Chapter 28

Winston was still grinning when he and the three women pulled up outside Pennies flat and got out. “You’ll like her, honestly,” he said to his sister as he opened the passenger door. “She’s brainy and everything.”

“Ooh!” Latitia sing-songed as she took the keys out and opened her own door. “Can someone really tame my philandering brother?” She had, as usual, refused to even get into Winston’s car, let alone allow him to pick up Meinwen and Valerie in it. “It’s a death trap,” she had told him, for the fourth time since he’d got home to change out of his security guard uniform. “I don’t care if you kill yourself, but I do care about the lawsuits of anyone else.”

It wasn’t true. She cared about her brother’s life very much. What she had never told him was that she already had prior knowledge, through her predictive cognisance, that he wouldn’t die until his skin was a wrinkled as a week old plum on a Naples balcony. A car crash would never kill him, but it might kill his passengers.

“I know you love me really.” Winston helped Meinwen out of the back seat. Latitia’s car might be road worthy but it was only a two door. Valerie was already uncoiling from the drivers’ side. “You’ll love her, too.”

Meinwen paused in the car park and did a full 180 degree turn. “There’s a disturbance in the ether,” she said “Can you feel it?”

“Now that you mention it…” Winston sniffed the air. “No. Not really. I can smell tonight’s menu from the Taj Mahal curry house, though. It’s making my mouth water.”

He grinned and headed to the house. Valerie called to her landlady. “He’s just being crass,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m don’t.” Meinwen watched the retreating back of the man as he led his sister toward Pennie’s front door. “I stopped getting upset about people ridiculing me about it years ago. You can see it, though, can’t you?”

“Not without special lenses.” Valerie shrugged as she pulled a metal case out of the boot. It held her laptop and a few sundry items. “That’s one of the reasons I’ve agreed to go on this run to Twilight. They make a lot of cutting edge paranormal detectors that I’ve run out of. Stuff you just can’t get on the open market.”

“You’re going to steal equipment?”

“Yes.” Valerie showed no shame in the concept. “Why shouldn’t I? They don’t sell the gear on the open market and I need it.”

“Theft is never justified.” Meinwen pulled a bag out as well. This one was a white plastic shopping bag from the supermarket nearest to Winston and Latitia’s house. It contained all the items she needed to protect the house from her own brand of magic. She motioned Valerie inside

She paused outside the front door and got out the plastic tube of salt. The second (‘buy one, get one free’) she left in the bag. Witches always need salt. Salt breaks magical spells and to cast a circle in salt – as she was doing here – prevented illusions from passing through.

Demons, she knew from personal experience, could be tricky like that.

Inside, Latitia had already set the kettle to boil and emptied Pennie’s cupboards of cleaning fluids. From a bag similar to Meinwen’s she handed out a roll of bin liners and a pair of heavy rubber gloves to each of them. Valerie took one step into the room before backing out again. She squatted at the top of the stairs and opened her case, pulling out a laptop.

Meinwen raised her eyebrows. “I thought you were broke,” she said. “How could you afford that?”

“I’ve had this for a couple of months,” she said. “I just had to collect it from where it was hidden. Top of the range, though no longer cutting edge. I’ll have to get it upgraded before I hack any black ice.”

“You’ve plenty of time for that,” said Meinwen. “It’s not even June yet.”

Valerie stared at her, trying to judge if she was being sarcastic. It appeared not. “Ice,” she said. “I.C. Intrusion countermeasures. Programs that try to stop me doing what I do. Ice kicks you offline. Black ice fries the computer.”

“That sounds bad.”

“It can be.” Valerie booted up the laptop and connected to Pennie’s wireless connection, her fingers flying over the keys as she hacked passwords and server sites. This isn’t, though. This is just routine.” She tapped out several commands and pictures of Pennie’s flat appeared on the screen. “That’s handy,” she said, opening another DOS window and doing an IP lookup.

“What is?” Meinwen squatted next to her and Valerie moved the screen so that she could see as well.

“I’ve followed the feed back to the source,” she said, “which I’m not surprised to say is Twilight because I’ve traced the IP. The interesting thing is that they’ve been taking still frames every ten minutes and I’ve got the last two hundred stored on the server.”

She brought up a series of images, the earliest of which showed the flat in perfect order, before the crime. “There,” she said. “Now we can just scroll through and see who ransacked the place. First, though, I have to sort out the feed. No point in advertising our presence.”

She accessed each of the cameras in turn and pointed them to a file on the server. Instead of a live feed, each camera would now display a still image it had taken earlier in the day. She wiped the stored photographs of Winston and the police for good measure. “Who’s that?” she said, hovering over the image of Chase. “I haven’t seen him before.”

Meinwen glanced at the image. “Charlton Spenser,” she said. “Animal rights activist and town philanderer. Steer clear of him if you want to keep your chastity.”

“I think I will.” Valerie deleted the files. “Though it looks to me that Pennie isn’t so worried about it.”

Meinwen smiled. “We get our oats wherever we can,” she said. “I’d grow his corn, given half a chance.”

“Grow his corn?” Valerie raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I see.” She flushed red. “Rather you than I, although would you count as barren ground?”

“I’m only thirty two, thank you very much,” said Meinwen. “I’ve got years left in me yet.”

“Of course.” Valerie flashed her a smile. “It must be your strength of will that makes you seem older. Now, let’s show the others a slide show.”

Meinwen glanced up when she returned to the living room, trying to spot the cameras. It should have been easy after seeing their field of view but out of seven she still only managed two. Winston fared better with four but only Valerie was able to point them all out to Pennie. “They’re perfectly safe,” she assured her hostess, “I’ve set them all to see the same, empty frame. If you have a bit of dark nail varnish we can black out all the lenses.”

“Darned right we will.” Pennie vanished into her bedroom and returned with a bottle of ‘Midnight Girl.’ She proceeded, with the aid of a kitchen chair, to black out every camera. “Why can’t we just rip them out?” she asked.

“Because that would flag a ‘no camera connected’ on the server.” Valerie spoke without looking, setting up her laptop to play the accumulated camera images. She deleted all the ones showing empty rooms until 10:32 AM, where the screen showed a book in mid air. “Here,” she said. “here are the stills from the cameras.”

The others gathered round as she began to play them through in a slide show. They watched a screen split into four quadrants as Pennie left the house at 07:26 AM, after which the images flickered but remained still.

“I deleted the next two hours,” said Valerie, as the time stamped flicked forward to 10:30. “But looks what happens now.”

They watched as without warning the bookcase nearest the door emptied itself of books. They appeared in the view of the other cameras as they landed around the room, then the bookcase fell forward onto the floor. Pennie remembered Chase picking it up again. They watched in disbelief as stains blossomed on the walls and the flat was trashed with no-one appearing to do it. At 10:35 it went still again, the vandalism obvious.

Pennie straightened up. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“Wait.” Valerie pointed at the screen. “There’s more.”

As 11:21 the back door opened and two men walked in, flicking from the kitchen camera to the living room and vanishing. “Bedroom and bathroom,” explained Valerie. “More of the same.”

“I know them,” said Pennie. “They came to the sanctuary to see Chase.”

“Sanctuary?” Valerie frowned.

“Animal rescue place,” said Winston. “Where she works. Chase is her boss.”

“Ah.” Valerie paused the slides at a good shot of the intruders. “Who are they?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Pennie said. “Chase owed some money to someone and they were reminding him.” She frowned. “Oh, God. Did they think I had their money? Did this happen because of Chase?”

Winston warred with his conscience before reassuring her that it probably wasn’t anything to do with Chase. “I know these guys too,” he said. “Speaker and Dog. They’re brothers that work for Charlie Benton.”

“What do they do,” asked Meinwen.

“Extortion, drug pushing, money laundering, protection.” Winston shrugged. “I don’t think there’s a pie Benton hasn’t got a finger in. I don’t know what they’re doing here though.”

“That.” Valerie stabbed a finger at the screen. In the image, Speaker was tucking a plastic identity tag under the sofa. “They were planting evidence.”

“Why though?” asked Winston. “Who would ask Charlie Benton for a favour like that?”

“Someone desperate,” said Pennie.

“I bet they came to look for your papers,” said Winston, “but when they saw the mess they assumed someone had beaten them to it. Dog kept a lookout while Speaker planted the evidence then they scarpered without the pages.”

“Cesare,” said Valerie. “Dog changed his name. I heard them tell Chase.”

“Odd.” Latitia stood up as the slide show finished. “What was going on at the start? Was that something supernatural?”

“A ghost, you mean?” Pennie gave a bark of laughter. “You don’t honestly believe in all that guff, do you?”

“Guff?” Winston raised an eyebrow. “I believe it about as much as I believe in politicians, and I really wish they didn’t exist.”

“You can’t be serious.” Pennie’s face twisted into a most unflattering expression. “All this was done by a ghost?”

“Certainly not,” said Meinwen. “It’d be ridiculous to even contemplate it.”

“Thank God,” said Pennie. “Some sanity at last.”

“That’s right.” Meinwen picked up a dustpan and brush. “Ghosts are unable to manipulate objects. This was done by a demon.”

“A demon?” Pennie’s mouth hung open. “You’re having me on.”

“Not at all,” said Latitia. “Of course, there is the possibility of it being an elf or a fairy, but those usually show up on cameras.”

“Neither of those,” said Valerie, packing away her laptop. “They’d leave evidence. The smell at least. Did you notice any odd smells when you got in, Pennie?”

“Not over the faeces and the urine, no.” Pennie wrinkled her nose. “I saved some poo if you’d like to take a look.”

“You saved some? Why?” Latitia looked askance.

“Forensic evidence,” said Pennie. “DNA matching.”

“Good call,” said Meinwen, “though if it was a demon it will have used someone else’s poo so they’d get a false positive.”

“Hold on though,” said Winston. “Whose poo would a demon throw? Not just anyone’s, surely? There’s always method to a demon’s actions.”

“Why do you keep saying demon?” said Pennie. “This isn’t the set of the exorcist and I’m not about to fall for a candid camera trick. “There’s no such thing as demons except in books and films.”

Meinwen nodded. “She has a point,” she said, turning to Winston and wiggling her eyebrows out of Pennie’s line of sight. “There’s no such thing as demons. We might as well tell her the truth.”

“Thank you,” said Pennie. “At last. What exactly is going on?”

“It’s a top secret project,” said Meinwen. “They’re experimenting with manipulating magnetic fields from a distance. That’s why they installed cameras first. If they can ransack your flat they can use the internet to get anywhere in the world. It would be a devastating weapon.”

“Well blow me,” said Pennie, sinking into a chair. She looked up. “What about the faeces?”

“That was to make it look like vandals,” said Meinwen. “Think about it. If they can teleport faeces into your flat, they can teleport fissionable material into a powerplant.”

“Oh my God.” Pennie’s hand clamped over her mouth in horror. “We have to warn someone. The government.”

Meinwen pulled on her rubber gloves with a snap. “Who do you think funds Twilight?”

Chapter 27

Winston pulled up at Pennie’s flat in a cloud of oily smoke and turned off the engine. He could almost hear the gasp of relief from the engine as the temperature dropped from boiling point with the distinctive tink, tink of cooling metal. He pushed open the door and got out and strode toward her flat without bothering to lock the car.

He didn’t reach the red front door. Pennie came flying out of it as soon as he got within ten yards. If Winston was surprised by her throwing herself at him he didn’t show it.

“What’s up girl?” he asked.

“Oh, Winston!” Pennie buried her head against his chest, inhaling the twin scents of Strength body wash and antiseptic handwash, “They ransacked my flat and broke everything but they didn’t get the papers and I found Steven’s identity tag and I think he’s dead because he won’t answer his phone and he always answers his phone and what am I going to do?”

“Calm down.” Winston picked her up and peeled her arms away. “Take a deep breath and tell me it a bit at a time, with pauses between the sentences.”

“They ransacked my flat.” Pennie gestured toward the open door. “They smashed everything up.”

“Who did?” Winston took hold of her arms above the elbows and searched her face as if the answer was written there. “Who ransacked your flat?”

“Them. Twilight. I don’t know.” Pennie began to cry, the tears filling her eyes making her look half her age and far more vulnerable than the usual super-confidant wonder woman she portrayed.

“It wouldn’t be Twilight, love,” Winston said, pulling her close. “Twilight are a scientific research firm. What would they want to go messing up your flat for?”

“Steven left me some papers,” said Pennie. She looked toward the road and sniffed. “Come indoors. I don’t want to talk about it out here. They might be listening.”

“Who?” Winston looked all around, but the image he had of men in black balaclavas with directional microphones was only in his head. He allowed himself to be led into the flat. Pennie shut the front door and went upstairs. He followed at a steadier pace, appreciating the framed watercolours and prints that adorned the walls.

“Bloody Hell,” he said when he reached the top. “You weren’t kidding about it being turned over, were you?”

“I told you.” Pennie jerked her head toward the kitchen. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. You came straight from work, didn’t you? I hope you didn’t get into trouble for leaving early.”

“I was due some flexi time,” he said, following her. He watched her put the kettle on, taking in the décor of a woman who hadn’t been single for very long. “This is Steven Lowry,” he said, picking up a framed photograph from the knick-knack shelf on the corner of the wall cabinet. “He works for Twilight. Is this your ex?”

“That’s right.” Pennie frowned. “How do you know him?”

“I’ve just put out a search for him,” said Winston. “I work at Twilight too.”

Pennie drew away from him. “You never said.”

“You never asked.”

“Did someone put you up to asking me out?”

“Don’t be daft.” Winston dusted off a chair and straddled it, resting his forearms on the back. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

“To find out about me.” Pennie shook her head and turned back to the kettle, setting out two mugs and dropping a tea bag in each. “I think it was them that did this,” she said again. “Steve gave me some papers to look after before he disappeared. Old papers. With formulae on them and symbols. They look more like magic spells than science. He wouldn’t tell me what they were for, just to keep an eye on them for him. Next thing I know my flat’s been turned over and his pass key is right here.”

“That’s bloody odd,” agreed Winston. The kettle boiled and he waited while she poured water in the cups, stirred and disposed of the bags. She added milk and sugar. “He hasn’t signed out of Twilight in three days. Four now.”

“How would you know?” Pennie asked. “What do you do up there?”

“I’m security,” Winston said. “Front desk. It beats working in the steel factory.”

“You have nothing to do with the research?”

“Me? I never even passed me GCSEs.”

“Or the secret experiments?”

“Didn’t even know there were any.”

“Or that new director they got. Dr. Hunt?”

“Ah. Er.” Winston grinned sheepishly. “He’s an old mate, actually. He got me the job. It’s funny, though, ‘cause I looked after him for years. Up until last year he was a bit slow in the head, then he had an accident and suddenly he was director of Twilight. You could’ve knocked me down with a feather when he got that job because up until then it was touch and go whether he kept his job working on the lathes, you know what I mean?”

“Not at all, no.” Pennie brought the teas to the little table and sat down. “You mean he had a accident and suddenly became intelligent? The exact reverse of what happen to everybody else when they bump their head?”

“That’s right.” Winston took the handle of the mug in one meaty paw and had a sip of the tea. “He says it must have shook something loose, something that was stopping his brain from working right. He’s engaged to my sister. They’re getting married on Saturday.” He put the tea down and winked. “Want to come to the wedding with me?”

“My Steven spent three years working for Twilight,” she said. “He had a doctorate in clinical pathology and another in viral anatomy. He spent fifteen years as a research scientist after he’d graduated and beat three hundred other people to the research job there. Then your retarded mate wanders in and takes over as director.”

“Less of the ‘retard’,” said Winston. “He was a bit slow but as I said, he got better.”

“How did he jump from being ‘a bit slow’ to possessing enough knowledge to head up a major research facility?” Pennie asked. “I’ve got a master’s in Physics and I doubt I could get a job as a secretary there.”

“He was in the right place at the right time,” said Winston. “I can’t explain it. He’s a different person these days. It’s almost as if I don’t know him at all.”

“He was awful to Steve,” Pennie said. “The last director paid no attention to the scientists working for the company but this Sam Hunt makes him do the most menial tasks.”

“Such as?” Winston took a mouthful of tea and looked into her eyes.

“Well…” Pennie looked away. “He sent him to buy an old book last time. One that was all about making tiny dolls. It’s un-natural, grown men making dolls.”

“I suppose.” Winston patted her arm. “You said they were looking for papers, the people who did this.” He nodded at the damage. “What sort of papers?”

“Pages from that book, actually.” Pennie smiled for the first time since Winston had arrived. “They didn’t get them. I had them too well hidden.”

“They must be important, though, these pages.” Winston finished his tea and relinquished his hold on the cup. This left him a hand with nothing to do and he became acutely aware of it, as if it were a casual friend lying on the table.

“I suppose.” Pennie looked worried. “You don’t think they’ll come back?”

“Nah.” Winston leaned back and put his hands in his lap, out of her line of sight. “You’ve had the police out and everything. They wouldn’t dare. How did they get in?”

“They forced the back door.” Pennie nodded toward the offending entry. “The neighbours downstairs didn’t hear a thing.”

“Perhaps it was the neighbours doing it,” said Winston.

“Paul and Jo?” Pennie considered it for a moment. “No. I can’t see it. They’ve got a spare key.”

“I still don’t think it was Twilight.” Winston stood up and stretched, putting his hands behind his head and arching his back. “They’ve got no reason to turn your place over. So what if there are missing pages? Sam would just go and buy another copy.” He began picking up pieces of broken crockery. “This was just thugs,” he said. “You mark my words.”

“Why would thugs break in just to smash everything?” Pennie said, pulling on a pair of heavy-duty marigolds. “They smashed the telly when the could have taken it. They left my jewellery and my papers.”

“Papers?”

“Rent book for downstairs, bank card, passport, that sort of thing.” She started on the corner of the living room opposite to Winston. “As far as I can tell, nothing was taken.”

“But something was left here.” Winston paused, looking up to the corner of the ceiling. “Give me a minute, will you?”

“Sure.” Pennie’s brow creased as he took out his mobile phone. “Who are you calling?”

“Mate of mine.” Winston flashed her a smile as the call connected. “Julie? I’m at Pennie’s flat… no, not like that. She’s been burgled. It’s a hell of a mess.” He paused while Julie talked. “I will, yeah. Listen, is that bloke you work for any good with computers? No? Know anyone who is?” He gave a sudden bark of laughter. “Valerie? I didn’t even know she was back in town. How do I get hold of her?”

He covered the mouthpiece of talked across the room to Pennie. “I’ve got to nip out and fetch someone,” he said. “A specialist in security. Will you be able to cover her bill?”

“I expect so.” Pennie took a step toward him. What’s all this about?” she asked. “I’ve already had the police lecturing me on the proper use of locks and bolts on doors and windows.”

“It’s not that sort of security.” Winston held a hand up to forestall her reply and spoke back into the phone. “Yeah? Cushti. I remember her…. Hang on while I get a pen.” He made scribbling motions and Pennie opened a drawer in the sideboard for one, passing it across with the back of an envelope to write on.

He wrote down the number Julie gave him and read it back to her. “Thanks, babe. I owe you one.” He put the phone down with a smile at her reply.

“What was all that about then?” Pennie asked. “What security are you on about?”

“Come in the kitchen.” Winston led her to the back door, opened it and ushered her outside. “How long have you had micro webcams in the corners of your rooms?” he asked. “Not just ones you can get out of a shop but state of the art cutting edge micro cams?”

“I don’t.” Pennie made to go back inside to see. “Where have those come from?”

“I only know one place where they make those,” said Winston. “Let’s just say that I believe you about Twilight now. This ransacking wasn’t to steal anything at all. It was to plant those cameras.”

“Why would anyone want to spy on me, though,” said Pennie. “I don’t have any secrets.”

“You have something they want. We just have to find out what.” Winston pulled out his phone and dialled the number he’d written down. “Meinwen?” he said. “It’s Winston.” He frowned. “Winston. Felicia’s friend?” The frown was replaced with a grin. “That’s right. Listen, I hear Valerie’s staying with you. Is she there? Can I speak to her? Cushti.”

Pennie went back inside to make another cup of tea. Listening to men make fools of themselves to women she didn’t know was not one of her favourite pastimes. She boiled the kettle, doing her best not to stare at the corners of the ceilings.

The door burst open, almost giving her a heart attack. “I’ll be right back,” said Winston. “I have to pick up Valerie and Meinwen.”

“Why?”

“Valerie’s a computer whiz,” he said, “and Meinwen just wants to help.”

“Okay.” Pennie followed him to the top of the stairs. “Winston?” she called.

“Yeah?” He paused at the door, one hand on the latch ready to close it and looked back up the stairs at her.

“Yes,” she said, “I will come with you to your sister’s wedding.”

Chapter 26

Sam went straight to his secret laboratory. Most of the Twilight complex was secret, but his area was more secret still. It was a matter of priorities that the head scientist got the best pitches and Sam had always loved to have secret hideouts, ever since the Den he and his brother had built when he was six.

This time last year he’d been a lather operator at the steelworks without so much as a GCSE to his name. This year he was the head of a cutting edge technology firm and had a contract with something he didn’t even believe in.

He sat at his desk and took the book from its tissue-paper wrapping. It had only been a matter of time before he got this book. Whatever Steven Lowry had done with the original pages was moot now Sam had a replacement. He’d watched the shop all day until the woman at the desk had left, leaving the imp in charge. She thought nobody knew, but Twilight had developed contact lenses that could see the supernatural years ago.

The imp she’d left in charge had not been the brightest of demons; easily persuaded by twists of logic and a bag of Imperial Mints. They craved the sugar, he was sure. Keritel was the same. Ask him for a bargain and he would drive copper nails through your soul. Sweeten the deal with a sachet of sugar and he was putty in Sam’s hands.

The book was exactly as it should be, every illustration exactly in place. He flipped to the activation diagram, not bothering to hide his squeal of delight at the perfectly preserved drawing. He carried it across to the laser scanner and transferred the image to the internal system; one click setting the etching process into motion.

“Keritel” He called across the room and the demon appeared in the hemispherical ward.

“What?” it said, laying down a dremmeling tool. “You tell me I’ve only got a day to finish this then interrupt me. What am I supposed to do? Work all night?”

“Yes, if you have to. I’m paying you by the job, not the hour.”

“Ha de bloody ha.” The imp turned to face him. “I don’t work nights, not for mortals, anyway. I’m on Airforon, the twenty-sixth sigil. Is what you want to say more important than finishing?”

“Yes.” Sam squatted on his side of the circle for the second time in one day. “I’ve got the activation sigil. I can produce the prototype as soon as you finish the engraving.”

“Which I will do, as soon as you leave me be.” Keritel glanced across to the pile of bones. “Those are about ready too,” he said at the lack of maggot activity. “Clean bones make clean spells.”

“Good.” Sam looked through the shimmering protection field. “How soon until you finish the engravings?”

“Only five to go now.” Keritel picked up the dremmel and grinned, his teeth meshing with one another so perfectly that that it looked to Sam as if the demon had a continual unbroken seam of ivory. “Power tools are a necromancer’s friend. I’m telling you, if they had these things in the old days Christianity would have taken a different route.”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

Keritel ignored him for a full fifteen seconds at the dremmel whined through the first curve of the sigil Ashtamhote. He powered it down and blew dust out of the inscribed line. “Look,” he said when he was satisfied. “This is necromancy, right?”

Sam nodded. “So?” he said. “What’s that got to do with Christianity?”

“Everything!” The imp laughed, setting his tool down while he brushed a piece of floor clear of Sam-faced maggots. He sat cross-legged facing his summoner. “Look, Necromancy has been going on ever since man fist thought of an afterlife. The Egyptians talked to the spirits of the dead, as did the Incas and the Mayans and the Hebrews. It’s part of a culture’s religion whether they like it or not. Even Jesus freely admitted talking with the dead so it’s not like it was a secret.”

The imp fished under his loincloth and drew out a battered tobacco tin. “Not that they would admit to doing it.” He flipped open the tin to draw out a hand-rolled cigarette no fatter than a cocktail stick and put it between his lips. A box of matches provided the light and he drew in a lungful of smoke, holding it for several seconds while he studied Sam’s face.

He blew out the smoke, now a sickly green colour after being contaminated by his lungs. “The thing is,” he said, “A proper spirit binding would take a master practitioner two or three years to inscribe a skull with the ostracae for the binding. That’s assuming he didn’t make a mistake that would ruin the whole project. Add to that the ritual to separate the spirit from the still living flesh and the hand-crafting of all the tools and it adds up to something done once every century, if that.”

Sam shifted to a more comfortable position. It was surprising what you could learn from a demon. “What ritual?” he asked. “It only took you a few seconds.”

“That’s because all I’m interested in are results,” said the imp. “I’m not playing to an audience that might decide I’m next if the ritual fails. Me, all I have to do is say the right words, stab him and catch the soul in a jar.” He nodded toward the self-sealing coffee jar. “And Bob’s your uncle.”

“What’s that got to do with power tools?”

“Everything.” The imp grinned. “It’s taken me two days to inscribe the sigils instead of two years and not a scratch out of place. If the old gits could do it this fast they’d have had an army of spirit slaves. What need would there be to interpret the Bible when you could just ask the captured soul of John the Baptist what the young Jesus had for lunch? If early Christians had access to power tools they would have bound the spirits of everyone. The whole evolution of the church would have stagnated.”

“Bummer,” said Sam. “Their loss, really.” He shifted closer. “Could you instruct a homunculus to inscribe the ostracae?”

“I like your thinking,” said Keritel. “You’d have an army of homunculi in no time at all.” He laughed to imagine it. “No.”

“No?” Sam scowled. “Why not?”

“Because it takes a lot of skill to do the engraving,” said the imp. “And before you ask, no, you couldn’t instruct your light machine to do it either.”

“Light machine?” Sam frowned and then nodded as realisation dawned. “You mean the laser etcher. Why not? That machine would be more precise than you with all the power tools in the world. It’s just a tool itself, if you want to look at it that way. It’s like me doing the inscribing using the laser as my engraving tool.”

“You think?” Keritel offered him a thin lipped smile. “If you could adhere to that point of view it might work. Shall we try it?”

“No.” Sam was suspicious. Why was the demon suddenly so co-operative? “Why have you changed your mind about it?”

“Oh! No reason.” Keritel allowed a chuckle to escape as he returned to the skull, tracing a claw across the groove he’d just etched and determining the next. He started up the dremmel again, the whine filling the room even through the magical barrier.

Sam waited, seething until the noise died once more. “You laughed,” he said. “What aren’t you telling me? What’s the difference between a homunculus doing the carving and me programming a laser cutter?”

“Simple,” said the imp. “The homunculus has no spirit of his own to attach to the subject. I’ve had to invest a small portion of myself in this one. The binding spell is like the starter motor of a car; it needs a little bit of effort to get the rest of it running. He scrambled over to where Sam was sitting, ducking his head to avoid the dome of the circle. “I wouldn’t like to make too many of these,” he said. “My spirit would get stripped away until I became no better than the creatures I’m making. If you don’t mind that happening to you, go ahead and program your light machine.”

“I don’t think I will, thanks.” Sam thought about it. “What if I hire someone to do the job?”

“You’d have to pay them an awful lot to sign away their souls,” said the imp. “They’d have to be trained as well. It’s not just the sigils, see, it’s the words of binding and manipulation that go along with them.”

“I see.” Sam bit his lip; a gesture of unconscious stress he’d adopted ever since his mother had left him in the remand home at seven years old. “There isn’t a simple manual they could follow then?”

“What? ‘Inscribe this line, say these words, open the gate to the abyss and draw out a line of power’? Not really.” Keritel sucked on the end of the dremmel. “I’ll have a think about it,” he said. “There must, logically, be a way of producing dozens of man-sized homunculi.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” Sam stood up. “Is there anything you need? I have to get back to work.”

Keritel waddled back to the skull. “BLT with cheese?” he said. “I’m famished.”

“Food wasn’t in the contract,” Sam said over his shoulder.

“You can’t blame an imp for trying,” Keritel said. “You can’t blame a man for dying.”

“You can’t blame a dog for howling in the night,” said Sam, “but you can give him a good kicking all the same.”

“Great.” The imp picked up his tool and waved it at the mage. “That’s not in the contract either. I’d like to see the forfeit penalties.”

He watched Sam take the elevator upstairs again and returned to his work. The maggots had finished their flesh stripping and were beginning to pupate. He picked up a handful of the ones still wriggling and chewed them thoughtfully. “If he had a series of people giving blood and pressing a button to run the engraver…” Three more lines finished off the sigil and he pricked his thumb to run blood into the grooves. “He could even offer to pay them.”

Keritel shook his head as he twisted the skull in his hands, looking for the best place to inscribe the next sigil. “No,” he said aloud, shaking his head. “That wouldn’t work. He’d need to make them aware of the danger to their souls beforehand. Still,” Keritel smiled as he set the skull down again, the left jawbone uppermost to take the next sigil, “there are plenty of people who’d be willing to give that up for the price of a cup of tea or the winner of the 2:30 at Kempston.”

The air to his right shimmered and another imp appeared holding a foil-wrapped parcel. “How’s it going?” said the new arrival.

“Almost finished,” said Keritel. “Then I have a contract for that bloke in the big house.”

“Waterman?” The new arrival began to open the foil package. “I didn’t know he was in the market for another imp. He’s already got three of his own. They’re a cliquey lot, too. Won’t allow anyone in or out although my mum’s cousin knows the elder’s brood mate and she said there was a sister to the younger two.” He looked down. “Chicken and sweetcorn do you?”

“Not Waterman, no.” Keritel reached across and took the sandwich. “I loathe chicken and sweetcorn.”

“So do I.” The second imp took the second sandwich and bit into it. “Every single day I have chicken and sweetcorn. Sometimes I try to swap them with other people I hate them so much, but what can I do?”

“Get her to make something else.”

“Who?” asked the imp. “I make these myself.”

Keritel laughed. “Eat up,” he said. “You can come with me to the Big House and I’ll introduce you to Mackenzie.”

Chapter 25

Julie was relieved that no-one was using the kitchen. Other than the front of the shop it was the largest clear area in the building, and she didn’t want to be opening portals in full view of the public. She took a last look down the corridor to where Delirious the imp was holding the fort. He was almost useless when it came to serving customers: being invisible to mortals severely restricted the actual amount of sales he could make.

He did manage workarounds. Although he didn’t have the calligraphic skills of his brother John he had managed a couple of shaky signs on the computer. Please Put Your Payment in the Till and Thank You for Visiting had started life in Times New Roman, Bold, 36 point but by the time they rolled onto the printer out tray they may as well have been written in crayon by a dyslexic spider. Still, they looked fine laminated and most customers were happy to stick to the honour system of leaving the money for any books they wanted. Those that didn’t wished they had. Later.

Julie closed the door. Delirious could cope for ten minutes without her watching him, as long as Harold didn’t know and Harold was unlikely to leave his office for the next half an hour. The box of cream cakes from the coffee shop on Hope Street was worth every penny.

She laid the swab from upstairs on the pine table and drew on her power. If asked, most people would be hard pressed to decide between a werewolf and a vampire for their abilities. Julie was neither but thanks to her mother’s genes could manipulate the Plane of the Dead. Julie was a mage.

Had it not been broad daylight the lights would have flickered as the portal opened. As it was, the balancing energies made the kettle switch on. Julie hoped there was water in it. She lost too many by boiling them dry.

Her hair was sucked forwards and back as the portal opened. The ruddy light from the dark plain beyond flickered against the now visible strands linking her false eye to this world. Julie had been born sighted but had lost it when she matured at sixteen. She was left able to hear the supernatural world around her but see neither it nor the physical plane. It was hardly any wonder that her mother had locked her away in a psychiatric ward.

When her sister had caught the were virus, Julie’s babbling about spirits and demons rang horribly true. Felicia managed to arrange Julie to gain the Sight, and she was left seeing the spirit world but not the mortal plane. Now she wore a false eye that allowed her to see as other, normal folk did,

“Not you again!” A figure materialised in front of her, stepping through the portal as if it were not there at all. It wore a battered felt suit and trilby hat, as if he’d been dressed in his Sunday best before being laid in the ground. “I’ve told you before,” he said. “I’m not yer’ bleedin’ spirit guide.”

Julie smiled. “Hi Pete,” she said. “How’s life?”

“That’s as funny now as it was the last twenty times you asked,” said the ghost. “What do you keep contacting me? Why not one of the tens of thousands of other spirits here?”

“I don’t know, it’s not intentional.” Julie twisted her head to check the shimmering edges of the portal. “Perhaps a bit of the portal is stuck.”

“I’m surprised it works at all with all these energy lines running through it.” Pete plucked at the glowing threads which thrummed in harmony. “Why can’t you do proper magic in isolation of the Line?”

“I don’t know,” Julie confessed. “This is just how I do it. I don’t know any other way.”

“You need to store the magic in something,” said Pete. “You won’t rely on a line then. You have to give the energy back, of course.”

“How do I do that?” Julie frowned. “Harold does magic from his own energy. It feeds off him.”

Pete sucked air trough his teeth. It made a whistling noise and he had to stop before he blew himself inside out. “Dangerous, that is,” he said. “Cast too big a spell and it eats you up from the inside out. Not pretty.” He shook his head. “What you want is a spell focus. Something to store energy from the line so it doesn’t come from you. Ensorcellment. That’s what you need to learn. The art of laying spells in objects.”

“I do that already.” Julie nodded toward her fake eye. “I build spells into energy spheres.”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult to learn then.” Pete raised his hat. “Be seeing you.”

“Wait!” Julie stood, as if to dart through the portal herself. “You haven’t told me what I needed yet.”

“What was that then?” He paused, one hand holding the frame of the portal as if it was a door. “Make it quick, girl, I’ve got a date with an African Queen.”

“I need to know who this is,” said Julie, holding out the swab. “It’s DNA from a living woman and I need to know why she was spying on me.”

“Spying? Really?” Pete came forward again. How exciting.” He ran a finger across the swab, releasing tendrils of smoke that twisted into shapes resembling hands, feet, the glint of a smile and the turn of a phrase. A woman appeared at the portal gates. “Becky?” she asked. “I can hear you, like a fading echo. Where are you darling?”

“She’s not here,” said Julie. “She was here but she had to leave. Who are you?”

“I’m her mother.” She seemed distracted, looking over Julie’s shoulder as if her daughter was just behind her. “Where is she? I need to tell her some home truths about that horrid man she married.”

“She’ll be back,” said Julie. “I could seek her out if I had her name.”

The spirit shifted her gaze to Julie. “Rebecca Weston,” she said. “My daughter’s name is Rebecca Weston. It used to be Clee until she married that useless lump but would she listen when I told her it was a bad match? No. She ran away with him instead. I’ll tell you something else, too. Nothing good ever came of a marriage between an honest girl and a crook. Did you ever hear about what happened to–”

Julie ended the connection to the Line and Pete was sucked into the closing portal like water down a bath tub drain. “Thanks a lot,” he said as his spirit splintered. “Give me some warning, why don’t you?”

She ignored him and poured salt on the swab to prevent the verbose ghost from trailing the essence back here. Suddenly she could sympathise with Rebecca though why the woman was spying on her had yet to be determined.

She cleaned the table while the kettle boiled, then made a cup of tea for herself and Harold, popping his on the corner of his desk as she passed the office. The accounts were obviously not going well judging by his frown of concentration and rapid clicking of the mouse.

All was quiet in the shop. Delirious was sat on top of Julie’s desk, cleaning the claws on his feet with the end of a disposable biro and pressing the resultant cheese into a small mound resembling mouldy play-dough. He looked up as she neared, grinning with all seventy of his sharpened teeth. “Hi,” he said, ignoring her look of disgust. “You’re going to be dead pleased.”

“Why’s that?” Julie pulled out the seat and swivelled it away from his creation. “Did you wash?”

“Very funny. No.” Delirious scowled. “I sold a book.”

“In a bookshop? That was brave.” Julie patted his head. “What did you sell? Anything interesting?”

“A really expensive one,” said the imp. “The docket is in the box with the cheque. I watched him write it out myself.”

“Super.” Julie opened the cash box that served as a till when Delirious was minding the shop. She pulled out a cheque for eighteen thousand pounds signed S Hunt and looked at the title of the book. Her mouth dropped open in horror. “You are joking,” she said. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

“I wouldn’t joke about selling a book,” Devious said. He concern prompted him to check the docket she was holding. “That’s the one. Samuel Roberts’ Treatise on Animated Figures (volume two).” He looked up. “You’ve gone pale,” he said.

“You idiot,” she hissed. “This is the book that we’re trying desperately to get back because it’s too dangerous and you go and sell another copy. How stupid can you get?”

“Well excuse me,” said Delirious, drawing himself to his full fourteen inches. “How was I supposed to know? Had it been taken out of the stock catalogue? No it hadn’t.”

“There was a note on it,” said Julie. “It was flagged.”

“I read that,” said the imp. “It said that on no account was I to sell both volumes to the same person.”

“But you did,” said Julie. “Sam Hunt already has a copy of volume one. Steven Lowry bought it on his behalf.”

“Who would know that, apart from you?” Delirious huffed and picked up his lump of toenail cheese. “I certainly didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Julie slumped in her office chair. “It’s not your fault. I should never have left you minding the shop. Harold’s going to kill me.”

“On the plus side,” said Delirious, licking his cheese like an ice cream, “at least you could talk to yourself afterwards.”

“No, I’d be dead. I’d be lucky if I came back as a ghost and Harold agreed to letting me work for free.”

“It’d never work,” said the imp.

“Why not?”

“The database is too complicated. You’d never pick it up.” He paused. “You never pick anything up actually. Not ever again.”

“Funny.” Julie grimaced.

“And money would just slip through your fingers.” Delirious giggled.

“Enough with the extrapolations.” Julie couldn’t help smiling. “It was a figure of speech.”

“Was it?” The imp looked disappointed. “I though you could see the future? I thought that was an example of your talent.”

“Fortunately not.” Julie looked toward the office. “I’m going to have to tell him, aren’t I?”

“Not necessarily.” The imp sidled forward and beckoned her closer. As she leaned down he whispered in her ear, the hissed consonants caressing her lobes as his teeth ground inches away from her face. “You could leave him to find the docket on the next stocktake,” he said.

“You think?”

“Of course. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“A horde of homunculi take over the village?”

“There is that.” Delirious kneaded the toenail cheese like a worry ball. “There’s not much chance of that happening though,” he said. “To activate a homunculi requires a connection to a mortal; an investment in life energies. It exceedingly rare for a mage to have more than one homunculus.”

“Good.” Julie frowned. “Wait a minute. What sort of life energies are we talking about?”

“A portion of the soul. That way the caster knows what’s going on with the creature.”

“And vice versa, I presume.” Julie picked up her pen. “What would happen if the caster used someone else’s life force?”

“Is that even possible?” Delirious climbed down to the floor, his claws skittering across the wooden desk. “It would be highly dangerous. It’d be like creating an autonomous being with allegiance only to itself. The caster would have to have some of himself in the process to have even a hope of controlling it. How would you even do that?”

“With a soul?” Julie stared into the glowing orbs of the imp. “What if the homunculus was given the spirit of a dead man?”

“Then you’d have a powerful being under the command of the caster,” said Devious. “That’d be really dangerous. Really, really dangerous.”

Chapter 24

PC Brandsford walked around the flat tutting at the damage. He’d spent several long minutes taking down Chase’s particulars and examining the back door to the fire escape and garden, through which the burglars had entered and after several attempts at dropping hints, had virtually ordered constable Sanders to make them all ‘a nice cuppa.’

“So,” he said when they’d brushed off the small bistro-style table and sat around it. “There was no force used to get in. Did you leave the back door open or did they have a key?”

“They must have used my ex-husband’s key.” Pennie handed him Steve’s ID badge. “I distinctly remember locking the door before I went to work this morning. I sat on the balcony with my coffee and morning paper.”

Mike fingered the badge, turning it over and over in his hands. “What makes you so sure this wasn’t done by Steven Lowry?”

“We’re friends,” said Pennie. “Just because we divorced it doesn’t mean we hate each other. We stayed best mates all the way through. Still are, really, which is why I gave him the key.”

“Which presumably he gave to someone else.” Mike sipped his tea, shifting his weight on the folding chair Pennie had scrounged for him for her tenant downstairs.

“I don’t know why.” Pennie looked to Chase for support but he was staring into his untouched mug. “Even if it was him he wouldn’t have trashed the place. He only had to ask for them papers.”

“Papers?” Constable Sanders pulled out her notebook, “What papers?”

“They’re pages from an old book he asked me to look after,” said Pennie. “I can get them if you like but I can’t see what they have to do with anything.”

“When did you last see Mr. Lowry?” Mike asked when she returned with the packet. “Was he aware of your hiding place for these papers?”

“Not really, no.” Pennie opened the packet. “I never really saw the need. He knew he was welcome to collect them at a moment’s notice.”

Mike leafed through the papers, a quizzical look on his face. “I can’t make head nor tail of them,” he confessed. “What are they about?”

“Search me.” Pennie stuffed them back in the envelope, ignoring PC Sanders’ outstretched hand. “Some old astrology text. I can’t see why they were so important.”

“Talking of which,” said Chase, uncomfortable with being silent for so long, “why did he leave them with you? Why couldn’t he keep them at his house?”

“I don’t rightly know,” said Pennie. “Perhaps he was embarrassed about them. You know what scientists are like. They’ll take any flaw in a colleague and move in for the kill.”

“The kill?” Mike’s pleasant demeanour vanished. “That’s an odd term to use. Do you believe his life to be in danger?”

“It’s just an expression.” Pennie frowned. “You don’t think someone would want to kill him, do you?”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t.” Mike smiled reassuringly. “Who’d want to kill a scientist?”

“Any other scientist with an interest in the same field and a suspicion he was going to get the breakthrough first?” said Sanders, under her breath.

“Nobody, I’m sure.” Chase stood up and collected the cups, taking Mike’s out of his hand just as he was about to take a sip of it. “Have you got everything you need for your report, constable?”

“I think so.” Mike stood as well, indicating with a hand that Sanders should follow suit. “We’ll be sending the fingerprint boys round a bit later on.”

“But you’ve opened and closed that door half a dozen times,” said Chase. “That’s hardly preservation of a crime scene, is it?”

“My fingerprints will already be on file,” said Mike. “They’ll need to take yours for elimination purposes.”

“I haven’t touched it.”

“Your dabs will be all over this flat.” Mike nodded. “We’ll see ourselves out,” he said. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks.” Pennie smiled and got up. “Is it all right if we clear up, though? As long as we leave the door, I mean.”

“I don’t see why not, love.” Sanders, with a glance at Mike, took her to one side. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? Have you got somewhere else you can stay for the night?”

“Not really.” Pennie glanced over at Chase who was deliberately looking the other way. “I don’t know that many people.”

“Is there anyone that would stay with you then?” She followed Pennie’s glance. “Just for a few hours, perhaps?”

“Maybe.” Pennie fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks for thinking about me.”

“Some people…” Sanders nodded toward Mike, who was studiously avoiding the ‘identifying with the victim’ talk, “think the job is all about tackling the crime. I don’t. I joined the police to help people when they needed it. Look.” She scribbled on her notebook, tore out the page and pressed it into Pennie’s hand. “Here’s my mobile number. Not the police one, my personal one. Give me a call if you want to chat out of hours.”

“Thanks.” Pennie’s gaze flicked to the line of numbers. “I’ll do that.”

“Good.” Sanders patted her shoulder. “Got to stick together, haven’t we? Call me anytime. I’ll soon say if it’s not convenient. I’ve got to go or His Nibs’ll have my guts for garters. Ten minutes in uniform and he thinks he’s an inspector already.”

Pennie laughed. “Thanks,” she said again and followed the two officers to the door. Once outside Mike radioed the station. Pennie could hear the words ‘crime scene unit’ bandied about.

“Too much television,” said Chase, coming down the stairs. “They all think they’re TV stars these days.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Pennie. “I don’t watch TV.”

“I don’t very much.” Chase said quickly. “It’s all rubbish on there anyway. Look, I have to get back to the sanctuary. Will you be all right? Take the rest of the day off.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Pennie. “I’ll need a lift in tomorrow, though. My car’s still parked in the yard.”

“No problem.” Chase climbed into his car. “I’ll see you at eight.”

“Eight tomorrow or eight tonight?” Pennie called, but Chase was gone in a roar of bio-diesel fumes from his 4×4. The police car started up and followed him out. She watched them both go down the street, the police car’s lights flickering as they caught up to Chase. She couldn’t help smiling. They’d chased Chase. She was glad she wasn’t working this afternoon; he’d be like a bear with a sore head after a speeding ticket and an emissions fine.

She closed the door, climbing the fourteen steps to her flat with an increasing feeling of despondence. Why her? What could she possibly have that a burglar could want? All her assets were stored at the bank.

She pushed through the mess, wincing whenever something cracked or splintered beneath her shoes. Her desk had been ransacked. Her computer – not that it was top of the range in the first place – had been destroyed. The keyboard had been put through the screen and there was a dent in the side of the tower case she could keep a fruit bowl in.

She carried it piece by piece to the front door, suspecting that by the time she’d carried the rubbish outside the council would probably charge her an excess fee for the refuse collection. They knew how to add insult to injury.

When her desk was cleared she pulled her sleeve down and used it to wipe the surface. Dust and fragments of glass from broken picture frames cascaded to the floor and she scraped the worst of it away from the carpet with her foot.

A brief search of the room located the four drawers that fitted the desk and the files that went into the lower one. They hadn’t been broken, though it was probably not by design. That was one small mercy at least: the desk had belonged to her grandfather and was the only heirloom she had.

The matching chair had a missing leg. At least it looked like a clean break and she knew a man skilled with his hands who would probably mend it for her. She stood at the desk and ran through the box file of her assets. Photocopies of the original documents, they were all were worthless in themselves and had not been touched. She spread them out on the desk. Even the records of the divorce were present, the assets divided with scrupulous fairness between them. Steven had been good like that.

The thought of her ex-husband was enough to breach the dam of her emotions and hot salted tears spattered onto the cheap photocopies. Unable to sit, Pennie leaned against the desk, great wracking sobs leaving her shaking under their unexpected ferocity.

She wept for her flat, for the broken knick-knacks she’d collected over the years, for her computer full of memories of the past (how she regretted that scanner! Her memories would be safely intact on sepia prints instead of lost in a cloud of free electrons. She wept for her lost virginity, her misjudged openness and her failed marriage. She wept for her dead parents and a brother who committed suicide at twenty two for no good reason other than ‘she’ didn’t love him. Pennie hadn’t even known he was in love at the time, and only met Elizabeth when she turned up to his funeral in Lizzie Dripping stockings and two lip piercings asking about the will.

Most of all she wept for herself and her failed marriage. Steven might have been gay (he insisted bisexual but Pennie couldn’t come to terms with that)but he had been a good husband. The clichéd ‘best friend with benefits’ had seen her through more trials than anyone in her life. Why wasn’t he here?

She hunted the flat for her bag. She remembered taking it out of Chase’s car when they arrived but had to retrace her steps to discover its fate. It was on the bookcase. Chase must have put it there when he was picking books up off the floor. Her hand found her mobile phone and flipped it open. Steven was on speed dial but when she pressed it to her ear all she heard was an automaton speaking.

This number is not in use. Please replace your handset.

How odd was that? Steven was never far from his mobile phone. Even when he was in meetings he habitually switched it to silent so that he could see any missed calls. For there to not even be a message request was unheard of.

She pulled a pen from her handbag and carried it to the desk. The back of the television service guide (and what use was a service guide when there was a hole in the screen the size of a doc marten’s boot?) served as a makeshift notepad.

First she dialled the company that brokered her house insurance and requested a claim form. Her tears reduced to dry streaks on grimy cheeks, she interrogated the woman on the other end to determine the things to claim for on the policy which would give the best rate of payout-to-increase-in-premium and made a note of them.

“Yes,” she said, looking across the room to the growing pile of rubbish for the council lorry. “It was a new computer. Fifteen hundred pounds four months ago. No I don’t have a receipt, what do you mean I can only claim for seven hundred?”

Her mouth hardened into a cold, hard line and when the calls were done – there was a second call to a security company and a third to the police station – she began to take photographs of the chaos and damage using the built-in camera on her phone. The insurance company wouldn’t know what had hit it when her claim went through.

When she turned to connect her phone to the computer to print off the pictures, the empty desk mocked her. She collapsed to the carpet and flicked through her recently-used number list and dialled.

“Winston?” she said when it connected, her sobs already colouring her voice. “I need you.”

Chapter 23

There was something fundamentally wrong, Felicia thought as she waited for a covered mobility scooter to pass before crossing the road, with calling an infusion of flower petals ‘tea’. It was bad enough that she had to ask for Jasmine Sensation, enduring the sniggers of the pre-pubescent staff at the coffee shop on Hope Street, but carrying it back to Meinwen’s witchery shop was embarrassing. She just hoped that neither of the other weres living locally saw her carrying herbal tea.

It was a relief to reach the door of ‘Goddess Provides,’ backing into it to force it open without risk to the two drinks and baguettes she carried. As she crossed the threshold, she executed a neat turn to prevent the door from taking the drinks out of her hand as it closed again. The bell overhead rattled, bringing Meinwen through the bead curtain to check who’d entered.

“You’re late,” she said, looking at the array of clocks. All of them said different times but by law of averages one of them must be correct.

“Sorry. I was chatting to Julie on the phone and there were a couple of potential in.”

“Sell anything?”

“No, but at least they make the gallery look busy. That brings more customers in. Besides, I’m not going to kick someone out just because they don’t want to buy anything. If that had happened to me when I was young I’ve have never gone into art. I’d have taken a subject socially disturbing like politics.”

“You should become a councillor, you might do some good,” said Meinwen, taking the cups and leading the way into the tiny kitchen. “Do you know, somebody stole my bin last week and the council won’t replace it. They only replace them when they’re broken and they insist on seeing the broken one first.” She handed the drinks back to Felicia, shifted a pile of books from the table and put them on the draining board.

Felicia set out the drinks and sat down, unwrapping the chicken salad baguette and picking out the salad, dropping it onto the plastic wrapper, much to Meinwen’s disgust.

“If you hadn’t had meat I’d have been able to eat that,” she said.

“I have to eat meat.” Felicia tore the top off her cappuccino and took several sips. “You know I can’t process much else.”

“Cheese,” said Meinwen as she unwrapped her hummus. “You could have a cheese salad and then I could eat the salad.”

“I thought you didn’t eat cheese either,” said Felicia. She took a bite of the baguette and chewed.

“Some cheese I do,” said Meinwen. “I’m vegetarian, not vegan. I can’t imagine giving up honey or eggs.”

“Right, I forgot.” Felicia swallowed. “What time does Valerie start and finish work?”

“Six until two.” Meinwen’s tongue lapped a trace of garlic oil from her spoon. “Why? Have you got some work for her?”

“Maybe.” Felicia grinned. “Probably better you don’t ask. Just tell her to give me a call, would you?”

“Of course.” Meinwen looked away as Felicia tore into her chicken.

***

It was an hour after Felicia had left before the door opened again.

“What’s up?” Valerie sidled into the shop, instinctively catching the clapper before it rang the bell. “I got your message on the answering machine.”

“Sorry about that.” Meinwen held open the bead curtain. “I want to talk to you and it isn’t a conversation I wanted to have over the phone.”

“You want me out of the house?” Valerie sat. “I can understand that. It can’t be easy living with me. If it’s about the blood-soaked overalls in the washing basket…”

“No>” Meinwen’s face creased in consternation for a moment, then cleared as she put it out of mind. “It’s not that at all. Actually, I quite like having someone else in the house with me.”

“That’s a relief.” Valerie visibly relaxed. “What then?”

Meinwen sat, taking Valerie’s hands. “How well do you know Felicia?”

Valerie shrugged. “Quite well. I know what her monthly cycle is, if you know what I mean. Also the others she lives with: Gillian and Julie and Harold. I know what they are.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” Meinwen was surprised. “It would bother me. It did bother me, when I first found out. I got used to the idea eventually. You’re a nun. Surely what they are is against everything you stand for?”

“Once, perhaps.” Valerie pulled back her hands and rested them on the table. “But then the convent trained me to be a covert operative so nothing really bothers me that much. I have two or three years before my reflexes start to slow and then I need to find somewhere to settle down. Half a mil in the bank doesn’t buy a lot around here.”

“Half a mil?” Meinwen was almost hoarse. “Why are you doing a minimum wage rubbish job when you’ve got half a mil in the bank?”

“I need time to pull some documents together,” Valerie paused and tapped her fingers on the table. “So… why did you want to talk to me about Felicia?”

“She wants to see you. She’s got a job for you.” Meinwen leaned back on her chair and snagged a jar of sunflower seeds. She twisted off the cap and began eating them one by one.

“Amen to that. I could do with the excitement to be honest.”

“Flipping burgers not as fulfilling as you’d hoped?”

“I’ll turn the other cheek on that, Ms. Jones.” Valerie made the sign of the cross and smiled. “Did Felicia happen to mention what the job was?”

“She said it was better that I didn’t know,” said Meinwen, “though whether that was to keep me honest or to stop me worrying I’m not certain.”

“Probably both.” Valerie reached across and took a sunflower seed. “It must be something big. She can handle most things on her own.”

“More than you’d think.” Meinwen made stabbing motions with a seed. “I’ve seen her deal with an angel.”

“And worse than that,” said Valerie. “Once she had to deal with me.” She slipped through the beaded curtain but paused to put her head back through for a parting comment. “That was the time she lost.”

She smiled as she went through the shop, passing the tarot cards and images of pagan deities. It was a shame people believed in such things, she thought, when she knew with absolute certainty that God existed. There was no denying God once you’d met a demon, and a demon worked out of the bookshop she was walking toward.

Despite twenty years of mental conditioning, she elected not to enter the bookshop and drive blessed stakes through the torso of the proprietor, electing to continue around the corner to the Basement gallery instead.

Felicia was in her office when Valerie arrived, talking to someone on the phone. She smiled at the younger woman and nodded at a chair. Valerie sat, taking the opportunity to look around the cramped space. The back wall was plastered in pin board which in turn was covered in notes and posters for art exhibitions all over the country. Valerie was particularly taken by one for the Pre-Raphaelites in Oxford, where the poster depicted Rossetti’s Annunciation. That was, she decided, the very best way to become pregnant. No fuss, no mess; just a quick hello from an angel and a wave of his flower and you were the Mother of God. Not much chance of that happening to her. Valerie was already twenty seven; well over twice the age of Mary when she conceived.

“Done.” Felicia put the phone down and slumped into her chair. “Never,” she said, “Never offer an exhibition space to half elf. Give them an inch and they’ll take a guinea.”

“A yard, you mean,” Valerie leaned forward. “Mother Superior used to make us count pins by the yard. It was important, she said.”

“Important for who?”

“I think it was meant to keep us busy. Idle hands and all that. I can throw pins accurately over five yards now and still bury them to the hilt in the target.” Valerie picked up a pencil and tossed it across the room where it sank several inches into the wall.

Felicia followed its progress. “Impressive,” she said. “I’ll have to learn that trick myself.”

“I could teach you, if you like. It’s easy enough.” Valerie shrugged. “Meinwen said you had a job for me tonight.”

“That’s right.” Felicia leaned forward and dropped her voice. “We think someone at twilight has got hold of one of Harold’s very important texts and we need to get it back”

“No theft involved?”

“No. Just reclamation of stolen property.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to do anything bad.”

Felicia laughed. “You were an assassin when I first met you.”

“Redeemer,” Valerie corrected. “I helped people find God.”

“Thirty years sooner than they would have like to in most cases.”

Valerie ignored the remark. “Where is this book?”

“I’ve no idea. This is a recon mission. Slip in and slip out. If we can get the book, so much the better but if not, we need to find out where it’s kept and how well guarded it is.”

“Who stole it in the first place?”

“A chap called Steven Redd. Why?”

“We’ll look in his office first,” said Valerie. “Chances are he still has it.”

“I doubt it.” Felicia picked up the phone and dialled. “Julie? This book we’re looking for. Do we know who has it?”

“Not really, no.”

“Can you find out?”

“How am I supposed to find out? Winston is my only contact up there and he didn’t know anything about the book, let alone who has it.”

Felicia covered the mouthpiece. “She doesn’t know who has the book,” she said. “Nor does Winston.”

“Someone must know.” Valerie frowned. “Is the layout still the same from when it used to be a convent?”

“As far as I know.” Felicia pulled up the website on her laptop. She scanned through the links. “There isn’t a floor plan but I can’t see it being radically different. That’s why I wanted you with me. You used to live there. You’ll know your way around.”

“I was a nun living in a cell on sub level two,” said Valerie. “And that was only until the Abbot turned out to be an agnostic. I was hardly in a position to wander the halls of the Technorati.”

“I bet you did though.” Felicia grinned at Valerie’s sudden blush. “See? You have more knowledge of the research facility than I do.” She took her hand off the phone. “Julie? Are you still there?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Julie yawned. “It’s not as if I’m inundated with customers up here, is it? Or work, come to that. If I wasn’t playing cards online I’d have been bored to tears hours ago. Oh, wait!””

“Good,” said Felicia. “Good that you’re still there, I mean. Not that you’re bored to tears. Is there any chance you could ask someone for a floor plan of Twilight? Would Winston have one?”

“Possibly.” Julie thought for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do and get back to you, all right?”

“Super. Thanks sweetie.” Felicia put the phone down. “I’ll do what I can to get an updated layout,” she said. “When do you finish flip[ping burgers again?”

“Two AM,” Valerie said. “Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ll meet up with you,” said Felicia. “I say to meet here but the security system is a killer.”

“I could crack it,” said Valerie. “I kept up my skills while I was locked up in the convent.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Felicia. “I wonder how many more people would be afraid of nuns if they met you.”

“None at all.” Valerie grinned. “They’d be dead.”

***

Julie walked up the stairs to the romance section. If ghosts looked pale before it was just possible they looked even paler when they realised that the proprietor of the shop they spent their afternoons in could see them after all. Mrs. Prendergast backed away. “What do you want?” she said. “Do you have unfinished business. Leave me alone, dear. Go into the light.”

“I can’t,” Julie said. “I have to ask you to do something for me.”

“Always with the want, want, want,” said the ghost. “Tell me then, and try not to moan or rattle your chains.”

Chapter 22

Chase disconnected and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He turned to Pennie. “The police are sending a car round,” he said. “They should be here in twenty minutes or so.”

“Fat lot of good that will do,” Pennie replied. She took a deep breath and covered her face with her hands, holding the breath as long as she could while pressing against her eyelids. Chase watched her, letting out a sympathetic breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding when she let out her own. “Right,” she said. “Their first words are going to be ‘was anything stolen?’ so I want to be able to answer that. Come on.”

Chase followed her through the door and up the stairs. “Is this a flat, then?” he said. “It doesn’t look like flats from the outside.”

“It is flats,” she said, leading him through the