JC looked almost fondly at the suitcase, then sat up straight in his chair as the suitcase began to move. It rocked slowly back and forth at first as though making up its mind and gathering its strength, then it edged slowly forward along the bed, humping along in a series of slow, jerky movements, rucking up the counterpane as it went. JC rose out of his chair and glared at his suitcase.
“Stop that! Right now! Or there will be trouble!”
The suitcase stopped moving. It stood very still, half-way along the bed, as though trying to pretend it had never moved at all. Only the crumpled counterpane remained to show the length of its travels. JC stood there for a moment, watching the suitcase carefully, then reached forward and pushed the case hard, with one extended finger. The case rocked back and forth, very slightly, and was still again.
JC opened the suitcase and looked inside, but no-one had sneaked anything in. Everything was as it should be. So he closed the suitcase again, lifted it up, and placed it on the floor by the far wall, where he could keep an eye on it. The suitcase remained where he put it, as though it had got the whole moving thing out of its system.
The door to the oversized wardrobe swung slowly open. The heavy dark slab of wood moved slowly and silently, and the brass hinges didn’t so much as creak once. JC waited until the door had stopped moving, then he edged cautiously forward to look inside the wardrobe. Nothing there. Not even any coat hangers. Only shadows and dust. JC shut the door, and looked at it; and it didn’t move. Instead, the door to the landing swung slowly open.
JC caught the first movement out of the corner of his eye and spun around quickly to watch the door open all the way, all on its own. Out on the landing, the somewhat brighter lights were still on; and it was clear there was no-one out there who could have opened the door. JC strode forward and stepped through the open doorway and out onto the landing. He looked up and down the long corridor, but no-one was out and about. Happy and Melody’s doors remained firmly closed. JC took a firm hold of the door-handle, stepped back inside his room, and pulled his door shut.
He could have locked it. But somehow, he had a feeling that wouldn’t make any difference.
On the other side of the room, the door to the tiny bathroom swung open. JC glared at it. There was something eerie and even upsetting, about the refusal of his doors to stay shut. It made JC feel . . . that he wasn’t in control of things. And he hated that. He hurried over to the bathroom door and slammed it shut. The wardrobe door swung open. JC slammed that shut as well. And while he was doing that, the door to the landing opened. JC ran across the room and slammed it shut with all his strength; and then stood with his back pressed against it, glaring round the room. Breathing hard, and not only from the exertion of running back and forth. It was all happening so quietly . . . There was no actual threat, or attack, nothing jumping out from behind any of the opening doors. It was as though the room was mocking him and defying him to do anything about it.
“All right!” he said grimly. “Among the many things I’m not supposed to have with me, there is an exorcism grenade in my suitcase. Packed full of holy light; just the thing to dispel unruly spirits. Do you really want to play hard core, this early in the game?”
There was a long pause. JC stood stiffly with his back to the door, glowering around his room, from door to door . . . but nothing moved. JC nodded and allowed himself a small smile. Some phenomena bluff really easily.
Kim walked into his room, passing effortlessly through the outer wall. Which was disconcerting given that they were on the first floor. JC couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. He moved away from the door, smiling at Kim. She smiled happily back at him and shot him a sultry look. She’d shifted her ectoplasm again, changing her appearance just for him; and now she was dressed in a traditional tweed suit, complete with strings of pearls. She’d even shortened her gleaming red hair and arranged it in a serious country-set cut. On her, it looked good. JC grinned.
“Someone down in the bar was wearing an outfit exactly like that.”
“I know!” said Kim. “I was there, watching unseen, and listening. Honestly, darling, such a bunch of story-tellers! Wouldn’t know a real ghost if it manifested in their living room, right in front of the television.”
“Was that your face at the window?” said JC.
“Of course not,” said Kim. “I had a damned good look, and I didn’t see a face in any window. I think someone got caught up in the drama of the moment.”
The two of them were standing face-to-face now, looking deep into each other’s eyes. It was as close as they could come to holding each other. The living and the dead might love each other, but they could never touch. Which was one of many reasons why such relationships were frowned upon, by . . . pretty much everybody. JC and Kim stood so close together, they could have felt their breath on each other’s faces if more than one of them had been breathing.
“Why didn’t you join us before?” JC said finally. Because it was easier to talk about the job than so many other things. “You could have come with us, on the train. I could have used your company. Happy and Melody were sniping at each other all the way down . . .”
“I travel more quickly on my own,” said Kim. “I used the low road, the hidden path of the dead.”
“Oh yes?” said JC. “And what was that like?”
“Busy,” said Kim.
“I don’t really want to know, do I?”
“No, sweetie,” said Kim.
“It is good to see you again, my love,” said JC.
“And you, my darling,” said Kim.
They high-fived each other, their palms not quite touching.
“There are things I can’t talk about,” said Kim, “And there are things I won’t talk about because I’m dead and you’re not. One of us has to be the sensible partner in this relationship. So I’ve been here at the King’s Arms for some time, waiting for you to catch up . . . looking around, moving unseen, pushing my nose into things.”
“And?” said JC.
“I haven’t seen anything supernatural,” said the girl ghost, frowning prettily. “But I can say, very definitely; that I don’t like the feel of this place. It’s hiding things from me.”
“So is Brook,” said JC. “He knows a lot more than he’s telling.”
“But he’s the one who called you for help,” said Kim. “Why would he hold back information that might help you help him?”
“Good question,” said JC. “Did you see what was happening just now, here in my room?”
“No,” said Kim. She listened carefully as JC explained about the doors that didn’t want to stay shut. Kim’s eyes gleamed eagerly as she pattered noiselessly round the room, studying everything with great interest.
“I don’t See anything, darling. The doors are quite definitely nothing other than doors.”
“I never got the sense there was anyone moving them,” said JC. “But it wasn’t any kind of illusion. And my suitcase really did move, on its own, just like the doors.”
“Physical phenomena,” said Kim. “Never a good sign. It takes a lot of power, of accumulated energy, for the dead to affect the material world directly. But I don’t smell any poltergeist residue . . .” She turned abruptly to grin at JC. “I wish I’d been here to see it!”
“Wish I hadn’t been,” JC said steadily. “It wasn’t very nice, on my own.”
Kim was immediately back before him, staring at him sorrowfully. “You have to understand, JC. I’m back; I’m back with you, and the team . . . But I can’t always be with you. There will be times when I have to go my own way. Following my own leads, going places you can’t . . . and I won’t always be able to tell you where I’ve been or what I’ve had to do. For your safety as well as mine.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Kim?” said JC.
“Lots and lots of things, darling,” said Kim. “I will tell you what I can, when I can. Except for the times when I can’t; and then I’ll tell you a comforting lie. Because
that’s what relationships are all about.” She sighed, tiredly. An affectation, of course, because ghosts don’t get tired. But JC appreciated the effort. Kim looked at him steadily. “Eventually, this will all be over; and I’ll be able to tell you everything. And it’ll be such a relief. Secrets are heavy. They weigh you down. But until then, we have to do this one step at a time, for both our sakes. Trust me?”
“Always,” said JC.
“I wish I could hold you,” said Kim. “Hug you close, feel your heart beating against mine.”
“I am working on it,” said JC.
“What?” said Kim. “Really?”
“I have a contact in the Nightside,” said JC, “who swears he knows someone who can make it possible for people and ghosts to . . . be together. For short periods.”
“Not too short, I hope,” said Kim. “JC, the Nightside is a bad place. Heaven and Hell and everything in between. I don’t like the thought of your going there.”
“You can find anything in the Nightside,” said JC.
“Or it can find you,” said Kim, frowning. She seemed genuinely upset. “You watch yourself, JC. Anything you acquire there will always have a hidden price tag.”
“I will be very careful, I promise,” said JC. “But you know I’d do anything for you. Pay any price.”
“Forever?”
“Forever and ever.”
They turned away, ostensibly to study the room again, tacitly agreeing to save the argument for another day.
“I was sad, to see Happy and Melody going off to separate rooms,” said JC. “I liked them being together. I’ve always thought they were . . . stronger, more focused, when they were together.”
“Happier?” said Kim.
“Let’s not ask for miracles,” said JC. “Let’s say less grumpy. They’ve both been a complete pain, all day. Personally, I’m astonished Happy was able to stay off the stuff for as long as he did.”
“You can’t help an addict if they’re determined not to be helped,” said Kim.
“The trouble is . . . I’m not sure whether helping Happy is the best thing,” said JC. “The pills aren’t good for him, not in the long run. They may even be killing him, by inches . . . But there’s no denying he’s a better team member when he’s . . . chemically enhanced. He’s braver, smarter, more insightful. I have to wonder, Kim; should I fire Happy from the team, for his own good, to save his life? Or should I encourage him because he’s more useful to me and the Institute when he’s using? I’d hate to think I was actually that cold-blooded . . .”
“He might fall apart even faster, without you and Melody and me to hold him together,” said Kim. “I believe he needs us far more than he needs pills.”
“But does Happy believe it?” said JC.
* * *
Melody sat on the edge of her hard and unforgiving single bed, in her own small room, with her lap-top set out on the bedspread before her. Typically, she’d hardly given her room a glance before going straight to work. Melody always preferred to concentrate on the job at hand first, and everything else second, if at all. She hadn’t expected her room to come with wi-fi, but then, she didn’t need it. After all the changes she’d put her lap-top through, she could pick up a signal anywhere. If only by bullying the nearest tower.
She was currently checking out web sites on the most famous haunted pubs in England. Lots of familiar names kept popping up, but, much to Melody’s surprise, not only did the King’s Arms of Bishop’s Fording not make the top ten . . . it didn’t even earn a mention in the top hundred. None of the main discussion sites had ever heard of the King’s Arms as far she could see. She pursued the inn’s history with all her very best search engines, but all she could find were a few old stories from the local newspapers, of people spending the night at the King’s Arms and leaving early. The stories were vague and unremarkable and nearly always played for laughs. Silly-season filler pieces. Those foolish tourists, jumping at noises in the night; not like proper country-folk . . . That sort of thing. But when Melody followed the stories through, it quickly became clear that no-one had stayed overnight at the King’s Arms since the 1970s.
That had to mean something. Melody pulled her legs up onto the bed, so she could sit cross-legged and glare at the lap-top’s screen more efficiently. Why did the phenomenon, whatever it was, start or possibly restart in the seventies? Did something happen then? Had something been disturbed, or awakened? There was nothing in the local press . . .
Melody swung her legs back over the side of the bed, stood up, stretched, and shook her head restlessly. She couldn’t concentrate because she was still angry at Happy. And at herself. She shut the lap-top down, slapped the lid closed, then went walking around the room. Not looking for anything, walking around and around. Not going anywhere, roaming around the room in tight little circles, avoiding the furniture because she always thought better when she was on the move. It gave her the illusion that she was doing something.
What made her really mad was that she never saw it coming. She thought everything was going well. She thought she and Happy were . . . well, happy. They talked, they did things together, the sex was great . . . She’d had no idea that Happy had fallen off the edge again and gone back to his bloody pills. And she should have known. She kept a careful eye on Happy, all the time, keeping track of his moods and his needs. It wasn’t her fault. She was sure it wasn’t her fault. Except . . . if that were true, she wouldn’t be feeling so bad. Like there was a great empty hole where her heart should have been.
How did she let him down? What didn’t she do? Had she failed him in some way? She did everything for him, went out of her way to make sure she was always there for him. Even though that didn’t come naturally for her. No. She didn’t let him down; he let himself down. But she still couldn’t help feeling that someone else might have noticed something.
There had been times when she was . . . busy. Working on her own, researching The Flesh Undying and the conspiracy inside the Institute. Doing necessary things, to keep them both safe. She couldn’t be with him every moment of the day . . . She stopped dead in her tracks, torn between one thought and another, one feeling and another, her hands clenched into fists. She really was in the mood to hit someone.
She caught a glimpse of her face, in the mirror on top of the chest of drawers. She looked at her reflection; and a madwoman looked back at her. Wide-eyed, snarling mouth, face blotchy from a rush of blood, from the passions that raged within her. She didn’t want to look like that, didn’t want to think she could look like that . . . And then Melody looked more clearly and saw there was a man standing right behind her. A tall figure, all in black. She stood very still, and the man leaned forward to speak directly into her ear, from behind.
“Well,” said a cold and nasty voice, “no-one’s going to disturb us now, are they?”
Melody smiled. And back-elbowed the man right under his sternum. All the air went out of him in a rush, and he was already bending sharply forward as she spun round to face him, almost as though he was bowing to her. Melody kicked him accurately and extremely violently in the nuts; and a low, whistling scream forced its way out of the man’s constricting throat. He dropped to his knees before her, both hands pressed over his crotch. Like that was going to help now.
Melody looked her would-be attacker over. A man dressed in black, with a dark balaclava to cover his face. Melody grabbed him by the arm, hauled him back onto his feet, and threw him around the room. She hung on to his arm with both hands, slamming him violently into the furniture and off the walls, while he made horrible noises of pain and distress.
Melody smiled a really unpleasant smile and eventually let the intruder fall to the floor. She kicked him several times, in very painful places, to make it clear she was still mad at him, then stood over her would-be attacker, breathing hard. She had to admit that she did feel better. She’d needed someone to take her frustrations out on. Melody ripped off the dark balaclava and immediately recognised the pal
e sweating face underneath.
It was Cootes, the local solicitor.
“How did you get in here?” said Melody.
“Sneaked back in, through the rear door,” said Cootes, in a very unsteady voice. “While all the others were hurrying to their cars. No-one noticed I wasn’t with them. I came up here before you did and hid inside your wardrobe.”
“How did you know which room I’d be in?” demanded Melody.
“I don’t know!” said Cootes, miserably. “I just knew . . .”
He seemed honestly confused about that. As though he hadn’t even considered the question before. Whatever was working in the inn had messed with his mind . . . Not that this in any way excused what he’d intended to do. Nasty little man . . .
“Please . . .” said Cootes. “I was upset because I wasn’t going to be on television. And because of what your friend said . . . Please! Don’t hit me! It was a joke, a bit of fun . . .”
“Yeah,” said Melody. “I’m really amused . . .”
She grabbed Cootes by the arm and hauled him back up onto his feet. She dragged him over to the door, opened it, and kicked him out onto the landing. He fell sprawling on the floor and scrabbled quickly away on all fours, desperate to put some distance between him and Melody, until he realised she wasn’t coming after him. He rose painfully to his feet and glared back at her, tears of shock and pain and shame coursing down his face.
“I’ll get you for this!”
Melody raised the machine-pistol in her hand and aimed it at him. “No you won’t.”
Cootes swallowed hard, the last of the colour dropping out of his face. He nodded slowly. “I think . . . I’ll be leaving now. If that’s all right with you.”
Melody nodded, and he turned and ran for it. She watched Cootes go until he disappeared down the stairs, then she grinned broadly and went back inside her room.