Page 54 of Dead Serious Case 5 Madame Vivienne

“Maybe we don’t need to,” Harrison muses.

“What are you thinking?”

“Bruce may have an awareness of Dusty’s presence because of their relationship,” he says, “but you have an actual tangible connection to her. You proved that the other night with your E.T. Elliott moment when you were spiked with the magical punch and she felt the effects.”

“So?” I stare at him, not really sure where he’s going with this. “I don’t have to drink more of that gin, do I? Because I still haven’t recovered from that night. My memory is sketchy at best and the hangover lasted for days. I really don’t fancy taking another trip on the Yellow Submarine.”

“Apparently, it was a tank last time,” Harrison corrects.

“Never mind. You know what I mean. No more magical mystery tours for me.” I fold my arms and give him my serious face, which he totally ignores.

“We do need some magic,” Harrison replies. “Fortunately, mine is much more refined than that of whoever the hell laced Viv’s stash.”

“What sort of magic?” I ask dubiously.

“We need a summoning circle.”

“Oh my god, Danny was right.” I sigh.

“Tristan, you may be the only one who can pull this off. You have a real connection with Dusty, you’re her tether. If we anchor you here inside a circle, we can pull her to you.”

“Then I really hope she’s in trouble and needs rescuing,” I mumble. “Because if she’s just in some celestial salon or whatever, having her acrylics refilled, she’s going to be pissed to find herself suddenly dumped inside a magic circle.”

“It’s your call,” Harrison says, shrugging, “but I’m inclined to agree with both you and Bruce. This isn’t like Dusty, especially given everything that’s going on right now. She wouldn’t leave you unprotected.”

“Okay.” Worry seeps back in. “Let’s go rescue my spirit guide.”

“What do you need?” Bruce asks.

“Some space to cast the circle—here should be fine if we shove the sofa out of the way,” Harrison says. “I also need some candles and something to draw on the floor with. Chalk would be best since it cleans off. This is technically an occult shop, so there should be most of what I need in here. I can improvise the rest.”

After helping Harrison to move the sofa once again, I lower myself onto it and watch as he flits around the shop, picking things up and discarding them. Slowly, I become aware that we’ve drawn a bit of an audience.

With the hex bags destroyed and no reason to stay away from the main shop floor anymore, the resident ghosts are drifting in one by one to see what’s going on. Some stop to speak quietlywith Bruce while others just loiter by bookcases. Harrison ignores them all, focused on his task.

“What’s he doing?” asks an older gentleman in a knitted cardigan and bedroom slippers.

“Magic,” I reply.

“He doesn’t look like a magician,” he mutters as he watches Harrison. “Where’s his top hat and his cloak? And shouldn’t he have some pigeons or a deck of cards? I saw a magician saw a chap in half once in a back room club in Clapham.”

“Not that kind of magic, I’m afraid.” Imagining Harrison pulling a long line of brightly coloured, knotted handkerchiefs from the sleeve of his pristine cashmere sweater and shoutingTa-dah!accompanied by enthusiastic jazz hands makes me snort loudly. “It’s more like witchy magic.”

“Witches?” His eyes widen and he edges closer, watching Harrison with renewed interest. “You don’t say.” Then his eyes narrow. “Shouldn’t he be wearing a pointy hat, then? He doesn’t exactly look the part, does he? Maybe if he cackled a bit, it would help. ”

A loud laugh bubbles out and Harrison pauses to look at us both. “Do you mind?” he says primly.

“Bit touchy, isn’t he?” The old guy sniffs and wanders off.

“Do you need any help?” I ask, watching Harrison draw a circle and a pentagram on the wooden floor with a small piece of white chalk he obviously found somewhere. God, Viv really did have a bit of everything in here. It’s like a very dusty magpie’s nest.

If that magpie were a gin-loving hoarder.

“You’ll have plenty to do in a minute,” Harrison says absently as he places everything where it needs to be.

He’s laid thick, stumpy candles at each point of the pentagram. There are several small heaps of salt and some dried herbs I couldn’t even begin to identify, but I guess Harrisonknows what he’s doing. There’s also a pure white feather, another candle, a dish of water, and a dish containing a small heap of soil from one of the potted plants. These seem to be placed at the compass points of the circle.

“What are they for?” I ask as Harrison holds his hand out to me.