"Oh," said Quill. He turned the key in the ignition, but the car would not start. "We're only a mile or so from the place. But I don't fancy pushing it along this road in the dark."

We got out of the car and he opened the bonnet and we both stood there looking at the engine in the evening light. "Do you know anything about cars?" I asked.

"Not really."

"Right." I flicked on my torch. "Well, nothing's smoking, so that's good." I bent down to inspect the ground under the car. "I can't see anything leaking, either. Must be good too, right? What about fuel?"

"Fuel's all right," he said, leaning into the car to check the gauges. "It's just ... stopped."

We looked around. This patch of road lay in a cleft between two rocky slopes. The road ran on one sde of the cleft, and in the other the ground fell away fifty feet to a boulder-strewn stream. A few groups of scrubby trees stood here and there on the slopes, but otherwise this was as desolate a place as you could imagine.

"That's a lethal bend," said Quill. "Take that too fast and you'd get a closeup of the valley floor, sharpish."

I didn't like it. "Hmmn." A psychic sound pressed on my ears. "What's that?"

Quill knew that tone. "I'll get my goggles."

"Whatever it is, it's close by."

We scrambled to the boot and fetched our kit. With a rapier in my hand I felt better, but the psychic wailing didn't stop.

Suddenly I remembered the skull. "Oh!"

I took it out of the bag in the back seat and brushed biscuit crumbs off it. "Spirit," I said, "are you there?"

Duh. Not there, obviously.

I whirled around and there he was, lounging by a boulder, picking at his nails: a slender youth with ostentatious black hair and glittering dark eyes, watching me with arrogant disinterest. -Story of my life.

"What's wrong with the car?" I demanded.

How would I know? I died before cars were a thing, remember?

"I mean, is it a ghost-related phenomenon?"

He snorted, and flicked away some imaginary speck from his sleeve. "You two hotshots can work that out for yourselves, surely?" He adjusted his old-fashioned jacket with exaggerated fastidiousness.

"Probably but a little help would be nice."

A little casual murder would be nice but we can't always get what we want. What are you doing up here with Kipps?

"Travelling."

Oho.

"For work."

Oho! He made an extremely lewd gesture and I could only hope that Quill's goggles were not good with detailed psychic phenomena.

"Shut up. It's not like that and you know it." I made a gesture of my own to back up the point.

"Shall I run him through?" asked Quill, sensing the time of the skull's conversation. He hefted his rapier in his hand. "I don't mind."

"No. Also, you probably can't, he's incredibly powerful."

The ghost of the youth made a mock swoon. Ooh, flattery, I love it. Keep up the sweet talk and maybe I won't strangle Kipps in his sleep tonight. Which at this rate will be in this car since you're obviously not going anywhere.

"Skull," I said. "No strangling of anyone, anywhere."

Or you'll what?

It had a good point. "Or I will find out your real name and use it at every opportunity. Or just make up a nickname for you. Jeffrey. How about that?"

Ugh.

"Jeff. Jeffo. That suits you. Or maybe Melvin, Mel for short. Melly..."

There's a Slithering Sprite under the car, said the ghost sulkily. It's wrapped round your engine.

I jumped back. So did Quill. I relayed the ghost's information.

We both crouched cautiously on the ground. "I don't see anything," I said. "Of course, my sight isn't as good as -" Lockwood's.

"I've got a faint glow," said Quill. He crouched down to peer cautiously under the car. "Very faint. Can you hear anything?"

I listened. "A kind of keening. Doesn't sound like a Sprite, but I've not dealt with many of them. And a kind of... burping sound."

That would be me, said the thin youth. I'm thinking about what you'd taste like if I sucked up your essence and swallowed it right down, yum.

"Not helping."

But delicious, right?

"Jeffrey."

"I think it's actually in the engine," said Quill. He straightened up, brushing off his jeans, and pushed his hair away from the goggles. "What do we do about that? How come it isn't stopped by the iron?"

"Old car," I said. "Lightweight panelling... probably not enough solid iron to stop it. We could toss a flare into the engine, but -"

"-No!"

"That would destroy the car. Maybe some iron filings..."

"Anything in the engine will destroy it." He tore at his hair. "Salt, iron, magnesium..."

Better start walking then. The ghost jerked his thumb out in a parody of hitch hiking. Wiggle your bottom and you might get a lift Lucy, but I don't give much for Kipps' chances.

I ignored that. "OK. So we have a sprite stymying the engine. What have we got to get rid of it? What do sprites want?"

Same as we all want, said the ghost. A little love, a little tenderness, a little sucking of souls from reluctant physical bodies...

"Suction," I said. "That's it. Quill, can we find a tube. Plug it in the exhaust."

"I am not sucking a ghost."

The ghost guffawed so loudly I flinched.

"What," said Quill.

"Nothing. Disgusting."

It was too dark to see if he blushed as he realised what he'd said.

If you've finished arranging your kinky evening plans, you might want to take a look at the scenery.

We spun away from the car. I swore, and my hands went to my rapier, and my belt with its salt bombs and magnesium flares.

Emerging from behind boulders and trees was a flock of small ghosts, drifting in the early moonlight, coming for us with their arms outstretched. They glowed pale blues and green and had a lost, hungry look about them. And they were in school uniform.

I grabbed Quill's arm and dragged him back. We were about to be trapped between the ghosts and the sprite. The ghost of the thin youth watched us with interest.

"There's too many of them," I said. "If they get close we'd never fight them all off. We could get in the car -"

"Which we've already established is not made of anything useful like solid iron -"

"Or we can run."

"I'll take option B, please," said Quill.

"Right. Up the hill. They seem to live at the bottom of this little valley. Let's hope that pub landlord was right and they don't like hills." I snatched up my bag and slung it over my shoulder. It held extra flares, salt bombs, and importantly, my favourite skirt. Quill grabbed his rucksack.

Oh, don't mind me. Feel free to abandon me among a troupe of drooling ghouls while you save your own skins. I'm sure I'll be fine.

"I happen to know you could destroy this little lot with one blow." I stuffed the skull in my bag. "So why don't you?"

It's much more fun to see you run.

"Great. Let's go."

We ran for it. The nearest miniature ghost came within a hand's breadth of me as I passed, but didn't touch me. If it had, I'd be dead - I didn't have any adrenaline shots with me, the only hope if you get ghost-touched. It can still leave you with a blackened scar, but that's better than being frozen to death, your life's essence drained from you by the ravening hunger of the desperate dead.

"Where's the place we're going?" I gasped to Quill as we scrambled up the hill. Clumps of heather competed with rocks to trip us up.

"In the next valley. Big place, used to be a school." He cursed as he stumbled over a tree root in the near darkness, then held out his hand to help me round it.

I see Kipps can't keep his paws off you. These business trips are all the same. Lots of time cooped up together, drinks after work, then back to the hotel room for some extra curricular fun.

"Shut up!"

I can't decide if I want you to leave me where I can watch, or turn me away.

"I'll turn you into a pulp if you carry on like that."

"I assume you're not talking to me," said Kipps, releasing my hand as we reached the crest of the hill.

"Correct. I think we've lost them. Is that a thing, ghosts who don't like heights? George would know."

"Let's ask him later. Much later when we're safely down there." He pointed to a large building with steep gables at the bottom of the next valley. Bizarrely, it seemed to be strung with fairy lights.

"Are they expecting us?" I said. "Or Father Christmas?"

Oh good, you've stopped to chat. That'll give these ghosts a chance to catch up.

Behind us the little ghosts were swarming. Quill's car was enveloped in a shimmering green glow.

"Dammit. Thanks, skull. Come on, Quill."

We made it to the old school as the ghosts flowed over the top of the hill. Quill was quite the sprinter in a peril situation, and though running's not my thing, I gave a pretty good show myself.

We flung ourselves at the door, hammering to be let in. Our sweating faces glimmered in the colourful lights draped all around the building.

At last the door opened. A large woman in a tight silver dress beamed at us. Beside her, a teenage girl in a waiter's uniform held a tray of drinks. "You must be the London agents! Come in, come in! The party's just getting started, but I'm sure you can work around that." The teenage girl shrieked and backed away, pointing over our shoulders. Our hostess peered past us. "Oh. How efficient. I suppose that means you've already found the ghosts."

"I have a bad feeling about this," I said to Quill as Mrs Kettlesing led us into the building. "Run the ghost research past me again."

Quill said, "This place used to be a school. Abandoned for years. Now it's been bought by this Mrs Kettlesing to transform into a community centre for a few of the little villages round here. But the scout groups have reported seeing a loaf of small ghosts, and the toddler play sessions have had to be cancelled because of the screaming." He quirked an eyebrow at me. "The sensible money's on it being haunted."

"Hmmn. So what's all this for?"

We were in a massive room - the old school hall, clearly. It even still had some of those big wooden honours boards on the walls, with the names of former pupils engraved in gold, a date fifty years in the past, and their exam qualification. The walls themselves had been freshly painted, and the whole hall was festooned with bunting, coloured lights, tinsel and all the trappings of an imminent shindig. A jazz band sat ready on a low stage, lamplit tables circled the room, and in the centre lay a polished dance floor.

-Which thronged with a hundred or more people, adults and teens, dressed up to the nines.

"It's the inaugural annual multi village ball," said Mrs Kettlesing. "It was supposed to be tomorrow, but the girl guides are having their bake-off then, so we had to shift it to tonight. That's why I rushed to bring you in. As London agents, you can get the job done and then we'll carry straight in afterwards." She beamed.

Quill and I stared at her.

"I promise we won't get in your way. We'll just be here, some nibbles, a few little drinkies, keep the music down while you work."

"Mrs Kettlesing," I said. "Outside are a dozen deadly ghosts looking for living humans. There are two agents here, as you see. And you've brought about a hundred potential victims to the very site of the haunting, at night." I paused. "Do you see a problem with this scenario?"

"Well," she said "I did wonder whether we should have a bigger range of soft drinks for the children."

Quill dragged me aside before I could grab our client and shake her. "Lucy. Calm down. We need to think."

"I'm already thinking. I'm thinking it's going to be carnage."

Mmn, can't wait, said a distinctive voice in my head. I couldn't see the ghost, but maybe he was wrapped around his skull, in my bag.

"We just need a plan," I said. I looked up at the display boards on the walls. "And I think I've already got one."

I faced the assembled children like a very young headmistress. "Ok everybody. Tonight you are agents. You're on my team, and you are my eyes and ears. You're to guard the adults in the hall, and holler out if you see a ghost. If a ghost comes near, you throw one of these salt bombs at it, as hard as you can. Clear?"

They nodded. You could tell that this was already a lot more fun than they'd been expecting at Mrs Kettlesing's soirée.

"Quill and I will draw the ghosts into a designated space and destroy them. Ok. Go."

The trooped off, chattering excitedly. Quill and I stood by the wall at the end, where the adults had been coralled in among the canapés with strict instructions not to wander off.

Quill said, "Designated space?"

"Just means I haven't thought of it yet. Listen. Do you see the names on that board behind Mrs Kettlesing?" He nodded. "Anything odd about them?'

"They're all names from one class...that's normal... Had their exams next to the names, nothing new there, even my old school used to do that..."

"Look again," I said. "That's not their qualification. That's a car registration number."

He peered at it. "A very old one, the letters aren't in that order these days."

"Yes. So...these ghosts..."

Quill frowned.

This is painful.

"A whole class died in a car crash," I said. "And now they haunt the school."

"That's just weird," said Quill. "Who'd want to come back and hang round a load of classrooms?"

"I don't know," I said, "but it gives us a problem."

He waited.

"Their sources. They didn't die in the school, did they?"

Quill waggled his head. "Unless the bus ploughed into assembly one morning. Right through the wall into the pupils as they sat singing the school song."

I like his thinking.

I hushed the skull as we made our way to the front lobby. "I think the source will be at the site of the crash. Where was that, though? Somewhere nearby."

"Oh no," said Quill. "Somewhere dangerous, where a car could easily come off a lethal bend and plunge to the valley below..."

"Exactly." I hefted my bag over my shoulder. "Oh. There you are."

The thin youth had materialised beside the school front door. Thought I'd come out and watch.

"Well don't. If they see you they'll capture you."

I'd like to see them try.

"Think of the humiliation, trapped by a bunch of school kids."

I could say the same to you. He pointed.

The miniature ghosts were crowding around the front windows. "Right," I said. "Skull, you're the muscle. Clear us a path. Quill, I want you behind me, checking that they're following."

"Where are we going?"

I grinned. "Back to the car, to find the source."

He groaned.

Don't forget the sprite, said the ghost.

"I haven't. Something tells me the sprite is at the heart of this."