Mauve (A Very British Witch Book 3)
Page 1
Contents
Legal
Dedication
Glossary of British Terms
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A Mewsage from Raven the Cat
Author Notes - Izzie
Author Notes - Ellie
Social Links
Series List
A Very British Witch (this series of books) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
This book Copyright © 2018 Isobella Crowley, Ell Leigh Clarke
Cover Design by Jeff Brown
Cover copyright © ProsperityQM LLC
ProsperityQM LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact vip@prosperityqm.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
ProsperityQM LLC
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Austin, TX 78704
First US edition, 2018
Version 1.01.02
A Very British Witch (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2018 by Isobella Crowley, Ell Leigh Clarke
DEDICATION
For the souls who dream of making the world more magical.
— Izzie
To everyone who ever dreamed of making a dent in the universe.
— Ellie
SCARLETT
A Very British Witch 01
JIT Beta Readers
Brian Roberts
Jackey Hankard-Brodie
Robert Gould
Robert Brooks
Chelsea Wright
Crystal Wren
Diane L Smith
Mary Morris
Nicole Emens
Tonya Waldron
Kris Prendergast
If I missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
Amy Teegan
Glossary of British Terms
Most folks who come to this book are going to be from outside the UK, and probably predominantly from the US.
As such it seems prudent to explain certain things to smooth your entrance into what is effectively a foreign world.
The reasons for this are twofold:
so you can get lost in the story, and
so you can appreciate the intricacies of the world, as if it were another universe on the other side of a portal.
First off, some pronunciation, because we all hate it when we have no idea how to say things in our heads!
The first word is Bicester
This is the village I lived in, and the one where our story takes place. It’s pronounced “Biss-ter”.
The origin of it is quite interesting actually. When the UK was invaded by the Romans, a lot of our places were named using Latin and kinda stuck. Chester means camp. As in a military camp.
Bi, means two. (As in Bisexual, wink wink)
Bicester is therefore the place of two military encampments – which is also true to this day, because it has an air force base and an army base.
Ok, next word: ma'am.
In England this is pronounced “Marm”.
Not “maaaaaaam”, as it is in America. If you read it with an English accent in your head, it might help you get a feel for things.
Ok, here’s another one our US service people are going to cringe at.
It’s been a point of contention since the war when we teamed up.
It’s the title: Flight Lieutenant
In the US, y’all pronounce it Flight Lew-ten-ant.
In the UK it’s Flight Left-ten-ant.
Yeah. I know. Looks nothing like how it’s spelled. But I didn’t decide the rank. And it confused the f*** out of me when I was in cadets at school. Anyhooo, that’s how it’s said, if you want to pronounce it the British way in your head as you read.
Ok, here are some words that just need a bit of explanation. You may know some of them already.
PG Tips – a particularly good brand of tea. If it's not PG it's probably not worth drinking. Thank goodness I can find it here in Texas.
Allotment – a plot of land rented by an individual for growing vegetables or flowers. These are basically partitioned off gardens in one area, where each person has a little shed at the end where they keep their gardening tools and fertilizers. It's not uncommon for older village folk to have this place where they potter, giving them something to do out of the house.
Potter – in English 2.0 this is putter. To occupy oneself in a desultory but pleasant manner, doing a number of small tasks or not concentrating on anything particular.
Uncrossed himself – he uncrossed his legs, (and sometimes maybe arms as well).
Plonk – cheap wine, similar in quality to the 1 gallon jugs I’ve seen in the US that sell for less than $10.
High street – akin to a US Main Street.
Biscuit – cookie.
Jammie Dodgers – are a popular British biscuit, made from shortbread with a raspberry or strawberry flavored jam filling. (Ellie edit: as seen on Doctor Who, in conjunction with him telling the Daleks it was a bomb control device in a bluff to save the world from them!)
Bobby – English slang for policeman.
Oxford Don – a university teacher, especially a senior member of a college at Oxford or Cambridge.
Pavement – sidewalk.
Gadfly – an annoying person, especially one who provokes others into action by criticism.
Jumper – sweater.
Trainers – sneakers/tennis shoes.
Torch – Flashlight.
Deep conditioning hair mask – this is basically goop that you put on your hair to make it thick and well-conditioned. You normally apply it to damp hair, leave it for 30 minutes and then rinse it out. This seemed worth explaining since a number of gentlemen in the JIT (Just In Time) team quizzed it, and the non-English females, including my trusty (Canadian!) helper, couldn’t explain it either. It must be an English thing.
Row – a noisy scuffle or disagreement (pronounced like how, not owe).
Flat – apartment.
Flatmate – roommate.
Grilled – when we cook something under a grill (or the oven without the convection heat on) it’s called grilled. Sometimes this can also be a flame from above. It seems that when you use this word over here in the US it’s assumed to mean that you barbequed it, outside, which isn’t what is intended here. In the US you would say that you broiled it under your broiler.
Taking the piss out of someone – y’all call this giving someone shit, although I feel like the US expression is a little more aggressive. When we take the piss, it’s more like teasing. More friendly, I think, though I’m still understanding the nuances over here.
Boot of a car – the trunk. (Yeah,
I know this from years not understanding the Black Eyed Peas lyrics and then deducing it from context!)
Estate agents – this is the UK word for a real estate agents’ office, place of business.
An estate agent is a real estate agent.
End-of-terrace – the house at the end of a terrace, which is a row of small houses, normally with two upstairs rooms, two downstairs, and sharing common walls between them.
Ayurveda – the traditional Hindu system of medicine, which is based on the idea of balance in bodily systems, and uses diet, herbal treatment, and yogic breathing.
Biro – a type of ballpoint pen from Bic used in the UK. Akin to saying Kleenex instead of facial tissue.
Chips – french fries.
Verge – a grassy strip of land at the edge of a road.
Crufts winner – crufts is a posh dog shop for people who breed and show them.
Lorry – truck
A few home truths – a Brit phrase meaning someone is going to share a few truths that are going to break the illusion the person is under. Probably comes from how families would hide stuff from each other and the kids which would change their perceptions of each other if they came to light - hence the word home in there.
Casualty – an ER.
Pram – a stroller or baby carriage.
Indicator – turn signal.
Yobs – uncouth youths, normally misbehaving.
Lay-by – a place where you can pull in off the road.
Roundabout – carousel.
Windscreen – windshield.
Car park – parking lot.
Going spare – going crazy with worry.
Imagining all sorts – imagining all kinds of things that might be going wrong.
Shouting the odds – shouting and raving.
Similarly, if you notice any other words that make you wonder, feel free to hit me up on my Facebook page: www.facebook.com/IsobellaCrowley, and I’ll add it to the list!
Izzie <3
P.S. Ellie is the Ell Leigh Clarke person you might have seen on the Amazon page… my collaborator on this. More from both of us in the author notes… ;)
CHAPTER ONE
Ronnie could hear them getting closer, running through the long grass, baying for his blood, teeth bared. He glanced over his shoulder to see a policeman holding a megaphone to his mouth, his voice cut through the night air like canine teeth through tender flesh.
“If you come back now, you won’t get hurt,” the military policeman ordered as Ronnie ran through the field, leaving a green path in his wake.
The rain pelted against his back. He mopped his hair with the back of his hand, shaking away the excess water that poured down his face, obscuring his vision. A few seconds later and it was like he hadn’t bothered.
A cloud passed over the already partially obstructed full moon, plunging them all into momentary darkness. The dogs snarled and panted behind him, their hot breath steaming at his heels. With each step he took, he winced; his feet were going to take some time to recover from this pounding. He didn’t have to see them to know that they were caked in a layer of mud, concealing the underlying blood.
A cluster of trees came into view as the clouds momentarily parted. If he could make it that far he might be able to lose them.
He ran harder.
Faster.
Fast as he could.
But as the trees loomed large, the undergrowth grew denser, thorns springing up from all directions, cutting his bare feet to ribbons.
Taking cover in the trees, he knelt down, struggling to catch his breath while the dogs sought out their prey.
Footsteps approached. “Must be around here somewhere,” one of the MPs said to another.
Ronnie remained still as a statue while they parted the branches and prodded with a stick. On one occasion it slid under his arm, but he remained unseen. Eventually, the MPs grew weary and called off the dogs; Ronnie stayed put until the voices receded and he believed it was safe to continue.
“There he is!”
The fat MP thrust a finger towards Ronnie and before he knew it, a pack of snarling, growling dogs continued their hunt. Breaking out into a run, Ronnie winced again, biting his tongue, forcing himself through the pain barrier. A blanket of fatigue descended and the stars spun round overhead.
One of the MPs in pursuit was a woman. He’d caught a glimpse of her tonight. The moonlight slipped through the cloud cover and caught her face full on; in that moment he recognized her though he couldn’t remember where. Luckily he didn’t think she’d recognized him, which came as a relief.
The dogs’ barking grew louder. They were getting closer. Ronnie focused his eyes and continued his flight. It had been a good hour or so now since he ate, but the recent meal weighed him down, and the taste of fresh blood lingered. There was something sticky around his mouth, which he assumed was a mixture of blood and mud. He had no doubt that his hands were covered in a similar mixture.
And that was only the half of it. When he made it home—if he made it home—he was going to have some explaining to do to Amanda. He didn’t have to go searching for a puddle or shop window to know that he was dishevelled. His hair was strewn all over his blood-soaked face.
His mud-caked hands and feet would conceal the blood, allowing him to wash them with no questions asked. If he could make it to the bathroom without disturbing her, he’d be okay, but that wouldn’t hide the fact that he was exhausted, ready to drop. She was bound to notice his behavior and ask questions, so he’d have to get creative.
The dogs were gaining on him, and Ronnie was getting slower. His feet screamed at him to stop and give himself up.
They were right behind him, snapping at his heels. Adrenaline poured over him and by the grace of something unseen he found an extra gear. He shot through the field, eyes fixed on the lights ahead.
The panting, snarling dogs faded from earshot, and the lights drew closer. If he could keep them at arm’s length for another minute or so, he might just make it home in one piece.
The moonlight guided him towards the entrance of a back alley, which, after a few twists and turns, led to the safety of a lamp-lit street. Even though it was the middle of the night and the inhabitants of the street were fast asleep, the MPs were unlikely to risk being seen and causing a commotion. Those were the rules of the game.
If word got out that there was a werewolf on the prowl, all hell would break loose. People would be extra vigilant and his problems would extend far beyond tonight.
Grimacing each time a foot hit the ground, Ronnie found the alleyway and ran straight through. It turned left, then right until, not a moment too soon, a street light came into view. From there, he could make out a grass verge on the sidewalk in front of a row of terrace houses.
Once he was on the street, he heard one of the MPs calling the dogs away from the alleyway, a sign they’d conceded defeat. He’d given them the slip for now, but they’d be back. The MPs didn’t like being beaten and soon they’d make it a point of principle to have him behind bars.
Despite being in the clear, he couldn’t afford to take any chances. So, after pausing for a momentary break from the agony underfoot, he broke out into a sprint. The houses rushed towards him, the wind swept back his hair, and he could still taste the blood. Loose gravel on the sidewalk dug into his feet, giving him what seemed like an incurable limp.
With his house approaching, he relaxed a bit, a warm bath soon to be a reality.
Pain shot through his feet, up his legs and into his gut, making him clench his jaws together like he’d just had his foot cut off without an anaesthetic. It all became too much for him. He staggered along his driveway, every step the sharp edges of gravel digging into his torn feet. The first thing he was going to do in the morning was find someone affordable to tarmac the drive.
Someone switched on a light in the house next door. He hurried along the path, ignoring the soon-to-be-departed gravel. Less than a meter from the front door, his foot p
lunged into a freezing puddle. Ronnie hissed in through his teeth, before glancing at his feet. In the emanating light he was able to see the rapidly expanding clouds of red in the puddle. As the surface calmed, he caught a glimpse of himself for the first time all night.
His face was smeared with blood and mud. His hair was plastered to his face. The light went out. He reached deep into his pocket and, to his horror, couldn’t find the key. He glanced back over his shoulder. Maybe he’d just dropped it and he’d find it on the sidewalk. He checked the other pocket and breathed a sigh of relief. It was only when the key was glinting under the moonlight in front of him that he realized it had been digging into his thigh all night.
The lock clicked and he opened the door. The light switch to his right evaded him as he fumbled around. When the hallway was finally illuminated, the first thing he noticed was the blood all over the white light switch. He spat on his fingers and began to rub. This only exacerbated the mess, so he crept to the kitchen. Hot water gushed from the tap and splashed across his front.
Through gritted teeth, Ronnie washed his hands, face and feet, bloodying up the hand towel. The light switch was soon looking white again, unlike his fingertips. His worried expression fast fading, he crept upstairs to take a shower, noticing that although he’d tracked in mud on his feet, it didn’t look too bloody. Of course, he could smell the blood, but Amanda wouldn’t notice. She’d just think he’d tracked it in on his training shoes. He’d see to it later when she wasn’t around to ask questions.
The bedroom light switched on and a yellow beam illuminated the landing. Ronnie held his breath as Amanda, half asleep, stepped out of the bedroom.