He leant back in his chair and held the picture close to his face. Most of the staff he could name, but not all. The Praetoriani was a big place. Ryan, James, Rosalie, Rob, Dan…David. He often saw them in the staff room. Toby and Jenny. Hadn’t seen those two lovebirds since their promotion, despite exchanging numbers. They’d left just after the New Year’s party. But where had they been relocated? What titles did they carry now?
Menelaus strained to remember. They’d never been close; some couples act as a unit, interested in other people only as a means of providing contrast to their solid relationship. Maybe because of his obvious singledom, he had avoided being alone with them.
They held Head Office roles now, in the Praefecti.
His hand shot out to his desk phone. If anyone could tell him what happened to Guillaume, it would be Toby and Jenny. With his free hand, he tapped open his contacts app on his iPhone and found the number for Head Office, dialled it, and asked the switchboard to put him through to Jenny’s extension.
‘Hullo?’
‘Hey, Jenny?’
‘Not Jenny, sorry. She’s on annual leave.’
‘Oh, when’s she coming back?’
‘Sorry, who is this?’
‘A former colleague. Do you have Toby Laurel’s extension?’
‘No, he’s on leave too.’
‘Right, when’s he back?’
‘I don’t have access to that information.’
Menelaus held his breath and listened to the typing sounds on the other end of the line. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr Knight?’
He froze and stared at the cordless in his hand. My office number must be linked to their system. ‘No, just wanted to know how they’re settling in up there.’
‘Your concern has been noted. Goodbye.’
The phone felt cold against his ear.
He immediately rang Toby’s mobile number. It cut straight to answerphone.
‘Fuck.’ He left his office and crept down the corridor, slipping into the large stationery cupboard adjacent to the staffroom. He glimpsed David chatting up one of the new guys next to the water cooler.
He cruised the shelves, picking through the pens and notepads, until he found some older pictures stuffed into a dusty box marked Miscellaneous. David was still in the staffroom when Menelaus dashed back into his office with the box. It contained a decade’s worth of Guardians and Auxiliaries. He examined each face, noting down the names of everyone who had left from the year previous to the current photograph. That gave him a list of twenty.
What was he looking for exactly? He couldn’t call Head Office enquiring after anyone else. Asking current employees would only draw suspicion. That left the Reading Room. Menelaus hid the box under his desk, ensconced the list of names in his jacket, and made his way back to the main reception hall.
The Reading Room, based on the one in the famous Laurentian Library in Florence, extended to his left, its pilaster-framed windows forming the right third of the Praetoriani’s exterior. Unlike the Reading Room in Florence, however, the benches, separated by a terra cotta centre aisle, supported modern computers. The back of each bench formed a desk for the one behind. It was the only room open to local Pnuema, for booking appointments or taking entrance exams.
As a Guardian, Menelaus didn’t need to wait for a ticket. He passed a group of students from the internal school and logged into the computer at the furthest end of the hall. Never before had he worried about the Praetoriani saving his user information or his search history. It’s the last risk I’m going to take. For Guillaume. He brought up the employee database, entering his password, the same he used at Hellingstead University: SanMichele88.
He searched for each name on the list. Ten had been relocated to other minor offices, two popped up under the Cairo Branch, where the original Imperi Ducis had set up the Praefecti’s framework. That was long before it bore that name. Later on, the branches would split to create the Justice Division – the Praetoriani. Hellingstead HQ was the legal counterpart to the Praefecti’s Cairo Branch. Menelaus was hazy about what the Praefecti actually did – something about maintaining diplomatic relations with the non-Pnuema community and the curation of historical artefacts.
The amulet.
Don’t even think about it, Laus.
Back to the list. Eight names remained unaccounted for. He searched for Jenny and Toby but nothing appeared the Head Office’s database. So much for them being on leave. He tried Guillaume.
No results.
He might have spelled some names wrong, but not that one. The Head Office’s intranet lacked warmth. Austere, black, and white. Professional. But it did have an archive. Menelaus trawled through it, wishing he’d brought coffee. The desks in front of him emptied out, the click of his mouse echoing down the hall.
2015: New Year, New Team.
He opened the post.
Smiling faces all in a row.
Like sitting ducks. Toby and Jenny should’ve been there, but they were missing from the picture.
Five names left. Sure, the Praetoriani had its version of a secret service, but usually its members were given innocuous titles and hidden within the system. They should show up somewhere. A few weeks ago, Menelaus would have assumed they’d changed careers and left the Praetoriani completely.
He switched back to the HQ’s fussier website and scanned through the images on each department. There it was, last year’s picture, the one that sat on his office desk. He glanced at Toby and Jenny.
Only, they weren’t where they should’ve been.
They weren’t there at all.
What the hell’s going on? Menelaus shifted his legs, cramped by the lack of space beneath the desk. Had there been another photo just after they left? No, Menelaus was in this one too, and he hadn’t been dragged outside since last year.
The possibilities were as convoluted as the pattern on the terra cotta floor. He could go to their house, like he had Guillaume’s, but he didn’t know the address, and besides, they would’ve moved anyway. Unlikely he’d find any clues there. David might have heard something, but the urgency felt palpable.
He logged out and left the Reading Room. I should ask Julian. He made to turn back towards the Guardian Wing but thought better of it; he’d relied on his mentor and adoptive father too long. This was just a setback. He needed to clear his head. What I need is something of Jenny or Toby’s, so I can track them. Witches and vampires had ways of finding people.
Shame the local witches and vampires mistrusted him at best and hated him at worst.
Jenny. What remained of her belongings? The last time he’d seen her with Toby had been at the New Year’s Party. Presents and cake, poppers, alcohol. All transitory items. Uniforms were assigned to each employee and probably went with them. But wait, hadn’t it also been Toby’s birthday? Menelaus closed his eyes on the busy reception hall, trying to see through the haze; he’d drunk so much, the whole night had been a blur.
It was Toby’s birthday. I forgot to buy him a present. His feet led him back to the staff room. He projected the memories of that night into the room sectioned off by tables and chairs, empty but for Rob reading the paper in the corner.
They exchanged the obligatory nod. Menelaus ran his hands over the kitchen counter, visualising the party. He’d dozed off, wakened by the countdown and the birthday song.
The last thing he saw of Toby, through bleary eyes, was him blowing out the candle and kissing Jenny. Everyone cheering.
He opened the cupboard under the microwave. It was mostly stuffed with crisp packets and long-life milk. But the party supplies were there too: a banner squashed into a plastic box, a packet of candles. A few burnt halfway down.
He slipped them into his jacket, half fooling himself he could smell the couple’s breath lingering on the wick. Sure, he could smell a bacon sandwich a mile away, but his nose wasn’t that good.
He nodded to Rob on the way
out, taking the lift this time and picking up his 4x4 from the carpark behind the villa, noting yet another mercenary guard patrolling the tree-lined driveway at the front entrance.
This couldn’t be about Theo’s trial; they wouldn’t drag a young warlock into the spotlight if his accusers were so scared of the Clemensens’ wrath. After scrutinising him through the window, the guards waved him past. For God’s sake, he’d been a Guardian for over a decade; what did they think he was going to do?
Find a witch, that’s what. Someone not connected to the Praetoriani. Menelaus drove away from the coast, towards the medieval centre of Hellingstead. I’ve just got to find one first. True, the university had a pagan student society, but none of them were actually Pneuma. Natural-born witches tended to stick to family covens and blended in with the crowd. No one had quite forgotten the witch trials.
His thoughts stagnated. He needed noise, something to draw out an idea. He switched on the radio. ‘…several local businesses have hired security to watch their premises over the coming nights, in case the Hellingstead Hair Raids continue…’
What? He checked his mirror and slammed on the breaks at the junction at the bottom of the hill, watching for traffic as he listened to the report. Suddenly, the extra security at the HQ made sense. Hair and nails were important ritual items. If someone was stealing supplies, that meant a big spell was imminent.
Big spells were rarely pleasant, at least if the history book was anything to go by. Some Pneuma historians even argued that the Nazis shaved the hair of their victims to practice the dark arts.
A car drew up behind him. A plan emerged from the darkness like a tortoise unfurling from its shell, and Menelaus went straight ahead. Witches liked to gossip about other covens, trade knowledge, and buy ingredients. They had to meet somewhere, right? Where better than a shop in the town centre?
Menelaus scanned the shop signs in the Old Town. He wasn’t a town-trotter. Ironically, crowds made him less anonymous because of his height and build. People stared. He chose his target quickly.
A bell tinkled above the door as Menelaus barged into Crystal Clear. Every shop in the High Street was crammed into an old Hamstone building, but he could hardly move in here. He brushed the feathers of a dreamcatcher out of his face and ducked under the beam as an assistant approached him, kitted out in a tie-dye dress and beaded jewellery. Glastonbury’s hippy community had long ago dug its claws into Hellingstead, providing a convenient cloak for genuine local Pneuma to hide behind.
‘Are you looking for anything in particular? For your girlfriend, perhaps?’
‘Do I look that uncomfortable?’ Menelaus frowned at the woman, probably in her forties, with deep smile lines around her eyes.
‘I’ve seen a few come and go in my time. Let me guess,’ she said, rubbing her chin and appraising him for a little too long, ‘you’re not the airy-fairy type?’
‘I’m more open-minded than I look.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, you might say I believe that shops like this are part of the vital essence…or you could say, the pneuma of Hellingstead. Do you know what I mean?’
The woman paused and then held out her hand. ‘I’m Belle. This is my shop.’
Menelaus shook it. ‘My friends call me Laus.’ He smiled. ‘And I am looking for something, Belle, or more accurately, someone who can lend me a touch of magic.’
‘For what purpose?’
He glanced around. In a shop with so many ceiling-height shelves, it was hard to tell who else might be lurking. ‘I need to locate someone.’ He removed the candles from his jacket. ‘I think they might be in trouble.’
Belle studied them. ‘Why don’t you go to the police?’
‘I don’t think it’s their area of expertise. I’m willing to pay.’
Belle walked to the door and shut it, flipping over the sign. ‘Come to the back. The atmosphere is a little tense since…’ She shot him a look as she rounded the counter.
‘Last night,’ he said, following her through the door at the back.
‘The community is a little unsettled.’
‘Both the guilty and the innocent usually are,’ he said, taking stock of the room.
Belle nodded. ‘We conduct our readings in here. Less chance of being disturbed.’ She beckoned him to sit at the ornate round table, a pack of tarot cards in the centre.
‘We?’
‘My wife and I.’
Menelaus lifted an eyebrow. She wasn’t wearing a ring.
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Belle laughed.
‘I’m gutted. No drinks tonight at the Red Hawk then?’ He’d love to see David’s face when he turned up with a lesbian witch.
Belle shook her head. ‘Cash will be fine. You won’t believe our rates.’
Right. Business. Belle had a shrewdness about her that he found intriguing; strong women had never intimidated him, and despite having never met the woman who’d given birth to him, Belle was a little like how he’d always imagined his mother to be. Menelaus shrugged, giving her the candles to examine while he fished out his wallet. ‘His full name is Tobias Laurel. He works under that name, but off-duty he was always Toby.’
He watched, fascinated, as she dealt out the tarot cards swifter than the devil made promises. She sighed, breaking his enchantment. ‘I can’t give you exact coordinates without his hair or nails to work with.’
‘Anything you can detect…’ While farmers ploughed the fields of Hellingstead, barrelling hay, he was down to his last straw. ‘I have a photograph. I should’ve brought it.’
Belle shook her head, lighting a white pillar candle. ‘It wouldn’t help.’ She pulled out a map from beneath the table. ‘We’ll start with Somerset.’ Belle grabbed a bowl from the cabinet beside them, deep blue swirls in its centre. Then she lit the candles Menelaus had given her, using the flames to set alight the map and drop it into the bowl. As it burnt she held her hands above the fire, close enough to burn her skin – except it didn’t.
‘Tobias Laurel. May your Vital Essence imprint upon this map like footprints on the sand.’
The charred contents of the bowl hissed and crackled. Belle rolled her shoulders. ‘He’s fighting it,’ she said, ‘I can feel him pushing back. Is he a warlock?’
‘No.’
‘Tobias Laurel! Toby! Your friend seeks you!’ Belle’s dark-blue eyes bore into Menelaus. ‘Do you share a memory? It will make the link stronger. Put your hands above mine and think about it.’
Menelaus winced at the heat. A burning map shouldn’t cause this much flame. He pictured the New Year’s party, the moment he’d apologised for forgetting to bring a present. Some friend he’d been. In fact, he never really made the effort. He’d long since given up.
‘He’s alive though, right?’
Belle nodded. She removed her hands so he did the same. They waited until the flames petered out. Nothing much remained except a scrap of coastline south of Hellingstead and a few minor roads. ‘That’s as precise as I can get it.’
He gave her as much cash as he had. ‘Good luck,’ Belle said as she escorted him out of the back door. ‘And if I ever convert, we’ll go for that drink. I think you’d be my type.’
He smirked. ‘Tall, dark, and impossibly handsome?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘someone who cares about other people.’
Menelaus stared into the little alleyway that led out of the High Street. ‘I think maybe I haven’t cared enough. I’ve been too worried about myself.’ He looked at Belle as she stroked the beads around her neck. ‘I don’t want to be invisible anymore.’
‘We all like to pretend we’re invisible when we’re hiding.’ She shook his hand again. ‘I better re-open the shop. Goodbye, Laus.’
‘Bye, Belle.’
Menelaus folded the map fragment into his palm and headed back to the car. He stopped at a service station before he left Hellingstead, and stuck to the coastal path. If he had any hope of finding Toby and Jenny, it would have to be be
fore sundown.
The wind blew his black hair in all directions, stinging his face. Menelaus lodged himself into the sand while he studied the map he’d loaded onto his phone. It didn’t give him any clues. Why would Toby be here? He felt foolish, his boots wet with muddy sand from the absent tide, scouring the coastline like this. Toby and Jenny were probably hauled up on a romantic getaway in one of Somerset’s many holiday cottages, gazing out at the sea view from their bedroom.
Not knowing, it was an itch behind his eyes.
He squelched along the soft edge of the sand, squinting at the tiny map segment in his hand. I’ll have better luck finding a single grain of sand, he thought. I need Ava. At least, he wanted her skill set. Could she get a read on those cliffs, striped with layers of sediment?
Up ahead, the rock jutted into the mud. Of course, he could walk round it now, during low tide, but he’d have to be quick. He picked up speed, the exposed sand curving away into a hidden cove, with a mix of shingle and sand. A set of stone steps created a deep V-shape into the grassland above. Menelaus judged they were rarely used, cracked as they were in places and non-existent in others.
Caves pocketed the rock like cavities at the mouth of the cove. He skirted the damp beach and ducked into the first, water pooling in groves around his boots. He used the bigger rocks as stepping stones, blinking back the darkness. He switched on the torch on his phone and peered into the cave. If Toby and Jenny were hiding from location spells, they must be using magic, somehow. They would be protecting their hiding places too.
If he’s even here. ‘Toby? Jenny? It’s Menelaus.’
Silence, except from the flock of seagulls on the sand outside. He cupped his free hand against his mouth. ‘Toby! Jenny! I just want to know you’re both okay!’
Even his echo sounded desperate. Menelaus retreated. The tide wasn’t far out; he’d have to go soon. He called into each cave. The final one on the opposite side of the crescent was the deepest. He delved in, walking as far to the back as he dared. ‘Tobias! Jenny! I know you’re around here somewhere! Come out!’
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