Spirit Witch (The Lazy Girl's Guide To Magic Book 3) Read online

  ‘You should have let him fall,’ I said.

  ‘He’s only doing his job.’

  ‘He didn’t have to be a prick about it.’

  Winter took my hand. ‘Are you angry on my behalf?’

  I groaned. ‘I guess so. You realise we’re turning into the worst kind of couple, right? Making moony eyes at each other and bristling at every perceived slight? It’s a slippery slope. Next thing you know we’ll be wearing matching T-shirts and getting Winter Luvs Wilde stickers for the car.’

  He chuckled. ‘I think we’re probably safe for now. I don’t own many T-shirts.’ He had a point. Even when he stayed at home as part of the ranks of the hopelessly unemployed, he wore a perfectly starched shirt.

  I grinned and tugged his hand. ‘Come on. Grenville’s portrait is up this way.’

  ‘What?’ he asked in a mocking voice. ‘Not up a flight of stairs?’

  ‘Ha, ha.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Let’s go.’

  We ambled up together, pausing when we reached the picture. ‘Intimidating bugger,’ Winter remarked.

  ‘Careful what you say,’ I said. ‘He’s kind of vain.’

  ‘Vain?’ Grenville screeched into my ear. ‘Vain?’

  I winced. ‘Sorry.’

  Winter gave me a questioning glance. I nodded briefly and turned to face the ghost. ‘Hey, chum,’ I said cheerily.

  Grenville glared. ‘Who is this man?’

  ‘A highly talented witch who wanted to meet you for himself.’ I smiled.

  The ghost snorted. ‘He’s not that talented then, is he? Only you are capable of that.’ He looked me up and down. ‘More’s the pity.’

  I was starting to get a teeny bit fed up of all these dead people deriding me. ‘Look,’ I said, turning off my friendly expression. ‘You’re the one who wanted to meet here. I would rather be sleeping. If you prefer that we leave, that can easily be arranged.’ I didn’t mention that I needed him to tell me if I was turning into an evil necromancer. I’d save that part for when I knew I truly had the ghost in the palm of my hand. I wouldn’t exactly call myself a spiritual mastermind but I reckoned I was getting close.

  Grenville sniffed loudly. ‘As the highest ranking spiritual entity on this plane, I have been nominated to make contact with you and lay out our demands.’

  I blinked. ‘Demands?’ I felt Winter stiffen beside me and put a reassuring hand on his arm but I still stared at Grenville as if he were nuts.

  ‘Indeed.’ Grenville rose up so that he towered over me. If he thought that was supposed to be intimidating then he hadn’t had to drive hen parties home at three o’clock in the morning. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Ivy.’

  ‘Ha! Figures.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s a ground-creeping plant which insinuates itself everywhere and is next to impossible to kill.’

  Hmm. I quite liked that analogy. I flashed Grenville a smile. ‘Cool.’

  ‘Whatever. Listen very carefully, Ivy.’ He bared his teeth. ‘I do not wish to repeat myself. First of all, we want a halt put on all future curses. It’s getting crowded enough here as it is.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are not the brightest witch, are you?’ He sighed. ‘Why do you think so many of us spirits are still here?’

  That one was easy. ‘Unfinished business. You need to find the person who killed you, or to look after your family members before you can pass into the light.’

  ‘Pah! I died over two hundred years ago. Do you really think that’s an issue? We don’t hang around here because we want to, we are here because we are forced to stay. Do you know how common it is for someone to say “rot in hell”? Do you know what happens as a result? All it takes is for the curser to have the faintest smidgen of magic for eternal disaster to ensue.’

  ‘But you’re not in hell,’ I pointed out. ‘You’re in limbo.’

  He tutted. ‘Hell by another name.’ He shook his head in disbelief at being faced with such an imbecile. ‘Words have power. You’re a witch. You should realise that.’

  ‘So any flippant comment can consign someone to eternal damnation?’ To say I was dubious about that was putting it mildly.

  Grenville sighed. ‘What are the marriage vows? To love, honour and obey—’

  Whoa. ‘None of that obeying crap. We’re not living in the nineteenth century. Not any more.’

  He was astonished. ‘No obedience? How on earth…’ He shivered – as much as a ghost could shiver. ‘Never mind. That’s not what I am referring to. In a Christian ceremony, where it is widely considered that there is life after death, why do the vows state a couple will only last until death us do part?’

  ‘Remarriage.’

  ‘No! You foolish girl!’ he bawled.

  Taken aback by his vehemence, I flinched.

  ‘Ivy,’ Winter said in a warning undertone.

  ‘Don’t worry. He’s just … loud.’

  Winter glowered. ‘We can leave whenever you want.’

  ‘It’s not a problem.’

  Grenville shook his fist at me. ‘Are you even listening?’

  ‘If you stop shouting, then I will,’ I replied calmly. ‘Right now, it seems like you need me a whole lot more than I need you. Calm yourself down.’

  Grenville spluttered but he at least seemed to realise that I was serious. There were plenty of other ghosts I could talk to. They might all be bad tempered but that didn’t mean I was going to stand there and be shouted at for no reason.

  He took a moment to compose himself before starting again. ‘I apologise,’ he said stiffly. ‘The time I have been like this has not been conducive to good manners. It is not easy spending two centuries watching the country descend into chaos while being unable to do a thing about it. We cannot eat. We cannot touch. We cannot feel.’ He paused. ‘Not physically anyway.’

  ‘I can see how that would put you in a bad mood.’

  Grenville grunted. ‘Indeed.’ He twitched. ‘The point I am trying to make is that vows hold as much meaning in the after-life as they do in life itself. People don’t realise what damage can be done by saying the wrong thing or damning someone beyond the grave. We would like something done about it.’

  I scratched my head. ‘I’m not sure what I can do but I’ll give it a shot.’

  ‘I sincerely hope you will do better than that. Besides, I am not finished.’

  Genuinely fascinated about what he was going to say next, I gave him my full attention. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Other cultures revere their ancestors.’

  I nodded. ‘You want reverence. Check.’ I paused. ‘How would you like that?’

  ‘Do you know what the Chinese do?’

  ‘Er…’

  ‘Speak properly, girl! “Er” is not a word! The Chinese provide sustenance for their forebears. They have shrines in their houses. They make offerings and they treat their ancestors with respect! And what do we get? A couple of graveside visits if we’re lucky and then we’re consigned to history.’

  ‘You want a shrine?’ I turned my head to the wall. ‘You have a portrait. People pass by it every day. It can’t be that bad.’

  Grenville’s bushy eyebrows drew together. ‘This is not just about me!’ he barked. ‘This is about every ghost. I’m speaking on behalf of all of them.’

  ‘All ghosts want shrines? Or portraits?’

  ‘They want to be remembered!’

  Ah. That made sense. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’m still not done.’ He fixed me with his yellow stare. ‘This part is the most important. We want our descendants to release us from whatever curses or vows are keeping us in this…’ his mouth turned down ‘…place. That way we can move on. We will tell you who to talk to and what they need to do. They will do it and we will pass on to the next plane.’

  I was thoroughly confused. ‘The next plane? Aeroplane?’

  A spasm of anguish crossed Grenville’s features. ‘Why you? Out of all the people we could
have had, why did we get you?’

  ‘I’m starting to ask myself the same question,’ I grumbled.

  He shook his head in irritation. ‘The next plane of existence! The place where we are supposed to be!’

  At risk of being shouted at again, I asked another question. Just for clarification, it would be useful to know if Grenville here was destined for the fiery pits of Satan because he was an evil bastard. ‘The place you’re supposed to be is … heaven?’ I hedged. ‘Or hell?’

  He sighed. ‘It’s a much more complicated concept than that. Your tiny brain would not be able to comprehend the truth. In any case, you don’t need to know the specifics, you just need to help us move on. We have established a system. Old-timers get priority. They talk to you, you talk to their families. Everybody’s happy.’

  I passed a hand in front of my eyes while Winter nudged me in the ribs. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘In a nutshell,’ I said, ‘there are a bunch of ghosts trapped here in this existence. They’ve effectively unionised in order to improve their lot and move onto the next, uh, plane.’

  For the first time, Winter looked less wary and more interested. ‘So Old Ipsissimus Grenville is the union rep?’

  ‘You could put it like that. The trouble is,’ I continued, glancing at the ghost, ‘there’s only one of me. I have better things to do than spend the rest of my life helping out you lot. I’m not unsympathetic to your cause but there are thousands of you. I can’t drop everything and help you out. I don’t have the time.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because it would take my lifetime.’ Actually, I couldn’t abandon them now, any of them, but I needed Grenville to appreciate what a massive undertaking this would be.

  ‘We are not idiots. We will space out our requests.’

  ‘Yeah, but…’

  He sighed. ‘The living are all the same. They only think of themselves.’ He sniffed loudly. ‘We expected this. We are prepared to help you in return.’

  ‘Help me how? I asked, cautious now.

  ‘Not you specifically. All of you.’ He waved his arms around. ‘Come on. Let’s be having you.’

  I frowned. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Not you,’ he snapped at me. He gestured at nothing. ‘Over here.’

  As I watched, the air to the right of me started to shimmer. Bit by bit, the shape of a young girl came into focus. She looked to be round about eleven or twelve years old and her clothes suggested she’d died in the 1940s. Her face was grubby and she was holding a dirty teddy bear by the hand. I swallowed. ‘Hi there,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Hello.’

  Grenville gave her a little shove. ‘Go on. Tell her.’

  The girl toed the ground. ‘There’s a place in Dartmoor called Wistman’s Wood. You need to go there. You’ll find them there.’

  ‘Find who?’

  She blinked rapidly as if she were trying to hold back tears. ‘The dead witches. They’re stuck there. They can’t leave. You need to help them.’

  ‘I can do this,’ I said. ‘But I don’t see how helping some ancient witch ghosts is going to do anything for—’

  ‘Shut up,’ Grenville said. ‘They’re not ancient. The last one was placed there last month. Every new moon there is another spirit, another soul cursed in ways that even I can only imagine.’ He shuddered.

  The blood drained out of my cheeks. ‘Someone is killing witches?’

  ‘Help the spirits there and you’ll help the living who are yet to be targeted.’

  I stared at the pair of them. It didn’t make any sense – if witches were being murdered regularly, someone would have noticed. This had to be some kind of ghostly ploy.

  ‘Go there and find them,’ Grenville said. ‘Then we will talk further. You will see that we can help you and your kind as much as you can help ours.’ He bowed his head and started to vanish, his whole body turning transparent.

  ‘Wait! Tell me why I can see you! Am I a necromancer now?’

  He didn’t answer, he simply disappeared from view. I cursed under my breath. ‘Can you tell me?’ I asked the girl.

  For a long second, she stared at me with limpid brown eyes. ‘I don’t know what you are,’ she whispered. Then she too dissipated.

  Chapter Four

  The ghost child might not have known what I was but I knew I was hungry, tired and growing more irritable by the second. I hadn’t fully appreciated quite how far away Dartmoor was – or how desolate and bleak it could be at this time of year.

  ‘This is a mistake,’ Winter said, as we pulled into the car park of a sprawling pub.

  ‘Maybe. But it’s taken hours to get here. We can’t just turn around and leave.’

  ‘It’s probably a trap.’

  I shrugged. ‘Set by Ipsissimus Grenville? A guy who’s been dead for two hundred years? Why would he bother?’

  ‘We don’t know anything about him or his agenda.’

  ‘You said he’s credited with making the Order a decent organisation.’

  Winter snorted. ‘Is the Order decent?’

  I rolled my eyes. This role reversal, where Winter denigrated them and I was the voice of reason, felt remarkably uncomfortable. ‘Rafe,’ I chided gently.

  His mouth tightened. ‘Regardless of what the Order is or isn’t, we have no precedent for this situation. Ipsissimus Grenville might have been corrupted by death. Maybe he once was a good guy, but two hundred years of being a ghost could have turned him into something else. We can’t trust him.’

  ‘I can’t just pretend this isn’t happening. Let’s see whether Ghost Child and Grenny are right about these dead witches and take things from there. One thing at a time.’

  ‘You’re still not entirely yourself, Ivy.’

  ‘I’m okay.’ I glanced round. ‘Look. There’s a sign over there with a map on it. With any luck, it’ll include Wistman’s Wood. It can’t be far.’

  Winter strode over towards it while I ambled behind. He pursed his lips and scanned the map. ‘It’s about three miles from here but the ground will be boggy and steep in places.’ He threw me a sidelong glance. ‘And there may be some sheep.’

  ‘Three miles?’

  He nodded. ‘So it’s a six-mile round trip.’

  ‘Can’t we drive?’

  ‘Even a Sherman tank would struggle across this terrain. We can walk it. There’s a path.’

  ‘But there are hills. And – bogs.’

  ‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘Can you make it?’

  I pressed my hand to my forehead. ‘Actually, I’m starting to feel a bit weak again. My legs are rubbery. Maybe you should go and check it out and I’ll go into the pub and see what the locals know.’

  The corners of Winter’s mouth twitched. He tried to suppress the broad grin that was slowly spreading across his face but it was clearly beyond him. ‘Thank goodness. It’s about time,’ he said. ‘Now I know you’re really feeling better.’ He sucked in a deep lungful air. ‘Perhaps being outdoors will do you good.’

  Wait a second. If he could change his mind that quickly about this venture, then I could change mine. Especially when it involved six miles of trudging across moors. ‘But I’m still not entirely myself yet.’

  ‘Actually, I think you are.’

  ‘You were right the first time. Ipsissimus Grenville might have been corrupted by all those years as a dead guy. We might be walking into a trap.’ I shook my head. ‘This is a mistake.’

  ‘Too late, sweetheart.’ He put his arm round my shoulders. ‘I’m glad you’re back to being Ivy again. I’ve missed your complaining and your laziness.’

  ‘I don’t complain!’

  Winter laughed. ‘Of course you don’t.’ He held me at arm’s length and looked me up and down. ‘The pain has gone. I can’t see any trace of it.’

  Actually, it tended to reappear when I was least expecting it but I wasn’t going to tell Winter that. ‘Arse,’ I said. ‘I suppose three miles isn’t that far.’ I’d barely finished the senten
ce when the first fat droplet of rain splashed onto my nose. I shivered and turned hopeful eyes to Winter.

  ‘If we want to get there and back before it gets dark,’ he said, ‘we should go now.’

  I grimaced. Another drop of rain fell, this time sliding down the back of my neck. Lovely. ‘Let’s get going.’

  It wasn’t too bad to begin with. Despite the rain, which was increasing in ferocity by the second and decreasing the temperature, the path was firm underfoot and clearly marked. There were a couple of stiles to clamber over but I managed. Winter even held himself back from racing across the landscape like a mountain goat and kept pace with me. I tested him by slowing down almost to the point where I was just shuffling along.

  He stopped and threw me a look. ‘Ivy…’

  I smirked. ‘I wanted to see how far I could push you.’

  He rolled his eyes although he was obviously more amused than annoyed. I had to milk this for all it was worth; Winter’s patience wouldn’t last forever. I pointed ahead at the next wooden stile.

  ‘That’s a kissing gate,’ I said, pasting on an innocent expression. ‘I wonder why it’s called that. Maybe we should…’ My voice faltered as a shadow crossed my path. I looked up to see a grizzled old man leaning on a walking stick and staring at me.

  Winter stiffened. ‘There’s another one, isn’t there?’

  I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. ‘Wistman’s Wood?’ I asked. ‘It’s that way, right?’

  The ghost took his time answering. Eventually, he rubbed his cheek and bobbed his head with slow, ponderous movements. ‘It is, aye. They’re waiting for you. They’ll be glad you came.’ He turned and trudged up the hill away from us. I watched him as he vanished into the rolling fog that seemed to have appeared from nowhere and was rapidly descending towards us.

  ‘He’s gone,’ I murmured to Winter, my sense of humour all but vanished along with the old man. ‘Let’s get a move on.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  I pursed my lips. ‘That they’re waiting for us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The dead witches, I imagine,’ I said quietly.