She said, “He’s gone. Derek’s gone.”
Sharon said, “What do you mean, gone? Have you told the police?”
She said, “We were at the temple and I went out to get some Blutack and when I came back he was gone. But his bag was still there and his coat and his keys were in his coat and he’s… I’m worried about him. That’s all. I’m worried about him.”
One lamb bhuna, chicken korai and prawn madras later, Edna, Rhys and Sharon stood in the gloomy interior of the Friendlies’ temple (CUT + BLOW DRY £35 WOMEN’S HAIR), and Edna wrung her hands. Rhys tried not to stare. He’d heard of people wringing their hands, of course–it was something women possessed of a certain frailty were expected to do in difficult circumstances. He’d just never seen anyone go for it with such panache, such muscular vigour. Edna stood in the middle of the concrete floor and exclaimed, “Derek was such a lovely man, I can’t believe he’d just pack up and leave!”
Rhys met Sharon’s eyes. Neither of them could believe it either.
Rhys, realising he didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation, did some wall leaning and hoped he looked okay. Sharon puffed her cheeks and said, “So… spirits vanish, Greydawn vanishes, and now the high priest—”
“Social secretary,” corrected Edna.
Sharon gave her a look that could have withered brick. “Also disappears, and you’re like, ‘Wow, that’s strange, look how screwed up things are, but I’m sure it’ll be okay in the end.’ ”
“We are not like that!” fumed Edna. “The Friendlies are just… we’re friendly, do you see? We don’t deal in all this high drama.”
“Excuse me?” hazarded Rhys. “Do we–I mean, I don’t want to interrupt, see, but does Magicals Anonymous deal in high drama? Only, we’ve only met once and I thought we weren’t big on drama, but I still got this sort of swelling under my arms—”
Sharon opened her mouth to speak, but too late.
“Magicals Anonymous?” Edna cut in. “What’s that?”
“It’s a support group,” said Rhys. “It’s for everyone who has issues with their mystical state. Miss Li founded it.”
A look of grudging respect came over Edna’s face. “That’s actually an interesting idea, dear. It can be difficult dabbling in the mystical in this day and age. Which isn’t to say it wasn’t difficult when you were burned at the stake either. But do you know how hard it is to find someone to represent your southern pole during a pepper dance? In Tooting?”
To Sharon’s surprise, Rhys leapt into the conversation. “Oh I know!” he exclaimed. “And getting ritual stains out of white robes is a nightmare too. I’ve tried all the brands but nothing quite does it.”
“White wine vinegar,” offered Edna. “I’ve heard people swear by white wine vinegar.”
“Does that work on linen?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it. But I used to get this hideous sticky stuff under my nails every time I—”
“Hey!” blurted Sharon. “Missing people? Spirits? Fate of the city? Priorities, people, please?” Somewhat abashed, Edna and Rhys fell silent.
“This Derek,” Sharon was slightly breathless with the effort of controlling the moment, “would he know how to… I don’t know, how to trap or vanish or do whatever has been done to this Greydawn chick?”
“Well,” murmured Edna, “I suppose he might, but do you feel that ‘Greydawn chick’ is very reverent?”
“Okay, how do we find him?”
“Well, you’re the shaman. Shouldn’t you…” The words trailed away in the face of Sharon’s glare. “How about scrying?” asked Edna.
“Sounds good. How the hell do we do that?”
“Well, we’d need something personal of Derek’s…”
“You said he left his bag here.”
“… and we’d need someone who knows how to scry. Derek did hire a couple of very nice wizards to try and scry for Greydawn when she… but they didn’t find anything. Which I thought was quite odd, as you’d have expected some sort of mystical residue or glow or something like that; but it’s really as if she’s just vanished into some part of the city. But you’re thinking about Derek, aren’t you, and I’m sure it wasn’t the wizards’ fault; they seemed very nice. That said, I don’t know if they’ll do call-outs at this time of night.”
“How about Mr Roding?” demanded Sharon. “He’s gonna break down wards and that. Could he do scrying?”
“Who is this Mr Roding gentleman?” asked Edna.
“He’s a necromancer, but he seems okay.”
“Oh, I say! Is he one of your… Magicals Anonymous too?”
“Wouldn’t be very anonymous if I answered that, would it?” replied Sharon primly.
“But Mr Roding was going to the pub with the Society of Morticians, Taxidermists and Necromancers tonight,” pointed out Rhys. “They’re doing a quiz on the theme Great Footballers of the 1990s.” Then he snapped his fingers in triumph. “It’s all right! I know who! I’ve got just the guy!”