mope around, unable to tear themselves away from a location that’s important to them. From the looks of this guy, he went back to the 1930s. He wore overalls, boots and a shapeless hat, and was distressed beyond all get-out. Not crying, just resolutely, profoundly upset. I think he must have died back before the plaza was built, when it was a huge industrial area. Why he was manifesting now? I had no idea. Maybe he’d been here all along.
We scampered out, almost laughing. I nearly tripped on the kerbing around a garden bed, and if Rani hadn’t caught me by the arm I would have gone sprawling.
Good times.
Later, after a couple of other washouts, we were parked overlooking Blackburn Lake, eating Bruno’s Burgers and thickshakes. Bruno’s, the best takeaway east of Mont Albert and west of Ringwood. Mmm.
‘Ghost Force Prime,’ I said, ‘that’s us.’
‘We deserve mission patches.’ Rani saw my puzzlement and went on. ‘Every NASA space mission gets a special embroidered patch made. It’s a literal badge of honour.’
‘That is something we should definitely do,’ I said, waving my super special burger around. Some lettuce flew off. ‘You know what else we should do?’
Rani picked a poppy seed off the dashboard. ‘We should find this Mrs Evans.’
‘That’s it. Start with the basics and work our way up from there.’
‘I have an idea, though, that’s far from basic.’
‘You sound uneasy.’
‘What I’m thinking of could take us into uncharted waters.’
‘I guess that unusual approaches are needed, since these are unusual times for ghost hunters.’
Rani appeared to choose her words carefully. ‘True. And in unusual t
imes, the old rules may not apply.’
Oh ho! ‘Go on. I’m all ears.’
‘Since Stacey Evans appears to have become deeply enmeshed with the ghost world, why not ask ghosts if they know about her?’
I stared at her. ‘You’re talking about holding a séance.’
‘Some of your Aunt Tanja’s work outlines practices like that.’
‘You’re not talking about hocus-pocus crap, mediums going into a trance and all that, are you?’
‘Not at all. Your aunt suggested something much more systematic.’
After I’d got over the shock, I started to warm to Rani’s idea. ‘It makes sense. Ghosts come and go, they wander around – sometimes – so who’s to say they don’t talk to each other? Some ghost or other is bound to know something about Stacey Evans.’
‘What we’re talking about is out there on the edge. Have you ever read anything in the archives about it?’
‘Oh, everyone everywhere has written down their favourite way to séance, usually right before “Don’t try this at home, kids” warnings. And there’s plenty about mediums and stuff. Mostly bad though.’ I thought about it. ‘Scratch that. All bad. Lots of alarms and alerts and dire prophecies. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Nothing to worry about? I’m sorry?’
‘Okay, maybe something to worry about. It could be risky.’
‘Sometimes we have to risk to gain.’
‘I’m always suspicious of anything that sounds as if it could be on one of those motivational posters, with pictures of mountains or windswept sand dunes on it.’
‘I’m shocked. Most of my life values come from motivational posters.’
I finished my burger. So good. ‘If we can pull this off, we’ll need a name for it, something more modern than “séance”. What about Ghost Chat?’
‘Giving it a cute name isn’t making it sound less risky.’
‘Spectral Forum.’
‘Not working.’
‘Spooks Online.’
‘Enough.’ Rani finished her burger and wiped her hands on a tissue. ‘If we’re going to try this, we should be on familiar territory. Any suggestions?’
‘The shop,’ I said without hesitation.
We pulled up out the rear of the shop at just after three. She leaned against the brickwork while I unlocked the back door. ‘So, you want me to get anything? Skull? Bell, book and candle?’
I hooked my pendant out from under my shirt. ‘I suggest going minimalist. Just these.’
In the kitchen, I made coffee. I wanted to be sharp, and a bit of caffeine wouldn’t hurt. ‘You?’ I asked, gesturing to the machine.
‘Thanks. I could murder a coffee.’
So I wasted some time setting up the Gaggia. Not that I was avoiding the issue. Not at all.
Rani put her coffee cup on the bench near the sink. ‘Can I see your pendant?’
I held it up. For a second, I was reluctant to give it to her, but I pulled the chain over my neck and handed it over.
‘It’s old,’ I said.
‘They all are,’ she said as she examined it. She traced some of the metalwork with a finger. ‘The best ones, anyway.’
‘Your tutors have special classes on ghost-hunting artefacts?’
‘It was a small group. I had five classmates to begin with, but it was whittled down to three by the time our training ended.’
‘What happened to the other two?’
‘I never found out, and they were never mentioned again.’ She held up her left hand and pulled back her sleeve. Her gold bracelet, a solid, unmarked hoop, hung on her wrist. ‘When we were given our amulets, we had a number of sessions where their uses were explained.’
‘Dad went through mine with me.’
‘My instructors took me on a field trip because after the theory classes, the only way to get practical was to go out ghost hunting with an experienced hunter.’
‘Dad wanted to take me, but he couldn’t do what he was telling me to do. He handed me over to Aunt Tanja.’
‘That must have been hard.’
‘He was patient. He was encouraging. It could have been worse.’
‘So these artefacts can detect the presence of ghosts and alert us to them. They can unlock doors. Have you ever wondered why such a range of abilities? How did they become embedded in these things?’
I spread my hands. ‘It’s another mystery.’
She gave my pendant back and I hung it around my neck again. ‘When Dad gave this to me, I did do some poking around, though.’
‘So did I, and I spent ages in the Company library. That’s when I started having doubts about the organisation I’d become part of.’ She rolled her bracelet around her wrist. ‘So what did your poking around reveal?’
‘Not much. Lots of the “Origins lost in the mists of time” thing, which is why I went the “It’s another mystery” route. My Aunt Tanja—’
‘You know, I would have liked to meet her.’
‘She would have liked you.’
Rani smiled. ‘Interesting family, the Marins.’
‘And she was one of the most interesting people in it. She thought that those who made the artefacts must have had some help from phasmaturgists, which is why no one wants to talk about it.’
‘The forbidden art helping to make the thing that makes our calling possible. If my instructors knew that they’d be so conflicted that their heads would explode.’
‘Can’t have that,’ I said. ‘Exploded heads are awful to clean up after.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And we’re really putting things off here, aren’t we?’
‘I suppose so.’ She rinsed her cup. ‘But before we move, in a mission like this we need to nominate our roles first.’
‘Right. Good idea.’ I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans. ‘I think I should do the séance.’
She straightened. ‘Don’t you think I can handle it?’
‘It’s not that. You’re the best one to be on guard, just in case something goes wrong and a horde of nasties turns up.’ I shrugged. ‘I’m clearly admitting I’m not a sword guy here.’
She nodded. ‘Do you really think this is a good idea?’
‘Who knows? The only way to be sure is in hindsight. In an hour or so I hope we’ll be sitting here saying, ‘Well, that was a good idea!’ and we’ll be keen as mustard to share all the good stuff we’ve found out with Dad and Bec.’
‘That sounds like a desirable outcome, in a lovely Enid Blyton way.’
I stood. ‘Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?’
CHAPTER 15
For secret stuff, the only place to go was the secret room.
When I got there, though, I had to check twice that I was in the right place. Bec had been at work.
Dad has always been what I call semi-neat. He doesn’t like mess, but his definition of mess and most people’s might be different. He doesn’t like dirt, or grime, or anything like that, and he draws a line at stacking work stuff on the actual floor (except in emergencies), but that’s about it.
Bec, though, is serious about neatness. The secret room had been transformed. One table was totally clear, another had two neat stacks of books and papers. No coffee cups anywhere. And a spanking new computer was blinking and humming on a new table all of its own. Now, that was a sign of change, something like Robin Hood using a laser sight.
With Rani’s help, I moved furniture to the side of the room, against the bookshelves. We were extra careful with the new computer because cables. It looked as if Bec had been doing some networking, among other things. When she did, she preferred hard wires rather than wi-fi for no good reason I could work out.
She’d been doing some sweeping, too, or had got Dad to do it, more likely. The hardwood floor was almost sparkling. ‘I could eat my dinner off that,’ I marvelled, standing back with my hands on my hips.
‘Imagine that,’ Rani said. ‘Multipurpose flooring – you can stand on it, dance on it, and use it instead of crockery.
What’ll they think of next?’
She took up a position by the door, removed her coat, and leaned her sword up against the wall. ‘You’re sure about this?’ she asked.
‘Certainty is the refuge of small minds,’ I said. ‘Oscar Wilde.’
‘No it wasn’t. You just made it up and attributed it to him.’
‘Why should I be any different from ninety per cent of the internet? If Ozzie had said half the stuff the net claims he did, he wouldn’t have had time to do all the naughty things he got up to.’
I settled, cross-legged, in the middle of the room. I took my pendant off and lay it on the floor in front of me.
‘Okay, right. Do I look medium enough to you? And try to resist the obvious pun.’
Rani pursed her lips, denied an opportunity. ‘You’ll do.’
‘Thanks. I love to have such a vote of confidence.’
‘I don’t want you getting smug.’
‘No danger of that,’ I muttered. I knew that I was going right out there on a branch that I wasn’t really sure was there in the first place, which is a bad way of both climbing trees and handling ghosts.
I touched the pendant with a finger. It was vibrating very slightly. I closed my eyes. ‘Hello? Anyone out there?’
For an uncertain amount of time, I cast about, trying to feel for ghosts. I wanted to find some sort of ghost network, some plane that they inhabited, but as much as I strained, all I could feel was a generalised sense of otherness, a faint version of the prickling unease that I felt when I was close to an actual ghost. But if I was responding to that, did it mean ghosts were responding to me? Was it a two-way thing? And if it was, did that extend further out into the ghost world?
While time stretched, I tried and tried to no effect. Then it hit me. What an idiot I’d been! Ghosts weren’t social. They were almost the definition of loner. They didn’t hang around in groups, didn’t go bowling together, didn’t buddy up for camping trips or spa weekends.
And – this was one thing that Dad and Aunt Tanja had insisted on – ghosts weren’t intelligent or aware in any way that could mean such a thing was possible.
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