Page 20 of Spirit Witch
The coven had been slaughtered in Dorset, where they were based. Even Winter recognised that traipsing a couple of hundred miles to investigate the exact spot would be better accomplished in daytime.
I called Eve and persuaded her to drop in on Brutus and Princess Parma Periwinkle to feed them and ensure they weren’t killing each other. It was tempting to ask Tarquin to do it because I had no doubt that Brutus would make him pay several times over for being a plonker. But the thought of the floppy-haired one pawing through my underwear drawer was too much to cope with.
Although the last thing I was feeling was content or happy, I was impressed with our room. The mattress was comfy – and it wasn’t a large bed. We’d have to snuggle very closely together. Perhaps I could pin Winter to one spot and force him to appreciate the joys of a long lie-in before we headed up the coast. It was unlikely but a girl could still try.
While he got on the phone to inform the Ipsissimus about our discoveries, I headed for the shower, turning the dial to super-sexy steaming hot and all but crying out in ecstasy. It was a mystery to me how the mud had managed to invade so many layers of clothing and I wondered idly whether I should inform the Environmental Department so some government-sanctioned scientists could come out to investigate the phenomenon. At least pondering the properties of sludge kept my mind off Blackbeard, as I’d christened the serial killer.
Apart from the shower, the other good thing was that I’d brought a change of clothes with me. My delight was somewhat tempered by the fact that I’d not checked what I was throwing into my bag when we’d left Oxford that morning. This was what happened when I was forced to get out of bed too early: I ended up wearing clothes that made me look like an Eighties pop princess covered in cat hair. At least the clashing neon colours meant I wouldn’t get lost in a crowd.
I ran my fingers through my hair, decided I’d done the best I could and went out to check on Winter. I found him sitting on the edge of the bed and staring into space. ‘Hey, are you okay?’ I perched next to him.
‘Mmm.’ He sighed. ‘You were right. The Ipsissimus does think we should work together. He’s prepared to promote me to Third Level if I come back as the prodigal witch.’ He grimaced. ‘As if he thinks a bribe would make me forget what he’s done.’
I ignored the mud still caked on him and leaned against his shoulder. ‘Maybe it’s not a bribe, maybe it’s the Ipsissimus recognising your value. He’s not a bad man, Rafe. And no matter what you say, he didn’t do a bad thing. There’s nothing wrong with swallowing your pride and going back to the Order. In fact, it would be incredibly brave.’
‘Then come with me. The Ipsissimus said there would be a place for you too.’ Winter arched a sceptical eyebrow. He knew me too well.
‘You know the Order’s not for me. It doesn’t mean it’s not for you, though.’
He heaved in a breath. ‘I don’t know that I can trust them. If it came to it again, if it was the choice between the life of an Order witch or the life of someone like you, I think they’d always choose to save the Order.’
‘Life is full of impossible choices, you know that. We do the best we can with the information we have at the time. There’s hardly ever a right way and a wrong way, there’s justyourway. I take the lift and you take the stairs but we still meet together at the top, Rafe. And,’ I brushed my lips against the stubble along his jaw, ‘if I had to make the decision again, it would be the same. It was the best decision to make for everyone.’ I met his eyes. ‘Deep down you know that. That’s why you’re still so pissed off.’
Winter stared at me for a long moment. ‘Who are you?’ he asked finally. ‘And what have you done with Ivy?’
I laughed. ‘Occasionally I have flashes of intellectual brilliance – but they don’t last long.’ I gave him a tiny shove. ‘You are pretty smelly. Go take a shower and I’ll go downstairs and see if I can rustle us up some dinner and a bottle of wine. I think we deserve it.’
He smiled at me. I could live a thousand lives and I’d never feel the same lurch in my chest that Winter’s smile provoked. ‘That sounds like a plan.’ He half turned for the bathroom before pausing. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘the Ipsissimus is still advising you not to try any spells. Maidmont has found some old tome that discusses an ancient witch who experienced something similar to you, but it’s in archaic Latin and is taking some time to translate. He thinks you’re probably fine and using magic won’t release any latent necromancy which you’ve absorbed. But to be on the safe side…’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah. I can be a good non-practising witch for a little while longer. Maidmont’s going to have to get a move on, though. Once we locate Blackbeard, it’s going to be all witches on deck. I’m not staying out of this fight. That bastard is going to get what’s coming to him.’
Winter grinned. ‘I love you, Ivy Wilde. But, damn, you can be scary.’
I tossed my blonde curls and wiggled my hips with as much sass as my tired body could muster. ‘You betcha, honey bun.’
***
There was a pleasant smell of yeasty beer in the bar and, from somewhere further in the depths of the pub, the waft of some kind of meaty stew. Virtually drooling, I went through the crowd and hopped up onto a bar stool. There was no jukebox and no piped music coming through speakers, although the far corner of the room did boast a small stage area that was already set up with a drum kit and microphones. Given the crowd, the warm atmosphere and the hubbub of voices, this was clearly the place to be on Dartmoor on a Thursday night.
I caught the barman’s attention and snagged a menu, then ordered two bowls of Lancashire hotpot and two pints of local beer. I almost hoped that Winter would take his time in the shower so I could eat his portion then order another one when he arrived. Maybe there was something to all this fresh air stuff; I felt hungry enough to eat a vat of stew and it seemed unlikely that one bowl would cut it. Maybe part of it was also that I wanted to remind myself that I was alive. There’s nothing like chatting with several recently deceased witches to make you realise how important it is to savour every moment. And every mouthful.
I wiggled around to get comfortable and took a large gulp of beer. Closing my eyes briefly in delight, I smacked my lips. Winter and I were going to catch Blackbeard before he could do any more damage. No one else would die. Winter would return to the Order and be his satisfied, workaholic self. I’d teach him how to binge on box sets; he’d show me all the best gyms within a ten-mile radius and I’d pretend to be interested. Everything was going to work out perfectly.
I opened my eyes to grab my glass and take another glug. It was halfway to my mouth when my eyes fell on a man who’d just made his way to the other end of the bar. A bushy black beard, a bald head, pockmarked skin and a skull-shaped earring. And dead black eyes. Neither Karen nor Amy had mentioned his eyes. I froze, unable to move. He felt my gaze and glanced over, stiffening when he caught my expression.
‘The hotpot won’t be long,’ the barman said cheerfully. ‘I’ve set up a table for you in the corner.’
I put the glass down slowly and tried to look casual but I had the horrible feeling that it was already too late and I’d given myself away. I forced my lips to curve upwards in a smile. ‘That’s great,’ I managed. ‘Thank you.’
Arse. Arse. Arse. Keeping Blackbeard in my peripheral vision, I glanced towards the stairs. Come on, Winter. Bloody come on.
‘So you walked to Wistman’s Wood?’ the barman enquired.
‘Yes,’ I whispered. I couldn’t have sounded guiltier if I tried. Summoning every particle of my being, I pulled back my shoulders and smiled harder. ‘I love hiking. Especially in the rain. It makes me feel so much closer to nature, you know?’
The barman looked amused but I could still feel Blackbeard watching me. I had to do better. If only I could have cast a spell without worrying about the consequences. Damn Maidmont for not being fluent in archaic bloody Latin. Damn me for not checking out sooner why I was seeing ghosts. Most of all, damn bastard Blackbeard for showing up when I least expected it. It had been a reasonable assumption to think that he didn’t live anywhere near here and this was nothing more than a convenient dumping ground because it was so remote. After all, the coven had been killed in Dorset which was a few hours’ drive away.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ the barman grinned, ‘but you don’t strike me as the type of person who spends a lot of time in the great outdoors.’
