We present an extract from The Undetectables, the debut novel by Courtney Smyth.
Be gay. Solve crimes. Take naps.
The Whistler, A magical serial killer is stalking the Occult town of Wrackton. Enter the Undetectables, a detective agency run by three witches and a ghost in a cat costume (don't ask). They are hired to investigate the murders, but with their only case so far left unsolved, will they be up to the task? With bodies stacking up and the case leading them to mysteries at the very heart of magical society, can the Undetectables find the Whistler before they become the killer's next victims?
Theodore Wyatt's greatest regret in life was dying while wearing a cat costume. Though this story is not about him, it is important to know this.
Every year on 31 October, the Broadwick family hosted a Samhain ball. It was described to Theodore as a massive celebration of both the dearly departed and of the Ternion, the three goddesses all of Occulture honoured. This was held in Broadwick Mansion, partly because the Mayoral Offices could not be used in the days surrounding Samhain – due to highly volatile spectral activity in the building – and partly because the Broadwicks liked everyone in Wrackton to be reminded of how well connected they were.
'It’s a big deal to be invited to a Broadwick ball, so don’t fuck it up,’ the Night Mayor of Wrackton had barked at Theodore a few days prior, just as Theodore was making a break for home on the last day of his first year working in the Mayoral Offices.
‘How, as a matter of interest, can one get going to a party wrong? Just so I can figure out how offended I should be,’ Theodore had asked acidly. He was already very upset at the idea of having to go to a party. Theodore had hoped to spend Samhain as he always had before he’d moved to Wrackton – sitting at home with a book and letting it pass him by. He was Apparent, a non-magical being, and the festival did not mean to him what it meant to everyone else.
The Night Mayor’s eye twitched. It could’ve been annoyance, it could’ve been that something had got into it at the exact moment he started speaking; Theodore weighed up asking which it was before the Night Mayor choked out, ‘If you have to ask... Just remember you’re representing the Mayoral Offices as much as yourself, Timothy.’
‘It’s Theodore.’
‘Are you sure?’
Theodore decided maximum offence should be taken.
The Night Mayor had then given him vague directions to the mansion, and followed that up by shoving a Visit Wrackton: Samhain Etiquette leaflet into Theodore’s hands before walking away while Theodore was still mid-sentence. He still had the leaflet stuffed in his pocket, just in case anyone were to ask him if he had done due diligence in preparing to party.
Now Theodore clung to the edge of the crimson-lit ballroom, looking around for any of his wide-eyed Apparent colleagues, or any Apparent at all. It was a novelty for him, being in an Occult town like Wrackton and seeing magic up close, like visiting a theme park – if theme parks were typically found exactly halfway between Bath and Bristol, should one take a sharp enough left turn towards the faerie Redwoods. Something Theodore could talk about at parties, if he were the sort of person who usually went to parties. Or spoke to anyone at them.
He sidled up to the buffet table, piling enchanting food on a plate and staring at the enchanting décor and the equally enchanting demons, trolls, vampires, faeries and witches in attendance. Some of them were even in costume. This was an important addition conspicuously missing from the leaflet and from the Night Mayor’s instructions.
Faeries were the most daunting, ethereally beautiful and draped in avant-garde outfits that could have been abstract costumes, had Theodore not regularly seen faeries at the supermarket wearing something similar. There were several vampires wearing plastic fangs as a nod to Apparent folklore, and Theodore noticed how certain vampires made a big show of laughing uproariously. The folk whose skin had a blue-grey tint were trolls and they glowered from the corners of the ballroom, though Theodore had come to understand too that this was just what their resting faces looked like. He couldn’t believe that a mere year ago he hadn’t been able to tell the now-obvious differences between each Occulture. No amount of leaflets could’ve taught him what living in Wrackton had.
‘You’re Apparent, aren’t you?’ A tall demon in a bold checked suit and red plastic devil horns sauntered up to him. His angular face was bathed in red, and he raised a strong eyebrow at Theodore’s outfit of choice: a black-and-grey-checked shirt, a huge purple cardigan, and wildly unkempt blond hair. It was exactly what he’d put on that morning and had just considered changing out of before he noticed it was late and ran out the door.
‘Apparent-ly so, yes,’ Theodore said weakly, and shoved what he thought was a tiny silver cake into his mouth. This demon was the most attractive individual to look at him since he’d moved to Wrackton and Theodore didn’t quite know what to do.
‘Isn’t this food amazing?’ He swallowed. ‘A shiny silver cake. It’s almost like magic!’
The demon ignored both of his terrible jokes and extended a hand. Theodore juggled his plate into one hand and took the demon’s, realising too late that his fingers were still covered in cake crumbs.
‘Grey Quinn. I knew you were Apparent, because you’re not in costume. Let me help you.’ He didn’t seem to notice the crumbs. Grey took the plate from him, and in a swift movement jammed a pair of cat ears on Theodore’s head. Theodore had not thought he required help with this particular aspect of his person.
‘There. Oh, wait.’ Grey Quinn produced a marker from his pocket, uncapped it with his teeth and drew onto his face what Theodore both hoped and feared were whiskers.
‘There. Perfect. Look at us now.’ He turned Theodore around to face a mirror on the wall behind them. Theodore had no choice but to see he was indeed a bewhiskered cat, which he felt contradicted Quinn’s use of ‘perfect’.
He didn’t voice his chagrin, though there was much of it; he was not yet aware that this was a grave mistake.
‘Come on, smile.’ Grey Quinn shook him jovially by the shoulder. ‘Get into the spirit of things. It’s a party!’
Theodore felt himself smiling, and was uncertain if he’d meant to smile, or if the demon was using magic on him.
‘Go on, off you go. Have fun!’ Grey Quinn stumbled away.
It was only then that Theodore had three thoughts: one, that he was not going to have fun dressed like this at all; two, that he needed to figure out a way to resist the magically persuasive charm of demons before he was forced into doing something terribly untoward, like robbing a bank or compromising the scientific method; and three, that Grey Quinn was clearly intoxicated.
Theodore wondered how many steps there were between the buffet and the drinks table.
He took another bite of cake.
The lights went out.
The room clamoured with vague concern. The gathered Occult folk pulled lighters, phones and neon witchlight crystals out of their purses and pockets. Their hosts, Imogen and Ezra Broadwick, hastened to calm the crowd.
‘Does anyone know where the electricity is kept? Could one of our esteemed scientifically-inclined guests assist us?’ Imogen called. Her tone was calm, but her face twisted in the sort of panic one might expect of an individual who didn’t know how their home functioned.
Of his own volition this time, Theodore put down his plate of enchanted appetisers and volunteered to find the trip switch.
This, too, was a grave mistake.
‘Oh you’re too good. And you came in costume, that’s so... darling. Isn’t it darling, darling?’ Imogen said to her husband, who had already moved across the room to calm everyone. She directed Theodore to the basement and handed him a witchlight crystal to illuminate his way. Theodore had had to learn about witchlights quickly upon moving to Wrackton. They were magical lamps that had their own self-contained energy source – the exact nature of which he had yet to discover, though he expected they involved noble gases – that spectral activity did not affect the way it did other electricity sources. They came in a variety of colours and shapes and Theodore was very partial to the lavender ones, which is precisely what Imogen handed him. He held it up over his head so he could see a path through the ballroom.
‘Excuse me. Sorry. Cat coming through. Let miaow-t.’
An older vampire glared at him. Theodore hurried on in silence.
In the darkened basement of Broadwick Mansion, Theodore successfully found the trip switch. He thought about the plate of mini iridescent sandwiches he was going to return to. The last few days of working from home due to the intensity of the spectral disturbance in the Offices meant he hadn’t had access to faerie-catered food, and had missed out on numerous sandwich- and-tea opportunities as a result. As he closed the fuse box, he reasoned that he didn’t mind staying in Wrackton another year, especially when things quietened down after Samhain. The town had so many things going for it that he couldn’t get anywhere else. For instance, the sandwiches. There could’ve been an entire Visit Wrackton leaflet just on the sandwiches.
Theodore pressed the switch on a freestanding lamp near the doorway to check he’d been successful. It did not turn on, and he noticed the bulb was askew.
In a move perhaps even more regrettable than accepting the cat costume, he reached inside the lampshade without unplugging it. He didn’t hear someone approaching behind him. He didn’t see the flex on the lamp twitch and jerk twice. He didn’t hear anything again.
The Undetectables by Courtney Smyth is published by Titan Books.
