After going over it all again and again, I didn’t think so.

  I turned off the shower and got out, drying myself quickly before heading up to the bedroom, where I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a simple black T-shirt.

  When I got back to the kitchen, the coffee was ready, so I poured a generous amount into a mug, added sugar, and then headed into the living room. The house seemed too quiet so I turned on the TV and found a talkshow. It provided background chatter while I checked my phone.

  I had three missed calls from Carlton but he hadn’t left any messages. I called him.

  “Alec,” he said as he picked up. “Are you home? The lights are on in your house.”

  “Are you spying on me, Carlton?” I asked lightheartedly.

  “What? No. You asked me to keep a lookout for the Society.”

  “Did anyone come round here?”

  “Yeah, a couple guys knocked on your door yesterday. When you didn’t answer, they came here and asked me if I’d seen you. I said no. I don’t know if they believed me or not, but they left.”

  It didn’t sound like the Society was being too zealous about hunting me down. Maybe the chapter house hadn’t reported my attack on its agents to headquarters yet.

  “And the Blackwell sisters brought your Land Rover to your house,” Carlton continued.

  That explained the vehicle on the driveway. I reminded myself to contact the Blackwells and thank them. Maybe they could fix my lucky sweater. I had no idea if the garment had ever possessed any magical properties beyond fitting perfectly, but since it had been deactivated, everything seemed to be falling apart.

  “Thanks for keeping watch, Carlton,” I said.

  “Happy to help. Besides, it’s my job. How did things go at the labyrinth?”

  “It was a disaster.”

  “You didn’t kill the yaghul?”

  “The yaghul is dead. The Final Girls killed it. But they lost one of their own in the process.”

  There was a pause as he processed the news, and then he said, “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I do, but not tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Will you be going to the office in the morning?”

  I hadn’t planned to. With my dad still in the hands of the Cabal, and Rekhmire on the loose, the office had been the last thing on my mind. But maybe it would be a good place to plan my next move. Even with the chatter coming from the TV, the house still seemed too quiet. At least if I went downtown, there would be other people around. And Carlton would be in the office.

  “Yeah, I think I will.”

  “Great. I’ll see you there, then.”

  “Okay, Carlton. Have a good evening.”

  “You too. And try to get some sleep. I’m sure you’ve been through a lot, eh?”

  I ended the call. I doubted I was going to be able to sleep tonight; my mind was racing, and the coffee was giving it caffeine sneakers.

  I lay back on the sofa and watched the talkshow for a while, trying to bring my thoughts back to the mundane world, if only for a small stretch of time.

  It didn’t work. Because when I fell asleep on the sofa, my dreams were filled with monsters, labyrinths, and death.

  Chapter 13

  When I awoke, the living room was as silent as a grave. The TV had turned itself off. I sat up and ran a hand through my hair as I looked blearily around the room. Sunlight streamed in through the windows. What time was it?

  My phone was on the floor in front of the sofa. It told me it was almost ten thirty. It also told me that I had four missed calls from Carlton and three text messages that all consisted of the same five words.

  Get to the office now!

  He was obviously pissed because I was late. In my defence, we hadn’t arranged an actual time to meet.

  I stepped under the shower quickly and threw on a gray T-shirt and a red and black flannel shirt. I grabbed my black jacket as I went out through the door and threw it onto the Land Rover’s passenger seat before brushing away the snow that had fallen onto the vehicle during the night.

  I heard a man’s voice behind me say, “Alec Harbinger?”

  Turning, I saw a dark-haired, middle-aged man wrapped in a winter coat and a bright yellow scarf. He held a microphone in his hand and held it toward me as I faced him. “Can you tell us what’s happening? Is this a publicity stunt by the P.I.s?”

  Behind him, I could see a camera crew getting out of a news van. A similar van, with the words Channel 8 painted on its side door, was coming along the street toward us.

  “What?” I asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  He pulled the mic back and spoke into it. I wondered if this conversation was being related back the parked van while the camera crew was getting ready to join us.

  “Many people are saying that this is a publicity stunt, orchestrated by the P.I.s across the country to attract business. Do you have anything you’d like to say about that?” He pointed the mic in my face again.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I got into the Land Rover and started the engine.

  “Do you have any comment at all?” he said, holding the mic up to the car window.

  I backed out of the driveway and turned the Land Rover so that it was pointing the right way.

  “Mr Harbinger!” he said, sliding on the snowy sidewalk. “Our listeners want to know—“

  I didn’t hear the rest. I put my foot down and headed for the intersection at the end of the street. The cameraman behind me had hefted his camera onto his shoulder and was pointing it at my vehicle as I drove away.

  I drove into town wondering what the hell the guy with the microphone had been talking about. Maybe I should have talked to him after all and gotten some more information. Why had he tracked me down to my house? What did he mean by publicity stunt?

  The weirdness didn’t end there. When I reached Main Street, I saw a line of people on the sidewalk. At first, I thought they were lining up outside the donut shop, but then I realized the line led to the door of my offices.

  What the hell?

  I parked in my usual space, grabbed my jacket from the passenger seat, and went to the door of Harbinger, P.I. I pulled on it. It was locked.

  “Hey,” an old guy at the front of the line said. “You can’t cut in.”

  “I’m not cutting in,” I told him. “I work here.”

  As I fished in my pocket for my keys, he said, “You’re the P.I.? I need your help.”

  “So do I,” a middle-aged woman called from behind him. “Please, you gotta help me.”

  “Me too,” someone shouted from further back.

  “Just wait here,” I said, getting the keys into the lock and slipping inside. Once I was in the tiny foyer, I locked the door again.

  “Carlton?” I called as I went up the stairs. “Are you here?”

  He came out of his office. “Alec, thank God. Those people were there when I arrived this morning. I had to lock them out. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Why are they all out there?”

  “It isn’t only here. It’s happening at every P.I. office in the country. Probably all around the globe.” He went back into his office and clicked the mouse in front of his computer. A news report, that had been paused, resumed playing.

  “…at every office of the so-called Preternatural Investigators,” a dark-haired, burly anchor man was saying from behind his desk. On the screen behind him were the words Paranormal Stunt or Real Monsters?

  “What is this?” I asked Carlton.

  “Just watch,” he said.

  “We’re going to go over to Jeff, who’s at one of the P.I. Offices in New York city,” the anchor man said to the camera. Turning his chair to face the screen, which now showed a fair-haired guy with a microphone standing in front of a crowd, he said, “Jeff, can you hear me?”

  Jeff touched his ear momentarily and then said, “I hear you, Mike. We’re here outside Sheckley, P.I., a business run by preternatural investigator Dan Sheckley. And as you can see, there is a crowd of some fifty or so people out here waiting to get inside. Now, we all know about preternatural investigators, right? They seem to be in most towns and cities and their customers are the—how can I put this?—more open-minded residents of those places. You know the types of people I’m talking about, Mike; those who believe in Bigfoot, UFOs, and the Loch Ness Monster.”

  “I know exactly what you mean, Jeff,” Mike said, throwing a knowing glance at the camera.

  Jeff nodded. He seemed to be more serious than Mike but also had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Well, Mike, it seems that some sort of publicity stunt that is flooding the Internet has driven these people out here today, in the snow and the cold, to seek the services of Mr Sheckley. And it isn’t only happening here; scenes like this are happening outside P.I. offices around the country.”

  “You mentioned a publicity stunt,” Mike said. “Can you tell us more about that?”

  Jeff touched the earphone again and then said, “Of course. A number of videos have been posted online showing apparent sightings of strange creatures that people say they have seen in the woods near their homes, in alleys in the cities, and even—as in this family’s case—in their own homes.”

  A grainy video appeared onscreen that seemed to have been recorded on a phone by someone descending the steps to their basement. A pile of wood sat in one dark corner of the basement and, as the person approached, a pair of glowing eyes could be seen in the woodpile. The guy holding the camera screamed and then the picture became jerky as he ran back upstairs.

  The video disappeared and Mike was grinning at the camera again. “It didn’t seem very scary to me, Jeff. Certainly not scary enough to account for the crowds we see behind you. I mean, that could have been a cat, right? How has this video caused what could be described as a mass panic?”

  “It isn’t only that video, Mike. There are hundreds more just like it, and they’re going viral.”

  “Okay,” Mike said. “So you mentioned a publicity stunt. What is that all about?”

  Jeff nodded. “That’s right, I did. It seems that many skeptics are saying that these videos are fake and they they’ve been put out there by the P.I.s themselves in an attempt to drive customers to their places of business.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, it seems to be working,” Mike observed. “But don’t the P.I.s work independently? It isn’t like they work for a large company that has the money or power to fool the public, is it? How is this happening all over the country—and in other countries as well if early reports are to be believed—at the same time. That speaks to some sort of organization on the part of the preternatural investigators, whom everyone believed to be independent of each other. Are you saying that isn’t the case? That these people operate under some sort of umbrella company?”

  “We aren’t sure of that right now,” Jeff admitted, “but some digging was done a few years ago and a link was found between a number of P.I.s and a firm based in London, England, called Mysterium Import and Export.”

  Mike nodded sagely. “So this sudden increase in monster sightings on the Internet is probably the work of a company trying to drum up business?”

  Jeff grinned at the camera, as if he and Mike were in on some unspoken joke. “The people behind me don’t believe that, of course, but it seems to be the most reasonable answer for the mass hysteria we’re seeing across the country, this morning.”

  “Thanks, Jeff,” Mike said. He turned to the camera and said, “We’ll be right back after these sponsored messages.”

  Carlton hit the mouse and paused the broadcast. “What do you think has happened?”

  I knew the answer to that. I had happened. Somehow, the spell I’d cast in the labyrinth had spread over part of the Shadow Land and had driven these creatures into our realm. Or the spell had brought them here. I didn’t know exactly what had happened but I knew it had to be connected to the anti-magic spell.

  Tia might know more about the situation, and had hinted at something like this happening, but I couldn’t contact her.

  There were, however, two magical experts just a block away from my office. “I need to see the Blackwell sisters,” I told Carlton.

  “Sure,” he said. “But what about all the people outside?”

  “Let them in one by one and talk to them. Find out why they’re here. If there are monsters in Dearmont, I’m going to have to deal with them so get as many details as you can.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding. “I can do that.”

  “Use my office; it’s bigger.”

  “Great.”

  “I’m going to see if the witches can shed any light on what’s happening. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  I put on my jacket and went downstairs. When I got outside and locked the door again, one of the assembled crowd said, “Hey, where are you going?”

  “My associate Carlton Carlisle will be talking to each of you. He’ll be letting you inside one by one, in an orderly fashion. After he takes your details, I’ll look into your cases.”

  I turned and headed toward Blackwell Books. Nobody followed me. They were probably afraid to lose their place in line.

  A cold wind blew along Main Street, bringing with it a few flakes of snow. Most of the townsfolk—those who hadn’t chosen to stand in line outside my office—hurried to their various destinations, huddled in winter coats, scarves, and hats.

  Blackwell Books was warm and inviting. The shop was brightly lit and the enticing aroma of coffee beans and old books drifted out onto the sidewalk. I went inside and found the place bustling with people.

  Victoria, who was serving customers at the cash register, dressed in her black, Victorian dress, looked over and saw me. She did a double take and then shouted, “Alec! You’re alive!” Leaving the customers to be served by one of the assistants, she ran out from behind the counter and drew me into a tight hug.

  “We thought you were dead. When we cast the teleportation spell and none of you appeared, we thought something had gone horribly wrong.”

  “We ended up in the woods,” I told her.

  “Oh. Well, that isn’t too bad, considering we brought you all the way from Egypt.”

  “It could have been worse.”

  “Yes, it certainly could. Now, we must go and tell Devon that you’re okay. Come on, dear.” She led me to the stairs that ascended to the second floor coffee shop.

  “Actually,” I said, as we weaved around the customers and bookshelves, “I was hoping you could give me some information.”

  “All in good time, dear. First, we must let Devon know that we didn’t accidentally teleport you into the ocean, or inside a mountain. She’ll be so pleased.”

  I followed her up the stairs to the busy coffee shop. The last time I’d been here, Devon had used some sort of enchantment on the beans that had enhanced the taste and smell of the coffee and made people want to buy it. The same spell had also made the customers buy more books.

  The spell had triggered the tattoo on my shoulder that detected such things and Devon had promised to stop casting the spell when I’d confronted her.

  The lack of a stabbing pain in my shoulder told me that there was no enchantment going on here, despite the tables being full of people, just like the last time I was here. Maybe her coffee was that good, after all.

  “Alec!” she squealed, running out from behind the counter when she saw me. Like her sister had done, she pulled me into a tight hug. “We thought you were—“

  “Dead. Yeah, I know.”

  “Let me get you some coffee.” She turned back to the counter, hesitated, and then shook her head. “Maybe not. The coffee isn’t good today.”

  “Really?” I said. “The customers seem to be enjoying it.”

  She looked sheepish. “Well, yes, but I’m sure you have more of a discerning taste when it comes to coffee.”

  “Devon, get Alec a cup of coffee,” Victoria said, throwing her sister a look.

  Devon hesitated again. “But…” She threw up her hands in what seemed to be frustration. “Fine.”

  As she went over to the pot and poured some of the dark liquid into a mug, I turned to Victoria. “Is she okay? She seems to be acting strangely.” Where the Blackwell sisters were concerned, that was saying something.

  “She’s fine, dear. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

  Devon returned and handed me the mug. “Cream and sugar, just how you like it.”

  I took a sip. It tasted amazing. “Wow,” I said.

  Devon grinned, but it seemed forced.

  “Devon,” I said, “have you enchanted this coffee?” I could tell from her face that she’d used magic and was worried I’d detect it.

  “Well, maybe just a little,” she said. “It makes the experience so much better for our customers and it’s only a very mild spell. It wears off five minutes after they leave the shop.”

  So why hadn’t my tattoo warned me of the enchantment? The last time I’d been in here, my magical warning system had sent a stabbing pain flaring through my shoulder.

  The key word was magical. It looked like the anti-magic spell had deactivated my tattoos. It had never done that before, but that was probably because I’d been able to control its area of effect.

  “Listen, I need to speak to you about something important. Can we use the back room?”

  “Are you going to bawl me out for using magic?” Devon asked.

  “No, I have much more important things to worry about.”

  She visibly brightened. “Great! Let’s go downstairs and talk, then.”

  We went back down to the first floor, and to the room at the back of the shop which the sisters used as a stockroom and where they occasionally cast teleportation spells. The air in there always smelled of herbs, with faint overtones of charred cedar.

  “What can we do for you, Alec?” Victoria asked, after she’d closed the door.

  “Something happened yesterday, and I need to know if it caused all the chaos that’s happening right now.”

 

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