The twins studied Shakespeare carefully. The entire base of the statue was rippling in waves of pale blue light. Even after a full twenty-four hours, Shakespeare had not yet recovered from the Conjuror’s powerful animation. Strips of yellow police tape fluttered from the arms of the statue in the cool breeze, while two uniformed officers stood nearby.
‘How are your eyes?’ asked Em.
‘Fine.’
Em brushed flecks of blue paint from the arm of her over-sized sweater. ‘Do you think the Conjuror left any prints on the statue?’
‘I doubt it,’ answered Matt, scanning the shops and the doorways surrounding the square. The morning sunlight was creating frissons of colour in his peripheral vision. ‘Unless one of the crime-scene crew is an Animare too, they won’t notice anything unusual.’
‘Maybe you can use your ’gator eyes to see what actually happened.’
‘Don’t call them that.’
‘That’s what they’re like,’ Em persisted. ‘A third eyelid drops over your eyes and pow! You see the past.’
‘You’re a laugh riot.’
‘So can you?’
Since the incident at the Kirk, Matt had been practising, learning to control the way his eyes behaved in places where the past hung heavily in the air. He concentrated on the statue, but with no results. He wondered if his eyes had trouble with anything too recent.
‘Nothing,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Wait… Over there.’ He pointed across the square. ‘Near that rubbish bin. Just outside the barricade. See?’
Em followed Matt’s finger, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
‘Start at Shakespeare and then follow the trail of light,’ Matt said. ‘It begins outside that café.’
‘I see it now. Wait here,’ said Em. She jogged over to the café, where Matt saw her stop at the litter bin. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she scooped something from the bin and pocketed it.
What have you got?
Walk, Mattie. I’ll show you when no one’s watching.
Matt followed Em out of Leicester Square. They cut across St Martin’s Lane, and in a few minutes were in a quiet alley off the Strand, only a few short steps from their next stop in London.
‘Show me,’ Matt ordered, holding out his hand.
Em dropped the iPod into his palm triumphantly. ‘It had light all over it,’ she said. ‘I’m guessing our Conjuror dropped it.’
Matt studied the iPod. It was an old model. Attaching his own ear buds, he pressed play. Almost at once, Em saw him rear backwards, tearing the buds from his ears.
‘Man, that’s nasty,’ he said. ‘White noise, the kind you get when the TV isn’t working properly.’
‘Weird,’ said Em, putting one ear bud in her ear. ‘Who listens to white noise?’
‘Forget the iPod for now,’ said Matt, pointing towards a doorway. ‘We have bigger problems. Look.’
A sign on the door of Old Worm’s Curiosities and Ancient Alchemies read, ‘Closed Until Further Notice.’
‘Can you hear that?’ said Em, listening. ‘It’s like a buzzing.’
‘Maybe there’s a wasps’ nest in the rafters,’ Matt suggested.
They both looked up at the thick wooden beams running above the shop’s latticed windows.
‘I think it’s coming from inside,’ said Em. She jiggled the shop’s door handle, then slipped her sketchbook out of her bag.
‘Hold up there, Quick Draw,’ said Matt. ‘Let’s animate somewhere not quite as visible. Round the back.’
As they slipped into the narrow alley next to the shop, a huge bluebottle bombed Matt, getting caught in his hair.
‘Ow!’ he yelped, ducking. ‘What the— that bluebottle bit me!’
‘Bluebottles don’t bite, you idiot. Come on.’
The flies were worse near the heavy old door at the back of the shop. They were the size of stag beetles, buzzing in and out through the keyhole and underneath the door where the stoop was uneven.
‘Have you ever seen—’ Em began.
Matt tapped his temple. Em reframed the question inside her mind.
Have you ever seen black flies this big? It’s like they’re on steroids.
Never. Definitely something weird going on here.
They both heard a door open and close into the tiny courtyard of the office next door. A spiral of smoke rose over the wall, together with the sound of someone flipping through a magazine.
‘Hey,’ Matt said, popping his head up over the wall.
There was a scream and the sound of a dropped magazine. ‘Jesus! I nearly had a stroke. Who are you?’
‘Didn’t mean to scare you. Can I have a word?’
A gate opened in the wall and a young woman peered out. ‘How can I help?’
Matt offered her his most disarming smile. ‘Matt Calder, Orion Insurance.’
Could you have sounded any more like James Bond?
‘We’re not buying,’ said the woman. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’m not here to sell you anything,’ Matt reassured her. ‘I just have a couple of questions about what happened yesterday at the shop next door.’
The woman relaxed. ‘Checking to see if it was an inside job? I’m Jen Kolasa, by the way. Jennifer. My dad owns this place. Kolasa Casting Agency, that’s us.’
Em rolled her eyes. Jen fancied Matt.
‘Can’t imagine who’d steal anything from that ghoulish place,’ Jen went on. ‘It attracts a weird clientele and, let me tell you, that’s saying something coming from me: I work with actors. I once saw them carrying a coffin inside. I’m pretty sure they’re all Satan worshippers. The manager’s a nut-job for sure.’
‘So what happened yesterday?’ asked Matt.
‘I saw him,’ Jen said. ‘The guy everyone’s saying is a jewel thief. He jumped from our roof on to that one over there and then he disappeared down the lane towards St Martin’s.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘His picture was in the paper this morning, didn’t you see? Black. Tall. Kinda looked like a young Lenny Kravitz. Even had a guitar case on his back.’
‘Jennifer?’ came a shout from inside the office. ‘How long does a fag break take? The phone’s ringing off the hook in here! If I have to take one more call about the audition times for Disney’s Twelve Knights, I won’t be responsible for my actions!’
‘That’s my da,’ said Jen. She seemed reluctant to end the conversation. ‘I ought to go.’
‘One more question,’ said Matt. ‘Was the shop open when the break-in happened?’
‘I know they’re saying no one was in,’ said Jen, ‘but it was definitely open. Right before I saw the black guy jump across the roof, I heard someone inside playing the harmonica. They were really good, and I remember looking out of the window to see if someone was cadging for money. We try to discourage that. Street’s too narrow, and we get famous people coming in here a lot to make audition tapes. It’s bad for business.’
‘Jennifer! Get your bloody arse back to your desk now!’
‘I’m coming, Da!’ Jen shouted. She pulled an apologetic face at Matt, then fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Sorry. Feel free to come by and interrogate me again any time.’
She slammed the gate behind her.
‘Thank God for you, Sherlock,’ said Em. ‘I was as good as invisible.’
‘Why thank you, Ms Watson,’ Matt said with a wink. ‘If the shop was open, that means the police report about not getting into the building because the owner was out of the country was bullshit. They lied to the police, or the police lied on the report.’ He glanced at Old Worm’s ancient back door again. ‘Were there that many flies before?’
‘Oh my God, no,’ said Em, staring at the mound of fat flies on the stoop. She looked a little sick. ‘What happened?’
‘We need to get inside that shop,’ said Matt, pulling out his sketchpad.
Em sighed. ‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’