Authors: Adele Abbott

Witch Is When It All Began (6 page)

This was the final straw. Kathy knew how much I hated different types of biscuit being mixed together, and yet she’d put the remaining custard creams in with the digestives. There was no way I could eat them now. The only other biscuits I had in the flat were ginger-nuts, which are nice enough, but not when you had your heart set on a custard cream. The shops would probably be closed by the time the locksmith had been. Great! Thanks, Kathy!

What was that?

I thought I’d heard a noise coming from my bedroom. I didn’t see how anyone could be in there because I’d searched every nook and cranny. Still, I wasn’t about to take any chances, so I walked on tip-toe over to the bedroom door, turned the handle as slowly and quietly as I could, and stepped inside.

There was no-one in there.

Time was dragging. I wished the locksmith would hurry up so I could relax and enjoy what was left of the evening. I flicked through the pages of the book of spells while I waited. Who’d written this thing? Obviously, someone with more time than sense.

I spotted a spell titled ‘invisible’. It was one of the shorter ones. According to the crazy book, it gave you ten minutes of invisibility—yeah—of course it did. This was obviously some kind of wind up to see if anyone was gullible enough to actually try it. There was even a warning that after the invisibility had worn off you had to wait another thirty minutes before you could repeat the spell.

Okay, why not? It’s not like I had anything else to do while I was waiting. I began to follow the instructions, picturing the images one by one: a rainbow, a white feather, an eagle, a lion, and so on.

Thank goodness there was no one around to see me making such a fool of myself. When I’d finished, and even though I knew it was totally bonkers, I glanced down—just in case I’d turned invisible. Well, what a surprise. There I was—not invisible at all.

The knock on the door made me jump. I slammed the book closed, and slid it under the sofa. I didn’t want the locksmith to think he was dealing with a nutter.

He was middle-aged with a round face and ruddy cheeks. A big man, he looked as though he enjoyed his food. The logo on his overalls was of a robin holding a key. The name of the company was, unsurprisingly, Robin Security.

“Hello?” he shouted straight at my face.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hello?” he shouted again.

What was wrong with this guy?

“Hi,” I said, and waved my hand in front of his face.

“Anyone in?” He started forward, so I took a step to the side.

A joke was a joke, but this had gone far enough. “Excuse me,” I said, in my sternest voice. “Do you mind?”

“Hello? Anyone home?” He peered into the kitchen, and then turned back to the living room. He was staring straight at me, as he wiped a hand across his brow. He looked almost as confused as I was. If I didn’t know better I’d have said this was one of Kathy’s wind-ups, but she didn’t even know I’d called the locksmith.

The front door was still open, and I heard footsteps in the corridor. I stepped out just in time to see the last person on earth I needed right now. Mr Ivers was headed straight towards me. I was already running through my list of excuses when he walked straight past me without a word—without even a glance. That now familiar cold sensation began to run through my veins. It wasn’t possible. I knew it wasn’t possible. And yet, apparently, neither the locksmith nor Mr Ivers could see me. There had to be an explanation, and preferably one that hadn’t just arrived on the crazy town bus.

The locksmith had apparently given up trying to find me, and had taken a seat on one of the sofas. He checked his watch, and tutted to himself. What was I supposed to do now? As I made my way past him, he never even flinched.

I stood in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom. All I could see was a reflection of the room behind me. It seemed that if I looked directly at myself, I was visible, but to other people, or in a mirror, I was invisible. But I couldn’t be invisible—that was impossible! There had to be some other explanation. Maybe none of this was real. Maybe Kathy had slipped something into my cup of tea and I was hallucinating. Maybe I was running out of maybes.

I sat on the bed for what felt like an age, not knowing what to do. Then I looked back at the mirror, and noticed that my feet were visible. And then, my legs. Then, my body. And finally, my head. I was visible again! Or had the drugs worn off? I didn’t care.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I’m visible!” I yelled.

“Hello?” the locksmith shouted from the next room. “Is someone there?”

“I couldn’t find you,” he said when I walked back into the living room.

“Sorry about that. I was—err—under the bed.” What else was I supposed to say?

“Under the bed?”

“Yeah. I lost an earring.”

“Under the bed?”

“Yeah.”

“I looked everywhere for you,” he said. “And I shouted.”

“Sorry, I didn’t see or hear you. I was—”

“Under the bed?”

“Yeah.”

He continued to give me strange looks while he replaced the lock. Who could blame him? He obviously thought I was some kind of nut job. I had him change the lock on the French doors too—just to be safe. The bill came to over a hundred pounds—it was money I could ill afford, but it was that or never get a good night’s sleep again.

“Thanks again,” I called after him. He’d no doubt be telling everyone back at his office about the crazy woman who had been hiding under the bed.

I dragged the book out from under the sofa. What on earth had just happened? I’d always considered myself to be a logical type of person, and every ounce of logic in me said that it wasn’t possible to make yourself invisible. But what other explanation could there be? I could have been drugged. Another possibility was that someone was trying to spook me, and had paid the locksmith to pretend he couldn’t see me. But what about Mr Ivers? They might have paid him too. Or maybe they had told him it was a practical joke. None of that explained why I couldn’t see my reflection in the mirror. Maybe someone had swapped the mirror for some kind of stage prop. Or maybe I was just going insane. Right now, that sounded like the sanest explanation.

I heard a noise coming from the bedroom—it was the same noise I’d heard earlier. I’d just about had enough of this.

“Don’t be afraid,” the woman said. At least I thought it was a woman. The figure appeared to float in mid-air between the bed and the wall. Her body was barely visible and her head seemed to be fading in and out of view. She said something which I could barely make out. It sounded like ‘You’re a witch’.

I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. It was all in my head—just an overactive imagination—nothing more than that. Everything would be back to normal once I’d calmed down. Another deep breath, and then I’d open my eyes. Ready, breathe in, steady, breathe out, open eyes.

Phew! There was nothing there—obviously.

I found the number, which was still on my call log. She answered on the second ring.

“Aunt Lucy? It’s Jill.”

“Jill. How nice to hear your voice.”

“We need to talk.”

“Of course. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have about your mother.”

“This isn’t about my mother. Well, it might be, I’m not sure. It would be better if we could talk face-to-face.”

“Of course. Why don’t you come over to Candlefield? I can answer your questions, and you’ll have a chance to meet—”

“No!” I hadn’t meant to shout, but there was no way I wanted to go back there. “Can you come to me? Could we meet in a coffee shop?”

“I don’t really drink coffee.”

“They have tea and soft drinks.”

“A cup of tea would be lovely. When did you have in mind?”

“The sooner the better. How about tomorrow morning. Could you get to Washbridge by ten o’clock?”

She said that wasn’t a problem, so I gave her the name of a coffee shop, which was close to my office.

I’d been trying to contact Mr Lyon, the husband of the first victim for some time, but without any success. He’d moved out of the family home. Only the police who were working on the case knew where he was staying, and they weren’t likely to share that information with me. I did have a phone number, which I’d obtained from one of my contacts, but I had no idea whether Mr Lyon would still be using that number. I’d tried to call him numerous times, but he hadn’t answered and he didn’t have voice-mail activated. I decided to try one more time before calling it a day.

“Hello?” a man’s voice said.

“Is that Mr Lyon?”

“Speaking.”

“Mr Lyon. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m not the press.” After my initial run-in with Mr Lamb, I thought I’d better make that clear. “My name is Jill Gooder, and I’m a private investigator.”

“I was expecting your call.”

“You were?”

“Harry Lamb mentioned that you’d been to see him.”

“You’re in touch with Mr Lamb?”

“Yes. We’ve met a couple of times. He said that you were investigating another murder, and that you thought it might be the same killer.”

“I don’t know for sure. Have you heard about the Caroline Fox case?”

“Only what I’ve seen in the papers. I mentioned it to the officer dealing with my wife’s murder, but he insisted the cases were not connected.”

“He could be right.” There’s a first time for everything.

“But you obviously don’t think so or you wouldn’t be calling me.”

“I think it’s at least worth exploring the possibility that the murders are connected. That’s why I’ve been trying to contact you.”

“I haven’t been taking calls—most of them have been from the press. The only calls I’ve answered are from numbers I recognise. Harry Lamb gave me your number earlier today.”

“Would it be possible for me to come and see you?”

“How about tomorrow morning?”

Oh bum, I’d arranged to meet Aunt Lucy then. “I have a meeting in the morning. Could we make it early afternoon? Say one o’clock?”

Mr Lyon confirmed that was okay, and gave me directions to the small hotel where he was staying.

Chapter 9

“I’m going to strangle you!” Mrs V shouted.

I heard her as soon as I walked into the building. It didn’t take a genius to know what was going on. I hurried up the stairs and pushed open the door to find Winky sitting on top of the stationery cupboard. He looked as cool as a cucumber as he stared down with his one eye at Mrs V. Her face was so red it looked as if she might explode at any moment.

“I’m going to kill him.” She had a knitting needle in her hand and looked as though she meant business.

I didn’t need to ask why she was so angry. The floor was covered in wool of every colour. The mail sack, which usually housed the yarn, had been upended. Judging by the devastation in front of me, I guessed that Winky must have done it some hours ago before Mrs V arrived. Since then, he’d been playing with the numerous balls of wool, which had unravelled and were now entangled with one another. It looked like an explosion in a woolly jumper factory. I was struggling to keep a straight face. If I laughed, Mrs V would probably turn the knitting needle on me.

“Get him down, so I can kill him!” she yelled.

I walked over to the stationery cupboard, grabbed Winky, and then threw him into my office and closed the door.

“Let me at him!”

I put my body between her and the door. Obviously, I had some kind of death wish. “I’ll help you to tidy up,” I offered.

“Move out of the way! I’m going to kill him!”

“He was only playing.”

Mrs V glared at me for the longest moment, and then took a step back. “Why can’t you take him home with you, Jill? You know he hates me.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.” It was. “How about I buy you a linen basket with a catch on it? You can keep all your yarn in there and it’ll be safe from Winky.”

“Can I at least give him a kick up the backside?”

“No.”

“Just a tap?”

“No.”

So much for catching up on my paperwork. We managed to unravel and rewind most of the wool by the time I had to leave for my meeting with Aunt Lucy. I made Mrs V promise that she wouldn’t throw Winky out of the window while I was out, and I promised to buy her a linen basket.

I poked my head around the door of my office. Winky was lying on my desk looking completely unfazed by the morning’s events. I poured him a saucer of milk—full cream—and gave him some cat food.

“Behave while I’m out,” I said as I turned to leave.

“Okay.”

I spun around.

“Meow. Meow.”

I really needed a holiday.

I was ten minutes late arriving at the coffee shop. I’d arranged to meet Aunt Lucy outside, but there was no sign of her. I doubted she’d have left because she had been really keen for us to meet. As I stepped inside, I wasn’t even sure if I’d recognise her, but I needn’t have worried. Her outfit spanned the colour spectrum. Red shoes with pink tights. A green skirt with a bright yellow blouse. Blue cats’ eyes glasses, orange lipstick and dark green hair. She was obviously going for
understated
.

“Jill!” She waved at me from across the room. “Jill! I’m over here!”

I could sense everyone was staring at me—no doubt wondering who could possibly be meeting the crazy, rainbow lady. Aunt Lucy already had a pot of tea and a slice of cake on the table in front of her, so I gave her a little wave to let her know I’d seen her, and then went to the counter to order myself a coffee.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry your head, dear.” Aunt Lucy’s smile was almost too wide for her face. “Lovely to see you again. Sit down, sit down.” She patted the seat next to her, but I took the chair opposite.

“I can’t drink coffee.” She pointed to my latte. “It doesn’t agree with me. I prefer tea. Camomile preferably. They have some lovely cakes in here. I just couldn’t resist. Would you like a taste?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“My daughters, your cousins, Amber and Pearl run a small cake shop and tea room. They sell the most delicious cupcakes. You really should come over and—”

“I have a few questions.” I was in no mood to discuss my cupcake baking cousins.

“Of course, my dear. Fire away.” Aunt Lucy polished off the last of the cake, and licked the spoon.

“The book,” I said in little more than a whisper.

“You mean the book of spells?”

“Yes. Why did you send it to me?”

“Your mother wanted you to have it.”

“What am I supposed to do with it? It’s just nonsense.”

Aunt Lucy smiled. “You know that’s not true.”

“There’s no such thing as spells or magic.” I was still convinced that there had to be a logical explanation for the events of the previous evening.

“My dear, of course there is.” Aunt Lucy took a sip of her tea, and placed her hand on mine. My instinct was to pull away, but there was something strangely comforting about her touch. “Do you remember what your mother said before she passed?”

How could I forget? I wasn’t sure if I’d ever forgive that last act of cruelty. “She must have hated me.”

“That’s not true. Your mother loved you more than life itself.”

“Then why did she call me a witch? With her dying breath!”

“It was important to her that you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That you
are
a witch.”

I pulled my hand away.

“What’s wrong, Jill?”

“What’s wrong? You call me a witch, and then ask what’s wrong? What do you think is wrong?”

“Jill, please. I don’t think you understand.”

“What’s there to understand? You called me a witch! Why come all of this way just to insult me?”

I started to get up, but Aunt Lucy grabbed my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

“This is a waste of time.” I tried to pull away.

“Please, Jill. Hear me out. Then, if you still want to leave, I won’t try to stop you.”

I tried to pull away, but I couldn’t break her grip.

“Please, Jill. Sit down.”

“Okay, but this had better be good.”

“I want to show you something—if that’s okay?”

I shrugged.

She pushed the empty plate, which had held the cake, into the centre of the table. Then she closed her eyes.

“There,” she said.

I’d been so focussed on Aunt Lucy, that it took me a few seconds to realise that the cake, which I’d seen her eat, was now back on the plate.

“That’s the ‘take it back’ spell.” She pulled the plate closer to herself, and began to eat the cake—again.

“How did you do that?” It was a clever trick. She must have had two slices. I checked under the table, but couldn’t see a second plate.

“I know this is difficult for you to accept.” Aunt Lucy wiped a smudge of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. “But please try. When your mother said ‘
you’re a witch
’, it wasn’t to be hurtful. It wasn’t an insult. It was because you really are a witch.”

“Sure I am. I suppose you are too?”

Aunt Lucy nodded. “Our whole family are witches. Your mother, your grandma and your cousins.”

“There’s no such thing as witches! You’re crazy.”

“How else do you explain this?” She took another spoonful of cake.

“I don’t know. It must be some kind of trick.”

“What about the spell you cast last night?”

“I didn’t cast a spell,” I lied.

“So you didn’t make yourself invisible?”

How could she have known? Unless she’d been inside my flat. “I didn’t. I wasn’t.”

“I felt the force when you did it,” Aunt Lucy said. “I’d been waiting and hoping I would.”

“It was some kind of elaborate illusion.” I was running out of straws to clutch at. “Did you pay the locksmith to pretend he couldn’t see me?”

“Sooner or later you are going to have to accept this.”

“That’s never going to happen. Look, if I really am a witch.” I scoffed. “How come I’ve gone all my life without knowing it? How come I haven’t turned anyone into a frog or something?”

“When you were born, it wasn’t safe for your mother to keep you with her.”

I wanted to ask why not, but knew I’d get the same old ‘
it’s complicated
’ nonsense, so I allowed her to continue.

“Before she gave you up for adoption, your mother cast a spell that effectively blocked your powers. That spell remained in place until she died. When she knew she had only hours to live, she reached out to you. She wanted you to know before she passed away.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say. You’re asking me to believe in magic and witches. I just can’t.”

“Have you noticed anything else unusual since your mother died?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

I recalled the surge of energy I’d felt when my mother died, but surely that was just the shock of what had happened. Then there was Winky. But that had just been my over-active imagination—cats can’t talk. And then there was the strange, ghostly figure in my bedroom. I’d just been over-tired.

“I’m sure. Nothing at all.”

I could see Aunt Lucy didn’t believe me, but at that point I really didn’t care. “I probably should be going.”

“Why don’t you pay another visit to Candlefield?”

“I can’t take time off work. I’m busy.”

“You wouldn’t need to take time off. Time in this world will stand still while you’re in Candlefield.”

This was a whole new level of crazy. I wasn’t even going to try to get my head around such nonsense. Still, Candlefield was a beautiful village.

“If I did come, could I bring Kathy?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“But she’s my sister.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but it’s simply not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Candlefield is home to sups only.”

“Soups? What do you mean?”

“Sups, not soups. It’s shorthand. A collective term for supernatural beings: witches, vampires, werewolves—”

“Whoa! Right there! Now you’re trying to tell me there are vampires and werewolves? Okay, that’s it!” I stood up. “I’m done here.”

“Jill, wait!” Aunt Lucy reached out to me, but this time I was determined to leave. There was only so much crazy anyone could take in a day.

I could hear her calling after me as I walked down the high street, but I had no intention of stopping. After five minutes of power walking, her voice had faded into the distance. At her age, she had no hope of keeping up with me. I slowed my pace and tried to get my bearings. The hotel where Mr Lyon was staying was no more than half a mile away. I’d be early, but it was worth a try. If he wasn’t in or couldn’t see me yet, I could always wait in the lobby.

Werewolves? Vampires? Just how gullible did she think I was? The idea that Kathy couldn’t go to Candlefield because she was human—it was laughable.

“Jill.”

I almost jumped out of my skin when Aunt Lucy stepped out of a shop doorway in front of me. How had she done that? I thought I’d left her way behind—there was no way she could have made up that distance. She must have hailed a taxi. She was persistent, I’d give her that much.

“I have nothing more to say to you.” I tried to side-step her, but she was quicker than I expected in blocking my path.

“This is important,” she said.

“What is?”

“I know you aren’t ready to accept this yet—”

“That I’m a witch?—I’ll never be ready to accept that nonsense!”

“There’s one thing you have to know. The main reason your mother gave you up was because she feared for your life.”

“Why?”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Let me guess. It’s complicated?”

“All I ask is that you be on your guard. If you sense danger then trust your instincts and get away as quickly as possible.”

“Okay, fine.” I’d heard enough. “Now, I really have to go.”

I began to walk away.