Witch War in Westerham

by Dionne Lister

  He was the best man ever. “Sounds good to me.” Abby hopped off my lap. Will and I stood, and I let him lead me to our bedroom, where we shut out the rest of the world. It couldn’t last forever, but it was better than nothing.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t slow time, and before I was ready, the morning had arrived.

  “I smell hay.” I crinkled my nose, then sneezed.

  Will stepped out of the doorway, pulling his suitcase on wheels, and stood next to me. “Bless you. And that might be because you’re standing on some.”

  I looked down. “Ah, thanks. I guess I am. So, where are we? I mean, it looks like we’re in a stable, but I could be wrong.”

  “Yes, this is a stall in a barn in northern France. We’re outside a town called Pontaubault. The farmer here is a witch. His family has supported the PIB for a long time. We pay a small fee to have a landing spot here and for his confidentiality. We don’t want other witches to know our comings and goings, obviously. There are a few places like this spread over Europe.”

  “That makes sense, and it sure beats a public toilet. So, now what? Do we flag down a ride or call an Uber?”

  He smiled. “No, nothing that uncivilised.” He swung the stall door open and walked into the main barn area. I grabbed the handle of my small trolley-style suitcase and followed. A couple of square hay bales sat against one wall. It was a typical barn—exposed ceiling beams, garden implements in one corner, horse tack hanging off large hooks in one of the stone walls.

  “There’s our ride.” Will nodded towards the other end of the barn, near a large timber door. Two smallish cars sat there. An old red Peugeot and an old white Citroen. By old, they were probably fifteen to twenty years old. On closer inspection, they seemed to be in good condition—no rust, decent tread on the tyres. “Which one are we taking?”

  “Which one would you prefer?”

  “They both look pretty average. I don’t care. You choose.”

  He shrugged. “Let’s go with the Peugeot.” He whispered something I couldn’t make out, and his magic caressed the back of my neck. A key appeared in his hand. “Password protected.” He winked.

  “I’m surprised there isn’t a spell to unlock the car door and start the car. Surely, you spy witches are capable of doing that.”

  “I suppose we are, but this is just the way it’s always been done. It’s not good to use magic for everything when being discrete is the name of the game. The more you use it for everyday things, the more likely you are to slip up and use it at the wrong time, in front of the wrong people.”

  I nodded. “Makes sense.”

  Will opened the boot and placed our suitcases inside, then he opened the door for me—always such a gentleman. I slid into the passenger seat, which was on the wrong side of the car. I put my hands up to grip a non-existent steering wheel. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to driving on the wrong side of the road.”

  Will got into the car. “Lucky I’m driving, then.”

  I smiled. “Very.” Hmm, something was wrong with this picture. “The barn door is closed. Are we going to do a James Bond and drive right through it?”

  He laughed. “Aside from the fact that we’re witches, I have this.” He opened the glovebox and pulled out a small black controller, pointed it at the door, and pressed the button. The door slid across, revealing a sunny day outside.

  I laughed. “Too funny.”

  We drove down a hard-packed dirt driveway and out onto a small main road. I tried to ignore my stomach, which gurgled unhappily—soon enough, I’d be staring through my camera at my parents. Seeing them was emotional enough, but what was I going to discover? The uncertainty had stolen my appetite this morning, and I’d only managed to down a cappuccino before we left.

  I placed my hand on my stomach and stared out the window. A vast blue sky stretched over miles of yellow and green fields filled with crops. Soon we drove through a small village, stone houses flanking either side of the road, and then we were out the other side, back to sky and fields. “This is so pretty. There’s just so much to see.” I turned my head to look at Will and made a bubble of silence. Even though we both knew we might not live long enough, I couldn’t help asking, “When this is all over, can we come back and drive around Europe for a few weeks? Surely the PIB will give you some leave.”

  He glanced my way before looking back at the road. His sad smile echoed my thoughts. “When we get through this, Lily, I would love to take a holiday with you. Where would you like to go?”

  “Everywhere?” I laughed. “I don’t know, um…. Back to Paris, maybe see Nice, Switzerland, Venice, Rome, Florence… ooh, what about skiing in Austria?”

  He chuckled. “I think the question is, where don’t you want to go?”

  “Exactly.” I grinned.

  We happily passed the time discussing everywhere we might never actually get the chance to go, but there was hope. And then I saw it.

  My mouth fell open, and I gasped. “Oh my God! It’s like a fairy tale.”

  Will glanced at me and smiled. “’Tis, indeed.”

  The grassy plain stretched into the distance, miles and miles of swishing greenery, feathered by the breeze, leading to something I expected to see in a movie. I shook my head in awe—even though it was in front of me, it was hard to believe it was real. I magicked my camera to myself from my suitcase and clicked off some photos as we drove.

  Mont Saint-Michel sat on a rocky island, its grandeur rising above the flood plains, a whimsical silhouette against an azure backdrop. It looked more like a castle than a fortified town.

  With every passing mile, the view became no less spectacular. “I can’t believe we’re actually going there. Wow.” I sat quietly for the rest of the drive, just taking it in. “Cars aren’t allowed on the island, are they?”

  “No. We have a code to get through that boom gate, then we can park in a special car park—you get favours when you’re booked into the island’s hotels. We’ll get a shuttle service to the island after we park.”

  As we got out of the car, I checked that my return to sender was up. Yep. Even though I’d been preoccupied with thoughts of my parents and the evil RP, I’d managed to get something right. Yay me.

  Will and I grabbed our bags and caught the shuttle bus. Two-storey-high stone walls surrounded the town. Everything seemed to be made of the same stone—the protective walls, buildings, retaining walls. When the fortifying walls were built, back in medieval times, they’d likely had to take material from the closest possible place. I wondered if it had been from the island itself.

  The briny scent of the sea freshened the air, and seagulls cried to each other as they wheeled overhead. We walked through the entryway, our bags rolling loudly over the pavers, the vibration of it travelling up my arm and through my body. Buildings crowded both sides of the narrow walkway leading to our hotel, their shopfronts forming inviting nooks in the shadowed pathway. Such a romantic setting. As I floated along in a haze of beauty and history, the delicious scent of food floated around me—pastries and pizza—a curious but heady mix. My stomach grumbled. I patted it. “Once we get settled, we’ll grab something.”

  Will chuckled. “I’m thinking you’re not talking to me?”

  “You would be correct.”

  Slow-moving tourists crowded the laneway, their voices echoing off the stone as they wandered from shop to shop. When we reached our hotel—a gorgeous structure of granite, shingles with shutters on the windows, and fancy gold lettering proclaiming Auberge Saint Pierre—we had to wait for some people to pass before we could cross the short expanse of path and enter. The rumble of my bag on the pavers echoed in my ears. I stuck my finger in one ear to clear it, but it didn’t help. My arms and body retained the vibrating sensation. How funny. It was like when you got off a boat and could still feel the rolling of the ocean.

  I let Will check us in, and to my surprise, his French wasn’t that bad—well, he was speaking and the lady at the front desk could unders
tand him. It could’ve been perfect French, but I didn’t know my chambre from my salle de bains. Was it wrong that he became even sexier? I was going to have to learn some other languages to keep up with everyone. It seemed that I was the only one who wasn’t at least bilingual.

  As we climbed the stairs to our room… my parents’ old room, I swallowed my rising nausea. Why had they come here? What were we about to find out? Would seeing them again hurt as much as it had every other time? Bittersweet didn’t do the feeling justice. It was more like yearning and pain with love thrown in. Looking at something you couldn’t ever have again, well, there wasn’t much sweetness about it. I should be grateful to have those snippets of their lives, but the reminders of what I’d lost overshadowed everything. Avoidance would’ve been way better for my emotional state.

  We reached our room, and Will opened the door.

  The moment of truth. Such a cliché but so appropriate.

  The room was everything you’d want a hotel room in a historic building to be—full of character, clean, pretty, cosy, and it even had a stunning view of the expanse of sand and water beyond the island’s walls. I gazed at the polished parquetry floors, exposed timber beams, and inviting bed, and took a deep breath. It was the unwanted thing that also resided here that had my stomach somersaulting. Memories.

  And they weren’t even mine.

  We placed our bags to the side—we’d likely never even open them—and I took the lens cap off my Nikon. I hadn’t bothered putting it away after the car ride. There was so much to see, even apart from what we were here for, that I wanted it at the ready, just in case.

  “You’re going to get right to it?” Will’s forehead wrinkled.

  “Yes. I’m okay. I think getting it over and done with is the way to go. We have more than this room to sightsee too.” He nodded. I gave him a reassuring smile. “Here goes.” I made a bubble of silence and stood near the door. “Show me the last time my parents were here.” I jammed my back teeth together as the scene changed.

  Night-time—the lights were on, and the window closed. I sucked in a breath, and tears blurred my vision. My parents stood together, holding hands, facing a man in a tuxedo, who had his back to me. My mother wore a sparkling, figure-hugging black halter-neck dress that reached the floor. My father was handsome in a tuxedo. Seemed they were off to a formal event, or had they already returned? Click, click.

  I walked around behind my parents to get a look at the other man’s face. But before I could focus on that, the nearness to my parents stole my breath. All those years ago, they had been here, in the exact spot I stood. It took all my strength not to reach out and run my hand down the back of my father’s smooth jacket, to reach out and place my hand on my mother’s warm shoulder. I blinked tears away, shut my eyes, and took another deep breath. When I opened my eyes, the weight of tears on my lashes became almost overwhelming.

  The floor creaked as Will came and stood next to me. He placed a hand on the back of my neck. “It’s okay, Lily. I’m here.”

  I nodded and sniffed. “Thank you.” Just get this over and done with, Lily. I shook my head and refocussed on the stranger. He was in his late thirties, early forties. His dark, curly hair sat just above his eyebrows and just kissed the back of his collar. He had dark eyes, full lips, and the barely discernible yellow-greenish tint of olive skin, although he didn’t have a tan. He had a straight nose, and I supposed he would be considered handsome, but there was something about him I didn’t like. Was it his overly confident posture, or something in the way he was looking at my mother, as if my father wasn’t there and she was his to bed? Click, click.

  I lowered my camera, then raised it again. “Show me anything else I need to see.” I turned on the spot, slowly taking in the whole room, but my parents were gone.

  Hang on. I sucked in a breath and moved to the delicate writing table near the window. A postcard sat on it, writing side up. My stomach dropped to the floor as I read the first line.

  To my darling Lily and James.

  My heart raced. I clicked off a shot. But it was too much, and I lowered my camera, then plonked onto the bed. I blinked several times and shook my head. My voice came out in a whisper. “Look at this.” Will took the camera from my outstretched hand and sat next to me.

  Will’s mouth fell open, and he turned to stare at me, but he said nothing. He must be just as floored as me. He turned back to the photo and enlarged it on the camera screen. “Have you read any of it?”

  “Only the first line.”

  “Do you want me to read it out?”

  If I had tried to read it, I probably wouldn’t be able to see through my tears. I nodded. “Yes, please.”

  “To my darling Lily and James. Your father and I are having a wonderful time on holiday. Mont Saint-Michel is enchanting, especially the abbey. Miss you both. Wish we could bring the Saint to us. I’m sure Tilly’s brother would feel a real connection to it. Love you. Mum and Dad xx.”

  Hmm. “That sounds familiar.” Had I seen this postcard before? If they’d sent it to us, surely, I would have. “It’s all a bit weird.”

  “It is indeed. Who’s Tilly’s brother?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. I don’t even know who Tilly is. Maybe James knows? And why would she want to bring Mont Saint-Michel to us? I mean, I get that it’s wonderful, but that’s stupid. It could never happen. Why write it? My mother wasn’t taken to being cryptic or whimsical, and it just doesn’t sound like something she’d bother wishing for.”

  “It definitely looks like a clue to me.”

  “Agreed.” At least coming here hadn’t been for nothing. “Now what?”

  “See if you can find anything else in here, and if not, we’ll have a wander of the island.”

  “Did you see the other photos? There’s a man in them. He looks dodgy.”

  His eyebrows rose. “No. Hang on.” He bent his head and scrolled through. “Interesting. Okay.” He passed the camera back.

  I stood and switched the Nikon to photo mode. “Show me anything else I need to see.”

  Nothing.

  Phew.

  Okay, I knew we needed information, but I couldn’t help not wanting to see my parents, or anything gory, for that matter.

  “That’s it.”

  He stood and enveloped me in a hug. “We’re getting there. Just think back to when you arrived in London and knew nothing about what happened to them. You’ve come so far. My gut tells me we’re close, Lily. So damn close.”

  “Me too.”

  And that’s what I was afraid of.

  Chapter 5

  After we’d finished in the hotel room, we wandered the island, and I took photos, but nothing showed up. Because my mother had mentioned the abbey, we decided to venture in there. The more we strolled, the more it felt like an actual holiday, except that nothing could erase the emotional hangover of seeing my parents.

  As we passed through a dimly lit room, the heaviness of granite walls feeling as if they were closing in, the vibrations from earlier intensified. I shook my head.

  “What’s wrong?” Will stopped walking and pulled me to the side of the room, away from the other sightseers.

  “Our bags were noisy earlier, and they started some kind of vibration in my head. It’s not as loud as it was, but it’s ramped up a bit since we came in here.”

  He nodded and had an “ah huh” look on his face. He whispered, “The river of power sits close to the surface here, near the boundary between our world and where it resides.”

  My eyes bugged wide. It was an effort not to shout. “What? Since when is there another world?”

  “Hmm, I’ve done a bodge job of explaining that. Maybe dimension would be better.”

  “I guess that makes sense. It’s not like we can see it unless we’re using our other sight, and even then, you don’t really see the river anywhere.”

  “No, you don’t. There aren’t many places it’s this close to the surface, for want of a better
word.”

  “How do you make it go away?” It was almost as annoying as a mosquito zooming past your ear when you were in bed on a hot summer night.

  “You can’t. Just embrace it. You’ll get used to it. The more you think about it, the louder it is. Why don’t you take some photos, make the most of our holiday?”

  I smiled. “If only we could be on holiday all the time.” That comment was for the benefit of anyone from RP or the PIB listening in. I had no idea if anyone was, but chances were good that was the case.

  I raised my camera and took a photo of Will. During the past few months, I’d taken so many photos, but most of them were to do with solving crimes. I’d hardly taken any of the people I loved, or Westerham. That was going to change today. I was scared of seeing if someone was going to die through my camera, and that was the reason, but that was kind of an excuse since I could turn my other sight off. Maybe it’s just that the joy and freedom I’d had before I’d come to the UK had pretty much disappeared, and because I knew I couldn’t roam and photograph, I’d stopped wanting it. Silly Lily. I’d wasted so much time. But not anymore.

  “Smile.” I clicked off a shot. “Do you want to take a selfie of us with your phone?”

  Will looked at me as if to say “I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but I like it.” He took his phone out of his pocket, and we posed. He showed me his efforts.

  “Love it. One day when we’re old, we’ll look back at this and reminisce about what a hot couple we were.” I laughed.

  “Nah. We’ll still be hot when we’re old.” He winked and grinned.

  “You’re so funny.”

  “I know.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “You just can’t pass up an opportunity, can you?”

  “Nope.

  I took a deep breath and asked the question in my mind. Show me my parents last time they were here. Everything went almost pitch-black, and the people disappeared. The only light was from a small ball above my father’s hand. He and my mother were dressed like burglars from the movies—black pants, black skivvies, black boots, and black beanies. My mother had her gun in one hand, and my father carried a leather bag. I snapped off a shot.