Witchbotched in Westerham

by Dionne Lister

“Okay.” I sniffed.

  Will pulled away and looked down at me. “Are you okay?”

  No. “Yes. I just need to process it.” My magic always took its pound of flesh when I least expected it.

  “Come here, then, and stay put.” He gathered me in his arms again. The warm tingle of his magic caressed my nape. The sounds of spattering rain, keening wind, and the mournful cries of seagulls faded away. He whispered, “We’re home.”

  “Thank you.”

  Will opened the reception-room door and took me to the living room. He lit the fire in the fireplace with a wisp of magic, and I sat in one of the armchairs. After Will had magicked us two coffees, he sat in the other armchair and held his free hand out. I knew what he was asking, so I passed him the camera.

  As he watched the video, his jaw clenched. I didn’t want to see the woman’s haunted eyes again, so I turned my face away and stared into the fire. When he’d finished, he handed the camera back and shook his head. His voice subdued, he said, “No wonder you were upset. Your talent certainly creates confronting material. And being there, in real time….” He reached out and grabbed my hand. I squeezed it. At least I didn’t have to go through this alone.

  “Are you going to send it to Angelica now?”

  “I think we can wait till she gets home. We’ll show her then. Come here.” He patted his lap. I sat and snuggled against his chest. He hugged me tight and kissed my forehead. “Love you, Lily. Thank you for helping us. I know it’s not easy, but you’re making an incredible difference to so many people. Never forget that.”

  “Thanks. I do know, but it’s easy to forget when you’re in the middle of watching someone suffer like that. She was so young.” Grief spread over me, sinking into my skin, making me heavy, tired. She certainly hadn’t looked like someone who wanted to die, and I’d been there too late. “Why can’t we put up a magical barrier that stops people from jumping? We’re witches. We could do it.” The fact that the ability to save people existed but we weren’t using it was criminal.

  “We can’t. Firstly, there is just too much distance to cover. If they don’t jump from that exact spot, they’ll walk further along till they find a spot. It would take an enormous amount of power to keep a barrier up 24/7. Secondly, we can’t interfere. We need to stay under the radar, Lily. I’m sorry. It’s frustrating for me too. That was one reason I joined the PIB—I wanted to help as much as I could.”

  “But doesn’t it get frustrating having to solve a crime after the damage has been done? Wouldn’t you prefer some of the crimes never happened?”

  “Yes, but we can’t save everyone from themselves. We can’t go around making sure cars drive at safe speeds and steer properly, for instance. At least the non-witches are close to having that technology in lots of cars.”

  “Do witches ever nudge things like that along, with subtle suggestions, or magicking a solution, then guiding the non-witches to it?” That would be handy. “Couldn’t we help that way?”

  “Yes, but there are limitations—some things can only be achieved using magic indefinitely. We do what we can.” He ran his hand down the back of my head a few times. I sighed, finally relaxing. “Oh, I’ve got the first funeral tomorrow, so you can probably call the day after to arrange an interview.” And scrap that. No relaxation for me. My shoulders tensed, and I sat up to look at him.

  “Thanks for the reminder. I was just getting comfortable. Now I’m all crabby again.”

  “Would you like to come to the funeral instead?” He raised a brow.

  Oh, that was a low blow. “Okay, fine. Point made.” Time to change the subject. I didn’t want to talk about depressing things all night. “On Saturday, there’s an art exhibition on in Westerham. Would you like to come with me? I’m going to ask Liv and Beren too.”

  His face relaxed. “Yep, that sounds good. What about we go somewhere nice for lunch afterwards?”

  I smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Other than Will showing Angelica the video when she got home, the rest of the evening was spent not talking about everything bad that was going on, but, unfortunately, it would be waiting for me tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. And we were no closer to figuring this out than we were the day we saw Emily Armond, the first woman who jumped that we knew about. How many were there before her who might be connected to this, if it was, indeed, a crime and not the decision of someone who was depressed and thought this was the best choice?

  Unfortunately, as the cliché said, only time would tell.

  The next afternoon, after Emily’s funeral, Imani, Liv, Ma’am, Will, and I gathered in the PIB conference room so Will could give us a rundown of what had happened. Sitting next to me, he leaned forward and put his forearms on the table, clasping his hands together. “There was a huge turnout. She must have been a popular woman. There were only two witches there; both were work colleagues, from what I overheard. Her children and grandchildren were there, even her ex-husband. I ended up at the wake afterwards. I managed to sneak in as waitstaff. I’m sorry, but I had to cast forget-in-motion spells on the real catering staff.”

  Huh? What the hell was that spell? Before I could ask, Ma’am folded her arms and served Will a harsh stare. “That’s not ideal, Agent Blakesley. I didn’t give you carte blanche to do whatever you saw fit. Please stay within the directives I give you next time.”

  The muscle in his jaw ticked, but he said, “Yes, Ma’am.” Wow, the man had oodles of self-restraint. He would’ve had a good reason for doing what he did, and she would know that. Giving him a hard time wasn’t very nice.

  Because I had to know all the things, I asked, “What does the spell do, and why is it bad?”

  Ma’am’s curt tone made me wince. Poor Will. She was going all out in her disapproval. “You can explain, Agent Blakesley.”

  Will schooled his face to neutral and turned to me. “It’s a spell that makes the person forget what they were going to say. I cast it specifically in relation to me. So, when a catering staff member approached me to ask who I was, they would get close, then wonder what they were going to say. I had to take my no-notice spell off so I wouldn’t give anyone a heart attack serving drinks. I didn’t want the two witches who were there wondering what I was doing trying to hide from everyone else. I stayed out of their line of sight at the grave, but it was going to be harder in a confined space.”

  “And why is it bad?”

  “It tampers with the memory. They might have trouble remembering things for a few days, and if you’re not careful, you can affect their memory for weeks to come.” He stayed focussed on me, but his voice rose, probably as an annoyed reference to Ma’am. “But I was extremely careful, and it was necessary. Because I did that, I was able to listen in on many conversations.” Now he did turn to Ma’am. “There was not one person there who thought she was depressed. She’s never suffered from depression, and she was enjoying life. The only negative in her life, from what I could glean, was that her ex-husband was pestering her for money—apparently, he’s in financial difficulty. She did give him twenty thousand pounds a year ago, but she’d said no to every other request. Listening to the ex’s conversations, he wasn’t angry at her or saying anything negative, and he’s not a witch, so I don’t know that it’s worth chasing up that lead.”

  “So that’s my angle, then,” I said.

  Ma’am looked at me as if I’d spoken elvish. And, no, elves didn’t exist as far as I knew. But I’d read plenty of epic fantasies, and elves often had their own language. “When I interview her children and best friend. I imagine they’ll be the best people to talk to. I’ll say that often no one around the person realises they’re depressed, and we’re studying how to decipher subtle warning signs.”

  She gave a slow nod. “Ah, that makes sense, for a change.” I opened my mouth to protest her insult, but she quickly turned to Will. “At the next funeral, I want you to be more careful. If you feel the need to cast any serious spells, call it in first for
approval. Understood?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” His voice was carefully neutral, which actually spoke volumes. There was not one person at this table who didn’t know he was annoyed. And, I should note, the annoyance wasn’t limited to Will. She’d just insulted me, then hurried onto something else as if it were nothing. Why did she always do that? I knew she cared about us, but sometimes, it was hidden under a mile of snark.

  “Right, Olivia, I’d like you to research the woman who jumped last night. I’ve also decided to station an agent at the cliffs full-time. We’ll have three shifts. Apart from the appalling number of deaths we can prevent, if there is magic involved, maybe we can get to the bottom of it quicker. It’s not feasible for us to do this long term, but intercepting at least a few people should help.”

  “How will you stop them jumping?” I asked. “It’s not like you’ll know who is going to jump and who isn’t until they’re actually leaping off the cliff.”

  “The agents will just have to start a conversation with anyone walking by themselves and do their best to glean what their intentions are.”

  The whole process still didn’t make sense. “How are they going to explain the weird questions afterwards? I mean, how are you going to find out if a witch is involved and who it is without reading their minds, which is illegal?”

  She sat back and rested her arms on the chair arms. “I’m going to give my agents special permission—as you know, it’s our prerogative. It’s warranted in this case. If the next three people who are there to commit suicide aren’t affected by spells, we’ll call off the watch. Now, dear, tomorrow you can call Emily’s children and friend and make appointments to talk to them, then let Agent Jawara know.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” My stomach tensed. I was not looking forward to calling these people. There was no good way to bring up what I had to. What if they hung up on me?

  “And you have the next funeral tomorrow; am I right, Will?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll report back to you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Good. I think that’s everything for today. We’ll reconvene tomorrow afternoon for updates.” Ma’am stood. “Thanks again, everyone.” She made a doorway and left.

  Imani and Will stood. “Come on, Will. We’ve got Operation Dolphin to attend to.”

  Huh? “Operation Dolphin? Are there witch dolphins? I didn’t think witches could shift.”

  Imani looked at me like my IQ had just dropped fifty points. “There are no such things as shifters, Lily. It’s just a made-up code name.”

  My cheeks burned. Lily the Idiot strikes again. But to be fair, she believed in ghosts, and need I say it again, but witches. “Oh, right.”

  Will chuckled. “Never change.” He bent and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll see you tonight, around seven.”

  At least I had something to look forward to later. I held onto that thought for the rest of the day.

  Chapter 7

  Cynthia and I sat opposite each other in a café in Sevenoaks. Otto’s Coffee House & Kitchen was in a quaint white building. The warm interior featured timber floorboards, white walls, dark timber ceiling, and a large fireplace. Even though the building was old and retained original features, the décor suggested clean modernity.

  I’d wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible, but Emily’s best friend, Cynthia, had wanted to meet for brunch. As sad as this was, the food on the plate in front of me looked amazing. Sourdough toast covered with smashed avocado, poached egg, rocket lettuce, and bacon. And before anyone called me a carelessly spending Millennial, the prices weren’t too bad, and it was healthy. What was everyone’s fixation with smashed avocado being the thing that ruined young peoples’ futures?

  My phone was on the table, face up, and I was recording the conversation with Cynthia’s permission. She sipped her tea, then carefully placed the cup on the saucer. Eyes red from crying, the blue in her irises stood out. She shook her head. “I just can’t understand it. She was happy, at least she said she was. We were even planning a holiday to Australia.”

  “Was she having any problems with anyone she cared about?”

  “Her ex was begging her for money every five minutes, but she found him irritating rather than upsetting. She had been dating someone for a few months, but they broke up before Christmas.”

  That seemed pretty significant. “That could’ve been a trigger.”

  She stared at the scones on her plate. “Maybe, but she was the one who broke it off.”

  “Did she ever self-medicate with drugs, food, or alcohol?”

  She looked up at me, her brow lined with what could’ve been frustration. “No. There was nothing to medicate. She enjoyed a glass of wine, like the rest of us, but never drugs, and she was slim, so that would be a ‘no’ to the food as well. She indulged every now and then, but she lived a healthy life.”

  “How often did she interact with people? Isolation can sometimes be a factor.”

  “Even though she was retired, she went to yoga, had her hair done every week, went for facials, and we caught up once a week too. I know she spoke to her children at least every second day. They’re both busy with their own families, of course, but they were still close.”

  We’d been here for thirty minutes, and I was running out of questions, yet there was nothing to suggest she’d been depressed or that anyone hated her. “So there was no one she was fighting with?”

  “No.” She finished her tea and looked at her watch. “Look, this is hard for me. I don’t want to think about all these negatives, and I have an appointment to get to. Emily was a happy, vibrant woman, and I just don’t know what happened. If witnesses on the day hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, I would’ve said someone pushed her. It must have been an accident. Maybe she didn’t mean to step so close? I wish you well with your research, and I hope it ends up helping people, but I have nothing else to add. Sorry.” She stood.

  “Okay. Thanks for your time, and I’ve got the bill. I appreciate you meeting with me today, and, again, I’m sorry you’ve lost your friend.”

  She nodded and left. I’d only half eaten my meal, but even though it was delicious, I’d lost my appetite. It seemed that interview was all for nothing. I’d made her talk about someone she’d just lost, and it hadn’t helped either of us. My stomach gurgled in protest as a maelstrom of nausea assailed it. How was I supposed to do this over and over again? Emily’s two children had refused to speak to me, but Angelica wanted me to talk to the ex-husband. Hmm, there was something small. Maybe her most-recent ex had done something? We should find out who he is. Had he gone to the funeral? If he had, at least Will would know who it was. If I could interview him, maybe it would provide a clue. He might even be a witch. That would be very interesting. Of course, Cynthia had left, and now I wished I’d asked for his name, but she might have found that weird since her friend had supposedly broken up with him ages ago. What could he have possibly added to my enquiries that her best friend couldn’t? Cynthia might have become suspicious of what I was doing.

  I paid and left. The building was on a corner. I walked along the side street and met Imani, who was sitting in her car, waiting. At least it wasn’t raining. That was another thing to be thankful for. Why was it getting harder and harder to find the positives? Was my life that terrible?

  I hopped into the car and put my seat belt on. Imani looked at me. “How’d you go? Get anything useful?”

  “I don’t think so. You may as well listen to it as we drive, and then you can tell me.” I pressed Play on the recording, and as she drove us home, I relived fifteen of the last thirty minutes of my life with a grieving stranger. Not one of my finest moments. I stared out the window in a futile attempt at distracting myself.

  When we reached Angelica’s, we went into the living room, sat on one of the Chesterfields, and finished listening to it. When it was done, Imani looked at me, her poker face activated. “Okay, so you’re right: there wasn’t much in that to go on.” This was one
time I wished she didn’t agree with me.

  “I was thinking that maybe I should interview the ex-boyfriend, or at least find out if he’s a witch first. What do you think?”

  “Interviewing him might be jumping the gun, but I think we do need to find out who he is and if he’s a witch. I’ll text Liv and ask her to find out.” Imani pulled out her phone and got to work.

  “Oh, are you working tomorrow? There’s a photographic exhibition on at the local gallery. Will, B, and Liv are coming. We’re going to grab lunch somewhere afterwards. Wanna join us?”

  She put her phone back in her pocket. “Sounds great. I’m on call tomorrow, so if anything comes up, I’ll have to run, but, at this stage, it looks okay.”

  “Yay! It’ll be nice to just relax for a change.” My phone rang, as if the very mention of the word “relax” was an invitation to stir things up. The universe was always listening, damn it. Oh my God, it was James. Please be good news. “Hello, James. What’s up?”

  James sounded worried and slightly dazed. “Hey, Lily. Just letting you know that the drugs aren’t working anymore, and they’ve decided to induce. This will probably take a few hours, but all going well, we’ll have a baby by tonight.”

  Eek, exciting yet worrying. Millicent wasn’t okay yet, and neither was the baby, but surely they dealt with this kind of thing often, and it would all be fine. “Do you want me to come to the hospital for moral support?”

  “Um, no. Mill and I have this for now, but thanks. I’ll let you know when you have a niece or nephew.”

  I grinned—it was impossible not to. Excited flutters took up residence in my chest. “Okay. I’ll be waiting for your call. Love you, and good luck.”

  “Love you too. Bye.”

  Imani was staring at me, an expectant look on her face. “Tell me. Tell me.”

  “They’re inducing Millicent now. We should have a Millicent-James version 2.0 by tonight. Oh my God, this is so exciting. I can’t wait. I just hope everything goes well.”