Page 69 of Spirit Witch
‘Ivy, darling! How are you? Are you busy? Because I’m still trying to finish off that paperwork and there’s no movement yet with our murderer, so there might still be time for me to hoof it over there before the fireworks begin.’
‘Has anyone actually seen him?’
‘You mean Hal Prescott? No. Not since that initial sighting yesterday. He knows he’s under surveillance, though, and that he can’t go anywhere. The entire hotel is surrounded. He’s in his room. I think the bomb squad is preparing to go in but—’
I interrupted him. ‘Under what name did he check into the hotel?’
‘Pardon?’
I tapped my foot. Winter stilled completely and watched me. ‘The hotel in Uffington,’ I repeated. ‘What name did he register when he checked in?’
‘Hal Prescott, of course. What other name would he use?’
I swallowed. ‘I need you to double check. Are you absolutely sure he used his real name?’
‘Yes,’ he said, sounding hurt. ‘I have the paperwork right here. He checked in yesterday morning at 11.32am. He…’
I hung up the phone and looked at Winter. ‘Blackbeard is not in Uffington. If he was, he’d have used an assumed name like he did last time. He’s still a step ahead of us and he’s still toying with us. He’s set us up, Rafe. It’s the only explanation.’
Winter’s blue eyes met mine. ‘If he’s not there, there’s only one place he’s likely to be.’
I nodded. ‘The Order.’
Winter made for the door. ‘Mum, Dad, thanks for the tea. We have to go.’
‘Come on, Brutus!’ I yelled, running after Winter. Given my limbs were still stiff and unyielding that wasn’t a particularly easy feat.
Brutus let out a yowl. ‘Mouse!’
It was our secret, pre-arranged signal designed to cause havoc and offer me an escape. His timing sucked. ‘Not now, Brutus!’ I yelled over my shoulder.
There was a faint mutter, ‘Bitch,’ then he came careening out after us. We had to get back to Oxford. Right now.
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.
