‘No.’
I wanted to argue with him. I knew he desperately missed being part of the Order, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself. But if Winter was going to accept all my faults and foibles and daft actions without question, he deserved the same respect from me. I pushed back my hair and nodded.
‘Okay.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘I’ll tell you something for nothing,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘When we get back home, I am staying put for at least a week. On the sofa, with Brutus and you and absolutely nothing else. I don’t care what the ghosts say or do or want. Coming here is already above and beyond. This is probably the spirit equivalent of a daft prank. They’re probably watching us and pissing their transparent pants.’ I bloody hoped so. When Winter’s eyes met mine through the rain, I knew he was thinking the same.
Enough larking around. It was time to get serious.
***
We tramped on as the weather gradually grew worse. It wasn’t just the rain, which was mingling with the mud in my hair and on my face and making my eyes sting. The fog was becoming denser, shrouding everything in a thick veil. Having wet feet didn’t make me feel particularly cheery either. I honestly considered casting the spell I needed to dry off but I didn’t want to be rash.
Several more times Winter and I slipped, slid and narrowly avoided falling. Dartmoor was supposed to be an area of natural beauty; so far it seemed nothing more than natural disaster. It also seemed a long way to come to dump a body but maybe that was the point. Not that I was a corpse-dropping expert, of course.
I was on the verge of telling Winter that we should turn around and see if the pub had any rooms for the night when, out of nowhere, I spied a wood up ahead. At first I thought it was the heavy mist that made the place appear ethereal and otherworldly but the closer we got, the more I realised that the weather and the circumstances were nothing to do with the atmosphere – or the chilled thrill which was running through my veins. I’d never seen anywhere like Wistman’s Wood before.
The area was thick with trees. There were few leaves, which was hardly surprising at this time of year. What was astonishing was the twisty-turny nature of the branches and the heavily gnarled trunks. It was like coming across a wood of cultivated bonsai trees – except these versions were definitely not in miniature. Green moss clung to every surface. The ground wasn’t any less strange; heavy boulders and stones lay everywhere, covered in the same moss so that it was almost impossible to tell where the trees began. I gazed round, my mouth hanging open in wonder. Standing here was worth the long, soggy trek.
Winter gave a small shout. ‘Bilberry!’ he crowed. ‘Do you know how difficult it is to get hold of natural-growing bilberry?’ He darted over the rocks and wove in front of me.
I smiled. There was very little that could make a herblorist happier than coming across some clumps of fresh weeds. I left him to it and scanned round, searching through the twisted skeletons of the trees for any ghostly movement. There was nothing; the wood was as quiet and eerie as a graveyard. Funnily enough, that thought wasn’t the slightest bit comforting. I took a deep breath and tried to force the matter. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
The wind seemed to pick up in answer, whistling through the bare branches and rustling the loose sections of hanging moss. But no one spoke.
I shrugged. Either the ghosts were shy or they weren’t here. I couldn’t see any evidence to suggest a body had recently been dumped here, let alone several bodies. Besides, although this place was bleak and chilly it was unusual enough to attract ramblers. No one had noticed anything out of the ordinary. This was a wild-ghost chase.
I picked my way over the rocks to join Winter. He was emitting strange coos of delight and gathering up as much bilberry as he could. ‘Having fun?’ I enquired.
‘There’s so much of it! Honestly, Ivy, there are so many applications for this kind of plant. The possibilities are endless. In fact…’ he looked up at me, suddenly remembering why we were here. He stilled and searched my face. ‘Have you seen any spirits?’
‘Nope. It’s spooky but there’s nothing here that I can see.’ I glanced round. ‘And I can’t see where on earth you’d hide a dead body either. Can you imagine lugging one all the way out here without being noticed?’
‘It certainly wouldn’t be easy,’ Winter agreed. He swung his backpack off his shoulder and stuffed the bilberry inside it before reaching for my hand. ‘Come on. I’ve got something with me that’s going to make you squeal.’
I grinned. ‘Sounds kinky.’
‘Oh,’ Winter purred, ‘this is better than kinky.’ He delved inside the bag and withdrew a flask.
I gasped. ‘Is that…?’
He winked at me. ‘Hot chocolate.’
Winter was right; I did squeal. ‘That’s not all,’ he said. He reached into his bag of tricks again and pulled out a plastic box. With a flourish, he lifted the lid to reveal two sandwiches, clingfilm-wrapped to within an inch of their lives.
I wrapped my arms round his neck. ‘You’re brilliant.’ And he was. I’d stayed in bed an extra ten minutes and Winter had got up to make snacks.
‘Careful!’ he warned. ‘You’ll squash them.’
‘I’m sure they’ll taste just as good.’ All the same I pulled back. There was something suspicious about the sandwiches. I frowned and looked a little closer. ‘Winter,’ I said, slowly. ‘Did you, uh, use a ruler to cut the bread?’ It looked oddly perfect.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘It was a set square.’
His expression was so deadpan that I decided he was serious. Rather than look a gift horse in the mouth – my stomach was rumbling, after all – I gratefully took one of the sandwiches.
‘There’s a more sheltered spot over there,’ I suggested. It wasn’t exactly warm or dry, even in the shadow of the great gnarled oak, but there was less wind and the worst of the rain was shielded by the twisted branches overhead.
Winter nodded and we traipsed over. I plonked my bottom on some damp moss and wriggled around to get comfortable. Amused, Winter sat beside me and poured two small cups of steaming hot chocolate. I carefully laid my half-unwrapped sandwich to one side then took the cup from him, curling my fingers round it to get the full benefit of its heat. Then I dipped my head, took a sip and groaned.
‘Raphael Winter,’ I breathed. ‘You might be the best man in the entire world.’
He glanced at me, obviously pleased. ‘There’s no “might” about it, Ivy Wilde.’ He smiled. ‘Nice moustache, by the way.’
I ran my tongue round my lips before smacking them loudly. ‘Mmm.’ I reached for the sandwich again. ‘If I ever start taking you for granted, bring me back here and throw me in that puddle again.’ Then I took a bite and choked.
The surface of the bread was coated in something dry and dusty which tasted highly unpleasant. ‘What are you trying to do?’ I asked. ‘Poison me?’