Chapter 3

I gnoring the closed sign on the shop door, I open it up and step inside, followed by my ghostly entourage. I've given up even thinking about how weird my life is and just go with the flow.

"Tris," Chan calls across the room.

"Hey, Chan." I pull off my glasses, which have steamed up from being out in the cold, and wipe them clean with the cuff of my hoodie before sliding them back onto my face. Now I'm able to see better I notice he's standing halfway up a ladder, hanging bats made of crepe paper from the ceiling, which has already been festooned with garlands of orange and black punctuated by hundreds of fairy lights. "Looking good." I unbutton my coat.

Chan laughs in delight and gives his arse a little shimmy in his skintight jeans. He bounces down the steps of the ladder, agile as a cat, and flips his long silky hair over one shoulder.

"Where's Aidan?" I ask, expecting to see him with Chan. It's half term and I know he's not at college this week.

"Where do you think?" Chan snorts.

"Off with Nick, by any chance?"

"There you go." Chan turns his attention to Dusty and blows her a kiss. "Hey, sweetie. Well, don't you look ready to party."

"She looks like she's about to audition for a place inSgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." I eye her brightly coloured sequinned military jacket with huge shoulder pads and epaulets and the thigh-high boots. "You're seriously not going to have any trouble guiding spirits wearing that. They'll be able to see you coming a mile off."

Dusty snorts. "Excellent. Just the look I was going for."

"Where have the others gone?" I ask her, glancing around.

"They've gone to see Bruce," she replies nonchalantly.

"Who've gone to see Bruce?"Harrison steps through the doorway at the other side of the cavernous room, carrying a large box which he sets down beside a few more of a similar size.

"Ian, Dave, and Terry," I reply.

"Really, Tristan." Harrison sighs. "You trail dead people behind you like someone wandering out of a public bathroom with toilet paper stuck to their shoe."

"Prickles still full of sunshine, I see," Dusty says dryly.

Harrison just rolls his eyes. "As if it wasn't bad enough that I have put up with a building full of drunk revellers completely ruining a sacred sabbat. Now I have to put up with the dead ones too."

"It's not like this place doesn't already have a spirit infestation." Dusty shrugs. "What's a few more? You're going to be uptight about it either way."

"Don't listen to her, Harrison." Chan moves to stand besidehim, grasping his arm fondly. "You know I really appreciate you letting me host the party here. The Rainbow Room was simply too big. I wanted something smaller, more intimate this year."

Harrison huffs quietly, but I don't miss the way his eyes soften slightly at Chan. As prickly as his personality often is, I know deep down he cares for all of us. He just doesn't like to show it—or doesn't know how to. I'm not sure which.

"Still not really decided what you're doing with this place?" I ask, glancing around at the bookshop's main floor.

When the place had belonged to Madame Viv, it had been so cluttered that the space had seemed much smaller. Viv had filled it with rows of bookcases and occult detritus, not to mention an old sagging sofa. However, most of it had been irreparably damaged when Issac Crawshanks had literally ripped up the floor to open a devil's trap and release an ancient demon.

I glance down at the clean and repaired floor. At a glance, no one would ever suspect the dark secret that lay beneath the newly polished and gleaming hardwood, but it's a sight I can never unsee. The burning symbols, Harrison's blood… I look up and see him watching me. His gaze flicks to the floor and his hand unconsciously twitchesas if trying to stop himself from reaching for the wound that has long since healed but left more than a scar.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with the place yet." Harrison's spine stiffens and his tone slides back into the haughty inflection I've learned he uses when he feels uncomfortable. "It was an absolute pigsty, a hoarder's paradise. It'll take me years to sort through it at this rate."

"He's letting me sort through and have all the vintage clothes he finds though," Chan squeals excitedly. "I found a Mary Quant original miniskirt. Mary Quant! "

"I'm sure you'll be very happy together." I grin at him before turning my attention back to Harrison. "No plans to re-open it as a bookshop then?"

"That was the plan, but now I don't know." He shakes his head. "I'm not in any kind of rush. I closed my shop in Islington, but I'm still fulfilling orders online for my regular customers.I also have the money I inherited along with this mess, so I have a bit of time before I need to make any definitive decisions."

"What's the stock you wanted help unpacking today, then?" I nod towards the stack of books piled at the corner of the room.

"It's not stock. They're on loan," he explains. I glance at him questioningly and he elaborates. "Olivia sent some of them, and the others are from her friend, Veronica Gilbert."

"Olivia?" Chan picks up a paper ghost and once again climbs the ladder to affix it to the ceiling. "Isn't she that American? The one who sent that wine for Tristan and Danny's wedding."

"Trust you to remember the wine and not the fact that she was the one who saved our collective arses by shoving that demon straight back to where it originally came from," I say dryly, and Dusty snorts beside me.

"That wine was no joke. You've got to stop getting completely twat-faced on supernatural booze, Tris, honey. Because of our weird E.T. slash Elliott thing, I was hungover for about a week afterwards."

"How do you think I feel?" I grumble. "Nearly four months later and I still have complete strangers on the streets of Whitechapel telling me I throw a hell of a wedding. I honestly didn't think anything could top Viv's magically spiked gin, but honestly, I'm not sure how we didn't all end up arrested."

"Actually, I think we did. D broke us out." Chan steps back from the ladder and critically studies his paper ghost placement. "You're just lucky my boyfriend is an eons-old supernatural creature with kick-ass powers."

"Anyway." I shake my head and focus on Harrison. "Why's Olivia sending you books? Don't you have enough here already?"

"Apparently not." Harrison rolls his eyes. "Olivia seems to think there are some pretty big gaps in my education. She says she doesn't know what the hell they're teaching witches over here, but if I'm going to be responsible for a property that is not only home to a dormant devils trap but also an inter-dimensional portal, then I should be prepared for anything. And I have to say, Tristan, being friends with you? I think she might have a point."

"Hey," I say defensively. "It's not like I asked for that potential apocalypse, and the demon was not my fault. Technically, that was your family."

"I'll give you that one." Harrison's mouth twitches and for a moment, I think he's going to smile. One of these days, he's actually going to laugh and the whole of time and space will come to a standstill.

"So who's the other woman, and why's she sending you stuff?" I ask, following Harrison over to the boxes as Dusty chats to Chan while he continues to decorate.

"Veronica Gilbert is apparently a very close friend of Olivia's. She also happens to be the curator of the Mercy Museum of Witchcraft."

"Mercy?" I blink.

"It's the town in New England where they live." Harrison hauls one of the boxes off the top of the pile and sets it on the floor, scooting it over to me and handing me a box cutter. Before I can grasp it, he pulls his hand back, his fist curving around the knife. "You will be careful opening the box, won't you? Some of these books are very old and irreplaceable."

"Harrison, I cut bodies open for a living." I lift my brows and stare at him pointedly. "If I can slice through skin and tissue without damaging the organs beneath, I'm pretty certain I can open a cardboard box without damaging a book cover."

"Sorry, no offence." He shakes his head and hands me the box cutter. "I suppose I'm a little nervous since these don't belong to me."

"None taken." I take my coat off and drape it over a nearby chair before settling onto the floor beside the box and deftly opening it.

"Anyway, where was I?" Harrison continues as he opens his own box. "Oh, Mercy. It's a small town, not too far from Salem in Massachusetts. From what I understand, it was founded over three hundred years ago by two of Olivia's ancestors, twin sisters by the name of Hester and Bridget West. After surviving the witch trials, they created Mercy as a sanctuary for people of magical descent. Olivia is from one of the oldest and most powerful families, but she says there are others. People with supernatural gifts seem to be drawn to the town."

"You seem to know a lot about her." I open the flaps of the box and start carefully removing old leatherbound volumes, the scent of dry parchment and dusty pages filling the air.

"Yeah, well," Harrison murmurs. He gives a little shrug as he sets about unpacking his own box. "After what happened… well, you know." His eyes flick once again to the floor where the devils trap lies hidden deep beneath the ground. "We've been keeping in touch." He pauses and draws in a slow breath. "Both of my fathers are witches, second and seventh generation. I was raised that way, grew up observing the sabbats, honouring the traditions and rituals. I respected the craft and never doubted that it was all real. Although my parents have always been solitary practitioners—mostly, I think, to protect me—I did go along to a few coven meetings in Devon and also when I arrived in London, and do you know what I found?" I shake my head, and he continues. "Neophytes, wannabes, people who believed and respected but did not have the gift. They wanted to be a part of something bigger, but those who did have magic, it was very weak and diluted. In all that time, I never found anyone who could do what I could... what I can."

He lifts his arm and opens his hand. His fingertips erupt into deep pink flames, and I suck in a sharp breath, my eyes wide.

"Wow," I whisper. I've caught little crackles of electricity sparking from his hands a couple of times, but I've never actually seen anything like this. I'm almost disappointed when he closes his palm and the flames disappear.

"Olivia is the only other person I've ever met who has the same kind of power. I mean I'm obviously nowhere near her league, but for the first time, I don't feel so?—"

"Alone?" I guess.

Harrison shrugs and turns his attention back to the box he's unpacking. I know he's not usually so inclined to share, being an intensely private person. Sensing that he's feeling a little uncomfortable, I pick up another book from the box and flip it open to reveal pages yellowed with age and covered with faded handwritten text.

"What are these?" I ask.

"Books on magic and the history and application of the ancient arts, or so I'm told. Olivia says I should be learningthe Old Ways.I guess I'll have a better idea once I've had a chance to look through them all."

"Danny would probably love these, but no offence, they look like they'd put me to sleep."

"Danny is wasted on the police force. He may be an exceptionally talented investigator, but he has the soul of a historian."

"I know." I get a lovely warm feeling thinking about my husband.

"Urgh, you're doing it again." Harrison wrinkles his nose.

"What?"

"That dazed, punch-drunk look you get when you're thinking about him." He grimaces.

I laugh loudly. "And I'm not even ashamed."

He rolls his eyes in resignation and continues to sort through his box. "I think most of these can go upstairs. I don't want them laying around for just anyone to find," Harrison muses.

"What's this?" I mutter. My fingers brush a hard but surprisingly warm surface. Kneeling up, I lean further over the box and put both my hands inside. My fingertips curl around the edges of a thick, hard volume. I struggle to pull it out of the box; although the cover seems to be leather, it's so heavy it feels like it's made of stone.

Finally, I manage to haul it out of the box, and as I fall back onto the floor once more, I settle it in my lap.

"Oh my god." I frown. There are layers of silver duct tape wound around the book, almost as if it was meant to originally keep it closed, but the tape is now torn open. In fact,not just torn.It looks like it's been gnawed at, and for a moment, I'm reminded of the strange teeth marks in the milk carton back at the mortuary. "Who would do this to such an old book?"

"Can you peel the tape off without damaging it?" Harrison asks, setting down the book he's holding and leaning over to get a better look.

"I think so," I murmur as I carefully peel away the layers of tape. Once it's free, I discard the sticky tape and run my fingers carefully over the ancient leatherbound cover. If anything ever looked like a book of spells, this would be it. It's huge and heavy, with large metal hinges at the spine and a massive lock at the sideas if protecting the pages from prying eyes. The cover itself has the most gorgeous illustrations carved deeply into the leather. Toadstools and fairies and other magical creatures. There are also letters, but I don't recognise the language—maybe some kind of eastern European, if I had to guess? Although I could be wrong; languages never were my strong suit.

I lift it up and press my ear to the cover. Just for a second, I could swear I hear dozens of disgruntled voices.

Suddenly, an arc of electricity shoots across the room and the lights cut out, plunging us into darkness.

"Oops, sorry. My fault," Terry's disembodied voice rings out somewhere in the blackness.

I sigh loudly. "Terry shorted out the electrics again."

"That man's a bloody menace," Dusty snaps. "Are you sure I can't send him to the other side?"

"Free will, remember, Dusty?" I remind her. "Have you still not read all of the Spirit Guides Handbook?"

"It's boring," she whines.

"Don't worry," Chan says calmly. "All the fairy lights are battery powered. If I can just find which pocket I put the remote control in. Ah, there we go."

The room fills with the romantic glow of tiny twinkling lights, and I have to admit it looks really pretty. I absently trace my fingers over the book that's still sitting in my lap. Curiously, the metal lock feels warm beneath my fingers. I find myself absently wondering what sort of key would open it when there's a soft, almost inaudible click, and the lock flicks open.

Harrison stares down at the book in my lap. "Did you do that, Tristan?"

"I don't think so." I frown.

Suddenly the book flies open, the pages fanning widely. A strong breeze pushes my hair back, knocking off the beanie I'd forgotten I was still wearing. A neon green mist rises from the pages and fills the room.

"What the hell?" Dusty gasps. "Turn it off."

"I don't know how!" I say, panicked.

"Tristan, close it!" Harrison dives forward and slams the book shut. The strange coloured mist has gone, but the book feels ominously lighter in my hands.

"Ohhhh." I wince slowly. "That can't be good."

"What just happened?" Chan asks with wide eyes.

I glance over Harrison's shoulder and do a double take. "Can you see that?" I point.

Three pairs of eyes follow my finger to the trail of glittery footprints leading across the room.

"What the?—?"

I scramble to my feet, still clutching the now quiet book to my chest, and follow the childlike footprints towards the back of the shop. They're exactly the same as the ones I saw earlier in the mortuary.

Harrison is beside me as we creep along the passageway. I can hear the click of Dusty's heels and Chan's breaths as they follow closely behind us. Although it's early afternoon and there's still daylight outside, the whole shop is dark thanks to the narrow Victorian corridors and the fact that Chan has covered all the windows in the place with Halloween-themed posters to create a kind of house of horror effect.

We follow the sparkly footprints out into the narrow back corridor which leads past the stairs to the kitchen. The dim glow of the fairy lights falls away, leaving us in darkness. As we edge closer to the kitchen, I can hear a glugging sound, followed by a loud belch.

"I've got this," Chan whispers. He pulls his phone from his pocket and flicks the flashlight on, then holds it up to light the way. I probably should have thought of that, but I'm too busy clutching the huge old book as a potential weapon. Failing all else, I'm pretty sure I could knock an intruder out with this thing, but something deep in my gut tells me this isn't your average burglar, not unless one of those has four toes and glittery footprints.

The four of us tiptoe into the kitchen and pause in the doorway as Chan lifts the phone higher. He needn't have bothered. The fridge door stands open, the light spilling out into the dark kitchen and highlighting one of the strangest sights I've ever seen—and trust me, I've seen Death in a pair of Speedos and cowboys boots, which is a long story from which I don't think I'll ever fully recover .

But this time my eyes must surely be playing tricks on me because highlighted in the glow of the fridge is a small, fat, hairy creature with a protruding belly. He's maybe three feet tall and dark wiry tufts of hair sproutall over his body… his very naked body.

His head is tipped back and he's holding a large carton of milk to his mouth, the creamy white liquid spilling down his hairy chest and belly, matting the sparse fur.

Chan fumbles in shock and loses his grip on his phone, which clatters loudly to the floor. The creature startles. Dropping the carton to the floor, he blinks at us with small, black, beady eyes. His droopy jowls jiggle with a squeak of surprise and then he turns and launches himself at the wall, his jiggly naked buttocks disappearing in a splat of green glitter.

For a long moment, we all stand in stunned silence until Dusty breaks the detente with a loud exclamation.

"What in the hairy ball sack was that?"