Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives

Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives
Casebook 01: Snare

Crack!

Fred Apparated inches from his twin, who was completely unperturbed by his brother's sudden appearance. George was far too absorbed in his current meal.

"They use apples in everything here," he told Fred, "and I mean everything. Apple sauce, apple pie, pheasant stuffed with apple, apple sorbet!" He lifted his glass and pointed at its contents, happily. "Apple cider!"

Fred raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the meal spread out before him.

"George, we should have picked out a bloke," he remarked matter-of-factly. "Girls are just far too difficult. Nox is like a clumsy Hermione, only thick as two short planks."

George smirked. "She told you to bog off, didn't she?" he said without once taking his eyes off his food. "I thought you liked her."

"Her charms are quickly wearing off," Fred grunted and floated over to the window-box.

George rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't have left her. You know what these old houses are like, and her Muggle eyes'll be a bit more open to things now, won't they?"

Fred ignored him and looked around the room instead. George's guest room was like something out of an old vampire novel. Dark tapestries lined every wall, fanciful Arthurian stories and hero quests embroidered on each one. There was a large four-poster bed with deep, burgundy drapes, and a silver supper table by the fire where George currently sat, feasting on his three-quarters apple meal. Two deep windows faced the moors. Fred swung his legs up onto the seat and frowned out the glass at the darkening sky.

"Well anyway, what do you make of it?" he asked his twin after a time.

"Of what?" asked George, his mouth full of pheasant.

"The case, Lugless. Don't you intend to bias my brilliant mind with any theories or suggestions?" asked Fred in a manner which told George that he hadn't a clue and wanted some help. It was a line Fred had often used in school when he had been stuck on a particularly mind-boggling question.

George leaned back in his chair, sloshing the contents of his glass around, and mulled over the situation.

"Well," he began slowly, "in the first place, no one in the magical community except for Dedalus, Kingsley and Harry know what we're up to, and they certainly didn't make those cards. So how did Audra get her hands on one?"

"She probably made it herself in order to get us here," said Fred.

"Maybe, but then how did a Muggle know about us in the first place? We only came up with the title yesterday morning." George set his glass down on the supper table with a clonk. "Besides, I've been told by the staff here that Audra never leaves her room; she's too sick."

Fred nodded, taking another piece of the puzzle in. "So that's why she couldn't meet us tonight. I was beginning to think they kept her locked in a belfry."

"Pity. That would have made the case a bit more interesting." George began to make a start on his fifth course. "I'm never going to want to face another apple again after this. So what about you? Any theories?"

"Not so much a theory," said Fred, folding his arms behind his head again. "More of an observation."

George looked at him. "Go on, then."

"About that girl yesterday," Fred started, looking a little distant.

"What about her?"

Fred blew air through his nose in an unsettled gesture and turned to look his twin fully in the eye. "She said there would be three rooms prepared."

oOo

It was pouring outside. The sheets of rain were so heavy that Nox couldn't make out a single tree in the orchard below her. She pressed her nose against the cool glass and peered further. There wasn't a pinpoint of light anywhere in the gardens or in the wild moors beyond the estate. Behind her, the licking tongues of flame in the fireplace hissed and spat as a few drops of water found their way down the chimney. Resolving to make the best out of a bad situation, Nox pulled the heavy, velvet curtains over and huddled up to the fire with a book. Her grey eyes glittered; she loved the feeling of being safe and toasty warm indoors during a storm.

Location and keeps considered, the weekend would have been a very romantic get-away, if it weren't for the fact that she was sharing it with a ghost and a bloke who was more Cheshire Cat than man. The British moors had been the location for so many great works of epic, romantic literature: Wuthering Heights; the Secret Garden; the Hound of the Baskervilles.

The latter Nox currently held in her hands. Unsurprisingly enough, she was a great fan of Sherlock Holmes' adventures, and she had thought the book quite befitting for her own Dartmoor adventure. After only ten minutes of reading, however, her eyes began to feel heavy and the words in her book were becoming blurry. Her bed suddenly seemed miles away from the comfort of the warm, flickering fire.

A scuffling noise from somewhere in the room brought her quickly back to her senses. She glanced around the floor, expecting to see a rat or a mouse scuttling along the skirting board, but there wasn't a rodent in sight. Nox listened carefully, and after a moment the scuffling, scraping noise came again. A cold chill ran up her spine. It sounded more like finger nails raking across a hard surface. She couldn't run to George's room; that was completely out of the question. Despite the fact that Nox didn't know where George's room was, she didn't want to suffer the sheer embarrassment of admitting to the twins that she was scared. Besides, she was a grown woman of twenty-three, and certainly not a damsel in distress of any kind.

The fingers of her right hand twitched. Not for the first time that week, Nox cursed her badly judged timing to quit smoking.

The scratching started again. It was getting louder now, and more insistent against the backdrop of the heavy rainfall. Nox turned to the window box and her heart sank; the noise coming from outside. She tried to remember how many floors up her room was, quickly counting them off on her fingers. She considered taking the candelabra from the mantelpiece with which she'd be ready to face any intruder harbouring ill-intentions with a good whack or two.

Suddenly, three menacing bangs shook the walls. Nox stiffened in alarm, every nerve and muscle tuned and ready, her heart beating furiously in her chest. After a few minutes of silence, she managed to gather her nerves. 'It's fine, no one can get up this high,' she told herself, and then came upon a realisation. 'I bet it's that bloody ghost! Should've known he would try and pull a stunt like this,' she thought vindictively. Thrusting her book down on the supper table, Nox marched towards the window where she threw open the velvet curtains in a fury.

If Fred had been there, she certainly couldn't see him now. All Nox could make out were the fat blobs of rain water against the window. A clatter behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin. She turned to see her book splayed on the floor. Nox gave a nervous chuckle, feeling a bit stupid, and turned back to close the curtains again. In the time it took for her to turn back towards the window, a round, pale, brambly face had appeared, pressed up against the glass. It was mouthing wordlessly at her, dragging its horrible thorny fingers down the glass. Nox froze as the inhuman figure lifted its arms high above its head, and then threw them against the glass. The force shook the entire room and nearly threw Nox from her feet.

The jolt forced a cry from her throat and there was a loud crack, followed by a shout, and the heavy curtains drew close, seemingly by themselves, blocking out the awful view of the creature splayed against the window.

Panting, Nox spun on her heel to find Fred standing there, looking shocked and perhaps a bit paler than usual. She hung her head close to his icy cold, silver chest and groaned in relief. Fred floated there for a minute, looking confused and incredibly awkward, as though unsure where to put his arms. At length he let one hand hover loosely over her shoulder, while the other patted her head clumsily.

"It's alright," Fred muttered uneasily. "Calm down. It's gone now."

Nox pulled away from him, shivering a bit at his icy touch, and leaned her hands against her thighs, cursing like a soldier. "The irony of turning to a ghost for comfort," she said, laughing nervously. "What in Hell was that anyway? Am I now a beacon for all ghost-kind? Actually, don't answer that. I'm not sure I want to know."

Fred shook his head, pensively, never taking his eyes from the window. "No... that wasn't a ghost," he muttered, rubbing his chin.

By the tone of his voice, Nox wasn't sure she wanted to ask him any further questions. At least, not until she had finished the bottle of whiskey which had been supplied by the house.

"Oh, hell!" she said angrily, crossing the room towards the little supper table. She lifted the bottle of whiskey and smiled at him wryly. "Now I know why they're being so generous, supplying me with a full bottle."

"I could do with one myself." Fred ran a hand through his hair and laughed. "That thing gave me the heebie-jeebies. You see its eyes? Or lack thereof - nasty bugger." He floated across the room and sat on one of the armchairs by the fire.

"I'm not sure I want to know what scares a ghost," said Nox and laughed a little giddily.

Fred puffed out his chest and shot her a contemptuous glance. "Not scared," he began, shortly, "just spooked. I wasn't expecting that. I heard you scream from the hallway and thought you'd seen a stupid mouse or something, but blimey! I knew this case was fishy. You can't pull wool over the eyes of a trickster - 'specially a dead one."

Nox had already succeeded in downing three straight shots and was working on pouring a fourth with one trembling hand. She inquired if George had discovered anything further about Audra, and they spent the next half hour discussing Rosewood Estate and all its peculiarities.

"You don't think it can get in, do you?" Nox asked him after a time, eyeing the window warily. The question had been on the tip of her tongue for a while.

Fred shook his head, adamantly. "No - if it could have, it would have got in by now. Besides, whatever the poxy thing was, it looks like it's decided to bog off and scare the pants off someone else for now."

Nox felt embarrassed. She hesitated, wanting to thank him, but for some reason she couldn't find the right words. Fred didn't seem to care in any case. He looked far too lost in his own thoughts to notice her. Instead, she set her glass down and crawled into bed, edging as far away from the window as possible, and wondered if Fred would stay or return to George's room.

"Aren't you going to go back?" she asked at length.

Fred looked at her. "Hmm? Nah, I'll stay here," he said. "Want to wait and see if that thing comes back so I can get a better look at it." He tossed her an easy grin. "Who knows, if it's an undiscovered creature, I might get to name it. What do you think of Fred Junior?"

"Oh, yes; suitably terrifying," said Nox sarcastically, her grey eyes smirking. "After all, you do resemble each other a bit."

"Cutting!" Fred declared, grasping his chest as though mortally wounded. "And harsh. But I'll forgive you since you nearly wet yourself back there." He settled into his armchair, crossing his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. "Now, zip your yap and get some sleep. We'll be spending all of tomorrow doing what you do best -" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and added, "- snooping."

Nox threw her slipper at him, which sailed easily through Fred's head faintly glowing silver head.

"Fast learner, aren't you?" he quipped with a grin.

With a wide yawn, Nox slumped back onto the pillows. She could hardly believe that only yesterday morning her life had been relatively normal and Weasley-free, and that now she was facing her own detective mystery in the wild Dartmoor countryside. Moreover, Nox had a feeling things were about to get far stranger still.

oOo

Nox and the twins spent a lot of the time over the next few days at Rosewood Estate, snooping around the enormous mansion and expansive grounds, but they had yet to come up with any evidence, nor indeed meet the lady of the house. It was also becoming increasingly hard for George to join the others, due to Martha running him ragged in the kitchens; not that Fred or Nox heard him complain much. Working in the kitchens meant more time spent with Lucie, who it seemed George was quickly becoming attached to.

"I'm getting suspicious," said Nox one morning as they sat down to breakfast with together in the mansion's impressive mahogany dining hall.

"There's a surprise," said Fred, rolling his eyes. "You can't walk five feet without getting suspicious about something."

Nox ignored him and continued, lowering her tone in case Mrs Ternwip was listening at the door - they had found the grim woman eavesdropping on them on more than one occasion. "Don't you think it's a bit odd that the kitchen's working you so hard, George? We only get to see each other over breakfast and dinner. I think they're trying to keep us apart."

"Ah, I didn't know you cared so much." George leaned over with his fork to stab a sausage off her plate. "You weren't eating that, were you?" he said, already halfway through it.

"Uh, no. Go ahead," she muttered, staring wide-eyed at the enormous pile of food on his plate. She wasn't the only one; Fred was also gawping, open-mouthed at his twin.

"Bimey, sure you're eating enough?" he asked incredulously. "Wouldn't want you to waste away or anything."

"Funny," said George, glaring over his mountain of scrambled eggs on toast. "I've got a ten hour shift ahead of me. My hands are raw from all the stupid dishes I've been washing. I don't get how Muggles manage this every day of their lives. It's driving me nuts."

Fred looked at him in surprise. "Why don't you just use magic?"

"I can't," said George despairingly. "Martha's always watching me. Got eyes in the back of her head, that woman has. And if she's not around, then Lucie is."

"Well, at least your sidekick is a cute little blonde who doesn't suspect every bleeding shadow of harbouring a homicidal killer," said Fred, shooting a glance at Nox, who bristled with anger. She didn't like being talked about as if she wasn't even in the room.

"Oi, listen here!" she snapped, spraying them both with bits of buttered toast. "I don't have to stay in this medieval, gothic nuthouse. I've been scared out my wits, referred to as a bloke these past three days, and there hasn't been a single mention of pay. I'm sticking about for the two of you only, but if you don't appreciate my help, then I'm off."

Both twins looked highly amused at their detective's angry outburst, and it looked like Fred was doing everything in his power not to quip a joke at her expense.

"All right, that's fair," said George before his twin could chase their detective off for good. "We'll behave."

"But only a little," added Fred firmly.

"Good," said Nox briskly. "Right then, back to business. I prepared this last night - figured it might come in handy to the case."

Nox held up a large map of what looked like the entirety of Rosewood Estate, looking excited and very pleased with herself. She had drawn little red and blue crosses over all the rooms and floors they had already explored, and here and there notes had been hastily scribbled across the paper. "George, since you'll be around the kitchens, you can grill the staff for more information and explore the areas marked in blue."

As she launched into a long-winded speech about their investigation, Fred leaned closer to his twin and said in a hushed tone, "She doesn't remind you of..."

"Wood?" George sighed. "Yeah."

Fred stared in dismay as Nox tapped one area of the map then circled another.

"Bugger."

oOo

George couldn't escape Nox and her lectures for another half hour, after which he received an earful from Martha for turning up late. Thankfully, he wasn't working in the kitchens today. Audra, it seemed, had taken a turn for the worse, for Mrs Ternwip came rushing downstairs looking more pale and panicked than ever before. She gestured wildly at Martha, who immediately dropped the basket of apples she had been carrying to the floor, and hurried away.

"You can go an' help Lucie on the moors, lad! She'll be round at the stables now," Martha called over her shoulder. "But don't be out after dark, just in case."

Feeling relieved, George headed out to the stables at the south end of the house, where Lucie was adjusting a saddle to a sturdy looking pony.

"What are you doing out here?" Lucie asked him as he strode casually into the courtyard. She looked flushed and surprised, but happy to see him.

"I think Audra's taken a turn for the worse," he told her distantly and stopped in front of the little bay pony. George could have sworn the beast was glaring at him with an air of distaste. While he was a great flyer, he didn't think riding a pony would be very similar to flying a broomstick, and the pony seemed to sense his trepidation. George lowered his eyebrows at the beast as it whinnied irritably, blowing hot, smelly breath in his face.

Lucie's smile broadened. "Oh, I think Bramble likes you!" She patted the pony's backside and motioned to George. "You can ride him then. I'll take Clover," she said and went to release a white pony from its stable.

"Great," George replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm, and took the pony's reins in his hand. "So, been riding long?" he asked, already tangled in the leather leads.

"Ever since I could walk," Lucie replied, mounting her own pony with ease. "What about you? I don't suppose you've spent much time around horses, living in the city."

"Nah, I've been riding for years!" George told her confidently, struggling to haul himself onto the back of the irritable pony, who was doing everything it could to get away from him. "Yeah, know everything about horses and ponies and ...and..." George frowned. Somehow he had gotten turned about and was now sitting on the pony's back, facing its' rear-end. "Huh... Your pony's back to front. Must be suffering from reversititus; nasty thing that. Might have to put it down."

Lucie stifled a giggle. "Uhm, George? When you mount a pony on its left side, you have to put your left foot in the stirrup."

"Yeah, of course you do! I was just testing you, you know." George flashed her a wickedly charming grin. "My life's in your hands today, after all. Need to be sure you know your stuff."

"Really? Your life, is it?" Lucie nudged her pony on, a sultry smile on her face as she rode past him. "I'll have to take good care of it, then, won't I?"

George watched as she rode out of the courtyard, a dreamy sort of look on his face. After a moment, he gathered his wits and turned himself around on the saddle. "Humiliate me today and I'll turn you into a goat, got it?" he muttered into the pony's ear in a menacing tone.

They kept to the dusty main rode for a while, until Lucie turned her pony onto an invisible path which cut through the purple heather and wild gorse bushes. George wouldn't have noticed the narrow track if he had been walking along the main road alone. It was a muddy path, strewn with rocks and the occasional cluster of sheep bones. George was suddenly glad he wasn't on foot. "Genius Muggles," he said to himself. "Taming these dumb beasts."

His pony seemed to take offence at this remark, for it suddenly pulled on his reins so hard that George fell forwards onto its neck.

"Are you all right?" Lucie shouted to him, concerned.

"I'm fine!" he called back, rubbing his bruised nose and bent down close to the pony's ear again. "I wasn't lying earlier, you mind that!" he whispered then urged the pony on until he was riding side by side with Lucie.

"So why are we out here anyway? What've we to do?" George asked her.

"We've got to check the rabbit snares," she replied with a grimace. "Ben lays these traps out every day. He usually picks them up himself, but he's feeling a bit under the weather today. They're horrid things, these snares, but I've got my orders. The first time I had to pull a baby hare from one, I cried for a whole day."

Despite the morbidity of their current subject, George couldn't help but smile at the girl beside him. She was honest and sweet-natured - a direct contrast from he and his twin. 'And Nox,' he thought, chuckling in his head. There was also a wild quality about Lucie which suited her to the unpredictable nature of Dartmoor.

She caught him staring and turned to hide her growing blush. "So how is your friend coming along with the case?"

"Nox?" George shrugged. "Struggling, I guess. There's not much to go on yet; just a bunch of leads and mysteries that go no where."

Lucie eyed him for a moment, and then shook her head, looking dreamy. "Don't be so positive about that," she warned him. "Everything leads somewhere."

George studied her profile; in that fleeting moment, Lucie had reminded him a little of Looney Luna Lovegood. He wasn't so sure this was a positive aspect. They rode in silence for a minute, enjoying the warm summer wind driving over the moors.

"Can I ask you something?" said George after a time, feeling curious. "What do you honestly think happened to Audra's sister?"

Lucie looked very uncomfortable at the question. "I'm not really sure."

"But you have to have some idea," said George persistently. "No one just ups and disappears. Especially if they're a -" He stopped short. He had wanted to say the word 'twin', but it cut a little too close to home.

"I really don't know, George," said Lucie, truthfully. "Audra and Catherine were very close. They never quarrelled and spent almost every hour of the day together." There was a touch of sadness in her smile. "I always felt a little envious of them. I've never had any siblings. I grew up at the Estate with Ben and Martha."

"But they're not your parents?"

"No." Lucie shook her head. "My parents gave me up after I was born. Actually, it was Ternwip who took me in."

"Wow," said George, looking shocked. "I didn't think the evil old bat had a heart!"

Lucie laughed. "You're too cruel, George!"

George smirked. "If you think I'm cruel, then you should meet my twin." That was it; he'd said it. George felt like kicking himself.

"Your twin?" Lucie asked, looking mildly surprised at this revelation. "I didn't know you had a twin." She laughed, mockingly. "Is he as charming as you are?"

George felt hot and uncomfortable. "Actually, he's dead."

George awaited the next inevitable turn in conversation; it was the part where people 'aww-ed' and inclined their heads towards him, all the while directing unbearable expressions of sympathy. Above all, George hated being pitied - he wasn't the one who was stuck floating around as a ghost, after all.

As expected, Lucie inclined her head towards him and leaned over to touch his hand. "I'm so sorry, George," she said softly, but there was something so honest in her tone that it drove away his irritation and discomfort. He smiled at her and wrapped his fingers around her smaller hand.

A few moments later, they had arrived at the first rabbit snare. Lucie drew in a startled gasp at the scene before them: the bloody body of a rabbit was lying a few feet away from the snare, decapitated and torn to pieces.

"A fox must have got at it," she said, irritably.

"And eaten its head?" George asked doubtfully. "Why would a fox take a rabbit's head? And look there." He pointed at the snare. "The wire's broken. A fox couldn't have done that."

Lucie stared at the creature thoughtfully, and then nudged her pony on to the next snare. But the situation looked much the same as the last; the body of the rabbit shredded and cast aside, while its head was nowhere in sight.

"Maybe the wires are faulty," Lucie suggested.

But George still looked doubtful. "The rabbits have faulty heads too, eh? S'pose they just fell off by themselves."

"Perhaps some of the local children killed them and took them off as trophies?" She caught George's increasingly sceptic expression. "Well, there are a lot of strange people living around here."

"Grasping at straws, more like it," George muttered.

"Lucie!" a voice suddenly shouted from nearby.

"Oh, John!" she cried back, waving happily at a young man who was striding across the wild heather towards them.

George narrowed his eyes at the approaching man suspiciously. "Who's he, then?" he asked her, having already decided that he didn't like the man one bit.

"John's the local wine merchant. He supplies the house," Lucie explained and trotted her pony over to greet the man.

"How are you?" Lucie asked when she reached him. "You look a bit under the weather."

John was a tall and burly man, with handsome dark features and friendly, shimmering eyes. He patted Lucie's pony and leaned up towards her. "Just a touch of the flu. You seen the state of the place?" he asked in a strong, rich accent.

"Yes, any idea what's happened?" Lucie asked urgently.

"Not a clue. And it's not just the rabbit snares 'n all. Half the moor's dripping in sheep's blood. I even saw a wild pony half-devoured back yonder."

"A pony!" Lucie gasped. "What on earth do you think has happened?"

"Well it's not the work of foxes, that's for damn sure," said John hurriedly, wiping his very sweaty brow. "I've gotta get back to the village. Think I'll give the police a call, just to put 'em on warning. Could be a wild panther - there've been sightings of them for years. Don't you be staying late out. Whatever this is, if it can bring down a wild pony, it won't make much work of you two."

"Thanks," muttered George tetchily. "I'll keep that in mind." After John was well out of earshot, George turned to Lucie, looking bold and wild with excitement. "Well then, let's go find this great beast."

Lucie paled. "Uhm, I don't think that's such a good idea ..."

"Why not? We're only a half hour's ride from the Estate." George rode a little closer to her, so that their faces were inches apart. "And I won't let anything happen to you."

Lucie's face brightened at his words. "All right then," she nodded, though with an added wag of her finger. "But never deal in absolutes. That's bound to get you in trouble."

oOo

"Noxy Nox fell off her block and knocked her nogg' off the clock!"

"Shut up, Fred."

"The clock declared, 'I'm frightfully scared!' and bopped her over the dock!"

"Fred, SHUT UP!" Nox shouted irately. Fred had been rhyming with her name for two hours straight, and she was beginning to wish that her foolish parents had granted her a name with more than one syllable. "If you haven't got anything important to add to this case, then go somewhere else!"

"Fine; where?" asked Fred.

"I don't know," she said, pushing her fringe away from her eyes. "Go find George."

"You're kidding, right?" Fred looked at her as if she was utterly stupid. "Don't think Georgie would appreciate me interrupting his little date with the kitchen girl."

"Date?" she repeated, bewildered.

Fred's eyes widened, then he slapped his forehead, sighing wearily. "For a detective, you're pretty blind to some fairly obvious goings-on."

True, she hadn't been paying much attention to the relationship growing between her work-mate and the kitchen girl, but her mind had been caught up in the casebook at hand. With a short sigh, Nox hooked her thumbs behind her braces - the only thing capable enough of holding up her baggy work trousers hanging slack against her knobbly chicken legs.

"Well, anyway, you're a ghost - these are the moors," said Nox earnestly. "Go join your fellow dead-beats and haunt someone."

"But it's daytime! It's no good scaring people during the day." Fred threw his arms around her neck and pressed his icy cheek against her warm one. "Besides, you're such an easy target."

Nox shivered at the coldness against her flesh. "Be that as it may," she began, sliding away from him, "I've got work to do, and you're not helping one bit."

Fred narrowed his eyes at her. "Merlin's beard, you're a moody ogre of a Scot." A smirk began to creep across his face. "You realise you're not doing your country's stereotype any favour."

"You've got a cheek calling me a stereotype," Nox mumbled back to him, studying her map carefully with a magnifying glass. "I think we should check outside underneath my window again. Maybe there's something we've missed."

Fred groaned. "We've been out there five times already! What do you expect to find, pot of gold or something?"

"Well, to begin with, it was raining too hard that night, so naturally there aren't any footprints." She began to tap her magnifying glass against her chin thoughtfully. "But maybe if I can climb up the wall, I can dust for finger-prints."

Fred slated his eyes at her. "You're kidding, right?" He prodded her nose with his finger. "You don't still think that was a big stupid Muggle banging on your window?"

"I'm keeping an open mind," Nox replied tersely.

They left the house by one of the servants' exits and skirted the East side of the house until they stood below her bedroom window. They peered up at the broad, black window. It was a good four floors up. It didn't seem very plausible that anyone could climb up without falling and breaking their neck; least of all during a storm.

Nox thought back to the inhuman face with the sunken eyes and shivered. But as much as that awful event had terrified her, she had come to think of it as an important clue to Catherine's disappearance and the fact that no one in the Estate knew of their arrival. Surely the strange events could not be mere coincidence. But after three days of searching, she, George and her ghostly companion had turned up nothing.

Nox peered through her large magnifying glass at the spot beneath her window, feeling beaten. "I don't know where to start," she admitted at last. "Ternwip won't let us talk to Audra and everyone else is too afraid to tell us anything about Catherine. And despite the fact that no one in the Estate will admit to hiring us to come here, no one has sent us away either." She squatted on the ground, running her hands through her thick hair. "I don't understand, how could Audra come to your house if she's too ill to leave her room? And why would she want paranormal detectives anyway?"

Fred nodded thoughtfully. "You know, the family didn't file a missing person's report when Catherine disappeared," he told her, much to Nox's surprise. "But they did bring in a private investigator, Argos Thickley. Course, he couldn't find anything."

Nox stared at him, looking very impressed. "How the heck do you know that?"

"I've got my ways," Fred replied, waving his hand in the air. "This case is so boring. Why anyone would want to take this up as their job beats the Wrackspurts out of me."

He wandered past a gushing fountain towards an apple tree - the oldest and largest in the orchard - and stretched his arms behind his head. Nox hurried after him. Golden sunshine was streaming though the branches of the beautiful old tree, dappling her face with patches of sunlight. Hundreds of blood red apples hung from every branch and littered the ground around her.

"By the way, you inspired a new product at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!" he told her, bending down and peering hard at a particularly large, juicy apple. "'Worry Worts' - stick on scabs guaranteed to give your unwary assailant a full hour of paranoia and stress, which I like to call the 'Noxy syndrome'." Fred rambled on, focusing very hard on raising the apple from the ground. "I'll start work on them when we get back home. Think I've got the formula worked out already."

Nox ignored the insult and watched with interest as the apple rose higher and higher into the air. "What's Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" she asked, curiously.

"My company," Fred explained. "Well, mine and George's. We started it back in school."

Nox's eyes grew large in astonishment. "You don't mean that your entire fortune is -"

"Built up from our business?" Fred finished for her, looking very smug with himself. "Yeah, you could say we made a big impact. We've got loads of international stores now, but our main premises are still in Diagon Alley."

Nox begrudged her newfound respect for the trickster twins. She paused thoughtfully at the street-name he had mentioned. It had sounded familiar, thought she couldn't think why. "What's 'Diagon Alley'?"

Fred looked at her for a moment as if she were totally stupid, then rolled his eyes and laughed. "I forgot you don't know much about our world! Imagine not knowing Diagon Alley. Well, it's a street in London, isn't it?"

"In London? I've never heard of it. Is it on the skirts?"

"Don't be daft," he snorted. "You can get to it from Charring Cross Roa-" Before Fred could finish, the apple he had been holding in his transparent hand suddenly went flying away and landed in the fountain a second later with a loud splash.

Fred and Nox stared at the gurgling fountain in shock, and then turned slowly back to look at the old tree towering above them. Its branches shuddered and creaked ominously, but there wasn't a breath of wind in the warm afternoon. All at once, the picturesque apple tree, with its bright green leaves and rosy apples, didn't look so friendly.

Their eyes slid back to each other. Fred broke out in a nervous grin. "I think there's a floor inside that we haven't checked out yet."

Nox nodded numbly. "I'm for that."

oOo

George and Lucie were walking their mounts back to the Estate, enjoying the brilliant, fiery sunset over the moors. The purple heather looked aflame in the light of the setting sun, and George hadn't felt so content in a very long time. They stopped for a time and chatted as the sun sank lower and the sky began to turn a dark purple, streaked with red and pink clouds. George had long discarded their original plan of hunting down the sheep-killer. He wasn't worried - but then George rarely concerned himself with worries. Besides, going on a hunt had only been a subtle ploy to spend more time with Lucie.

"Martha's going to be in a right old stomp when we get back," said Lucie as they climbed up to sit on an old dry stone wall. "Or Mrs Ternwip! She'll have my guts for garters."

But George just waved his hand in the air and shifted closer to her. "Who's going to care if we bug off for an hour?"

Lucie gave him amused look. "It's ten o'clock. The sun is setting. Mrs Ternwip will be furious, and she's even more terrifying when she's angry."

"Please," scoffed George. "I've met taller, darker, scarier folk with much bigger beaks," he told her, recalling a certain Potions teacher. "So Ternwip's married, eh? That's a terrifying thought." He gave an exaggerated shudder.

Lucie giggled; her laughter made his chest feel tight.

"You know," she said, "I don't think I've ever seen her husband before. And she's always around the house. Although I think John might be-"

Lucie couldn't finish, for George had leaned in to plant a kiss on her open mouth. After a moment, he felt her lean closer towards him, and so snaked his arm around her little waist to pull her even closer. George wasn't really sure what had come over him. Since Fred's death, he hadn't dated a single girl. Most of the time he felt too guilty to even contemplate it, but Lucie was so sweet and so gentle that stealing a little kiss was all he could do to stop himself from throwing her over his shoulder, jumping on a broomstick and flying away.

When they pulled apart, neither said a word; they just smiled at each other with silent understanding. George brushed his fingers across her hand gently, feeling the weather and tear from all her work in the kitchens and stables.

Lucie gazed at him shyly. "We should probably head home now."

"Come on, let's stay out a bit longer," he beseeched her, disappointed that their day together might be cut short so soon after discovering such a pleasant new pastime. "Besides, we still haven't found and banished this Beast of Dartmoor."

"Which is exactly why we should go now," said Lucie and pulled away from his grip. George sighed, defeated, and hopped off the wall after her.

It was an all too short ride back to the Estate, and soon they were standing in the stable's courtyard, the sun having long since set, having been replaced by a bright full moon. George clasped his hands around Lucie's back and rested his forehead against hers, grinning contently.

Lucie shook her head at him. "You look like the cat that caught his mouse."

"Well," he chuckled, "you're a cute mouse to catch."

"You amaze me," she said, a tiny hint of sarcasm in her voice, and buried her head under his chin for a moment.

"True. I'm a pretty amazing individual," he replied, breathing the scent of her hair in, and kissed her head. "Hope Ternwip doesn't lock you away in the highest tower. Your hair's a bit short for me to climb up."

"She's not as bad as all that," Lucie protested, batting his chest and stepping away. "I'll see you in the morning."

"You're not coming in?" George asked, raising his eyebrows.

Lucie shook her head. "I have to feed the horses. It'll only take me ten minutes."

"All right then." He caught her hand and pulled her in for another quick kiss. "See you in the morning." Lucie nodded, a bit breathless, and as George strolled away across the cobbled courtyard towards the main house, he felt so elated that he missed the flash of purple eyes peering from the shadows, and the strong smell of tobacco that drifted after him.

oOo

Fred was sitting on the edge of the fountain, resting his head on his folded hands and staring hard at the old apple tree, dappled with silver moonlight. He had been sitting in the garden for a good hour now, but nothing out of the norm had happened so far. Fred had thought long and hard on what the tree might be harbouring - ghosts, brownies, bowtruckles; but he had quickly proved each theory unlikely. For the briefest of moments, Fred fancied he might pick Hermione's brain a bit as Nox had very little real knowledge of magical beasts. But the very thought of going to Hermione for help and having to see that smug look on her face repulsed him.

Fred turned as a pair of familiar sounding footsteps crossed the grass towards him. George was looking very pleased with himself.

Fred quirked an eyebrow, smirking. "Have fun, little brother?"

"Turns out country life isn't as dull as I'd expected," said George, taking a seat on the fountain beside him. "Why're you out here? Where's Nox got to?"

"Taking a bath. Apparently, I'm not welcome." He shot his brother a wicked glance. "Can't imagine why. But I'm glad to get out of that house. Why'd they have to cook everything in apples? Even I'm beginning to smell 'em! It's mental."

George laughed. "Forgot you can't stand rich people."

"There's something up with that tree, you know," said Fred suddenly.

"Yeah? Like what?" asked George. "You think it's got a curse on it?"

"Nah, not exactly," Fred began, steepling his fingers. "It's like it's alive or something. You know - really alive. Earlier today it sent an apple flying out my hand, and I think it had something to do with that face at the window the first night we were here. It's spooky."

"Ah, look what you've done, you heartless birch!" said George and pointed his finger accusingly at the old tree. "Spooking a ghost like this - have you no shame?"

"Shut up. And it's an apple tree, you stupid git," Fred grumbled. "Poxy plants; they're only good for firewood and falling out of."

George raised his eyebrows, looking a bit taken aback by Fred's behaviour. "That thing really is making you uncomfortable, isn't it?" he said incredulously, but his twin didn't answer him.

"C'mon," said Fred after a while. "Let's go back inside. I wanna give Nox a good scare before the night's out."

oOo

Lucie hated being out in the stables so late at night. If she hadn't wanted to make such a good impression on George, she would have asked him to stay. It certainly didn't seem like he would have complained. The thought made her cheeks burn.

But there had been stories drifting this past year; horrid stories. The dead sheep on the moor was only one of many Lucie had been hearing, and she had to wonder at what truly happened to poor Catherine.

She wasn't the only one feeling spooked, Lucie noticed with concern. The two ponies were becoming increasingly distressed, pacing around their stables with wide, wary eyes, and shaking their long heads. Neither touched their food and their eyes kept flicking towards the moor.

Something hard rolled suddenly across the floor and bumped against her foot.

"What on earth?" Lucie whispered, and then took a sharp intake of breath when she saw a little black rabbit's eye staring blankly up at her, its decapitated head resting against her boot.

Lucie's hand flew to her mouth as she realised there was a trail of rabbit corpses leading out the stable door. She followed the trail from the courtyard, feeling queasy and not a little brave, until she came to the rosebushes that separated the grounds from the wild moor, and stared in horror. Upon the thorny spikes were pierced all the missing rabbit heads from the snares.

Then suddenly, a dreadful howl pierced the night, loud and low and full of malice. Lucie bolted towards the house, her heart beating frantically in her chest. She tried to cry for help, but the sound that left her throat was a strangled scream as something huge and monstrous leapt over the boundary between the wild land and the Estate, catching her between its huge claws.

oOo

A terrible cry echoed around the Estate. Every light was turned on; every bed cover had been thrown off, and the sound of running feet thundered towards the entrance hall. George tore down the main stairs into the hallway, followed closely by Fred and Nox.

Mrs Ternwip was already standing by the front door, fully clothed and holding a lit candelabra. Her pale, tight face was stricken with shock.

"What's happened?" George shouted, grabbing Martha, who was sobbing into her nightgown, by her shoulders and shook her roughly. "Where is she? Where's Lucie? Tell me!" He shook the sobbing woman harder until Nox grabbed his arms and pulled him away.

The front door swung open and Ben dragged his feet across the floor, limping and wincing in pain. His shirt was blood-soaked and he was carrying a large bundle wrapped in his jacket.

Fred's mouth fell agape, and Nox tightened her grip on George, whose hands fell limply away from Martha's shoulders. The colour drained from his face.

"She's gone," Ben muttered, his dirty bronze face torn with grief. "She's dead."

oOo