Paranormal Investigation Bureau Cozy Mystery Box Set Books 1-3

Chapter 1

The bride’s nasally whine cut through the string quartet’s soft music. Hey, photographer, not there. Move that way a bit. She waved a large knife, indicating where I should go, the glossy white ribbon tied around the handle rippling with her efforts. Remind me again why I’m paying you when I’m giving all the direction?

God help me, but I wanted to shove her face into the wedding cake. Deep breaths. I tried to smile while I took a step to the left. I looked through the viewfinder of my Nikon and assessed the shot. The whitewashed weatherboard walls and iron chandelier holding candles created a magical backdrop. So pretty.

No! Oh my God, do I have to do everything myself? she shrieked, and I started. The bride bore down on me, knife still in hand, and pushed my shoulder until I was situated exactly where she wanted.

Who said weddings were an easy way to earn money? The bride retreated to her spot next to the groom. At least he had the good grace to blush. I wondered if he was reassessing his choice of a life partner. Bad luck, buddy; you already put a ring on it. Are we ready to cut the cake now? she asked, heavily pencilled eyebrow raised, as if I’d been the one holding things up. Sheesh.

Look this way, I said, my eye twitching. The bride, Tracy, rolled her eyes. I guess I was stating the obvious, but her husband had been looking at her, so what was I supposed to do? They both turned to the camera, Tracy’s scowl quickly switching to a glowing smile. I snapped a few shots while they poised the tip of the knife on the icing then pushed the blade into the four-tiered work of art.

With Tracy occupied, I quickly stepped back to my original position and clicked away as they fed each other cake. Why hire me if you’re not going to trust my judgement? It wasn’t like I was the cheapest photographer out there, and I doubted Tracy had a degree in visual arts. Who’d come up with the the customer is always right saying? Honestly, most of the time, the customer had no idea about shot composition and lighting. A headache threatened as I thought about the editing suggestions that would be coming my way next week.

Her parents joined her, and her father leaned in for a hug. I quickly moved forward, focused the lens and clicked some close-ups. That would be an amazing shot—the emotion in his face brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t wait to see it on my large desktop screen. Except…

I blinked and stopped clicking. I must be tired, because her father seemed see through, like I imagined a ghost would be. I could see Tracy’s mother through him. What the hell? I lowered the camera. And, of course, he was solid, normal again. I must need more coffee. Maybe Tracy’s whole crazy-bride thing had me so stressed that I was hallucinating.

Feedback exploded from the speaker system, destroying my hearing with laser precision. A giggle followed, and then a woman’s voice slurred out of the speakers. Oopsie. Time to dance! Get your arses on the floor, peeps! Taylor Swift blasted over the partygoers. So that was it for any conversation. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and checked the screen. 8:45 p.m.: forty-five torturous minutes to go. At least the bride would be too busy to harass me, as her bridesmaids had dragged her onto the dance floor.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and hoisted my camera in front of my face. This was probably one of my favourite parts of a wedding—the candid shots where everyone was having fun. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned.

The bride’s father stood there, solid as ever, thank God. He even smiled. Hi, Lily. I wanted to say thank you very much for today. You helped make this an incredible day for my daughter. I know she can get a little carried away sometimes. He shrugged, as if to say what are you gonna do? Hmm, I could think of a few things. Anyway, here’s an extra something to show our appreciation. His smile was genuine when he handed me a white envelope. It all felt a bit Mafia.

Um, thank you, Mr Papadakis. That’s very kind of you. He had already paid me the full amount for the job via direct debit, but I could only assume this was extra cash. I really wanted to know how much, but I wasn’t sure if it was polite to open the envelope in front of him.

It’s my pleasure. My wife and I can’t wait to see all the pictures. Thanks again. He smiled and made his way to the dance floor to bust some moves with his daughter. What a nice dad.

I took a deep breath and fought an unexpected tear. If I ever got married, I didn’t have a dad to celebrate with, or a mum. They disappeared when I was fourteen, presumed dead. Maybe I would just avoid the whole getting married thing, then I wouldn’t have to worry about missing them being there. At least I still had my older brother, James. After my parents disappeared, he took care of me. Then later, he met and married a London girl. They lived just outside London, but he called me every week, and I knew I’d be getting a call later for my birthday. He’d been over there for six years, but he never forgot the important dates.

I nabbed the last of the shots for the night, said goodbye to the bride and groom without too much drama, then lugged my equipment to my Subaru and packed it into the back seat. Once behind the wheel, I locked the doors—one could never be too careful—and opened the envelope. I simulated a drum roll by vibrating my tongue on the roof of my mouth—okay, it didn’t sound anything like a drum roll, but it was better than nothing. My ears rang from the loud music, but the crinkle of the envelope opening was still loud in the quiet car. I held my breath as I pulled out the contents… green plastic notes, which meant, oh my God! One thousand Aussie dollars in hundreds.

Woohoo! I screamed. This called for a song. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Lily. Happy birthday to me! Best present ever. One-thousand un-taxable dollars. I grinned. Maybe I could duck over to the UK sooner than I thought. This money was so going into my holiday/visit-my-brother fund. I turned the radio on and sung along with the latest pop tunes all the way home. Maybe turning twenty-four wasn’t so bad after all.

Except, I may have spoken too soon.

Chapter 2

Iwalked in my door at 10.45 p.m., and I was ready to go to sleep, but I didn’t want to miss James’s call. There was a hot shower with my name on it, after which I replied to a couple of texts from my friends wishing me happy birthday and begging me to come out with them, but I wasn’t in the mood. My birthday brought out the worst in me. I was normally a happy person, but depression came calling every birthday. It was easy to feel sorry for myself when I had no family to celebrate with. I missed the unconditional love I’d had when I was a kid—my parents’ and grandparents’ faces would light up when they saw me. The meals we’d have as a family, usually finished off with my grandmother’s apple strudel, were always a delicious feast with much arguing and laughter.

Comfy in my jammies, I settled onto my fawn-coloured couch and flicked through the channels. Yay that Bridesmaids was on, but boohoo that it only had twenty minutes left. It was my favourite comedy movie of all time. Maybe the universe was trying to make it up to me. I lay back on the couch, clutching my phone. At the end of the movie, I checked the iPhone screen. Nope, no calls, which I already knew, because the phone hadn’t rung, but I had to be sure, like sure, sure.

I yawned. 11.30 p.m., which made it 2.30 p.m. over in England. He should’ve called by now, unless he got caught up at work. Maybe there’d been a coding emergency, and all his company’s websites were down. That was more likely than him having forgotten, wasn’t it? Although, we all forget things sometimes. Disappointment settled over me. Tears burnt my overreacting eyes. Dammit, Lily, he’ll call. Stop being such a baby. I sniffled and wiped the heel of my hand over my eyes. No more crying.

Some other show called Dating Naked came on, where the contestants go on dates, you guessed it, naked. Oh, the horror of seeing people horse riding naked. Ew. I wouldn’t want to be the person cleaning that saddle afterwards. And I had no idea about anyone else, but the last thing I wanted to see on a first date was the guy’s junk, and trust me, I wasn’t a prude; it just wasn’t the most attractive part of a man. I was more of an eyes and face girl. Ah, late-night television, how you mock me. But I watched it, because it was better than staring at my phone. Okay, it wasn’t really, but whatever.

Shortly after 1:00 a.m., and two god-awful episodes of Dating Naked later, I fell asleep, clutching my silent phone.

Argh, morning. I turned my face away from the gross damp spot on my favourite cushion and wiped dribble off my face. There was nothing like waking up on the couch with an emotional hangover. I squinted and could just make out the time on my phone. No missed calls. No messages. It was too early for more disappointment. Time for coffee. Until my first coffee of the morning, I was only capable of grunts, but when James called, I’d have to do words.

I turned the machine on and filled the thingamajig—I had no idea what it was called, but that lack of knowledge didn’t affect my operating skills—with coffee grounds before screwing it into the main part of the machine. I pressed another button, but instead of hot water cascading through the grounds, sparks showered from the back of the machine.

No! I leaned over and ripped the plug from the wall, coughing through the smoke.

My coffee maker was dead. And what the hell? It was only twelve months old. I’d have to get the backup out—my stovetop percolator my grandmother left me when she died.

As I reached into the cupboard, my phone rang. It rang! Hmm, I didn’t recognise the number. Maybe James had trouble with his phone and had to borrow someone else’s?

Hello?

Hello… Lily? A woman’s voice broke through the static, and it sounded like Millicent.

Hello, Millicent?

Lily, hello? Are you there? It’s—

The line went dead. That was two deaths already this morning. Yes, they were metaphorical deaths, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end anyway, and I shuddered. Today was not looking good. Maybe I should’ve just gone back to bed.

However, I wasn’t a giver-uperrer, so I pressed redial. It rang, but as soon as someone answered, the line cut out. Hmm. The reception in my apartment was always fine, but I moved to the window anyway.

I pressed redial. This time, it didn’t even ring. I blew a raspberry, frustration lacing each droplet of spittle that flew from my tongue. Okay, then. Time to get dressed. I was failing at life this morning, so I’d let someone else make my coffee. The café down the street made a decent brew. Maybe I’d take a walk along the beach after I grabbed my coffee. That sounded like a plan.

I found black sports tights and a red T-shirt in my clean-clothes basket—I hated putting clothes away; it was so time-consuming and boring—and put them on. I dragged my sneakers out from under the bed and put them on too, grabbed my wallet, keys, and phone, and opened the door… to a slim, fifty-something-year-old woman in a grey suit, her hand poised to knock. Huh?

Can I help you? I couldn’t see any brochures, so I was probably pretty safe from a religious lecture—not that I hated religion; I was agnostic, and I believed in my right to live peacefully in un-annoyed bliss with my choice, just as I believed others had a right to their beliefs without me judging them and demanding they all become fence-sitters, like me.

Her stern gaze raked me from head to toe and back again. Was my appearance the cause of her frown—my T-shirt was a little creased—or was it her super-tight bun? Actually, I didn’t really want to find out.

Look, I’m just on my way out, Ms…?

Angelica Constance DuPree, but Ma’am to you. Okaaay. As well as being bossy, she had a refined English accent, which gave her words more gravity. She tipped her head back so her nose pointed higher: all the better to look down at me. And you’re Lily Katerina Bianchi. You’re about what I expected.

What was that supposed to mean? I blinked. My brain had nothing. Coffee. I needed coffee. Also, how did she know my name? I supposed she could have found it on the Internet. Was she a stalker? She could have a knife or something tucked into the back of her skirt under her suit jacket.

…Ma’am, would you like to chat while we walk? I have to get… somewhere. Coffee didn’t sound important enough a reason to rush outside, but believe me, it was almost life and death. I’d have a migraine by lunchtime if I missed my daily caffeine hit. I eased past her and shut my door, the deadbolt automatically locking in place. It would probably be safer to talk to her in public. She gave off a cranky and slightly scary vibe, to be honest, oh, and she knew my name; let’s not forget that.

Very well, then. Once you get your coffee, we can come back here and talk. This is a matter to be discussed in private.

Say again? How did she know I was going out for coffee? Did I look like a coffee junkie in withdrawals? Nah, someone suffering coffee withdrawals didn’t look like anything, at least not until I opened my car door, leaned out and threw up from a migraine. Yes, it had happened. More than once. Don’t judge me; Ma’am’s judgey glares were all I could take right now. Ooh, she was also looking smug, like she had one over on me. I suppose being able to mind-read would make you feel like that. I wanted to read minds, dammit! I didn't really believe she could do that, did I?

Gah, I wanted coffee, like really, really badly, but this was crazy. I didn’t know this woman. I was not letting her tag along, but how to say it? I wasn’t usually one to speak my mind and be difficult. Which was probably what got most women into situations they wished they’d avoided. Maybe it was time to learn to annoy people and not worry.

Look, Ma’am, I don’t know you, and I have no idea why you’re at my front door, or how you know my name. I suggest you tell me what you want now, and get it over with. Frankly, I don’t have the energy for weirdness today.

She narrowed her eyes, probably assessing my likelihood of running before she could stab me. I edged towards the stairs, ready to sprint one floor down to freedom.

Ma’am rolled her eyes and sighed. Honestly, Lily, what are we going to do with you? I’m not here to hurt you; I’m here to protect and guide you.

And that didn’t sound freaking weird at all. Stuff it. I took off, bounding down the stairs two at a time until I was out the door, on the footpath, in public. Safe.

The sun shone on a cool morning, and it looked like the day was going to be gorgeous—weather wise, at least. It may have been rude of me to just leave like that, but I preferred to be safe now rather than dead. And that’s not an overreaction. Trust your gut was one of those sayings I lived by. If I was wrong about Ma’am, I could always apologise later, and we’d laugh about it. Yep, or she wouldn’t laugh and hold it against me forever.

I hurried along the footpath, past an assortment of unit blocks, from red-brick two-storey ones to rendered brick twelve-storey ones. Monday morning brought out a mixture of joggers, surfers, and people dressed for work. I crossed at the traffic lights and soon reached Surfer’s Brew. The delectable fragrance of fresh coffee swirled around me. I breathed it in and sighed. Ah. That was more like it.

Just before entering, I looked back. No sign of my weirdo morning visitor. Maybe my morning was improving. I smiled and stepped up to the counter. Morning, Frances. Can I get a regular skim cap? I didn’t get coffee here every day—because I had my coffee machine, or used to have—how depressing—but I visited regularly enough that they knew me. Sometimes I wanted something frothy with chocolate on the top, and I was too lazy to do that at home.

Frances was in her mid-thirties, had gorgeous straight blonde hair, which was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and an infectious smile. Hey, chicky. Coming right up. A little birdie told me it was your birthday yesterday. Happy birthday! She banged used coffee grounds out of the thingamajig and filled it with new ones.

Aw, thanks. Did you run into the girls last night? The girls being my besties, Sophie and Michelle.

Yep. How come you weren’t there? They told me you piked. She screwed the thingamajig into the machine and pressed the button. And wouldn’t you know, it worked. I wish my machine still worked.

Big day photographing a wedding. One drink and I would have fallen asleep. I laughed—it wasn’t too far from the truth. So what if I left out the bit where I had a pity party because my brother hadn’t called. I’d try calling him later. Knowing him, he had a good reason for missing my birthday, and I would keep reminding myself until I knew for sure.

Frances frothed the milk and poured it into the coffee before sprinkling lots of chocolate on the top—she did extra for me, because it was my favourite part. Then she did some magic with a spoon and made a cute little heart on the top of the froth. There you go. She smiled, and I handed her four dollars—coffee habits didn’t come cheap.

Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. See you later. I waved. She waved. The usual. I stopped just outside the shop, unpopped the lid and licked the chocolatey goodness off it before taking a sip. Heaven. The simple things were really the best.

I replaced the lid and started down the street, contemplating whether I should return to my apartment, and possibly run into Ma’am, or go for that walk. There was nothing like a stroll on the beach to settle my mind. The rolling surf was calming. During summer, I’d go body surfing, but the water was a bit cool now, and I was the first to admit, I was soft.

Hmm, if I went back now and had to deal with Ms Crazy-pants, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my coffee properly. That was an easy decision: walk it was!

But since when was life that easy?

I reached the end of the path and the beginning of the sand. Salty sea spray hazed the air, seagulls wheeled overhead, and the sun warmed my face. Surfers bobbed in the water, waiting for the next wave, and a young mother watched her two kids build a sandcastle. Before I could absorb the peace of the scene, I noticed something, or rather someone, that was out of place: a woman in a drab but well-tailored business suit and low heels with her arms crossed in front of her chest and another self-satisfied smile. Seemed like she only had two expressions: pissed off and smug. I breathed in deeply, and when I exhaled, my serenity went with it. Wasn’t it supposed to work the other way around?

You can run, but you can’t hide. Great, she was intimidating me with clichés.

On a scale of one to ten, your creep factor is about an eight. Think you could tone it down?

She smiled. It could have even been genuine this time. At least you have some spunk. You’re going to need it, missy. Her expression morphed into sad then quickly into serious.

I sipped my coffee. I had a feeling I was going to need all the caffeine support I could get before she was done with me.

Angelica nodded. Unfortunately, you’re right.

Not again with the mind reading. How was she doing that? Can you please tell me what you want?

Look, we don’t have time to dilly-dally. You appear strong enough, at least, and there’s no way to say this nicely, so I’ll just say it. Your brother, James, is missing. He disappeared seven days ago.

No amount of coffee could have prepared me for that. My stomach fell as fast as my cup. It hit the ground, still half full, dammit. The lid came off, splashing brown liquid on my runners and shins. A chill sluiced the sun’s warmth from my arms like the reaper’s scythe, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I shivered.

I was transported back to the day my mum’s best friend sat James and me down and explained that our parents weren’t coming home. Ever again. I remembered James gripping my hand and squeezing for dear life. We’d held fast to each other since then, until he’d gone off to the UK. Tears spilled down my cheeks. I wanted to fall to the ground and curl into a ball, but making a scene wasn’t going to help. Was James’s disappearance somehow related to my parents’? Was I next? No, don’t be stupid, Lily. Coincidences exist. That’s all it is.

Ma’am stepped closer and laid a stiff hand on my shoulder. She patted me awkwardly then dropped her hand. I appreciated the gesture: I wasn’t much of a hugger either. My personal space was just as important to me as my right to believe in nothing.

You look a little pale, dear. I’m sure you have many questions. Let’s return to your apartment and grab your things. We have a plane to catch.

What? Where to?

Why, London of course. Then we’re driving to Westerham. You’re going to help us find your brother. Hopefully he’s still alive.

Hopefully? Nausea clutched my throat and squeezed. There was nothing I could do. Nothing. And who was us? Common sense wormed its way into my head, or was that avoidance? This wasn’t really happening, was it? I shook my head slowly and tried to clutch onto something normal, safe. I have work to do, photos to edit. I can’t just leave. Not that I didn’t want to find my brother, but this was beyond crazy. Was he really missing or was this some farce to kidnap me? Although I wasn’t really kidnap material—there was no one rich who would pay ransom to get me back. Although, my parents hadn’t been kidnap-worthy either, and they’d disappeared, and my brother? Deep breaths, Lily.

I bent and gathered the cup and lid. No matter how loopy things got, I wasn’t a litterbug.

You can edit the photos on your laptop on the plane or when we get to England. I could even have your desktop delivered, if you’d like. I know this is hard to believe. Just bear with me, and I’ll explain everything while you’re packing. Come on. She started walking towards my apartment block.

I shuffled along next to her, my legs heavy as if they were weighed down with lead boots. My gut told me she was telling the truth, so I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. I bit my lip to keep from crying again. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. My brother needed me.

And I never let down those I loved.

Never.

Chapter 3

As soon as the door shut back at my unit, I turned to Ma’am. How do I know you’re telling the truth? Anything could happen to me overseas. Are you for real?

Fair questions, I suppose. Why don’t we call your sister-in-law? Give me your phone, so you know I’m not getting an imposter to talk to you.

I unlocked my phone and handed it to her. Good luck. That thing hasn’t been working properly. I tried calling her this morning, but I couldn’t get through.

She grinned.

What’s so funny?

Have you had any other electricals stop working since yesterday?

Actually, yeah. My coffee machine died. The offending appliance sat uselessly in my kitchen, taking up valuable counter space and reminding me I’d only had half a cup of coffee today.

It’s to be expected—your power will intermittently interfere with things of that nature. You just turned twenty-four, the age when a witch’s power comes in. Occasionally there are early bloomers, but it appears as if you’re a normal witch. Your brother’s power came in when he was twenty-two. He was more than ready, as he’s very mature for his age. But from now on, you’ll have to learn to contain your witchy energy.

I tried not to laugh. Okaaay. Among the other crazy things she’d said, she mentioned witch and normal in the same breath. Either she was totally loco, or she had the best poker-joke face ever. And was she insinuating I was immature? Um, yep, that would be it. I was wondering when my powers would come in. It’s about time, really. All jokes aside, James was more mature than me: that tended to happen when you took over looking after your sister when you were eighteen. He’d said no to a lot of parties and fun because of me. What if I never saw him again? Sadness wrapped familiar arms around me and squeezed.

There’s no need for sarcasm, my dear. I know this is a lot to take in, but you have to start sometime, and the sooner, the better. Your brother needs you. She pulled up my phone contacts, found Millicent, and pressed dial. Millicent, dear, hello. Yes, it’s Angelica. Yes, I’m here, but I need you to talk to her. I’m just going to put you on speaker. If Lily touches the phone, we’ll lose the connection. She pressed a button.

Millicent’s relieved voice poured from my phone. Lily, it’s me. Are you okay?

I think so. But is it true… about James? My voice hitched. I couldn’t lose my brother too.

Yes. He was walking the dogs last Sunday, and he never came back. Pepper and Patty came home, their leads trailing behind them. Her voice quieted to almost a whisper, and I leaned forward to better hear what she was saying. There was blood on their fur. Tests confirmed some was James’s.

My heart raced. This couldn’t be happening. How much blood?

Enough that we knew it wasn’t a scratch, but not enough that we could assume he’d bled out.

I swallowed and clutched my stomach. Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Mill. You must be beside yourself. Why didn’t you call me earlier in the week? You should have called.

I was hoping he would’ve come back by now. I didn’t want to scare you unnecessarily. Sorry we missed your birthday, but, well...

Sheesh, she was going through hell, yet she was apologizing. I wanted to leap through the phone and give her a hug, even with my affection-aversion. Oh my God, Mill. That’s nothing. Forget about it. I’m here for you. In fact, soon I’ll be there for you. Apparently, Ma’am has us on a flight out of Sydney today.

"I’m so glad I’ll, finally meet you in person. Skype calls are good and all, but I need to give you a proper hug. Plus, you need to be here when we find James, because we are going to find him. Her deep intake of breath was clear down the phone line. And I know the things Angelica has to say sound impossible, and even crazy, but you can trust her. I’m sorry about the timing, but I should let you know that I’m a witch too. Sorry to drop that on you and run, but I have to go. Love you, and I’ll see you soon. Have a safe flight."

The line dropped out, and Angelica handed me the phone, not that it was much use in my witchy hands, apparently. Yeah, right. And Millicent was a witch too? This could not be happening. I didn’t know if I was capable of believing this all—it was just too farfetched. I was a need-to-see-proof kind of person, hence my agnostic tendencies. I knew I couldn’t prove anything about God or an afterlife one way or the other, so I stood in the middle, waiting for some kind of proof. Maybe it would never come, and I’d die and stop existing, never really knowing. Life really sucked. Prove it.

Prove that I’m a witch?

Yes, please. As if I’m going to fly halfway around the world with a stranger on just their word. Maybe you’ve threatened my sister-in-law too and made her say that stuff. Or maybe it’s someone who sounds a lot like her.

With her phone?

Well, you could have thugs at her place right now.

Angelica rolled her eyes. If we must do this, fine.

Yes, we must.

She looked around the open-plan living area until her gaze stopped at my dining-room table, which was setup as my workstation. My desktop with two screens sat there surrounded by a pile of proofs, accounting paperwork, and mail in different stages of openness. Oh, and there was the half-finished bottle of Coke No Sugar I’d been looking for yesterday morning. Angelica looked at me and tsked.

What? Being messy isn’t a crime. I’m creative. I shrugged.

She blew out a loud breath and turned back towards my table. Her arms spread wide, and she chanted. "So many things in a jumbled mess. Make it clean enough to impress." Everything except for my computer disappeared then reappeared in an organised state. My mail was in a neat pile in a shoebox-size organiser, the proofs were in a folder, and my accounting paperwork was neatly stacked to the right of the monitors. My mouth dropped open. Wow.

There’s no excuse to be messy.

Not when you can do cool stuff like that, no, but I don’t have time to be tidy. I can’t just wave my arms around and spout poetry to make it happen. Just wow.

She raised a brow and tilted her head up. Need any more proof?

No, I’m good. I don’t think my brain can take any more hits to reality. Or what I’d thought was reality. If witches existed, did that mean vampires and werewolves did too? What, was I in a TV show now? Maybe it was Candid Camera. I looked around for hidden equipment.

Good. She folded her arms, satisfaction oozing from every pore. She’d proven me wrong a couple of times already, and it wasn’t even 10:00 a.m. People who always had to be right were kind of annoying. She smirked. We need to get going, so we don’t miss our flight. You’d best pack. I’ll wait for you out here. She looked down at my sofa and brushed her palm against the cushion to move any potential debris out of the way before she sat. Rude much?

Yeah, okay, but how much do I owe you for the flight? I knew return flights were around eighteen hundred from Sydney to London; God knew I’d looked them up enough times. I’d been desperate to see my brother, but there never seemed to be a convenient time. Either I was short of cash, or he or I were too busy to spend the time we wanted if I made the effort to go all the way over there. That thousand-dollar tip from Mr Papadakis couldn’t have come at a better time.

You don’t owe me anything. It’s all taken care of.

But, you can’t pay for it. It’s expensive.

I’m not paying. The Paranormal Investigation Bureau is taking care of it.

The what?

It’s where I work. They’re the ones investigating your brother’s disappearance. They sent me here to fetch you. Now hurry along. We don’t have much time.

Yep, things were getting stranger and stranger. When I went into my room, my suitcase was already splayed open on the bed. And stranger. I looked around. Had Angelica broken into my apartment while I was getting coffee earlier?

No. I’m a witch. I asked it to happen, so it did. I was trying to save you time.

Goddammit! Stay out of my head! A snicker came from my living room. Yeah, super funny. But hang on. If you were trying to save me some time—I called out—then why didn’t you pack my bag too?

Because I have no idea what you want to take, and I had no time to look through your things to pick appropriate clothing.

Hmm, so witches couldn’t do everything that easily.

I changed my tights and sneakers for jeans and flat, black knee-high boots then hurriedly filled the case. Underwear, check. Jeans, check. Jackets, check. Tracksuits, check. Four pairs of shoes for different weather, check. Toiletries, check. I squished my Ugg boots, pyjamas, and dressing gown onto the top and clipped the elastic thingies together to stop it from getting jumbled into a mess. I hauled the suitcase off my bed, and it thudded to the floor. I pulled the lever up and wheeled it out of my room. How long will we be away?

Ma’am was still perched on the edge of the sofa, her knees primly together, her back straight. I don’t think you’ll be back any time soon.

Oh. I hoped I wasn’t gone too long. We needed to get James home as soon as possible, because he wasn’t dead. Nope, not dead. I’d spend a little time with him then come back here. I had a wedding job booked in two weeks, and I really loved my apartment. It wasn’t huge, but it was mine, bought with my share of my parents’ life insurance. I almost felt like they were here with me. Plus, I had my friends, and the beach. Everything I loved, except my brother and his wife, was here.

I made sure my phone, wallet, headache tablets, iPod, iPad—coffee and Apple products were my weaknesses, oh… and camera lenses—laptop and passport were in my rucksack, gathered my camera equipment and struggled out the door. I must have been carting thirty kilos of stuff, which was equivalent to a medium-sized child, or a big dog. It would have been nice if Ma’am had helped. Couldn’t she just magic my bags down the stairs? Come to think of it, I wouldn’t say no to being magicked down the stairs either. Did you hear that, Ma’am?

You’re young. You can handle it, she called from the ground floor. I sighed.

The door clicked behind me. I checked it was locked and whispered, Goodbye, home. I’ll be back soon.

London, here I come.

Chapter 4

Angelica was Miss Super Organised. She’d booked us a cab that got us to the airport just in time for check in. The cab driver hoisted my bag out of the boot. A tingle, kind of like pins and needles, washed over my body. I shook it off then saddled myself with my plethora of bags. I turned to Angelica, who was standing there holding a handbag and small carry-on with wheels. Huh? Where did they come from?

She leant close, speaking quietly. We’re travelling internationally. A passenger with no luggage would draw unwanted attention. She had a point. But where did the bags come from? Yeah, I get it was magic, but how? And if I was a witch—yeah, right—was I capable of doing that too? Maybe when they were recruiting witches, they should explain all the fun stuff first.

Angelica seemed relaxed and not like someone who was about to suffer for hours on end. Maybe she’d just magic herself and sleep the whole way? But I was magickless, or at least incompetent when it came to that, so I wasn’t looking forward to cattle class. Economy travel was just another name for torture. With two flights and a stopover totalling around twenty-four hours, I’d have plenty of time to stew in my misery. I’d done the flight once with my family, when I was eleven. We'd visited my dad’s family in Italy, and it was amazing once we got there, but sitting upright and sleepless for so long was not something I’d forget in a hurry. I envied those people who could sleep sitting up. Bastards.

Imagine my joy when we breezed through the non-existent line for business class. My mouth dropped open. No freaking way! I get a bed! Woohoo!

Don’t stand there gawking, dear. Place your bag onto the scales, please. Angelica’s bemusement spread across her face in a large grin. Who knew she could actually look not in the least bit scary?

We grabbed our tickets and headed for security. By the time we made it through there, I was hungry and in need of another coffee. It was a wonder I’d made it this far on only half a cup.

We can get you some coffee in the Qantas lounge.

Ooh, I get to use the lounge as well. This was awesome. I smiled, but it was short lived when I remembered why we were there.

Take happiness where you find it, Lily. You’ll never get this day back again, even if it’s not the best day. I’m sure James would want you relaxed and ready to do all you can to help find him when we get there. Enjoy this while you can.

Okay. I’ll try. Also, can you stop reading my mind, please? It almost feels like I’m naked in front of you. Was she even capable of it, or was it like trying not to hear conversations that were happening right next to you?

I can switch off, but I needed to know where you’re at—you know, in case you lose the plot and have a breakdown or something.

I stopped and stared at her. I ground my back teeth together. What the actual…? She stopped at the same time, probably reading my mind. Again. I was careful to keep my voice a decibel quieter than normal, so there was no mistaking whether I was losing my mind. If anyone has the right to lose the plot, it’s me. Do you know what I’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours? I’d say I’m doing pretty freaking well considering. Now get out of my head.

She placed her palms on my head, mumbled a few words that sent shivers over my body, then she stepped back. It’s done. You’re protected. Now no one can listen into your thoughts. By no one, she meant no witches, but that would have sounded strange to any normal person walking past.

I tested a thought and made sure it was surprising and loud. Oh my God! Look out! Huh, no reaction. She was probably telling the truth. We resumed walking. Can all you-know-whats read minds?

No. It’s a skill that has to be learned, and not everyone has the aptitude. There are many different skills we can have, but it’s like normal people. Some are good at carpentry or maths, while some are good at teaching or speaking multiple languages. There are some things practically all of us can learn to do—like travelling and materialising things.

Like with my suitcase today?

Yes. But you can’t just conjure something up that has never existed. We can only move tangible things from one place to another. And if you were to conjure a dress out of a store without paying, for instance, you’d be committing a crime. That’s some of what the PIB deal with.

The PIB? Oh, that’s right, the Paranormal Investigation Bureau. Interesting.

We arrived at the Qantas lounge and signed in. Luxury, here I come. I’d heard all sorts of good things about airport lounges from one of my friends, Michelle. She worked for an airline and got cheap flights plus lounge admittance. Apparently, you could eat and drink as much as you wanted of what was on offer, including alcohol, and coffee. I grinned and headed straight for the barista.

Once I’d grabbed my large skim-milk cappuccino and cheese-and-ham croissant, I settled into the private booth Angelica had chosen. It was at one end of the lounge, in the corner, for the most part away from unwanted ears.

Where will I be staying once we get there? I bit through the crunchy, light pastry and hit melted cheese and ham, the salty tastiness bursting through my mouth. Mmm.

Millicent has offered for you to stay there, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’d prefer if you stayed with me, at the PIB safe house. It’s guarded against normal and not-so-normal threats. Plus, you have a lot to learn, and we’ll have plenty of space and privacy to work on your special skills there.

That’s right. When I’d first met Angelica, she’d said she was my teacher and my protector, although I couldn’t see her decking anyone with her slim-boned fists, and I didn't think she liked me enough to take a bullet for me. Maybe she could magic people dead? That could work. Am I in danger?

She sipped her tea—typical Brit fare—then placed her cup on the saucer with not a hint of noise. Impressive. Her expression became guarded. Maybe. There’ve been no direct threats. She picked her tea up again and held it to her lips. Was she hiding behind her teacup? Not much of a protector.

But…

She shrugged. I sipped my coffee and swallowed my frustration. What sort of things do you think I could do with my… talents?

She placed her cup down, and her face relaxed. We were obviously in safer territory. Well, your mother could tell the future, and your brother is good at truth-seeing. Wow, there were so many things I needed to ask.

What about my dad? And did you know my mother? What’s truth-seeing?

Angelica laughed. Your father was normal in the sense that he had no supernatural talents, but he was a black belt in three different martial arts and knew his way around weapons. He was your mother’s protector.

Mind. Blown. My father was a history teacher, not a ninja. I’d never seen him be the least bit aggressive, except when he yelled at me to clean my room.

Your mother could see the future, sometimes, but her talent never gave her a clear picture of things. It was more clues that she’d have to piece together. As for truth-seeing, your brother can tell when someone’s lying. He can also wipe people’s memories down to a specific minute.

My face must have shown my horror, because Angelica smirked. Don’t worry; his powers hadn’t come in when you were living together. Any little fibs you told him as a child would have gone undiscovered.

I blushed. I wasn’t a pathological liar or anything, but one day I’d borrowed his favourite skateboard. He’d told me I could use any of his five skateboards except one, and yep, that one was the one I coveted. There’s nothing more attractive than something you can’t have, especially if it had a shiny red skull on it. I’d ridden it down a hill—okay, probably more incline than hill—and I lost control at the bottom. I jumped off, just saving my arse, but his board sped into a roadside drain, and the grate was too heavy for my nine-year-old self to move, so I had to leave it there. I was too scared to tell anyone, so it was never recovered. I’m sure he suspected I’d taken it, but I denied everything, little shit that I was.

And he repaid me by looking after me after our parents disappeared. I didn’t deserve him. If… no, when we found him, I was totally going to ’fess up.

If my mum could sort of see the future, why did they still go to England that time? If Angelica knew my family’s history, which it seemed like she did, she would know that’s where they disappeared—supposedly at a history conference my father had attended.

She didn’t like to see her future. Your mother stopped using her talents when you were about five. I understand there were things she saw that came true—the deaths of your grandparents for instance—and she didn’t want to know anymore. She wanted to just enjoy her life with her children. She used to work with me, you know. Before I ran the training division, we were both in investigations. You look a lot like her—same gorgeous auburn hair and olive skin. Your eyes are the same sky-blue, too.

I hardly ever got compared to either of my parents, because no one I knew now had known them. Sometimes, if my friends checked out the family photos around my apartment, they’d mention something, but it was hard to tell from such small mementos. Her compliment was bittersweet. Thanks. I never get to hear that. You said my mother was a detective?

In the PIB, yes.

She never even hinted she’d done anything like that. Why would she hide it? A funny feeling I didn’t like squirmed through my body. It was more than sadness, more than disappointment and confusion. For the first time, I wondered if I’d really known my mother at all. I only knew about the life she’d had with me and my brother. Do you think it was her special talents that got her kidnapped or murdered? I held my breath. I’d never said the M word out loud before, but of course I’d thought it. Everyone I knew had; we were all just too chicken to say it. I swallowed a mass of fear pushing against my throat.