During that last visit, even though the project was being built in an entirely separate room from the morgue, I’d been able to hear and see so many of the dead clamouring for my attention, wanting to tell me who’d killed them and why, wanting me to help them get justice, or revenge.

  I’d helped them as much as I could (stopping short of revenge and settling for justice), but I really hoped I wouldn’t have to go through it again.

  Cautiously, I peeped into the open doorways along the corridor. Shane Moore’s office was empty, as was the large room in which the transport project was taking place. Whispering, ‘Eek’ beneath my breath (because that was sure to help matters), I pushed open the door to the lab.

  There was a dead body on a table, and unfortunately it was a man I recognised. He was from my enclave, and he bought and sold magical objects of dubious origin. As far as I knew, he was only forty-nine. He still looked young and healthy now. Other than the fact that he was dead.

  Two live bodies stood beside him – the first was Shane Moore, the Wayfarer healer. Shane was a guy who looked around thirty. He had black hair, ice-blue eyes, and the sort of body that could usually only be achieved by lifting heavy weights – although heaving dead bodies around might suffice.

  The second man in attendance was someone I’d never seen before. He was younger than Shane, a pale, thin man with a bald head and sunken eyes. He stood with a stoop that made his shoulders appear rounded.

  ‘Ned.’ Shane was making notes on a chart, and he barely glanced up at me. ‘I thought you were coming in later.’

  I hovered by the doorway. The room was eerily silent. If the dead man had a ghost, it wasn’t anywhere that I could see or hear. ‘Yeah, well, I was free this morning, so …’

  Before I could carry on, the second man grinned at me. ‘Ned? The Ned? As in, the Ghost Gabber?’

  I felt my nose wrinkle up. ‘The what now?’

  He looked from Shane to me. ‘You said she can talk to ghosts, right? I figured the Ghost Gabber would be a good nickname. I’m Igor, by the way.’

  He began to extend a hand, but quickly pulled it back when he realised he’d just been touching a dead man.

  ‘Well, I’m not actually called Igor,’ he continued. ‘It’s a joke. Do you like Young Frankenstein, Ned?’

  I looked helplessly at Shane, who concentrated on his chart as he said, ‘Ned, this is Sam, my new assistant. Sam is very fond of giving people nicknames – he calls me Frankenstein, and himself Igor, because he absolutely loves the movie Young Frankenstein. He’s going to be pretty disappointed when he finds out that we don’t stitch the bodies together and try to bring them back to life.’

  ‘Oh right.’ I nodded. ‘Katy has that on DVD, I think. I’ve never seen it.’ Katy, my second flatmate, had grown up in the human world, and she loved to share the films and books with us.

  ‘You should watch it,’ Shane said matter-of-factly. ‘It’s funny.’ He gave me a small, tense smile. In case you’re wondering, it wasn’t unusual for Shane to greet me this way. According to everyone else who knew him, he was the friendliest, loveliest guy on the planet. With me, he was always a little cold. I assumed it was because of my profession, but we’d never talked long enough for me to be certain.

  ‘Maybe I will, then,’ I replied. ‘Listen, I’ve got your latest delivery here.’ I placed the box of wands on a table close to the door. ‘So what did you want to see me about? Was there something wrong with the last lot? Or maybe my video tutorial wasn’t clear enough?’

  ‘Huh?’ Shane frowned at me. ‘No, there’s nothing wrong with your tutorials. Your wands are great.’ He patted Sam on the shoulder. ‘You can get off for your break now, Sam.’

  Sam gave him a little salute. ‘Sure thing, Frankenstein,’ he said as he headed out the door.

  With Sam gone, Shane focused on me. ‘It’s this guy I want to talk to you about, Ned.’ He nodded to the body on the table. ‘He’s been murdered. And I think there might be a connection to you.’

  3. The Infernal Artefacts

  ‘The murder victim was called Marlon White,’ Shane continued. ‘Forty-nine-year-old witch. A suspect in many crimes, but he’s never actually been convicted. A resident of the Hopeless Hollow area in Samhain Street.’

  ‘Yeah, I recognise him,’ I said, averting my gaze from the body. There was still no ghost, but you could never be too careful.

  ‘Right. Well … a neighbour of his noticed the post piling up and the curtains remaining drawn, so he called us. Marlon had been dead a few days when we got there. Which was … pleasant. It was a stabbing. A sharp, long knife, I’d say. No dark magic that we can detect around the injury or at the crime scene.’

  ‘Okaaay.’ I lifted a brow, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Yes, I’d known Marlon, but not very well. I didn’t understand what any of this had to do with me. ‘Should you be telling me all of this? Isn’t it an active murder investigation?’

  Shane shrugged. ‘It’s a Samhain Street murder, which means Katy will be working on it, so no doubt she’ll tell you the gory details anyway. Why pretend otherwise?’

  My flatmate was many things – a witch hunter (the nice kind), a private investigator, and an undercover officer for the Wayfarers. No one in the enclave knew that Katy was an undercover officer or a hunter, and she would have been chased with flaming torches if they ever found out about either.

  ‘Katy won’t be working on anything for the next fortnight,’ I informed him. ‘She left on a training course yesterday evening. She’s teaching the other hunters how to catch actual criminals instead of just, y’know, chase down everyone who happens to have magic and burn them at the stake. The training runs right up until Halloween.’

  Shane sank onto a stool. ‘Crap. I forgot about that. And Hamish is too busy between working at the college and on the transport project. He won’t be doing any investigative work for a while, either. That’s going to make this case very difficult to solve. Maybe …’

  ‘Cullen Keats won’t help you.’ I shook my head emphatically as I named another undercover officer, who also happened to be Katy’s boyfriend. ‘He’s made it very clear that he’ll only work cases for you guys if Katy’s involved. He won’t want to get mixed up in this. He owns a business in the enclave now. He can’t risk it.’

  Shane groaned. ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I don’t suppose you …?’

  ‘Hah!’ I let out a sardonic laugh. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m already risking my reputation by supplying you with wands. If I start helping you guys out with too many cases, I might as well shut up shop and pray that the locals will at least make my murder quick.’

  ‘Well, yeah, but … isn’t he … you know … talking to you right now?’ Shane pointed at Marlon.

  ‘No, actually,’ I admitted. ‘Maybe he’s already passed on to the afterlife.’

  Shane gave me a dubious stare. ‘You think? With his murder unsolved?’

  I tapped my foot impatiently. ‘Listen, if that’s what you meant when you said this had a connection to me, then I’m sorry. Marlon’s not talking to me. I can’t even see or sense his ghost in the room. And I barely knew him, so … I really don’t see how I can help. Maybe ask Hamish about him. He might not be able to work on the case, but he might have some info that could be useful. I know he bought some stuff from Marlon in the past.’

  Shane regarded me for a few seconds, his expression one I couldn’t quite understand. I often felt that way when Shane looked at me – as though he couldn’t decide whether to scowl, smile, or simply ignore me. ‘It’s not just about the murder,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s … look, maybe we should do this in my office.’

  ≈

  Shane’s office was the office of a busy man. Paperwork was piled high on his desk and his phone was lighting up with missed calls and messages. He had a small bathroom leading off the main room, and spare sets of clothing were hung in an open closet. The coffee pot was half-full (see, I’m an optimist, really), and I could see the remains of his takeaway breakfast in the bin.

  There were no photos on the walls or the surfaces. Even the sideboard seemed to be used for entirely practical purposes, with medical equipment and paperwork covering most of the space. There was one out of place item, though – a large bag, made of old-looking leather. I could smell that leather from across the room, and the scent of it stirred something inside me. A memory?

  I shrugged the feeling off and focused on Shane.

  ‘So? You wanted me because …?’

  I was standing by the doorway, and he remained standing too, moving towards the sideboard and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his white coat. ‘There was a lot of stuff in Marlon’s house. Some of it’s been missing for years. Maybe he couldn’t find a buyer. Maybe he just liked to surround himself with other people’s belongings. Who knows? The point is, some of the stuff was yours. Your mother reported it stolen a long time ago. Roughly nineteen years ago, in fact. In the report, your mother said that it was something your father left to you when he died.’

  I felt a sudden tug at my heart. I’d not been quite twelve when my father passed away, and I didn’t like to think about him. My mother was dead, too, although her death had come years later.

  ‘I don’t remember my dad leaving me anything,’ I said. ‘So I have no idea what’s been stolen.’ Even as I spoke those words of denial, my eyes were straying to that large leather bag. It had two golden clasps on top. I could almost feel the snap, as I envisioned myself opening those clasps. I could almost hear the sound. But how, when I’d never seen that bag before?

  Shane put a hand on the bag now, confirming my strange suspicion that this was the legacy he spoke of. ‘Well, maybe your mam would have given you this stuff when you were older, if, y’know …’

  ‘If she hadn’t kicked the bucket too? Yeah. Well, I guess I’d better see what it is, so. Is that it?’ There was a catch in my voice; whether it was due to fear or expectation, I couldn’t decide. I walked towards Shane and put my hand next to his, on top of the bag. ‘This is it, right? This is what you’re saying is mine?’

  Shane jumped away. ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.’ He folded his arms and moved right across to the doorway. ‘The bag and everything inside is exactly as your mother described, although there seems to be two items missing. A knife described as a plain silver dagger with a thin blade and no markings, for one.’

  ‘Oh. And you think it could be the murder weapon?’

  ‘We can’t say for sure unless we find the knife. The other missing item is a hat. Your mother said there was one in the bag.’

  I peered at the small gilt inscription on the bag: The Infernal Artefacts.

  ‘Whoa.’ I stepped away from the bag. ‘“The Infernal Artefacts”? That sounds, you know, infernal.’

  Shane gave me one of his unfathomable looks. ‘Ned, you run a necromancy supply store, which your parents ran before you. It was hardly going to be a bag filled with fluffy bunnies, now was it?’

  I stared at him, feeling annoyed and emotional. ‘You know, just because I sell stuff that can be used for necromancy doesn’t mean I agree with the practice. I don’t actually raise bodies from the dead. I would never do that. I inherited that business, and now I’m … I’m stuck there, Shane. And I’m trying to make the best of it, trying to get my wand business off the ground, but people just want the other stuff more. And you know perfectly well that if I didn’t sell that stuff, someone else would. Someone who wouldn’t have the same ethical standards as I do, and who wouldn’t keep proper records of customers and their purchases in case anything bad went down.’

  He seemed to soften for a moment. His whole body relaxed in a way that I’d never seen before, and his eyes filled with sympathy. I thought he would leave the doorway, and come closer again. I thought he’d apologise for being such a grump. But just as quickly as his guard had fallen, he erected it once more. Standing stiffly, with his jaw set, he said, ‘Yeah, because you’re so helpful when we ask you anything, aren’t you?’

  My stare became a glare. ‘I’m a whole lot more helpful than I need to be, legally speaking. And I’m only that helpful because the Wayfarers are slightly – only slightly, mind you – more trustworthy than the police force that came before you. But our working relationship might be about to get a whole lot worse if you keep being so … so …’

  I shook my head in frustration. ‘I don’t even know what you’re being, Shane, but I don’t like it. You know, this is the whole reason I avoid delivering your wands personally. I dump them at the desk and get Todge to sign for them because you’re always so … so …’

  I gritted my teeth for a moment and sucked in some air, trying to calm myself down. ‘Why are you like this with me, Shane? I know I was dubious about the Wayfarers to begin with, but I have been helpful for a long time now, even though I could be in real, actual danger if certain people from my enclave ever found out. So what’s your problem with me?’

  ‘What’s my problem?’ Yet another inscrutable look came my way. ‘What’s my problem? Wow. Well, I’m ever so sorry if you find me a little bit rude, Ned, but I think we both know why that might be, don’t we? So can you just go through the things in the bag and check it all off against your mam’s report? Because once you’ve done that I need you to sign a paper to say I’ve returned it to you.’

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a brief moment, feeling ridiculously close to tears. Why was I getting so upset about this, when I didn’t even know what this was? I’d been so sure Shane disliked me because I sold necromancy supplies, but now it seemed as though he might have a far bigger problem. I mentally flicked through all of our previous interactions, trying to recall anything I could have done to upset him, but I was drawing a blank.

  ‘Fine.’ I opened the clasps on the bag. The motion felt and sounded exactly as I’d imagined it would. ‘I’m too tired to try and figure you out, so I’ll just get this over with and get out of here.’

  I glanced at the paperwork next to the bag before I looked inside. It was just as Shane had explained – the original report, filled in in my mother’s handwriting, with her signature and the signature of the officer who took the details from her, and a newer form, one to say I had inspected and received the items.

  For a moment I let my fingers linger over my mother’s handwriting. She had written these words nineteen years ago, long before she was murdered. With a calming breath, I turned away from the paperwork and looked into the bag.

  It was a large, solid bag, almost like a bag which a healer or doctor might carry, only a little bigger. It seemed, though, as if the space wasn’t quite filled.

  ‘You said a knife and a hat was missing?’ I asked Shane as I glanced at my mother’s original report. ‘“A brown witch’s hat with a purple band and a golden buckle”?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Shane had finally left the safety of the doorway, but he still wasn’t standing beside me. ‘It sounded familiar to me, like … didn’t Hamish have one like that once? He goes through so many hats that it’s hard to be sure.’

  I smiled softly. ‘He did have one like that, yeah. He left it behind when he moved out this morning. Oh! Maybe he bought it from Marlon.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Shane had begun idly flicking through some folders on his desk, probably pretending to be busy. ‘Yeah, maybe. That makes sense. So do you remember any of the other stuff?’

  I pulled out the first item. It was a leather-bound book. Just as with the bag, there was a tug of recognition, but I couldn’t quite pull the memory to the fore. There was no title or writing on the front, back or side, so I opened it up. ‘The pages are blank. Well … they’re numbered, but there’s nothing else written on them.’

  ‘Yeah. I noticed that. I kind of wondered if they’d magically fill up when you opened the book but … I guess not.’

  ‘No.’ I closed the book with a sigh and moved on to the next item. ‘I guess not.’

  I pulled out a large glass lantern, and saw the remains of a black-waxed candle inside. The same vague feeling of recognition occurred, and I tried to picture my dad, in his workshop in one of our basements (we had a lot of basements), at his big old table. Had I seen this lantern there? If I had, it was eluding me.

  I moved to the next item. It was a large wooden box, with a symbol carved into the top. I recognised that symbol. ‘Crann Bethadh, the tree of life,’ I whispered as I opened up the box, revealing three wands inside. All three wands were wooden, but two of them had some ugly embellishments. One had a sort of claw-like attachment surrounding a clear stone, another had a purple serpent wrapped around the wood, with a purple stone on top. The third was simply a plain wooden wand.

  I sniffed them, hoping that the scent would stir my forgotten memories. ‘I wish I could remember my dad using these,’ I said. ‘I just can’t, though, no matter how hard I try. But anyway … the first two are a magically-made compound of oak and yew. Musty. Powerful. I know nothing about the weird claw or the serpent or the crystals on top. The third wand is just plain oak.’ I ticked off the relevant boxes on Shane’s form. ‘Just as my mother described.’

  ‘Powerful?’ Shane shrugged. ‘Well, I guess you know more about this stuff than I do, but we can’t find any evidence of power on them. Either way, it’s legally yours now. I suppose the hat is, too, although you’ve already got that, don’t you? Or Hamish does, anyway.’

  ‘Mm hm.’ I was still feeling frustrated at my lack of recollection, and I hadn’t gotten over my argument with Shane, either.

  I signed the papers and passed them over to Shane so he could sign too, and then I began to pack everything away. I moved a little too quickly, perhaps, because one of the wands – the ugliest of the three with the claw and the clear stone – fell from the box and onto the floor. I bent to scoop it up, and the second my hand closed around the wand, my body went cold.