‘I … I don’t know,’ I admitted, slumping into a chair. I was beginning to feel lightheaded. ‘I hope it’s on the next page, because I wouldn’t even know where to begin with finding those other sections. I mean, why don’t they list a page number? Is there a list of contents at the back instead of at the front, I wonder? I–’ I broke off, as my dizziness intensified. With it, a memory arrived – and it didn’t arrive slowly, as I’d feared; instead, it whooshed into my mind all at once.

  ≈

  Suddenly I saw it all again. A day when I was only seven, running around in my father’s basement beneath the shop. It had been a precious place to me, then. Sometimes a frightening one, too.

  Cleo and her brother Leo giggled and played together, two young cats running around and knocking things off shelves, while Angelica and I tried to calm them down.

  Angelica lost focus on the cats, and zeroed in on a large leather bag with golden clasps. She walked towards it, a look of nervous excitement on her pretty face, and reached her hands out to the clasps.

  ‘Oh no you don’t, Gelly,’ said my father, suddenly appearing in the doorway. He pushed the bag out of her reach, and bent down to her level.

  My goodness, he’d seemed so enormous back then. A tall, broad-shouldered giant of a man, with darker hair than Angelica or I, and darker eyes too. They were navy blue, the colour of a moonless night sky.

  ‘Gelly,’ he continued, his voice calm and loving, ‘I know how much you want to use those things, but you and I tried it, remember? I can only pass this legacy on to one of my daughters, and I’m so, so sorry that it isn’t you.’ He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight. ‘But you will find your way, Gelly. You’ll find a place in this world that’s just yours. I know you will.’

  She wrenched out of his arms, shaking her head, tears streaking down her face as she screeched, ‘It’s not fair! It’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair! Neddy doesn’t want this. Any of this. She doesn’t want Mam’s stupid legacy, and she doesn’t want yours.’

  My father straightened up. ‘No,’ he agreed, ushering Angelica towards the door. ‘But it’s hers nonetheless.’

  Leo followed Angelica out, while Cleo remained in the room, curling up on a pile of old cloaks beneath a table. I’d stayed quiet throughout my father’s interaction with Angelica, and now I took my place beside him as he moved to that large workbench and opened up the bag. Next, he took his brown pointed hat off his head, and placed it on mine.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘We’re going to open the book. We’ll go over what we did last time, okay?’ He reached inside the nearby lantern. ‘A fresh Infernal Candle is lit,’ he said, when he’d completed the task. ‘How long will it stay alight?’

  ‘Three hours.’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘Three hours. Three hours to hold life and death in balance. And what must you do when you journey into the Fog or the In Between?’

  ‘I must take the wand and the lantern with me and keep them close the whole time I’m there. If I lose the lantern, or if it burns out, I’ll never find my way back home.’

  ‘Yes. Good. Very good.’ He sounded stressed. ‘Well, for now, it’s safe to touch the Wand of the Lost.’

  I glanced at the most horrible of the three wands, in the open wooden box. ‘You said that once I’d revealed the book all the way through the first time, I didn’t need to use the wand again to see the spells.’

  ‘That’s true,’ he confirmed. ‘And unless you send that memory to the Fog, the book will stay visible to you. But that’s what we’re going to be working on, Ned. The Fog. And we have to use the Wand of the Lost to get there. You have to get used to holding it, and to knowing that you can only hold it with the lantern aflame.’

  ‘I already know that,’ I mumbled. ‘And I’m not scared of it. But … why can’t Gelly be here? You said – you said that as long as you’re alive, and the two of us are your heirs, we can both do this. We can both learn about the artefacts, and we can both use them.’

  He rubbed my head. ‘That’s true. But when I die, I’ll have to choose one of you to fully pass this onto. When that happens, Angelica won’t be able to use the artefacts in the same way you will. She might be able to do simple spells with them, but she won’t have the sort of power I’ll be passing on to you. There’s no point in bringing her in here to teach her things she’ll never need.’

  ‘But she wants it,’ I pressed. ‘She wants the legacy. It’s not fair that I get Mam’s powers and yours and she gets nothing. They’re … they’re scary powers, but Angelica’s not scared of them like I am, so she should be here instead of me.’

  ‘I know it’s not fair, Neddy. But your sister … she’s … she’s different to you. She does things without thinking. And some of those things she does, well … I’m sorry to say it, but they’re not always very nice.’

  ‘Like when she smashed the vase I made for Mam in pottery class?’

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. ‘Yes. Like that. Now, we’ve learned all about Servants and the In Between, and all about what the different wands can do, so now we’re going to move on, and–’

  ‘Not every wand,’ I interrupted him, looking pointedly at the third wand in the box, the plainest of the three. ‘You said that the Spellcaster can’t use his Wand of Return at all – not unless he defeats you and becomes the One True Necromancer. But you didn’t say if we can use ours or not.’

  ‘We’ll get to that another day, I promise you. Today, let’s read again about the Fog. We’ll read about how the Spellcaster uses it, and then we’ll read the counter-spells. What do we call the counter-spells?’

  ‘The Balance,’ I replied. ‘We have the Spell, and the Balance. And I …’

  ‘You’ll be the Balance, Ned.’ His voice shook as he spoke. ‘That’s my part in all of this, and it shall be yours, too.’

  I nodded quickly. All of the spells we’d seen so far had been terrifying. I was glad that there was a Balance, someone to break the evil, someone to set things right. I just wished it could be anyone but me.

  ‘Okay, then,’ I said. ‘Let’s learn about the Fog.’

  16. Once More Into the Fog

  Cleo was batting a paw at my face when I noticed her again. ‘I remembered it,’ I said. ‘I remembered all about the Fog and I … I remembered Dad telling me.’

  She rubbed her nose against mine. ‘I know. So did I. It came back to me when you remembered it. I played with Leo, and then I stayed in your dad’s basement with you.’

  ‘Oh, Cleo.’ I stayed pressed up against her for a second. ‘I know how much you miss your brother.’

  ‘Meh.’ She tried for a casual shrug, but it was more of a miserable heaving. ‘That’s life. And death. Well, at least now you won’t have to read a gazillion other pages before we get to the point, I suppose. Can you see the rest of the pages now? Do you know the whole book again?’

  Hopefully, I flipped through the book. ‘No,’ I said with a sinking stomach. ‘Angelica told me her memory spell meant that I’d have to go through them all one by one before they’re revealed to me. She really went out of her way to make my life difficult this time, didn’t she?’

  ‘When has she ever done anything else?’ Cleo pointed out. ‘But that’s going to take a long time, Ned. And every time you reveal another spell, you’ll get hit by the memory of when your dad first taught it to you. I have to admit, I’m enjoying this even less than I thought I would.’

  ‘Me too.’ I stood up. ‘I guess we have many, many annoying nights ahead of us, going through the rest of the book. But I remember how to set a soul free, so that’s all that matters right now.’

  With the instructions about entering the Fog (properly entering it, instead of almost dying in the process) in my mind, I lifted up the Wand of the Lost and the lantern. There was no heat from the candle, but that was nothing unusual – with the exception of one or two select spells, an Infernal Candle’s flame burned cold. Next, I whispered an incantation, seeing it bright and clear in my mind once more, after all of these years of having forgotten it; my dad had taught me well.

  ‘Into the Fog I journey

  To speak to one lost soul

  Marlon White I seek there

  Let me help him home.’

  I was still standing up straight, and not dead, and so far, there was no Fog surrounding me. But I knew, now, that it wasn’t supposed to be that way just yet. A second later, just as my father had taught me all those years ago, a doorway appeared. In the Book of Balance, it was simply called the Door. It was black, and foreboding, made of old, old wood. I placed the wand into the lock, and turned it to the left. The door creaked open and there, on the other side, was the Fog.

  I was entering it the right way this time, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. The Fog was still thick and freezing. There were whispers and cries just like before, rushing into my mind. It was a place of desolation. A place filled with the souls of people who were fully dead, but trapped in some kind of holding pen for the afterlife. And if memories were held there, too, was it possible that this was where Angelica had placed the memories she stole from me? I hoped not. I hoped that when I got to page nine hundred, I’d find that she hid my memories of Shane somewhere far more pleasant – or somewhere warmer, at least.

  For now, I found my way much easier than before. The lantern, though it burned cold, seemed to somehow stop the freezing air from seeping fully into my bones. After my recent recap on those lessons of old, I now knew that the crystal on the wand had supposedly been forged here, in the Fog, and that because of that, the wand would always aid in navigating this strange place. It acted as a dowsing rod, leading me forward, towards the voice that I could now hear clearly, crying louder than any of the others: Marlon White.

  As the wand led me along, a clear passage appeared through the Fog. Tiny little lights, like a young witch’s first Solas spell, zoomed past me. Were those memories, or souls? I would have to read through hundreds more pages in the Book of Balance before I discovered all of the answers.

  I kept an eye on the candle, afraid to journey too far from the Door, but I needn’t have worried. My body began to lift, moving along quickly, a feeling like flying, until I was standing before him: Marlon.

  ‘You came back.’

  ‘You can talk.’ I smiled at Marlon. ‘I couldn’t hear you the last time.’

  ‘No one but you can hear any of us,’ he said. ‘We can’t even hear each other. Or see each other. But we sense each other, all around.’

  I shivered. The only person I could see was Marlon. Everything else was either Fog or those little lights. But he was right: now that I’d stopped and was talking to Marlon, I could sense other people, all around. They wanted me to hear them, to see them, but I could only see Marlon. If I knew their names, as I knew his, I might be able to use the same incantation I’d used to find Marlon. I had no idea how I could find those names, though – which would mean these people were stuck here forever.

  Squashing down the pain that came with knowing I couldn’t help them, I focused on Marlon. ‘I know this is going to sound strange, but I can help you,’ I told him. ‘I can help free you from the Fog – that’s what this place is called. I can make sure you’re at peace. But first, can you tell me about how you died? Who killed you, Marlon?’

  His face went all screwed up. ‘I … I’m dead? I’m dead.’ His eyes bored into mine and he reached out to grasp me with freezing hands. ‘You have to leave me here, Ned. You have to go, now.’

  ‘I have time,’ I assured him. ‘My candle has at least two hours left.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. You can’t … you can’t free me, not yet.’

  ‘Why?’

  He gave me a befuddled frown. ‘I … I don’t remember why. I just know you can’t set me free.’

  ‘Okay, well let’s just forget about that for a moment. Tell me who hurt you, Marlon. Someone stabbed you – with the Dagger of Desolation, I think. Do you know what that is? Do you know who used it to kill you?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. No, they … yes. But …’ His hands went to his chest, to where he’d been stabbed. ‘She … she made it easy. She smelled like tallow and snapdragons.’

  I blinked. ‘Tallow and snapdragons? Marlon, are you talking about Alison?’

  The same befuddled expression returned. ‘I loved her so much that night. I wanted to love her forever.’

  I was in a place between life and the afterlife, and yet I felt more alive than ever. I felt my pulse race, felt my heart thud in my chest. There was so much more to read in the Book of Balance. Could Alison really use the Dagger of Desolation? Someone had, because Marlon had been stabbed, and now his soul was here, in the Fog. But wouldn’t she have to be the Spellcaster or the Balance to do that? For all I knew, anyone could use that knife, but it seemed unlikely – I needed to read the section on the artefacts to be sure.

  ‘Is Alison the Spellcaster, Marlon? Did she kill you?’

  He squeezed me again, his hands feeling even colder than before. ‘The memory of my death is far away from me, Ned. I can’t help you with that. It all shattered apart when I died. All I know is that you have to go. And you have to leave me. I beg you, Ned. Don’t free me from the Fog.’

  I stared back at him, about to appeal once more, but he shoved me away, his eyes filled with warning and fear, and cried, ‘Get out of here, Ned. Get out of here!’

  17. Kicking Cabbages and Breaking Glass

  I staggered back through the Door, placed the ugly wand back in the box, and blew out the candle.

  ‘You look as pale as that really pale ghost we spoke to last week,’ said Cleo, both of us watching on in amazement as the Door closed quietly and disappeared. ‘What happened? Did you set Marlon free?’

  ‘He didn’t want that.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he want that? Isn’t it all cold and scary in there?’

  ‘Incredibly cold and scary,’ I confirmed. ‘But for some reason, he was more terrified of me freeing him than he was of that place. I don’t know why that is, and he couldn’t tell me much. He’s … he’s kind of addled. But I think I know who killed him. You won’t believe this, Cleo, but I think it might have been Alison.’

  ‘Of course it was.’ My cat nodded sagely.

  ‘Of course?’

  ‘Well … duh. We live in an enclave where news travels fast. There’s no way Alison hadn’t heard about Marlon’s death. She was just pretending to be surprised when we told her about it at the Foul Factory. She had no intention of calling Katy and Hamish to help look for him, either. That was just part of her cover-up. It’s all very typical behaviour for a murderer.’

  ‘It is? Well then, why didn’t you say so at the time?’

  She began to claw at the rug. ‘Because I wanted you to figure it out for yourself, that’s why. So you could feel a sense of achievement. You know me, I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.’

  ‘Mm hm. That sounds reasonable.’ I picked up my phone. ‘I have to head out on the canal in a few minutes. First, I’m going to call the Wayfarers and let them know. Unless, of course, they’ve already figured it out, but didn’t say anything because they didn’t want to steal my thunder either.’

  She held her nose in the air. ‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’

  ≈

  By the time my night-job ended, I was exhausted. Fiona had decided to come with me, and I couldn’t turn her down after all the work she’d done. She’d chattered the whole time we were out on the canal, even while I was singing the spell. She’d done most of the rowing, though, so at least my arms didn’t ache quite so much as usual.

  As I drifted off to sleep with Cleo beside me, I feared it was going to be one of those feverish nights. Lots of my nights were that way, since I took over my mother’s legacy to dampen thoughts of the enclave’s demons. I was so tired, all the time, that sleep never felt fully refreshing, and was often spattered with worry-dreams of the day I’d had and the morning to come.

  I tried my best that night, as I did every night, to think positive thoughts before I fell asleep, in the hope that those positive thoughts would filter through to my dreams. I focused on that pretty cottage I would never have, and the smell of the sea upon the wind, mixing with the scent of flowers in my garden. I thought of the healing wands I would sell, and the people I would cure in my small practice, day after day. I thought of a man, baking bread in the country-cottage kitchen and singing along as he worked.

  When the man started to sound a little too much like Shane Moore, I forced a different voice upon him and returned to my fantasy. But no matter how well I’d instilled those happy thoughts before sleep came to take me, I spent that night in yet another worry-dream.

  Hamish, Katy, Fiona and I were in the shop. Hamish was chewing the brown hat, Katy was talking about monsters with two faces, Fiona was bemoaning the lack of zombie ash, and I was desperately trying to fill in a hole that had suddenly appeared in the centre of the floor. Not just any hole, but a long, rectangular one, just about the size of a coffin.

  I was almost glad when a loud noise awoke me and I bolted up in my stupid circular bed.

  ‘What was that?’ I mumbled groggily.

  ‘What?’ Cleo’s eyes shot open. ‘I didn’t fart.’

  ‘No. I mean, you did – I can smell it. But it sounded more like breaking glass.’ I jumped from the bed, and looked out the window. There was nothing to see down on Strange Lane, so I rushed through the flat and looked out through another window, down onto Samhain Street’s Main Street.

  Cleo had moved in a casual manner, and yet somehow arrived there before me. She was up on the windowsill above the sink, peering down. ‘It’s just a gang of teenagers going around kicking cabbages,’ she said.