I couldn’t help my smile from blossoming but, when I looked at Winter, his gaze was fixed on a spot on the far wall. Why the hell wouldn’t he look at me?

‘We worked well together and solved some serious crimes.’ I paused. ‘But I still don’t want to be in the Order.’

The Ipsissimus chuckled. ‘Oh, that’s not why we’re here. Don’t worry.’ He leaned forward slightly, shifting his hands as he did so. He was still bleeding from Brutus’s unwarranted attack. That wasn’t a particularly good sign, despite the warmth currently emanating from him. ‘Tell me, have you heard of Enchantment?’

I stared at him, wondering whether I had heard him correctly. ‘The television programme?’

He nodded in satisfaction. ‘That’s right. I’m told it’s rather popular.’

Popular? It had been the highest-rated show across the country for years. I hadn’t missed a single episode. A sudden thought occurred to me and I sat up straighter.

‘If you’re looking for someone to watch it carefully for signs of potentially powerful witches, I’m your man. Or woman. Or whatever. I should tell you that the majority of their contestants have very little magic. It’s more about their interaction and the situations they’re put in than what spells they manage to cast. But I’m prepared to let you pay me to watch it. It’ll be hard,’ I said, ‘but if it’ll help you out, I’m prepared to make that sacrifice.’

Winter snorted. ‘We’re not going to pay you to sit on your arse and watch television, Ivy.’

Shame. I met his bluer-than-blue eyes. ‘It was worth a try.’

‘Yes, because you wouldn’t put in an effort for anything else, would you?’

The castigating nature of his words hurt. I crossed my arms and looked at him in confusion. Winter was a lot of things but he was never callous or mean. Even the Ipsissimus seemed rather shocked.

Somewhat belatedly, Winter appeared to realise he’d gone too far. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘Yes, well,’ the Ipsissimus coughed. ‘The thing is that the producers of Enchantment are planning a new series. Instead of twelve would-be witches in London, they’re going for some kind of wilderness expedition. They’ve already selected their participants but during pre-production on location one of them met a rather, well, unsavoury end.’

I ripped my gaze away from Winter and tried to focus. ‘One of them is dead?’

‘Alas, yes. And under highly suspicious circumstances. This was not a natural end.’

I sucked in a breath. ‘That’s terrible. I imagine you’re concerned about it because you believe magic was involved?’

The Ipsissimus grimaced. ‘There are no primary traces. Benjamin Alberts, the poor man who died, was essentially ripped apart and found strewn halfway across a moor.’

I winced. That sounded nasty. ‘No primary traces,’ I said slowly, thinking about what he’d said. ‘But there are secondary suggestions of magic?’

The Ipsissimus nodded. ‘Whoever killed him didn’t use magic but they’d recently come into contact with it. The residue was faint but definitely there.’