by Lucy Banks
“It certainly would, if he once worked for Infinite Enterprises,” Miss Wellbeloved said, shoving a laptop in his direction. “Go on, log on and see what you can find out.”
Kester started tapping hastily, and at once, the screen was filled with book references and a file, all relating directly to the mysterious Ethelred. Gosh, he thought. It’s so nice using a computer that doesn’t take half an hour to upload for once.
“Here’s his file,” he said and rotated the screen so they could all see. “Look at his portrait! What a goatee!” They all stared at the small portrait, which showed a rather portly man with a splendid slicked-back hairstyle, not to mention a very intense expression.
“It says he was thirty-two when he vanished,” Kester continued, “and prior to that, he worked in the Department of Spirit Deportation.” He looked up. “What does that mean?”
“Spirit deportation is just another word for extinguishing spirits,” Serena said. “Like what I do.”
“Not quite,” Miss Wellbeloved corrected, peering at the screen. “If my memory serves me correctly, the Department of Spirit Deportation focused on sending spirits back to their own realm, usually via a door. It closed down several years ago, due to dwindling numbers of spirit-door openers. I bet you’ll find that’s what our friend Ethelred’s skill was.” She pointed further down on the screen, smiling triumphantly. “See? It’s confirmed here. A spirit-door opener. Just like you, Kester.”
“Gosh, I bet they missed him when he disappeared,” Mike said. “Spirit-door openers are hard to come by.”
“What else does it say?” Pamela asked.
“This bit doesn’t sound too good,” Kester said as he read the general notes. “It says here that Mr Ethelred Bunting protested ‘loudly and most inappropriately’ about the Thelemites and refused to issue an apology when asked. As a result, he was dismissed from his position, then he went missing almost straight after.”
“Wow, sacking a spirit-door opener? He must have done something bad,” Ribero said.
Kester rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure that any of this is much use to us, though. I mean, this all happened over a hundred years ago.”
“Carry on reading,” Miss Wellbeloved suggested. “See what else you can uncover.”
However, by the end of the day, he’d found nothing else of use, apart from a few minor disagreements between the Thelemites and Infinite Enterprises, which all seemed to be fairly isolated incidents. Likewise, the others had found little of interest, aside from some reference to daemons in an ancient Thelemite text, which none of them could properly decipher.
Exhausted, they caught the train back to Covent Garden station with all the rest of the city commuters, then they staggered gratefully through the polished doors of their hotel. Serena promptly announced that she was going to take a long bath. The others returned to their room to freshen up before dinner-time, leaving Kester and Mike alone in the bar.
“Are you going to let me order a drink, or are you going to say it’s too early?”
Kester laughed and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long, draining day. “I personally think a drink is exactly what we need right now.”
Mike beamed. “Nice one. Let’s enjoy the benefits of charging it to the room, eh?” Without waiting for an answer, he sauntered off to the bar.
A couple of hours and seven pints later, Mike was slurring badly and slumping so far into the sofa that it looked as though it was sucking him into a black hole. Kester was still nursing his second pint and laughing openly at Mike’s attempt to narrate an anecdote whilst completely forgetting the punchline.
“You’d probably better go a bit easy on the alcohol from here on in,” he suggested, patting Mike’s leg. “It’s not even eight o’clock yet, and you’re already fairly hammered.”
“This?” Mike droned as he gestured down the entire length of his body. “Thish is not drunk. Not even slightly.”
“You said ‘thish’.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.” Mike finished his pint with a flourish, hiccupping shortly after. He grinned at Kester, then his face darkened. “Oh no, look who it is. Mr Pompous Prat himself.”
Kester turned to see Higgins striding through the door, with Dimitri and Luke trailing wearily behind. At the sight of Kester and Mike, his eyebrows lowered menacingly.
“Good lord, you two!” he exclaimed as he gestured at the empty glasses on the table. “How many have you had?”
“Enough to make me happy,” Mike replied, then hiccupped again. “I am a happy little boy.”
Luke stifled a laugh behind his hand. Even Dimitri’s usually tight lips twitched a little.
Higgins’s eyes narrowed to cynical slits. “You’d better not have charged the bill to Infinite Enterprises.”
“Why not?” Mike said, rather loudly. “We’re allowed to.”
“You’re allowed to have a couple of drinks. Not take the—”
“We’ve pretty much finished now,” Kester said hastily as he observed Higgins’s face slowly turning a deeper shade of purple. “Mike, shall we go and get something to eat? You could probably do with lining your stomach.”
“Yeah, come and join us!” Luke said enthusiastically, oblivious to Higgins’s ferocious glare. “We can chat about our day.”
“Not that we’ve got mush to be chatting about,” Mike slurred.
“You just said ‘mush’,” Kester whispered. “You really are quite tipsy, Mike.”
Higgins folded his arms mutinously, then looked at Dimitri and Luke. “Okay, fine,” he barked eventually. “You can join us for dinner. But for goodness’ sake, don’t embarrass me. No more slurring or hiccupping, is that understood?”
Mike rose unsteadily to his feet and saluted. “Right you are, sir. Lead the way.”
As they descended the spiral staircase to the restaurant, Kester’s pocket vibrated. He swiftly pulled out his phone, expecting it to be Miss Wellbeloved asking him what he was doing for dinner. However, when he saw who the message was from, he froze.
Dimitri glanced back up at him. “Are you okay, Kester? You look like you have seen a spirit.” He chuckled humourlessly at his own joke.
Kester shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”
“What don’t you believe?” Luke asked, pausing at the foot of the stairs. “What’s going on?”
“My goodness,” he breathed. “It’s her.” Kester grasped the railing, his legs feeling suddenly rather wobbly. “She’s finally got in touch.” His head felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton wool, and the room began to swim before his eyes.
“Who the bloody hell are you talking about?” Higgins thrust his hands on his ample hips. “I want to have something to eat, hurry up!”
“Anya,” Kester whispered. Without being aware he was doing it, he started to walk back up the stairs. She’s finally got in contact, he thought, blinking furiously. I can’t believe it.
“Where are you going?” Larry’s voice trailed behind him, echoing around the glass stairwell. “Kester, tell us what the heck is going on!”
Kester ignored him and marched through the bar, oblivious to the attention he was generating. I’ve got to go to her, he thought blindly, scarcely able to think properly. He looked down at the message again.
Kester. Need your help. Meet me at Chislehurst Station as soon as possible. Please come alone. Love, Anya xxx
Chislehurst Station? He wondered what on earth she was doing there. What had happened? Was she in danger?
He quickly texted back. What’s happened? Can you tell me anything? I’m on my way, don’t go anywhere. K xxx
Stepping out, he paused briefly in the cool lobby, chewing his lip. I’ve got to go, he thought. I can’t not go to her, not now I know where she is. But what if it’s dangerous?
He dialled Miss Wellbeloved’s number. Then, quite without realising
what he was doing, he started to make his way out of the building. Before he knew it, he was stalking down the dark street, head buzzing with excitement and anxiety.
“Hello, Kester,” Miss Wellbeloved said. She sounded flustered. “We are on our way to dinner, honestly; it’s just your father has lost his—”
“—She texted me,” Kester interrupted, too excited to remember politeness. “Anya texted me.”
Silence followed. He continued to pace steadily along the pavement, now wishing he’d stopped to grab his coat. I completely forgot it was winter, he thought as he watched his breath plume out in front of him. I’m going to freeze.
“Wow,” Miss Wellbeloved muttered finally. “What did she say?”
“Not much. She said she needed help, and that I had to go to Chislehurst Station. Alone.”
“What? Why Chislehurst? I don’t understand.”
Kester shook his head and turned the corner. “I don’t either. But I have to go. I think she’s in trouble.”
“Kester, you absolutely must not go on your own.” Miss Wellbeloved sounded alarmed. “It’s far too dangerous. Where are you now?”
“I’m nearly at Covent Garden station,” he replied, fumbling in his trouser pocket for his wallet. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Nothing can happen if I’m at a busy train station, can it?”
There was a mumbling down the other end of the line. Kester presumed Miss Wellbeloved was telling Ribero what had happened. Sure enough, a few seconds later, his father’s voice rang down the line.
“Come back to the hotel this instant, silly boy! I forbid you to go!”
“Dad, I’m twenty-two,” Kester reminded him. “I’m afraid you don’t get to forbid me to do anything.”
His father made an explosive noise, then coughed, presumably trying to keep his temper in check. “Kester,” he tried again in a suspiciously smooth voice. “It is not safe. What if this is a trick?”
“Why would it be a trick? The Thelemites aren’t interested in me!” Kester retorted. At least, I hope that’s right, he added silently. “Look, I’ve got to go, I’m at the station. I’ll call you when I arrive at Chislehurst, okay?”
“No, not okay! You wait there, I am going to—”
Kester hung up and switched his phone off quickly, worried that they’d convince him to wait. I’ll be absolutely fine, he reassured himself, his heart pounding urgently in his chest. What’s the worst that could happen? She might ask me to join the Thelemites, I suppose; but it’s not like I’m an idiot who can’t think for himself.
He purchased a ticket from the machine, then made his way through the barrier and down into the still, airless tunnels of the London underground. It was still relatively busy, and he felt comforted by the numbers of people around him, laughing and talking without a care in the world. A train arrived almost immediately, and he leapt on, studying the map intently.
Firstly to King’s Cross, he told himself, then across to London Bridge. Then, I should be able to get another train over to Chislehurst station. In the corner, a hunched lady, laden down with tattered bags, held out her hand towards him. Unthinkingly, he dived in his pocket for some change.
“You are kind, my friend,” she whispered and patted him on the arm.
He smiled awkwardly, too distracted to think of a reply.
“Though you should take care. It’s getting late, laddie. Don’t let the bad things of the night get you.”
He felt suddenly cold all over as though he’d been doused in ice. “I’ll try not to,” he replied quietly.
The woman nodded, then hobbled away.
Well, that was odd, he thought as he switched his phone on again. Sure enough, there were three voicemail messages, presumably from his father and Miss Wellbeloved. I’ll listen to them later, he thought as he swiftly opened Anya’s message again. I’ve got more pressing things to worry about right now.
He remembered that she’d used the word “love” in her text, and hope flared pitifully within his chest. Maybe she does still have feelings for me after all, he wondered, hardly daring to hope. Maybe she was kidnapped by the Thelemites again and managed to escape.
As the train wailed through endless, dark tunnels, he gripped the rail tightly and stared grimly at his own reflection. Now that the initial excitement had passed, he was questioning his decision. It was unlike him to act impulsively. I guess that’s what caring about someone does to you, he realised, chewing his lip. It makes you worry more about their safety than your own.
Finally, after a couple of changes, he was on the train to Chislehurst station. A friendly woman in a suit had informed him that it usually took around half an hour, so he settled himself into the nearest chair and fidgeted with his phone.
Anya had texted a response—but it was only two words. Thank goodness.
What is that supposed to mean? he fretted. Is she in danger? Has she been hurt? His mind filled with terrible possibilities, and he struggled to keep his panic under control. Something about the situation didn’t feel right, and he was half regretting not waiting for the others to join him. But she asked me to come alone, he reminded himself. What else could I do? She might run away again if she saw me with other people.
His phone vibrated again. Miss Wellbeloved’s number flashed on the screen. This time, he answered.
“Kester, where are you?”
“I’m on the train to Chislehurst,” he replied, massaging his forehead. “Don’t worry, everything is fine.”
“Of course we’re worried!” Miss Wellbeloved exploded. “Kester, we think it might be a—”
The line crackled. Kester glanced at the screen—the reception was down to one bar.
“Miss Wellbeloved, can you hear me?” he asked without much hope. “Hello?”
He heard a few muffled words but couldn’t make out anything legible. Eventually, he hung up and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. He was reluctant to admit it, but a vague fluttering of fear was welling up inside him, making him suddenly nauseous.
Oh well, he rationalised as the train raced through endless swathes of darkness, howling through the night. I’m nearly there, it’s not like I can turn back, is it? However, he was feeling far less confident about things now. Most of the other commuters had got off at other stations, and apart from one man nodding off down the other end of the carriage, he was completely on his own.
Finally, at just after nine o’clock, the train slowed, then stopped with a jolt. Kester peered out. In the darkness, he could just see a blue sign with “Chislehurst” written on it. With a gulp, he stood and made his way out.
The cold night air hit him as soon as he clambered off. The doors slid closed with a thin hiss, and the train pulled away, leaving him completely alone, spotlighted by a single, grimy light overhead.
He scanned the deserted platform, then saw a figure silhouetted by a bench. It rose, then slowly waved.
“Anya!” he called out and started to run towards her.
Chapter 16: The Trap
Kester squeezed her tightly, relishing the pressure of her head against his chest and her hands around his waist. The stinging winter air suddenly seemed a million miles away, and he believed, just for a moment, that everything would be okay.
Finally, she pulled away, giving him the opportunity to study her better. Despite the feebleness of the light overhead, he could see that her mascara had run, tracing watery black lines down both cheeks.
“I am so glad you came,” she whispered, each word cracking with emotion. “I have been so scared.”
Kester seized her hand, pressing it into his own. “What did they do to you?”
She shook her head, then peered anxiously over her shoulder. “We can’t talk here. Not like this. We need to hide.”
“Hide?” Kester glanced up and down the platform. “What do you mean? Honestly, you don’t need to be scared no
w, I’ve come up with a plan. We’ll take the next train back to Covent Garden, then you can stay with me in the hotel, and—”
Anya winced. “No, it would not work. I would be found again. We have to hide, just for tonight. Please, trust me, Kester.”
He caught sight of her expression and melted. She looks terrified, he realised as he pulled her close again. God, what have they done to her? How did she manage to escape? He was desperate to find out more, but judging by her expression, this wasn’t the time press her.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked instead.
Anya pointed into the darkness. “I know somewhere where we’ll be safe. A friend told me about it. Follow me.”
She led him out of the station and on to the main road. Aside from a few streetlights, casting milky puddles on the pavement, it was unnervingly dark, not to mention quiet. The surrounding trees shifted uneasily in the breeze, as though waiting for something to happen.
Something doesn’t feel right, Kester thought inexplicably. His hand crept instinctively to his phone.
“It’s this way,” Anya whispered, jarring him out of his thoughts. She caught his eye, then smiled. “Aren’t you freezing? It is December, you know.”
Kester looked down at his shirt. “I am a bit chilly, yes. But I was more concerned about getting to you than finding my coat.”
“Kester, you are so kind.” She swallowed hard, and for a moment, he thought she was going to start crying. “I don’t deserve you, you know.”
He felt his insides melt in response. Quite without realising it, his fingers uncurled from around the phone, releasing it back into his trouser pocket. “That’s what I often think about you,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “I’m so glad to see you again. This last week has been horrible.”
“It has been horrible for me too,” she murmured. “I have missed you badly.”
She guided him across a road, then promptly turned right. I’m glad one of us knows the way, Kester thought, looking up at the sky. A cloud rolled across the moon, muffling some of the light. It was an unsettling sight.