I Put A Spell On You. Kerry Barrett

Xander was staring at the computer, a puzzled look on his face.

      “It’s empty,” he said. “There’s nothing here.”

      I looked over his shoulder at the screen. It was blank, except for the little icon that showed our server.

      “Click on that,” I said, my jaw aching with tension. Xander clicked and the server opened, but there were no documents inside.

      I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All the spa’s records were on there. Client histories, orders, receipts, advertising, accounts. How could it be empty? Xander rebooted the computer and looked again. It was gone.

      A moment passed as I decided whether to have a meltdown or put on my business head. Meltdown almost won, but I pulled myself together.

      “Right,” I said. “I’ll ring Malcolm. He’ll know what to do.”

      Malcolm was our IT guy. He lived in Glasgow, and worked remotely most of the time – just popping in to us a couple of times a week. I hoped he’d be able to help from over there.

      I slumped on the sofa and dialled the number. Xander watched me explaining what had happened, then got up and wound his scarf round his neck.

      “Back in five,” he mouthed at me. I nodded, trying to concentrate on what Malcolm was saying.

      When Xander came back, Malc was still talking. He’d accessed our server remotely and confirmed there was nothing there, but he couldn’t work out why.

      “I’ll call our back-up company,” he said. “Don’t worry, Harry. This will be sorted out in no time.”

      I hung up and looked at Xander.

      “He’s not worried,’ I said in relief. “He’s going to call back in a mo.”

      Xander grinned and produced a bottle of wine from behind his back.

      “Let’s have a glass,” he said. “We can celebrate our lucky escape.”

      “Ah, is this where you went?”

      “I thought we deserved it.” Xander sloshed wine into two mugs and we chinked them together.

      “Here’s to In Harmony living to fight another day,” I said, taking a huge mouthful then texting Georgia one-handed to tell her I was stuck at work.

      Xander swigged his wine.

      “And the Harry/Xander dream team,” he declared. “Nothing fazes us.”

      We clinked mugs again. I drained my drink and refilled, and then my phone rang. It was Malc.

      “There’s been a fire.” His voice was slow and his words well thought out. I wondered if he’d practised what to say.

      “A fire,” he repeated. “At our back-up’s HQ.”

      “So…” I prompted, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

      “There is no back-up.”

      I breathed in and out, not knowing how to react.

      “Everything’s gone, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

      Unable to speak, I passed the phone to Xander and walked to the front door. I put my hand on the In Harmony sign. I loved this business like it was my child. Tracing my name with my fingertips, I narrowed my eyes. I was bloodied and battered, yes. Things were tricky, indeed. But I wasn’t giving up yet.

       Chapter 7

      Xander insisted on calling a cab to drive me home and for once I didn’t argue. All my fight had left me and I just wanted to go home and get my thoughts in order.

      Wearily I tramped up the stairs to our flat wondering for the umpteenth time why anyone had decided to build tall tenement blocks before they’d invented lifts. As I reached our front door and rummaged for my keys, the door flew open. Esme stood there, a candle in her hand, looking for all the world like Jane Eyre or some other Victorian heroine with her hair round her shoulders and wearing a long fleecy nightie.

      “Harry, thank god,” she said. “Do you know how to change a fuse?”

      I looked again at the candle. Maybe it wasn’t Elizabeth Bennet night after all.

      “Power cut?” I said, my heart sinking.

      Esme nodded.

      “But weirdest thing,” she said. “I phoned the electricity company and they said there was no problem in the area. It’s just our flat.”

      “And the spa,” I said. I put my bags down on the floor and peeled off my gloves and coat.

      Esme looked at me in astonishment.

      “Really?” she said. “Oh god.”

      “That’s not the worst of it,” I said, following her into the living room. “The power cut wiped our server.”

      She grimaced.

      “But you’ve got a back-up, right?”

      “Right,” I said. “And wrong.”

      I told her about the fire.

      “Shit,” Esme said. She blew her nose loudly and for the first time I noticed she looked dreadful.

      “Are you ill?” I said.

      She pulled her horrible fleecy nightie round herself.

      “I’ve got a rotten cold,” she said. “That’s why I came home from work early. But then I couldn’t actually do any work because there was no sodding electricity.”

      A thought struck me.

      “Are the fuses blown?” I said.

      “I thought that might be the problem,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m not sure what they’re supposed to look like. I wondered if you’d know what to do.”

      “Did you try magic?” I asked.

      Esme gave me a shocked look.

      “With electricity?” she said. “That’s asking for trouble.”

      “You’re such a goody-goody,” I said, ignoring the fact that I’d shied away from trying to sort the power cut at the spa with magic.

      “Where’s Jamie?” I had a vague – possibly ridiculous – notion that men knew about electricity.

      “Rugby,” said Esme, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But he’d be no use anyway. He can’t even change a lightbulb. It’s just you and me, sister. Let’s do it the old-fashioned way,”

      With the help of the iPad, Google and the torches on our phones, we found the fuse box and peered inside.

      “I think we just flip this switch,” Esme said, looking at the instructions on the iPad.

      I flipped it, and the lights came back on.

      “It’s like magic,” Esme said with a grin, wiping her nose again.

      I gave her a most un-Harry-like hug, then bustled her through into the living room, tucked her up under a blanket and made her a hot toddy. Then I poured myself a stiff measure of whisky – I hardly ever drank whisky but I felt it would be medicinal – and curled up on the sofa next to her. I couldn’t face thinking about the computer at the spa.

      “Tell me about your lesson with Xander,” I said.

      Esme shrugged.

      “Not much to tell,” she said.

      “Liar,” I said. “Tell me. Did you agree to teach him because of that detective?”

      “Louise,” she said in a passable imitation of Jamie’s voice. “She’s brilliant, she’s such a laugh and she’s