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.
I opened my eyes to grab my glass and take another glug. It was halfway to my mouth when my eyes fell on a man who’d just made his way to the other end of the bar. A bushy black beard, a bald head, pockmarked skin and a skull-shaped earring. And dead black eyes. Neither Karen nor Amy had mentioned his eyes. I froze, unable to move. He felt my gaze and glanced over, stiffening when he caught my expression.
‘The hotpot won’t be long,’ the barman said cheerfully. ‘I’ve set up a table for you in the corner.’
I put the glass down slowly and tried to look casual but I had the horrible feeling that it was already too late and I’d given myself away. I forced my lips to curve upwards in a smile. ‘That’s great,’ I managed. ‘Thank you.’
Arse. Arse. Arse. Keeping Blackbeard in my peripheral vision, I glanced towards the stairs. Come on, Winter. Bloody come on.
‘So you walked to Wistman’s Wood?’ the barman enquired.
‘Yes,’ I whispered. I couldn’t have sounded guiltier if I tried. Summoning every particle of my being, I pulled back my shoulders and smiled harder. ‘I love hiking. Especially in the rain. It makes me feel so much closer to nature, you know?’
The barman looked amused but I could still feel Blackbeard watching me. I had to do better. If only I could have cast a spell without worrying about the consequences. Damn Maidmont for not being fluent in archaic bloody Latin. Damn me for not checking out sooner why I was seeing ghosts. Most of all, damn bastard Blackbeard for showing up when I least expected it. It had been a reasonable assumption to think that he didn’t live anywhere near here and this was nothing more than a convenient dumping ground because it was so remote. After all, the coven had been killed in Dorset which was a few hours’ drive away.
‘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.