The week that followed the visit to Lyme Regis felt particularly long and exhausting. Kester spent the majority of the time online, trying to discover more about the mysterious Celtic burial ground in Lyme Regis, but, so far, all his searches had come up with nothing. He still felt that he was missing something—a vital piece of information, dangling right in front of him, just waiting to be grasped. There was more to these murders than met the eye, but he couldn’t figure out exactly what.
It was frustrating, not least because Larry Higgins phoned every morning to check their progress and gloated with obvious delight at the delay. In fact, the only thing that they’d really achieved was to make sure the remaining members of the Lyme Regis Ancient History Club—Denzil Powers, Peter Hopper, and Grace McCready—were protected. Now, inconspicuous government officials had been hired to regularly check up on all of them.
Kester’s head ached. It was a particularly gloomy, windswept Friday night, and he was fighting hard against the urge to order a takeaway pizza and officially postpone the diet for a month or so.
Sitting in his tiny bedroom, he shivered. A stiff breeze was currently wafting his curtains around like a pair of billowing spectres, presumably because the windows hadn’t been replaced since the house had been built over a hundred years ago. His laptop glowed unnaturally in the dimness, casting a milky light over the School of Supernatural Further Education brochure, which seemed to be goading him with its very presence, refusing to let him ignore it. Opening it up with a sigh, Kester typed in the Swww. web address printed on the first page and logged in.
Here goes nothing, he thought, waiting for the site to load. It looked much like any other academic website, with a traditional logo at the top and plenty of photos of pupils looking rather pleased with themselves. The lack of sinister images comforted him somewhat, even though he still felt unsettled at the prospect of enrolling in a supernatural course. Clicking through to the menu, he scrolled through the list, until he found the BA in Spirit Intervention and Business Studies.
Oh boy, Kester thought, scanning the details. Do I really want to do this?
His mouse cursor hovered over the “enrol now” button, white arrow icon blinking in a manner that was almost teasing. Just get on with it, he told himself sternly, and clicked through to the application page.
Just as he’d completed entering his details and hit the “submit” button, a series of rhythmic knocks on the door startled him. Before he could call out, the door flew open, revealing a flushed-looking Daisy, wrapped in a stripy apron, covered in flour, and wielding a plate of rather ostentatiously iced cakes. Kester shut the site down as discreetly as possible, then turned to face her.
“Want one?” she chimed as she sauntered in and dangled the plate liberally under his nose. He inhaled deeply, then grimaced.
“What are they?”
“They’re beetroot and courgette muffins with carob icing. Danielo, my yoga instructor, said that courgettes are excellent for unlocking your fourth chakra.”
He gently pushed the plate aside. “I think my fourth chakra’s just fine, thanks anyway.”
Daisy sniffed. “Suit yourself. Me and Pineapple are going out later, down the Three Tuns. Did you want to come? You could ask that nice friend of yours?”
Kester closed his laptop, swivelling round to face her. “Which nice friend is that? Do you mean Anya, my girlfriend?” He still felt silly calling her that, especially considering they’d only had one date, but the opportunity to claim that a female actually liked him was too good to pass up.
“No, not her. The guy you work with. Mike, I think he’s called?”
Oh god, please don’t tell me she fancies him, he thought, taking in the sight of her two pigtails, which were currently tied up with flowery scrunchies. Not to mention the vast array of plastic rings on her fingers—at least two of which portrayed popular 1980s cartoon characters. She couldn’t be less Mike’s type if she tried, he thought, not knowing whether to laugh or feel sorry for her.
“Er, Mike might want to come out, I suppose,” he said as he rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. Then he remembered what Mike had said about Pineapple when he’d last met him, and regretted his statement immediately. He couldn’t remember the exact phrase Mike had used, but he was sure it had included the words “intolerable” and “moron.”
Daisy beamed, jiggling the plate of cakes until they teetered wildly, threatening to tumble to the threadbare carpet. “Yes, do ask him. I thought he was so nice. He had such a positive energy, you know? It really flowed through him.”
“Well, more to the point, he likes beer flowing through him, so I’m sure he’ll be up for it,” Kester replied. “I’ll ask Anya too.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Daisy said as she dusted some flour off her nose. “We’ll be heading out around nine o’clock. Just don’t ask that mean girl you work with. What was her name? Selina?”
“Serena,” he corrected. Last time Serena had joined them all down the pub, she had spent the entire time sulking in the corner, glaring dangerously at anyone who dared to come within three metres of her. “Don’t worry, she won’t want to come. That I can guarantee you.”
“Ugh, yes. That girl. She had some seriously blocked energy. Standing too close to her was like receiving a punch to my spiritual core.”
I’m fairly sure she would have liked to give your physical core a good kicking too, Kester thought, grinning. He straightened, then reached for his phone. “Count me in,” he said. “I’ll see if Anya can come.”
“And Mike?”
He sighed. “Yes, and Mike.” Though don’t blame me if he spends all evening avoiding you, he finished silently.
After a deeply unpleasant lukewarm shower and a change of clothes, Kester was ready to go. To his delight, Anya had responded to his text immediately and agreed to see him there. With less pleasure, he noted that Mike had also replied with an agreement to meet—but judging by the spelling errors and general misuse of the English language, Kester presumed he was already quite a few beers into his evening.
He headed out into the windy night, maintaining a respectable distance from his housemates, in case anyone thought that he was associated with them. They were looking particularly mortifying tonight. Pineapple was clad in a day-glo waistcoat and faux-leather harem pants—giving him the general appearance of a drug-addled New Romantic mixed with a hyperactive toddler. Daisy wasn’t much better, with a pair of revolting purple dungarees and crop top, which showed far too much flesh for such a chilly evening.
Thankfully, the pub was only a short walk from their house. Tugging the door open with a sense of relief, he stepped out of the icy breeze and into the welcoming warmth of the fire-toasted bar area. He spotted Anya immediately, propped against the fireside and chatting to a bearded man who looked slightly bemused by her attention. Spotting him, she gave a cheerful wave and trotted over, exuberant and bouncy as a Labrador out for a run.
“Hello!” she sang, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I am so glad you invited me out! I was feeling bored at home with only Thor to keep me company, and then you texted.”
“I aim to please,” he replied, aware that his wide smile was perhaps veering towards the imbecilic. “I’m very glad you wanted to come.”
She chuckled, then glanced at his companions, who’d headed straight to the bar. “I didn’t know you liked to hang around with your housemates,” she said, watching Pineapple hopping energetically from foot to foot, finger hovering in mid-air as he tried to decide whether to have peanuts or a packet of ready salted crisps.
Kester winced. “I don’t,” he replied, “but it was either agree to come out or be forced to eat one of Daisy’s awful courgette cupcakes.”
“A wise decision, then. Plus, it means you get to meet up with me, which is always fun!”
He grinned. “Yes, it certainly is.”
Spying a vacant table, they quickly wove a path through the crowd, avoiding the sticky puddle on the floorboards that might have been beer or something more unpleasant. To Kester’s annoyance, Pineapple and Daisy joined them, squeezing in tightly on the narrow bench and slopping wine over his sleeve in the process.
“Well, this is nice!” Daisy gushed as she wrapped an arm around Anya, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I am so pleased to meet you, Anna.”
“Anya.”
“Same thing, right?”
“Not really.”
Daisy patted her hand in a manner that was reminiscent of an elderly woman indulging a child. “Understood, my love. Now, shall we gossip about something? Girlie stuff, yeah?”
Anya released a strangled choking noise, which was thankfully muffled out by the sudden familiar bellow of Mike, who had just staggered through the door. Kester glanced up, then groaned. Christ, how many has he had? he wondered. Mike wiggled his hips provocatively, nearly knocking over a group of chatting females in the process.
“Hello there, you lovely people!”
“Hi Mike,” Kester replied, instantly regretting his decision to invite him. Mike spotted Anya, pointed at her in a distinctly leery manner, then winked. Anya raised an eyebrow. She took his offered hand reluctantly and shook it, even though he didn’t seem to notice, as he was too busy eyeing up the bar.
“Right, who’s up for a drinky-poo?” he greeted without preamble.
“Oh, I certainly am!” Daisy chimed and turned her face upwards like a flower reaching for the sun.
“Fabulous.” He crashed down on the end of the bench, then slammed a hand on to the table. “Make mine a pint of local ale, love.”
Daisy looked baffled. Kester shrugged and resisted the urge to laugh. Perhaps I should have warned her, he thought.
“Hey, dudes, I am totally without funds at the moment,” Pineapple drawled. “Daisy, can you get me a drink too?”
“You told me you just got paid on Monday!”
“Yeah, but you know. Bills. Electricity bills. Water bills. They totally drain you.”
“We haven’t had any bills yet this month.”
Pineapple nodded sagely, topknot wobbling dangerously to one side. “But those bills will get me in the end, right? Like, you know what I’m saying?”
“I personally haven’t got a flaming clue what you’re saying,” Mike slurred, rolling backwards and leaning uncomfortably against Kester’s shoulder. “In fact, I’m not sure you’re even talking English half the time.”
“I’m on a higher plane, man.”
“You’re plain bonkers, more like.”
Pineapple nodded appreciatively, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. Daisy gave Kester a pleading stare before giving up and slinking to the bar.
“So,” Anya began as she eased herself into a more comfortable position in Daisy’s absence. “I take it that you’ve had a hard week, Mike?”
Mike groaned, then rolled his head into his hands. “When is a week not hard?”
“What is it that you actually do? Kester won’t tell me.”
“Aha.” He nudged the side of his nose and nodded at Kester. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
She grinned. “I guess, given all the secrecy, you either do something really exciting or something so boring that you don’t want to admit it.”
Actually, try “so weird that no one would believe you,” Kester thought, twiddling his fingers anxiously. He knew that, at some point, he was going to have to give Anya some idea what his job was, but he didn’t have a clue where to even start. What if she thinks I’m completely crazy? After all, that’s what I would have thought if someone had told me they worked in a supernatural agency. I don’t want her to think I’m a certified lunatic, not when things are going so well.
“Mike works in IT,” he offered, then flinched under the sudden force of Mike’s drunken glare.
“I create highly sophisticated electrical equipment,” he bellowed, leaning haphazardly against Anya and waggling a finger in her face.
“But you also maintain our website. That’s an IT thing.”
Mike rolled his eyes, then lurched towards Kester with the unrestrained strength of a wrecking ball. “Yes, but I’m not ‘the IT guy,’ okay? I didn’t do three years at university to be called an IT nerd. Speaking of which, have you signed up for that course yet?” He punctuated his sentence with a hiccup, closely followed by a beery belch.
“What course is this?” Anya asked as she leaned around Mike’s swaying body.
“Um, it’s a business studies degree,” he replied. The statement was partly true at least.
Anya frowned. “You two are very mysterious people. But I’ll get to the bottom of it one day, let me tell you.” She winked. “I have my ways.”
Kester gulped, then jumped as Daisy plunked the drinks in front of him, slopping wine and beer over the table.
“That cost over twenty pounds,” she exclaimed, pressing against Kester until he moved over. “I’ll be destitute if I carry on spending money like that.”
“That’s what a bloody round costs, isn’t it, love?” Mike slurred, then raised his glass and poured it cheerfully down his throat. “Real world, and all that. Taxes. Bills. Booze.”
“Wise words, man,” Pineapple added, nodding vigorously. Mike wiped his lips then examined Pineapple’s drink.
“Are you seriously drinking pineapple juice?”
“Yeah, why?”
“When you call yourself Pineapple?”
“It’s my vibe, innit? And it cleanses the body and soul. It’s a healing fruit.”
Mike cackled, launching himself over to Pineapple, who was starting to look distinctly worried. “It’s not a bloody healing fruit, and you’re not a fruit either. What’s your real name?”
“I go by the name of Pineapple, man. Be cool.” He flapped his hands placatingly whilst sending wide-eyed pleas of help across the table to his housemates. Kester sipped his beer and shrugged. There was no point trying to stop Mike once he’d got stuck onto something. He knew better than to get involved.
“Your parents did not call you Pineapple. What’s your real name?”
“I was born free of a name, like all humans, right? You feel me?”
“Nope, not in the slightest. What name’s on your birth certificate?”
Daisy leaned over and placed a hand on Mike’s arm. “Mike, he’s Pineapple. We’re all okay with that. Let’s leave it.”
He grunted, then flicked her hand like a horse’s tail batting off a fly. “You’re not much better,” he growled. “Honestly, Kester, how did you end up living with a flower and a fruit?”
Kester grinned. “My name’s not much better.”
“So, go on,” Mike persisted. “What’s your real name, Pineapple? Tell me now, or I’ll slowly pour your pineapple drink down the back of that lovely neon top.” He raised the glass, tilting it precariously in the air over Pineapple’s jiggling topknot.
“Dude, this isn’t cool. It’s creating bad vibes when we should be having good times, right?”
A splash of juice descended. Pineapple yelped.
“Not cool! Not cool! Kester, tell him to stop!”
Kester sighed. “Mike, pack it in.”
Mike grinned, then sent another dribble of sticky juice directly into Pineapple’s hair. “Come on.”
Pineapple shrieked, then he muttered something under his breath.
“What was that? Speak up!” Another splash. Pineapple writhed like a day-glo jellyfish.
“I said, it’s Percy!”
Mike’s roar managed to momentarily silence the throngs of people around them. “Percy? You’re actually called Percy?”
Pineapple nodded miserably, straightening his hair, which was now sagging soggily to one side.
“Like, short for Percival?”
“It is, actually, yeah. Happy now?”
Mike roared again and slammed his fist on the table. “Massively so! I didn’t even know people were called Percival any more. That’s amazing, that is.” He draped an arm over Pineapple’s slumped shoulders and pulled him closer. “I like you a whole lot more now, Percy.”
Anya shook her head in disbelief. “Is he always like this?”
Kester nodded. “When beer is involved, yes. That’s when it helps to have Serena around—to keep him in check.”
“Hey,” Mike reeled around and batted Kester’s shoulder in protest. “I do not need that woman to keep me in check, thank you very much.”
“Serena, that’s your girlfriend, right?” Pineapple asked, face still pressed tight against Mike’s rather sweaty checked shirt.
“She’s not his girlfriend!” Daisy squeaked.
“Too bloody right she’s not,” Mike said. He shook his head vigorously. “That woman is a perpetual thorn up my backside, I can tell you.”
“He really likes her,” Kester whispered to Anya, who giggled.
“I assure you that I do not,” Mike barked, poking Kester in the centre of his chest. “If Serena were to leave the company tomorrow, it wouldn’t bother me one bit.”
“It sounds like the gentleman doth protest too much.” Anya grinned, then ducked out of the way as Mike reeled across in her direction.
“There’s no dothing or protesting or anything like what you just said.” Mike slumped in his seat like a petulant toddler. “Serena is a right pain in the bum, and that’s the end of it. She’s like Satan himself, sent to fetch me down to hell, every working day of my life.”
Kester started to laugh, then suddenly gasped. He sat up straight, mouth open. “Say that again, Mike.”
Mike winced, then burped. “Which bit?”
“The last bit.”
“What, that she’s Satan, sent to fetch me—”
“That’s it!” Kester thrust his drink down onto the table, eyes shining. “That’s the connection! Fetch! Mike, you’re a genius!”
Mike pulled a face and shrugged at the others. “I have literally no idea what you’re talking about, mate. I mean, I am a genius, that’s true, but—”
“That’s what the link between the killings in Lyme Regis is! The word fetch!” Kester exclaimed. “Xena Sunningdale said that her husband said something about being fetched before he died. Mr Baxter said it too, about his wife. That must mean—” He paused suddenly, remembering where he was and who he was with. His mouth clamped shut as abruptly as it had opened. The others looked at him in amazement.
“Excuse me?” Anya said with a quizzical look.
“Um.” Kester looked desperately around for inspiration. “Er, yes. That must mean . . .” Come on, brain, think! he commanded himself. You’ve been told countless times not to blow your cover about the supernatural! Finally, he came up with something passable. “That means it’s an interesting theory for those deaths in Lyme Regis, that we read about in the paper. Right, Mike?”
Mike looked confused, looked around at the others, then winked. “Ah yes. Yes, that story we read in the newspaper the other day. Don’t know why you’d choose to bring that up now.” He gave Kester a meaningful nod. “It’s not like it’s any relevance to us, is it?”
Kester shook his head. He was buzzing with excitement but also horribly aware he’d said far too much in front of the others, who were all looking at him as though he’d gone completely insane.
“How about another drink?” Mike suggested, nodding several times at Daisy, who pretended not to notice.
“You finished the last one in under a minute!” Anya said. She looked down at her own glass, which was still full.
“That’s why I always line them up, you see,” Mike explained with a devoted rub of the stomach. “You can’t just buy one drink at a time. That’s a schoolboy error, that is.”
Kester’s pocket started vibrating, and he patted down his phone, nearly managing to throw it into his drink in the process. He was glad of the diversion and hoped he hadn’t revealed too much in front of his housemates and Anya.
“It’s Miss Wellbeloved,” he said, showing the screen to Mike. “What the hell do you think she wants?”
“Probably a wild night out with all of us,” Mike drawled, completely ignoring Daisy, who kept sidling closer to him with alarming desperation.
Or maybe something’s wrong with Dad, Kester thought as he clambered to his feet. He clicked the screen, pressing the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
A tinny mutter was all he could make out above the noise. He flapped at the others, then started to weave through the crowds to the front door. “Hang on, I can’t hear you,” he shouted, narrowly avoiding being elbowed by a couple of students playing pool. Leaping outside, he pushed the door firmly shut and braced himself against the cold evening air. “Right, we can talk now. What’s up? Is Dad okay?”
“Yes, of course your father’s fine.” Miss Wellbeloved’s familiar clipped tones rattled down the line. “However, the agency isn’t.”
Kester sighed and leaned against the brick wall. “What’s the problem?” This had better be good, given you’re calling me on a Friday evening, he silently added. He wondered if now would be a good time to tell her about his realisation about the word “fetch,” but suspected it might not be, judging by the tone of her voice.
“There’s been another murder.”
“What, in Lyme Regis?”
“Yes, of course in Lyme Regis, Kester! Where did you think? It was Denzil Powers this time.”
Kester looked longingly through the window. Through the crowds, he could just make out Mike, cuddling against Anya in a rather over-friendly way. He’s just drunk, he told himself. Don’t start getting silly about it.
“Well?” The single word cut into his ear like a knife through butter.
“Well what?” Kester stuttered.
“Did you just hear what I said?”
“Which bit?”
There was an explosive noise on the other end of the phone, which Kester presumed was Miss Wellbeloved practically combusting in frustration.
“Please listen to me, Kester. Larry Higgins has just been on the phone, in an absolute state, because Curtis Philpot has threatened to pull us off the case. You remember Mr Philpot? The government official who we met at Larry’s office? As in the very important Mr Philpot?”
Kester massaged his forehead. He remembered the spindly-limbed man well, with his PowerPoint presentations and huge case files. Across the road, a group of teens bellowed uproariously, nudging each other playfully as they headed into town. He envied their carefree attitude. Why can’t I ever just enjoy a night out with mates? he wondered, then realised it was because, until recently, he hadn’t had any mates.
“I don’t really see what I can do about it,” he said slowly, easing out each word like a dog-owner pacifying a particularly unpredictable Rottweiler.
“Larry has insisted we meet this weekend, to come up with an emergency plan.”
“Why can’t you and Dad go?” Kester asked as he thrust his hands into his pockets, the phone pinned between his ear and shoulder. “It’s his agency after all.”
There was a brief silence.
“Come on, Kester. I think we both know that you need to take a more active part in things from now on.”
Why does this feel like it’s suddenly my responsibility? he thought, feeling rather like a deer about to get hit by a lorry. I only found out about the agency a few months ago, and now they’re ready to palm all the pressure directly on my shoulders!
“Kester, are you able to come along tomorrow?”
“I don’t know!” he shouted. An old man leaning against the wall next to him jumped and nearly dropped his cigarette. Kester pressed his lips together. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound annoyed. It’s just, this is a Friday night, and I already spend enough time worrying about this Lyme Regis case as it is without it eating into my weekend too.”
Miss Wellbeloved paused.
“I do understand,” she said finally. “But you had the choice, Kester. You chose to become a part of the team. And you surely know by now, this isn’t like other jobs. This isn’t a nine-to-five that you can just walk away from.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I realised that. Fine, okay. I’ll make sure I come tomorrow. Do you want me to tell Mike?”
“Why, is he with you?”
Kester looked through the window. Mike was easy to spot this time, given that he was standing on the table and appeared to be singing. He winced.
“Yep, he’s with me. What state he’ll be in tomorrow, I have no idea.”
“Well, he needs to be there, stinking hangover or no stinking hangover.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“Thank you, Kester. I’ll let you get back to your evening.”
He nodded. “Miss Wellbeloved?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. I think I might have had a bit of a breakthrough, but I’ll tell you about it some other time.”
He thought he detected a sniff from Miss Wellbeloved..
“I’m glad one of us has some optimism left. Goodbye, Kester.”
He pocketed his phone, then glanced up at the full moon, which looked unnaturally bright against the black sky. So much for the nice lie-in tomorrow, he thought glumly. Now I’d better go and rescue my girlfriend from Mike.