Page 9 of Dead Serious Halloween Special

“Wow,” I whisper. I’ve caught little crackles of electricity sparking from his hands a couple of times, but I’ve never actually seen anything like this. I’m almost disappointed when he closes his palm and the flames disappear.

“Olivia is the only other person I’ve ever met who has the same kind of power. I mean I’m obviously nowhere near her league, but for the first time, I don’t feel so?—”

“Alone?” I guess.

Harrison shrugs and turns his attention back to the box he’s unpacking. I know he’s not usually so inclined to share, being an intensely private person. Sensing that he’s feeling a little uncomfortable, I pick up another book from the box and flip it open to reveal pages yellowed with age and covered with faded handwritten text.

“What are these?” I ask.

“Books on magic and the history and application of the ancient arts, or so I’m told. Olivia says I should be learningthe Old Ways.I guess I’ll have a better idea once I’ve had a chance to look through them all.”

“Danny would probably love these, but no offence, they look like they’d put me to sleep.”

“Danny is wasted on the police force. He may be an exceptionally talented investigator, but he has the soul of a historian.”

“I know.” I get a lovely warm feeling thinking about my husband.

“Urgh, you’re doing it again.” Harrison wrinkles his nose.

“What?”

“That dazed, punch-drunk look you get when you’re thinking about him.” He grimaces.

I laugh loudly. “And I’m not even ashamed.”

He rolls his eyes in resignation and continues to sort through his box. “I think most of these can go upstairs. I don’t want them laying around for just anyone to find,” Harrison muses.

“What’s this?” I mutter. My fingers brush a hard but surprisingly warm surface. Kneeling up, I lean further over the box and put both my hands inside. My fingertips curl around the edges of a thick, hard volume. I struggle to pull it out of the box; although the cover seems to be leather, it’s so heavy it feels like it’s made of stone.

Finally, I manage to haul it out of the box, and as I fall back onto the floor once more, I settle it in my lap.

“Oh my god.” I frown. There are layers of silver duct tape wound around the book, almost as if it was meant to originally keep it closed, but the tape is now torn open. In fact,not just torn.It looks like it’s been gnawed at, and for a moment, I’m reminded of the strange teeth marks in the milk carton back at the mortuary. “Who would do this to such an old book?”

“Can you peel the tape off without damaging it?” Harrison asks, setting down the book he’s holding and leaning over to get a better look.

“I think so,” I murmur as I carefully peel away the layers of tape. Once it’s free, I discard the sticky tape and run my fingers carefully over the ancient leatherbound cover. If anything ever looked like a book of spells, this would be it. It’s huge and heavy, with large metal hinges at the spine and a massive lock at the sideas if protecting the pages from prying eyes. The cover itself has the most gorgeous illustrations carved deeply into the leather. Toadstools and fairies and other magical creatures. There are also letters, but I don’t recognise the language—maybe some kind of eastern European, if I had to guess? Although I could be wrong; languages never were my strong suit.

I lift it up and press my ear to the cover. Just for a second, I could swear I hear dozens of disgruntled voices.

Suddenly, an arc of electricity shoots across the room and the lights cut out, plunging us into darkness.

“Oops, sorry. My fault,” Terry’s disembodied voice rings out somewhere in the blackness.

I sigh loudly. “Terry shorted out the electrics again.”

“That man’s a bloody menace,” Dusty snaps. “Are you sure I can’t send him to the other side?”

“Free will, remember, Dusty?” I remind her. “Have you still not read all of the Spirit Guides Handbook?”

“It’s boring,” she whines.

“Don’t worry,” Chan says calmly. “All the fairy lights are battery powered. If I can just find which pocket I put the remote control in. Ah, there we go.”

The room fills with the romantic glow of tiny twinkling lights, and I have to admit it looks really pretty. I absently trace my fingers over the book that’s still sitting in my lap. Curiously, the metal lock feels warm beneath my fingers. I find myself absently wondering what sort of key would open it when there’s a soft, almost inaudible click, and the lock flicks open.

Harrison stares down at the book in my lap. “Did you do that, Tristan?”

“I don’t think so.” I frown.