Witches Incorporated (30 page)

“This time,” he whispered, and drained his glass. “But what about next time, Monk? What happens when there really
is
a William, and a shadbolt, and innocent lives on the line? What do I do then?”

Before Monk could answer they heard a loud banging on the front door—just as the clock on the mantel struck nine.

Gerald pulled a face. “That’ll be the girls. We’d better let them in before they kick down the door.”

Monk, his expression still deeply troubled, didn’t move. “Hey, Gerald. You believe me, don’t you? That I didn’t know what Sir Alec wanted that incant for? That I had no idea he was going to—”

“Don’t be stupid, Monk,” he said, and put aside his empty glass. “Come on. They really are going to kick their way in.”

But Monk just stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, his frowning gaze fixed on the past.

“Well, it’s about time, Gerald!” grumbled Melissande, marching into the vestibule with Reg perched piratically on her right shoulder. She’d changed out of the hideous black blouse and skirt into her familiar tweed trousers and a pale yellow blouse with a sensible coat on top. Not hideous, but not terribly flattering either. Just quintessentially Melissande. Her rust-red hair hung down her back in a plait. “Bibbie was about to blast the door into matchsticks.”

Bibbie.
Emmerabiblia
. Closing her brother’s front door behind her, Gerald felt his heart stutter. Lord, she was so incredibly, blindingly beautiful. Every time he saw her it was like being struck with a hammer.

She gave him a cheeky, dimpled smile. “Hello, Gerald.”

“Yes, hello again,” said Melissande, looking him up and down. “I have to say I’m a bit surprised you came. You didn’t look at all a sure thing when I left you in the employee garden.”

He couldn’t help smiling. She was so
tart
, like the best lemons. “It’d take a braver man than me to refuse your gracious royal command,” he said, then shifted his gaze. “Hello, Reg.”

Reg looked at the ceiling. “I’m not speaking to you.”

“
Reg
…”

Monk stuck his head through the open parlour door. “In here, everyone. If you two are going to fight you might as well do it in comfort.”

They trooped into the parlour, and Monk closed the door to keep the heat in. Melissande twitched her shoulder so Reg could flap to the back of the sofa, then graciously allowed Monk to slip off her coat and hang it on the door hook. Bibbie tossed her own coat on the floor then collapsed in one armchair, swivelling till she could dangle both legs over its arm.
Very
unladylike, and totally Bibbie. Melissande joined Reg on the sofa and Monk sat beside her, gently taking her hand in his. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other but the look they exchanged was eloquent.

Gerald, hiding a smile, stood with his back to the fire.
So. Monk’s really smitten, eh? I think this time he might be in trouble…

“
I hope you appreciate all the effort we’re going to, Gerald,” said Melissande. “Meeting late so no-one will see you. I start at Wycliffe’s at the crack of dawn, practically. I’m giving up precious sleep to be here.”

“You didn’t have to,” he pointed out. “You could’ve told me at lunch what you’re doing at Wycliffe’s.”

“With all those people around?” she retorted. “Nonsense. We have to thrash this out properly, Gerald. For all I know we’re working on the same case and I’m not going to have Witches Inc. shoved aside by the Ottish government.”

“The same case, Mel?” said Bibbie, sounding amused. “Oh, I don’t think—”

Melissande tilted her chin. “It’s possible! Stranger things have happened—and frequently to me.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” he said dryly. “I very much doubt Witches Inc. would be retained to investigate my case.”

“Oy!” said Reg. “That’s enough patriarchal superiority from you, sunshine. Witches are perfectly capable of solving mysteries of international significance, just like any common-or-garden, backstabbing, inconsiderate, selfish wizard you care to think of.”

Ouch. “I thought you weren’t speaking to me?”

“I’m not,” she snapped. “I’m making a general observation to the room at large.”

Oh,
Reg
. “You knew I’d be gone for a while,” he said quietly. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to contact you.”

“While you were off training, yes,” she retorted. “But you’re not training
now
, are you? You’re
janitoring
. You’re back in town and you never
told
us.”

“Because I wasn’t allowed to, Reg.” He looked at all of them, his three dearest friends and Bibbie. Whom he knew a bit, through Monk… and would very much like to know better. “Strict instructions from Sir Alec. If he finds out I’ve spoken to you he won’t be happy.”
Which is putting it mildly. “
And he
really
won’t be happy when he finds out you three are investigating at Wycliffe’s. What in the name of Saint Snodgrass are you
doing
there?”

“We could ask you the same question,” said Melissande. “In fact, I think I will.”

“I asked first.”

She looked at him over the top of her glasses. “
That
is a particularly childish answer, Gerald.”

“Melissande, please. This is important. Just—tell me what’s going on, all right?”

He was immediately treated to a tangled three-way tale of sprites and cheating pastry cooks and public unmaskings and exploding gooseberry sponges and a mystery thief with a penchant for nicking biscuits and sundry office equipment. When the riotous tale was told, and the girls finally stopped shouting over the top of each other, contradicting and complaining, he looked at Monk and shook his head.

“An interdimensional portal opener?” he said. “Bloody hell, Markham. Only you.”

Monk tried to look penitent and failed, abjectly. “What can I say? It was an accident.”

It was an accident.
They’re going to be his last words, I just know it. “
I take it you haven’t told anyone… official?”

“Not yet,” said Monk, shaking his head. “To be honest I don’t know if I will. Once I calmed down and thought about it, I wondered if an interdimensional portal opener might not be a bit dangerous to have around.”

Melissande rolled her eyes. “
Now
it occurs to him.
After
he’s let the interdimensional sprite loose on the world.”

“Hey,” said Monk. “It got your agency out of financial hot water, didn’t it?”

“But Monk,” said Bibbie, “if you keep the IPO under wraps that means you won’t get another article in
The Golden Staff
.”

“He’ll survive,” said Gerald. “And
I’ll
forget I even heard about it… if
you
promise to forget it exists, Monk.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Monk sighed. “I know the drill. Stop being such an old mother hen, mate.”

Reg nipped him on the ear. “Oy. That’s enough disparaging of mature female birds, thank you. And anyway, what you did was daft and you know it.”

“Ow,” said Monk. “Fine. Sorry. The point is, Gerald, there’s no need to fuss. I learned my lesson. No more interdimensional portal opening for me.”

“Okay,” he said, relieved. Monk might be a raving nutter, but once he gave his word that was that. “Good.”

“And now,” said Melissande, “it’s your turn, Gerald. Why are
you
skulking at Wycliffe’s?”

Damn. “If I tell you on my honour, cross my heart and hope to get haemorrhoids that I’m
not
on the trail of a rascally biscuit thief, will you believe me and let it go?
Please
?”

Melissande looked at Reg, then Bibbie. “Sorry,” she said, stubborn to the last. “For all you know our biscuit thief could be—could be—”

“Diversifying,” said Bibbie brightly. “They’ve gone so long without being caught they’ve been emboldened, and now they’re—they’re—”

“Upping the ante,” said Reg.

He sighed. “No, girls. Trust me. They’re really not.”

“You don’t know that,” said Melissande, with another belligerent lift of her chin. “How can you know that?”

“Because it’s my job,” he said, striving for patience. “Secret government agent now, remember?”

“That just makes you badly paid,” said Bibbie. “Not infallible.”

“So, Gerald, what
are
you doing at Wycliffe’s?” said Melissande. “It’s the dullest place imaginable.
And
it’s well on the road to insolvency, if I’m any judge. And as a former prime minister of a practically bankrupt kingdom you’d best believe I am. These scooters and velocipedes and what-have-yous they’re trying to flog are rubbish.”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t tell you.”

Reg rattled her tail feathers ominously. “Sauce for the goose, sunshine. If you don’t give us chapter and verse about what you’re up to, well, this Markham boy’s still got his interdimensional portal opener around here somewhere. Fancy a little jaunt to the twelfth dimension, do you? With an extra helping of sprites?”

Gerald stared at them, feeling his frustration churn. “Look, girls, I know you think I’m being a spoilsport but I’m only trying to protect you. In fact…” He took a deep breath. “For your own safety, I think you should tell Permelia Wycliffe you can’t solve the case and get out of there while you still can. Because if you keep on poking around in that place you might accidentally poke the person I’m after… and that could be dangerous.”

“Turn tail and run, you mean?” said Bibbie. “Absolutely
not
! We’re
witches
, not
shrinking violets
.”

Gerald shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s not quite accurate. You’re a witch, Bibbie, but as for your colleagues… well, Melissande’s a born organiser and Reg is a bird. Trust me, that’s not enough this time. We’re not talking hexed cakes. We’re talking big trouble. And I don’t want you three anywhere near it.”

Now they were all glaring at him. “You—you—insufferable prig!” spluttered Melissande. “Is that what they taught you on your Department training course? How to be an insufferable prig?”

“Steady on, Mel,” Monk murmured. “He’s only—”

She snatched her hand free of his. “Don’t you
dare
defend him to me, Monk Markham! Patting me on the head and telling me to sit in the corner like a good little girl? After
Lional
?”

Monk pulled a face, hands raised. “Sorry, mate. You’re on your own.”

Wonderful. He couldn’t be handling this worse if he’d planned it. “Look, that’s not what I meant. I know you’re brave, Melissande. You’re
ridiculously
brave. You and Reg are the bravest women I’ve ever met. And Bibbie, you’d be just as brave if you had to be, I’m sure.”

Reg’s eyes were glinting dangerously. “That’s right, sunshine. Keep on digging. Graves are generally six feet deep.”

He stared at them, despairing. “Why won’t you trust me when I say you shouldn’t be there?
I’m
the one with the inside information.
I’m
the one working for the secret government Department that knows things. If anybody’s being priggish here it’s you, dismissing my expertise out of hand.”

The girls looked at each other. Then Bibbie shrugged. “I hate to admit it but he’s got a point.”

“Fine,” said Melissande, and folded her arms. “All right, Gerald. You tell us
why
it’s too dangerous for Witches Inc. to continue investigating at Wycliffe’s… and we’ll consider leaving.”

G
erald stared at her, silenced.
Why me?
“Melissande, aren’t you
listening
? I’m not
allowed
to tell you why.”

She sniffed. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we’re on different lunchbreaks, won’t we?”

“Don’t look at me, mate,” said Monk, reprehensibly grinning. “I want to know what’s going on as badly as they do.”

“Oh, thank you very much,” he said bitterly. “You’re a big help, you are.”

“Hey,” said Monk. “Whatever you tell us won’t go beyond these four walls.”

“I
know
that,” he said, close to shouting. “This isn’t about me not trusting you, it’s about the fact I’m working on something huge. If somehow I manage to mess things up by telling you about it, the consequences could be catastrophic.” He felt like tearing his hair out. “Damn, this is a bloody disaster. With the girls involved suddenly everything’s getting
complicated
—and you know what
that
means.”

“The girls are sitting right here, Gerald, in case you’ve suddenly gone blind in your other eye,” said Melissande. “And they don’t appreciate being treated like three pieces of furniture.”

“I don’t care! I wish you
were
three pieces of furniture!” he retorted. “Because then I could put you under lock and key and not have to worry about you getting in the way!”

She leapt to her feet. “
Gerald Dunwoody
—I am not a
foot stool
! Who the hell do you think you
are
, to stand there telling
me
what I can and can’t—”

“Oh, put a sock in it, ducky,” said Reg, with a sigh. “You won’t get anywhere browbeating him. And all your shouting is giving me a headache.”