‘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.’
Using the opening to shrug off suspicion, I laughed and raised my voice so that Blackbeard would hear me. ‘Well, I’m a taxi driver by trade,’ I said. Not a witch. Never a witch. I don’t know anything about witches. Only maps and one-way streets. ‘I spend more time driving than I do walking. That’s why it’s so great to be able to have a break somewhere here with my, er, husband.’
Out of the corner of my eye, it seemed like Blackbeard was starting to relax again. My terror slowly dissipated, to be replaced by a sense of euphoria. We were going to nab him two weeks early. Talk about fortuitous. I thought back to see I’d missed any good fortune omens but I couldn’t remember any. I was still ecstatic, however. Capturing a serial killer three hours after you learned of their existence is about as good as it gets.
Schooling my face into a careful mask to hide my glee, I babbled away to drive away any last vestiges of suspicion that Blackbeard might possess. ‘I’ll admit,’ I said, ‘that we didn’t spend very long in the wood itself. The weather was pretty atrocious. It’s a lovely place, though. I’d like to come back one day. Preferably in summer.’
‘Yeah,’ the barman agreed. ‘It can be a bit bleak at this time of year.’
I nodded. When Blackbeard crooked his finger at the barman to ask for another drink, I gave a long, silent sigh of relief. There should be plenty of time for Winter to get down here. In fact, what I could do was make noises about nipping up to tell him to get a move on then I could tell him in person before he came down. Not that Winter’s expression would give him away as mine almost had; he did stoic and bland better than anyone else I knew.
I was just about to slide off the stool when a fresh-faced young woman with a jauntily swinging ponytail wandered in. ‘Jerry,’ she said to the barman, ‘do you know where the couple in room two are? They have a phone call. I’ve tried ringing up but there’s no answer and I thought they might be here instead.’
He turned and grinned at me. ‘One of them is right there.’
The woman smiled at me. ‘There’s a man on the phone for you. He says he’s calling on behalf of the Ipsissimus and that he’s looking for Adeptus Exemptus Winter. He’s called Tarpaulin Vol-au-vent.’ She paused. ‘Or something like that.’
I stopped breathing. Blackbeard’s head snapped in my direction and his gaze was hard and unyielding. Think, Ivy. Bloody think.
I tried to laugh. ‘That’s my brother. He’s such an idiot. He likes pretending that we’re in the Order because my husband knows a couple of card tricks.’ The words tripped out of my mouth. That was good, right? That was believable? ‘He also likes using stupid names because he thinks it’s funny. He’s not really called Tarpaulin Vol-au-vent. His name is Joe Smith.’
The smile left her eyes. She clearly thought I either possessed an IQ similar to the temperature outside or I was pulling her leg for my own amusement. ‘Yeah, okay. Shall I send the call up to your room or do you want to take it here?’
I couldn’t let Blackbeard out of my sight now. ‘Here is fine,’ I chirped.
She nodded and the barman reached over for an old-fashioned phone, placing it in front of me.
‘I’ll just go back and press the right button to transfer the call,’ she said. ‘I should have known the man was joking. He said you were both to be treated like royalty because you were highly talented witches who could commune with the dead and were about to bring down a serial killer.’ She laughed politely, albeit without humour. ‘It did seem a bit too far-fetched. As if you’d get either witches or serial killers hanging out here!’
Blackbeard was already standing up. He really was immense; he towered over everyone else. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him this time. His fists were curled into tight balls and I could make out the faint lines of a tattoo across his knuckles. No wonder he’d managed to murder the entire Dorset coven with such ease – everything about him suggested brute power. And hatred. The ice-cold venom emanating from his every pore – which was completely directed at me – was utterly terrifying.
I reached for the phone and lifted the receiver to my ear. ‘Hello? Joe, are you there?’ I don’t know why I was continuing with the fiction. It was obviously pointless.
‘Hi, Ivy! It’s Tarquin, not Joe. I don’t know who Joe is.’ There was a pause. ‘Is he in the Order? Is he someone I should know?’
Blackbeard released the tension in one of his large hands, flexed his fingers and reached into his back pocket. If he pulled out a knife or, worse, a gun, then I’d have no choice but to cast a spell. I couldn’t let this bastard hurt more innocent people. I’d have to pray that I wasn’t turning into a necromancer and that, even if there was collateral damage, it could be contained.
‘Joe,’ I said into the phone, ‘are you calling because you have some news for me?’ For example, news that I can happily use as much magic as I want to? Because if there was ever a time to let all my witchy skills come to the fore, this was it.
‘I told you,’ Tarquin said, with confusion colouring his voice, ‘it’s Tarquin. Tarquin Villeneuve. Your ex-boyfriend and lover. Your current neighbour. The blond-haired boy wonder who’s set to become the youngest Order Department Head in history.’
Not if I cut him up into little pieces and fed him to Brutus. I tried very hard not to grit my teeth and appear relaxed. Come on, Winter, I prayed. Bloody come on.
‘So you’ve said,’ I murmured into the receiver. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you’re calling? Is Mother alright?’
‘Huh?’
Tarquin really wasn’t the sharpest witch in the West. I weighed up my options. I could cast a spell – well, several spells – and bring Blackbeard to the floor. He’d kill no more witches, Order or otherwise, and the world would be a far safer place. Not to mention that all those ghosts might live in peace for a while. But if I did that, I might also let loose all that blacker-than-black magic that might be residing deep inside me. Hundreds could suffer, thousands even. But that was the worst-case scenario. Nothing might happen at all.
The alternative was that Blackbeard would be free. Free to kill again. Free to cause disaster and mayhem. The seven witches he’d already murdered would continue to be trapped here. There might even be more than that one coven. I had no way of knowing.
‘Forget the drink,’ Blackbeard said to the barman in the hoarse, gruff tone you’d expect a serial killer to have. I couldn’t hear any particular accent but he might have been trying to disguise his voice. ‘I’ve got to go.’ Without waiting for an answer, he pulled his dead eyes away from me and strode towards the door.
I glanced at the stairs one last time. Winter still hadn’t appeared. Blast it all – this was the one occasion in his life when he had decided to take his time. If he was down here in my place, he’d know what to do. And he’d have no fear about doing it.
As Blackbeard hefted open the main door and I felt the cold air on the back of my neck, I leaned across the bar. ‘Call up to my room. Get my partner down here pronto.’
The barman looked confused; it probably didn’t help that Tarquin’s tinny voice could still be heard from the phone’s receiver. ‘Ivy? What’s going on? Ivy! Are you there? Do you remember what happened the last time when you couldn’t be arsed to listen to me? The Ipsissimus wants…’ I hung up and pushed the phone across to the barman with a meaningful glance before running out after Blackbeard. I still didn’t know what I was going to do but I couldn’t just let him walk away.
It was even colder outside than I expected. Out here on the barren moors there was little shelter. I cast around, searching desperately for my quarry. He couldn’t just disappear into the night; I wasn’t going to let him.
There was a crunch of heavy footsteps on gravel then Blackbeard’s voice came at me from the darkness. I still couldn’t see him – for such a large man, he was good at concealing h
imself. At least he was still here. Right now I’d take every small mercy I could grasp hold of.
‘I thought you’d follow me,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who you are or how you know about me – but I do know that you can’t stop me.’
I swallowed. My mouth was bone dry. I’d only just recovered from my last near-death experience; I had zero desire to throw myself into that kind of scenario again. Desperate to stall him until Winter showed up, I found my voice. ‘You’re killing witches,’ I said. ‘An entire coven. From Dorset. Why?’
His voice drifted through the darkness. ‘The more pertinent question is how do you know that?’
‘Seriously? That’s the most important question? Not who are you, or what’s your motive, or what the hell do you think you can gain? Or are you just a deluded psychopath? You think the biggest question is how I know about you? Pah!’ I scoffed. ‘There’s no limit to what I know.’ I racked my brains. There had to be something I could do here, some information I could use against him. ‘I know that the coven murder wasn’t as smooth as you’d have liked,’ I said. ‘That one of them came round at the last minute and fought you. That made you angry.’
There was silence. Damn it, had he already somehow made his escape? There was nothing around here apart from a quiet country road and mud-filled moors. He could head off in virtually any direction and I wouldn’t have a clue where he’d gone, at least until Winter got here and performed a tracking spell. Right now, there was nothing happening which was worth the risk of me being overpowered by necromantic magic.
‘Hello?’ I called out, my voice carrying across the silent car park. ‘Are you still there? Or have I scared you off?’ My eyes darted from side to side. Damn, it was dark out here. ‘Mr Serial Killer?’
I felt the hot breath against the back of neck and the cold steel tip nick my skin. ‘It’d take a lot more than a blonde woman with dodgy dress sense to scare me,’ Blackbeard murmured.
I didn’t dare move a muscle. He reached up with his free hand and brushed my hair away from my cheek. His other hand was still gripping the blade – I could feel it pressed against my flesh. One swift movement and he’d slice through my carotid artery. It would be adios muchachos. We were too far from any hospital; no matter what Winter did, this time I wouldn’t be coming back from the brink.
‘You don’t want to do this,’ I whispered. It was probably about the stupidest thing I’d ever said. Something about being a mere centimetre away from death was hampering my eloquence. Telling a man who was responsible for at least seven murders that he didn’t want to round that up to an even eight didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.
‘Why not, Blondie?’ Blackbeard asked. ‘Because lover boy is a witch and he’ll come after me in revenge?’ He laughed softly. ‘From what I’ve gathered, he’s already after me. Your death won’t change that.’
Arse. Weren’t evil villains supposed to be numbskulls with no brain cells to rub together? Why did I get the smart one? I breathed out. I felt strangely calm; every second that I wasn’t creating a messy pool of blood was a positive.
Blackbeard moved the blade, scraping it gently against my neck in a caressing motion. ‘I should just slit your throat,’ he said. ‘The fact that you open your legs for a witch should damn you. But I’m not a bastard and I’m not a cold-blooded murderer, either. If you’re not a magic freak then you get to live. I can’t say the same for lover boy, though. He’s already crossed the line. He should be afraid.’
It was the threat to Winter that did it for me. I leapt away and spun round, breathing heavily and glaring at Blackbeard. He didn’t look even remotely intimidated. He’d learn.
‘You’ve screwed up,’ I said. There was no need to fake the venom in my voice. The dead eyes that glittered back at me told me everything I needed to know about this prick. ‘I’m as much a witch as he is – and I’m more powerful than you could ever dream of.’
He laughed, a cold, grating noise like the sound of fingernails scraping down a blackboard. ‘If you were a witch, you’d have already tried your magic against me. You should be pleased, Blondie. You’re not a witch – it’s the only reason you’re still living.’
There was a shout from the doorway of the pub. Winter. Finally. Blackbeard’s eyes narrowed then he darted to the side. I raised my hands, ready to fling whatever I had at him and damn the consequences.
‘Ivy! No!’
The panic in Winter’s voice was enough to make me pause. I dropped my hands just as the sound of a revving engine lit the air. A single headlight flicked on, blinding me. ‘Winter, it’s him!’ I screamed. ‘We have to stop him!’
‘I’ve got this,’ he called, his voice even and calm.
Several people spilled out from the pub behind Winter. ‘What’s going on? Is there a fight?’
Blackbeard’s huge motorbike took off, speeding towards me. As I flung myself to one side, Winter raised his hands to complete a double rune. I hit the ground and rolled, twisting round to watch. Winter’s expression was filled with concentration. Not for the first time, genuine awe filled me at his ability to work under pressure. Even from this distance, I could see the spark in his sapphire-blue eyes and the deft way he flicked his fingers to complete the rune. Tough luck, Blackbeard, I thought sardonically. Your time is up.
The motorbike skidded, sending a spray of gravel towards the onlookers. Then it mounted the verge, hit the tarmacked road and sped off into the distance, its red taillight visible only for a few moments until it – and Blackbeard – disappeared round the corner.
I pulled myself up to my feet. Catching a quick glimpse of Winter’s frown, I shook out my hair and ran for his car. ‘Rafe!’ I yelled. ‘Car keys!’
The cloud passed and Winter re-focused. He reached into his pocket, his face falling. ‘They’re still upstairs,’ he ground out. He turned and ran inside. Ignoring the rigid tension that made every step jar, I ran after him.
‘Hey, are you alright?’ the barman asked. ‘You’re bleeding.’
I touched my neck where Blackbeard had cut me. My fingers came away wet and sticky. I grimaced. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll live.’ But others might not, I hissed under my breath, causing the barman and several others to pull back.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
Winter reappeared, the keys jangling in his hand.
‘Long story,’ I called out, bolting back to the car. We could still catch up to Blackbeard. We could still do this. Winter unlocked the doors and we leapt inside as if the fires of hell were after us. ‘I really want to get this bastard.’
Winter nodded. ‘You and me both.’
Chapter Seven
When we limped back into the pub after two fruitless hours of driving around narrow, dark roads and scrutinising country tracks and village side streets, a crowd of happy customers turned to stare at us. I wasn’t surprised; I was caked in dried blood and Winter looked as if he were about to murder someone. If only. I stalked up to the bar and, without being asked, the barman poured me a shot of vodka. I downed it in one.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘You looked like you needed it.’ He paused. ‘Should I get the kitchen to re-heat your stew?’
The last thing I felt right now was hungry and I was ready to politely decline but Winter was more sensible. ‘That would be great,’ he said. He took my elbow and drew me over to a small table, away from the rest of the punters.
I flopped down and dropped my head into my hands. ‘We had him, Rafe. He was right here. I could have stopped him. If I’d used magic…’
‘It was just as well that you didn’t,’ he growled. ‘Anything could have happened. Besides, I had every opportunity, too. I was sure that spell had smacked right into him but…’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Maybe you were tired,’ I suggested gently. ‘It’s been a long day. We drove all the way here from Oxford then tramped across those moors in the driving rain. And you used magic out there to keep us
warm.’
He shook his head vehemently. ‘No. I know myself and I know when I’ve reached the point of exhaustion where my magic will fail. I wasn’t anywhere near that point.’ He drummed his fingers against the wooden table and cursed loudly enough to upset an elderly couple enjoying a quiet sherry. Winter murmured a brief apology and looked at me. ‘Maybe he’s a witch too and he’d set up some kind of warding spell. It would have to be a damn powerful one to withstand the magic I flung at him but it wouldn’t have been impossible.’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘No, I already told you. He hates witches. It was about the only time I saw any emotion in his expression. Anyway, the reason he didn’t kill me is because he assumed I wasn’t a witch because I didn’t use magic against him when I could have.’
‘So his motive is that he’s a witch-hater. That’s why he murdered that coven.’ Winter sighed. ‘The question is, why did he go for them? Order witches are more establishment. Surely someone who despises magic would be more inclined to hit out at us than at a non-Order group.’
I chose not to comment on his use of the word ‘us’. This wasn’t really the time. ‘Non-Order covens are weak by their very nature. Maybe he was testing the water and he’s going to move on to other targets in the future.’ I grimaced. It was just a theory; it didn’t have to be true.
Winter met my eyes and we shared a moment of quiet horror. ‘I can’t believe he got away.’ His voice was quiet. ‘I can’t believe that our strongest weapon against him was knowing about him and where he’d be in the future, and we’ve fucked that up. He won’t come back here again.’ He sighed. ‘I had him, Ivy. I’m sure of it.’