“Are they all in Devon?” Toby gave the screen a cursory glance. His reading improved every day, but he wasn’t fond of staring for very long at a bright screen. To him, print was preferable. He was old-fashioned that way.
“There’s no easy way of sorting that information, especially given that there are all sorts of farms called Honeysomething-all-one-word or Somethinghoney-all-one-word and an equal number called Honey Something in two words.” Clarissa scrolled down. “You can’t remember the second part of the farm’s name?”
“Hmm,” Toby blinked at Clarissa. “The corner of your sammich might help—”
“You literally just had a slice of cheese on toast to yourself,” Clarissa scolded and reached for her own. She took a bite and groaned. “It’s cold.” She chewed rapidly while Toby, wrinkling his nose in disgruntlement, looked on.
Eventually she handed him a corner. One half-hearted chew and a quick swallow, and that took care of that.
“Well?” Clarissa demanded. “Has that helped any?”
Toby licked his lips and thought carefully. “I remember thinking at the time that I wouldn’t want to poke that particular hive.”
“Poke a hive?” Clarissa scanned the screen once more, frowning in concentration. “Why would you poke a hive—ooh! Wait a minute!” She leaned into the screen, so close her nose almost touched it. “Honeystick Farm? You would poke with a stick.”
“Honeystick! That’s the one,” Toby wagged, a big grin on his face. “I knew it was something like that. It was on the tip of my tongue.”
“Hmmm.” Clarissa grumped, “Of course it was, dude.”
“What does it say about the farm?” Toby cocked his head in the direction of the display.
Clarissa clicked on the link, searching for a few more details. “Well, I’ll be… look at that. Not a million miles away from us at all.” She enlarged the map so that it took up the whole of the screen. “Out in the middle of nowhere though,” Clarissa lamented. “The problem with these little country lanes is that it’s hard to navigate along them without getting lost.”
She meant she couldn’t navigate along them without getting lost.
“It’s kind of fitting that he lives in such a place though, isn’t it?” Toby asked. “Like Mad Mabel. Maybe witches and wizards should stay off the beaten track, hiding beyond the reach of mere mortals.”
“I’m a witch,” Clarissa reminded Toby. “And so was Old Joe.” She nodded her head in the direction of the house next door. “And so is Mrs Crouch. So what does that say about us? Are we the urban branch?”
She’d meant it as a throwaway remark and was surprised when Toby thought about her question more seriously. “There must have been a reason why Old Joe moved here. And Mrs Crouch too.”
Clarissa widened the map on the screen so that she could look more closely at East Devon. “I suppose this is fairly central for the area as a whole.” She ran her finger across the screen, locating approximately where she thought their house was and examining it in relation to Mad Mabel’s cottage in Beer, and Honeystick Farm somewhere in between. She shrugged. It didn’t seem important for now.
Toby stood and stretched; downward dog followed by nose-to-the-moon.
Clarissa looked at him in surprise. “Where are you going?”
“Surely we’re driving to Honeystick Farm?”
“Not now we’re not, Looney Tunes. It’s far too late. We’ll go in the morning.” Clarissa pointed at the pile of paper on the table behind her laptop. “Besides, I need to do some more work. You chill your bones.”
Toby sniffed in discontent but retreated to his basket in front of the television. He was looking forward to seeing the lion dog again. She knew such interesting facts.
He closed his eyes, turned on his back, and within minutes he’d begun to dream of the leader of an ant colony stealing his toast corners.
He gave them a good barking-to and chased them off, oblivious of Clarissa’s giggles as she watched his feet pedalling away in the air.
On the back seat of Clarissa’s old Nissan, Toby lifted his nose to smell the warm breeze that wafted in through the open window. They were meandering up a narrow country lane, tangled hedgerows on either side, travelling slowly because the battered car seemed to be struggling with the steep incline.
“I hope this is the right way,” Clarissa muttered for the umpteenth time. They’d tried to use the Satnav on Clarissa’s mobile phone, but somewhere along the route the signal had failed, and they’d lost their way. Having doubled back, Toby was fairly certain they’d come this way before, but in his experience, backseat navigating never improved Clarissa’s mood.
Gently jogged around in his harness, he politely held his tongue and enjoyed the strong scent of cows, the more subtle aroma of badger and fox mingled with English summer flowers and, somewhere, ripening wheat.
Clarissa—or rather the labouring car—crested the hill at last, allowing the occupants to survey the surrounding countryside. Ahead of them the road dipped down the hill and headed eventually to Beer. Far to the right the denim-coloured sea reflected the sky, sparkling blue and silver. To their left were fields and trees, but immediately to their right was a rough dirt path. ‘Honeystick Farm’ had been painted on a wooden sign and attached to the five-bar timber gate, half buried in the overgrown grass at the side of the road.
Clarissa slammed on her brakes and, not for the first time, Toby breathed a sigh of relief that his seatbelt and harness combination prevented him from flying through the windscreen.
“How did we miss this the first time?” Clarissa demanded as she reversed a little way and then turned into the lane. They bumped along the heavily pitted road, Clarissa carefully trying to evade the worst of the deep holes. She could imagine that during bad weather these would fill with water and the whole place would be a quagmire, and unless you were fortunate enough to be driving a four-by-four you’d be lucky not to finish up marooned in the mud. As it was, she was frightened she would lose an axle.
She breathed a sigh of relief as a higgledy-piggledy building appeared from behind a clump of tall trees. A stone farm building of some description, probably built sometime during the fifteenth or sixteenth century, it had been added to over the years and now a conservatory made of wood and glass jutted out of one end, and what could only be described as a large corrugated tin shack out of the other.
Toby jerked upright in his seat, taking in the sights and scents with interest. Smoke drifted out of a tall chimney, chickens scratched around the door of the corrugated shed, and several goats skipped away from Clarissa’s car as she drove closer to the building, disappearing inside the house through the open kitchen door.
Clarissa stopped and pulled the handbrake on. “This is it,” she said. “I hope they’re in.”
“They are.” Toby sounded confident. He gestured at the open door and Clarissa stared in disbelief as an enormous gold dog ambled towards them. “That’s my friend, Star.”
Clarissa wound down her window as the dog approached, unsure whether it intended friendship or something else. She needn’t have worried. Star offered Clarissa a cursory glance and wagged her tail politely, then turned her head to sniff the back seat.
“Toby!” she cried with evident delight. “You found us.”
“To be fair, I didn’t know that I was supposed to be looking for you.” Toby leaned forwards in his harness, batting his head against Clarissa’s. “But here we are.”
“What does she say?” Clarissa asked. “Is her master in?”
“My master?” Star snorted in amusement. “Humans certainly think themselves above us, don’t they?”
“I find it pays to allow that, sometimes,” Toby smirked. “Makes for a quieter life. Should I escort Clarissa inside?”
Star nodded and stepped away from the car. “Yes, yes. I’ll take you to Dom.”
Toby headbutted Clarissa. “Come on, let’s go,” he told her. “We can’t sit in here all day.”
He hopped i
n place, impatient to be out, as Clarissa extricated first herself and then him from their seatbelts. She opened the back door, reaching for him with his lead in her hand, intending to clip it safely to his collar, but the second the door opened, he leapt through it and ran out into the yard. The chickens had crowded around Star, watching the proceedings with vague curiosity—as chickens are wont to do—but Toby’s sudden explosion from the car caused them to scatter, squawking in alarm. The remaining goats seemed to find this hilarious. One performed a series of high leaps, baa-ing in amusement, while the other skipped around the chickens, tormenting them even further.
“Calm down, guys,” Star barked, a deep sonorous sound that travelled through the air and rattled the windowpanes.
Clarissa winced at the cacophony of barking, squawking, clucking and baa-ing that had been unleashed by her arrival. At least they had the right place, but she couldn’t imagine the inhabitants would be overly pleased by the disturbance. She braced herself for some sharp words from Star’s owner, while simultaneously crossing her fingers that they had found the man they were seeking.
He appeared at the door, stroking his newly-trimmed goatee beard, seemingly bemused by the sudden commotion in his yard. “What’s going on?” he asked, as a stray goat pushed past him and charged into the yard to headbutt one of its friends.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” Clarissa raised her voice above the din of the chickens. “Do you remember me from yesterday in the park?” When he only stared at her, his eyes blank, she took a few steps closer to him. “You’d lost your dog? I was sitting on the bench.”
Realisation dawned in his eyes. “You’re the strange woman who hid beneath the trees.”
Clarissa flushed. “Yes. That was me.”
He pulled a face, taken aback by her sudden appearance on his doorstep. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” He widened his eyes in sudden horrified realisation. “You’re not one of those weird single women who stalk other people are you? I’m married, I’ll have you know.”
“Certainly not!” Clarissa bit back a spark of outrage. He thought she was weird? He stood in the doorway wearing what looked like blue and white stripy pyjama bottoms at eleven-thirty in the morning, along with a Led Zeppelin t-shirt that had been washed far too often, while his long wavy dark brown hair, greying at the temples, sparkled in the sunlight. As she reached him, she could see he appeared to be covered in glitter. He had some in his beard and around his eyes too, even in his eyelashes.
Clarissa made a circling motion with her finger around her mouth. “You seem to have erm…”
He rubbed at his face and beard and looked down at his hand. Minute particles of kaleidoscopic shininess winked back at him.
“Is that glitter?” Clarissa asked. Why would a middle-aged man be playing with glitter, while wearing his pyjamas?
“After a fashion. I’ve been experimenting.” He waved his hands about, scattering shiny particles through the air. He shrugged. “Listen. It’s nice to see you again and all that, but I’m busy. Was there something you specifically wanted?” He pointed at Star. “As you can see, I’ve found my dog.”
Clarissa hesitated, unsure how to broach the subject. She realised that if he was her supposed contact with the Ministry of Witches, if he was indeed a Special Agent, he was keeping things incredibly close to his chest.
She began to doubt herself.
But dithering around the issues wouldn’t get her where she needed to be. Out with it, she thought.
“It’s about The Four Stone.”
“The Four Stone?” His voice remained guarded.
“Yes. The Four Stone,” Clarissa repeated.
The wizard—if, as Toby claimed, he was one—lifted his shoulders and spread his hands out, glittery palms up. “You’ve got me there.”
Clarissa persisted. “You must know what it is. They told me you would be my contact.”
He shook his head, nonplussed. “They?”
“The Ministry of Witches.” Clarissa’s voice rose in frustration.
He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I don’t have anything to do with them.” He folded his arms. “Listen lady, I really don’t know what you want or who you are, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy. Well done on tracking me down, but now I need to get back to my work.” He nodded at her car. “If you don’t mind?”
Clarissa remained rooted to the spot, her mouth opening and closing. If this was her Special Agent, why wouldn’t he talk to her? Had she missed her window of opportunity? Or had she simply blown it once again?
Tears sprang into her eyes. For every step forward she made in her attempt to bring Miranda Dervish to justice, she seemed to take another two back. She blinked rapidly, but his sudden look of concern told her he’d seen her reaction.
She swallowed and looked away. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I obviously made a mistake. I’m really sorry—” She nodded vigorously, waved her hand, still without looking at him, and hurried back to her car.
“Clarissa?” Toby said.
“Get in the car.” Clarissa yanked the back door open.
“But Clarissa—”
Clarissa clenched her door together. Why couldn’t Toby do as he was told first time? Why was everything a battle? “Get. In. The. Car.”
Toby, sensing Clarissa’s rising despair, rubbed himself against her legs as he edged past her and indicated the front of the car. “We have a flat tyre.”
“What?” Clarissa sucked in her breath. “Oh no.” She knelt next to the wheel and pressed her fingers into the rubber. Flat as a dab.
“Do you have a spare?” The wizard had vacated his spot on the doorstep and followed them over.
Clarissa glanced back at the boot. Soon after she’d bought the car, she’d had a flat tyre and a helpful passer-by had changed it over for her, substituting the spare hidden in the well in the boot. Unfortunately, she’d never bothered to replace the spare. That left her in a bit of a pickle now.
“No,” she said, and sniffed hard.
“You’re not going to cry, are you?” the wizard asked, sounding utterly terrified at the prospect.
“Maybe,” Clarissa answered.
“Please don’t. I never know what to do when people cry.” He patted the sides of his pyjama bottoms. “I don’t have a handkerchief.”
Toby sidled up to him. “S’cuse me,” he piped up.
The wizard blinked down at him. “Yes?”
“If I might make so bold. When my hooman is about to turn on the waterworks I find a cup of tea holds back the flood. Do you have tea?”
“Do I have tea? Of course I have tea. I’m British.”
“I’m Clarissa Page.” Clarissa leaned against a cluttered work counter and nursed a good strong hot mug of tea. The odd-shaped mug, crafted in pot, appeared to have been clumsily hand cast and fired, but it held her drink and that was all that mattered. “This is my dog, Toby.”
She took a quick look around at her surroundings, trying to appear interested rather than appalled. There didn’t seem to be a single clear surface anywhere. This might once have been a kitchen, and certainly she could make out an enormous fridge-freezer and an Aga oven, but the table, counter surfaces, benches and even the floor were piled high with books, boxes, bags and packages, and mechanical items that Clarissa could only assume were bits of engine. Posters of the constellations had been clumsily tacked to the walls, and the ceiling, a deep midnight blue, had been decorated with a child’s glowing stars.
There followed a reluctant pause. Both Toby and Clarissa regarded their new friend expectantly. “Dominic Lavery,” he mumbled reluctantly. Star had remained outside, taking the shade under an old apple tree. “Dom to my friends.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Clarissa braved a smile. “I’m sorry about just now. I feel like I have rather a lot on my plate at the moment and maybe I’m not dealing with it as well as I should.” She saluted him with her mug of tea. “This helps enormously. I’ll call the garage an
d get them to come out for my car.” A thought crossed her mind, fleeting. How would she pay for that?
Maybe he saw something in her face because he cleared his throat, a self-conscious sound. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll sort it.”
Toby wagged his tail and picked his way through the rubble on the floor to stand at Dom’s feet. “Will you use magick? May I watch?”
Dom stared down at the little dog with renewed interest. “Do you do magick?”
“I’m learning,” Toby replied and glanced back at Clarissa, who nodded her confirmation.
“Did you enchant him?”
“No, not me.” Clarissa eyed the wizard carefully. She didn’t want to tell him the whole story unless she knew she could trust him. So far he had given little of himself away. “Someone else. Someone I’m trying to find.”
“I thought you were trying to find The Four Stone.” He had been listening to her, after all.
“I am,” Clarissa agreed. “Because if I can find that, I can find the person I’m looking for.”
Dom raised his eyes. “How very secretive you are.”
“As are you,” Clarissa replied with a slight edge.
Dom wrinkled his brow. “Am I? I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, mainly by my wife, but never secretive.” He gestured around the kitchen. “What you see is what you get with me.”
Clarissa took this as an excuse to have a better look around. Perhaps she’d misinterpreted what she was seeing. But no. The place was absolutely littered with stuff. He had a wife? Did she like to live like this too? “It’s chaos,” she blurted out.
“Exactly!” Dom beamed at her. “And that’s the way I like it. I know where everything is and what it does. It’s perfect.”
“And what about your wife? Doesn’t she mind the, ah… the, er… your ‘organisation’?”
“Oh, she’s away. Doing her own thing.” He waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. Glitter flew from him, but he didn’t seem to notice. “She flies in occasionally, tidies up, fills the fridge, makes sure I’m still alive and leaves again. That’s her thing.” He smiled his appreciation. “She trusts me to feed the animals. We rub along very well.”
Bark Side of the Moon: A Paranormal Animal Cozy Mystery (Spellbound Hound Magic and Mystery Book 3) Page 4
