Ник Сайнт: Purrfect Heat

I shook my head and decided I didn’t want to know about Buckley’s adventures at the Hippodrome. “Do you think you can contact our ghost? We really need to get a move on. We’re under contract here, Buckley.”

“Yeah, and the police want us out of here, so any excuse will be good to give us the boot,” Jarrett added.

Buckley glanced at Darian. “Darian wants you gone? But why?”

“Beats me,” I said. “He has a new partner, who told us to take a hike.”

Buckley shook his head, and then floated up from behind the bar. I didn’t know how he did it, but before long, the ghost of a very large man emerged from the ceiling, where apparently he’d been hiding. He looked exactly like the dead man, which was logical, cause he was the dead man.

“Hey there, buddy,” Jarrett said encouragingly. “Mind if we have a chat?”

“He killed me,” the man said gloomily. “And Harry Potter couldn’t save me.”

“Harry Potter can’t save anyone,” I said. “Because Harry Potter doesn’t exist.”

“Don’t keep saying that,” Jarrett hissed. “We’re in the temple of Harry Potter here. That’s sacrilege. Soon the Dark Lord himself will show up and curse you.”

“The Dark Lord!” the dead man cried. “He’s the one that did this to me! He has returned!”

I sighed. This was going to be a tough nut to crack. “Uriel Pieres? That’s your name, right? Could you tell us what happened? Exactly?”

Uriel floated down from the ceiling and joined us. He seemed to realize he didn’t have anything to worry about with us. None of us looked like a creepy dark wizard. “I was cleaning up the casino—they said they were going to shoot a big scene here and needed the place spic and span.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Um…” He frowned. “What day is today?”

“Wednesday.”

His face cleared. “Hey, what do you know? It was a week ago.”

No wonder his body was smelling to high heaven. If he’d been stuffed up there for a week, it was a miracle they hadn’t found him sooner.

“So what happened?”

“Well, I was mopping the floor when a bunch of wizards came in.”

“Wizards?”

“The people casting the spells,” Jarrett said helpfully. “Harry Potter is a wizard, and so is Ron Weasley. Hermione Granger, on the other hand, is a witch. Because she’s a girl. Men are wizards, women are witches. Got it?”

“I know what wizards are,” I said. “I just didn’t think they existed.”

“And that from a woman who believes in ghosts,” Jarrett said, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

“That’s different. Ghosts are just dead people who can’t accept they’re dead. Wizards are something some writer invented in an office.”

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Jarrett said, shaking his head.

“So what did these ‘wizards’ look like?”

“Well, like wizards,” Uriel said helpfully. “You know, with black robes and stuff, and wands. Oh, and they were all wearing masks and pointy hats.”

“Wizards,” Jarrett said knowingly. “The pointy hats gave them away. And the wands.”

“Just a bunch of people dressed up as wizards,” I insisted stubbornly.

“I don’t think so,” Uriel said, his large flabby face contorted into a frown. “I mean, I’ve worked on all of the Harry Potter movies, and I think I can tell a real wizard from a fake one.”

“You worked on the Harry Potter movies?” Jarrett asked. “As a cleaner, you mean?”

“Oh, no. That’s just this movie. I was Daniel Radcliffe’s butt before.”

“His… butt,” I said dubiously.

“Yeah. Daniel had qualms about showing his naked butt on the screen, so the producers got him a butt double.” He proudly tapped his butt. “Yours truly.”

“I don’t remember seeing Harry Potter’s naked butt in any of the movies,” Jarrett said, sounding disappointed.

“That’s because the director decided not to use my scenes. Harry was supposed to get a needle prick in the butt in the first movie, when he was holed up in the hospital, and then again in the second movie, but they decided to cut those parts.” He gave us a sad face. “They cut all my parts.”

Yeah, that was what the world wanted to see. Harry Potter’s butt. “So let’s get back to those wizards,” I prompted. “What did they want?”

“That’s what I asked them. But then promptly a couple of them grabbed me and held me up. And that’s when I saw him.” His eyes went wide with fear. “The Dark Lord himself.”

“No way!” Jarrett cried excitedly. He was hanging on Uriel’s every word.

I groaned inwardly. This was just too ridiculous. Uriel seemed to believe it, though, for he nodded frantically. “He gave a long speech. Something about wanting to take revenge on mortals—that’s me—and that I didn’t deserve to live.” He swallowed, sweat trickling down his ghostly brow as he relived the ghastly scene. “And that’s when he cast a curse.”

“Avada Kedavra?” Jarrett asked, licking his lips.

Uriel squeezed his eyes tightly shut and shivered at the recollection. “No. It sounded like… Ava Carnivara or something.”

“Perhaps a variation,” Jarrett said.

“And then what?” I asked.

“And then I died.”

I looked at Jarrett. Jarrett looked at me. We both looked at Buckley, who yawned, and then back at Uriel. “You died?” I asked.

“Just like that?” Jarrett added.

“Well, there was a flash of lightning that seemed to leap from the Dark Lord’s wand, and a lot of blue light, and the atmosphere crackled and hummed, and there was a roaring crash of thunder, and then… yeah, then I died. Boom. Dropped dead.” He sighed. “And then they stuffed my body up there and I’ve been trying to catch the attention of those bozos over there ever since.” He gestured at the three lead actors, who were now being interviewed by Reto Slack. “I liked the original actors a lot better,” he said. “These newbies are just plain terrible. Can’t act for crap.”

“That’s what I figured,” Jarrett said, darting a glance at the actor who played Harry. He’d taken off his round glasses and actually looked kinda cute. Very muscular and very big. More like Vin Diesel or Dwayne Johnson.

“Yeah, nobody can beat Daniel Radcliffe,” Uriel said.

Jarrett grinned. “Great butt, huh?”

Uriel patted his own butt. “The best.”

Chapter Three

Uriel drifted off, to go sulk in a corner. Buckley drifted after him, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and proceeded to instruct him on the ins and outs of passing on from this plane and onto the next.

“Buckley is turning into a great death coach,” Jarrett said.

“He certainly is.”

We wandered over to the producer, who was tapping furiously on her smartphone, probably sending a missive to her own boss about what was going on. When we drifted into her ken, she didn’t even look up. “So? Is he gone?”

“I don’t think he’ll cause you any more trouble,” I said.

“That’s great. We’re behind schedule as it is.” Then she looked up and gave us a bright smile. She had a nice smile, and I instantly warmed to her. “Why don’t I give you the grand tour? I think you deserve it.” She glanced at Jarrett’s T-shirt. It depicted the three grinning faces of the original Harry Potter actors when they were kids. “I take it you’re a fan.”

“Oh, I’m a superfan,” Jarrett said. “So why didn’t you cast the original actors?”

“Because they’re too old?” I said. “Duh. Even I knew that, Jarrett.”

“They’re not too old. They could easily slip back into their parts.”

“It’s not because they’re too old,” Marsha said as she walked us off the Monte Carlo set. “It’s because this movie isn’t part of the original franchise.”