‘They’re stuck until he’s stopped?’
I nodded. ‘Essentially. But he can’t know that their spirits are still around and talking to us. How could he? And we know exactly where he’ll be in less than two weeks’ time. He’ll return to this spot at the next new moon to scatter another set of ashes. When he does that, we’ll find him.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t understand what his motives are but one thing is very clear.’ I gazed morosely into the distance. ‘Ipsissimus Grenville wasn’t making things up. He wasn’t even exaggerating. We’re dealing with a serial killer. He’s murdered at least seven witches in cold blood and no one has even noticed.’
A muscle jerked in Winter’s jaw. I was impressed he was managing to keep his fury at bay; I could virtually feel his body quivering with rage that someone was doing this.
‘We have another point in our favour,’ he said. He met my eyes. ‘He doesn’t know that we know. We’re on his tail and he doesn’t have a clue. This will be over before he even realises it because we have surprise on our side.’ He scratched his chin. ‘And, no, you don’t have to say it. We have to inform the Order. We can’t keep this to ourselves.’
I touched his arm. ‘They’ll want to help – in fact, they’ll have to help. But they’ll also want us to work with them.’
Winter nodded but he didn’t say anything else.
Chapter Six
It didn’t take much to persuade Winter to book a room in the pub where we’d parked. There weren’t many guest rooms – although the bar was packed – and we weren’t exactly in a bustling metropolis. This place wouldn’t even count as a village. Still, staying here would give us a chance to dry off, sort ourselves out and plan our next move.
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 just your way. 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.