Feverfew and False Friends

by Ruby Loren

  I was buoyed with curiosity and hope when I shut up the shop and went to call on Sarah May.

  Sarah May lived in the oldest part of town, not too far away from Helen Regal’s cottage. Her house was a Grade II listed property that I knew needed no end of money pouring into it. The brick and timber walls ballooned outwards on all sides, but there was little that could be done to alter their inexorable desire to expand.

  I reached out and pressed the doorbell that I’d heard ringing in the background of our phone conversation. Right on cue, it chimed merrily inside the house. I waited for thirty seconds before trying it again. And then one more time for luck.

  Trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that had suddenly gripped me, I compressed the door handle and watched as the front door swung open.

  The scene inside the house made me feel like I was stuck inside one of those movies that repeats itself over and over again.

  I’d seen it all before.

  The gouge marks on the walls, the blood splatters on the wallpaper… and the clear trail of gore and debris where something had been dragged through the house.

  No, not something, someone, I mentally corrected. I called out for Sarah, but I wasn’t surprised when I got no answer. Just like Helen Regal, the witch had been taken by something.

  I cursed under my breath as I hesitated in the doorway. For some reason, the only thought that popped into my head was that Detective Admiral would not be happy that I’d found another potential murder scene. I knew it was just my brain trying to distract me from the shocking state of the house, but it took a fair amount of effort to shake myself out of it and call the emergency number.

  The detective and his team must have still been in the area investigating Helen’s disappearance, because they arrived in under two minutes. I probably could have gone back out of the house, shouted really loudly, and skipped the phone call entirely.

  I made small talk with one of the female police officers I remembered from secondary school, whilst Detective Admiral and the others looked inside the house.

  “Dragged out through the kitchen and across the garden and into the trees back there. It’s only a small area of woodland this time. We might have a better chance of following the trail,” a police officer said to the detective as they picked their way back down the hallway.

  “Ms Salem, I need to ask you a few questions,” the detective said, addressing me more formally than he would have done had it just been us present. I was grateful for it. If we’d been alone, he’d probably be far less polite about my reasons for being here at the scene of another disappearance. I could see on his face how exasperated he was.

  “Of course,” I said mildly, and followed him through to the spotless sitting room.

  We sat down on Sarah’s blue rose patterned chintz sofa. I perched on the edge, not feeling that this was a time to get cosy. Now that we were beyond the prying eyes of the other officers Sean let out a long sigh and raked a hand through his dark, close-cropped hair. His grey eyes had lines of red running through them and there were bags beneath his eyes, I noticed.

  After we’d sat in silence for a couple of seconds he finally moved, taking a plastic evidence bag out from the large pocket of the overcoat he was wearing. “We found this letter further down the hall on the side table. I’m not sure when it arrived, but the envelope was next to it.”

  “Look around. Sarah was neat and tidy by nature. I’m sure she wouldn’t leave envelopes lying around for long,” I commented, reaching out to take the proffered evidence. My eyes fixed on the cut out letters and I began to read.

  I know why you hide behind woollen toys. I know what you did to that man. Tell someone else the truth about your past, or I’ll share your dirty laundry with everyone. Better choose wisely.

  - B

  I let out the breath I’d been holding. There was no doubt about it. This letter had been written by the same person who’d sent one to Helen Regal prior to her disappearance and one to me, too.

  “That must be why she called me over here. She wanted to do what the writer said and tell her secret. She said it was about my family.” I bit my lip in frustration, sensing that I would never find out what Sarah had been going to tell me. Someone, or something, had made sure of that.

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand. If the letter writer is also responsible for making people go missing, then why would they have gone after Sarah when she was in the process of doing what they asked?”

  “We don’t know that there is any connection at all between the letters and the disappearances. A lot of people in town have received them. So far, there have only been two missing persons. The letters weren’t the only things the women had in common…” He looked at me thoughtfully.

  “The Wormwood Coven. Right.” I said, filling in the blanks. I’d known the correlation would be drawn as soon as I’d happened upon the aftermath of Sarah’s disappearance. Two members of my coven had vanished, and I had absolutely no idea why.

  “Do you know of any reason related to the group that they were both members of which might aid us in investigating why these women have gone missing?” The detective asked the very question I was mulling over.

  “I can’t think of anything, but I promise I will ask all of the coven members.”

  “I’ll be asking them myself. You’ll provide me with a list?” We both knew it wasn’t a question.

  I nodded, appreciating the detective not treating me like a criminal - even though he must be starting to wonder. Being the one who’d ‘just happened’ to discover both scenes of apparent crimes did not bode well for creating an impression of innocence. It would be all too plausible that I was some kind of psycho who loved the glory of reporting crimes that I’d committed and enjoyed watching the police try to unravel the mystery.

  “Have you found out anything more about Helen’s disappearance? Anything you can share,” I hastily added, knowing I was pushing it by even asking.

  The detective looked pained. “Certain things are still being analysed, but obviously she hasn’t been found, and we can’t yet be sure what has happened to her. I hope to have the test results back today. Hopefully, it will open up some new avenues of investigation.” His shoulders seemed to slump down as he looked out towards the corridor and the new mystery. “All things considered, I’m glad I invited an expert to take a look at the case. I shouldn’t say it, but two missing persons cases raise the chances that we’ll be able to get to the truth of what happened to the missing women… and faster.”

  “More evidence and more clues,” I surmised.

  The detective opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted by a woman knocking on the inside of the sitting room door. “Detective Admiral?” she asked, looking in at us with a polite smile on her face. She looked to be in her thirties with caramel colour hair and a blouse and drainpipe trouser combination that wiped the floor with the ancient jeans and t-shirt I’d thrown on this morning.

  “I’m Melissa Bentley, the communication in crime analyst. We spoke on the phone. I was hoping to catch you at the Witchwood Station, but they advised me that you would be here.”

  “Right, er, certainly.” Detective Admiral looked visibly floored by the appearance of his expert. I could see why. She certainly wasn’t what I’d have conjured up if someone had asked me to describe my idea of what a ‘communication in crime analyst’ would look like. It just went to show that we should all be more open minded. “Allow me to bring you up to speed,” he said, pushing himself up from the chair and regaining some semblance of professionalism.

  I didn’t blame him. There was something about Melissa that was making me feel like I was doing an inefficient job… and I wasn’t even working for the police!

  The detective reached out and took the evidence bag containing the letter back from me. I passed it over, but not before a sudden sickening realisation dawned on me.

  “This was found in the hallway. It appears to have been written by the same pe
rson as the other letters I photographed and sent to you,” he told Melissa.

  She took the letter and gave it a single glance, before looking back up at the detective. “The style of this is consistent with the others. My initial assessment is that both to content and the style of these letters indicate a woman in her late twenties or early thirties who has a strong dislike of her peers. When I say peers, I don’t necessarily mean people close in age to the writer, but potentially people that she shares something in common with. A club, for instance.”

  Detective Admiral turned and looked at me.

  I crossed my arms. “People outside of the coven have received similar letters.”

  “They haven’t gone missing,” the detective countered.

  “Yet,” I said, and then regretted the way it sounded like a threat. What was I thinking? “I think the cut out letters used for these notes came from my magazine. The magazine I publish,” I hastily corrected, remembering that Melissa Bentley had no idea who I was, or what I did for a living. It was almost as if I was trying to make myself look suspicious! “It’s something that everyone in town would have access to.” Now I was acting defensive.

  The communication in crime analyst looked questioningly at Detective Admiral, probably wondering why he hadn’t already arrested me.

  The detective looked back and forth between us, caught between a rock and a hard place. “That is an interesting profile. I look forward to hearing your thoughts as this case progresses,” he said, addressing his new consultant.

  She looked pleased by his approval. “I see a lot of cases like this. It surprises people that there is so little originality when it comes to human behaviour. Trust me, it even catches the criminals out.”

  Had her eyes darted towards me when she’d said that? I decided I was being paranoid.

  “It’s simple psychology. There are very few things that can’t be explained using a thorough knowledge of the past and the proper application of logic.” She smiled round in a professional manner.

  It was then that the penny dropped. I shot a disbelieving look in Detective Admiral’s direction.

  He avoided my gaze.

  We both knew the reason why.

  He’d hired a consultant who had no idea that there were a great deal of things in Wormwood that could not be explained by logic.

  5

  Vengeful Spirits

  When there was no further news or rumours over the next few days, my attention was diverted from the two missing witches to the fate of a different missing witch. Ever since Aunt Linda had disappeared and Minerva had given me strict instructions to say I knew nothing at our trial, I’d suspected that I wasn’t being told the whole story.

  I’d been told Aunt Linda had somehow managed to turn the entire Witch Council into slime. However, the more I thought about that - and the more I learned about magic - I realised that it would be a very complicated feat to achieve. Aside from the large-scale magic needed, there was also the strange fact that the magicians and witches on the Council must have all fallen victim to the same spell. I assumed none of them had been inexperienced. They were the ruling body of all witches and magicians! For Aunt Linda to have pulled it off on her own… well, it was borderline nonsensical.

  And that meant what I’d been told wasn’t the truth. Or at least - not the whole truth.

  My Aunt Minerva had remained characteristically tightlipped about the whole situation. Instead, over the past few weeks, I’d had to rely on books around the house and the small amount I’d managed to beg, borrow, or threaten to steal from my coven members to find out what I could about our ruling body. Now that they had been mysteriously resurrected from their slimy state, it seemed more important than ever to know who, exactly, we were all answering to.

  What little I’d managed to find hadn’t been reassuring. Most modern societies see democracy as the shining example we should all follow in order for a fair and just society to prevail. The Witch Council was, to put it mildly, still stuck in the Dark Ages. Some of the policies I’d seen mentioned were certainly draconian. Witch on witch murder was still a capital offence.

  On the plus side, my Aunt Linda hadn’t actually murdered anyone.

  With Aunt Minerva dodging my questions, I’d started to take a more subtle approach. Instead of asking about the slime incident, I’d begun to make enquiries about the way magic works under the guise of furthering my education. My remaining aunt had been only too happy to share her knowledge of spell work when it related to something educational and didn’t include the words ‘slime’ or ‘Witch Council’.

  I’d asked how enchantments work. If you were to hypothetically turn someone into something else, like into an animal (without them being a shape-shifter), was there any way that they could be turned back? Even though it had seemed like a transparent ruse, my aunt had given me an answer.

  According to Aunt Minerva, there was always a failsafe with this type of spell. All magic was conditional. If another magic user realised you were under an enchantment, there was a possibility that they would be able to unravel the spell - although, that apparently took a lot of effort and talent. You essentially had to be a stronger magic user than the one who’d made the spell in the first place.

  The second ‘get out clause’ was that enchantments usually came with a requirement which, once fulfilled, would release the bewitched person. This option was trickier for me to get my head around - after all, how could you fulfil anything if you’d been turned into slime? That was why I settled on the most likely theory - someone had managed to remove the slime spell. The question was, who, and why? Unfortunately, I was about as close to figuring that out as Aunt Linda was to receiving a full pardon - which was to say, not very close at all.

  I was going over these thoughts in my head for the hundredth time when the shop door opened and a gaggle of locals walked in. They were chatting noisily about the disappearances. I half-listened as they browsed the tea section.

  I wasn’t expecting to hear anything new. As far as I was aware, the most recent development was that the police were searching for the poison pen letter writer. As expected, the three women in the shop chatted about their ideas about who had written the letters. What did surprise me was that they also knew that they’d been made from cut up pieces of Tales from Wormwood magazine… and one of them even muttered that the person responsible for publishing it would have a good stock to hand. I’d cleared my throat loudly at that point and the conversation had died down.

  I had my own ideas about who fitted the profile of the letter writer. The analyst’s description had not been circulated, which did give me a slight advantage over other speculators, but I knew quite a few people who fitted the description given. Three of them were members of the Wormwood Coven and the other had recently been removed. I’d taken her place. If anyone had a good reason to hold a grudge against the coven, it was Natalia Ghoul.

  I’d considered mentioning my theory to Detective Admiral, but I’d also believed she’d been implicated in the two previous unfortunate deaths the town had witnessed. Maybe the third time’s the charm? I thought, dryly, before serving my customers, who were all buying boxes of tea. I knew it would be foolish to push her name forwards for a third time, even if she was responsible for the most recent disappearances. I knew I wasn’t above suspicion myself, and pointing fingers was hardly going to help.

  “Did you hear the new ghost story going round?” one of the women addressed me when she handed over her choice of tea - a herbal blend designed to taste like rhubarb and custard.

  “No?” I said, just to be polite. I was ready to listen to something outlandish, but even that didn’t quite prepare me for the ridiculous story that followed.

  “Some of the local psychics think that all of these letters are the work of Bridgette Spellsworth’s ghost. She’s come back from the dead to haunt everyone whose secrets she kept. Now that we all know she was blackmailing half the town, it makes sense! The information was never released beca
use she knew she would be able to spread the truth after her murder. Bridgette’s still around to tell tales… as a ghost!” a woman I recognised as being local but didn’t know the name of told me. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  Her companions nodded their approval.

  “It’s an interesting theory,” I replied. I was doing a pretty great job of being polite today!

  “Will you put it in the magazine? You will be writing about all of this, won’t you? We’re all excited to see you solve the mystery.”

  “I…” I started to say ‘I don’t know’ and then stopped. I’d been expecting something nutty like the ghost story, but the idea that I habitually wrote about and solved mysteries was something I hadn’t really thought about. I’d just seen it as documenting local news stories, and I certainly hadn’t considered that anyone would think I’d personally solved the mysteries.

  I knew the local police thought I stuck my nose too far into their business. I’d never wanted to perpetuate that idea by writing self-absorbed pats on the back in my magazine. I wasn’t Jesse Heathen and his latest ambition to be Sherlock Holmes. “I’ll probably write a report when the police have investigated,” I settled for saying.

  “Well, make sure you include the ghost bit! We’ve had vengeful spirits in Wormwood before, but I’ve heard Bridgette is a really nasty one. No surprises there,” the woman said, exchanging delighted glances with her friends. “Some say that her spirit has been taking over the bodies of one, or more, of our town’s mediums and is forcing them to write and deliver the letters. That’s why no one’s been able to trace the letter writer, because the person doesn’t know they’re doing it. She might even be using multiple mediums! It’s no wonder the police are running around with their heads on backwards. Not that they’ve ever been much use to any of us. We need a police force that understands this town, not that limp lettuce of an excuse for a detective…”