Chapter 9

Gunnar bellowed for me shortly after Sidnee left for the night. ‘You rang, boss?' I said drolly as I strolled into his office.

‘Funny,' he said flatly. ‘We've got a call to go to the "black market".' He said the last two words in a deep spooky voice, wiggling his fingers at me, but he was grinning and he looked excited.

‘We have a black market?' That sounded intriguing. I wondered what you could buy there. Then I remembered that our poison-wielding, fireball-throwing witch, Shirley Thompson, had been selling her wares on the dark web. It was probably things like that.

‘It's the worst kept secret around,' Gunnar admitted. ‘But I've never been able to find it, let alone had an invitation! It moves around the supernat towns, never staying anywhere long enough to bother the local law enforcement, but they sell things that MIB would definitely take issue with. Obviously they don't advertise their presence, but word gets out. I usually find out about their arrival right about the time they're moving on. This time, we've got them early! And they've actually invited us there!' He sounded very enthusiastic.

‘Are we arresting them?' I asked, confused.

‘They've asked for us to come, so I'm betting there's been some foul play. We'll get the lay of the land and then play it by ear. Take plenty of magic-cancelling cuffs.'

I patted my hip where a number of them were resting on my belt; I always had them on me when I was on duty. In a magical town, they were one of the best weapons in our arsenal.

We left the animals at the office; I could still remember the covetous gleam in Liv's eyes after she'd learned Shadow could fight the beast beyond the barrier, so I wasn't about to tote him into an illegal market which sold who knows what.

‘What's the deal with the market?' I asked as we drove. ‘It sells illegal stuff?'

‘Undoubtedly so, but mostly it's about avoiding paying tax and leaving no trace. Everything in cash. No transactions to chase down.'

It was hard to get excited about tax evasion; tax was essential for our civilisation's infrastructure, but give me a juicy murder over a dull white-collar crime any day.

I was surprised when we pulled up to the Chatham Bay Funeral Home and I looked questioningly at Gunnar. He shrugged. ‘Apparently it's here, in the basement.' He hesitated a moment. ‘Liv owns it,' he said unhappily.

Of course she did. She was a necromancer; owning a funeral home made a sick sort of sense. ‘Who would let her have their dead?' I asked incredulously.

‘A lot of people. She gives you a steep discount if you let her use the death to her magical advantage.'

‘But … what does she do to the bodies?'

‘She holds a funeral, everyone says goodbye. A closed casket is buried but no one is quite sure what's inside – if anything at all.'

My jaw dropped. ‘So she might have an army of undead servants we know nothing about?'

He grinned. ‘I think we'd notice some zombies shuffling around town. You've seen the poppets she uses?'

‘The creepy doll things?'

‘Yeah. She uses nails, skin and hair to imbue them with the life force of the deceased and she uses those to power her spells. I've never seen a zombie rattling about. I'm ninety percent sure she buries the dead after she's done with them.'

The remaining ten percent was a worry. ‘You think she knows she has an illegal market in her basement?' I asked.

Gunnar's jaw was working. ‘Yes, I do.'

‘But she's a councillor!'

‘That she is,' he said darkly. ‘We'll be having words after this.'

I suddenly wondered if Liv's flirtation with Gunnar was nothing more than a smokescreen, a way of making him so uncomfortable that he wouldn't look at her business too closely. Liv was scary smart so I wouldn't put it past her. I wouldn't have put anything past her.

I looked at the building as we loitered in the car – I hadn't previously paid much attention to it. The facade was basic, inoffensively bland. Parking was around the back out of sight of the road. It was easy to stop there without drawing attention – and that suddenly didn't seem accidental.

The car park was heaving. We stopped next to an ambulance that had parked at the curb. Uh-oh: its presence seemed ominous. Maybe it was precautionary but, given our presence, probably not. I had to admit to being excited. Getting to see a real illegal market was indescribably cool – but I retracted my wish for a juicy murder.

The double doors were wide to allow for coffins and funeral parties to leave easily. We went into a broad corridor and turned right towards some stairs leading downwards. There was nothing to indicate that anything dodgy was going on, no big sign saying: Black market this way! I was quite disappointed.

We went down a flight of stairs and faced another double metal door. Gunnar twisted the knob and voilà – we were in the black market.

A low roar greeted us. There must have been a silencing spell to keep the place secret because it was packed with people and noisy. There were five rows of ten tables, fifty stalls laden with books and with weapons, from knives and swords to maces and bow and arrows. There were also tables with crystals, tables with herbs, and some with what I assumed were potion ingredients. Then there were tables with the potions themselves.

The room was lit by dozens of fairy lights. I looked up and saw fluorescent tubes on the ceiling, so clearly the dim lighting was a deliberate choice to create ambience. All the people hawking their wares were wearing cloaks with the hoods up, casting long shadows over their faces. Maybe they wanted to be anonymous, but it also added to the atmosphere. Part of the allure of the black market was its mystique.

I felt a fizz of excitement: this was so cool. I wondered if there were tomes about fire elementals. I had some cash on me; on a scale of one to ten, how pissed off would Gunnar be if I went shopping?

The room fell silent as every eye turned to us, then the whispering began. A figure walked hastily toward us, a woman I'd never seen before. Although I didn't know everyone in town, I didn't think she was from Portlock. She wasn't dressed in a robe or the town uniform of jeans, sweatshirt and brown XtraTufs; instead she was wearing a flowing, multi-coloured maxi dress and large hoop earrings. Her dark brown hair was a mass of wild curls.

‘Are you the Nomo?' she asked impatiently.

‘That's me – Gunnar Johansen. This is my colleague, Bunny Barrington. You're the one who called me? Laura?'

‘Yeah. Come with me.' She turned and we followed, weaving through the crowds and the stalls. She took us to a booth in the back corner that had been roped off. I looked at its display of books; I'd have bet my month's salary I was looking at magical grimoires, though the stall also had some more commercial items like stickers and mugs. A mug that said I Survived the Black Market made me grin. It was like a booth at a fair, only with paranormal accoutrements.

‘Jeff collapsed,' Laura said briskly. ‘We called the paramedics but they won't approach him because apparently he's been cursed.'

The two paramedics were standing impatiently to one side. ‘It's still active,' one of them confirmed. ‘If we approach, chances are we'll fall foul of it too.'

We walked around the U-shaped table arrangement. Sure enough, a man was lying behind it, his back arched, his eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. His mouth was open in a silent scream. A chill ran down my spine.

‘It's a living nightmare curse, but we haven't been able to find the source,' the other paramedic said.

Gunnar grimaced. ‘Bunny, we'd best check over the booth. Slow and steady. If you feel odd, step back and call me.'

‘The last curse, the one on the dock, was done with blood. Let me see if I can smell anything.'

Gunnar brightened. ‘Great idea.'

There was a riot of smells in the basement, including old blood, formaldehyde and a tonne of incense and floral ingredients. I closed my eyes and put my hands over my ears to block my other senses so I could focus on smelling blood. It helped that I was a little hungry.

I sank into my baser nature, embracing it. Suddenly the heartbeats around me were thunderous. Too many. Far too many. I opened my eyes. ‘Can we clear this place out? The heartbeats are distracting me.' I wished we'd brought Fluffy with us; I bet he'd find the bloody curse in a minute. Well, fetching him could be Plan B.

Laura grimaced at my request but moved off to do as I asked. I heard her use the words ‘temporary closure' a lot but then I blocked her out too. As the room emptied, I was able to ignore the few heartbeats that remained like Gunnar's and the paramedics.

I walked slowly around the booth. As I got closer to Jeff, the scent of blood pulled at my nose. Deer blood. It wasn't as tantalising as human blood but it was there.

Cautiously, I moved closer. ‘Bunny,' Gunnar said warningly.

‘I'm being careful,' I promised. Now that I had the scent, I opened my eyes. The blood smell was coming from Jeff, but it couldn't be from an injury – the curse was on him. Somehow someone had lifted up his T-shirt, held him still and painted a curse on him with deer blood. No way could that have been done without someone seeing something.

Jeff's back was arched, so I moved closer to look under his T-shirt. Sure enough, rune work. ‘Don't touch him!' Gunnar barked.

I rolled my eyes. As if. ‘I'm not the one with the history of touching dodgy substances, am I?' I shot back. ‘The curse is on his back. Get me something to wipe it off with.' One of the paramedics opened their bag and passed me a sterile wipe.

‘Gloves first,' Gunnar ordered, chucking me a pair nitrile gloves. I caught them, but before I donned them I used my phone to document the runes and Jeff in situ. Then I snapped on the gloves and started wiping.

As soon as I disrupted the curse Jeff's body went limp, his eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out. The paramedics rushed forward and started to do their thing. As they worked, they assured us that he would live; however, the curse he'd been under was horrendously strong, and they weren't sure he'd recover mentally from it.

Things weren't looking good for Jeff.