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sugars.”
    While Clara boiled the kettle Frankie looked around the room and her gaze settled on a photograph of two children, maybe five and six years old.
    “ My monsters,” Clara explained affectionately. “Their Dad’s taken them to the cinema today.”
    “ They’re beautiful.”
    Clara blushed slightly and brought two coffees to the kitchen table. They sat opposite each other.
    “ So what can I do for you?”
    “ I’d like your advice more than anything. I'm sure you've seen the headlines about these satanic murders. There are details from the crime scenes that lead us to believe that whoever is killing these women is heavily into the dark arts. I was hoping you could point us in that direction.”
    Frankie knew immediately she’d said the wrong thing.
    “ I have nothing to do with the dark arts! Please leave.”
    “ Clara, please, I’m not suggesting you are involved at all but we’ve spoken to a few people in the magic community and they all say you are the person to ask. You’re well connected, well liked and respected. I know you don’t practice this sort of witchcraft yourself but that doesn’t mean word of what happens doesn’t make it back to you; or you might know of someone who has been seduced by the dark arts.”
    Clara sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, I overreacted. You must understand, I have seen dark magic performed and it is something…”
    “ It haunts you?”
    “ Yes.” She sipped her tea. “The inhumanity I witnessed was enough but the spell itself…” she shuddered. “I’m sorry. Yes, I do hear rumours occasionally.”
    “ Could you give me some names?”
    “ There was one boy, about five years ago; he joined my coven. He was 17, had a natural talent and a real thirst to learn. I sort of took him under my wing. He was always chomping at the bit, wanting to try things he wasn’t ready for but I put it down to youth. Then he began asking me about black magic. I dismissed most of his queries, put it down to natural curiosity but one day I snapped. I told him what it had been like when I witnessed that dark ritual in my own youth. The sacrifice, the blood, the animal screams, I spared no detail. I wanted to scare him but when I finally came out of my own memory and looked into his eyes I saw something that chilled me. I thought I saw… excitement.” She sipped and swallowed her coffee, wrapping her hands around the mug as though to warm them.
    “ What happened after that?”
    “ He showed up for the next two meetings and then we didn’t hear from him again. I heard from a coven in Glasgow that he’d been there, asking more questions but he didn’t stay with them long.”
    “ Ran off again?”
    “ They kicked him out. He wanted to use blood to increase the potency of a spell and shedding blood, even our own, is a no-go for white witches. No good ever came from spilling blood.”
    “ What kind of questions was he asking?”
    “ They said he was looking for a grimoire, specifically the Munich Manual. It’s a 15 th century grimoire focusing on demonology and necromancy.”
    Frankie frowned. “I’ve heard of that, it’s in the Munich Library. But wasn’t it reprinted a few years ago?”
    “ It’s not on show, it’s heavily guarded and it wasn’t reprinted in its entirety. Specific portions were left out. Dangerous portions. He was after the original. Or an original. There’s a second hand written copy rumoured to have been changing hands on the black market for decades.”
    Frankie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A psycho with a grimoire was never good news.
    “ What’s his name?”
    “ Bradley. Bradley James.”
     
    Frankie paced her living room. She’d been through the income tax records, deed poll, voting register, council tax and census details from the last five years. Bradley James had disappeared from them all three years ago. She didn’t bother checking out his last known address. It had been sold after his parents were brutally slain by a