I folded my arms and nodded grimly. The little shit. ‘Brutus!’ I yelled.
He came sauntering back in, having finished his treats in record time. No wonder; if I’d seen this, I’d have denied him tuna until his next life. He sat down in the middle of the floor, washed his face then glanced up to admire his handiwork. There, across my entire wall, sprayed in cat pee was the word ‘bitch’.
In the corner, the old cobweb-covered woman appeared. She craned her neck, took in the full effect of what Brutus had achieved and started to cackle loudly. I sighed. I was being driven out of my home by ghosts and cat piss.
‘Screw this,’ I said to Winter. ‘Let’s go catch ourselves a serial killer.’
***
Although I was still pissed off at him – and making sure he knew it – Brutus appeared determined to come with us. Rather than leave him to destroy my flat completely, I let him. Winter seemed more amused than anything. When Iqbal beamed delightedly at the sight of my furry frenemy and made a fuss over him, I glared, Winter smiled and Brutus purred.
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ my old friend said. ‘But I’ve finished my first draft.’ He twirled in delight. ‘Sixty-three thousand words.’
Impressed, I reached across a tottering pile of books and gave him a hug. ‘That’s brilliant!’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I am brilliant. I will accept any and all accolades.’ He bowed.
‘I don’t know why he’s making such a big deal about it,’ sniffed a white-coated man with crazy hair springing out in all directions. ‘It’s not very good.’
I flicked the ghost a look. ‘Don’t be mean,’ I said sternly. After seeing what Brutus had achieved, I wasn’t in the mood for dissenters.
Iqbal stared at me. ‘Who are you talking to?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘while you’ve been busy writing, I’ve been busy having conversations with the dead.’ In a loud stage whisper, I added, ‘They’re not very interesting. And they don’t know as much as they think they do.’
The Einstein-esque ghost scoffed loudly. ‘Oh yeah? Well you didn’t know there was a mass murderer on the loose, did you? We told you that. He’d have carried on without any of you realising, if it wasn’t for us.’
‘You’re dead,’ I said. ‘You can see everything and go everywhere. There are thousands of you – and yet none of you can tell me who the killer is or where I can find him.’
‘We’re dead, not omniscient. Anyway,’ he sniffed, ‘I’m supposed to tell you that Ipsissimus Grenville wants to see you.’
‘He’ll have to wait,’ I growled.
Iqbal glanced at Winter. ‘Has this been happening a lot?’
‘You get used to it,’ Winter said. ‘And it’s not all that bad. It keeps her occupied and makes her feel wanted.’
‘Oi!’
He grinned.
Iqbal’s hands rose to his cheeks and he gazed at the pair of us. ‘Look at you. It’s like you’ve just discovered your first spell.’ He sighed happily. ‘Young love.’ The ghost pretended to vomit and I was pretty certain that Brutus rolled his eyes. ‘When do I get my wedding invite?’ Iqbal enquired.
I laughed. ‘Hold your horses.’
‘Have you met your future in-laws?’
‘No,’ I shot back. ‘I haven’t.’
He visibly deflated. Winter jumped right in. ‘But she will tomorrow. We’re all having dinner together.’
Iqbal lit up all over again. ‘See? One minute you’re lounging on your own sofa eating cold pizza in your knickers, and the next you’ll be wearing pearls and baking cupcakes to bring to your mother-in-law.’
Fear widened my eyes. ‘Baking cupcakes? Do I really have to do that?’
‘Of course not,’ Winter said. I began to relax. ‘My mother despises cupcakes. She prefers old-fashioned Victoria sponge cakes.’
I half choked. Domestic goddess I am not. Hastily changing the subject to the reason why we were here, I picked up Brutus to prevent him sending the pile of papers that he was batting at from falling to the floor. I looked at Iqbal. ‘We’re not here to banter about my culinary skills,’ I said. ‘We’re here because—’
‘You need my help,’ he finished for me. ‘Of course. Now that I’ve finished sixty-three thousand thesis words, I will be happy to oblige. It’s either that or I have to start editing the damn thing. I got a lot of leeway from my supervisor because I helped you save Scotland from zombies. Any more world-rescuing operations I can sidle into are very welcome.’
I frowned. ‘Did you help us save Scotland?’
‘I got you information.’
‘Information that in the end had nothing to do with zombies.’
He shrugged. ‘That wasn’t my fault.’
True. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘this time it’s witches we are hoping to save.’ My light-hearted tone dropped several notches. ‘Seven are already dead and we expect there will be more if we don’t catch the bastard who’s doing it.’
Iqbal’s humour and banter vanished in an instant. ‘Go on.’
I disentangled Brutus’s claws from several of my curls while Winter explained. ‘Right now,’ he said, ‘we’re playing the waiting game.’ The frustration in his voice made it clear how annoying he found that. ‘We’re waiting on the police telling us where the coven members’ post is being re-directed to. We’re waiting on the Order working through their files to find out what happened with the coven’s application to become Order witches. And, unfortunately, we’re waiting on Blackbeard making another move.’
‘What?’ shrieked the ghost in my ear. ‘That’s your plan? To wait until he kills more witches? That’s ridiculous! That’s not a plan!’
I winced and stepped away. Even if I secretly agreed with him, technically there was more to it than waiting for further deaths.
Brutus hissed loudly and wriggled out of my arms so he could dart into the corner where it was apparently safer. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you could see ghosts?’ I asked him as he shot behind another dusty pile of books.
Brutus bobbed his head up from behind the literary parapet and flicked me a look as if to say I was being stupid and that I’d never have believed him. I sighed. Yeah, he was probably right; it wasn’t worth getting into now.
Iqbal coughed pointedly. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘there is definitely one thing I can help with. It came up in my research for my thesis. If you’re going to explore the history of magic in the British Isles then you also need to explore the absence of magic too.’
Both Winter and I leaned in. ‘Go on.’
‘Nulls,’ he said. ‘People who are entirely unaffected by magic. It doesn’t matter what you throw at them or how powerful a witch you are, they’re immune.’
‘Immune to magic?’ I said slowly. How on earth was that even possible? I looked at Winter; he seemed just as baffled as I was. ‘Have you ever heard of a null?’
‘No.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘But if that’s what our Blackbeard is, it makes a lot of sense.’
‘If it makes you feel any better,’ Iqbal said, ‘they’re incredibly rare. We’re talking about maybe one person in a million who’s affected, so it stands to reason that you don’t often hear about them.’