Chapter Nineteen

While I drove, Winter called just about everyone he knew. Unfortunately half of his ex-colleagues were already in Uffington and had their phones turned off so they didn’t get distracted. The other half proved equally elusive. It seemed that no matter how hard Winter tried to reach them on the phone, they were screening his calls; he was either persona non grata or they were incredibly busy. Truthfully, either was possible. It was a requirement that all phones were checked in at the front of every Order building to avoid untoward accidents caused by magic and technology mixing when they shouldn’t. It was a highly unlikely scenario but, if they did mingle, the ensuing explosions and catastrophic disasters would make Blackbeard’s efforts to spread horror look like a five year old dressing up for Halloween.

‘Phone the Ipsissimus,’ I said, with my foot down to the floor. ‘If his phone is with him, he’ll take your call. He can’t wait for you to make up your mind and go back to the Order.’

Winter’s mouth flattened. ‘He was the first person I tried.’

Oh. Well, that sucked. I threw out names, one after another. Winter left messages all over the place but there wasn’t a soul picking up. When Eve didn’t answer, it was clear that everyone we knew in the Order was either at Uffington or buried in meetings. Winter even tried Tarquin. His phone rang but he didn’t pick up; that was probably my fault for hanging up on him mid-sentence earlier.

It was clearly time to take drastic action. ‘Take my phone,’ I said. ‘Call Iqbal.’

‘He’s not in the Order, Ivy. He’s not even a witch.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘But he can get to the damn Order and find out what’s happening.’

‘Okay.’ Winter dialled and I waited with bated breath. When Winter started speaking, my body sagged with relief. Finally someone was answering their damned phone.

‘He’s in Manchester,’ Winter said. ‘He’s even further away than we are.’

I let out a strangled scream. I never should have broken that bloody mirror. There had to be some way of contacting the bloody Order, even if we had to set signal fires or send out carrier pigeons. There had to be a bloody way.

‘Try the magic hotline,’ I said finally. ‘You’ll be able to get through to someone on that number.’ It was a helpline designed for non-witches to use when they required magical intervention. It was notoriously inefficient but we were running out of options.

‘Good idea.’ He nodded and found the number. After a moment or two, he swore violently.

‘What’s wrong?’

He turned the phone onto speaker. A tinny voice chimed out: ‘…press three if you believe you have triggered an omen. Press four if you have discovered a family member has magical abilities. Press five if…’

I passed a hand over my forehead. Good grief. ‘Screw that,’ I said. ‘Call the police. Tell them it’s an emergency and get them to the Order.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Winter’s expression grow even grimmer. ‘They won’t go. It won’t matter what I say to them, the police won’t interfere with anything that happens on Order grounds without direct orders from the Ipsissimus.’

‘So pretend to be him! He won’t mind! Not given the circumstances, anyway.’

‘There’s a code word. Only the Ipsissimus knows it.’

Bloody hell. Order geeks didn’t half like making life difficult for themselves. Plonkers.

Winter pressed nine. Apparently this was for emergencies, although a few beats later the same recorded voice happily informed us that we were thirteenth in the queue but that our call was being taken very seriously. The melody for I Put A Spell On You kicked into action.

‘Thirteenth,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘Of course we are.’

Winter opened his mouth, ready to tell me yet again that my superstition fears were nonsense, but clearly thought better of if it. No wonder, given our current predicament. Instead, he switched subjects while I continued to speed back down the motorway towards Oxford. Three speed cameras had already flashed us; that wouldn’t go down well for my career as a taxi driver. I sighed. Whatever.

‘What made you check?’ he asked. ‘About what name he’d registered under at the hotel?’

I ignored the angry gesture from the motorcyclist in the lane next to me as I overtook him and answered. ‘It was always too easy. It’s been niggling away at me that we know how clever Blackbeard is. We know what he’s achieved so far. Would he really allow himself to be surrounded by both police and witches?’ The heavy weight that had settled across my shoulders when I hung up on Tarquin increased. ‘I should have thought of it earlier. I should have asked about it earlier.’

‘Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were lying unconscious on the floor of a pet crematorium. Not to mention the fact that you’re still recovering from Scotland.’

‘I can’t use either of those as an excuse.’

Winter looked at me sternly. ‘This is not a one-man band, Ivy. It’s not even a duet. There are hundreds of people involved in this operation. It’s not your fault if we all believed he was in Uffington.’

I bit my lip. ‘It feels like it is.’

The taxi’s dashboard flashed an orange warning light. Arse. ‘We need petrol,’ I hissed in irritation.

‘There’s a service station coming up. Don’t worry,’ Winter said. ‘We’re getting closer to Oxford. We’ll be there soon.’

‘Let’s just hope it’ll be soon enough.’

The song still chiming out of Winter’s phone came to an abrupt halt and the recorded voice broke in again. ‘Your call is very important to us. You are now number fourteen in the queue.’

My knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. Throwing the phone out of the window would really not be helpful right now.

I slowed down, indicating left to pull off the motorway. At least the service station wasn’t too busy and there wasn’t a queue at the fuel pumps. As soon as I stopped the taxi, I leapt out to fill it up. There were still another sixty miles to go until we reached Oxford and the Order Headquarters. It was barely midday on a Sunday; the roads would be quiet. But we had no idea what Blackbeard was planning, or when he was going to try and pull it off.

From the other side of the forecourt, a man in top hat and tails raised a hand in greeting. I rolled my eyes and pretended not to see him I really didn’t have time for another damn ghost, not right now. They could have my full attention, such as it was, when Blackbeard was out of the way. Until then, they’d have to wait.

‘Coooeeee!’

I stared at the pump, willing the numbers to move faster and for my tank to fill just that little bit quicker. Another twenty seconds and we’d be ready to go again. Come on. Come on.

‘You’re Ivy, right?’

Tralalalalala. The petrol finally stopped flowing. I hastily re-hooked the hose and put the taxi’s fuel cap back on.

‘Hello?’

I can’t hear you. I reached into my back pocket to pull out my purse to pay and strode towards the main booth.

‘Clare Rees asked me to find you.’

Arse. I halted abruptly, causing the person behind me to smack into my back. I turned and glared at her, as if it were her fault that we’d collided, then looked at the ghost. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘No, no!’ he trilled. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact.’

I gritted my teeth. If Clare had sent a fellow phantom here simply to say hello, I’d kill her whether she was a ghost already or not. ‘Then, why,’ I asked, ‘are you here?’

‘Well,’ he said, flipping his white silk scarf over his shoulder and considering the question, ‘I’m not entirely sure. I must say, I’m very glad to be here though. I perished on the Titanic so I could have ended up either in New York or here.’ He shuddered. ‘Or at the bottom of the ocean. Can you imagine having to haunt a bunch of fish for the rest of eternity?’

I stared at him then I began to turn away. Sod this malarkey.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You mean here as in this place. Whatever it is. I’m looking for you because Clare Rees wants you to know that the rest of her coven have appeared.’