‘The Ipsissimus will be locked away in his study, Ivy. We’re just going to the main hall.’
I didn’t think Tarquin had seen me; all the same, I felt his presence looming behind me. He was simply too irritating to deal with. I’d managed to avoid bumping into him at home, which was impressive given that he now lived in my apartment building. The last thing I needed now was to listen to him crowing about his heroics. I had a loose enough grip on my own sanity as it was, thank you very much.
‘Promise?’
‘Cross my heart.’
Maidmont had barely finished speaking when there was a loud caw from a nearby tree. I jumped. Whatever bird it was, I couldn’t see it. ‘Was that a raven?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘I’m sure it wasn’t.’
I gave him a sidelong look. At least he had the sense to look slightly nervous. Ravens were harbingers of all things doom-related and both of us knew it. Maybe it was a sparrow with a sore throat. All the same, Maidmont and I walked a bit faster and without speaking. It was probably wise to get whatever we were going to do out of the way as quickly as possible.
We entered the building through the main doors, watched by several witches who were in the lobby on security duty. This wasn’t the time to continue trying to hide – that would make them more inclined to try and stop us. To make our entry as smooth as possible, I stepped out from behind Maidmont and lifted my head. I have to admit that the looks of respect I received were rather gratifying. Yes, I had saved the country from an influx of zombies. Yes, I had almost martyred myself in the process. Go me.
Maidmont murmured something to the nearest witch and received a small bow in response, then we walked past them and up the first flight of stairs. Despite the guards, we were still on public property; any witch could gain access to this level. When Maidmont veered away from the next set of stairs, I breathed a sigh of relief. He definitely wasn’t marching me up to the Ipsissimus.
Maidmont stopped in the middle of the corridor, in front of one of the many old paintings that lined the walls. Pointing at it, he sent me an enquiring glance. I looked at it and for the briefest moment, my heart stopped.
‘That’s him.’ I stared as the yellow-eyed man with too much hair gazed back at me from the portrait. No wonder he looked so familiar – I’d probably passed that damned painting several times. ‘That’s the man I saw outside the library.’
Maidmont’s eyes closed briefly. ‘When you mentioned the colour of his eyes, I thought this might be him.’
I read the small card next to the painting. Ipsissimus Grenville, 1742–1803. Well, he was definitely dead then.
‘I never liked this painting.’
I jerked and swung round. The man in question was standing next to me. I gave a small shriek and scooted away. It was one thing to think I was seeing ghosts; it was another to have that thought confirmed.
Grenville frowned at me. ‘Death isn’t contagious, you know. I might have died from consumption but I’m reasonably certain that you cannot catch it from my spirit.’
I clutched Maidmont’s arm. ‘You can’t see him, can you?’
The librarian went a shade paler. ‘See who?’
‘Grenville,’ I whispered. ‘He’s standing right next to me. He doesn’t like his picture.’
‘Everything I’ve read suggests it’s a very good likeness.’
Grenville’s ghost rose up, hovering about a foot off the ground. He lunged for Maidmont, stopping short of his face so he could glower at him. ‘It looks nothing like me,’ he hissed. ‘The nose is out of proportion.’
I swallowed. As far as I could tell, the bulbous end and flaring nostrils were totally accurate but somehow I didn’t think it would be wise to say that. ‘He didn’t mean it,’ I said hastily. ‘Besides, he’s never seen you in person. It’s not his fault.’
Maidmont’s eyes widened. ‘You’re not talking to me, are you?’ His fingers twitched at his robe. ‘I … I … could be mistaken about the resemblance. It’s a very old painting.’ He leaned over to me and lowered his voice. ‘Have any of these ghosts ever touched you?’
‘No,’ I replied, not sure why we were whispering. Grenville could obviously hear every word. ‘But, as I said, none of them are very happy.’
Maidmont swallowed and began to back away from me.
‘Of course we’re not happy, you idiot girl!’ Grenville snapped. ‘Would you be happy? Instead of enjoying the afterlife, we’re stuck here and you’re the only person who seems to be able to hear us. I’ve waited over two hundred years to talk to someone with breath still inside them and when it finally happens I get you. It’s bad enough that you’re a woman. What on earth are you wearing?’
I folded my arms. ‘Hey, buster. You’re going to have to start being a bit more polite if you want me to continue listening to you.’
Grenville rolled his eyes then his head jerked up and he looked over my shoulder. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ he tutted. ‘Now this idiot is coming.’ He wagged his finger at me. ‘I need to talk, Missy, and you need to listen. Midnight tonight.’ He glared at me with those spooky eyes. ‘I expect you to be here.’ And with that he vanished from view.
I sagged in relief. Unfortunately it didn’t last long. The ‘idiot’ Grenville referred to strode up to me. The friendly smile on his face didn’t make me feel any better. ‘Ms Wilde. How lovely to see you.’
I grimaced weakly at Ipsissimus Collings, the living, breathing Ipsissimus Collings. ‘Hey.’ Then I frowned at Maidmont and he offered a helpless shrug.
‘Sorry,’ he mouthed.
‘I presume you’re here to see me,’ the Ipsissimus said. ‘Has Adeptus Exemptus Winter come to his senses and decided to return to the fold?’
‘If he had,’ I said, ‘then he’d be here himself.’
I received a faint furrowing of the brow in response. ‘Indeed. So why are you here?’
‘She’s seeing ghosts!’ Maidmont blurted out. ‘Ever since she took away the necromantic magic from the boy! It’s obviously a side-effect. Something must be done!’ His eyes swung wildly between us. ‘I’ve already offended Grenville. They’re going to be after me! I…’
I put what was supposed to be a reassuring hand on Maidmont’s arm. He jerked away in fright. So much for a bit of quiet research on the side; my secret was out.
The Ipsissimus raised his eyebrows. ‘Ghosts? Are you quite sure, Ms Wilde?’
‘Nope, not sure at all. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m sure they’re just residual hallucinations. I should probably go home and lie down with a cold compress.’
‘Let’s go to my office.’ I knew it wasn’t a suggestion. Tough; I wasn’t his to order around.
I stepped back. ‘No.’ I looked at Maidmont, who was beginning to cower. ‘It would be helpful if you could find out what exactly is going on and if this means I’m about to become Oxford’s next necromancer. But the only place I’m going right now is home.’