What Will Burn by James Oswald (ebook reader web .txt) 📕

‘Hey, Izzy. Thought you’d gone back to stay with Madame Rose.’

Izzy still wore her funereal clothes, although she’d pulled on a coat that was so large it must have belonged to the medium.

‘I have. Just popped round to pick up some things. And to give you this.’ She held up a bag with the logo of a very expensive local delicatessen on it. ‘And this, if you can manage it.’

Izzy stepped aside to reveal a case of wine on the landing behind her. And not a cheap cardboard box either. This was one of those wooden ones with French writing stencilled on the side.

‘Wow. Thank you. Thought you didn’t have any money?’ Janie ushered the young woman into the hall, then fetched in the case. It was reassuringly heavy and the words ‘Château Pétrus’ sparked a memory.

‘Stuck it all on Charlotte’s credit card,’ Izzy said, with all the innocence of a teenager. ‘Sure she won’t mind. Probably won’t even notice.’

Janie laughed as she grabbed the kettle. If Manda had been home already she might have been tempted by wine – although probably not the bottles Izzy had just brought – but she was parched and tea would slake her thirst without getting her drunk.

‘I take it Doctor Downham’s gone back to Burntwoods now,’ she said, as Izzy opened up the bag and started putting things from it into the fridge.

‘Yes. She and Rose don’t exactly get on. I mean, they’re not enemies or anything. They’re civil. But you can tell neither of them particularly want to be in the same place. Like they’re the wrong side of a pair of magnets, if you see what I mean.’

Janie stopped in the act of filling the kettle. ‘Actually, yes. I do. That’s a very good way of putting it. They both seem to have a lot of time for the boss, though.’

‘He’s weird, and they both love weird. Like, I never expected him to be driving around in a piddly little electric car, but he does. It’s like he doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him.’

‘Well, you’re right about the not caring bit, but not the car. His got nicked a week or so back. That’s his other half’s he’s just borrowed.’

‘So what’s he drive then? BMW, I bet.’ Izzy went through the cupboards, fetching out pot, teabags, mugs, as if she had lived here all her life.

‘Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio.’ Janie watched Izzy’s face for any reaction. It was highly unlikely a nineteen-year-old woman would have any great interest in or knowledge of cars, but she had asked.

‘Sounds a bit weird and posh. Much like your boss, I guess.’

‘Well if you think that’s weird, he used to drive around in a fifty-year-old classic until it got smashed up a couple of years ago.’

‘Really? Like that bloke on the telly?’

‘Well, it was another Alfa, not a Jag, but aye, I guess so.’ Janie poured tea into two mugs, handed one over.

‘Mirriam liked him, anyway. And she doesn’t have much time for men.’

‘You surprise me. Is she really a witch? Like, black cat as a best friend, riding around on a broomstick, pointy hat?’

Izzy giggled like a little girl. ‘She looks a bit like that, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with a cat, and certainly not a broomstick. That’s not what witches are about, Janie. We’re about balancing forces, life energy, keeping tabs on the spirits that most people don’t believe in any more.’

‘We?’ Janie blew on her tea, took an unladylike slurp.

‘Figure of speech. I stayed there a while. Burntwoods, that is. Learned a lot of stuff. Probably should have stuck at it. Would have saved my half-sister a world of trouble if I had.’

Harrison knew the story. No need to ask. She sipped her tea again, enjoying the chance to relax. Enjoying Izzy’s company too. She’d miss her, even if the flat wasn’t really big enough for the three of them.

The moment was spoiled as her phone buzzed in her pocket: a text. Probably Manda asking if they wanted anything picked up for supper. Janie pulled it out, thinking pizza might be good, then frowned when she saw who it was actually from. What it said.

‘Something up?’ Izzy asked.

‘The boss. He does this. Quite often.’ She tapped the screen to show the full message, read it a couple of times, then clicked the phone off and put it away again.

‘Looks like something important,’ Izzy said.

‘Possibly. Could probably wait until morning, but I think I might go and have a quick drink. There’s a bar not too far from here might be worth my while visiting.’

‘Drink? But you’ve just made tea.’ Izzy lifted her mug to prove the point.

‘Aye, but it’s a bit late for tea, really.’ Janie went out to the hall and started pulling her boots back on. Izzy followed, fetching both their coats from the hooks.

‘I should do this on my own. It’s sort of police business.’

Izzy was about to say something, but the noise of a key in the lock distracted them both. The door swung open to reveal Manda Parsons fumbling with her bag. She looked at them both for a second. ‘Just in or going out?’

‘Janie’s off to the pub,’ Izzy said, and a broad smile spread across Manda’s face.

‘Pub? Excellent idea.’

It was just as well there was an entrance to the Walter Scott bar direct from the street. As Janie led Izzy and Manda inside, it occurred to her that Izzy’s last visit had involved being taken away by uniformed police officers, so coming in through the foyer and past reception might not have been the smartest move. Even with a hat pulled down over her scrappy red hair, she was quite striking to look at and easily recognised, although the funeral clothes might throw people. Janie scanned the room quickly, spotting an empty alcove to which she shooed them both as swiftly as she could.

‘Christ, I’ve not been in here in an age. It’s fair changed a bit.’ Manda paused