 
### Paranormal Investigations

EH Walter

Copyright 2011 EH Walter

Smashwords Edition

Cover created by Michael Farmer of New Splicer

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The Fallen <http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/26601>

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Chapter 1: Lost Cats and Errant Spouses

"Good morning, Paranormal Investigations," I said in my best give-me-a-case-because-I'm-broke manner.

Snickering came down the line. Okay, I was used to that. It's what you got when you claimed to investigate the paranormal. I say claimed because I couldn't remember the last time I had actually investigated something, anything and all my so called paranormal cases tended to have rational explanations, even if cuckolded spouses believed enchantments were the root cause of infidelity I had to enlighten them that infidelity happens, suck it up buddy.

I pressed to end the prank call.

You may think it's really cool to be proprietor and lead investigator of what amounts to a detective agency, it's not. I wish I could make it sound glamorous but normally I'm too busy hocking bits of old jewellery to pay the rent. Truth be told, this was not the life I had envisaged for myself. I went to drama school dammit. I was meant to be treading the boards at The Globe as Lady M, Titania - even fairy at the back would've done. No, I get lumped with Great Aunt Mildred's legacy.

The phone rang again. It was Rose, from my office – yes, I have staff! Well, a staff of one unless you count the postman and the guy who hoovers the office building. I once asked Rose why she worked for PI (she had been another inheritance from GA Mildred). "Well it was this or down the Oxfam," she told me.

Rose was not overly familiar with modern technology and mobile phones were her least favourite device. She thought you had to shout to be heard, when Rose talked on the phone all of Starbucks heard.

"I'm reminding you about your ten thirty!" she bellowed, "Miss X."

"I know Rose," I replied, trying not to shout back, "I'm here in Starbucks already." Most of my meetings were held in Starbucks, my office being a little too... everything you wouldn't want a client to see: peeling paintwork, soiled ceiling tiles and crappy old furniture. Still, it was cheap – mostly because we were kind of squatters. Lloyds bank had rented most of the building and the landlord had never noticed we did not move out when they did. We had the whole nine storey office complex to ourselves. God bless lackadaisical landlords. That should have been their name really – Lackadaisical Landlords Limited. They were actually Georgiou and Son of Cockfosters, but whatever.

"Miss Fey?" came a quiet voice. I looked up and almost started – the thin, blonde woman in front of me looked very similar to the only girl I had dipped my toe into the lesbian waters with back at sixth form college. "You are Miss Fey?"

"I am." How did she know? I looked around Starbucks, I was the only woman not attached to a small infant. Not a hard one then. "Miss... X?"

She nodded and slid into the spare seat opposite me.

"Would you like a drink?"

She shook her head. I was relieved, the only way I could sit here for so long was because I could just about afford £1.65 for a tea. Fancy coffees and whatnot were out of my price range. A client had once asked for a frappaccino and I had to pay for that on a very old credit card, I was still paying off the interest two years later.

She rested her skinny arms on the table, fingers clasping and re-clasping. Then she played with a turquoise coloured beaded bracelet at her wrist. She kept her eyes downcast.

"You may think me crazy," she said softly, "but... I think my boyfriend is... cheating on me."

I sighed. This case would be no different from any of those that preceded it. At least it might give me something to pay the rent – if there was a case here at all.

"What makes you think he's playing around?"

She drew her lips together into a thin line. "He... he no longer wants to have sex, it's as if he's getting it from somewhere else – he's always had a really high sex drive you see, but not anymore." Her pale cheeks took on a pink tinge.

"Sometimes other factors have an effect, for example is he more stressed at work?"

"No," she said definitely, "I know something is wrong."

"Do you live together?"

"No, he's just moved into this new flat over at Princess Park Manor in Friern Barnet."

I knew it, it was expensive.

"I live in High Barnet. We used to see each other most nights, but now he says he's too tired." She let out a gasp that was a strangled cry and bit her trembling lip. "Please just find out so I know one way or the other. You see, I thought he was the one... I had imagined him as the father of my children. Please. I just need to know."

I exacted a retainer from Miss X before she left, escorting her to the nearest hole in the wall. I had found out, to my cost, that sometimes people didn't want to pay up after finding out the truth so I always asked for most of the fee upfront. She had scribbled her number down for me on the back of her boyfriend's picture and disappeared into The Spires shopping centre, although whether so few shops ever qualified as a 'centre' I'll never know.

I hopped on the bus (cheaper than parking up there) and tried to sit with the least smelly people. After a while you got to know the regulars on the bus; the lady with the baby carriage that actually contained a small Maltese Terrier (you should see people's faces when they bent to fuss over a child and saw a dog), the man who talked to everyone as if he'd known them for twenty years and the mother and daughter who looked like cockney elves. What they thought of me, I don't know.

The PI office building is on a busy road leading up to the M25, it is a typical seventies office gulag although built on a slight curve although it's no Royal Crescent. Crossing the road from the bus stop can be tricky, some people really don't know when they're not on the motorway anymore – normally knob-ends in sports cars who play for one of the big premiership football clubs around here.

Inside the building the lifts had long since ceased to work so I had to climb the stairs to the seventh floor. From the lift there was a long corridor to our corner of the building, the floor tiles were those cream coloured plastic ones with designer grey smears, very 1970s. Reggie was there, as always, polishing the floor. I said hello and he ignored me, as always.

Our door was off the main corridor, the lock had long since broken but no one came into the building anyway. It was one of those with a half glass panel – 'Paranormal Investigations' was painted on the door in gold paint. GA Mildred had done it herself, it showed – the long letters had drips clinging to them that had long since hardened. I sighed as my hand rested on the doorknob, this was not my life. Every time I crossed the threshold I got a sense of unease, as if my life had gone off track and was now veering out of control and I was not sure how to reclaim it.

From the door I could hear Rose talking to GA Mildred on the phone, it was difficult not to with her voice.

"Well yes dear, she is making bit of a hash of it." Rose was saying as I opened the door.

GA Mildred had retired to Torquay, the British version of Florida but with slightly less palm trees, however that did not stop her interfering.

"I'll take it from here," I told Rose and put my hand out for the phone.

Rose pushed her glasses up her nose and blinked at me.

Rose's office was an annex to my own. You might almost mistake it for a garden centre as she had different varieties of plants in pots all over the place. I suspected some were plastic, but I had no proof.

"Bourbon?" Rose asked, proffering a plate of biscuits with one hand and passing me the phone with the other. Honestly, sometimes I think she only worked at PI for the biscuits. I shook my head.

"Hello Auntie," I said with little enthusiasm into the phone.

"Is it your birthday yet?" GA Mildred barked, cutting right to the point. Where some elderly female relations obsessed about potential husbands and the pitter patter of tiny feet, GA Mildred was singularly obsessed with my twenty-fifth birthday. She had one of those loud voices that demanded to be listened to, I think old boarding schools must have taught people to talk loudly and with confidence – _shew your class gels!_

"No Auntie. You know my birthday is at the end of the month, the thirty first of October."

"Yes I know, twenty five on the thirty first. What's the date today then?"

"October fifteenth."

"Oh." She sniffed. "Got to go. I've got Agatha Christie coming over for afternoon tea."

Like many of her generation she hung off without saying goodbye.

Stupid old bint, Agatha Christie had been dead since 1976.

My office had been built in the seventies, the decade that taste forgot. It might have been quite stylish when GA Mildred first moved PI to Cockfosters. Now it was as dilapidated as the building that surrounded it. The furniture hadn't been new then and I suspected GA Mildred had herself inherited it. Some of it was Victorian, other pieces heavy pre-war oak and the rest unidentifiable clutter. GA Mildred didn't like to throw anything out and I didn't feel the business was sufficiently mine to do so myself.

On my messy desk I had a pot plant, a rubbery green thing which needed no watering as the leak in the ceiling above did that for me. The plant was the only sign of life in the office - you couldn't really count Rose, she was pretty ancient and gave no indication of a beating heart and breathing lungs - unless there was a plate of biscuits in the offing and then she had the instincts of a ninja.

I went into my office and shuffled papers for a bit. It did me good to make the office look used by moving things from one side of the desk to the other, in truth there was little work to do as the last case had been a missing cat three months ago and that situation had been wrapped up when I informed the client her cat had been adopted by, and was currently being overfed by, her neighbour. The business should really be called 'Lost Cats and Errant Spouses' rather than 'Paranormal Investigations'. There was no hope of things ever getting better. You see, the problem is I don't believe in the paranormal. It just doesn't exist. No sir. Not ghosts, ghouls, demons, aliens or anything else that might be described as supernatural. I think the name holds us back, but GA Mildred would not hear of changing it, it's part of her legacy she says, and the name stays. Stupid old bint. I hated the fact my work was a joke and there wasn't even a decent wage in it for me.

Two years ago I was a jobbing actor, busy failing at auditions and being told a size twelve was too fat to fit in the pre-made costumes. I was used to rejection, poverty and defeat. It was my way of life and strangely – I was happy.

For years GA Mildred had told me there was a place for me in Paranormal Investigations and for years I managed to put her off without offending her – she was practically my only family after all. Then, two years ago, it had seemed everything was going wrong – the love of my life went to try his luck in Los Angeles and I crumbled. I was not sure I had ever told Jez he was the love of my life and perhaps I should have, it might have made things take a different path. It's hard though, when you fall into a relationship from a friendship, to make that leap into saying 'I love you' whatever the comeback may be. I had not taken the risk and had acted so cool at his leaving he left thinking I didn't care at all - see, those three years at drama school weren't completely wasted.

Heartbroken and alone GA Mildred sucked me in. "Help me out for a while," she had said and like a fool I had moved north to 'help her out'. I started by watering the plants and doing the filing. Then she had asked me to do more and more: answering the phones, meeting clients and finally stake outs when her 'varicose veins hurt too much'. Last year she had retired and left me to it. I had been out of acting too long to return and I felt I would be letting her down if I didn't keep the business going.

The next morning I was up early. I had a cheating boyfriend to catch in the act.

I ate my healthy porridge to a background of the BBC Breakfast News. Sian and Bill were wittering about some theft from the British Museum. Good luck to anyone trying to sneak anything out of there. They also informed me the Prime Minister was having 'credit crunch crisis' meetings. What's new?

Miss X had given me a photograph of the suspect and on the back had placed his details and her phone number. The photo was one of those cheesy ones of a couple in love. They were at a party, there were fairy lights in the out of focus background, and he had his arms wrapped around her. He was decent looking I suppose, but not the kind of man you would give a second glance to at a bar. She evidently adored him though, in the photo she looked a completely different person to the one I had met in Starbucks. Her eyes were alive and her face illuminated by a smile. The way she looked at him hit me in the guts. Would I ever be able to look like that at someone again?

I drove from my flat in East Barnet to Friern Barnet and parked the car on a quiet residential street. There was a wall around Princess Park Manor and I loitered behind it, hidden to anyone coming out of the large building but a curiosity to anyone on the other side at half six in the morning.

Princess Park Manor was a large and beautiful Victorian mansion - or so you would think to look at it. In truth it had been a Victorian mental asylum and had recently been converted into expensive apartments - the mad could stay there free a hundred years ago but now you needed to be rich to get a look in. Irony, I believe that is called.

The commuters gradually left their nests and I kept my eyes out for Mr X. He was one of the last to appear, just as daylight began creeping over the horizon and I was about to give up for the day. He was late, his pace was rapid although his whole body looked like it needed to crawl back into bed. It was hard to recognise him as the man in the picture - his eyes stared at the ground, his shoulders curved forward and his feet shuffled.

I followed him to the tube and then, at a discrete distance, to his place of work. We had several changes and having my face mushed against the inside door of a dirty tube train made me grateful I did not have to commute every day. People filled every available inch, some of them asleep whilst hanging on the overhead rails or reading books folded into the most impossibly tiny space.

Wearily he trudged out of Canary Wharf tube and up a long escalator into an office building. He had a pass, but I had to sign in. Luckily the receptionist was distracted long enough by flirting with a man in a shiny suit for me to 'borrow' a name out of the appointments book so foolishly left upside down on the desk. When she turned back to me she frowned in that way that receptionists do when they work for big businesses as if somehow, the size of the business reflects upon them.

"Name?"

"Abalunum Abaeze," I said coolly, "here to see Solomon and Company."

She looked me up and down, somehow doubting I was Nigerian but then surmising it might be racist to accuse me of this. She sighed and tapped her computer keyboard with acrylic nails. A pass printed out of the printer and she passed it to me between her talons.

I got lucky - in the time it took me to get through reception no lifts had arrived and there were large numbers of people still waiting in the lobby, Mr X was amongst them. I joined the clump closest to him. To be honest I got the feeling I could have put on a clown wig and tap shoes and danced in front of him and he still wouldn't have noticed \- it was like he was on autopilot.

The first people I looked at in infidelity cases were work colleagues, as life so often threw temptation at people this way. I watched the people around him, but there was no one paying him especial attention or trying to diligently ignore him to avoid drawing attention. It was like he was not there. When the lift took us to his floor his colleagues greeted him, but he barely grunted in response.

I loitered in the reception area of his offices long enough to see him slump into his office chair and rest his head in his hands.

"Can I help you?" a woman in clicking high heels asked me.

"Solomon and Company?" I asked.

"This is Fenton, Fenton and Hutton."

"Oh goodness me! Wrong office!"

I smiled at her and left. I needed to leave before the real Abalunum Abaeze turned up anyway. My next opportunity would be lunchtime.

There's not much to do in docklands if you're not busy embezzling or causing Icelandic banks to collapse - the choice comes down to the Museum of London Docklands or shopping in the mall. Instinct would have led me to the shops, lack of money led me to the free museum.

I was back in plenty of time to loiter outside the office building during the wide period of time that could be described as lunch time.

At ten minutes past twelve I saw him stumble out. His first stop was a coffee stand where he ordered a double espresso and then wandered off towards a generic eatery. After discarding the empty coffee cup he entered the eatery and picked up food items, almost at random, from the chiller cabinet before joining the queue. I sat on a tall stool behind a book and waited.

No lunch time assignations then. He sat and shovelled the food down with no sense of taste, threw down another coffee and shuffled off back to his office.

I was pretty confident nothing more was going to happen, but I need to file a complete report so I hung around until the end of the day and followed him home again.

By the time we got back to Princess Park Manor I was surprised he was still standing. His face was greyer than ever and it even seemed as if his hair had lightened over the day as well. The man looked like a shell.

I clocked off for the day when he entered the building. I would come back another night and finish up my report then. He certainly didn't look like he'd be up to any mischief tonight.

A short walk reunited me with my car. I ached from a day outside, the cold had seeped into my bones, and longed for a nice, hot, bubbly bath.

My car was safe to leave anywhere - no one would steal it. It was an old red astra, now faded to a pinkish red, stained with rust and tree sap and with dents bumped in by London drivers. To get the door to open I had to give it a good kick to get it to spring loose. I then had to sit and wait with the heating on for twenty minutes to clear the fog from the screen. Whilst I was waiting I dug my phone out of my pocket to check my messages - it had been on silent all day as I'd once been busted on a stake out when it rang just as I was about to reclaim a stolen puppy. I'd got bitten on the hand.

I had two voicemail messages and three text messages. The first voicemail was from someone trying to sell me a timeshare in Spain. I deleted it. The second voicemail message was from my father.

"Hello Leo - happy birthday! Speak soon, dad."

I gave a humph and deleted that one as well. My own father couldn't get it right. And I didn't like the reminder - soon I would be one quarter of a century old. I gave a shiver. Man, that was old.

My father is not your average father. He was never there at parents' evenings and never took me to play in the park. He was - at best - an absent father and - at worst - neglectful. I had never lived with him and he rarely visited. Even GA Mildred wouldn't talk about him - she was from the other side of the family.

He's one of those men who never seem to look any older, a bit like George Clooney. I certainly didn't get my dominant genes from him as I already had a couple of white hairs creeping through my scalp.

It was with these thoughts that I finally managed to clear the windscreen and drive the short distance back to East Barnet. Barnet is a bit like New York - the lights never go off. And that's where the comparison stops. The kebab shop and shish bar were still open and Budgens was already doing a roaring trade in Halloween pumpkins.

I parked up, locked the door and went into my flat building.

In my dream I was in a field and an angry oak tree was throwing acorns at me. I tried to duck out of the way, but they kept hitting me. I jerked awake with a gasp. All was dark. All was silent. Then I heard a rat-a-tat-tat and instinctively ducked as if there was an angry oak tree in my bedroom.

The sound came again and half asleep I looked around the room. When it came for a third time I located it to the window and padded over barefoot to have a look.

Peeking through the curtain I didn't see anything at first and then, as an acorn - yes it was an acorn - thudded on the window in front of me, I saw a small figure hiding in the shadows of the security light.

As I opened the window he crept forward and I told myself I was still dreaming. At least I hoped I was still dreaming.

In the pool of light outside my window stood a figure wearing a cable knit red jumper, a green kerchief around the neck and baggy black trousers. In his hands he held a paper bag, he dipped a hand in and was about to throw the contents at my window when he spotted me. The contents he then deposited into his mouth and he crunched loudly. His nose was a little odd and given to twitching, but what really drew my attention was the pair of small... horns? Antlers? That sat atop of his head. Didn't he know Halloween was two weeks away?

He chewed like a goat - sideways.

"Are you Morgan LE Fey?" he asked in between mouthfuls of acorn.

"Leo, I never use my first name."

"Leo," he repeated, very much like a bleat.

"I haven't had a boy throw something at my window since I was thirteen so make it good buddy."

He looked around cautiously. "I need you," he said.

All possible witty responses left me - it was the middle of the night.

"Uh-ha," I yawned.

"I need you to sort out the fairies for me," he said between crunches of acorn, "they're really mean."

Chapter 2: Bloody Men are like Bloody Buses

I blinked. Was I still asleep? A cold breeze coming through the window reassured me I was awake. I clung on to the windowsill to steady myself as I may have been conscious, but my head wasn't quite one hundred per cent yet. Especially since some weirdo had just asked for my help in dealing with fairies. Tinkerbell? The tooth fairy?

A car blared past and the strange little man jumped and skittered into the shadows again. A moment later his head peered out into the light, there were those strange little horn on his head again - they looked a little like those devil horns on a headband that you could buy in costume shops. Perhaps I had been asleep for two weeks and it was Halloween already, or this guy really just couldn't read a calendar.

He had a curious face, his twitching nose drew most of my attention - it was as if he was constantly sniffing the air. His face was a pale brown under the light and held a shiny glow.

"Can I come in?" he bleated, "the fairies, they have people everywhere. It's not safe."

"Hold on," I said, "Are you some kind of homophobe?"

"Huh?"

"All this talk of fairies, look - it's not very PC."

"But they're mean. Can I come in? If I stay out here any longer one of them will get me."

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna let some random stranger into my flat."

His shoulders curved in and he nibbled at his finger nails. "I was told you help people."

"Who told you that?"

"Your dad."

I grunted. Typical dad, trying to interfere with my life again. Through the years I had been the care-giver to many of his charity cases from taking in stray animals to feeding the homeless of Barnet. "What did he tell you?"

"He said you were the one I need, the one who could help me."

I sighed. "Okay, I'll buzz you in."

"What?" his eyebrows arched into a triangle.

I shook my head in despair. "Come to the door and I'll open it."

The man stood in my living room slash kitchen and looked around. Because it was a small flat I was uncomfortably close to him. He smelt of... berries. Berries and wood smoke. I had gestured to the sofa for him to sit down but he was too busy peering into every nook and cranny, handling all my photographs, books and knick knacks.

"This is it?" he asked, "I expected something... roomier."

"What did you expect - the Ritz?" I responded as I wrenched my mother's photograph out of his hands and reset it on the book shelf so she could look down at me again.

"Where am I going to sleep?"

"Whoa, hold it buddy. I haven't agreed to anything. I'm still not sure what you want."

"Protection."

"Look, you're going to have to sit down and explain this properly. It's the middle of the night and my brain is not exactly functioning at full capacity here."

He sat on the sofa closest to the window and bounced on it as if it was a new experience to him. A smile lit up his face and the anxiety disappeared for the first time. Then he put his hooves up on the coffee table. Yes - his hooves.

I reached for the Christmas bottle of Bailey's and an old bottle of Polish wine from the back of the cupboard, the only alcohol in the flat, and poured myself a mug full before sitting on the other sofa. I kept the bottles beside me so I could keep on topping myself up. The little man looked at me for a second as if about to ask me if I was going to share and then he saw the frown on my face and thought again.

"Start from the beginning." I commanded in my don't-give-me-any-shit voice.

He drummed his fingers together in thought. "I was born in..."

"No you clutz! The beginning of your trouble with... with the fairies." I almost choked on the word I felt so foolish saying it.

He pursed his lips together. Under the light of the living room I could see him much more clearly. His skin was the colour of London clay, his eyes a startling green and it looked like he had ringed them with black eyeliner. On his chin and above his lip was the faintest trace of a fluffy goatee beard. I hate goatee beards, I just don't get them - I mean, either grow a beard or don't.

"I... I'm in deep," he said, his voice wobbled, "and I didn't know where to turn. You see - it started with small things, stealing food and reclaiming teeth that hadn't been put under pillows - small stuff. They know your weaknesses those fairies - they know everything - they're everywhere!"

I smiled in what I hoped was a soothing-don't-knife-me-you-weirdo way. The warmth of the Bailey's flooding my system helped. I was definitely beginning to feel a little more mellow. "Okay," I said, "you were what - a flunky?"

"I don't know what a flunky is. I was their servant - that was a mistake, I didn't mean to enter indenture - but the fae are tricky, I always heard never enter into a bargain with a fairy and I should've listened! They get you on the smallest technicality."

"They sound like lawyers."

"I kept getting asked to do more and more complicated jobs, stuff I wasn't happy with but there was no way I could refuse, I was getting in deeper and deeper. I'm scared."

My throat produced something halfway between a cough and a laugh. "You're scared of fairies!"

His green eyes met mine and I was shocked by the terror within them. It almost shocked me sober. Almost.

"You don't understand," he went on, "if you want something done in my world, anything, you go to the fairies. They are the... fixers. They can get anything done. Except they don't like getting their hands dirty so they out-source the jobs. That and they have a few problems with modern technology."

Oh great, the fairy mafia.

"You did a job for them?" I asked shaking the last drops of Polish wine into my mug.

"Many jobs, but never before one so - dangerous. You see they've never had a client so powerful as this man. I didn't want to do it but I had no choice, they had me by the horns."

I glanced up at the aforementioned horns. Oh yes, they did seem to be rather attached to his head after all. I took another swig. Who cared if the guy had horns and hooves - we weren't all perfect after all! I had dated worse in my time - you wouldn't believe how much photos lie on Internet dating sites. "Go on."

"I did this job \- I had no choice and... and it's all gone wrong. I wasn't meant to live. And now there's a hit out on me."

I'm not sure when I fell unconscious but I woke up on the sofa when the early morning sunshine fell across my face. I was twisted in on myself, my head resting on my hand and a pool of drool puddling on the arm of the sofa. Attractive. I blinked and tried to get up. I regretted it instantly - someone was playing a set of steel drums inside my head. The weird dreams of the night before tried to edge their way into my consciousness, but I wasn't really interested. I closed my eyes as a smell began to register on me. I sniffed. Eggs. Eggs and something...

Blearily I turned to the kitchen area of the living room slash kitchen and saw the man from my dream dressed in a cat apron holding a frying pan. My frying pan. My cat apron.

"Oh f..." I muttered.

"Breakfast" he said holding up the frying pan. Some kind of eggs had been made into an omelette. My basil and chilli plants had been left untouched but my peace lily looked as if it had gone ten rounds with an untamed kitten. Bits of the peace lily were now infused into the egg mixture.

My stomach felt like a swirling pit of cream curdled in alcohol - oh yes, that's right, so it should.

Memories of the previous night began to dribble back into my brain. If the subject of those memories had not been standing in my kitchen, wearing my apron and holding my frying pan aloft I would have thought them to be dreams.

My bloody father. It was his fault. He'd found me another of his charity cases. Except this one was a man with goat hooves, horns popping out between tufts of his wavy brown hair and seemed to think peace lilies were a food source.

"Do you want breakfast?" He asked.

I shook my head before I ran to the bathroom to evacuate the alcoholic poison from my guts. Stomach empty and body showered I went to the bedroom to dress only to find the goat man had found somewhere to sleep last night after all - my bed. The bed looked like a dog had slept in it, it was trodden into an oval and littered with hair. The room even smelt like a stable. With an angry groan I pulled off the sheets, threw them onto the floor and bundled them up. I took the linen through to the living room slash kitchen some time later to see the man sitting on my sofa, hooves up on the coffee table and eating a plate of peace lily omelette. The television remote was in his hand and he was flicking through the television channels before settling on Jeremy Kyle.

"This is too much," I said throwing the linen down by the washing machine and reaching for my car keys.

"Whilst you're out," the goat man said without turning his head from Jeremy Kyle, "could you buy salt - I notice you don't have any."

"It's not healthy!" I muttered angrily before storming out and slamming the door behind me. I wanted to give my father a piece of my mind - saddling me with this weirdo. Unfortunately my father did not possess a mobile phone so I couldn't call him and shout at him. I didn't even know where he lived - he turned up in my life when he felt like it. Damn him!

I drove like a typical Londoner the short distance to Cockfosters, I wouldn't let anyone in and I sat right behind the other traffic. I was in a foul mood and needed space. Since my personal space, ie my flat, had been invaded my only other option was my office.

My mood wasn't improved when I was stuck in traffic alongside a bus. It wasn't the bus that was the problem, it was what was on it. A large banner poster was pasted across the side - a new film release, the second movie in an action trilogy. On the poster was a man in a white shirt, ripped to show his gleaming and muscular chest, holding a gun. A size zero blonde was curling up against his side, pouting out at all of London, her figure airbrushed into Barbie perfection. I hated her instantly and felt a jealousy that was irrational and no longer mine to feel.

It's a bit weird seeing your ex-boyfriend go past on the side of a red double-decker bus. He didn't need airbrushing to look good although it looked like they'd had a go anyway.

Jeremy Flynt, my erstwhile boyfriend and now a Hollywood star. Jeremy Flynt. Jez to me. Jiz to his friends when drunk. You could say Jez was the one person in my drama school cohort who really made it, although Sabrine did quite well with that recurring role as a druggie on Casualty. It really wasn't fair that you couldn't get over an ex because his face, gorgeous as it was, happened to be plastered everywhere. I hadn't dared watch the first film for the feelings it might dredge up, although there had been a period of one fortnight where it seemed like Film 4 was conspiring to make me watch it by showing it daily in different time slots.

I parked in the empty car park behind my office building, slammed the door and marched off. Then I realised I hadn't locked it and marched back to do so. It gave me enough time to calm down a little.

In the ground floor reception area a familiar figure was working his way across the floor.

"Alright Reggie?" I asked of the man operating the floor polisher. He ignored me. As usual. I never got one single word out of him and I'd never seen him do anything other than hoover and polish the floors. I tell you - we have the shiniest surfaces this side of the Strictly Come Dancing set.

As I entered the PI offices Rose's head peered out from behind a large pot plant, a pair of pruning shears were in her hand. With the other hand she picked up her glasses which dangled on a cord around her neck and pushed her glasses back on her nose. She stared at me.

"Any messages?" I asked as I sorted through the post which sat in a tray on her desk. Mostly bills and circulars by the looks of it.

"We're out of biscuits. I'll need to go and buy some. I've been waiting for you to come in so the phones wouldn't be unmanned."

"Yes," I said, "it wouldn't do to turn on the answer machine. It couldn't handle the weight of calls we get."

Sarcasm was wasted on Rose.

"I'll go get the biscuits then," she said as she picked up her coat and slid it on to her skinny frame, "any requests?"

"Bohemian Rhapsody?"

She blinked blankly. "Custard creams it is. I'll need some money."

I reached into my pocket for my purse and opened the coin section. Rose stared at me until I closed that and opened the note section. She was happy with a fiver. I suppose it was the least I could do - keep her in biscuits - it's not like I paid her a wage or anything and I didn't want to lose her to the Oxfam. Who else would I find who could turn my offices into a garden centre and deal with such a hefty weight of calls and filing?

In my office I got out a blank notebook and tried to record what the goat man had told me. I wrote everything I could think of in swirls across the page. The more I wrote the more I feared for my sanity. Seriously - the guy had hooves and horns? Fairies are real? I tried to eliminate the impossible - for in the words of the great Sherlock Holmes, whatever remained - however improbable - must be the truth. The problem was - fairies were impossible. I knew they were impossible, weird things like that just couldn't exist. However, despite that, there was a goat man staying in my flat and eating my peace lily. And no matter what - he had asked for my help.

I abandoned the offices and drove back to my flat. I had barely been gone forty minutes but that had been long enough for me to think clearly. I had to treat this man like any other client and deal with his case as I would any other. If he couldn't pay me, I'd sting my dad for it as it was his fault I'd gotten involved.

A strange sight met me as I re-entered my flat. The goat man had discovered the Wii fit and was engaged in an on-the-spot jog. The wii remote was tucked into his baggy black trousers and his hooves were wearing a bald spot into my carpet.

"Did you get the salt?" he asked mid-jog.

"Okay mister," I said, "sit down and listen."

He turned around and blinked. "Are you going to help me?"

"I'm going to take your case and treat it like any other."

He smiled and as he did so I realised he looked like a child, very young and innocent.

"Okay buddy sit down and let's start at the beginning - and no - I don't mean with your birth."

I slung my jacket on the back of the sofa and emptied my pockets, purse, keys and phone, onto the coffee table before sitting down. I reached for a pad of paper and a pen.

"Right - describe the people who you think have arranged for the hit on you."

"Well, they're not really people."

"For the sake of my sanity we're going to call them people - okay?" I pressed a curling corner of a sheet of paper flat with my thumb.

"Very well... they're little people - it's hard to tell what they really look like as they are given to enchantments and trickery. They can move through the air on wings, they look like dragonfly wings - but bigger. And they shimmer. Most people only notice them as a blur of light, they never see the true fairy and they are so rare these days many don't even see that."

"Rare?"

"You might call them an endangered species."

"Why?"

"They started dying out in the iron age." he said with a shrug as if it was a fact everyone knew.

"Why?"

He looked at me like I was an idiot. "Because of the iron, of course. They are allergic to iron."

I scribbled on my pad 'iron allergy'. "Okay, go on."

"The fairy who got me involved was called Ymir. He did me a favour when I was younger, but of course it wasn't a favour and I was too young to know better. His job is to lure people in with favours and then they are the slaves of the fae for life - there is no way out. The favour I owed him got sold on and being around fairies you get tricked into more things, before I knew it I owed debts to many of the fae. Then they started calling them in."

"What can you tell me about this Ymir?"

He scrunched up his nose. "He's little... and shiny... and his name is Ymir. And he's mean. Really mean."

I sighed. "How will they find you? Are you safe here?"

He shrugged and glanced nervously at the window. "I really do wish you'd bought that salt," he said, "I'd feel a lot safer."

"They don't like salt?"

"No, if you spill it or throw it at them they have to sit and count every grain \- it's the only way to slow an attack. They really do have very vicious teeth you know."

I repressed a shiver. "Okay, I'll get some salt. Is there any way we can tell if they are coming?"

He shook his head. "They might have called in a favour, it could be anyone." He gave a little shiver and then a sob. He pulled his green kerchief off his neck and blew into it loudly, "I don't want to die!" he said plaintively, "I'm only young!"

Awkwardly I patted his hand. "There, there."

"I need a protector, a body guard. Will you find one for me?"

"A bodyguard?"

"There's only one type of creature that would never get involved with the fae, they hate them. Trolls. I need a troll."

Oh of course he did. A troll. I had to find him a troll. A troll!

Just then my phone rang on the coffee table. The goat man reached it before me and answered it before I could whip it out of his hand.

"Hello?" he bleated, nodded and then held it out to me, "it's for you."

Well, durr - it was my phone! I ripped it out of his hand and held it to my ear. "Hello," I said tersely, "Paranormal Investigations Leo speaking, how can I help you?"

"Leo?" said a voice like chocolate and I melted whilst simultaneously feeling as if I had been punched in the stomach.

"Oh, hello Jez," I said quietly.

Chapter 3: Troll Hunter

There was a pause at the end of the line.

"Who was that?" Jez asked.

"Oh... er, Bob." I said deliberately not looking at my uninvited house guest.

The goat man blinked at me.

"Bob?" Jez questioned.

"Yeah, Bob." I stood up and went into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me.

"I see." he went on, "Bob."

"So..." I said, sitting back on the bed, my heart thudding, "what can I do for you?"

"Well, I'm back in the country and I was just trying to catch up with everyone. How are you?"

"Me? Great. And you?" I chewed my thumbnail. Of course he was great. He was in films, he was even on buses. How could he not be great?

"Yeah, things are good."

"I-saw-your-naked-chest-on-a-bus-today." I said rapidly without thinking and then blushed a deep crimson. Thank goodness it wasn't a video call. What an idiot. What had this handsome, sophisticated movie star ever seen in me?

He laughed. "Yeah, who needs to go to the gym when you can get air brushed - eh?"

He had a gorgeous laugh. I sighed, everything about Jeremy Flynt was gorgeous. That's one of the reasons I loved him so much, he was so easy to love.

"I was wondering," he said slowly, "if you wanted to meet up? I'm in a play at the National and maybe you could drop by and we could have coffee or lunch? It's pretty manic as we open soon, but it'd be nice to see an old friend. We could hang out."

"Sure," I said coldly and stopped listening, my heart had hit the floor. He had called me an 'old friend', there could be no clearer signal that he didn't love me, that he only wanted me as a friend. He carried on talking and I agreed to come and meet him, but my main concern was not bursting into tears whilst talking to him. I managed to end the call as quickly as I could and, throwing the phone down, I hid my head in a pillow and hot, angry tears erupted from my eyes. A while later I heard the door open and a clip-clopping sound approach. A hand awkwardly patted my head and the goat man said, "There, there."

When my eyes were less puffy and bloodshot I ventured out to buy salt. Budgens had an array of different salts so I picked up a variety just to be safe. My next mission was to find a troll. With my green plastic bag full of salt in boxes, bags and mills I walked the short distance to Oak Hill Park.

After Jez's phone call I had dried my tears and regained my composure. I had a job to do and could not afford to let my emotions run riot over me.

My subsequent conversation with the goat man regarding trolls had gone like this:

"Where exactly," I asked, not quite managing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, "am I supposed to find a _troll_?"

He shook his head slightly - I noticed he did this every time he thought I asked a stupid question. "Under a bridge of course."

"Ah yes, of course. Under a bridge."

"All bridges have a troll under them."

"Ah, I wonder why it is I have never seen one then - _ever_?"

"Well it has to be a proper bridge, one over water."

"Yep, I've seen a few of those in my time - knew a few intimately as a teenager and you know what - they appeared to be one hundred per cent troll free."

"Did you ask?"

"What?"

"Did you ask for them? Did you ask them to come out and show themselves?"

"No I must admit I didn't."

"Well there you are then." he said with a shrug, "You should've asked."

"So I just go up to a bridge over water and ask the troll to show themselves - then the troll will agree to be your bodyguard?"

"He might not, he might have something on and trolls are a tricky bunch, you have to be careful how you deal with them. They're very proud and very vicious. If one isn't respected you'll see the other. We'll probably have to pay him."

"We? I don't know if you're aware of this but people normally pay _me_ when I help them."

"Not money - only humans have a use for that laughable currency. We deal in real things, not imaginary. He'll want something tasty."

My eyebrows rose in question so he continued.

"Trolls live under bridges, they eat whatever the water brings them. If you want a troll to do your bidding you only have to offer them something nice to eat. They just can't bear to refuse."

At the door to my flat, as I left to buy the salt and attempt to procure a troll, I turned to the goat man and asked:

"Look - what do I call you? What's your name?"

He blinked. "You called me Bob."

"I know I called you Bob when I was on the phone but I didn't know your real name - what is it?"

"Bob."

"No, your real name."

"It is Bob. My kind, we don't have a name until someone gives us one. You were the first person to give me a name."

"Oh."

My insides scrunched up. That was so sad, not to have anyone care enough to give you a name. I left before I could embarrass myself with more tears. What did I care if this strange stranger had never been given a name before?

Through Chipping Barnet and East Barnet there runs a small stream called the Pymmes Brook, there is even a walk you can do if you fancy strolling along a long stretch of stagnant water and dodging supermarket trolleys. The brook actually runs underneath my flat building, it peeps out from its underground route by the car park before flowing under the road and then surfacing again in the park.

Because of the Pymmes Brook there were three bridges in Oak Hill Park over it and I was going to follow Bob's instructions and see if I could either get him a troll bodyguard or, failing that, some proof of my dwindling sanity. If I got him some protection maybe I could convince him to leave me in peace.

Oak Hill was a beautiful park, full of a variety of trees which meant the park was a wash of colours at all times of year. It got its name from the fact it had once been covered with oak trees, there were still some left although their ancestors had long since been felled to build the internal structure of Saint Albans Abbey.

Grey squirrels were plentiful in the park, as were enormous black ravens, footballers, joggers and people with children. It was a popular place and I was not sure how I was going to manage to stand on a bridge and ask for a troll without someone hearing me and thinking I came from the 'extra care living' home opposite.

The park was such a size it took me some time to reach the first bridge. I hung about it uncertainly, leaning on the railing pretending I was enjoying the view when in fact I was trying to peer underneath to ascertain whether there was a troll beneath. There was nothing to see other than a brownish trickle of water ebbing over rocks, detritus and weeds.

I waited until a mother with a pushchair and a fox terrier and its human passed before leaning as far over the railing as I could and whispering:

"Hello, is there a troll there?"

I straightened quickly as a red setter came bounding by and smiled artificially as his balding, middle aged owner followed. As he disappeared round the corner I leant over again and said a little louder:

"Hello! Is there a troll there?"

"Alright, alright - heard you the first time." came a deep rasping voice from under the bridge.

Underneath me appeared the top of a violet coloured head covered with sparse dark hair. As he looked up at me I saw perhaps the ugliest thing I had ever seen.

"What you looking at?" he asked as I took in his full form, "never seen a troll before?"

"Er... no actually."

He must have been about five foot tall, he had obviously crouched over to fit under the bridge and was uncurling himself as he came out to meet me. His arms were far too long for his body and he had enormous, knobbly elbows. In one over-large hand he held a dirty club. His knees were bowed as if he had a very bad case of rickets - or had lived under a small bridge for a long period of time, I guess. It was his face that unsettled me - it was unlike anything I had ever seen before. His dark eyes were bulbous and too close together, over them was a dark unibrow that could have done with some serious tweezer attention. His nose sprouted out from his face, twisting at the end as if he'd broken it a few times. He had rubbery lips and a seriously nasty overbite. Imagine this in your head and then add dark pustules to decorate his key features. That was the troll before me.

"What do you want then?" he rasped, cutting straight to the chase.

"I was wondering whether you would consider being a bodyguard for a... man being pursued by fairies?"

The bulging eyes stared at me without blinking. "Nah," he said, "I've got something on."

He gave a sniff then he swung the club over his shoulder and began to bend his knees to fit back under the bridge.

"Won't you reconsider?" I asked.

He looked up at me. "Trevor does shit like that, tell him Graham sent you."

Then he disappeared back under the bridge.

"Where do I find Trevor?" I asked a little too loudly and a jogger in phosphorescent yellow gave me a very strange look. I smiled, again a little too oddly. "Where is that dog?" I added pathetically to cover my embarrassment, "Oh Trevor!" A squirrel nibbling at an acorn paused long enough to give me a funny look and then continued gnawing.

As Graham the troll didn't seem to want to come and help me I decided the only logical thing to do was to try the next bridge and ask for Trevor there.

I walked over Graham's bridge (would I ever think of the park in the same way again?) and around the corner to the other side of the park. The next bridge was at the far end of the path by the pavilion where the parkrunners assemble on a Saturday morning for their 5k run. If that bridge failed I could always try the next one a little further on. Then I was out of bridges. As I walked I considered the fact that I had been to this park many times over the last few years and had never seen a troll. Until the early hours of this morning I had never met a goat man or a troll. Now I had seen both - or I had to acknowledge there was the another possibility - that I had finally lost my sanity and the men in white coats would soon be after me with a strait jacket and some heavy sedatives. I was not sure which option was the more logical. Which would Sherlock Holmes believe?

The second bridge was not so secluded as Graham's, this meant at least I could see people coming but it also meant whatever I did on that bridge was visible from a distance. I leant on the rail as I had at the previous bridge and waited until the coast was clear.

"Trevor!" I called, "Trevor the troll - are you there?"

"Who's asking?" came another deep, raspy voice.

"Leo Fey."

"What you selling?"

"Nothing, I'm hiring."

I waited - curiosity got the better of him and he crept out from under the bridge. The troll was olive green and stood all of two foot high. His features were very similar to Graham's, but in miniature and green not violet.

"Hey," I said, "I thought all you trolls were meant to be big, bad assed dudes?"

A deep, throaty rasp erupted from him as he pummelled a child sized cricket bat into his palm with a thud. "You wanna piece of me?" His choice of words and accent made me think he'd watched far too many gangster movies, although I doubted any cable company served under-the-bridge residences. I could be wrong.

"Graham sent me. He said you might do a job for me."

"Huh," he said with distaste, screwing up his face, "why would I do anything that schmuck says?"

I noticed a certain animosity and decided to play on it. "Well, he said you probably weren't interested. I think his actual words were 'Trevor's not up to the job'."

"He said that, eh?"

"Well, he said a real troll should do the job but they were all busy."

"I'm a real troll - I'll show you I'm a real troll - you wan' someone bashing? I can bash 'em. Tell me who, tell me who." he swung his cricket bat through the air as if hitting an imaginary foe. An imaginary foe who happened to be about two foot tall, either that or he was aiming for the knees.

"My client needs protection from the fairies."

"Those hoodlums, eh? I'd like ta bash a few fairy heads in, I would." he tilted his head and looked up at me, "You got a bridge I can stay under?"

I nodded, "I also have some nice food for you - if you take the job. Here, call this a sweetener."

I took a mango out of the plastic bag and tossed it at him. He caught it mid-air and looked at it strangely.

"What's this?"

"Food."

He took a bite, through the skin, his teeth were long and yellow. Mango juice ran down his chin and suddenly he mellowed. His bulbous eyes almost glowed with delight. "What is this nectar?"

"Mango. I've got plenty of mangoes for the troll who helps my client."

"Where's this bridge?"

I pointed down the stream. "Head that way until you go under the road. Wait for me in the stream by the gun shop."

He paddled off down the stream, splashing like a child wearing wellington boots, chomping on his mango as he went. Success - I had found my troll!

Trevor was waiting for me where the stream went under the road, leaning on his cricket bat as he stood in the middle of the watercourse.

"Where's this bridge then? I hope you're not classing this - this is an underpass, a troll does not live in an underpass, it's not traditional."

"Other end," I said and gestured to where the Pymmes Brook travelled from under my flat building.

He grunted, "That's a culvert."

"Will it do?"

He shrugged and sucked his breath over his teeth like a dodgy builder inspecting a job. "For a bit, as long as there are more of those mangoes coming."

"Plenty of mangoes - and strawberries too."

"Straw berries, eh?"

He tossed the cricket bat from one hand to the other. "Okay - you're on - shake." He climbed like a monkey up from the stream and leapt over the railings. Then all two foot of him stood in front of me, one over-long arm stretched out. He really meant to shake my hand. I could not help but see the coarse black hair and warty pustules. He also looked as if he needed a good bath. Scrap that - he _smelt_ like he needed a good bath.

Grimacing rather than smiling I reached down to take his hand. It was like shaking hands with a rubber plant covered in slime and not the fun-you've-been-slimed-on-TV-slime, proper slime that has come from decades of build up around sewers and water. I didn't think I would ever use my right hand again, I certainly wouldn't be eating with it again for a while.

I told Trevor all about Bob and his predicament and gave him the number of my flat as well as a detailed description of how to press the door buzzer and enter, should he need to. I then felt free to abandon Bob for a while - I had a Hollywood star to hang out with.

Before I changed to head into town I briefed Bob on the house rules - the main one being "you do not sleep on my bed, you do not enter my bedroom". Until I found somewhere safe for him to stay he would have to make do with the sofa. As far as I was concerned, the sooner he was on his way the better, fairies or no fairies.

Bob was delighted to hear there was now a troll patrolling the perimeter, I didn't tell him the troll was two foot tall and now possibly had a mango addiction. I let Bob know where the troll was staying - should he need him.

"You're leaving?" Bob asked, his voice aquiver.

"I'm going out."

"But you can't leave me!" His eyes grew wide with fear.

"Look... Bob, I have a life and a very busy social schedule and professional commitments. At the moment my work for you is pro bono, I'll do what I can to find you somewhere else to stay and then you and the troll can go off and leave me with what remains of my sanity."

"I thought you were going to help me!"

"I am helping you Bob, but I'm an investigator - I'm not running a protection racket here."

"You don't want me here."

"Of course I don't, this is my home and as you can see it is a very small."

His bottom lip dropped and quivered. I tossed the bag of salt at him and left to get changed, I really didn't want to get involved in this madness.

Even if Jez didn't love me he had been a good friend and I told myself it would be good to see him again. So what if he didn't love me?

From my part of London there are many ways to get into the centre, but since I was heading for the National Theatre on the south bank I decided to get the Northern line down to Waterloo. I should have gone a quicker way - forty minutes on a tube train gives you _way_ too much time to think. By the time I got to Waterloo I was a shivering lump of jelly, my legs wobbled as I walked along the Thames to try and calm down before meeting Jez. It was a warm day although there was a fog making the river look even murkier than usual. The London Eye and the Palace of Westminster rose magnificently out of the murk as if trying to rise above London pollution.

The day's adventures had taken a surprising amount of time and it was four in the afternoon. I was tired and also starving. Emotional, slightly frazzled from general weirdness and starving was not the ideal condition in which to meet your ex boyfriend and the love of your life. Maybe there was no ideal way in which to meet the ex-boyfriend-love-of-your-life?

I didn't get as far as the National stage door, I was so absorbed in my thoughts on the way there that I walked straight past Jez who was walking with an attractive woman. I got about five metres past him and stopped. My brain was only then processing the information sent by the eyes. I turned around and stared at Jez like a stupid, besotted fan. He had seen me and looked bemused by the fact I had waltzed straight past him. He smiled at me (I melted) and then he gave the woman a kiss on the cheek. I watched carefully to try and gauge the level of intimacy offered.

"See you later," he said to her and then walked towards me. He was in a long, dark coat and had a black flat cap on his head. His normally smooth face was covered by a short beard. He surprised me by putting his arms around me and as he went to kiss my cheek I somehow moved and our lips met. Talk about electricity. Talk about awkward.

Chapter 4: Paranormal Investigations

Jez had lovely soft, plump lips and it was a shame to part from them. My whole body was screaming at me to not let him go. Parts of my body very much wanted him to continue, but unfortunately the kiss was as brief as it was accidental.

"Hello you," he said, as if it hadn't been over two and a half long years since we had last seen each other.

"Do I get to ask you for your autograph?" I responded wittily.

He laughed, "If you ever asked me for an autograph I'd be worried. Shall we eat? I've just finished rehearsing a scene full of food and I couldn't eat any - I'm bloody starving!"

"I just so happen to be rather famished myself."

I had forgotten just how at ease Jez put me when I was in his company. Our walk to the stretch of south bank eateries was not over filled with conversation, but it was not filled with awkward silence either. I'd also forgotten how self-depreciating he could be and how funny.

"Trying to prove yourself?" I asked, gesturing to the National Theatre.

"Oh yeah," he said, "it's amazing how much more seriously people take you when you do a bit of theatre. Do you remember a couple of years ago when all the film companies were going bust because of the credit crunch and the West End was full of American film stars? They got so much kudos for doing that."

"You after kudos then?" I asked as he held the door open to one of the bankside eateries to allow me to enter first.

"You know me Leo - always after a bit of kudos. Even if the critics hate me I'll have kudos - and all for Equity minimum."

Two years ago both of us would've killed to work at Equity minimum rates, hell - I still would. Two years ago our lives had been running along the same routes, now he was Mr Hollywood and I was Mrs Weirdo. It makes you feel unified against the world when you were as poor as we were, we had only moved in with each other because it had been cheaper, or at least that's what I told myself. We had been poor together, compared notes about rude directors with each other and consoled ourselves with thoughts of better days. Now - he was wearing clothes worth more than my annual pittance of a wage.

Although it was officially an autumn day and a little cold it was mild enough to sit outside so we did so. Jez kept the collar of his coat up and the peak of his hat down which I thought, at the time, was because he was cold - later I realised it was to avoid being noticed. It was hard for me to remember that someone I knew had a face so recognisable he needed to actively avoid notice. I suppose I still saw that Jez - the one on the side of buses - as a separate person from the one I had cuddled up with under the duvet to keep warm in winter in a cramped Camden bedsit.

As we ate our conversation consisted mainly of old friends and shared memories of times gone past. It was surprisingly easy for me not to be a gibbering wreck and I must have given a passable performance as a sane human being. My outward behaviour may have appeared quite normal, but my eyes and mind were taking in every gorgeous detail: the way his eyes had that sexy crinkle at the corners, the way his hands gripped his tea cup... Although it was chilly my cheeks were red with the memories of what those hands could do to a girl. I took a deep breath to steady myself.

After we had exhausted conversation about the past we had to turn to the present.

"You've done really well Jez."

He shrugged. "It's mainly luck, being in the right place at the right time. You know how I only got that first job in Los Angeles because someone dropped out at the last minute."

I certainly did. Jez had done a small part in a film made at Elstree (also in north London and not far from Barnet). The director had been an old friend of his and the budget minimal - favours were called in left right and centre to get it off the ground in the first place. When it was released it did surprisingly well for a low budget British film and gained something of a cult following. As a result, all of the actors (whether they deserved it or not) became hot property. As Jez said - luck. If he hadn't done that favour for a friend he might still be keeping my bed warm in Camden.

The night he came home to tell me about the job offer in the States is one of those etched in finite detail on my memory - one of those moments of deep despair that you revisit when stricken with fever or lying awake in the middle of the night.

He couldn't sit down and couldn't speak. I could see there was something on his mind as he paced around our bedsit in Camden. It was like part of him was unbelievably excited about something and another part was immensely sad. I let him pace around and busy himself first with the washing up and then the hoovering. I had not imagined for one second how enormous his revelation was going to be.

Finally he sat down, turned off the TV and told me he had been offered the biggest opportunity of his life and he had to leave the next day if he was going to take it. He had to phone them by 6pm - this was twenty minutes away at the time. I don't remember the words he used - he didn't elaborate in great detail for the matter was quite a simple one - go or stay.

I said: "Do you need me to drop you at the airport?" and that was the matter somehow decided. It's amazing how practical you can be when your heart has just been pulled out of your chest and someone is using it as a tennis ball in a very vigorous and fast paced match.

In speaking those words I had ended our relationship, I had made it okay for him to leave with a clear conscience. As he packed it was like he was already gone, we barely spoke and we didn't say good bye. I went to bed early and left him arranging what to take and what to get his brother to come and collect for him later. When he did come to bed I lay there like a statue, pretending to be asleep. And in the morning I had dropped him at the airport and walked out of his life. I can't stand protracted and dramatic farewells so I just walked away.

Now, two and a half years later, Jez laid a hand on mine. "And you Leo, how are you?"

He said it as if he might have some vague idea of the six months of hell I went through without him - the six months that reduced me to such a shadow of a human being my friends no longer recognised me. The only job I got in that time was background work in a Holocaust TV programme. Then GA Mildred had set me on a new path.

Underneath his, my hand began to sweat in that way that women never want men to know is possible in our sex and as much as I loved the feel of his skin and the fact he was touching me, part of me wanted to wrench it out and stop the complexities of feeling that were overwhelming me.

"You know what Jez, I'm really good. My Great Aunt Mildred finally suckered me into working for her and now I'm managing partner. I get to set my own hours and do my own thing."

"That's good."

"Not the path I had imagined - true, but perhaps I was just too... intense to make it as an actor. I used to get too much into character. It's a relief to be myself for a change."

Dear god, I think the man bought it. I hated PI, I hated my life, I was sick with jealousy towards every single actress out there (except for Gemma Arterton who I thought worthy of a girl crush). I told you I was good.

"I'm relieved," he said, "I worried when I couldn't get hold of you."

I had ignored all his messages from Los Angeles. "You were busy, you didn't have time to worry about me!"

"And then you wouldn't return my calls."

"I was busy." Busy watching Jeremy Kyle and feeling sorry for myself.

"Well, anyway - I'm back now and it looks like the third part of the trilogy will be filmed in Europe so I can base myself here for the most part."

I was unsure what to say to this - did he mean he was back and we could hang out as friends or he was back and he wanted to resume where we had left, but without the freezing-cold-because-we-can't-afford-heating bit?

I managed to reclaim my hand under the pretence of organising the rubbish into one easy to dispose pile. All other conversation between us was suspended by the arrival of two teenage girls, the bolder of the two was nudging her friend with an elbow.

"Told you it was 'im," she said in a rough London accent.

A magical change almost came over Jez - a fan had spotted him and now he needed to go into business mode. He smiled at the girls and this gave them enough confidence to approach. Their entire body of energy was directed straight at him - me they ignored.

"It is you, innit?" the bolder one said, "Jeremy whassisname?"

Jez smiled patiently. "Busted."

"Can I 'ave an autograff?" She supplied a paper napkin, luckily Jez had his own pen. I'm not sure she was the type of girl to own one.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

She said something like 'Shannicka' so Jez asked her to spell it.

"S H thingy A N I Q U A."

The 'thingy', when she drew it to explain, turned out to be an apostrophe.

Patiently Jez signed her napkin and then, when a camera phone was thrust at me without a word, he posed for a photo with the two of them (I later saw it in HEAT magazine, but funnily enough I didn't get a credit as photographer). When Sh'aniqua asked for a kiss I decided it was time to intervene.

"Sorry girls," I said trying to sound business like, "Mr Flynt has a strict no under eighteens kissing rule."

The pair gave me what my teenage self would have described as dirty looks and scampered off giggling. Sh'aniqua was on her phone straight away loudly asking her mum to guess who she'd just met. Her mum, from what I overheard of the loud one sided conversation, didn't guess correctly.

"So I guess you're pretty busy." Jez said, trying to ignore the loud teenager.

"You couldn't imagine!" I said as I tucked a wrapper into a cup.

"I hope you're not too busy to come to my first night, I'd like you there - as my guest."

My tummy did a flip, honestly - it did. A genuine smile lit up my face until a man passed my eye line as he entered the eatery. Then I frowned.

"You can make it Leo?"

"Wouldn't miss it!"

"Good, they can be quite posh affairs, all the angels come and the critics. I'd appreciate a friendly face out there."

For those of you not wholly consumed by the business that is show, angels are financial backers. They put their money into producing theatre and got a set of tickets to first night out of it. Very rarely they got some money back too.

"Text me all the details and I'll add you to my diary." I said with a smile.

"Yes Mum!" Sh'aniqua said, "He's here now! Tell Aunty Katie and the girls to come down!"

It was time to leave so we both rose. He made to go one way, I made to go the other.

"I'm going the other way Jez, so I'll say goodbye."

He slipped an arm around me. Damn feminism to hell, that made me feel secure. This time when he kissed me I managed not to fidget and he did get my cheek although that produced no less amount of electricity pounding through my body. I watched as his dark figure walked away, then - when he was out of sight - I headed back into the eatery.

Inside I sat down at a table. The man already sitting there looked up.

"Hello Dad," I said.

Dad looked up. He didn't look any different although it had to be at least a year since I saw him last. He smiled at me, but I detected some concern trying to hide behind it.

"Good afternoon Leo," he said.

With Dad there was never any point of berating him for missed birthdays or Christmases - he always gave off this air that suggested there was a good reason for his not being there at the key moments of your life. Already he was looking at his watch nervously.

Dad didn't like time wasters so I wasted no time.

"Dad - why did you send me Bob?"

"Bob?"

"You know - the small guy with the goatee beard and the... oh, I don't know - _goaty_ hooves?"

"Ah, he has a name now does he?"

"Why did you send him to me?"

"It's your job."

"My job is to investigate for clients who _pay_ me to do so. Clients who are a little more..." I lowered my voice to a whisper as one of the uniformed employees walked past, "human!"

"Well you can't talk."

"Dad you sent me a man who looks like a goat who made me get him a troll for protection!"

"Ah," Dad smiled, "he got a troll then. I told him a troll would be his best bet, I'm glad he listened."

"You know about trolls?"

"Of course I do. You didn't?"

"Hmm, well - that kind of stuff is not supposed to exist!"

"But sweetie, you're almost twenty five and you run a business called _Paranormal_ Investigations. What did you think the paranormal bit stood for?"

"Great Aunt Mildred's insanity? Anyway - why does it matter that I'm almost twenty-five?"

"Well it's by that age that it's clear whether you have the skill or not."

"What skill?"

"Seeing. If you haven't started seeing and believing by that age you never will. Your mother started seeing properly at twenty-two and that was quite late."

" _Seeing_?" My head spun, "You've lost me Dad."

"You are a Seer, from a long line of Seers."

"A _Seer_?"

"It's exactly as it sounds. I'm sorry to be blunt Leo, but I don't have time to talk in anything other than direct terms. You see things other people don't, you can see beyond the projections of the supernatural - see things that other people never know are there."

"Oh right - okay, sure. And if this is true - why on earth didn't you tell me any of this before?" It was lucky there was nothing weighty to hand as I would gladly have pummelled his head in at that instant.

"It sometimes skips a generation. If someone without the gift was told about the supernatural world they might very well lose their sanity. I was more concerned that you were one of those who had the gift but was also too grounded in logic to accept it. You are much more... modern than any of the Seers who have come before you. I feared you would be one of those who would never acknowledge what was in front of your eyes. I've been trying to help you see the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like that cat I made you look after when you were twelve - you called it Tiddles."

Ah yes, another of Dad's charity projects. Tiddles had been a brown tom cat as vicious as hell. I had looked after it for two weeks before it did a bunk over a neighbour's fence and was never seen again.

"Sweetie, it wasn't a cat - it was a baby griffin."

I narrowed my eyes. A baby griffin?

He continued: "I had to provoke you into seeing and Bob, as he is now known, really does need your help. The fairies are a tough bunch and when they want something done it gets done."

"But Dad, I already have a job - at PI."

"This is the job of PI," he said, "your job is to facilitate the smooth existence of two worlds side by side just as your mother and great aunt did before you. PI is your job, seeing is your job. That's why PI exists. As a cover for the Seer. You have to help Bob - it is your duty."

Arse.

Chapter 5: Like Fairies in a Sweetshop

Arse and bollocks. What was I supposed to do? I had little comprehension of what my father was telling me - okay, even if I could see things - why did that put me under any obligation to help people? My head was filling with questions that my mouth did not have time to process before my father's watch beeped and he stood up to leave.

"Hold on..." I said, "you can't just say these things and leave!"

He looked at his watch. "Sorry Leo, but I have somewhere else I need to be. You'll understand one day."

"What - why my own father swans in and out of my life at will? Tells me I have to help weirdos because it's my duty and then leaves before actually telling me anything? Some chance."

He looked at his watch again and shrugged his shoulders. "See you soon Leo."

"Huh!" I replied and slumped into my chair as he moved rapidly out of the restaurant. Bugger him, I'd do what I liked. I didn't have a duty to anyone but myself - never had. If he wanted a daughter who was bound by duty he ought to have raised one.

I was crossing my flat building's car park when I thought I had better check in on Trevor and see if there had been any trouble. I leant over the side, trying to touch as little of the sap-rotten, peeling-red-paint railings as I could. I peered into what Trevor had disdainfully called a 'culvert'.

"Trevor," I called, "it's Leo - has there been any bother?"

I expected his rasping voice to respond or his knobbly green figure to appear. Nothing. The young black cat that lived in the flats behind the Chinese take-away came to investigate and gave a sniff as if she could sense something new and unusual. Then she looked up at me.

"It's a troll," I told her, "and hopefully he won't be here long."

Satisfied she turned on her heel and sashayed off through the car park.

"Trevor!" I called louder. Still no response. Huh, trolls - eh?

Perhaps I should have been alarmed that Bob's body guard was not at his post, but I had not met a fairy at that point and could little imagine something I had always seen as a fluffy and benign presence, like Tinkerbell, being a thing capable of murder - whatever Bob had told me. Until I saw one I was not convinced by his fears or even that they did exist.

Innocently I tripped up the stairs and turned the key in the lock. Immediately I heard unfamiliar sounds and was on high alert. I had no weapons to hand so I slipped my key between my knuckles, ready to poke anyone should the need arise. Cautiously I slipped down the small hallway and burst through the living room slash kitchen door. A riot of noise greeted me - I had not known my TV had such a loud setting.

" _I think you could make a handsome profit with this ewer_ ," came a voice from the TV, " _It could easily sell at auction for more than..."_

In surprise at the sight that greeted my eyes I dropped my keys and stared open mouthed for a second before logical thought came back to me.

Sitting side by side on the sofa nearest the window were Bob and Trevor. This would sound fairly normal to most people but when you remember Bob was at least half goat and Trevor was a short, ugly troll it painted a very different picture. It was a twisted sitcom that not even Channel 4 would pay to produce.

Bob had his feet up on a box of my books and Trevor was desperately trying to copy but his legs were too short so instead he had seated himself on a cushion and was resting one leg on the arm of the sofa and the other one was dangling over the edge of the seat. Between them was a bowl of popcorn and almost as much as was in the bowl had scattered over the sofa and floor.

Trevor made a growling sound and tossed a piece of popcorn at the TV. This was evidently not a new idea as there was a sprinkling of popcorn around the base of the TV as well. The popcorn hit Tim Wonnacott on the nose, right between the silly glasses on a chain. They were watching Bargain Hunt. Of course they were watching Bargain Hunt, what else would two impossible beings choose to watch?

"That'll never make a profit dumb ass!" Trevor rasped at the presenter who was holding a glass and silver ewer, "go for the coffee pot!"

Bob threw a hand full of popcorn in his mouth and then chose to speak. Particles of half masticated pop corn danced out of his mouth as he enunciated. "He should get the sparkly thing."

They hadn't noticed me so I had a chance to survey my previously fairly clean and tidy room. One day had wreaked havoc on my personal space. At the kitchen end used crockery and pots were piled over all the surfaces and the sink, there was also a strange collection of smells wafting towards me and I tried not to think about what these could be. It seemed Bob had tried washing socks, although they couldn't be his as he didn't wear any, and said socks were drying at various inappropriate places in my flat - along the edge of my bookshelves, the kitchen counter and one even lay over the lamp. Mud and straw had been trodden into my carpet. It looked like a barnyard and nothing like the lovely little flat it had been the day before. I could have cried, instead I stomped into the room, gathered a handful of damp and smelly socks and threw them at Bob's face. Even he didn't like that. Then I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. They both had the gall to groan before they registered the fury on my face.

"Look at this mess!" I shouted at them, "it's disgusting!"

They were even worse than the Northern Irish boys I had shared a flat with in my first year at drama school and that really was saying something.

Bob blinked and looked around hopelessly. Trevor leapt off the sofa and tried to jump up and wrest the remote from me, I held my hand higher and he jumped like a toad to try and grasp it. Ha ha short ass.

"Why don't you get a cleaner?" Bob asked innocently.

My response was part growl, part scream. "I can't afford a cleaner! And if you hadn't noticed - before you arrived I didn't need one!"

He shrugged. "Get Brownies."

"The UK has very strict child labour laws."

"Not children," he blinked, "Brownies, helpful sprites who enjoy cleaning. They like to keep things clean and tidy."

"I wish you were part Brownie!" I said, "I am going out for a very long walk and when I get back this place had better be tidy!"

I slipped the remote control in my pocket and then pulled the TV's plug socket out of the wall, I prised the back off and removed the fuse. Let them figure that one out.

Although it was late I went to the park to clear my head, steering clear of any bridges because I really had had enough of trolls. It was dark and cold and pretty miserable. At least it made me want to return to the warmth of my flat even if it did now smell and look like a home for cattle.

I didn't see anything unusual in the park, so much for being a 'Seer', and when I thought about it I hadn't ever seen anything odd before Bob came along. I was still unconvinced by Tiddles and perhaps my dad had that one wrong.

What did it mean to be a Seer anyway? I suppose the one person I could have asked was GA Mildred, but I was too mad at her for not telling me any of this and anyway - she was crazy. If being a Seer meant being like her, screw it - I could find something else to do. No one could make me be something I didn't want to be. I could always go back to acting, Jez would help me... Jez...

I sighed. He wouldn't want anything to do with me if this stupid story got out. I needed Bob out of my life and quick. I sighed, the only way to get Bob out of my life was to sort out his problem and send him on his way. Okay, I told myself, I'll sort out Bob - and then that's it, PI is over for me and so is all this seer rubbish. I was my own person and no one told me what to do, least of all an absent parent.

Back in my flat they had made an effort. Bob was in my cat apron and had tied a hand towel around Trevor. The kitchen was full of soap suds and the socks were now in a mouldering pile on the sofa. That was about the extent of the tidying, although it clearly wasn't for want of effort. They both looked harangued, although only Bob looked apologetic.

Bob looked at me with sorrowful eyes. "I cooked you supper," he said and I felt like a complete shit as all this kitchen mess had been for my benefit.

"Lovely," I said, using all my acting skills, "yum yum!"

Something tugged at me and I looked down. Trevor was doing his best Oliver Twist impression, asking for more.

"Hey lady, can I have the magic box? I need to know what happened, whether the ewer or the coffee pot went for more."

"No," I said, "I happen to have a good relationship with my neighbours and one: I don't want to piss them off with loud noises and two: I don't want them coming round here and seeing... seeing I am... subletting."

Trevor crossed his over-long arms and pouted which had the effect of making his overbite look even more pronounced. Sulking didn't look good on a troll. Did any expression look good on a troll?

"Is it supper time?" Bob asked.

"Later," I said, "Now sit down - both of you."

Obediently Bob trotted to his sofa and sat down. Trevor remained where he was, arms crossed, face scowling. I think he may have been muttering under his breath as well, something that sounded a little like 'stoopid dame'. Fine, I thought - of that's the way you want to play it. I turned my back on him. Whistle for those mangoes buddy, whistle.

"I am very, very tired," I told Bob, "my head is spinning with all this new information. I am going to bed and I am going to sleep very well for a very long time and when I get up I am going to find a way of getting you and your little green muscle man out of my life. Until then I suggest warty over there returns to his culvert and you settle down quietly on the sofa. If I hear any noise above the level of a whisper in the night I will have no problem in tossing you out into the street and the fairies can do what they wish to you."

As Bob gave a shudder I left the room.

"Stoopid dame," muttered Trevor under his breath.

Over the next couple of days I saw nothing of Trevor, which was something of a relief as he wasn't the most aesthetically pleasing being in my life. Every morning I left Bob at the flat and drove to the PI office as normal. If anything I spent longer than usual at the PI offices, returning home only to sleep. I kept Rose in biscuits and shuffled papers until my heart was content. No more jobs came in and I hadn't made any progress with Miss X's case. To be honest, I had kind of lost the will with a troll and a goat man in my life. We seemed to have no trouble from any 'fairies' although I couldn't day for sure if this was due to the presence of a troll, Bob's whereabouts being unknown or that they just simply didn't exist.

On the third day I got a new case. Rose took the call and arranged the meeting. As I always did I took the bus up to High Barnet and waited for my new client in Starbucks. It was, as usual for mid morning on a weekday, full of mothers and screaming toddlers. I sat in my accustomed seat, waiting and reading a book to while away the time. It was an absorbing book and the time passed rapidly without my realising.

One second I was reading a page of my novel and then I caught something in the corner of my eye. I looked up and without any noise or disturbance a figure had seated themselves in the chair opposite me. It was a young girl - early twenties maybe - with pale blonde hair and an expressionless face as if someone had gone crazy over her skin with botox needle. She was exceptionally beautiful, the kind of beauty that can only be caught by the naked eye and does not transfer onto canvas or film. She smiled. It was not a smile that put me at ease. As her lips moved I could sight of the slightest edge of her teeth, they looked like they had been sharpened into razor sharp points. Her pink tongue brushed over them as if she had been aware of my attention.

"Well," she said in a soft, tone-less voice, "you _are_ interesting, aren't you?"

A sense of unease came over me, like someone had dripped liquid nitrogen down my spine. I couldn't move, an irrational sense of panic was beginning to overwhelm me. I didn't know who she was but I knew I didn't like her and she didn't like me.

She licked her lips, something sparkled. Her eyes worked over me, up and down.

"I had no idea the new Seer was so interesting."

I wanted to speak but my mouth would not open and no words would come.

"We haven't seen one like you for many generations, if ever. There is something unusual about you, I wish I could put my finger on it. I wonder if you know how special you are?"

She leant close and sniffed me, it was as if the smell of me was intoxicating. She lingered there for a moment before sitting back in her chair.

"Fascinating!"

I opened my mouth, nothing came out.

"They'll be all over you like a sweetshop. And you have no idea."

She clicked her fingers and something in me relaxed. Her tone of voice changed and became more business like.

"I am Orla of the Fae. You are Morgan Leonora Elizabeth Fey," she said, "Seer of the two worlds and you have something belonging to me. Answer."

Bugger you, I thought. I couldn't answer when I wanted to so I'll be damned if I will now! I looked down at my tea and stirred with the wooden stick. Then I looked up at her and smiled.

She stuck out her lips slightly and her eyes narrowed. "You would be wise not to play games with me."

"Shame," I said lightly, "I could just do with around of Scrabble."

Her smile became a sneer. "I want the satyr child."

"The what? You must excuse me, this stuff is all rather new to me. What is a satyr child?"

"I want the goat man. He belongs to us."

"What will you do with him if I give him to you?"

"Eat him." she said without relish.

"Right... okay \- you want to _eat_ him?"

"We gave our word he would be eliminated, to be eaten is his punishment for running. We don't break our word. The word of the Fae is final."

I had a very vivid picture of Bob's bemused face being held between her teeth. "The problem is, I think Bob is kind of used to being alive and rather likes it."

Her eyes grew wide, "You gave the slave a name?"

"I can't let you kill him."

She leant in and spoke on a whisper. "You really think you can stop us?"

I looked up at her and shrugged. "I'll give it a damn good go."

If I had known how violent and unstable fairies were, I might have reconsidered my words. As it was they were spoken and it was too late.

Chapter 6: First Night

A chill descended on me. Bob was right - fairies were mean, I could feel it in my bones.

"Little child," she said coldly, "how little you know. This was a courtesy, a polite request out of respect for your position. The only thing that changes with your rejection is that now you will die too and that will be an end to the Seers."

She seemed to rise from the chair with no effort. She pursed her lips at me, flicked her hair and disappeared. Yes, disappeared. I looked around to see whether anyone else in Starbucks had noticed. Only a baby in a pushchair was staring at the spot where she had been, everyone else was absorbed in their own business and ignorant of the fact a beautiful fairy had just evaporated into the ether.

I went to drink the rest of my tea but when it hit my lips I realised it had turned into lumps of crystallised ice. I shivered.

As I left Starbucks I felt an unease and kept looking over my shoulder and checking my reflection in shop windows. It felt like someone was following me, however my eyes told me nothing was there. Could they follow me home to Bob? Would I be leading him into danger if I went home?

I stopped outside the Victoria Bakery. My heart was pounding and a sheen of sweat was over my face. Pressed against the shop window displaying Belgian buns and iced fairy cakes I thought carefully about what I should do next. I was unwilling to go home in case I led them directly there. I fumbled in my pocket for my phone, my sweating hand slipped over the buttons as I tried to dial my home number. I had to correct it several times before I tapped in the correct number and managed to dial. It rang seven times before it was answered. I counted every one. If anything happened to Bob it would be my fault, okay he was kinda weird - but he was my responsibility. And it would make one hell of a mess in my flat.

"Hello," said a nervous voice, "she doesn't like me answering her phone."

"No she doesn't. It's me Bob - this fairy just found me in Starbucks."

There was a pause. "A fairy? Which one?"

"Orla?"

"Oh, that's bad \- that's really bad!"

I thought he was going to cry.

"She wants to eat me, doesn't she? Orla always eats people who annoy her, it's her way."

Hmm, what could I say? She _did_ want to eat him. "Well, let's just say she wasn't overly happy with you. Is Trevor there?"

There was silence. I presumed this was Bob either nodding or shaking his head.

"Bob, I can't see you - this is a phone remember."

"Oh, yes. He's watching Homes Under the Hammer."

"How? I took the fuse out of the plug."

Silence again. A shrug?

"Never mind. Look Bob, I won't come home straight away - I've got this thing tonight anyway, I'll just go straight into town. When I feel like I'm not being watched I'll come home."

"I was going to cook food," he said forlornly, "I found a book of culinary instructions and everything."

"Another time Bob, okay? I'm sure Trevor will eat it."

"Trevor says my cooking tastes like refuse."

"Is that a good thing coming from a troll? I mean, maybe he _likes_ refuse?"

Bob sniffed, "Well - he didn't _say_ it in a good way."

"Look Bob, I really have to go - I need to get a few things if I'm going to stay out til tonight. Lock the door and be safe, okay?"

Silence - a nod.

"How do I lock the door?"

"Never mind, just don't open it."

I finished the call, set it to ring loudly - in case Bob should need me - and glanced around. I felt a little easier now I had made the decision not to go home. Then a different unease settled on my stomach - tonight was Jez's press night and that was the 'thing' I had on. Part of me had wondered whether to go or not, but now that decision had been made for me. And I had nothing to wear! Somehow the fear of seeing an ex and not looking completely hot was way more scary than being eaten by a fairy. What can I say? I'm a girl. A girl in love.

I checked my purse - yes, I did still have that ancient credit card hidden away in there under my organ donor card - I would shop and look gorgeous tonight. Jez would wonder what he was missing.

On my way to Monsoon, the shop-I-could-never-afford-except-when-using-my-forbidden-credit-card, I caught a blur of light in my peripheral vision as I walked past Mr Simms' Olde Sweet Shop. I stopped dead. What had Bob said? Most people only saw them as a blur of light?

I pressed my face against the shop window and looked in. At first I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. There was a shopkeeper serving a woman and her son and two girls browsing the selection of chocolates. I took a deep breath and slowly my vision began to clear and I could see extra images above the clear reality. There appeared to be two blurs of light dancing around the shop. They seemed to be having some effect on the customers as the woman was swatting the air as if a fly was pestering her and one of the girls had to keep picking up a bar of chocolate that kept slipping from her hand to the floor. Very suddenly, like a whoosh of cold air had shaken me up I saw the reason she kept dropping the chocolate. A fat fairy about the size of a large Yorkshire terrier with a mischievous face kept knocking it out of her hand. The other blur of light was another fat fairy that kept plucking at the woman's skin and clothes. Both were chuckling maliciously.

It was a curious sight observing something you had never seen before - creatures you had never seen before in their true form (I doubted very much Orla truly looked as human as she had projected herself in Starbucks). As Bob had described, they had wings shaped like a dragonfly's except they seemed to move almost as quick as a hummingbird's wings and were the length of their bodies. They weren't naked, but I couldn't make out their attire - I was still blind to some aspects of them.

Fascinated, I watched as the shopkeeper weighed out lemon sherbets for the boy on old fashioned scales. The man frowned as the weight seemed to fluctuate randomly - I could see this was because one of the fairies was putting his weight on it and then letting it off. The two fairies seemed to find this hilarious.

All of a sudden one of them noticed me and they both turned to glare at me. They were so angry and so curious they flew right towards me and smacked into the glass like bees. It was my turn to laugh. They looked at me fiercely, one of them was rubbing his head - both were scowling. It was a good old fashioned stand -off, two fairies against a human with only a pane of glass between us. I'm not sure where it would have gone next, but I'm sure it wouldn't have been pretty when my phone beeped and buzzed to tell me a text message had been received. Both of the fairies immediately clutched their ears and flew backwards, retreating to the far corner of the shop. Interesting to know. Bob had said something about fairies being adverse to modern technology, it seemed as if a mobile could be used against them. I'd better keep it charged.

I took this as my opportunity to disappear and dashed off to do my must-look-like-a-fox-tonight shopping.

I managed to waste time trying on a multitude of expensive Monsoon dresses and wandering the shops - which was quite an achievement considering there are so few shops in High Barnet. Then it came to a time when I could dilly dally no longer. I had to leave or be late. I nipped into the ladies' toilet at The Spires, ripped the tags off my new dress (an emerald green satin dress with a wrap waist) and changed. Of course, I hadn't stopped at the dress and had every accessory you could imagine to go with said dress. I had also purchased one of those enormous Mary Poppins style handbags to put everything in. The credit card debt was worth it as long as I looked good to the ex. It was an emergency transaction - like getting home from a foreign country during a coup or emergency knocked-over-pet surgery.

Another long journey on the Northern Line racked up my anxiety. At least, by getting on at the end of the line I had a seat, which I was grateful for as I was battling against commuters from Finchley south bound. The thing about press nights was they were always scheduled earlier than regular shows, this was fine as long as you didn't mind commuters - I did. They drove me mad with their rude-shove-you-out-of-the-way ways. I made sure to fix my elbows in position as I fought for the Waterloo exit. No one would budge to let me through so the elbows got a good work out and a few commuters went home with purple ribs.

I didn't have time to linger as I still had to pick up my ticket so I walked briskly out of the station. Then I retreated back into the station. It was chucking it down. Bloody typical. I didn't have a coat or an umbrella as it had been an unseasonably warm day and I hadn't intended to stay out for so long. The rain was so heavy I could barely see three metres in front of me. I gave it five minutes, during which I kept anxiously glancing at my watch, and then decided I would just have to dash for it or be late.

I got soaked. I don't mean that soaked when you run for a bus or run out to get the washing in from the line - I mean soaked through my brand new dress, which was now several shades darker, and through to my skin. If I went swimming in a very expensive dress I couldn't have been wetter.

I entered the theatre and queued at the box office. I got a few strange glances from the other patrons. Especially when the water on my hair sent rivers down my face and along the length of my nose before dripping off on to the floor. After a few minutes a cleaner appeared and began mopping up behind me as I progressed down the line.

Thankfully there was a ticket with my name on it so I was saved the embarrassment of having come all this way to be forgotten and having to slink away without being seen.

Ticket in hand I heard the five minute bell and scurried towards the auditorium. The ticket, now wet from my hand, came apart in the usher's hand and she sighed as she gestured me in. I looked for my seat. I was in the stalls. The expensive seats. As I progressed through the auditorium I realised I was in the second row. It meant I would have a great view of the play, however this also meant I was going to be very close to Jez. I hoped he and his fellow thespians weren't from the spitting school of enunciation or I was not going to have any chance of drying out.

As I sank deep into my seat I thought my embarrassment was over. Then steam rose in spirals from my warming body. I pretended nothing was wrong and that the people looking at me were merely curious as to where I got my hair styled.

It was easy to spot the critics, they were the ones in the very best seats with the notepads balanced on their knees. Some were frowning already, they didn't like the holy sanctum of theatre being trampled on by those from other media - they classed them as unworthy and unqualified.

The lights went down and my tummy quivered with excitement. A smoke machine cranked up and when the stage lights went on three witches were on stage. Great, I couldn't leave Paranormal Investigations behind for one bloody evening.

It was pretty good, I mean - the Scottish play is pretty fool proof as long as you have actors who actually understand what they're saying which was not always guaranteed, believe me. When you've seen as much of the Scottish play, A Midsummer Night's Dream and Romeo and Juliet as I have you become bit of a connoisseur. I always play 'spot the numptie who hasn't got a clue what the text means'. There were thankfully few in the National production so I didn't have much to complain about other than the fact I was slowly par simmering in my seat.

Jez looked hot, even going psycho (his was a very 'street' interpretation) he looked hot. If I was a man I wouldn't have been able to move from my seat at the interval for fear of an enormous tent pole in my trousers. As it was I dared not move for fear of people seeing my drowned rat impression.

The applause was riotous at the end and understandably so when you considered most of the audience was made up of friends and family. A deliberate action to counteract the negativity of the critics.

I waited for almost everyone to leave and then went and stood under the hand dryer in the ladies, thankfully I managed to find one that wasn't a Dyson. Dyson - a great inventor, but he never thought about women needing to dry off from the rain when he designed his energy efficient hand dryer.

Looking a little bedraggled, still shivering slightly and generally feeling less than gorgeous I trudged around to the stage door where Jez had told me to meet him. This was a bad idea that was now a whole lot worse. The wet look worked on some people, normally hot men with white shirts, not on me in a new satin dress. I did debate just going home, but I knew that would offend Jez. Better he saw me looking like a freak than think I hadn't cared enough to come. It was his first night after all.

The reception area by the stage door was really busy. I gave my name to the stage door keeper and loitered by the door. It was kind of satisfying that when Jez came through he made straight for me and ignored all the other people who wanted his attention and time. It made me feel rather smug.

Did I say he looked gorgeous? His eyes twinkled as he looked at me and parts of me twinkled in response. His eyes looked me up and down and then he burst into laughter.

"Thanks," I said.

"You really shouldn't have made such an effort Leo."

"Arse to you to Hollywood."

He was still laughing as he showed me through the hallowed stage door and into the inner sanctum of the theatre.

"There's a party in the bar," he said as he took my hand, "we don't have to stay long though."

Oh shit - what did that mean? Why did mean always have to talk in twisted tales? How was I meant to interpret and respond to that? Why was he holding my hand?

I would have got lost down all the corridors without him to guide me. He took me up to the backstage bar, a large room heavy wooded in decor. It was full of people, I recognised some of the actors from the play and the techies were distinctive in their blacks.

"Let me get you a drink," Jez said and left me for a moment. I watched as other people's eyes followed him, male as well as female. He picked up a couple of glasses of champagne and was back shortly.

"None of your family here?" I asked, "Your big night and everything?"

"Mum's allergic to Shakespeare and my brother still thinks I'm a twat for having such a namby pamby career."

"Well - he has a point."

"He still thinks it means I'm in the closet."

"He's seen your Liza and Dolly collection."

Jez laughed. How many men would allow an ex to poke fun at their masculinity?

I couldn't have Jez all to myself, he had to meet the angels and so I got pulled around on his arm. It wasn't a bad thing to be pulled around on the arm of a Hollywood movie star - I mean there are plenty of things worse. Like having to live with a goat, for example, and keep a troll in mangoes.

I drank the champagne far too quickly and it hit an empty stomach. This made it much easier to smile at strangers and I even managed to engage in some mild conversation. When people talked about the play I put on my serious look and 'ummed' and 'ahed' with much vigorous nodding. When pressed I suggested it was a 'bold' production which always works in making you sound intelligent and confounding people as to what to say in response. I think I said a lot more, but the booze had really kicked in by then so I have no idea what I said exactly.

The last group of angels we were introduced to consisted of a very tall, handsome man in a suit and open necked shirt, an Asian woman in designer glasses and a short, round, red-faced, bald man. They were the ones who had put in the most money and part of their reward was to schmooze with the star. Oh, and the girl hanging off his arm because she was a bit tipsy and her heels were too high to let him go even for a second even if she wanted to.

They smiled and proffered their hands for shaking. The woman and the fat man weren't interested in me and didn't offer their hands. They then angled their bodies away from me and spoke wholly to Jez. The other man, the one in the open necked shirt was different. He offered me his hand and held it longer than one needed to for a hand shake.

"Ignore them," he said in a pleasing voice, confident we were not being overheard "they are only in this for the opportunity to drop names."

"And you?"

"I like the opportunity to be an angel. I'm not interested in people who earn their livings in this way."

I glanced at Jez, he was enthralling his two angels and had them absorbed in some tale of when his trousers got ripped off during a stunt. I couldn't tell which of them was enjoying picturing Jez naked more, the man or the woman. I had an advantage - I could use memory instead of imagination. There was a smile on my face I admit.

"They'll be a while," the man said to me, "shall we go to the bar?"

I shrugged, "Might as well."

"Rex Windsor," he said as we walked the short distance to the bar.

"Leo Fey," I said, although I got a strange feeling this was not news to him.

"Well Miss Fey, do you come to the theatre regularly?"

He gestured to the barman which had the effect of two glasses of champagne appearing within seconds. I didn't really like champagne but already a bit wasted I quite liked it on this occasion.

"I only come when the tickets are free."

I sat on a bar stool and firmly placed my elbow on the bar for support. Rex stood and appraised me with his eyes. It was a little weird having a stranger looking at you in this way - it was too familiar, like the way a lover looks at you in the early days when there is still the mystery of what is to come.

As he was looking at me I decided I would look at him in great detail as well. He was in his forties with brown hair and traces of grey nudging in at the temples. He was handsome and magnetic. I wondered why the other women at the party didn't seem to notice him, he was dripping charisma which thankfully I was immune to as I already had a rather gorgeous man I was keeping tabs on.

"What do you do then, if this isn't your life?" he asked politely.

"Oh, international playgirl, that's me - one day Monaco, the next Bel Air. And you?"

"I make loans and investments."

"Like in worthy theatrical causes."

He took a small sip of champagne to my glug. "Something like that."

A hand slipped through my arm, Jez smiled at me.

"I'll grab my coat and then we can go."

I smiled and felt rather weak at the knees as he went off for his coat. I nodded to Rex. "Nice to meet you Mr Windsor."

"And you Miss Fey, it's nice to see you so early."

I smiled politely at him and then caught Jez's eye.

"Good night. Mr Windsor."

I noticed he watched me with a bemused look as I left, as if he thought me a real novelty. To be honest in the state I was, compared to the preened beauties of the stage, I probably was a novelty - and not a good one.

Jez took my hand again and led me through the backstage area back to the stage door entrance.

"Let's get out of here," he said, "I've had quite enough of being told how marvellous I am for one evening."

As soon as he opened the stage door the cold hit us. I shivered, patches of my dress were still damp.

"Here," he said and passed me a large, thick jumper, "I left it here in my dressing room last week - I knew it had to be for a reason."

I slipped the jumper on gratefully and felt insulated against the cold and very, very cosy.

"Shall we walk along the river?" he suggested and I nodded, slipping my hand through his arm.

It may have been a Monday night, but the south bank was still heaving with people. We walked down to the Thames and stood looking across the river. Is there anything more beautiful than London by night? There was no need for us to speak, we walked side by side admiring the city we both loved.

We crossed the river at Waterloo Bridge and stood looking over towards Westminster. On our left the London Eye was illuminated a bluey purple and on the right the Palace of Westminster a golden yellow. Party boats were cruising the river.

"Leo..." he said and I turned towards him.

My cheeks were cold and a breeze was numbing them. My eyes quizzed him.

He kissed me.

The world stopped. The water beneath our feet stopped flowing, Big Ben halted in a tick. The sounds of the river dimmed and blurred. Goats, trolls and all that shit didn't matter any longer. My lips met his in an eager conversation they could not speak but were eager to elucidate on. His hands wrapped around me and I entwined myself around his neck.

Then my fucking phone rang. Loudly.

Chapter 7: Ghost Busters

I did try to ignore the phone at first, but I had set it to ring really loudly and it was pretty hard to ignore something that could have raised the walls of Jericho. Jez tried to ignore it as well, unfortunately I had also set it to vibrate and it was buzzing madly in my bag which was somehow trapped between us in our embrace. He had to pull apart as my phone buzzed and vibrated right next to his... well, you get the idea.

Our lips parted and I noticed a small group of people were frowning at me for disturbing their peace. I threw my Mary Poppins bag to the floor and began rummaging within for my phone. I found everything but the phone and as soon as it stopped ringing when it went to voicemail it would begin ringing again. Someone desperately wanted to get hold of me.

"I'm sorry Jez," I said, "I really need to take this - perils of working for yourself."

I tried to follow the buzz and finally tracked it down only for it to stop ringing. I was pressing a button to find out who had tried to call me when it rang again.

"Hello, Paranormal..."

"He's screwing around!" a tear-sodden voice screamed down the phone.

I smiled apologetically at Jez and turned my back to try and put some privacy in the conversation.

"He was meant to be meeting me in Spizzico for our anniversary meal tonight and he never came!"

I recognised the voice now - my client, Miss X.

"I waited for hours and kept calling him, but he never picked up. He must be with her - but what if it's not a _her_ , what if it's a _him_?"

"Calm down," I said, hoping I didn't sound like Michael Winner, "tell me everything."

"We always spend our anniversary in Spizzico - it's the restaurant we went to on our first date. We have a long standing booking with them. Every year. So I was there and he never came - never! I felt like a complete fool and I kept ringing and ringing and it's not like him to have turned his phone off! He's having an affair - I know it!"

"I didn't find any evidence on my surveillance."

"He's with this person now, you have to go and find out for me! I'll pay you double, only please, please go!"

I looked round at Jez who was leaning on the side of the bridge looking out at the river. "It's kind of awkward right now."

"But it's your job! I want you to go and find out who it is he's screwing!"

"Okay, okay."

I hung up the call and looked apologetically at Jez. "I'm sorry," I said, "it's a job I'm on at the moment."

He turned and looked at me. "Maybe it's for the best, eh?"

What? What the...

"Yeah," I said coolly, "for the best. Well, I've dragged you away from your party for nothing."

"I'll walk you to Waterloo."

"No need."

"It's late and dark."

I looked at him with angry eyes. "I was fine when you fucked off to America and I'll be fine now."

"You told me to go!"

"Like it would have made any difference if I'd asked you to stay!"

"How would you know? You never asked me."

My lips began to form a word - I just didn't know what I wanted to say yet. I screamed a frustrated 'oh' and marched off down the bridge.

"Fine!" he called after me, "Walk away like you do every time things get a little bit too deep."

"Blah, blah, blah!" was my witty reply as I continued my march.

It was late and it was dark, but I think my furious stomping would have deterred any would-be assailants. They would have been mad to try and assault someone in a mood as foul as I was.

If it was 'for the best' that we were interrupted why did he kiss me in the first place and why did he seem to enjoy it so much? Maybe he had a girl in every port and I was his London stop over?

It was only when I stopped my furious pace at Waterloo I realised my new shoes had rubbed my feet raw and they were a red and bloody mess. All for nothing! I stopped long enough to retrieve my old shoes from my Mary Poppins bag so I could change... they weren't there. I must have left them on the bridge when I was searching for my phone. I sighed, then slipped off the new shoes and walked to the escalator and down to the Northern line like a hobo - barefoot. At least I was still warm in Jez's jumper. It smelt of his aftershave... I loved that aftershave.

I fell asleep on the tube, another advantage of living at the end of the line - you could fall asleep safe in the knowledge it was impossible to miss your stop. The problem was, I didn't live exactly at the end of the line - I still had to get a bus back to East Barnet. Then I would have to change, pick up my car and head over to Friern Barnet and find out what was going on with Mr X. I yawned.

I don't imagine I looked good as I made my way home, but I'm sure there are those who have looked worse after a night out. Even if I had been followed this far and this long by fairies or their kind I doubted anyone would recognise me as the same person who had met Orla earlier in the day.

It took a long time for a bus to come and there was no way I could have walked barefoot that far. By the time I made the short walk from the bus stop to my flat it was very late and I was very tired.

From the snoring coming from the living room I surmised Bob was asleep on the sofa and I could have a shower without being disturbed by requests for me to eat his culinary creations.

My feet were filthy and it took some scrubbing to clean them. I then applied antiseptic cream and put on the softest, comfiest pairs of socks I owned.

In a pair of jeans and an old t shirt and sweater I was ready to go out again. I glanced at the clock, it was after one am.

It took my car the customary twenty minutes to warm up and clear the screen, I dared not sit in there as it was doing so, as I was guaranteed to fall asleep, so instead I walked up and down the car park.

The moon was beautiful, waxing and bright. Even some stars were fighting through the light pollution to be seen.

"Sh up there!" came a rasping voice as I walked over the patch by Trevor's culvert, "some of us is tryin' to get to sleep down here."

Car clear and warm I drove to Friern Barnet and, given the hour, felt safe to make the presumption of parking in the visitors' car park. I hadn't figured on the gates being code access so I had to park on a nearby residential road again and walk over. It was getting increasingly hard to ignore the pain in my feet.

When I got back to Princess Park Manor I had to climb over the wall to get into the grounds - not an easy task, but one I managed eventually with very little skill or grace. Then I would have to dodge security as a place like this would undoubtedly have a heavy presence.

Princess Park Manor was truly a beautiful building. The Victorians were a weird lot, think of all those parks they set up as philanthropic interests - Britain would look a very different place with them. It was a time of great cruelty and hardship and yet enough people believed in giving the poor access to open spaces to found parks. They may have treated the mentally ill at best with ignorant good intentions, and at worst with knowing cruelty, but they housed them in these amazing mansions of great beauty overlooking beautifully sculptured grounds.

Mr X's flat was within the main building set behind pillars and beneath a dome. They may have been flats rather than houses, but you still had to pay over a million pounds for each one. No wonder Miss X saw her future with him. Who'd let a man with that much money get away?

I had to walk around the large building to find a way of getting in. The main entrance was out of question without a code. At the back there appeared to be some kind of service entrance and the door was open. I looked around. No one was in sight, I crept inside.

"Yolanda!" barked a voice.

I froze.

A greasy haired man was wagging a finger at me. "Yolanda from the agency? You're late! You were meant to be here an hour ago." He pointed at his watch in case I struggled with understanding his words.

I shrugged.

"Get changed and get to work!"

He threw a uniform at me. It was a maid's uniform, only a few inches away from being a French maid's costume. Shit, I wasn't meant to be a hooker was I?

I grinned nervously.

"Get changed and get up to the second floor! I want the dusting done and the polishing. No hoover, comprende? It's too late for hoovering. Hoovering no, yes?"

Was I meant to be foreign? "Si."

"Get to it!" He was obviously from the school of 'shout louder and the English language is immediately translated into the mother tongue'. He gestured to a small changing room lined with lockers and after closing the door I slipped out of my clothes and into the maid's uniform, making sure my phone went in the dress pocket as I would need it to take photos if I found Mr X messing around - not my favourite bit of the job I assure you, but clients never really believed you even with photographic proof. Even then some tried to find a rational explanation why their spouse was naked and in close proximity to another naked person who was not them.

The room seemed to exist entirely for the cleaning firm and there was a list of apartments on a small whiteboard that obviously paid extra for the inside of the flats to be cleaned. I looked along the list, yes - Mr X's was one of them which meant there would be a spare key kept somewhere in the vicinity. After a little search I found a small wall mounted metal cabinet. It had a lock but on investigation it had been bent and knackered so much that a vigorous pull opened the front. Inside was a selection of keys, all clearly labelled. I put Mr X's in my pocket with my phone.

I locked my clothes into one of the lockers and then thought better of it as I might very well have to scarper quickly. I tucked them in a bag of cleaning cloths and reappeared in the hallway holding the bag.

"Second floor!" he said again, pointing down the corridor.

I nodded. "Si."

"Cleaning thingies in cupboard, yes?"

"Si."

What a piece of luck - I was in and all I had to do was a bit of polishing and dusting. I didn't go to the second floor, after raiding the cleaning cupboard and leaving the supervisor behind I went to Mr X's part of the building.

The plush surroundings were deathly quiet, it was too late for anyone to be about - apart from the cleaning staff that is and they so far seemed to consist of me. I did a bit of polishing the brass fittings as I went and stumbled on another cleaning cupboard where there was a state of the art vacuum cleaner and even more supplies of brass polish, cloths etc.

It was a bit spooky moving through a silent building where people with mental health problems had been imprisoned over one hundred and fifty years ago. Even my overpowering sense of logic could not completely eradicate my sense of unease at this late hour. It didn't help that as a child I had been utterly and completely petrified of ghosts, to the extent that an imagined one could send me into a screaming fit. I may have been older and wiser, but I was fundamentally the same person with the same irrational fears.

Outside Mr X's apartment I listened carefully, ear to the door. I couldn't hear anything and there wasn't a beam of light under the door crack. I reached for the key and inserted it silently into the lock. It turned easily and I pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind me.

As it was dark my other senses went into overdrive. The carpet beneath my feet was thick and plush. The apartment smelt clean, but also of new things which made sense as he had only recently moved in. I used the screen of my phone to illuminate my path through the entrance hall. Some of the internal doors were open, living room, spare bedroom... as I made my way deeper into the apartment I began to hear muffled noises, like someone having a bad dream. I tiptoed towards the noises and what I presumed was the bedroom.

I put my phone on to the camera setting ready as you often didn't get a second chance at these things. I made sure the screen darkened so I would not take any light into the room with me. I placed my hand on the door handle and turned it slowly.

The door opened with the silence of being well fitted and as I stepped inside the noises became clearer. There were definitely noises coming from two people, this didn't bode well for Miss X and her would-be future children.

I blinked and let my eyes adjust to the light. It was lighter in the large bedroom than it had been in the passageway thanks to the light of the moon outside the window and the open curtains. Within a few seconds my vision had improved to see the sight before me.

Mr X was asleep \- or seemed to be, his face was turned towards me, his eyes shut and a troubled look on his face. His lips parted and he mumbled incoherently as people do in their sleep. He was one of those people who slept naked. I knew this because he was lying naked on the bed, a sheet twisted off on to the floor. Riding him hard was a pale figure in a floaty, see through robe. She seemed to be shagging him in his sleep. And believe me, she was getting a lot out of it.

Then I realised she wasn't exactly human, she was almost entirely see-through. I took a step back, my heart rate shot up and the only thought in my head was - flee!

The ghostly figure's head turned toward me as no human's could. Her mouth opened wider than should be possible and a furious scream erupted from deep within her.

I heard another scream. It came from me.

I stumbled backwards and fell on my arse, I scrabbled desperately to get up again as I felt rising panic growing within me. I felt like a child again, there was a memory trying to nudge through and it made me sick right to the pit of my stomach - my mother was there, in this memory, and I think perhaps my father too so I must have been very young. I repressed it - sent it back to the recesses of my memory where it had come from.

On the bed Mr X blinked awake and started as he saw the female figure on him, he cried out and tried to claw himself away from her.

The figure growled and began to float towards me. She obviously blamed me for spoiling her fun and meant to have her revenge.

I looked past her and into the terrified face of Mr X.

"Oh God," he said in a trembling voice, "please help me!"

On my feet again I ran through the corridor like those girls you see in horror films, panicking and looking everywhere for escape, heart pounding and breathing hard. The door leaving the flat should have been easy to open but my hands slipped and I couldn't think how to open the bloody thing. All I could think about was 'she is going to get me'. I made the mistake of looking back, she was closing in on me.

"Help me!" came the voice of Mr X again.

The image of her fixed in my head like a photograph. She was in one of those old fashioned down to the floor, up to the chin night gowns. She was mid-twenties and had long, long hair. She was also utterly mad. Oh shit, I thought, I'm going to get killed by Bertha Mason.

Her claw like fingers reached out to my neck and I felt a tightening pressure in my throat.

Finally I managed to fling the door open and I fell forward onto my hands expecting her to be on me any second. I steeled myself and turned around to see that she seemed to be caught within the threshold of the door. She couldn't cross it. Her face contracted in a snarl. Then she looked back to Mr X who was now standing in the doorway of his bedroom, clutching the door frame for support. Her lips curled into some kind of wicked smile.

I left them to it. I had to get out, I had to be safe. I ran the length of the building, it was the longest corridor in Europe when built in 1850, and at the end I had to stop because there was no breath left in my body. I leant over, hands on knees, as I tried to get some oxygen back into my body.

I wanted my mum or dad, someone; someone I could turn to for help and reassurance. It was gutting to realise there was no one in my life that could fulfil that role.

My hand hesitated on the handle to the stair door. Something was stopping me, there was only one thing more powerful than fear - guilt. I was leaving Mr X to her mercy - he may have never been conscious before when she... had her way with him, but due to my actions he was now very much awake and just as scared of her as I was. I could not just leave him to her, I had to help him.

I turned around with bravado I did not feel and began a very slow walk back to Mr X's apartment. With every step I felt sick, but this was something I had to do. I helped people, it wasn't in my nature to let people down when there was something I could do about it. Damn my father, he was right - it was my duty.

Okay, presuming she was a ghost who could physically manifest and, going on what I had seen, that was my best guess, how did I... exorcise her? The only people I could think of who did this kind of thing were priests, Bill Murray and Jensen Ackles. Since I was not ordained into holy orders and was out of salt I was more inclined to take the Bill Murray approach, only I didn't have one of his ghost buster back packs. I stopped and thought. I could improvise, it might not work, but I had nothing to lose by trying. Except possibly my life and sanity.

I went to the cleaning cupboard and took out the vacuum cleaner. There was a plug socket near Mr X's door, which was still open, and the cord looked long enough to reach into the bedroom. I fired it up to test it, which also had the benefit of drowning out the terrifying cries coming from Mr X within the apartment. I turned the machine off and readied myself.

Taking a deep breath I crossed the threshold and began the journey towards the bedroom.

The first thing I did on entering the bedroom was to flick on the lights - there was no need for surprise now. She knew I was coming.

Mr X was on the bed again, but awake and not in a state of sleepy excitement any longer which seemed to annoy her. She was pressing her hands upon him which had the effect of making him cry out in pain.

I took another step forward but was pulled short by the tightening of the vacuum cleaners cord. Dammit.

"Quit it bitch," I said, attachment in hand.

Slowly she turned to me. I felt cold.

She toyed with him, lifting off her hand and then pressing it on to him again. His moans were too much for me.

"I said, quit it bitch. What - couldn't find any men in your time? Got to get a shag by haunting a man in his sleep? Man - that is desperate. That is sad. Shame he doesn't seem to be... up for it when conscious. Not very flattering for you is it? Got to get them when asleep have you Bertha? No wonder Jane Eyre whooped your ass."

She left him and began to approach me, she did not have to rush, she knew by going slower the fear was building in me.

I braced myself and let her get closer and closer to me. I ignored every urge that told me to get out of there. A cold sweat covered my face. I didn't even know if this crazy idea was going to work.

Just as she began to reach her hand out to my face I kicked the start up switch and the vacuum cleaner roared into life.

I pointed the long attachment at her. Nothing happened other than she looked a little puzzled. Then particles of grey smoke began to float towards the end of the attachment. Her surprise then turned to horror as she began to be pulled in towards the attachment. Then with a whoosh and a look of surprise she was gone, sucked into the vacuum cleaner in entirety. It was done.

I looked a little surprised myself and put my eye to the end. I couldn't see anything.

My goodness, it had worked. I had just captured a ghost in a vacuum cleaner.

The warmth began to return to my body.

It was a shame, in life she must have been good looking. How did she end up here in a mental asylum? Had she been mad or had a crime been committed against her? One thing was clear, she was definitely a little sex obsessed.

Mr X looked at me. "Who are you?"

"Your guardian angel, now put some clothes on and I'll make you a cup of tea."

Mr X, whose name turned out to be Len Simmonds, had a fairly large and well stocked kitchen and a nice beech wood table by the window. By the time he had put on a pair of pyjamas and a dressing gown I had made the tea and was sitting at the table. I had set a large bowl of sugar beside the tea.

He sat down without a word and I pushed one of the mugs of tea towards him.

"I suggest you put in loads of sugar," I told him, "for the shock."

His hand was still trembling slightly as he put three teaspoons of sugar in his tea and stirred. We drank in silence.

His kitchen window was almost as large as the wall space and looked over the thirty acres of parkland that Princess Park Manor was set in, although it was still too dark to see and appreciate them.

It was late. Scrap that - it was early. On the horizon the sun was just beginning its daily exercise and a band of light was just appearing. There were not many occasions in my life when I have been in a position to see the sun rise and despite the overwhelming exhaustion and the fact my feet were now reminding me they were bloody killing me it was a very beautiful and calming thing to witness. It really felt like the dawning of something new.

The sun was gently lighting the park by the time Len was ready to talk. He pushed back the now empty mug and looked at me.

"What _was_ that?"

I shrugged, "I have to be honest with you - this is not my normal line of work."

"She was a... ghost, right?"

I nodded. "The rational part of me thinks I must have dreamt it or something and I'm sure in time we will look back and believe that. But now, now I know it was real."

"Look," he rolled up his sleeves, "she caused me so much pain and yet there is not a mark left upon me. How is that possible?"

"I'm sorry, but I really don't know how all this works. I got lucky with the hoover. It would help me if you could fill in any of the details."

He sat back in his chair with a sigh. "All I know is since I moved here I've been knackered. I sleep all night, but never feel rested. I guess that makes sense if she was..."

He pressed his lips together.

I patted his hand. "It wasn't your fault. It would have happened to any man who moved here. She must have been an inmate here, died here probably. I guess she may have been here for her... sex addiction for want of a better word. There is no way Victorian men would have understood a woman with a racing libido."

"No, I suppose not."

"Perhaps we should feel sorry for her then?"

He frowned. "How did you get into my apartment anyway?"

I waved a cleaning cloth from my pocket at him. "Housekeeping!"

"Thank you... what is your name?"

I hesitated. "Yolanda, my name is Yolanda."

"Thank you Yolanda. I'd like to say thank you."

Despite his shock he was prepared for this and pulled a chequebook and pen out of his pocket. Did anyone write cheques these days?

"If anyone hears of this, especially my girlfriend, well... I'm worried what they would think. My girlfriend would definitely not understand. I'd like to pay you for, well for saving me from whatever that was. As a cleaner you can't get paid much."

Nope, not as an investigator either. How could I say no? I had rent to pay.

The ink was barely dry as I whipped it out of his hand. Doing ones duty had some payback after all.

"Just tell your girlfriend you were ill. She'll understand, especially if you ask her to marry you."

"Do you think she'd accept?"

"Definitely."

Now he had bought my silence he wanted rid of me and I was happy to oblige. I said goodbye to him and left. I was not sure what to do with the vacuum cleaner so I thought I had better take it with me and pulled it behind me as walked out of the Manor. I went to the security man at the main gate.

"Cleaner checking out."

He looked at me in my uniform and trailing the vacuum cleaner behind me. He buzzed me through. As the gate closed behind me I heard a voice.

"Yolanda!"

I turned. It was the greasy haired cleaning guy, he had run after me and was now out of puff.

"Yolanda! You're never gonna work in cleaning again!"

I shrugged and gave him the finger as the vacuum cleaner and I made our way off into the sun rise.

Chapter 8: The Halloween Collective

I was home in time for breakfast which Bob had made and laid out on the kitchen counter. I had managed to avoid his cooking thus far, but I was so hungry I took the plate he offered me and sat down on the sofa. I ate it quickly and without much thought. It was typical Bob fare, 'fusion' you might call it if you were being kind. He had never really gotten a sense of what food went best at which time or what went together properly. I think breakfast that day was jam with curried rice and hash browns. With every mouthful Bob watched me in trepidation, awaiting approval, wringing his hands on a tea towel.

"Is it good?" he asked.

"It filled a gap," I said as my autistic inability to lie manifested itself.

Bob seemed happy with that. He was easily pleased. He flung the tea towel over his shoulder and busied himself with more cooking - it looked like a cake mix from where I was.

After I had eaten there was just enough time to sign off the X case. It was just late enough to call Miss X without the danger of waking her and fill her in on selected details. Her phone rang twice before she answered it.

"Hello!" she answered frantically, "Have you got news for me?"

"I do. There's nothing to report. He was ill, I spoke to one of the cleaning staff who said he kept to his bed with 'flu or something."

"No one was there?"

"Not a living creature. Let him recover and I'm sure he'll make it up to you."

"You think? Are you sure?"

"One hundred per cent. This case is concluded. Shall I invoice you the final amount?"

"Yes, yes do."

She hung up. I didn't feel bad about charging her - I had fought a sex crazed ghost to save her boyfriend from succubus style sex. That was worth something plus expenses.

I could probably have done with a shower, but instead I crawled straight into bed and wrapped up warm in my duvet.

What a fucking day.

When I awoke later my face had crumpled sheet marks embedded into it. I didn't know what time it was, but I felt dirty and tired. I plodded straight to the bathroom and climbed into the shower. When I got out I noticed my bottles were arranged neatly on the shelf, labels forward, and I hadn't done that. When I went back into my bedroom I found that the short period I had been showering was long enough for my bed to be made and all the clothes I had left lying around to be put away in the wardrobe or in the laundry basket.

I dressed in comfort wear - tracksuit bottoms and a t shirt - and went through to the living room slash kitchen towel drying my hair. I stopped short in the doorway. The whole room had been cleaned and tidied. Everything had been put away and the surfaces were spotless. It even looked like the floor had been mopped and the carpet had finally made intimate acquaintance with a vacuum cleaner.

"What..." I began to say, Bob silenced me with a finger to his lips.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he said loudly and in a rather stilted way, "Come with me to make a cup of tea."

"Er, okay."

We huddled together in the kitchen area, Bob filled the kettle and set it to boil noisily.

"You can't notice them," he said in a whisper, "Brownies are very shy and don't like attention being drawn to them."

"Aw Bob, you got me a Brownie to clean and tidy!"

He nodded. "Her name is Nissa and she is very scared. The last house she inhabited had a Doberman and she barely escaped with her life. You won't see her but she will keep the place clean and tidy and all you have to do is try not to notice her and leave a bowl of good milk out every evening."

I surprised myself and Bob by giving him an enormous hug. He didn't know what to do and his eyes began to fill with tears. I coughed and he continued with the tea making and I examined my nails. Awkward moment over.

The next few days were an anticlimax to the action of what I came to know as 'The Night of Len Simmonds' Succubus'. There was no trace of mischief and even Trevor seemed to be getting bored although we kept him in mangoes just in case it was his presence that was affording us this peace. It could have been that the fairies just did not know where to find us, although to be fair they could have just looked in the phone book.

The phones were silent at PI and the only disturbance came from Rose munching on her biscuits. Miss X paid her invoice and so for the first time in months PI was solvent again. I paid some of my credit card off and bought Rose some Marks and Spencer biscuits as a treat - although I did tell her not to get used to it.

All in all, life was settling into a fairly decent pattern, I didn't even mind sharing my living room slash kitchen with a man goat as at least he was company and Nissa kept the place clean in return for her milk. The only thing that seemed beyond hope was my love life. Jez did try to call once. I didn't answer. He didn't leave a voicemail message. That seemed to be that.

"I think I'm going to get a job," Bob said suddenly at breakfast on Halloween morning.

My eyebrows shot up to my forehead.

"I know I'm under your feet here," he went on, "I need to get on with my life and put all this nasty business behind me. If I get a job I can find a place of my own."

The truth was, he wasn't really under my feet any more, I liked having him around and I had even got used to eating his food because it was easier than cooking myself and cheaper than calling for take-out. I liked living with someone again, even if that someone was a close relation of a goat and smelled a bit like one.

"Oh," I said, "but what about the fairies?"

He shrugged. "I think they might have forgotten me."

Having met Orla I very much doubted that.

"Okay," I said and fussed with my basil plant so he wouldn't be able to see the tears prickling at my eyes. I was used to being alone, it would be okay. I didn't need anyone. "Well, in celebration of your decision to move on with your life let me sort dinner tonight, okay?"

Bob smiled the widest smile I had ever seen on his face. "You would buy me dinner?"

"Sure, I'll order us pizza."

"Pizza," It was obviously a new word for him and he rolled it around on his tongue, "pizza, pizza, pizza. I like the sound of that."

In all honesty we could have gone out to eat, it was the one night of the year when his horns and hooves would have passed for normal attire. However, even if he thought the danger had passed I was still on my guard. I really didn't like fairies. Even the tooth fairy sounded like a Grade A bitch from what Bob had told me. You don't want to know what happens if you _don't_ leave your tooth out for her.

"Can we ask Trevor?" Bob asked hesitantly, "I think he would like to come and eat nice food with us. It would be a kind thing to do." Then he whispered, "I don't think he has many friends."

That wouldn't be a surprise.

I paused, "Only if he washes first. And I get to choose what we watch on TV. I'm not putting up with another night of Emmerdale."

It turned out that trolls had worse taste in daytime TV than an unemployed chav. Mind you, an unemployed chav probably was on benefits and could afford to pay for Sky, I was limited to free view.

"I think I can persuade him those are agreeable points."

I smiled. Dear goodness, I was looking forward to a night in front of the TV with a goat and a troll. I really needed to start Internet dating again.

I ordered a huge selection of pizzas and sides on Len Simmonds' money which was still going strong. It was nice to splurge for once. Miss X had met me in Starbucks to pay her invoice - mainly, I think, so I could 'notice' the huge sparkling rock on her finger. She looked like a different woman and paid me extra for utter secrecy as she couldn't have her new fiancé finding out she had suspected him of having an affair and had paid an investigator to spy on him. I accepted the payment with good grace and assured her I would say nothing. Bertha was still trapped in the vacuum cleaner which I had placed in my hall cupboard with 'do not use' taped across it. I would figure out what to do with her another time.

Trevor announced his arrival by knocking at the door. He didn't pong as much as usual and he had a black bow tie around his neck. Very James Bond. In his hand he had a bouquet of riverside grasses and reeds which he presented to me. I knew his trick, he'd become addicted to Road Wars and wanted to encourage me to make that our viewing choice. Some chance buddy.

"Thank you Trevor," I said politely as if he was any other guest, "please do come in."

"Huh!" he said with a laugh. "Never invite anyone in lady," he said as he barged past me, "I could be anyone - I could be a vamp - you don't want one of those blood suckers getting entrance to your pad. Could be fatal. Those guys just don't know when to stop."

"Thank you Trevor," I said out loud when my inner thought was 'stupid troll', "however, since they don't exist I feel safe."

"Huh, you obviously never hung out down New Southgate on a Friday night then." He went into the living room slash kitchen, looking for the remote control which I had already hidden in my sock drawer. He had yet to figure out that you could change the channels on the TV itself. I tell you, the power struggles in this home were all over who controlled the TV remote.

The three of us sat in my now clean and spacious living room to await delivery of our pizza. I had left the TV on BBC One, so we ended up watching Crime Watch.

"She's part demon," Trevor said nodding towards the ginger head of Anne Robinson.

"That doesn't surprise me."

The next item on Crime Watch regarded the theft, earlier in the month, from the British Museum. The Ginger Demon announced police were now releasing CCTV footage in the hope that someone might be able to help trace the thief who had so far not been apprehended.

The picture was black and white and a little grainy which made me think the British Museum did not have such up to date security systems as the local off license which was at least in colour. The time stamp showed it was evening, just before the museum closed. A small figure was ringed to identify to the viewers at home this was the thief. He walked up to a display, fiddled with the lock on the cabinet and removed a ring from within it. He pocketed the ring and, with a quick glance around, made his way out of the room and out of camera shot. That one glance had made his face visible to the camera. It was grainy, but he was still vaguely recognisable. The police officer on the TV said the 'Vitam Mortem' ring had been stolen and it was of great historical, not financial, value. The museum wanted its exhibit back.

I turned to Bob. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

His face blushed. "Is it a good likeness?"

"What the feck were you doing stealing from the British Museum?"

He shivered nervously, "They told me to."

"The fairies?"

He nodded.

"What do the fairies want with some old ring?"

"I don't know, but when I heard they meant to... do away with me I kept the ring and ran."

"You kept the ring!"

He nodded again.

"Bob, they want the ring! Give it to them!"

"But it's my security."

"Some security \- Orla wants to chuffing well eat you! Give them the ring and they might lift the threat on your life."

He shivered. "I can't do that. They are bad and I know they want it for bad things. You can't trust fairies."

"Where's the ring?"

"I hid it."

"Where?"

He nodded to one of the socks now in a neat pile thanks to Nissa.

"You enchanted it and disguised it as a sock?"

He looked at me as if I was stupid, "No, I hid it in the sock."

"Let me have it Bob and I'll find some way of getting it to Orla."

"No."

"No? This is your life we're talking about."

"I can't let them. They are going to do something very, very bad. I heard them. Orla said they were going to test it on humans and then use it on the Fae. It is something to give them power over mankind. Do you know what would happen if the Fae out-numbered humans? It would be... it would be hell! And I can't help them do it. All my life I've been a coward and now I can do something brave. If I have to die I will die."

"Can the fairies really be a threat with this ring?"

"You met Orla, she is typical of her kind. She is also very, very smart. They want for nothing but the advancement of the Fae. Once, long ago, they ruled the earth and it was a dark and bleak and miserable place. It was a good thing when they started to die out, they were never meant to be the dominant species."

Bob was talking and behaving like a completely different person, I was surprised, but also impressed with his strength.

"I have lived with the Fae most of my life," he went on, "I was in their thrall and subject to their fancies. I know what goes on in their minds. They want to be the superior species again. They can't! It would be the end of the world!"

He suddenly burst into tears and covered his face with his hands. It looked like there would be no stopping his weeping.

Trevor looked at me angrily. "Look what you done!"

"Me?"

"You upset him. Those fairies are a bad bunch, why I'd like ta bash a few fairy heads in I tells ya!" He pummelled his fist into his hand. This might have looked scary if his fists weren't the size of a three year old's.

I frowned at Trevor. How dare he blame me! "Okay then, we should return the ring to the British Museum where it will be safe."

"Huh! Then they'd just send some other schmuck in ta get at it."

"Well what do you suggest then Einstein?" I tilted my head to wait for his answer.

His unibrow dipped to his eyes. "I don't know, but if I did know it'd be better than your dumb ass ideas."

This argument could have gone on indefinitely, thankfully there was a buzz from the intercom. The pizza. Saved by the pizza.

I climbed up out of the sofa and made my way to the door. I had already counted out the money and it was safely tucked in my pocket.

I answered the intercom phone with a greeting.

"Delivery." was the brief reply and I pushed the button to let the pizza delivery man in.

As I always did, I opened the flat door and waited as the footsteps thudded up the stairs. Otherwise, if it was a new guy, they sometimes had trouble knowing which corridor to go down. I was a pretty regular customer to Pizza Hut on East Barnet road and the Blue Ginger Indian restaurant on Station Road. The delivery men normally knew where to find me and it was a little bit embarrassing when you ordered out as much as I did. I flicked on the buildings internal light so he could at least see where he was going.

The main stair well was not carpeted (more 1970s floor tile decor) and it was easy to hear the progression of my delivery. As the sound of the footsteps drew closer I got the money out of my pocket. Then I realised there wasn't just one set of feet coming up the stairs. And there weren't just two people coming up the stairs. I stood in the corridor and looked towards the stair well door. The light dimmed as silhouettes of the figures blocked the light.

My mouth opened to say something to Bob or Trevor but I wasn't sure what I actually wanted to say yet. My brain hadn't yet decided what was going on.

The door opened and ten demons began to file through. I knew they were demons despite never having seen one before (unless you counted Anne Robinson). I felt it in my gut. I suppose they could have been trick or treaters, but their costumes weren't that good.

They looked like big, butch men - the type who have been fighting since nursery school and know every trick and every move. They looked mean and it didn't help that they were all at least a foot and a half taller than me. They all looked different but were clad in the same type of clothes, long black leather coats accessorised with very sharp and shiny curved axes. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes an unnatural red. They all had dark beards. I knew there was a good reason I didn't like beards.

A protective instinct kicked in. I had to look after Bob. It didn't matter for one second that I was going to get my arse whooped big time, I had a job to do - a duty. One last thought crossed my mind. I wished I had just been honest with Jez. If I could face imminent death with ten demons surely I could tell a guy I loved him? What was so scary about that? I swore to myself there and then, eye to eye with the biggest and filthiest of the demons, that if I got out of this I would be honest with Jez, no matter what the consequence. I would tell him I loved him and missed him and wanted him in my life again. Oh man, I really wanted to get out of this alive.

My Sri Lankan neighbour opposite must have heard the disturbance of heavy demon feet in the corridor for her door opened on the security chain, she looked out - her face taking on a look of horror - and then she slammed the door tight shut again. I can't say I blamed her. It's what any rational neighbour would do when confronted with ten demons.

I took what I thought looked like an aggressive stance in the hallway.

"I trained in stage combat under Canadian fight director Andy Fraser!" I yelled.

The demons looked at each other bemused. Who would have thought they had a sense of humour? The biggest put his hand up and the others stopped. He advanced, tossing the axe from hand to hand. It caught the light. That did not make me feel good but as Anne Boleyn and Margaret Pole knew - a sharp blade is better than a dull one.

"I have a stage combat certificate!" I screamed as he closed in on me and I sent a punch safely past his face. Dammit, in real life you actually had to hit them, that I hadn't trained for. I split the difference and kicked him hard in the knackers. At least, I think they were his knackers, you couldn't really tell with demons.

I'd hit him where it hurt anyway which bought me enough time to run back into the flat and slam the door behind me with all my weight. Part of an axe blade appeared in the woodwork, narrowly missing my head.

"Boys!" I called out, "We've got visitors, and not good ones!"

"You don't say!" Trevor said.

As I ran into the living room slash kitchen and slammed the door behind me I heard thumping coming from the window.

"Fairies at six o'clock!" Trevor yelled as another fairy tried to smash the glass in the window with his head. It's eyes were crazed as it tried again to head butt the glass. They really were mean.

"Will it hold?" Bob asked.

I shook my head. "It's not double glazed. Quick, turn the sofa on to its side and block it!"

We managed to up end the sofa, but it didn't fill the entire gap. If nothing else, it made us feel better.

"And the other one!"

We pushed the other sofa to the internal door and blockaded it as best we could. There was no way it would hold out to ten bad assed demons for more than the two seconds it would take them to shove it out of the way.

The three of us gathered in the centre of the room by the kitchen work top. Trevor had left his cricket bat at home, but he was quick to find replacements and issued us all with sauce pans and frying pans, keeping the biggest one for himself.

"Come on if ya think ya hard enough!" Trevor yelled out, waving my best wok in the air. Now I knew why trolls were the only creatures not afraid of fairies, too bloody stupid.

"What's their plan of action?" I whispered to Bob, "What will they do?" As I spoke the lights went out.

"Cut the power," he replied, "so the technology won't affect them."

"Great."

"It's okay," he said, "these pans are all stainless steel - just keep hitting them and don't say anything to them in case they trick you."

"Great, I can whack the fairies with my Russell Hobbs, what about the ten nasty demons coming in the other end?"

"Demons? Oh... I don't know."

"Where's the ring, Bob?" I asked as another crack came from the door.

"I've got it. It's in the sock tucked into my belt."

Why do things always sound louder in the dark? My ears became very adept at hearing the cracks begin to appear in the glass and the splintering of my front door under demon axe. I think I clutched Bob's hand. How on earth had I got into this mess?

Police sirens blared outside. They weren't coming to help - police sirens were always heard going up and down Cat Hill. Even if they did come, what could they do? This was my area - the paranormal- not theirs. They would be blissfully unaware that any of this existed, the worst thing they would have to face tonight would be an abusive trick or treater in a dodgy mask. If this _was_ my area, then why did I feel so woefully inadequate to face it?

I wanted to cry, but that would be of no productive use and I couldn't allow the luxury of panic. I bit my lip and tried hard to think of anything that might be of use. Nothing.

"Trevor," I said to the darkness, "have you got any ideas of how to defeat the ten big and nasty demons about to come through the living room door?"

"Whack 'em hard!"

Just then something was pressed into my hand. Salt.

"Throw it at the fairies," Bob said, "one of them will have to count it."

I looked at the bag of salt in my hand. Hold on - salt. "This TV show I watch," replace 'watch' with 'addicted to', "it's about the supernatural and they use salt to keep the bad guys out. Would it work in real life?"

Unless Jensen Ackles had lied to me, salt might be able to buy us some time.

"It might." Bob said, "but there isn't a natural threshold here so it had better be a circle."

I reached for the lighter that I kept in the drawer for candles, then felt my way to the candle cupboard. I was shaking as I tried to light them and did burn myself twice, but managed to get a selection of tea lights going. Whether the lavender scent would relax us I didn't know, but it was certainly very nice to see again. A golden glow now covered the kitchen, the living room end was still ominous in darkness.

Bob issued the salt and the three of us began to make the biggest circle we could around the edge of the kitchen, well okay - it wasn't exactly a circle but there were no maths teachers there to tell me off so what the hell. Even though I had bought every type of salt offered by Budgens it wasn't enough so we had to go back over our wobbly circle, thinning the line down so the salt went further. It was perilously thin in some places. Would it hold? Would it even work or was TV complete fiction?

The window smashed and the sofa was pushed out of the way. I braced myself for action. I had fought a ghost with a vacuum cleaner, I told myself, I could fight a fairy with a saucepan.

I took a line out of Trevor's book and shouted, "Come on if you think you're hard enough!"

They obviously did.

The fairies flew quickly to us, their buzzing wings golden under the candle light. Their teeth sharp in their evil grins. There were about twelve of them I could count, all buzzing in the air by my kitchen counter. The expressions on their faces were pure malice. There was going to be no good way out of this.

One of them was at the front, the leader of this band I supposed. He looked down at our salt line, his expression giving nothing away. I didn't know if he couldn't cross it or if he was merely playing with us. He didn't speak but I knew what he wanted, so did Bob.

"I'm sorry," Bob said tremulously, "but you can't have it and that's an end to it."

The fairy looked like he didn't think that would be a problem.

Behind them the second sofa was flung out of the way, hitting and grounding one of the fairies I saw to my glee, and the demons began to pour into the room. This was beginning to look worse and worse.

"Come on bozzo!" Trevor called, "I've got steel and I'm gonna use it!"

Trevor was dancing close to the line of salt.

"Be careful," I whispered, "don't break the line and don't go over it."

"Like I need salt ta protect me!"

"Well, Bob and I would appreciate it if the salt circle was left intact."

A candle flickered.

The lead fairy looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Join with us." His voice was enticing, like something very, very nice that I really, really liked. "Be a friend Leo."

Bob grabbed my hand. Without realising it I had taken a step closer to the fairy.

"Don't listen," Bob whispered, "they speak the words you want to hear. They are all lies. They plunge into the secrets of your soul and manipulate them for their own end."

Where were ear plugs when you needed them? Even cheese would do á la 'Allo Allo'. I wasn't sure I could ignore a voice as nice as the fairy's. I wasn't sure I wanted to.

"I don't think I can _not_ listen to him," I said to Bob, "you're going to have to help me."

"Poor little orphan girl," the fairy went on, "life did deal you a bad hand. We can make it better. We can help. There are many questions you want the answer to. We know the answers. We can help mend your soul."

Bob pulled me back again, I had taken another step forwards.

"Please Bob," I cried, "do something."

So he did. He began to sing 'Love Shack'. Bob couldn't sing, he had the worst voice I had ever heard and for some reason he appeared to be singing it in an Asian accent. But it did the trick. With a song that rubbish and singing that bad it was hard to be wooed by the nice words of the fairy. I felt strong enough to resist.

"I wanna bash ya head in!" Trevor yelled at the demon who was seven foot to his two and a half.

Trevor held up the wok high and ran out to hit the demon in the knee, scattering a line of salt as he went.

Bob stopped singing.

The fairies bared their teeth.

The demon swung his axe at my head.

I closed my eyes.

Chapter 9: Spain, 1034

If I had ruby slippers at that moment I would have clicked my heels together pronto. As it was, as my eyes closed tightly the last thing I saw was the blade of that ugly axe glinting under candle light two inches from my face. The sounds all blurred and dimmed, I went from being icy cold to being warm again.

I didn't feel any pain. Maybe that was because it was a sharp axe. I could but hope.

It was like waking up from a dream. My consciousness came back and I was simply aware of _being_. I took a moment. As I became more aware I realised I did not know where I was, like when you wake up after sleeping somewhere new for the first time. My brain registered that I was lying down and that my hands were on something warm and soft. I felt with my fingers and it appeared to be a grainy substance. I felt a little bruised on the posterior, as if I had fallen and it had softened my fall. I knew my big arse would be good for something.

My eyes opened and then closed again. It was bright. Slowly I sat up and breathed in, the air was warm and clean and pure - almost overloaded with oxygen. Shielding my eyes with my hand I opened my eyes again, it took a while for them to get used to the light. After blinking several times I began to make out some shapes on the far left. The view ahead of me looked barren of feature. I looked down to my feet, I was still in my slippers, and sand was all around me - fine, white sand. I turned three hundred and sixty degrees. To my left were verdant green trees, behind me what looked like mountains on the horizon and in front of me what appeared to be a flat desert landscape.

The sun was high in the sky and beating down viciously so I instinctively sought the shelter of the trees. I was tired so I sat down and leant my back against the trunk of the tree. It was not an English species and it was definitely not October.

"I don't think we're in Barnet anymore Toto." I said to myself. I really did need to get a dog.

I really didn't know what to think - I knew which scenario Sherlock Holmes would say was the most likely - after all, an axe had just been about to split open my head like a watermelon.

I spared a thought for Bob and Trevor. Well, Bob really. Trevor had brought this on himself so good luck to him. Bob I worried about. He was the one they wanted. What would they do with him? Once they had the ring he would... he would be of no use and would be killed. A lump rose in my throat and I tried to suppress the small feeling of despair that was rising in me. What use would that be now?

My eyes closed and I began to relax. It was amazing how tiring it was fending off demons and fairies. At least I was beyond them now - how's that for looking on the bright side?

I must have fallen asleep because when I came to later, the light was beginning to fade. It was the end of the day. In the distance I heard a strange sound, when I listened more carefully I realised it was the beautiful Muslim call to prayer. Somehow it felt better to be somewhere where people believed in God - even if it was not my God (and I had yet to decide whether I actually had a 'God'). Where was I?

Aching a little I stood up and flexed my muscles. Nothing seemed to make sense. I did not have a single idea as to what I should do. I suppose I could walk towards the sound coming from the mosque, but to what end? Why were things not clear?

"Hello sweetie," came a voice from behind some trees.

I looked to the direction of the voice and saw my father walking through the undergrowth. He looked the same as always, he was even in the same clothes, but was carrying a white paper bag. Take-out. He had brought me take-out in the middle of nowhere.

"Happy birthday sweetie."

I stood dumfounded.

"I got us Indian," he went on to say, "from that place near you that you like so much - the Blue Ginger? They told me what you ordered most often so I'm hopeful I got you something you like."

"You got me an Indian take away? On my birthday?"

"Shall we eat?"

He sat down on the ground and began to pull foil trays out of the bag. "Chilli paneer, mushroom rice."

My stomach growled. It had been deprived of pizza. It was not happy and all those thoughts of watermelons had merely teased it.

"Chana masala. Sit down and join your old dad for your birthday."

"I've never really celebrated it." But my stomach was quite strong willed so I sat down anyway and took the foil tray he passed me. It was very hot so it must have been fresh out of the restaurant which seemed slightly incredulous at this present moment and location. I put it down on the sandy earth in front of me and took the other trays and a plastic fork from my father. I'd never, ever celebrated my birthday with him before so this was becoming even more of a novel day. That and the attempted hit by the fairies and bad assed demons.

"Am I dead?" I asked him as I took the cardboard lid off the mushroom rice.

"Oh no," he said tucking into something that looked like tikka masala, "you're not dead."

"Then where am I?"

"Spain, 1034."

"Spain? Ten thirty four? It must only be six in the evening at the latest. The sun is only just going down."

"Not 1034 pm, 1034 AD."

I paused with a fork full of rice. "1034 AD?"

"Just outside Andalucía if I'm right. A beautiful part of the world. The moors are just under half way through their residency and they have done wonderful things with the country - picking up where the Romans left off."

I waved the fork at him. "You're seriously expecting me to believe this is Spain in 1034 AD? That I am sat out here in the wilderness of Andalucía with my errant father and a curry from the best Indian restaurant in north London in 1034 AD?"

"Well, when you've eliminated the improbable..."

"I know the quote."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter if you don't believe me. Enjoy your curry."

"So I'm not dead?"

"No. Would a dead person eat a curry?"

"I don't know, I've never been dead before."

We ate in silence as I considered what he had told me. It sounded ridiculous but if the past few days had taught me anything it was not to dismiss the ridiculous. The curry tasted good, as always, so I was at least convinced I was not dead. Surely a dead person couldn't enjoy curry this much? Dang it was good.

"So, if I'm not dead what on earth is going on?"

"Ah, that is a big question and one that is not simple to answer in the time we have."

"Why do you always bang on about time?"

"I have no choice. Time is important to people like us."

"Time is important to all of us." He really was the most tiresome of men, "Come on then, how did I get here then?"

"You made it happen," he bit a corner off a samosa, "I doubt you had control over it though - otherwise you wouldn't have picked this place or this time. It is a little - random."

"Are you telling me I just willed us here? Made a wish and whoosh - bienvenido a España?"

"Not me, I just followed you. You decided where to go."

"Ridiculous, I would've chosen some time much more interesting. The glamorous nineteen twenties or the swinging sixties. I could've gone to the grassy knoll in sixty three."

"You wouldn't have been the first. Anyway, it's not a bad result - there's a lot to be said for Islamic Spain. So much never made it into the history books. Such a shame. It was a fascinating time."

"You sound like you've been here before."

"Once or twice. I spent most of my time here with the Romans. They were an interesting bunch too."

"Oh yeah, what are you - some kind of immortal? Hey - does that mean I'm immortal too?"

"No and no."

"Well - how did you get to see all of that then?"

"It was my... job, before I met your mother."

I looked at him carefully. I had a pretty good bullshit detector and it refused to go off despite the ridiculous nature of what he was telling me. My eyes narrowed. "What - professional time traveller?"

"No, I worked for the ultimate high order. I did His bidding."

"Huh?"

He sighed as if he knew he was going to tell me something he knew I was going to find ridiculous. "I was an angel."

I laughed so hard a grain of rice left my mouth with the force of a V2 bomber and collided with a tree. "Sure dad, sure."

He shrugged and looked off into the peachy coloured sunset. "I knew you wouldn't believe me, it's why I never told you."

"Okay then - who shot Kennedy? Did they land on the moon? Do aliens exist? Who was Jack the Ripper?"

He shook his head, "These are not my secrets to tell. If you want the knowledge of the world you really do need to go see a lobster called Harold. He's the Keeper. All I can tell you, is what is mine to tell. I was an angel on this earth. I lived through all times at all times. Angels have to be anywhere at the first breath of a prayer so we must be able to access all times and places. Time does not work the same way for us."

"So, you're saying I've got a bit of angel in me?"

He shrugged again, "I wouldn't have thought so, I had to become mortal to marry your mother, but it seems - yes. When I became mortal I abandoned my life as an angel and all the skills I had to fulfil that role. The ability to shift through time should have left me as well."

"Cool."

His eyes narrowed and his face grew serious. "It's not cool Leo, it's very dangerous. Very dangerous indeed, in many ways. For example, what if you had willed yourself somewhere dangerous - arrived in the middle of an elephant stampede in Africa for example?"

"Well I was about to get my head sliced off by a demon, so hey!"

He knotted his fingers together, in and out, in and out. "I'm serious Leo. If I could have been around more I could have guided you - prepared you."

It was my turn to frown at him. "Well you weren't."

He let that comment wash over him. "I don't know what you have inherited from me, but from your mother you have inherited The Sight. She was the last Seer born upon the earth before your birth. You will be the last until you have a child."

"I might not want a child."

"You have no choice. The Seer line must continue, the worlds must have an intermediary. You are that intermediary. Anyway, in my time stream you are already married - already a mother - already a grandmother. I've seen it all."

For one second I entertained the idea of asking him for the name of my husband and then rejected it. Spoilers. Besides the feminist in me was busy ranting at the part of me that had sighed in relief at hearing someone would eventually marry me and I wouldn't be the mad woman with too many cats. "But the future can't be set, right?"

"True, it moves like the waters on a pond. Fundamentally it stays the same but there are small shifts and shimmers."

"So I might not marry?"

"If you set all your energies against it I'm sure you could fight it for a while. Most things go the predetermined way in the end though. Besides, your life has more already determined than most. Believe me, if I could change some of it for you I would."

That didn't sound good. "What about Bob and Trevor? Are they okay? I left them hours ago about to get mashed up by demons and fairies. I mean, Trevor had it coming, but not Bob."

"It wasn't hours ago - it hasn't happened yet remember. With training you would be able to go to any precise moment you needed."

"Could you train me?"

"Even if I knew how it works with a mortal body I don't have time."

"How do _you_ do it?"

"Thought and will. But don't forget I had millennia of experience to draw upon. I didn't have to think about how it worked then - it just did."

"That's really helpful dad."

"I can only think that something kicked in - you knew you needed a way out and your subconscious fired the ability up somehow."

Think of all the moments in my life I could change, I could go back to the bridge and turn my phone off, get Bob out of the flat before the bad guys came, stop my mother from dying. I frowned, there must be a reason why Doctor Who couldn't travel in his own time stream. Was it wise to travel within your own life? Well, the chances of my ever perfecting such a skill were slim, especially as the one person I knew who could do it didn't know how he did it! Why on earth had I ended up in Spain of all places and why such an obscure era?

"Well, dad I'm not sure I want any of this. I don't want to be part ex-angel, I don't want to be a Seer. Perhaps if I was meant to be these things someone should have prepared me for it, taught me what it was about when I was young and when I cared. I want to help Bob, I feel responsible for him, but I really can do without the rest of this shit."

"Very well, when you have finished eating we will see what we can do about Bob. And perhaps I will show you why we need you."

I pushed the foil trays aside. That would be an interesting one for future archaeologists to ponder I'm sure. "I'm done. Can we go now?"

He leant over and touched the top of my hand. A cold current of pure energy flooded through me and I was conscious that I was no longer sitting on the sandy ground of Andalucía, I was on a cold, stone surface. I looked around. I was sitting on High Barnet high street, my father beside me. Shoppers were stepping around me and cars whizzing past. The effect of the noise of London was over powering and a real shock to the system after the tranquillity of medieval Spain.

My father got to his feet quicker than I, obviously used to this kind of thing, and put his hand out to me. I took it and ungracefully climbed up. A few people afforded us odd looks, but this was London and anything goes, so no one made anything of it - two people sitting on the pavement on a busy shopping street. One of them still in her slippers.

It was evening and cold after my previous stop. I pulled my dressing gown tightly around me. Oh great, I still had my dressing gown on over my jogging pants and t shirt from when I had got cold earlier... later. I must look like a right hobo.

"Pass me your phone," he ordered.

I half expected it to be lost, but it was still tucked under my bra strap as I was wont to do when I wore something with no pockets. I obeyed him, curious to see where this led. He took the phone from me, pressed some buttons and passed it back to me.

"Listen."

I put it to my ear and listened.

" _Hi, you're through to Leo at Paranormal Investigations - please leave your number and I'll return your call."_

It beeped at me and I looked at him. He waved a hand at me. He wanted me to leave a message on my own phone?

"Er... Come to Spain," I faltered, "a gorgeous country with timeshares available now!"

My father took my phone out of my hand, ended the call and then redialled. He looked at me as he spoke.

"Hello Leo - happy birthday! Speak soon, dad." He looked down at the phone to end the call and then looked back at me. "I told you we'd speak soon."

My mouth opened and closed like a guppy.

"This... this is the night I got that message from you? You've brought me back into my own time stream, why? Isn't it dangerous? Doctor Who would never do that."

He shrugged, "That you is at Princess Park Manor. It's safe enough for this you."

"But why? Why would you bring me here?"

"To prove it to you."

"Okay, I'll do my best with this, I will. However, it seems pretty useless without you holding my hand. If I can't do it myself, I mean."

"I'm hoping it might rub off."

"Where to next? Oughtn't I be getting back?"

"Why? Thought you didn't care about the goat man?"

"His name is Bob..." I said indignantly and then stopped myself - he had caught me out. "Okay, you knew I would grow fond of him and 'do my duty'. Heck - you're the time traveller here - it's a little bit of an unfair advantage."

"I haven't travelled in your time stream much. All the times you saw me have already passed for you."

"Okay, there's obviously some law of physics that I don't get because that makes no sense to me. Can we stick to the Ladybird Book version please."

"Where do you want to go? What can I show you to make this easier? Do you want to go and see your mother?"

Panic thundered in me. A blank wall opened up. No. No I did not.

I shook my head. "Can you tell me anything that will help me? Why the fairies want this ring for example?"

He leant closer and touched my hand. It was a much less pleasant experience when standing as my stomach tried to fall out my feet.

It was another evening when I rocked to. Fairly early, as it was only just growing dim. I looked around. I recognised this street. Tourists pushed past me and I slunk back against a wall.

"Got it yet?" Dad asked.

I did another three sixty. "Outside the British Museum."

He nodded, then I was distracted by a familiar figure. I opened my mouth to call out his name, but my father steadied me with his hand.

"He doesn't know you yet. Wait."

True and Bob wasn't even Bob then... now.

"Shouldn't I follow him?"

He shook his head and then gestured with his eyes across the road. Someone was paying very close attention to Bob's movements. I couldn't see him very well - I couldn't tell if he was wearing a hooded cloak or he was blurry. No one else was looking at him, but seemed to instinctively move around him as if on some level they knew he was there.

I rubbed my eyes. "Why is he all blurry?"

"Strong magic. I can barely see him at all, you are the Seer. You can see beyond these things."

"Not very well. I mean, fat lot of use that is if all I get is the white noise channel."

"It is a very powerful enchantment. One of the best. You will get stronger. Watch him."

I did so and as I did the figure turned and began to walk away.

We followed.

It was hard to keep sight of him as he blurred in and out of the shadows, when in doubt I followed where people suddenly moved aside for what appeared to be no good reason. I guessed they wouldn't even know why they moved - it was probably just an irrational urge that had to be obeyed.

The crowds thinned out as we went off the tourist route and into a large square, one of those with large and grand houses around a centralised garden. Blue plaques covered the houses and it was sad to see most were broken up into flats now. They were far too large for any family without a huge body of servants.

I stopped suddenly outside one of the houses. It had one set of steps going up to the main door and another going down to the basement entrance. A dusty window peeked out at us.

"I think he went in," I said to my father, "what do we do now?"

He touched my hand and with another whoosh we appeared to be in the basement. I looked to my left - there was the dusty window outside of which I had just been stood.

"Beam me up Scotty," I said to myself.

There were voices coming from upstairs. I tiptoed closer to the stairs, my father sat down on a box. He didn't look so good - I was about to ask him if he was okay when a voice spoke upstairs. I cautiously climbed the stairs and put my ear to the basement door.

"He's stolen it," a deep voice rasped, "I followed him to the gates my lord. It will be in his possession now."

"Did they tell him who it was for?" a second voice asked.

"No my lord, he is one of their usual playthings. He does their bidding."

"And they know what to do with him when he hands it over?"

"They do."

"It is good they cannot wield it, they need us. Their greed would make them uncontrollable."

"And they know the plans? To try it on humans first?"

"Yes - and then we will know if the legends were true and then they will have their chance. Their race will be great in number again."

The voices grew quieter, I surmised they had walked off.

I descended the steps back down to the basement.

"What did you find out?" my father asked.

"Just what I already knew: Bob was meant to hand it over to the fairies and then they were going to kill him."

"Nothing more?"

"Well, they did say they were glad 'they couldn't wield it' and I presume that means the fairies can't use it themselves. Oh, and it was to be tested on humans before fairies - kind of a test run, but I got the feeling they were really interested in how it turns out. They also said something about a legend."

"The ring is an ancient one."

"How ancient?"

"I'll show you."

He touched the back of my hand again and we were off. I was starting to feel like Ebenezeer Scrooge on Christmas night now.

Our next destination was cold and dark. A wind whipped around my ankles and the splatter of water dripping echoed. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark.

"Is he dead?" a young man's voice asked.

I followed the voice, my fingertips touching a wall as it was so dark I didn't want to injure myself by tripping over or losing my way. The wall was bumpy, damp and a little slimy. I bet trolls would like it. Around a bend there seemed to be a glimmer of golden light. I looked around the curve of the wall, but not enough to be in the light and be seen. I stayed firmly in the shadows. It was an open chamber in a cave, candles were ablaze on shelves of rock and in the middle of the chamber stood a stone table on which a man lay. He was quite, quite motionless. At his feet stood a man in what I would have described as dressed like an old fashioned knight who had seen battle. He wore some kind of chainmail over which a colourful tabard, ripped at one end and with a slash mark cut across the chest, was fastened. The dark marks upon his clothes and skin looked very much like chocolate sauce in this light, but it seemed more rational to suppose they were blood stains. He was blond and not very old. He looked worried. The other man stood by a natural stone shelf on which a book and some jars stood. He was older, with long grey hair and a grey beard, he was not knight - his robe was long and fastened modestly with a piece of old rope.

"To the people outside he will never be dead." the old man said, fiddling with the contents of a jar.

"But..."

"The king is sleeping. That is what you will tell them."

"But they won't believe me."

"They won't want to believe you if you tell them otherwise. Tell them he is sleeping and will come again in their time of greatest need."

"That is a lie."

"In part. He is dead now, but I will preserve his flesh so he may come back one day."

"How?"

The old man smiled. "That is where you come in Bedivere. You must start the legend. The once and future king will keep this isle secure."

"But how will he come back?"

The old man held something out between his fingers, it was too far away from me and the light too dim for me to see in any detail.

"This ring is ancient. Older than you can imagine there being time enough in the world. It was passed to me from its last guardian. There is a whole line of ancient kings waiting in a valley for this ring. It can be used to bring the fallen back to life with the words of the ancients." He paused and then spoke in a strange tongue that somehow I understood the meaning of - arise and be with us again. "You Bedivere are to be guardian of the ring. Find the last of the druids and lead them to safety. Be their leader and keep this ring safe."

"Can't you keep it safe?" he said in such a sulky way he made me think him a sullen teenager.

"Alas, I have my own sins to pay for and must attend to them." He passed the ring to the blond knight who didn't look like he wanted to take it. I'm sure he had other plans for his life that did not involve leading an order of druids and babysitting a ring.

"What if it falls into the wrong hands?"

The old man smiled, he knew exactly what a burden he was placing on the young man. "It is your job to protect the ring of resurrection and ensure it does not fall into the wrong hands. It would be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands."

"But if it does?"

"The only way to control this ring of resurrection is to make it no longer a ring of resurrection - change its purpose and keep it in that purpose. It must be a strong bond on sanctified ground."

A hand touched my shoulder. I turned. My father had looked at his watch again.

"Sweetie, it's time to go. We need to go back to your time. You have things to do."

This time he didn't just touch the back of my hand, he took my hand in his own and we left together.

Chapter 10: The Intellectual Dead

Holding fast to my dad's hand I landed on another cold, dark night. My feet hit the ground with the intensity of falling from a great height and I looked around into the darkness. A chilling breeze tried to fight through my dressing gown. Honestly, one day I'd get Barbados or the south of France. One day.

Autumn leaves were under my feet, they were just beginning to be tinged by ice. My breath came out like dragon smoke. Man - it was cold! The only part of me that was warm was the hand that was in my dad's.

As my senses returned I tried to figure out where I was. Lights low in the distance suggested we were on a hill and the absence of light in the immediate vicinity meant we weren't on a street. There was a road nearby, I could hear cars passing by. The amount of cars and their speed suggested London or some other big city.

"Am I back at the right time?" I asked, "Just after the demons in the kitchen?"

Dad's watch beeped. He let go of my hand. "I have to go now."

I frowned at him. Fat lot of use he was with his 'don't know how I do it' and buggering off when I needed all the help I could get. "Now? But I've got to get that ring back - somehow!"

"I'll see you at the end."

"The end? Hold on, that doesn't sound good..."

And he was gone. It was curious seeing it from the other side, it was just like he'd never been there. I even looked around to check, but he was just not there anymore and there was no clue he ever had been.

Great. I didn't even know where or when I was and I had a heap of bad guys to sort out, a ring to recover and a friend to save. It was a lot to ask a girl on her birthday.

I shivered and pulled my dressing gown tighter. There was nothing for it but to walk to warm myself up and keep my senses on high alert. Somehow this place was important, it had some connection to what was going on with Bob, the ring and those dang mean fairies. As I was supposed to be some kind of 'Seer' I tried to see. I can't say I wowed myself with my spidey senses. To be honest, I didn't 'see' anything extra to what would be deemed normal, just shadowy shapes. Then I tripped over a grave. So much for 'seeing' things. I used my phone to illuminate the stone. The name on the grave stone resonated with my memory and after what seemed an intolerable wait the mind fug cleared and I remembered where I had heard this name before: on a tour of Highgate cemetery. This grave had been quite modest in comparison with the other elaborate statues and mausoleums, but the tour guide had stopped here to deliver an historical anecdote. The lady within this small grave had been a lesbian dwarf dancer at the Moulin Rouge during the height of Toulouse Lautrec's patronage. She had been ahead of her time and had retired to London to be a librarian. So I was in Highgate cemetery, either that or there were more lesbian, dwarf, French dancers turned librarians in the Victorian world than I had anticipated.

Why was Highgate cemetery important? Why was I here? Then I felt another chill down my spine. Some big bad assed bastard had a ring that could resurrect the dead and I was in one of the largest cemeteries in the city. He had the potential to raise an army of the un-dead - the two people I had heard from the basement had said it would be tested on humans first. Dead humans would serve the purpose. Now I regretted not listening to that mad woman I had once met in Mill Hill who had told me about her zombie escape plan. All I could remember was that she said to avoid the tube because it would soon be flooded without non-zombie humans to pump it out. And why the hell didn't I live in Bristol where the council had the forethought to issue an official zombie escape plan? I could guarantee Boris wouldn't have thought of this - unless it involved cycling away in an environmentally friendly manner on a blue bike. And trust me, they were so heavy it was an effort to get speed out of them. Even going downhill. And that was if you could get the machine to take your credit card in the first place.

Okay - time for a plan of action. Smash their brains out, right? It's all about the brains with zombies - or so science fiction had reliably informed me. And don't get bitten - being bitten is bad, unless you fancy a life as a soul less brain-eating-obsessed, non-smiling member of the officially dead un-dead. Unless you were an Ofsted inspector of course and then it was pretty mandatory to fulfil said criteria. In fact it was a plus.

I wish I'd trained for this, being officially qualified in stage combat was not gonna cut much mustard with a cemetery of un-dead dead people. I should've prepared for this, I should've been in karate classes since I could walk - why hadn't my dad signed me up for martial arts lessons? I needed to be like Jaclyn Johnson in that Sean Sweeney book I'd read - or like Murphy in the Dresden Files. Why were fictional heroines so well prepared for this? Why wasn't I?

A buzz of noise caught in my ears. People. Chatter and movement. Something was going down in Dodge... or down the bottom of the hill towards George Eliot and Karl Marx's graves anyway.

Taking a deep breath I got into role. I imagined myself to be reading a script and my character was wise-cracking and hard assed. My character was a black belt in every martial art there was. I ate zombies for breakfast (not literally of course, that would be just foul) and I was ready for the biggest show (down) of my life. Walking like John Wayne off to a gun fight, I walked down the hill trying to project a confidence I did not feel.

I was still hidden by the darkness so I had a chance to observe them before they saw me. For safety I crouched behind a large stone angel. They \- an assortment of humanoids, fairies and 'other' - were assembled before Karl Marx's grave. Hundreds of them. At the centre was a man in a dark hooded gown. He seemed to be important and I got the idea that he may have been one of the men I had overheard after seeing Bob at the British Museum. He was the one I would have to deal with. Mono a mono. Me and him. Oh, and the few hundred flunkies he had in support. They looked kinda evil if I'm honest, an assortment of grey ghostly figures with a few demons and fairies thrown in for good measure.

They looked to him and grew silent when he raised his hand. A cluster of fairies in humanoid form stepped back, the air glittering as they moved. Two big demons shoved someone before them for all to see. There, in front of Karl Marx's large head, was Bob.

Courage suited Bob, he had moved through terror and was now on the other side with defiance and sheer bloody mindedness. And lunacy. I'm sure lunacy was there as well. His chin was held high, his hands bound with some shiny silver cord in front of him. Orla was stood behind his shoulder examining her nails in a nonchalant way as if all this was a rather tiring event on her social calendar and she most certainly had better things to do. An unconscious pout rested on her perfectly formed lips. A male fairy who looked startlingly like her stood by her side, he was gazing off into the distance. Then he yawned delicately.

"Just rip it out of his guts," Orla said softly, "I'll do it myself if you give me leave." She held one hand out in front of her and moved it to better catch the light as if she was playing with a diamond ring. Then she smiled at the hooded man. "I'll do it as a gift. Free."

"Not fair," the male Orla said, "you said I could gut him."

"Hush Jamie," she said, "we're not fighting over a goat. There's plenty of goat to go round."

Surely Bob hadn't _swallowed_ the ring? He must have known what they would do to get it back? I looked at him - his chin was still held high. Muppet.

"Search him," the hooded man gestured to two of his own ghoulish assistants. "It wouldn't be the first time a demon had been found incompetent."

His voice was pleasing to the ear, there was something about it that seemed to strike the right musical note. Obviously, to go with such a nice voice, he must be heinously ugly under the hood - why else would he wear it?

Two ghoulish figures began to roughly pat down Bob and within seconds they had found the manky old sock concealing the ring and were swinging it in the air in something that was definitely a ghoulish version of smugness.

Bob's face fell. He had tried his best and now the bad guys had it. There was nothing to stop them bringing back the dead. Except - what had the old man in the cave said? The only way to control the ring was to change its purpose with a strong bond on sanctified ground. Surely the cemetery counted as sanctified ground? So all I had to do was somehow get the ring and find a way of changing its purpose. How did you change the purpose of a ring? And how on earth was I meant to get hold of the thing in the first place? I was a little out numbered here.

"Kill him." the hooded man said to no one in particular.

My heart thudded. "Hey!" I called out from behind the angel, "hey you lot." I walked towards them, my John Wayne impression was slipping a little but I tried to fake as much confidence as possible.

"The Seer," the man in the hood said. He spoke as if he knew all about me, little did he know I was the new improved version - upgrade successful.

"My reputation precedes me."

There was a momentary silence as all of the ghoulish types looked to see how this would go, the big bad guy being faced down by little old human me. I was now in the centre of them all - just metres away from this man, his face hidden deep in the shadows of his hooded cloak.

"You have no reputation Seer and you will have little time to forge one once you die here tonight."

Damn - why did he have to sound so sexy? Keep on track Leo - whoop his ass, don't try and touch it up.

"You will die even quicker than your mother did."

Well that killed the mood. "Heck, you mean I'm gonna die and then I'll just come on back once you do that hocus-pocus with that ring? I'd rather just stay alive, it's easier all round."

"There is no room for a Seer in my world. You will not be resurrected."

I took a step closer. There was a faint glimmer of light that allowed me to see one of his eyes briefly. He looked younger than I had expected. I looked around dramatically. "It doesn't look like your world buddy. Property of toss-pot doesn't seem to be written across it as far as I can see. Maybe I'm not looking hard enough?"

I swear one of the ghouls gasped. Obviously no one had stood up to this guy before. A sharp thrill ran through me. This could be fun.

Now smart words may sound good, but it did little to deal with the big guy who jumped me and twisted my arm into a lock behind my back. Dammit! I struggled but I had little choice but to walk where he thrust me and I found myself being lined up with Bob in front of the enormous visage of Marx.

"Sorry Bob," I said.

He shrugged. "I'm just glad you're safe."

"Yeah - missed a demon axe only to be gutted by fairies."

"Enough small talk!" Orla declared, "let's be on with it."

A silver cord was fastened tightly around my wrists by the male fairy Orla had called Jamie. He didn't have to touch anything, with a small whirl of his finger the cord sprang to life and bound itself to me like an enchanted snake. He leant over me and sniffed. "I might keep you as a pet," he said with a smile that didn't reach his handsome and unlined eyes, "I like human pets."

I had a feeling being gutted or decapitated might actually be a preferable fate than being kept as a pet by a beautiful and rather autistic fairy. I closed my eyes and thought of Kansas, maybe I could do a whoosh-out-of-here thing again? I opened my eyes. Nope. Still here. Still about to become lap dog to a supernatural weirdo. This wasn't looking good.

"Got a plan?" I whispered to Bob.

He shook his head.

"Dang."

The two of us were shoved a little to the side as the ghouls began to set up for what I could best describe as a séance. Candles in lantern jars and hung on enormous wooden stakes were lit around a circular area, out of which everyone backed out of, as if it was now a holy place. Someone burnt an enormous swathe of sage and wafted it around. Surely this was all for effect? The old man in the cave had given no hint that all this elaboration was required. Despite myself I watched with rapt interest and I noticed Bob did too. We were left with one demon as a guard beside us. He didn't seem to notice our whispering as his attention was also on the ceremony going on in front of him.

"What are they doing?" I whispered to Bob.

"Making a holy place even holier," he whispered back, "they want to impress on the Fae how important human involvement is. How they need them."

"What will they do first?"

He spoke simply, "Probably kill one of us to see if it works."

I gulped. "Seriously?"

Bob nodded. "I always suspected it would be my time soon, despite running from it. I thought they might need to test it. The ring. Maybe they'll see if it works first and then just kill us for good?"

"But why here? Why do they need to be in Highgate cemetery?"

He shrugged. "Good tube connection - easy for everyone to get to?"

Strange words were being chanted in the circle. First by the hooded man and then echoed by his followers. He held his hands up high and there was a glint of light as he moved and the ring caught and reflected the candle light.

The fairies stood some way off looking bored, they just wanted to see if it worked and weren't at all interested in the nuts and bolts. Some of the sage and incense wafted over to us. It was powerful stuff and I was sure to go home stinking. Oh - if I ever got to go home that was.

I realised I was shaking with fear. I really, really didn't want to die and I certainly didn't want to die horribly.

"I'm scared Bob."

"There's nothing we can do. We shall just have to accept it."

A sob escaped from my throat. Bob reached for my hand.

"Don't worry Leo, they'll probably kill me first. I'm glad - you're the best friend I've ever had."

Another sob escaped. I had meant to be brave and I was failing miserably.

Suddenly, beside us, our demonic guard collapsed to the floor, buckling in the middle of his legs as if his knees had suddenly disappeared. Then a slimy green figure was upon him and bashing his head in with a large wok. My best wok. Did you know demon blood looked like black treacle? Especially when it splatters all over you. It does.

"Asshole!" a voice rasped quietly.

"Trevor?"

The troll stood in front of us, his hands on hips in superhero pose. "Who else?" He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, that kind of detracted from the whole superhero look. That and the fact he was covered with thick, black blood.

"Can you get these off us?" I asked, showing Trevor the silky silver cord around my wrists.

Trevor shook his head, "No chance - that's Fae magick. Fae magick is strong."

Since the magick was tightly wrapped around my wrists and cutting off my circulation I could not disagree.

"How did you get here?"

Trevor shrugged. "Trolls have their ways. Now d'ya wanna kick ass?"

"Hell yeah!" I smiled at Trevor and then it fell off my face. "How exactly?"

"We need to get the ring," Bob said, "and destroy it."

I shook my head, "I know how to stop it working, but I still need to get hold of it. How are we going to do that?"

Suddenly there was a rumble of earth. Bob and I were thrown to our knees, Trevor - having a lower centre of gravity - just wobbled. The words and the ring were having an effect. We were running out of time.

Another incantation rang loud about the cemetery. The stones shook in the earth. A storm broke above, a crack of thunder deafened us and the lightning lit up the cemetery for an instant. Then all was black.

First one wail cut through the air. Then a dozen, then a hundred. It sounded like a nursery full of grown babies calling out the pain of life. I looked at Bob and Trevor, there was no reassurance to be seen in their faces - they were just as terrified as I was.

"They've woken!" Bob cried, "It's too late!"

A groan rumbled. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the scene - gravestones being smashed aside and the earth being torn open from within. A grey hand appeared through a patch of earth. I felt sick.

The un-dead figures began to fight their way back to life, some smashed through tomb doors but most had to dig themselves out of the earth. When they appeared it was clear their bodies were as good as their embalmers had made them after they died. Some were good jobs, a Victorian lady stood blemish free in a rotting wedding dress, but some were bad - skeletons with grey flesh hanging off the bone and internal organs sliding out between exposed ribs as a green mess of goo. As if drawn to the illuminated circle they stumbled, walked and fell towards the hooded man. They didn't walk like TV zombies - hands out in front and calling for brains - they walked like people, people in different states of repair. Even the decently preserved looked ugly - pale skin, like they had been in the bath too long, with the make-up of the funeral parlour still bright upon their faces. Some of them looked confused and looked around, blinking in the light. One woman looked at her hands of rotting flesh and sat down to sob. It was like someone had dug up a battlefield.

The hooded man held his hands out. Orla and Jamie now looked moderately interested and looked at the corpses like children looking at an ant under a magnifying glass. It was all just an experiment to them. They had their own agenda.

"Stay here!" I told Bob and Trevor, "Better still - hide!"

"What are you going to do?" Bob asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I haven't got a bloody clue."

"I can help!" Trevor said, palming the wok and looking as tough and hard as only a troll can.

I shook my head, "Your job is to protect Bob, he is still my client and his needs come first."

Trevor nodded. I knew, even now, he was thinking of mangoes.

Bob opened his mouth to speak. I shook my head. "You came to me for help Bob, please take it."

His face was sad, but he nodded. "I wish I was more use to you," he said, "but I'm no use to anyone."

I clutched the back of his hand with my own. "Yes you are. And I still owe you a pizza."

Hands still bound I edged my way forward. A bearded man was ahead of me, entering the circle, shaking his head.

"Where am I?" he asked in a faint German accent.

Holy shit, it was Karl Marx! I looked from the un-dead dead Karl Marx to the enormous stone head that covered his grave. Bloody hell!

"Welcome Herr Marx," the hooded man said, spreading his arms wide, "Welcome back to the living world. We've been waiting for you."

What? All this was for one guy? Even Orla looked faintly surprised although it was hard to tell on her botoxed face. What did the hooded man want Karl Marx for? Hmm - what use could there be for the man who had inspired the political regimes in the world's biggest and scariest countries? Dear god, if China, Russia and Cuba heard that Karl Marx was back with us... what could he persuade him to do? What would the hooded man _want_ him to persuade them to do?

"Waiting for me?" Marx said, "You must have been waiting a long time. I appear to have been dead." He turned around and looked about him. "So, I got Highgate then. Very good. Dear God!" He was now confronted by his enormous face of a tomb. "Who the hell created that monstrosity? Why on earth would I want my big fat face all over the place? Schmucks!" He shook his head.

"Please come with me," the hooded man said.

Marx stayed where he was, looking at his enormous face. To be honest his embalmer hadn't been the best and he was a bit flaky, but the resemblance was still fairly clear. "Why should I go with you?"

"I brought you back."

"So?"

The two stared at each other. Good old Marx, truculent and strong willed.

"Persuade me young man." Marx said and sat on a tomb stone, legs and arms crossed. "Persuade me why I should go with you. There are lots of other things I should like to do. I would like to get laid as soon as possible and then I should like to take a train all the way around London. Under ground. Yes, that sounds very fine. I like the underground train system."

"I need you," the hooded man said, "your work inspired millions of people to work for political reform - the proletariat rose. Think what we could do together. Where your work could lead the world next."

Marx sniffed.

"Yes," I said, taking a deep breath and stepping forward into the circle. "The proletariat rose..."

"Let me kill her!" hissed Orla.

Marx steadied her with a hand. "Not so fast pretty one, let her talk. I want to hear." He looked at my bound hands, but wisely decided not to comment. "Speak."

"Your words and work inspired the greatest change in political history, but it also inspired regimes of fear and was responsible for the greatest murders of the twentieth century... well except those inspired by fascism, but that's another story."

"Without you," the hooded man went on, "humans would be still scrabbling around in the dirt, the rich would still be rich and the poor still oppressed."

"The rich still rule the world!" I continued, "money always rules. Even the Soviets at the top lived better lives than those at the bottom. Think of the slaughter of 'intellectuals' in Cambodia, anyone who could spell their name slaughtered to free the proletariat - so who was there left to educate the proletariat?"

"People killed in my name?" Marx asked, "Really?" He shook his head. "I didn't expect that."

"People will always kill," the hooded man said, "that is what it is to be human. They mindlessly slaughter each other at the slightest whim. We can educate them to be better - together."

Marx shook his head. "I don't care anymore. I thought it was important, but I died. That is the only sure thing - we die. My new life will be devoted to pleasure. Hedonism. That is what I shall do."

"I'm afraid I must insist." the hooded man said.

Marx threw his hands in the air. "What are you going to do? Kill me?"

"If I must."

"Been there, done that my young friend."

"Then I shall kill her." He looked straight at me and I felt a twist in my guts. The hooded man nodded to Orla. She put one icy hand on my arm and dragged me to him. Her nails were sharp and dug deep through the sleeve of my dressing gown like acid. She threw me and I landed on my knees in front of the hooded man. At any other time it might be a moment for innuendo. Not now.

He reached for my chin with his black leather covered hand and tilted it up as if to take a better look at me. Then he clasped my face and spun me round to face Marx.

"I will kill her."

Marx shrugged again. "If you will you will - it has very little to do with me. Your decisions are your own no matter what I say. Why should she matter to me?"

The hooded man threw me to the ground, it was awkward landing on bound hands and my wrists twisted painfully. It was also cold and I was beginning to shiver with cold. I was trying to suppress it as much as possible because I didn't want him to think I was scared - although of course I was.

From the ground I looked up. The hooded man pulled the Vitam Mortem ring off his little finger and held it up to Marx between his thumb and index finger.

"Do you know what this is? What I can do with it? I can raise armies of soldiers to do my will. Our will."

Orla leant over Marx and hissed, "The Fae will arise and re-conquer your miserable race."

I looked at the ring. It was the first opportunity I'd had to see it close up. It was kind of pretty - old fashioned gold woven into a circle and surmounted with a yellow diamond. Ancient lettering covered each strand of gold and it almost seemed to resonate power. I had to stop it. I had to do something to prevent the rise of these un-dead dead humans and a race of life-challenged fairies from taking over the world. I was on holy, sanctified ground and now I had to find a way of changing the ring's purpose. There was only one way I could think of doing that.

"Hey, toss-rag," I said which drew the hooded man's attention back to me, "I'm going to marry you."

"Marry me?" he repeated with contempt.

"Thank you - I will." and I dived for the ring he so conveniently held out, aiming my left ring finger for the Vitam Mortem ring. It slid on as if it had been made for me. I felt a spark and then the throbbing from the ring went silent. A vow made on sanctified ground and a ring exchanged. Just like the weddings before the Christian church organised itself - a simple promise and exchange. That was all that was needed.

I looked down at my hands. The ring sat comfortably on my finger. It's power diminished and I felt a tug. I had done it. I smiled. My smile irritated the hooded man so he back slapped me across the face which was not the wedding present I had anticipated and sent me flying back down to the earth. He knew I had won.

I'd like to say the un-dead dead got him, but in the blink of an eye he was gone. Just like that.

Orla growled and then clicked her fingers. She disappeared as well followed by Jamie. Soon the ghouls and demons were also slinking off into the dark. That was it? Slip the ring on your finger and done?

With the fairies gone I realised my hands were free and I slowly stood myself up.

Karl Marx also took that as his cue and rose from the gravestone he had been perched upon. "Nice meeting you." he said, "I'm off to get laid. It's been a while."

I watched as he trotted off down the hill. A nudge in the ribs turned me around. A small Victorian woman was stood before me.

"Do they still read 'Middlemarch'?"

"Oh yes." I said, blinking at the incredulity of the moment, "there was even a TV adaptation or two."

She rubbed her hands together. "Good, I've got decades of back paid royalties to claim."

Chapter 11: Things to do when dead in London

All around me the dead of the twentieth century were wondering what to do with themselves. Not all were as determined as George Eliot who had already marched off to find an agent or Karl Marx who... well we all know what Karl Marx had marched off to find. Some just looked around, shaking their heads in wonder. I looked around half expecting to see a catering van and a lighting truck. However - if these were extras in a film their make-up would have looked more realistic. These guys just looked ill.

"You did it," Bob said as he approached me, rubbing his freed wrists "you did it!" Bob looked so happy. His face was completely at ease. He looked well, considering the long and scary night he had just come through.

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. I was still a little confused. What should I do next? There was still a cemetery full of the un-dead dead to deal with, they hadn't reverted back to being dead with the end of the rings power.

"What should we do about these guys?" I asked him, pointing at the zombies who had once been the great and good of Victorian London. "We can't just unleash them on London. They'd never survive for one thing."

"Can they live here?"

"I'm not sure they'd want to - I mean, it is a reminder that you are dead. Also it's bit of a tourist trap. I'm not sure what the Americans would make of them. They need somewhere where their slightly... sleepy and creepy appearance doesn't look odd."

One of the un-dead dead stretched and yawned. Give him a newspaper and a cup of coffee and he could have been a commuter.

I smiled, "I've got it! Just down the hill we have good tube links. There are even dozens of unused stations closed up across all the lines. They could live at Aldwych for example!"

Bob didn't say anything, but I could see he would just agree with whatever plan I mooted. I realised I was Fred in the Scooby gang to his Shaggy. I guess that made Trevor Scooby Doo. Scratch that - Scrappy Doo, he was always up for a fight against bigger dudes.

Bob and I managed to gather most of the un-dead around us and I told them about the tube system. Most of them had travelled on the old Victorian cut and shut lines in life so it wasn't completely new to them. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than anything else I could think of. No one would notice them on the tube. They would just look like commuters.

Some of them had formed informal groups and once I had explained the idea they drifted off to discuss it in private. There were many glances over the shoulders as they talked. Then a male figure stepped forward. He wore a top hat and morning suit. He took off the hat to address me. What a gentleman.

"Madam, I am Edwin Jaxon Crabtree the third and I have been elected spokesman for the..."

"Spokesperson!" a woman in the suffragette colours of white, green and violet piped up.

The man nodded to her. "Forgive me Millicent. I am the spokes _person_ for the newly un-dead peoples of Highgate. I would like to discuss our ideas and questions with you - the representative of the living of London."

I didn't feel very alive at this time in the morning that was for sure. I stifled a yawn and did my best to listen.

"My men... sorry Millicent, _people_ would like assurances that they will not be pressed into the service of the holder of the ring."

"Nope."

"I'll take that as your oath ma'm."

"We want to fight prejudice!" another man shouted, "Tell her Edwin! No prejudice against the un-dead!"

The spokesman looked a little annoyed. "I was just getting to that Stanley. We want to be acknowledged as the un-dead dead and not _zombies_." He turned back to the group of un-dead dead, "Was that the word you used Fred?"

Fred nodded. "We don't want or need brains and there is no need to pummel our heads in with a blunt instrument."

Fred looked a little more modern than the rest of them, his sideburns and flares suggesting he had been a late sixties addition to the cemetery.

"Yes," Edwin Crabtree continued, "we would like to avoid prejudice. We did not ask to be resurrected and would like to avoid any repercussions upon ourselves for the actions of the ring holder."

"Oh, I didn't bring you back." I told him, "that was nothing to do with me."

"As the ring holder you must take responsibility."

Great. "Very well. You are not zombies, you don't want brains and you were quite happy to be dead and did not ask to be resurrected. Is that it?"

Edwin Crabtree looked back to his constituents. They nodded. He looked back to me. "That is all. Now for the fine print..."

Something told me Edwin Crabtree had been a lawyer in life.

The negotiations finally ended about an hour later and it was agreed they would go into the underground system as refugees. At least the dark would be what they were used to and being underground would be reassuring for those who had newly left their graves. One of the un-dead dead, who had not been part of the group negotiations, was already trying to dig himself back into his grave.

In gratitude most of them wanted to shake my hand which was a bit freaky as the un-dead had worse skin than trolls, but I thought it would be churlish to ignore their thanks. And apparently I was the ring holder and that meant something to these people. I made a mental note to find some anti bacterial cleanser later. The worst of the skin flakes I just flicked off on to the grass.

A few of the un-dead dead remained in the cemetery - those with large, comfy tombs anyway - but most of them began to move off with the dawn, shuffling out of the gates and down the hill towards the tube station. Dawn of the dead - literally. One dead, sorry un-dead dead architect was already sizing up his tomb as a piece of prime London real estate. It wouldn't be long before some commuter moved in and did the place up in black and white granite and parked a beamer out the back.

I watched them slink off down the hill and when the last of them was gone I sat down on a gravestone, by an open grave, and put my head in my hands and had a damn good cry. Poor Bob and Trevor didn't know what to do, so after a tentative pat on the back they went off to buy breakfast and coffee. By the time they came back with McDonald's bags of fast food I was cried out and felt a little more steady. I was alive - that was what mattered - and I had made a promise to myself to tell Jez how I felt. Before I lost my nerve I pulled out my phone. There was a tiny amount of battery life left. I pressed to dial his number which was still top of my speed dial list. It rang three times, each ring making me twitch with nerves, before it went on to voicemail - hardly surprising given the time.

" _You are through to Jez. If you leave a message I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible."_

I took a deep breath and began to speak, then I realised it hadn't even beeped to record yet. I steadied myself, fingers gripped like a sweaty vice around the phone.

It beeped.

"Hi Jez... it's Leo here." I walked as I talked, "Er... so hi. Erm, look I was wondering if I could erm... Look Jez, I really need to see you. Please call me back. And I guess if you don't I'll take that to mean you're not interested in talking and sorting things out. Because we have things to sort out, don't we? I think? I... I need to speak to you. I..."

My handset beeped it's last and the battery faded. Geez, eloquent or what? I could always blame a complete lack of sleep for my witterings.

I walked back to Bob and Trevor and took the paper bag Bob held out to me. It was warm so I clung to it like a hot water bottle.

The three of us sat and ate our assorted cheap and nasty breakfast goods and could not think of one word to say to each other. It was a sleepy silence. Until Trevor began on his milkshake. However, this morning I could even forgive Trevor his milkshake slurping. The boy had come good, as a football commentator would say.

My stomach took on board the food with the best grace it could and I hoped I wouldn't be seeing it again, but it was too early to tell.

"Do you think I'm safe now?" Bob said eventually, after finishing his Egg McMuffin and scrunching the wrapper into a small ball that he deposited back into the bag.

Trevor burped loudly and proudly. It was a big sound for a little guy.

"I guess if they wanted you dead they would have done it before leaving. Perhaps they just don't care now the ring is useless? Perhaps you no longer matter to them?" as I spoke I looked at the ring still glittering on my hand. Did I dare take it off? I needed to ask someone a little more knowledgeable about weird things. "I think it's safe to assume the fairies have no more interest in you."

Bob nodded. "Good. I can get a job then. I am free of the fairies for good." He smiled. "I can start afresh!"

I sighed. Bob was free of his burdens, but mine were only just beginning - I had yet to figure out what all this Seer stuff was about and then there was the issue of my father and his... background. He needed to answer some questions. He _had_ said he would be here at the end. It was time for him to talk.

I collected the rubbish from the boys and walked over to the nearest litter bin.

"Okay dad!" I called out in a loud whisper, "You said you would be here at the end - this is the end - where are you?"

"Here." he said a second after appearing behind the litter bin. His watch was beeping rapidly and he hit it to stop it with his other hand. He looked as if he could have come straight from our last meeting during the night before. His face was sad and he looked more tired than I had ever seen him before.

I looked to see what Bob and Trevor's reactions would be to this man appearing out of the ether. Nothing. They carried on finishing their drinks. I suppose you must stop noticing weird things after a while. Especially if you were a troll or a half goat man.

"Come," dad said, "let's walk. We've got a lot to talk about and time is short."

"You don't say."

I left Bob and Trevor happily slurping and dad and I followed the path around the now less-than-tranquil cemetery. It did rather look like it had been a big night for grave robbers or experimental bombers.

"As soon as I've gone you and your friends need to get out of here before someone raises the alarm. This isn't going to look good on the news."

I nodded. "Grave robbery never does. And that's what it's going to look like, isn't it?" There was no other way to explain the devastation before us. Not unless you believed in bad assed supernatural dudes and rings with the powers of resurrection, that is.

"Well you did it Leo," he said, sitting on a bench on a hill. He patted the space next to him and I sat down.

"You always knew I would, didn't you?"

He shrugged. "You're a clever girl. I never doubted it." His eyes fell on the ring on my finger. He took my hand in his hand and held it up. "See, I said you were already married in my time stream."

"What? Oh no... this was... no!"

My father nodded sagely. "I told you the future was pretty much unchangeable. The ripples on the pond may change direction, but they still ripple."

"But...no! You didn't tell me _this_ would happen! I didn't really marry that \- that ghoul?" So much for being the mad woman with cats - I had married the mad man with zombies instead.

"You made a vow and exchanged a ring."

"That'd never stand up in court. And it's not legal, nothing was signed."

"It was spiritual. The earliest weddings were spiritual in holy places, only governments like pieces of paper to be signed. It's tidy enough for them to file that way. That part of weddings is a very modern invention. He never set such conditions."

"But... I _can't_ be married!"

"You made an oath on holy ground sweetie. To Him you are married."

"Your former boss thinks I am married?"

"You are. And to him, the hooded man. The hooded man knows what you've done, he knows you two are now linked. He will be thinking on this and working out his next steps." Dad frowned, "I wish there had been another way - but it was always going to end like this. The hooded man was slightly thrown by the evening's events, but he'll be back and you need to be careful of him. The two of you are linked now, forever. My ex employer does not believe in the dissolution of holy marriage."

"But... but..." Shit. I had been 'married' less than a minute before already becoming a domestic abuse victim. The side of my face still throbbed from where he had whacked me and now I was being told there was no way out. We'd see about that!

Dad shrugged. "Sorry sweetie. It's done. It was the only way. You had to do it."

He let me sit in silence for a moment as I took in the shock.

"But I don't even know his name."

"You will. In time."

"Can't you tell me?"

"I can't mess with your future, I could only show you your past. It's against all the laws of... of the laws people like me had to abide by. And still do."

"And what if I want to marry someone properly? Like - someone I _actually_ love?"

Dad shrugged. "You'll work things out in time. Now - we do have other matters to talk of I'm afraid. You still have work to do."

"Hey, I got Bob out of this fix. Job done."

"That was only the start. The fairies will think of other ways to push at the boundaries of mankind's world - they still think it's theirs you see and will do anything to win it back - even making allegiances with people like... well like your new husband."

"Don't call him that."

"You'd better get used to it. It changes things."

I pouted. I had wanted to marry Jez - if anyone. How was I going to explain this to the man I loved, the man I had pledged to reveal my love to if I survived? Damn it, why couldn't life be easy? What would he think if he saw a ring on my finger?

"Do I have to keep it on my finger?" I asked my dad, "To keep it from being all resurrectiony?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it is wise to at least keep it on your person. I don't know if it needs to stay on your finger. Could you try keeping it on a chain around your neck?"

"Okay."

He leant close. "Keep your eyes open Leo, be sure of your friends and even more sure of your enemies."

"I don't have enemies."

"You do now."

"Great. Do a guy a good turn and his enemies become yours. I failed then - he, that hooded man, can come back and do whatever he wants. I didn't stop him, just put him off for a bit."

"You didn't fail - you stopped the ring being used as a tool of power. You were never meant to stop him - this was a battle not the whole war. It's a small part of the whole and to him it already happened and could not be changed. There's so much more I want to tell you Leo - I just don't have time. I suppose you'll just have to figure it out for yourself."

"Why do you always harp on about time? That watch beeps all the time and you're off, no matter whether I need you or not. It's bad enough I never had a mum to help me in my life, but at least she had a good reason. You just waltz in and out of my life when you feel like it."

"I don't have a choice Leo. I had to make some tough decisions."

"You're never there when I need you!" I sounded just like a sulky teenager, but I couldn't help it - he hadn't seen enough of my sulky teenager at the time so he was getting it now.

"I've always been there when you really needed me Leo, that's when I was with you. When you needed me. Think about it."

I did. I thought about all the times he had deigned to turn up in my life. I could easily count them on my two hands. The night I came home from school sobbing because I was being bullied. He had turned up then with Tiddles, taught me how to care for the cat that I now knew was actually a baby griffin. He had wiped my tears and tucked me up in bed. Once he had sat with me in the college library testing me on A Level Literature the night before my exams. There was the time he turned up with cake just after Jez left. I think I told him to eff off then, but true - he turned up and I did eat a mouthful of the cake he left before leaving it to moulder in the fridge. It was good cake, but I was too miserable to take pleasure in it.

"Even if you did occasionally turn up," I said, "that doesn't amount to a hell of a lot of time over the course of one life time."

He looked at his watch. His eyes appeared to be glinting with tears. Surely not? Surely my dad couldn't cry? "No," he shook his head. "Over the course of your life time it amounts to twenty three hours and thirty seven minutes."

"Huh?"

He looked at me. His eyes were full of tears. "Leo - what do you remember of the night your mother died?"

"Nothing." That was a lie, but to be fair it was the lie I told myself.

His eyes bore deep into me. "What do you remember?"

I shrugged. "It was night. It was dark and cold."

"We were out at a fireworks display," he said, "it was the fifth of November. There was an enormous bonfire and a guy being burnt at the very top. We were probably too close, but everyone was. Health and safety would never allow it these days. You were little, it had just been your third birthday and I lifted you on to my shoulders so you could see everything. You held a sparkler in your hands. You were wearing new gloves. Birthday gloves. Your face was lit up in pure joy, as if it was the most exciting thing you had ever seen. Then the fireworks began to go off. It was the most beautiful display and stood beside the two people I loved most in the world I knew I had done the right thing in becoming mortal. When He created us, the angels, He had not realised that in sparing us pain and old age and death He was also depriving us of love and life and joy. It was one of the best nights of my life, alongside the night I met your mother, when I married her and the night you were born. I counted myself a very fortunate man that night. I was filled with love and joy."

Did I remember that night? How could I tell if my memories were of that night and not of some other fireworks display on a later year? Of course - it had been the last time we were all together, because later that night my mother had died. That was a black hole in my life that I refused to peep into.

My father looked at me. "Do you remember how your mother died?"

"No - and I don't want to so don't remind me please."

"Do you remember how I died?"

I looked at him in shock. My stomach opened into a wide swirling pit. "You?"

He looked at his watch again.

"You died?" I repeated. "How? I... but..."

He took my hand in his own and looked into the distance. A tear rolled down from his eye. "I have been living this one day for twenty two years Leo. It's hard to make twenty four hours last your daughter's life time so I picked the most important moments, the ones where you really needed someone in your corner."

"I don't understand." My voice was so choked with tears it was painful to talk.

"I made a bargain at the end - one day to spend with my daughter, but I've not been playing fair Leo. I've been taking parts of that day at different times and now my time is out."

I grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch. It was counting up to twenty four hours and read 23:48. "Twelve minutes? That's all you've got left?"

He put his arm around me and pulled me close. "Perhaps we could just watch the sun rise together?"

"But there are so many things I want to talk about, things I need to know..."

As a large sob escaped from me I nestled into the nook of his arm. Looking at the sun neither of us had to see the tears flooding from our eyes, although it was harder to ignore the shaking that the sobs were racking from our bodies.

The sun rise was a pretence for ignoring the imminent and inescapable future of the next twelve... eleven... ten minutes. The sun was no more beautiful than usual which seemed wrong. Surely if it was going to be someone's last sun rise it should look more than the usual mediocre ball of yellow in the sky fighting through morning mist? It should be a thing of awe and beauty.

"Daddy?"

"Yes sweetie?"

"I'm sorry I wasn't a better daughter."

He pulled me close and kissed my forehead. "I couldn't have wished for a better one." He pulled me close into a hug.

Fathers are not meant to cry. They are meant to be strong and calm and the rock to which a child can anchor themselves. To see your father cry is the worst thing in the world because it tells you the world is a bad and painful place, that even fathers need to sob out their pain sometimes.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I know you do."

I pulled my arms tight around his neck as if I could keep him from slipping away. His watch beeped and I wrapped him closer, closer, closer and then he was gone. There was nothing left. He was gone.

Chapter 12: When it's all over we still have to clear up

My kitchen clock had stopped when the power had been cut. It showed the time as 10:34 pm. I looked at it for a while when I got home as it was the only sign of the evening before. That evening that already seemed half a lifetime away. The clock's hands were caught in that moment and in truth I think a part of me was there with it, trapped forever in time.

The window had been replaced and everything cleaned. Not a grain of salt was in the wrong place. Nissa had been good to stay and work without my leaving out a dish of milk. I opened the fridge and poured one out for her now. I always bought full fat Jersey milk for my little Brownie helper, I thought it was the least I could do. As I closed the fridge door I caught sight of a postcard tucked under a magnet. It was from this summer when an old friend had gone to Spain. 'Wish you were here' it said across the front, a picture of green trees and sandy desert. I looked up to the clock and then back down to the postcard.

The sofas that had been up ended were now back where they should be, Bob's blanket neatly folded on one arm.

Bob had followed me into the flat and looked just as confused as I did as to what happened next, now all the drama had been played out.

"Goodnight," I said to Bob, although the time was early in the morning, and I went to my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

The duvet was warm once I pulled it around me and cut off all the gaps where a draft could get in. I knew I wouldn't sleep, my mind was too busy. In a frantic rush my mind replayed everything and then debated the millions of variables that could have occurred if I had made different decisions. No matter how much I thought, nothing would change and nothing would make me feel better.

I reached into a drawer for a hand full of knock-off sleeping pills and swallowed them dry.

I woke when it was dark, popped more pills and slept again. My sleep was good - it was empty of dreams.

It was definitely the next day when I woke, or it could have been the day after that. Anyway - a hungry stomach got me out of bed and made me walk to the kitchen. As I was rummaging in the fridge I noticed Bob was sitting on the sofa with the local jobs paper spread before him on the coffee table. He was serious then.

I took a spoon and a bowl of cornflakes to the other sofa and sat down. As I ate I regarded Bob and watched the rapt interest at which he read all the advertisements, he even had a red felt tip pen in his hand, ready to circle the ones that interested him. He scratched his head, right by his little stubby horns.

"Er... Bob..."

He looked at me and blinked.

"I don't want to throw a spanner in the works or anything - but how are you going to get away with... with - _them_?" and I gestured to where the horns were on his head.

His hand followed mine and he felt his horns as if he had forgotten all about them. "Oh, I've been letting my hair grow. I can back comb it into an amazing afro, the local hair dresser showed me how. I told her I was a genetic freak. She even sold me the comb to do it with."

"And your feet?"

"I'll get human shoes with inserts. No one will ever notice."

"Oh okay."

I went back to eating and he went back to reading.

"Er, Bob..."

"Yes?"

"What qualifications do you have?"

"Huh?"

"Qualifications. What qualifications do you have?"

He scratched his head again. "Well I was many years with the fairies..."

"You can't tell them that. You need bits of paper, bits of paper that say you can do things."

"Can't I just show them? Show them how well I can do the job?"

I shrugged. "I think employers like bits of paper."

He gave me a nonchalant expression and settled back into his reading. I obviously hadn't put him off because he continued to ring the adverts that interested him.

Mind you, I couldn't really criticise - a drama diploma and a certificate in stage combat didn't really go very far. It got you about as far as your great aunt's investigation agency anyway.

I could have stayed around moping, but that's no fun when you share a flat with a half-goat half-man and have an obsessive compulsive Brownie who wouldn't allow any mess to remain for longer than it took you to turn your back. In my mood a bit of mess would have been reassuring. So there was nothing to do but shower, dress and drive up to the office in Cockfosters. Perhaps it was time real life started again.

The office building was as deserted as usual. I had no trouble in finding parking since my car was the only one that ever parked there - apart from the occasional intrusion from the odd commuter departing from Cockfosters tube.

It was a cold morning, winter was truly here and as I stepped from the car I wrapped my coat close about me.

I walked into the building and up the stairs. Reggie was at work on the floors. I bade him good morning and he didn't even blink. I hesitated with my hand on the brass door knob to Paranormal Investigations, looking at the dripping gold letters. This was it now. This was my life. I would never play Lady Macbeth, I would never be a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company. I was doomed to work for my aunt and scrape a living spying on errant husbands and the occasional sexed up ghost.

I entered and was met with an accusatory glare from Rose at her desk. She peered over a pile of papers and through her glasses at me.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

"Working."

"Humph," she said with a sniff, "would it kill you to call in to the office?"

I sighed and sat down in the visitors' chair opposite her desk, reached for a biscuit off the plate she kept handily on her desk and munched. "Well Rose, it was a bit chaotic what with time travelling with my father, fighting off demons and fairies and then having a showdown in Highgate cemetery when I had to persuade Karl Marx, the zombie version at least, not to ally himself with the forces of evil, but it was okay because it seemed he just wanted to get laid anyway. Oh and the only way I could defeat the bad guy was to marry him."

She sniffed and said, "Ridiculous, your father has been dead twenty-two years." as if she didn't have a problem with any of the other details. Her eyes went back to the paperwork on her desk and she began to shuffle them and make notes in margins. As I got up she tried to peer at me without my seeing, her eyes fell on my ring finger which made me automatically cover it with my right hand. I really was going to have to get a chain and put it somewhere where people couldn't see it. Especially as this ring was still a sought after stolen artefact and a photo of it was bound to be on every police database in the country and possibly further afield.

I went to my office and sat down. There was a stack of papers, messages and expenses to be signed off. I got up and went to the window where I laid my hands on the windowsill and looked out over the Hertfordshire countryside. This side of the office looked over green fields and countryside, the other side looked over the bustle of central London ten miles to the south, the building was built on a curve and my office was on a corner. It was a place of contrasts. I looked at my phone. It hadn't rung for two days - no messages and no missed calls. No one wanted to speak to me. No one.

I looked around the office, it all seemed so pointless. It was no use, I was going to have to go out, get a change of scene.

I darted out of the office before Rose could chastise me, she shouted after me:

"Call Mildred! She's left dozens of messages!"

I bet she had. Still, if she couldn't find the time to talk to me about my so called destiny as a Seer then I couldn't find time to talk to her either.

I walked to the bus stop and went up to High Barnet. In times of trouble I defaulted to Starbucks and at least if I kept myself in public places I would find it easier to fight the tears.

Starbucks was busy and I had to fight my way through a coven of giggling teachers to get to the counter. I joined the queue and, high on the Princess Park Manor money, decided to splash out on a large cup of chai tea latte _and_ a cinnamon swirl - an unheard of extravagance in my meagre life. Having made my choice I just wanted to pay and be done with it but the people in the queue in front of me seemed to be on go-slow. There was a woman who kept asking "Venti? What exactly does that mean?" and a man after her who was staring at the menu as if it was the biggest decision he had ever had to make in his life. He was early thirties and hadn't really got into the Movember idea as he was wearing a stubbly beard rather than an amusing tash. He was wrapped up for weather much colder than it was, a thick jumper in an Argyle print, thick knit scarf and gloves. He had ordered a double chocolate mocha, but was struggling getting the coins out to pay for it as he wouldn't take his gloves off. I sighed and then made myself breathe deeply. It wasn't like I was really in a hurry, I had nowhere to go and no one to see. Even Bob was making plans to leave and Trevor had gone back to his bridge as soon as the McDonald's breakfast was digested. I bit my lip. I would not cry, even if it was pitiful that the two most important people, creatures, whatever - in my life were a goat and a troll. I hadn't even known such creatures existed two weeks ago.

Beardy eventually moved off down the end to wait for his drink and I got to place my order.

The red cups were out in force and Christmas music was piping through the speakers all across Starbucks. I know most people get really excited about the festive period, but for me it's just another day. It's not like I had any family to spend it with, was it? I suppose at least this year would have the benefit of being the first Christmas I wouldn't be angry at my father for not being there. Now I could let all that anger go, he had always done the best for me that he could.

Now I really was all alone. I had isolated all my friends when Jez left and I had practically pushed him away, my family were all gone apart from GA Mildred and she wasn't exactly the sanest bunny in the warren. Really, my life was the product of my own actions and I had no one else to blame for my lonesome misery.

"Caramel frappaccino." the moody Welsh Starbucks barista said as she thumped on the counter the largest frappaccino I had ever seen. The woman threw the drink down with the clear message 'I'm too good for this'. Okay love, we can't all have jobs we love. Her name badge said 'Jones', how very un-Welsh, so I gave Jones a smile just to annoy her as I always found pleasantries did this to people in a mood.

It was hardly the weather for cold drinks and the guy who ordered it was clearly going to get brain freeze. Yup, there he went sucking at his straw like it was July. The double chocolate mocha was next to be thumped on the counter and Beardy tried to pick it up but it kept slipping through his gloved fingers. Geez, it was like the guy had never been let out before.

My chai tea latte followed, I smiled again at Jones and moved off. I decided to break with tradition and went upstairs where it was always a bit quieter. It was also a workout getting up all those stairs and burnt off some of the cinnamon swirl. Double win.

I was in the comfy chairs in the corner and halfway through my tea when I noticed a man standing at the top of the stairs. I probably noticed him because he was still wearing his motorbike helmet and had a courier bag over his shoulder. He looked around the room and then his eyes settled on me. I tried not to look alarmed as he approached me and thrust a package into my face.

"Sign please," he said, his voice muffled by the helmet.

I took the piece of paper and crappy biro he offered and added a squiggle to the piece of paper.

"Not signing for a bomb or anything am I?" I joked. My humour was lost on the courier and he merely ripped off the top copy of the delivery receipt and handed it to me along with a small jiffy bag.

As I took it he turned around and left. The address on the top of the package had been typed and read 'young woman, upstairs in Starbucks, 11.30am 2nd November'. Interesting. I looked around me, Beardy was upstairs as was a group of teenagers and a couple - I was the only woman on her own.

Cautiously I began to open the small package, ripping the fold off the jiffy bag. I didn't put my hand inside, instead shook out the contents which landed on the table with a slither. A piece of white A4 paper had been folded into quarters and underneath was a gold chain. I opened the A4 paper. I had rarely seen my father's handwriting, but I knew it was his all the same.

_I made one more stop,_ it read, _before the end. This was your mother's, I thought it might be useful._

I picked up the chain and let it run through my fingers. I looked back at the note. I had been written in a hurry and the only other lines were post scripts added at the bottom.

PS Have you ever thought about retracing your footsteps?

I scratched my head. Retracing my footsteps? What did that mean?

PPS Be prepared. Be strong. There is worse still to come.

Great dad, thanks. That's a lot of help.

Slowly I eased the ring off my finger and making sure it didn't lose contact with my skin I put it on the chain. The chain I fastened around my neck and tucked under my shirt out of sight. I looked at my finger, the imprint of the ring was still pressed on my flesh, but it would ease in time.

As I finished my tea I thought about what his first PS could mean. Which footsteps should I retrace? The cemetery? Surely not medieval Spain? Then I realised there was only one thing he could mean, one things that was of use - the time I had followed that figure from the British Museum. Would I be able to find that house on the square again? The was only one way to find out.

It was peculiar standing where I had been with my father so recently, or so long ago depending on how you looked at it. I decided I had to find the exact spot I started from to give myself the best chances of finding the house again. The tourists looked at me a bit strangely as I stepped from side to side, trying to be exact, but that was the least of my problems. Heck, I had last been here with a time travelling ex-angel and I had followed a ghoul hell bent on raising the dead.

I closed my eyes to better remember and then set off on my recreation of the journey. It was easy alongside the British Museum as there were not many turnings off, but it became harder to remember which way the ghoul had gone once we were past all the tourists. I made a wrong turn at one point and had to go back on myself and pick up the correct trail. I found a square that I thought might be the one only to realise it didn't have any blue plaques on the houses so I went back again. In a second square I looked about keenly, there was the strangely shaped tree in the gardens and glancing at the blue plaques I knew I was in the right place. I looked at the basement window, I could smash it and squeeze through but it would be noisy. I had a feeling there was no one in, but it would be wise to check first by knocking at the front door.

I walked up the steps to the front door. It was one of those huge, imposing doors that were designed to state the wealth and position of the owners. It had a brass lion head as a knocker and I thumped it down twice. I was not quite sure what to say if someone did come to the door, but knew a claim to be from the Jehovah Witnesses with a copy of the Watchtower would almost certainly guarantee the door being slammed in my face instantly. Unless the person answering the door recognised me from Highgate Cemetery... then I would have to go to plan B, if I could think of one.

I angled my body to better run down the steps should I need to but no one came. I gave one more knock. Nothing. I was about to go down to the basement window when I thought - why not? I put my hand tentatively on the door handle and pushed. It opened.

"Hello," I called, "evil ghoulish demon things? Anyone in?"

It appeared not.

The entrance hall was wide and grand. It didn't take too much imagination to picture the hall in its heyday - an obsessive Upstairs Downstairs and Downton Abbey habit didn't hurt too much either. Now it was grey, dark and covered with dust. I looked for footprints but there was too much thick dust to be able to discern anything. I knew my best bet was to find the door to the basement from behind which I had listened. I wandered the ground floor of the ghostly house until I found a door which seemed to be right. I tried the handle, but the door was locked. Just as well I didn't try coming in through the basement window then. I tried looking through the keyhole but I couldn't see a thing through the gloom. With my back to the door I tried to picture the direction the voices had come from. It seemed to me as if they had come from the left and walked to my right from which they had gone out of hearing distance. If I went left I came upon the entrance hall where I came in, so it made more sense to go right. I followed a dim passage that had once hung with pictures, the rectangular marks of preservation were still clear upon the wall paper. I looked in several doors as I passed them, but the insides were just as empty and dusty as the rest of the house. At the end of the passage was one last door. This had to yield some clue.

I opened the door. Inside was what must have been a gentleman's parlour or study. It was too small to be a library, but books in expensive leather with gilt lettering lined the back wall. There was not a speck of dust which meant someone was either living here, or they had a Brownie as obsessively tidy as my own. There was a fireplace in which a fire was still burning. I looked cautiously about the room, but I was the only one here.

In the centre of the room was a large desk, made of an auburn coloured wood, upon which sat old fashioned books and ledgers. I sat in the wooden and red leather chair at the desk and began to flick through the ledgers. Some of them were handwritten in languages I did not know, deeply etched in darkest black ink. Some of them had words I recognised, 'Vitam Mordem' being one of them. I felt a throb from the ring about my neck. A sheaf of loose papers had been added to the top of one pile, I reached for them but because they were not neatly stacked they slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor. I crouched to pick them up and that was when I heard voices and then footsteps. I grabbed the papers and slid under the desk. Thankfully it was one of those ostentatious Victorian affairs and had an enormous cavity underneath as well as a solid back.

There was enough light from the fire to be able to make out the papers and I realised I was looking at a photograph of myself, except it wasn't exactly me. I had different hair and just looked... different. I had to stop looking when I heard the door handle turn. I clutched them in my hand and tried to make myself into a tiny ball under the desk. My breathing was rapid and so loud I was sure it must be echoing around the room.

"It was good of you to come," said a voice I came to think of as the 'younger' voice. It sounded familiar and it could have been the hooded man's voice, but he was speaking in a different tone so it was too difficult to tell.

"It serves my own interests," said the 'older' voice and he too could have been the hooded man.

A chair creaked on the other side of the room, one of them had sat down.

"It is curious," the younger said, "but you have already seen this, haven't you?"

There was a silence that could have been the nod or shake of a head.

"Can you tell me anymore?"

The elder spoke: "Alas, if I told you any more than was told to me... well, let's just say it wouldn't go well for me."

"Why did you come?"

"Let's just say it was curiosity. I know so much more now about... your wife than I did then."

The younger growled. "Don't."

The older laughed. "Well, if you knew her now as well as you will, you too will find it rather humorous. She has an endearing habit of... stuffing things up."

"Then tell me how I can be rid of her."

"Tsk, tsk, my young friend. I am rather fond of her, as you shall be. She will have her uses."

"Well if you are not going to help me, why did you come?"

"To tell you not to give up, it is not the end - there is hope."

"How?"

A chill filled me.

"Through her. She will provide the solution herself to this miserable race of humans. The world will be on its knees, in time."

"I want it now."

"Patience. Patience."

"How do I know to trust you - that you are not some foul magic sent to trick me?"

"She's under your desk now."

"What?"

"Leo Fey is hiding under the desk. In her hands she has the reports you asked for on her. She slipped through the front door not ten minutes ago because you did not bother to lock it."

There was silence. My heart began to do an ADHD version of the Tango in my chest, my mouth went dry and my throat ripped with breath. I tried really hard to think of my flat, my offices - somewhere safe. Please beam me up Scotty. I began to feel a whoosh fill me just as a pair of legs appeared in front of the desk, he reached down and grabbed hold of the papers and if I could just stay one more second I could see his face... one more second and I would know who he was...

I went and landed with a wet thump.

Bloody trolls. Somehow, despite my best efforts to think of nice, safe, familiar places I had managed to let one thought of Trevor slip in and landed in the middle of the Pymmes Brook in Oakhill Park. It was bloody freezing and since I landed in the position I left I was now sitting in the middle of the water. I stood up, my clothes dragging me down with their sodden weight.

As I began to climb up the slippery, muddy bank a familiar raspy voice said: "Pay the toll, two mangoes."

I gave the troll the finger. "Piss off Trevor."

He crossed his arms. "Charming I am sure."

Shivering I walked the ten minutes back to my flat. I got many strange looks, but I was too cold to care.

With shaking hands I unlocked the door to the flat building and climbed the stairs. Only one more lock stood between me and a warm bath and I could put this day behind me.

I unlocked the door and entered. In the hallway there were boxes and a stack of post. Christmas was coming early it seemed.

"Hello?" I called out, "Bob, are you in?"

A figure in a Pizza Hut uniform, complete with baseball cap, appeared in the hall way.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"I just went to the British Museum."

"For a month?"

"Huh?"

"Leo, you went missing on the second of November, people said you must have killed yourself because your life was so miserable."

"But it is the second of November."

"No Leo, today is the thirtieth of November."

Oh shit. "You mean I've been gone twenty-eight days?"

"Look," he pointed at the boxes, "they made me pack up your stuff. They told me you were dead."

Then the little goat man burst into tears. I put my wet arms around him and patted him on the back.

So what I'd missed twenty-eight days of my life - this way I'd always be a month younger than I had any god given right to be.

It's amazing how much people seem to care when they think you've topped yourself. I'd never had so many posts on my Facebook page from so many random people. I had a good time reading about how much they missed me and who could go over and above to claim the largest share of the grief as my closest friend.

I did consider whether I could go back to the right time, but I couldn't have gone back if I thought it worth the effort, I just didn't know how to and it seemed like the damage was already done to those I cared for. Of course I didn't tell people I had slipped through time, I claimed to have been backpacking in India 'finding myself' for a month and if anyone asked for details I could not provide since I had never been outside of Europe I pretended to have been too high on an assortment of natural drugs to take in the scenery or sights.

I slipped back in to life with ease, well - for me at least - I had never been away.

Bob had done well at Pizza Hut and was their newest delivery boy. It appears goblins can make anything you ask them to, including three GCSE certificates and a moped driving license. He had saved all his money and on the third of December was moving in to his own place.

"I'll help you move," I told him the day I got back - post bath and with the addition of warm clothes.

"There's no need," he said.

"No Bob, you've been my house guest and it's the least I can do. I'll help you."

His meagre belongings were packed up in two small bags and one box. On the morning of the third I cooked him breakfast as it would be our last together. I wasn't able to speak, damn it - I was going to miss him!

"Have you got enough money?" I asked him, like a mother sending her son off to university.

"I do, the tips are very nice thank you."

"And you've got everything you need? Toilet brush? Pint of milk?"

"You don't need to worry Leo. I'll be fine."

Huh, I wasn't worried about him - what would I do without his company?

I washed the dishes slowly, but it was clear Bob wanted to be off and all my efforts to put off this moment wouldn't stop it coming. I had to face it - the moment to say goodbye to this strange little friend was here.

"Perhaps we could have dinner soon?" I asked, "Perhaps invite Trevor along too?"

He nodded. "It's time to go."

"Ah, okay."

"You really don't need to help me."

"No, no - I want to."

"Very well."

I put my coat on, scarf, gloves, hat - you really felt the cold when you skipped twenty-eight days between autumn and winter. I made sure I had my purse, phone and keys and picked up one of Bob's bags. He carried the other bag and the box.

"Are you sure you have everything?"

"I have my blanket, my pizza hut uniform and a frying pan. I'm sorted."

He seemed too composed for my liking, he wanted to leave - our friendship meant nothing to him.

Sniffing I went out to the hallway and opened the door. I sniffed again. Dammit!

"Oh Bob!" I cried out, "I'm going to miss you!"

I grabbed him in a hug and let my tears fall. He patted my back.

When I had regained some composure I wiped my eyes with my coat sleeve and we left the flat. I locked the door behind us and began to walk down the corridor to the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Bob asked.

"Huh?"

"This is my flat."

He pointed to the door opposite my own.

"But a Sri Lankan lady lives there."

"She moved out when you were away. She didn't like the way the neighbourhood was going, I don't think she liked demons."

"You mean you let me go through all that and you live here? Opposite me?"

"You didn't ask. I did say I didn't need your help."

Part of me was furious that he had let me go through all those stupid emotions and part of me was very, very grateful that he was a metre across the hallway from me.

He got out his new keys and unlocked the door. He went in and I passed him the bag.

"Thanks for your help."

"No problem."

"Well, goodbye then."

"Bye."

He smiled and closed the door.

I went back to my flat, unlocked it, went in and peeled off all my clothes that I was now far too hot in.

I had just thrown my coat on the sofa when there was a knock at the door.

Bob.

"Hello neighbour," he said, "I am new to the building and would like to know if you would care to join me for dinner this evening at my new flat."

"You daft bugger Bob!" I grabbed him in a hug and kissed his cheek.

"I'll take that as a yes then."

"Only if I can bring my troll."

"Oh yes, I couldn't leave Trevor out. He says he's going to keep up the culvert as a holiday home. Modernist, he called it."

After moving Bob into his new home it was time to go up to the offices and face Rose. I was not looking forward to this, I mean - who had been keeping her in biscuits for a month?

There was nothing unusual about the building, Reggie ignored me as always, but when I got to the PI door it looked different. I paused and stared at it. What was it? Then I realised that GA Mildred's drippy gold lettering was gone and replaced with professionally done letters.

_Paranormal Investigations - no situation too strange_ it said, _Partners M Fey, MLE Fey and R Windsor._

What? Who the feck was R Windsor? That hadn't been on there before.

Inside the plants were the same but the reception area had had an overhaul. Gone were the old, recycled pieces of furniture and in were sleek and smooth coordinating pieces. Heck, it made us look professional. There was even a proper reception desk and a flat screen computer. Rose was peering at the screen through her glasses which reflected the type. She was checking out plant pots on e-bay. My office was off to the right, as before, but now GA Mildred's old office to the left had undergone a re-vamp and _R Windsor_ was in gold lettering on the door.

A shiny silver bell sat on the counter. I rang it. Rose looked up.

"Oh," she didn't look too surprised to see me, "he said you would be back."

"He?"

"The new partner."

"We have a new partner?"

"Well, it was that or go under. For a month we weren't able to access the accounts without your signature. Mildred had an offer too good to refuse."

"I have a business partner now?"

"Well, technically two, as you still have Mildred."

"Who is he?"

"Mr Windsor."

"I can figure that much out. _Who_ is he?"

She shrugged and then said accusingly, "I don't know, but I can tell you he buys _very_ good biscuits."

"Well that's alright then. Is he in?"

"He's never in. I haven't even met him."

"Never? Well he won't mind me nosing around his office then."

Rose looked as if she couldn't care less what I got up to. I went to Mr Windsor's door and tried it. Locked.

"Have you got the key?" I asked.

"Only Mr Windsor has the key."

Dammit.

"So I have a new mystery business partner who has a locked office?"

Rose mumbled and pressed to bid on a Grecian style pot.

"Great."

I thought I might as well see what had been done to my office so I went inside. Hmm, nothing. It was exactly the same as before, even down to the pot plant which was watered by the leaking ceiling. My office had not undergone any transformation other than to get a month older and mouldier.

I was distracted by my phone ringing. Jez. Taking a deep breath to calm my thudding heart I walked to the window to look out over the Hertfordshire hills as I answered it. Calming, pretty hills.

"Hello Jez." my voice said calmly, well done voice - it sounded much calmer than I felt.

"Hello Leo. You're a hard girl to get through to. I've been trying for a month."

"I was away." He'd been trying to get hold of me for a month and hadn't given up! I could have done a tap dance on the desk... had I been any good at dancing that is.

"That explains it then. How are you?"

"Okay and you? How's the show?"

"Almost over, we start on the film in Prague next week."

"So soon?"

"I was wondering whether you would be free for dinner before I go?"

"I most certainly can be."

"I'm free Sunday night if that's any good for you."

"I can do Sunday. Where shall we meet?"

"How about Waterloo station? Under the clock? We need to talk."

"We do."

"So... Sunday then?"

"Yes. See you Sunday."

My face felt like it hadn't smiled so much for a long time. He hadn't given up on me and now we had a date. No matter what I had promised to tell him I loved him - I owed it to myself and to him to do that in person. Over the phone I would never be able to see his reaction. Over the phone a person could lie too easily.

I was broken from my reverie by the ringing of my desk phone.

"Hello?"

"Mildred for you." Rose boomed and connected the call.

"Hello Leo." came GA Mildred's voice down the phone. She knew something had been up over the last six weeks, that's why she was calling.

"Hello Aunty."

"I was just wondering how things were. How are you?"

"Me? Not too bad considering." I felt the ring under my shirt. What would Jez make of that? I stopped looking out over the Hertfordshire hills and turned to the other window; my crazy city, my London.

"Anything strange been happening dear?"

Strange as in finding out you had a destiny as a Seer, a mediator between two worlds? Befriending a troll and a satyr? Finding out your father was a fallen angel who died twenty two years ago and was time travelling through your life to help you? Being threatened by fairies and almost killed by demons? Getting accidentally married in Highgate Cemetery?

"Strange," I looked out at the city in the distance, the sun was beginning to fade, a golden glint hitting the top of the Canary Wharf tower, "no Aunty, nothing at all unusual has been happening."

###

Thanks for reading throughout November. With Ofsted arriving mid-month I think this whole book was written in about twenty three days which is not bad for a first draft! I am loathe to say goodbye to Leo and her world, so if there is enough demand she will carry on having adventures in Paranormal Investigations 2: Will work for biscuits. Which incidentally I will do, or nice chocolates. Either really.

Thanks must go to all the supporters of myself and this book, I hope I don't forget anyone: everyone at EJS who has been reading along and chatting about it with me in the staffroom; Colleen and Ellie who made me feel I had something worth reading; Mary who gave me a thrill as PI went transatlantic; Karen who I made late for work; Michael for the fantastic cover which inspired how to do away with 'Bertha'; my brother; Benjamin for reading and reviewing; Sean for being the e publishing guru as always and whooping my word count; everyone who suggested silly names and ideas (the silliest coming from Robin Chuffmonkey Longley): Sian, Jackie, Anita, Katie Delaney, Katie Brown, Patrick, Will Dyson, Misti, Carl, Liam, Lee, Jamie, Kneller, Tarryn, Steve, Angela, Atilio, Bob (the non-satyr version), Kate, Rick, Gail and of course the greatest lobster of them all - Harold Parkinson (find him at <https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002696208609>). Anyone I have forgotten, please forgive me - it's been one hell of a month.

Oh and fellow nanoers, I'm counting _all_ of this in my word count!

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Blog: <http://walterwriter.blogspot.com/>

Leo Fey will return in:

Paranormal Investigations 2: Will Work For Biscuits.

It's Christmas time and things are getting odd... okay, _odder_. And how many mince pies can Leo eat before turning into one?
