Spectre's Rest Read online

  ‘It’s Miss Pine,’ said the voice. ‘I hear you caught Corbyn today.’

  ‘News travels fast,’ Trev said, frowning. Miss Pine was a werewolf. Trev had known her for a couple of months but they still weren’t on first-name terms, which gave some indication of how highly she thought of him. She ran a support group for lonely werewolves out of a church hall just outside Brackenford, and Trev had called on them for help more than once. ‘Yeah, we got him. Bastard set a banshee on me.’

  ‘Low, even for him,’ said Miss Pine. ‘Where is he now? Are they sending him to Spectre’s Rest?’

  ‘I’m not sure if I’m supposed to discuss it with anyone, but yeah, he’s already gone.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Miss Pine. ‘We need to talk about this. Where are you now?’

  ‘Birmingham,’ Trev said. ‘Just about to head back to Brackenford.’

  ‘All right, I’ll meet you when you get back. Any preferred venue?’

  ‘Do you like pizza?’ Trev asked.

  Six

  Miss Pine was already waiting for Trev when he arrived at the pizza restaurant. She was sitting by a window with a cup of coffee in front of her. He slid onto the plastic seat opposite and gave her a smile.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he said, resisting the temptation to just grab a menu and order two of everything. His stomach grumbled dissent at this decision.

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ Miss Pine replied. She was an attractive woman in her mid-to-late twenties, with straight brown hair cut in a bob. She regarded Trev through a pair of fashionable glasses, her face set in its usual serious expression. ‘You?’

  ‘Starving, and a banshee tried to kill me this morning,’ Trev said. ‘But other than that, not bad.’

  ‘Good,’ said Miss Pine. A waitress spotted Trev waving and came over to take their orders. Trev wondered whether Miss Pine would think less of him if he ordered a large pizza all to himself, decided that the answer was probably “yes”, and then decided that he could live with that and ordered one anyway.

  ‘So what’s this problem with Corbyn being sent to Spectre’s Rest?’ Trev asked once the waitress was on her way.

  ‘What do you know about Spectre’s Rest?’ Miss Pine asked.

  ‘It’s the Custodians’ prison for naughty supernaturals,’ Trev said. ‘Though I hear it’s closing down soon.’

  Miss Pine took a sip of her coffee. ‘Do you know who runs it?’

  ‘Well… the Custodians, presumably,’ Trev said.

  ‘Actually no, they don’t,’ Miss Pine said. ‘They’ve been having manpower problems for a few years now, so they out-sourced the running of the prison to a company called Veil Security.’

  ‘Really?’ said Trev. ‘Surely the people running the prison would have to have the Sight, so they’d be familiar with supernatural creatures? Immune to vampire hypnosis? Able to use vapour weapons?’

  ‘They do,’ said Miss Pine. ‘Don’t assume that everyone who develops the Sight ends up working for the Custodians.’

  ‘All right, fair point,’ said Trev. ‘So I take it there’s some kind of problem with Veil Security being the ones keeping an eye on Corbyn, then?’

  ‘Yes. The problem is the person who owns Veil Security.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Seth Lysander.’

  ‘Crap,’ said Trev. ‘That is a problem.’

  Seth Lysander was a businessman and scientist who was rumoured to keep a “menagerie” of supernatural creatures. Corbyn had kidnapped one of Miss Pine’s group, a girl called Vicki, and sold her to Lysander. Trev had offered to help rescue her but Miss Pine turned him down. Lysander was much too powerful for two people to go up against, and Trev knew it was a continual source of frustration for her.

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Pine. Her expression had become even more serious at the mention of Lysander’s name.

  ‘Do you think Lysander will arrange for Corbyn to “escape” or something?’ Trev said.

  ‘I wouldn’t rule it out,’ Miss Pine replied. ‘Corbyn’s worked for him in the past, and he’s always been a useful bloke for getting shady things done.’

  ‘But why would the Custodians have contracted a company owned by Lysander?’ Trev asked. ‘From what I’ve heard he’s got a bad reputation.’

  ‘There have always been plenty of stories about him, but nothing dodgy has ever been directly linked to him,’ Miss Pine said, ‘so it’s easy enough for him to say it’s all rumours spread by jealous people with an axe to grind.’ She sipped her coffee again. ‘Plus the fact that he’s always been supportive of the Custodians and their work probably helps. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he’s given them the odd donation now and again.’

  ‘So what can we do?’ Trev said.

  ‘I can’t do anything,’ Miss Pine said. ‘But you’re chummy with Feargal Deacon these days, aren’t you? Maybe you can have a word with him.’

  ‘Not unless you have your own unique definition of the word “chummy”,’ Trev said. ‘We’re civil to each other, just about. But he hasn’t made it onto my Christmas card list yet.’

  ‘Would he listen to Bernard?’

  ‘Granddad? Well, more than he would to me, I suppose. Even so, I don’t think he’s going to do anything without some kind of evidence linking Corbyn to Lysander.’

  The waitress arrived with their pizzas. Trev’s was of a similar diameter to a tractor tyre, while Miss Pine’s was a more modest size.

  ‘Is there someone else joining us?’ she asked, eyeing Trev’s pizza in disbelief.

  ‘I hope not, because then I’d have to share,’ Trev said. He picked up his knife and fork and dug in.

  ‘Are you going to save the leftovers for another meal tomorrow?’

  ‘You’ve confused me with this concept of “leftover” pizza,’ Trev replied. ‘You seem to be suggesting that someone could order themselves a pizza but not eat all of it.’

  ‘You really don’t have any sense of shame, do you?’

  ‘Look, I spent my morning fighting off a vampire and a banshee. If that doesn’t entitle me to a huge pizza, then something’s wrong with the universe.’

  Miss Pine rolled her eyes and started on her own meal.

  ‘Don’t give me that look,’ Trev said. ‘Your pizza’s got tuna on it. Tuna! That’s heresy. A few hundred years ago you’d have been burned at the stake for that, and rightly so.’

  ‘Can we get back to Corbyn and Lysander?’ Miss Pine said.

  ‘All right,’ said Trev. ‘I’ll just have to try and ignore the sacrilege taking place on your side of the table.’

  ‘One of you needs to speak to Deacon,’ Miss Pine said. ‘You don’t want Corbyn back on the streets any more than I do.’

  Trev stared at her, a forkful of pizza held halfway to his mouth. ‘This isn’t really about Corbyn, is it? He’s just the means by which we could discredit Seth Lysander.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ said Miss Pine. ‘To be honest I really don’t care what happens to Corbyn as long as he can be used to prompt an investigation into Lysander.’

  ‘Do you think an investigation will turn up Vicki’s whereabouts?’

  ‘If it was a proper investigation? Maybe. Can’t see that happening, though. Lysander’s got too much influence.’

  ‘I’m going to see Deacon tomorrow,’ Trev said. ‘I’ll mention Corbyn’s link to Lysander and that he confessed, under blood oath, to kidnapping and selling Vicki. I can’t guarantee he’ll follow up on it, but it’s all I can do.’

  ‘All right, thanks,’ said Miss Pine. ‘Any other information you can dig up about Lysander from the Custodians would be useful too. I intend to rescue Vicki from him. I just need some sort of leverage that’ll make him take notice.’

  ‘From the sounds of it he’s a bit too good at covering his tracks, but I’ll ask around,’ Trev said. ‘I’m supposed to be training with the Custodians all week, so I can get away with lots of stupid questions.’

  ‘Are you joining up at last?’ Miss Pine sai
d. The last time she and Trev had met, she’d accused him of shirking his responsibilities by avoiding the Custodians and not using his abilities to help people. Trev knew that she had a point, and hadn’t put up much of a counter-argument.

  He made a see-saw gesture with his hand. ‘It’s kind of a trial run.’

  ‘Well, they could certainly use you,’ said Miss Pine. ‘These attacks by The Line are getting worse. Did Bernard tell you about the werewolf who was murdered a couple of weeks ago?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Trev. ‘Granddad seemed pretty sure it was The Line who were responsible.’

  ‘There’s no doubt at all,’ Miss Pine said. ‘It was definitely them. Bastards.’

  The Line were a vigilante group in the Midlands who targeted supernatural beings. Their name came from their self-appointed role as the last line of defence between humans and “the monsters”. At one time they had been little more than a rabble of thugs, but in recent months they had become much more organised and dangerous. The Custodians had been engaged in a losing battle against them for a while.

  ‘Have any of your group been targeted?’ Trev asked.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Miss Pine replied. ‘But some of the group are getting wary about attending meetings. They don’t like going out at night.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s frustrating – we’re stronger if we stick together and watch out for each other – but I can’t say I blame them.’

  Trev chewed a mouthful of pizza with a thoughtful expression. ‘It’s something else I can talk to Deacon about. I’ll see if I can find out what the current state of play is.’

  ‘I’d like to know what they’re doing about it,’ said Miss Pine, ‘because from our end of things the answer seems to be “not very much”.’

  ‘It’ll be the same answer they give for everything else, probably,’ Trev said. ‘Not enough manpower.’

  Miss Pine stabbed a piece of pizza with her fork. ‘We know that they haven’t got enough manpower. They’ve never had enough manpower. But they keep telling the supernatural community not to take matters into our own hands because they’ll protect us, and they’re letting us down.’

  ‘Like I said, I’ll ask,’ Trev said. ‘If you’re getting grief from anyone, let me know. I’m happy to help you guys out if you need some security for your meetings. You saved me from those zombies last month, so I owe you one.’

  ‘I’ll keep it in mind,’ Miss Pine said, noncommittal.

  ‘Still don’t trust me?’ Trev replied.

  ‘It’s not a question of trust,’ Miss Pine said. ‘I know you’re sincere and I appreciate the offer. But as things stand you aren’t officially a Custodian and you’ve barely even had any training. If you get into a fight with The Line, the Custodians will have to treat you as a vigilante. And that’s going to reflect badly on my group, as the people you’re working for.’

  ‘Right,’ said Trev, unconvinced. ‘Is that really the reason?’

  Miss Pine concentrated on her pizza for a few seconds. ‘Well, you have to admit that you’re something of a trouble magnet,’ she said eventually.

  ‘I don’t think that’s fair,’ Trev said. ‘I’m probably slightly above average in terms of the number of people who want me dead, but I don’t think that qualifies me as a “trouble magnet”.’

  Miss Pine raised her eyebrows. ‘You don’t?’

  ‘A bit, maybe.’

  ‘Alastair Kolley’s in an asylum,’ Miss Pine said. ‘And Francis Ducrow and Isabella Mallory had survived for well over a hundred years before meeting you, but are both now dead. Face it, Trev. You’re dangerous to be around.’

  I’m glad she doesn’t seem to know about Jack Rock, Trev thought, because there’s another one who belongs on that list.

  ‘You took quite a risk coming here, then,’ he observed.

  ‘Some things are worth the risk,’ she said. ‘Pizza is one of them.’ She flashed a brief smile, her first of the evening. Trev smiled back. Miss Pine took everything so seriously it was good to know that there was a bit of mischief lurking behind her defences.

  ‘For once we’re in complete agreement,’ said Trev, giving her a suave look as he put another chunk of pizza into his mouth.

  They made small talk for the rest of the meal, settled the bill and went their separate ways, Trev promising to let Miss Pine know the outcome of his chat with Deacon. He could tell that she wasn’t hopeful of a positive response, which was useful, because Trev wasn’t either.

  Getting back into his car he checked his phone. The absence of any texts or missed calls was a silent commentary on the state of his social life. He hadn’t even heard anything from Sarah, with whom he worked at SmoothMove, for a couple of days. That was particularly annoying, as she was supposed to be his girlfriend. He’d sent her a few texts over the weekend without reply, which was odd because Sarah’s texting thumb usually operated on a hair trigger.

  Their relationship continued to baffle Trev. Was she really his girlfriend, or just a work colleague with whom he had a close friendship? Every time things seemed to be going somewhere between them, she would pull back and be distant for a few days. Was she drawn to Trev himself, or did she only see him as a gateway into the supernatural world that fascinated her so much?

  She’d been off work for a few days, telling Trev that she had some “family stuff” to sort out. He decided to give her a call and see how she was. That’d be a good “boyfriend” thing to do, wouldn’t it? he thought.

  Sarah answered promptly. Trev wondered whether that was a good sign or not. ‘Hi Trev.’

  ‘Hello, you,’ he said. ‘Just thought I’d give you a call and see how you were. So… um… how are you?’

  ‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back at work tomorrow. We can have a catch-up then.’

  ‘I’m off this week, remember?’ Trev said, irked that she’d forgotten but trying to keep his tone light.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Sarah said. ‘Sorry. Well, we can talk when you’re back next week.’

  ‘We could grab a drink or some food one night this week, if you like,’ Trev suggested, aware that a note of desperation was creeping into his voice. ‘My Custodian training’s during the day, so I’ll be back in Brackenford in the evenings.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to,’ Sarah replied. ‘I’m a bit busy this week.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Trev. ‘Are you sure everything’s OK? Is it this “family stuff” you’ve been dealing with?’

  ‘Yeah, sort of,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Um, well if you need a sympathetic ear…’ Trev said.

  There was a long pause. ‘Look, Trev,’ Sarah said, ‘I didn’t really want to do this over the phone. But I think we should stick to being work colleagues and friends. The whole office romance thing… I just don’t think I can do it. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh. Right,’ said Trev. ‘Has something happened in the last few days? Everything seemed fine the last time I saw you.’

  ‘It’s just that I’ve been thinking,’ Sarah said. ‘I don’t want to mess you around any more. I’m sorry, really.’

  ‘So am I,’ Trev said, confused. ‘I suppose it’s better to be honest than drag things out. Or something.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sarah said again.

  ‘Um. So I’ll see you next week then?’

  ‘Yeah. Take care. I hope your training goes well.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Trev said. ‘Bye, then.’

  ‘Bye.’ Sarah hung up.

  Trev sat and stared at his phone. What a great day, he thought. Early start, an attempt on my life, warned off investigating the traitor, given a pointless task by a werewolf, and get dumped.

  He started the car.

  Oh well. At least I had pizza.

  Seven

  Trev didn’t know what Deacon’s definition of “first thing” was, so he went by his own. This meant that it was nine forty-five by the time he walked into Deacon’s office the following morning.

  ‘We agreed first thing,’ Deacon said, looking
up from some paperwork.

  ‘Traffic,’ said Trev with a shrug. He was in an awkward mood after the previous evening’s events and couldn’t be bothered to fence words. He sat down and folded his arms.

  Deacon gave him a sceptical look, but Trev didn’t say anything else. ‘We have a problem,’ he said.

  ‘Is this to do with the traitor?’ Trev asked.

  ‘No, this is something new,’ said Deacon. ‘I need you to go to Spectre’s Rest.’

  Trev blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘We had a call this morning from Grace Montano, the Head Warden,’ Deacon said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Apparently Corbyn’s told them he’s got information that would be “of great interest” to us.’

  ‘What sort of information?’

  ‘No idea, he hasn’t said. But what he has said is that he’ll only disclose the information to one person. You.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes. Those are his terms.’

  Trev narrowed his eyes. ‘He’s up to something.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ said Deacon. ‘Most likely he’s just hoping to make a bargain with us to drop some of the charges.’

  ‘Do you think he actually knows anything useful?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s got a few nuggets of information to negotiate with,’ Deacon replied, ‘but I doubt that he’s got anything of real significance.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Information is worth something. The more significant the information, the more it’s worth. If Corbyn was broke and living on the streets when you found him, it suggests he didn’t have anything worth trading.’

  ‘Seems logical,’ said Trev. ‘Why do you think he’s asked for me, though?’

  ‘Probably just simple pettiness,’ said Deacon. ‘Being a minor inconvenience to his enemies is the only pleasure he’s got left.’

  ‘Even so,’ said Trev. He paused. ‘I’m not sure about this. It makes me nervous.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be nervous about,’ Deacon said. ‘Corbyn’s locked up and surrounded by guards. There’s nothing he can do to get at you.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not entirely sure about that,’ Trev said.