The Language of Spells by Sarah Painter Page B

Harper?’
    Gwen nodded.
    ‘Oh, thank God. I’m Helen Brewer.’ The woman tucked the bowl under one arm and stuck out her hand. She had brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and looked older than Gwen. Although Gwen always assumed people were older than her. Ruby would probably tell her it was down to her essential immaturity. Arrested development and all that.
    Gwen shook it. ‘Can I help you?’
    ‘I hope so. Please.’
    ‘I suppose you want to come in,’ Gwen said, stepping back.
    ‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’ Helen peered at Cam curiously. ‘Are you busy?’
    ‘Yes,’ Cam said.
    ‘I’m always busy,’ Gwen said. ‘In fact, I might have that engraved on the back door.’
    ‘Well,’ Helen put the dog bowl on the table, ‘this won’t take long, I hope. If I don’t find Archie before Christopher gets back, he’s going to kill me. He loves that dog.’
    ‘Christopher?’
    ‘My son. He’s coming home from university for the weekend. He’s studying chemical engineering in Cardiff. It’s a very difficult course.’
    ‘I have no doubt.’ Gwen tried to send a
sorry about this
look in Cam’s direction but he was too busy sending death rays at Helen. She refocused on the woman. ‘Did you say your dog is missing?’
    ‘Yes, I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.’ Helen pulled out a small rectangle and passed it to Gwen. It was a picture of a Highland Terrier taken in a photo booth, Helen Brewer’s hands just visible holding him up.
    ‘This is his bowl.’
    ‘Not yours?’ Cam asked.
    ‘No.’ Helen frowned at him, leaning to one side while she struggled to pull something out of her coat pocket. ‘This is his favourite toy.’ She put the object onto the table and Gwen stifled the urge to laugh. What had once been a reproduction
Spitting Image
Margaret Thatcher was now nose-less and ravaged.
    ‘Archie has excellent taste,’ Cam said, draining his glass.
    ‘Why have you brought this stuff?’
    Helen frowned. ‘Don’t you need them? I heard that Iris did something. Maybe set fire to them and the smoke forms an arrow and points to where Archie is hiding—’ She caught sight of Gwen’s expression and broke off. ‘Or something.’
    ‘You can’t burn that,’ Cam said. ‘It’ll give off toxic fumes.’
    ‘Maybe you get a chemical burn in the shape of an arrow,’ Gwen said. She was trying very hard to ignore the fact that she
could
help. Probably.
    Helen narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you going to help or not? I can pay you.’
    Gwen took a breath and tried to formulate a nice way of saying
no
and
you are insane
. ‘Have you asked your neighbours? Put up posters?’
    ‘No one has seen him. I’ve been along the streets and asked people to check their garages and sheds, in case he got trapped.’ Helen was fumbling in her pocket. She brought out a couple of twenty-pound notes.
    Gwen tried not to think about how much she needed that money. ‘I don’t think I can,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry; perhaps—’ Gwen reached out to poke the chew toy. The instant her finger connected with the rubber surface, images exploded behind her eyes. A pink carpet close to her nose, as if she were lying down, although she was moving very fast, her back legs straining to clear a height. Going up a step and another and another, the pink carpet sharp-smelling with a base note of wood and newspaper. She jerked her hand back and stared wide-eyed at Cam and Helen.
    ‘All right there, Jumpy?’ Cam said.
    She focused on him. Solid, normal, legally trained Cam. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t asking her to cure chilblains or solve marital problems. He looked perplexed and mildly amused by Helen Brewer. He belonged to the normal world. The one she wanted to join.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ Helen said. ‘If you can’t do this, I need to get back home and carry on looking. He’s out there, all alone—’
    ‘Pink carpet.’
Damn it.
    ‘What?’
    Gwen reached out and touched Maggie’s chin. She was more prepared