Chapter Six

 

Given that initially I’d been trying to stop someone from making life difficult for Winter and that I was now attempting to avert an actual apocalypse, I was feeling remarkably chipper. Maybe it wasn’t just my giddiness at seeing Eve and Iqbal get it on; maybe I was also being infected by the holiday spirit. I might not have worn the Santa suit for long but it could have rubbed some Christmas magic onto me. I wouldn’t put it past Maidmont to have imbued the fabric with some kind of happy-making spell. If that were the case, of course, then it was even more miserable being St Nick than I’d already experienced. The real Santa certainly had a cushy enough life though – I wouldn’t mind only working one day a year. Assuming I wasn’t swallowed by the earth. Perhaps I’d suggest it to Winter later.

With that thought in mind, I made my way back hastily to the Order, avoiding any more interaction with trains or trees at the station. I had good reason now to involve as many witches as possible in locating the Angel. Certainly Abigail and the other Neophytes who’d been dressing the tree knew about the Angel’s disappearance so they were already panicked. I didn’t have to worry about worrying those who were already worried. I turned that over in my head a few times; it made sense to me.

Munching on another biscuit as I walked, I followed the nearest pale-faced witch. Before too long I found myself faced with a large group of them.

‘Ivy!’ Abigail dashed over to me. ‘You’re still here! We’ve been searching and we can’t find the Angel anywhere.’ She pointed behind her. ‘Adam found its box but it’s empty apart from some odd gunk.’

Smoothing my features to make myself appear as brisk and business-like as possible, I glanced over at the box and then at Abigail. ‘Odd gunk?’ Odd gunk was never innocent.

Adam, another Neophyte who looked about the same age as Abigail, pointed. I squinted. There was a small clump of something brown, dried and crusty. It wasn’t much and it wasn’t pretty. I leaned over to get closer and gave it a cautious sniff. There was a faint fishy odour but I couldn’t detect anything else.

‘Perhaps,’ Adam interjected helpfully, ‘the thief left this as a calling card.’

‘A little pile of dried goo?’ I could think of more elegant ways of leaving your mark. ‘Was the box open or closed when you found it?’

He bit his lip. ‘Open.’

‘So this odd gunk might be mouse droppings.’

He shook his head. ‘No. Mouse droppings look more like grains of rice.’

I gave him a long look. ‘First of all, mouse droppings were just an example of how anything could have fallen, or been deposited, into the Angel’s box. Second of all, how do you know so much about mouse poo?’

Adam’s eyes lit up. ‘We’ve been using it in our herblore studies. Apparently if you combine mouse droppings with some dried rosemary and—’

I held up my hands. I really didn’t want to know. ‘Has anyone done a tracing spell?’ I enquired. ‘You know, to see who’s been near the Angel recently and provide a shadow of what’s past?’

The expression on Abigail’s face told me what I didn’t want to hear. ‘Several of us. We even combined our magic to give it a shot. Nothing came up. And of course we have no way of knowing when the Angel was stolen. It might have been the first week of January for all we know.’

It wasn’t likely, given that the curse had not kicked in yet, but it was a nice thought. I gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’m sure it will turn up but let’s put all our efforts into finding it. Where is the Angel normally kept when it’s not on top of a tree?’

‘The Antiquities department.’ Abigail paused. ‘We’ve been over it from top to bottom. The Angel’s definitely not lurking in some corner.’

I considered this. ‘Is anything else missing?’

Abigail’s eyes went wide. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. But perhaps the Angel was just the subject of a random theft. If that’s the case, other things might have been stolen too.’

She straightened. ‘We didn’t think to check. I’ll send a group back over there now.’

‘Good.’ I tapped my mouth thoughtfully. ‘Have most witches heard of the curse?’

‘Yes. I mean, I thought everyone knew about it until I spoke to you.’

I snapped my fingers at a couple of witches hovering nearby. ‘Go to HR. Find out which witches have put in complaints over the last year.’

Eager to please, they bobbed their heads with vigorous, youthful enthusiasm. They’d learn. ‘What kind of complaints?’ the shorter witch asked.

‘Anything against the Order or against Ipsissimus Winter. It’s possible we’ll find someone who is holding a grudge and is looking for revenge.’ After all, it was difficult to imagine that a non-witch had snuck in and stolen the Angel; the rest of the world tended to be wary of the Order. ‘There might be some non-Order covens looking to make their mark as well.’ I gestured at some other Neophytes. ‘You lot start investigating the local covens. Have any been seen in the neighbourhood recently?’

They bowed deferentially, making me feel oddly flustered. Abigail stared at me with something akin to awe. ‘You’re so good at this.’

‘Delegation? I’ve had a lot of practice.’

‘I meant investigating crime.’

Oh. Well, I suppose I was motivated. I directed the other witches to start going door to door around the Order itself. In the unlikely event that the Angel had merely been misplaced or mistakenly appropriated, someone might know where it was.

It wasn’t long before I was the only one left. Abigail departed with the very last group, leaving me all on my lonesome ownsome. I considered everything and realised that there was virtually nothing left to do. Almost every avenue was already being investigated by someone else. Bonus. I could get used to this teamwork thing.

Catching sight of one of the newer Order ghosts floating up ahead, I called out. ‘Hey!’

She turned towards me and frowned; the disastrous effects of a herblore spell gone wrong revealed how she’d died. Meandering in my direction, she raised her only remaining hand as if to ward me off. ‘I’m not next,’ she said, with a definite lisp. ‘There are 32,674 spirits in front of me in the queue.’

Not for the first time I was depressed by the thought of how long it would to take to get all these ghosts to pass over to the next plane. Last month I’d even tried to institute a proforma email to help move things along a bit.

 

Dear …

You are being haunted by a ghost. He/she has been cursed by you/your ancestors. In a loud, clear voice state the name of said ghost [insert name here] and the words, ‘You are now released from the curse by the power invested in me.’

Kind regards

Unfortunately it was proving more complicated than I’d anticipated. Some emails went to spam folders or to defunct addresses and the rest were disregarded or disbelieved. It was, like most of my life, a work in progress. At the moment, I was debating using Order funds to buy some television airtime. I could simply tell the viewing public to take a couple of hours to run through the names of everyone they’d ever met, along with everyone their ancestors had ever met, and release any potential trapped ghosts. Like I said, work in progress.

Of course, if I died in the witchy apocalypse none of that would ever happen. I grinned to myself. Those spirits needed me. That meant they had to help me locate the dratted Angel.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said to the spirit. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disrupting Grenville’s orderly queue. I understand how important it is that the more ancient ghosts are released from their curses first. I do want to speak to all the Order spirits together though. Can you get them all to meet me?’

She looked at me suspiciously as if I could only be up to no good. Honestly, most of these dead dudes seriously needed an injection of their own holiday joy. Some kind of ghostly version of eggnog, perhaps. ‘Meet you where?’ she enquired.

‘The cafeteria,’ I said cheerfully. I might as well kill two birds with one stone. Without waiting for the grumpy ghost to either agree or disagree, I ambled off. The biscuits had been good but now I needed something more substantial.