I grimaced. ‘Better odds than being a serial killer,’ I said. ‘Probably.’
‘Well,’ Iqbal demurred, ‘your guy is not a serial killer, he’s a mass murderer. Until he’s actually killed more than three people on separate occasions, he doesn’t count as a serial killer.’ He scratched his head. ‘So, uh, there’s that.’
Whoop-de-do.
‘This could be good news,’ Winter said. I glanced at him askance. I couldn’t possibly see how. ‘Someone somewhere must have noticed that Blackbeard is a null. It might have been a schoolteacher or a friend or a doctor. But whoever it was or whenever it happened, nulls are rare enough that there must be a record of who he really is. It might not lead us right to him but it could teach us a great deal about him.’
Okay, that kind of made sense. ‘So, as the Arcane Branch expert among us,’ I said, ‘how would you search the records for him?’
‘I’d put in a bi-request for Order and police records. For something as vital as this, it would be a rush job so it would take two or three days. Obviously, I can’t request it in my current position.’
I was getting a headache. ‘We need to go back to the Ipsissimus and get him to do it.’ Winter nodded. He really didn’t look happy about it. ‘Maybe you should re-join…’ I began. His expression stopped me from finishing my sentence.
‘Is there anything else about nulls that you can tell us?’ he asked Iqbal. ‘Anything at all?’
My friend shrugged. ‘There’s not much to tell. They’re just the same as any ordinary person. They don’t have magic and magic can’t affect them. To stop a null you need to use other means.’ He paused. ‘You two are smart. You can work it out.’
Judging by the expression on Winter’s face, he felt as doubtful as I did. Magic was what we did; it was in our blood and in our DNA. If we couldn’t rely on it, I didn’t know what we could do. It felt like our chances of catching Blackbeard and bringing him to justice had gone from slim to none.
The ghost frowned at me. ‘Give me a break,’ he complained. ‘You think that just because you’ve found someone who you can’t bespell it’s the end of the world.’
I glared at him. ‘It was the end of Clare Rees’s world.’ And Karen’s. And Paul’s. And Amy’s. Not to mention the other three whom I had yet to meet but who I knew were out there somewhere.
‘Death isn’t so bad,’ the ghost went on. ‘It’s the hanging around that sucks. All this waiting for something to happen and nothing ever does. Being here is like being stuck at the dentist and waiting to have your teeth pulled without anaesthetic. Except you don’t know when it’s going to happen. Or if it’s ever going to happen. You just know that you can’t do anything apart from wait.’
Damn. ‘I’m … sorry,’ I said. It was inane but true.
Crazy Hair sighed. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Who is it, Ivy?’ Iqbal asked. ‘Who’s the ghost? Why are they here haunting me?’
I raised my eyebrows in question. Crazy Hair shrugged. ‘I’m not haunting him. I used to work here. It’s a good place. I normally hang around the canteen because that’s where you get all the best gossip but I got word that Grenville wanted me here. He really does want to talk to you.’
It was my turn to shrug. ‘I’ll try to drop in when we go to see the Ipsissimus.’ The current Ipsissimus. Man, this could get confusing. ‘How can I help you?’ I asked. ‘How can I help you move on? Who do I need to talk to?’
A calculating look flitted across his expression. ‘You’d do that?’
I blinked. ‘Of course.’
‘It’s not a person who can free me,’ he said. ‘It’s a plaque.’
‘I thought you guys wanted things like plaques.’ And shrines and paintings and whatever.
‘You guys?’ he snorted. ‘You’ll be dead one day too, you know. Then you’ll see.’
Iqbal reached forward and touched my elbow. ‘I can only hear a bit of what’s going on,’ he said, ‘but if it’s a plaque you’re looking for, I might know what you mean.’ An expression of reverence crossed his face. ‘Is the ghost you’re talking to male, with frizzy hair that looks like yours? You know, like it’s been electrocuted?’
‘Electrocuted?’ the spirit spat. ‘Just because I had better things to do than worry about my appearance! I’ll have you know that I was the one who discovered the gene that is responsible for determining magic ability. Hundreds, no, thousands of witches have been discovered because of my work, instead of being left to languish in anonymity!’
I felt a sudden kinship with the phantom. After all, I also had better things to do than worry about my appearance. My better things weren’t amazing scientific breakthroughs, however; they were amazing days snuggled up underneath my duvet. I decided I probably shouldn’t say that.
‘That’s him,’ I said to Iqbal instead.
He fixed his gaze on a point over the ghost’s shoulder. ‘Professor Wiggins,’ he breathed. ‘It’s a genuine pleasure.’
Crazy Hair – or rather Professor Wiggins – looked slightly embarrassed. ‘That’s okay,’ he said gruffly. He glanced at me. ‘You should tell your friend that he needs to have another look at the third chapter. He’s got his sums wrong.’
I relayed this information to Iqbal, who didn’t look exactly thrilled. I suspected that he already knew that but hadn’t got around to fixing it. Or maybe he’d hoped no one would notice.
‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘I appreciate the help.’
‘Why don’t you take us to the plaque, Iqqy?’ I suggested, before he gave himself away completely.
‘Sure, yes.’ He bobbed his head vigorously. ‘I did wonder about it, you know. There’s something about the wording that always makes me feel uncomfortable and now I know why.’
‘What does it say?’ Winter asked.
It was Wiggins himself who answered. ‘“It was on this spot in 1989 that Professor Horace Wiggins changed the course of biological magic study for decades. May his zest for science and his soul endure here for eternity, affecting all these walls and all who study within them.”’
I winced. That was a pretty definitive curse, even if it was nicely worded.
‘Of course,’ Wiggins continued, ‘it wasn’t on that spot at all. I was trying to get the Dean’s secretary into the stationery cupboard when the real breakthrough actually came to me. You see, she had these massive—’
‘Professor,’ I said in an overly loud voice, ‘if you want my help, then you should probably stop talking now.’
He paused. ‘Uh, okay. Yes. Good idea.’
Brutus sighed. I shrugged at him. ‘You could have stayed at home, you know. There are plenty of corners to sulk in there. You don’t have to do it here.’
He raised a paw as if examining it, then extended his claws one by one.
‘Come on, Iqbal!’ Winter said cheerfully, with as much haste as he could muster. ‘Let’s go!’
And with that, we all barrelled out of the room.
Chapter Fourteen