by Holly Bell
‘Well, partly, but mainly because you’re the only dancer I know of.’
‘I’m not a dancer, Rector.’
‘I mean, you like to dance. You do go dancing.’
Amanda frowned. That was something she did with her friend and next-door neighbour, Claire, and they did it well away from the village.
‘May I ask how you know?’
‘Everyone knows,’ replied Jane, as though stating the obvious.
‘How?’
‘Um … let me see … I heard it from Irma Uberhausfest who said she heard it from … ah yes, Penny.’
‘The doctor’s receptionist?’
‘Yes, she said she bumped into you with her fiancé one night in a bar in Camden. The Blood Bath?’
‘The Bubble Bath. Ok. Well, I suppose it only took that one person and that one time,’ remarked Amanda resignedly.
‘Anyway, will you help?’
‘Of course,’ answered Amanda willingly, ‘but how?’
‘Whip up enthusiasm, spread the word.’
‘I think the grapevine will do that,’ said Amanda knowingly.
‘And you will come along to the classes and the dances, won't you?’
‘Of course I shall, Rector, and yes, I’ll encourage everyone I know to join.’
‘Thank you, dear. Now let’s get out of this dusty place.’
‘What’s the story behind this hall? What is all this stuff?’ Amanda enquired casually.
‘Now, you’d have to ask Mrs Pagely because I’m not really up on all of this, but it was built at the turn of the century, I believe. Funded by someone who was very fond of theatricals. They wanted lots of space for storing props, and, over the years, they accumulated through one production after another. And then, I think, other things collected in here.’
‘What about during the war?’
‘Which one?’ asked Jane.
‘The first.’
‘Probably used as a hospital. A lot of halls were. But I think the floor here has never been right. It’s been repaired over the years, until things got too bad and the hall had to be closed.’
They reached the comparative safety of the stairs.
‘You go up first dear, and I’ll lock up behind you,’ said Jane. She secured the door at the bottom of the flight, then the one at the top and finally the side entrance. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? And then I must get on with some paperwork.’
‘Thank you, Rector, but I need to get home too.’
‘Perhaps later in the week I can show you the space above?’ asked Jane with renewed excitement.
‘Yes, of course. I’m on site tomorrow with a couple of builders. I’ll mention the floor to them and bring them over to check it.’
‘Wonderful. You are a dear,’ said Jane giving her a hug.
‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow,’ promised Amanda.
But tomorrow had other plans.
Chapter 3
Training Amanda
Former Chief Inspector Hogarth, lately of the Devon and Cornwall Police, leaned on the wooden handrail of his sister and brother-in-law’s luxurious Spanish villa and looked out with pleasure. The sun was rising over the orange flushing vista of the Balearic Sea.
‘Tea up,’ called Vera, his older sibling. He moved towards the cream-padded cane furniture around the table, where she was setting out the pot and cups. As he sat down, she pushed a tin of pre-breakfast Hobnobs towards him and remarked casually,
‘You haven’t told me how the youngsters are getting along.’
‘They’re well enough. Amanda’s asthma still troubles her, but she manages, you know. Thomas, he’s as fit as a fiddle, and still enjoys his work.’
‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Mikey. How are they getting along with each other?
‘Cautiously.’
‘Are they friends yet?
‘I’d say friendship is a component in their complex relationship of detective-witness, covert wi— well you know what she is — playing against his rampant scepticism and deep-seated unease with all things supernatural. Mutual suspicion is, I think, being very slowly eroded.’
‘Hmm. Is it too soon to hope?’
‘It is never too soon to hope, my dear.’
***
Amanda, some 700 miles to the north, was likewise up betimes. She had magical training to start before she began her day’s furniture restoration work. Granny and Grandpa, Senara and Perran Cadabra, were sure to be found in the workshop this morning, although they had been nowhere to be seen when Amanda had got home the day before. However, Amanda was used to that. Since their transition to whatever dimension they now inhabited, commonly known by the word ‘death’, and the details of which they were vague about, they came and went apparently at random.
Unless, that was, Amanda called on them. As Granny had often pointed out: the dead cannot harm the living, and they cannot help them either unless they are asked.
Today they would begin helping in a specific way. Amanda had resolved to begin a new stage in her spell-casting development. Only days before, her levitation skills had been tested to the limit and, if she had not had help, Amanda would not have survived. It was time to get serious.
Tempest, her familiar, had been served breakfast, and Amanda assumed that he was out irritating the local wildlife in typical cat style. But she was in error. Having traversed the garden between the spent fruit trees and entered her work domain, her gaze was drawn to the seat of a Sheraton shield back that was waiting to be dispatched to the upholsterers.
On the chair, reposed a bundle of fur in a selection of greys. It opened one baleful yellow eye at Amanda’s entrance. ‘Hello, Sweetikins,’ she addressed him lovingly. The one cat to which she was not allergic, he had been an important part of her life since she was a frustrated 15-year-old struggling with the physical limitations of her asthma. Granny and Grandpa, deciding that the moment had come, had closeted themselves one night in the workshop and conjured the irascible feline that was none too pleased about being reincarnated. Within moments of meeting, Tempest and Amanda had established a unique bond, the magical nature of which, in the past year, had become more important than she had ever imagined.
Tempest surveyed his witch impassively and, tacitly but successfully, communicated, ‘Where have you been? Where is my workshop treat?’ He released an audible sigh expressive of, ‘You can’t get the staff these days.’
She came over to kiss his fluffy head and give him a cuddle, which he endured as the inescapable lot of the glamorous and adored.
‘Mrowwl,’ he uttered shortly.
‘Your wish is my command, oh Fuzziness,’ said Amanda and went to a drawer under the work surface by the window. She was delivering a Magnificent Morcel for The Discerning Feline when Senara and Perran Cadabra appeared and solidified.
‘Good morning, Ammy dear,’ Granny said affectionately.
‘Mornin’ bian,’ said Grandpa in his gentle Cornish accent. He had called her his bian, his baby, ever since she could remember.
‘Granny, Grandpa, glad to see you. Yesterday —’
‘— Yes, we know, dear. You did well,’ Senara commended her.
‘Oh, you know?’
‘Well, we popped by while you were in the church hall. You were right not to say anything to the rector.’
‘And you made a nice recovery,' added Perran. 'Lucky about the ambulance going past.’
‘Yes, well, I do realise that not everything I can see is visible to the Normals,’ said Amanda.
‘We trained you well.’
'You did,' she agreed whole-heartedly.
'Speaking of which, shall we start, bian?'
‘First, aren't you going to tell me what all that was about? That thing falling in front of me and then the music and singing and dancing?’
‘You’ll work it out,' said her grandfather reassuringly. ‘This one is going to be more complicated than the last one. Possibly ... probably. Definitely.’
'The la
st one? The last one what?'
'But you’ll be fine. And you do need to remember more about your childhood. But you’ll have help.’
'What?'
'Now time for your training. You only have half an hour,’ Grandpa pointed out.
'Well, I think that’ll be enough,’ replied Amanda. ‘I don’t want to go to work exhausted. And doing the banister won’t be so easy as I won't be alone in the house today to use spells to help me.’
'Yes, you’ll have to be circumspect,’ Grandpa agreed. ‘But that’s always good practice.’
'So you’re not going to tell me anything about anything?’ asked his frustrated granddaughter.
'You won’t need us to. You did so well last time.’
'And the time before that,’ Granny added.
'Now your levitation. We’ll build up slowly. No house-lifting to start with!’ joked Grandpa. 'That chest of drawers, let’s start with that.’
'With or without the wand?’
'Let’s start with.’
Amanda put her hand in her left-hand pocket and withdrew an apparently normal IKEA pencil. But this was no ordinary writing implement, and she was not about to make notes. With a flick of her thumbnail, she opened the top of the pencil. The light caught a yellow stone set in a recess. She pulled it out, revealing that it was attached to a slender length of orange-red wood. For this was one of Dr Bertil Bergstrom’s patent Pocket-wands, presented to Amanda by the doctor himself. Bertil and Kerstin Bergstrom were the Swedish inventors of magical assists that were known to all magical folk. As it happened, this couple also made up fifty per cent of all the other magical folk that Amanda knew, apart from her grandparents.
The wand looked like it would barely assist a fly, but Amanda had learned the power of petite, and this was her most potent tool.
She pointed it at the heavy oak three-drawer chest and pronounced in the magical language, Wicc’yeth, ‘Aereval.’ It raised gently off the floor.
'Now, how about the small workbench?’ suggested Grandpa.
Holding the chest of drawers in position with her mind, Amanda directed the wand at the workbench and repeated the spellword. As it rose, the chest wavered slightly, but she kept it level.
Perran commended her. ‘Now raise them both another six inches ... Excellent. Now go over and turn on the hob.’
Amanda kept her eyes darting between the two objects as she crossed the room and felt for the switch in the socket on the wall.
'Just look at the switch,’ said Grandpa.
She turned her gaze away and felt the bench waver. Amanda looked back to see both items of furniture tilting.
'That’s natural. Don't worry about it’' Perran encouraged her.
She corrected the angle, turned back to the hob and switched it on.
'Now set the glue pot stirring.’
'Mecsge,’ Amanda uttered.
'Now look back,’ said Perran.
The chest had sunk, and the workbench was upending like the Titanic. The chisels on it were sliding to the edge ready for the fall into the blue of the vinyl below.
'Ahh!’ cried Amanda, hurriedly correcting them.
The gluepot brush had given up and was leaning once more against the rim.
'Oh no!’
Thud! The chest landed. Clang! The workbench had leaned forward and tipped its unattached vice to the floor.
'Good grief! How am I ever to get the hang of this?’ Amanda exclaimed despairingly.
'Patience,’ replied Perran. ‘You’re getting too intense about it all. This is not an exam. It’s just Day One.’
'Yes, Grandpa,’ she sighed, ‘you're right.’
'Now let’s try it again. And this time, calmly. Set your intention, not your force of will.’
Twenty-five minutes later, Amanda emerged with Tempest from the workshop, moderately pleased with her progress. It wasn’t great. But it was progress.
Amanda locked up the house as they went, and boarded Grandpa’s legacy Vauxhaul Astra in racing green, bearing the legend in gold down the sides: Cadabra Restoration and Repairs.
They drove up Orchard Lane, turned left into Hog Lane, past the library on the left, and opposite the Sunken Madley school next door to it, turned right into Priory Lane, past the medical centre on the right and parked in the driveway of the Reiser’s House. Tempest went about his own affairs, and Amanda rang the bell. Ruth, Amanda’s favourite teenager, whom she occasionally helped with her homework, had already left for school, but her mother opened the door.
'Oh good. Thank you, Amanda, for being on time. You don’t mind if I rush off now, do you? I’m sure you can find your way around the kitchen, and you know where the bathroom is. I’ll be right next door if you need me.’
'Of course, that’s fine, Esta.’
'See you later. In case you want to ask me anything in person, I'll be popping back this afternoon.’
Which, as it turned out, was very fortunate indeed.
Chapter 4
Horace Bottle
The banister ran from converted attic to the ground floor, with newel posts at the top and bottom of each flight. When the Reisers had moved in, it was already painted, and, with the expense of the upgraded house and cost of the move, they had merely added fresh coats of gloss, matt and eggshell over the years. Now, thanks to a bequest from Mrs Reiser’s mother’s cousin, they had the means to make some long-overdue repairs and refurbishments, including finally revealing the wood beneath the layers on the handrail and newel posts.
The improvements to the house included a new basement, which needed heating, lighting, storage units, shelves and carpet. Horace Bottle was seeing to that ably assisted by Bryan Branscombe, who was dark, short and slightly portly but agile and light on his feet.
On Amanda’s arrival, Horace lifted his narrow face, under thinning strawberry blond hair, and called up a cheery flirtatious welcome. Branscombe mounted the stairs to greet her pleasantly and to assure her they would not get in her way. However, occasionally Bottle and Branscombe did pass Amanda on the stairs when going up and down to the water tank in the loft.
It wasn’t until the afternoon that it happened. Trying to get paint free from a particularly persistent crevice, Amanda went to fetch her multi-tool to help deftly dig out the residue. However, it was nowhere to be seen. Not in her toolbox, not in the boot of the car, not on the stairs. She had definitely packed it the night before. Or had she?
Amanda was standing in the hall, wondering if she should go home and check, when Branscombe came up from the basement. He was holding her multi-tool in his hand. Or was it his? No, there was the burn on the handle where she’d left it too close to the soldering iron and a ‘C’ at the end, which Grandpa had put on all of his tools.
‘Erm … Mr Branscombe,’ Amanda said hesitantly, ‘Ah, I think you have my multi-tool there.’
‘Oh sorry,’ he replied anxiously. ‘Horace lent it to me, said it was his.’
‘Really?’ asked Amanda in surprise.
‘Yes. I said, “That’s a handy gadget,” and he said he paid a pretty penny for it. Didn’t realise he’d erm .…’ Branscombe, blushing, handed it over.
‘You’re welcome to use it when I’ve finished with it,’ said Amanda amicably. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not your fault. I’ll have a word with him.’
Amanda descended to the basement with only slightly raised pulse. After all, Bottle had been friendly, almost to the point of over-familiarity, in the past. He straightened up from his task at her approach.
‘’Allo, lovely. Come for a visit?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I’d like to make a request,’ she said, in the most diplomatic tone she could muster.
‘Yes, darlin’, what can I do for you?’
‘Well, next time you’d like to borrow one of my tools, I’d appreciate it if you’d ask me first. It did give Mr Branscombe an embarrassing moment when I noticed that he had my multi-tool, thinking it belonged to you, as you had claimed.’
&n
bsp; At once Bottle’s hackles rose, the corners of his thin mouth pulled down and his eyes shrunk into a menacing glare.
‘Wot you sayin’?’ he asked, jutting his head forward. ‘That I stole it?’
Amanda leaned back. ‘Well, it did rather look —’
‘I was just jokin’! It’s people like you that take orl the fun outta the trade. We’re all sposed to be in this together, aren’t we? It’s people like you,’ he repeated, stabbing the air in front of her with his forefinger, ‘goin’ on about ownership that spoil it fer everyone. Comin’ round ‘ere, tryin’ to do a man’s work, taking someone’s job an’ lookin’ so innocent. Well, someone’s onto you. Got their eye on you, so just you watch out. Now look wot you done! You’ve upset me, look at me ’ands. I can’t work around people like you!’
‘Well really, Mr Bottle, I didn’t intend to upset you, but you did —’
‘I’m goin’!’ he shouted, throwing down his spanner and stamping his feet one after the other so loudly that the sound of Esta Reiser’s key in the door was drowned out.
‘Whatever‘s going on?’ she called down the stairs.
Bottle went stomping up, bellowing, ‘It’s ‘er. I’m goin’, and I’m not comin’ back till she’s outta here. It’s ’er or me. See?’
With that, he pushed past Mrs Reiser and flounced out of the front door. He slammed it behind him, making the panes of stained glass rattle in their leads.
Amanda, white-faced, emerged from below, and turned to the startled lady before her.
‘Esta,’ she began, but Mr Branscombe intervened.
‘I’m sorry about the hullabaloo, Mrs Reiser —’
But it was not over yet. A yell sounded from the road outside. The three hurried to open the front door and peer out. Bottle’s van was parked right opposite the gate. He was standing with the driver door open, looking down at the seat, roaring, and his complexion reddening.
The cause was not far to seek. A bundle of grey fur, set at one end with livid yellow eyes and a tail at the other, was sitting smugly on the roof of the vehicle while the owner was hit by the reek of feline micturition and the sight of a large moist patch on the seat.
