“Hello?” I call, walking forward through the desks. “Is anybody…”
I stop. Someone’s lying on the floor in the centre of the room.
I inhale sharply. I can see slender bare legs, and long blonde hair fanned out on the carpet. She’s wearing a cream raincoat. It’s Liza. Her eyes are open, unseeing. There’s an ugly red weal around her neck. With a shaking hand, I pick up her wrist and attempt to find a pulse. I fail.
She’s dead.
I back up so hurriedly that I knock over a chair. My heart bangs against my ribs. Oh Goddess. I scan the room, breathing fast. It’s only just happened; that means whoever killed her is probably still in the library.
Turning, I flee through the doors into the main library, and run along the corridor through the bookstacks.
I’m not thinking at all, just reacting. There’s a bang behind me as someone knocks into a desk, but I daren’t waste time by looking over my shoulder. I reach the front doors of the library, push open the doors, and run out into the wild and windy night.
I’m halfway back to the café before I remember my umbrella, but I can hardly go back now to retrieve it. All I can think of is that I want to get inside the café, where I always feel safe.
A flash of lightning splits the sky, followed immediately by a crack of thunder, and rain pelts down on my face, but I don’t stop. I tear along the path, expecting to feel a hand on my shoulder at any moment, a knife through my ribs. I’m sure I can hear feet on the concrete behind me.
I reach the café door, throw it open, and run inside.
Merlin is barking furiously, but I run past him. I reach the counter, right as there’s an almighty crash behind me. Startled, I stop and turn, just in time to see a figure fleeing back along the path.
By the front door, the suit of armour has moved. Normally, the sword in the knight’s right hand is upright, leaning against his shoulder. Now, his arm is lowered, and the tip of the sword rests on the tiles. That’s what made all the noise. Effectively, it blocked the murderer’s entrance to the café, and it might even have hit him on the way down. He must have knocked into the suit as he came in and dislodged the knight’s arm. How strange; the suit has stood like that for as long as I can remember. I’d assumed the arm was locked in place, maybe even rusted that way.
My chest heaves with my rapid breaths. My instinct is to flee, but I make myself wait and take in the scene. Merlin has dashed out of the open front door into the wet night, and he’s now standing facing the direction of the fleeing person, barking furiously. The murderer has gone, for now.
I back up until I meet the wall, and stand there for a minute or so, trying to calm myself. When I feel confident he isn’t coming back, I reach out a shaky hand and pick up my mobile phone from where it sits on a shelf behind the counter.
I don’t even think of ringing 999. Instead, I dial my friend Imogen’s number.
“Hello?” she answers after a few rings.
“It’s me.” I sound breathless, and I clear my throat and try again. “It’s Gwen.”
“Are you still at work?” she says. “You’re a glutton for punishment in this weather.”
“Can you come?” I ask. “There’s… there’s been a murder.”
Imogen goes silent for a moment. Then she says, “What?”
“A murder,” I repeat. “In the library. She’s dead.”
“Who’s dead?”
“Liza Banks. She’s in the reading room. I… I think she’s been strangled.”
“Where are you?” Imogen’s voice is suddenly brisk and business-like. As a Detective Chief Inspector at the local police station, she’s obviously learned to be calm in a crisis. I don’t tend to see it much because she’s ditsier than me where her personal life’s concerned, but now I welcome her professional manner.
“In the café,” I tell her. “I ran back. He followed me, and I think he was going to come in, but the knight saved me.” I’m making no sense, but Imogen doesn’t question me.
“All right,” she says. “Lock the front door and stay put. Don’t open it for anyone but a police officer, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be there as quickly as I can. And I’ll call it in. Expect to see blue lights in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Immi.”
She hangs up.
I put the phone down and walk across to the front door. “Merlin,” I call. “Here, boy.” He looks at me for a moment, then trots in. Quickly, I close and lock the door. Merlin shakes himself, spraying water everywhere, but I’m so relieved to have him by my side that I don’t scold him.
I feel safer now the door’s locked and Imogen is on her way. I look at the knight, take his sword arm, and lift it back into position. I’m not sure if I should leave it there, though—what if it falls on a customer? On a child? Maybe I should leave it lowered, instead. I try to pull his arm down, but it refuses to move. To my surprise it’s locked in place again. How strange.
I look up at the knight’s helm. It has a visor that’s pulled down. The visor contains two narrow slits that would allow the knight inside to have a limited view of his surroundings.
Through the slits, a pair of blue eyes stares at me.
I squeal and back away, meeting the table behind me with a bang and almost falling over. I stare at the knight, my heart returning to its million beats per hour. I wait like that for a long, long time, staring at the visor. But the blue eyes have vanished, and the suit doesn’t move.
Eventually, I move forward again to stand before him. Swallowing hard, I lift a hand to the helmet and raise the visor.
It’s empty.
I lower it again, my head spinning. I must have imagined it. Obviously, there’s nobody inside. It must have been a reflection of lightning in the window or something.
I’m sure it wasn’t, but I ignore my gut feeling. I’m shocked, confused, disturbed by what I’ve witnessed. There’s definitely a logical explanation.
The wail of police sirens begins in the distance. I move away from the knight and watch through the window as cars with flashing blue lights appear and park in the car park opposite. One pulls up right outside the Adventure, an ambulance tucking in behind it. Imogen gets out of the car, shouts directions to the police officers who swarm around her, and then she runs through the rain toward the café.
I unlock the door as she approaches, watching the suit of armour warily when she comes in, but the knight’s arm doesn’t move.
“Hey.” Imogen’s brown hair in its tight bun is wet and shiny, and it looks like melted chocolate. She’s wearing a black raincoat over her navy suit. I met her on our first day at primary school. Another girl pulled my braids, so Imogen pushed her over, and she’s been my guardian angel ever since.
She comes right up to me, holds me by my upper arms, and looks at my face. “Are you okay?”
I nod hastily. “I’m fine. A bit shaken up, but okay.”
She scans me, as if checking for herself, then turns and greets Merlin, who’s desperate for some fuss. “All right, boy,” she says, stroking his ears. “Did you see off the nasty man?” He barks, and she chuckles. “Good boy.”
She straightens and looks back at me. “Sit down. I’m going to put the kettle on and make you a cup of tea while you give me a statement.”
So, she fills the kettle and puts a teabag into a mug, then takes notes while I tell her about Liza coming into the café, and what happened when I discovered she’d left her money purse behind. I explain how I found her body, and how I’m convinced someone chased me as I ran back to the café.
“So why didn’t he follow you in?” she asks, passing me the mug when the tea is done.
I clear my throat. “The knight…”
Her expression softens. “What about the knight?”
Imogen knows I’m a witch. She’s known since we were at primary school together and I first learned how to use spells in my baking. I made scones with herbs I’d blessed under a full moon with a spell to
make you laugh, and I soon had the whole class giggling, including the teacher. Immi’s fine with my magical talents, but I’m not sure that now is the time to confess anything other than the obvious.
“The person chasing me came into the café and bumped into the suit of armour,” I tell her. “It knocked the knight’s arm, and his sword fell down and frightened the murderer away.”
“I thought Sir Boss was all rusted up,” she states, going over to him. It’s what we nicknamed him when we were very young after my gran showed us Bing Crosby in the movie version of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Imogen tries to move his arm and fails. Frowning, she comes back to me.
“He is,” I admit. “I don’t know what happened. I lifted his arm and it stuck again, I swear.” I feel a brief swell of panic that she doesn’t seem to believe me. “Am I a suspect?”
There’s a squeak from over by the door. We both look at the knight, who hasn’t moved, then at each other.
“Of course not,” Imogen says.
“I had a history with both Liza and Luke,” I remind her.
“So did I, and I didn’t do it.” She waves a hand. “I’ve known you for twenty-four years. I think I can safely say you’re not a murderer.”
“I didn’t like her,” I confess, feeling an urge to be honest. “And I was jealous that she’d been given the role of head archaeologist. But I’d never harm her.”
“Of course not,” she repeats, “and we’ll hear no more of that. Now, I’m going to ask an officer to stay outside the café while I quickly assess the scene, then I’ll come back and we’ll send you home. Okay?”
I nod. She rubs my arm. “You’ve had quite a shock,” she points out. “It’s going to be a stiff drink and an early night for you.”
She smiles and goes out, and shortly afterward there’s a police officer standing guard outside the door.
My gaze moves to the knight. The squeak of protest when I asked if I was a suspect was just the steel plates settling. The murderer banged into it when he rushed in after me and startled himself. The suit is empty.
But Merlin sits in front of it, staring up at the helm, and it’s a long, long time before he finally looks away.
Chapter Three
“Gwen!” My aunt Beatrix stares at me with a mixture of delight and concern. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
I stand on her doorstep and shove my hands in the pockets of my raincoat. “Not really.” I shiver. “There’s been a murder.”
Beatrix is fifty-one, tall, and slender, like me. Her once-red hair is now completely grey, the fringe just showing beneath her colourful headscarf. There’s a smudge of blue paint on her cheekbone—she’s been in her art studio this afternoon. She blinks at my words. “I’m sorry, what?”
I take a hand out and rub my nose. “Can we come in?”
“Oh, Goddess, of course. You look soaked through. Max has lit the fire tonight. Go and warm yourselves.”
I pass her into the hallway, unzip my jacket, and let her take it from me and hang it up on the peg by the door. Merlin follows me and shakes himself, looking rather miserable.
“Sorry,” I apologize as he covers her and the walls with droplets.
“I’ll get you both a towel. Go into the living room.” She runs up the stairs.
I go in, and Uncle Max rises from his armchair and grins as Merlin runs over to him. Max is a couple of years older than Beatrix, and he has silver hair and a mostly white beard and moustache. He looks like Father Christmas. “Merlin! Come here and be hugged.” He stops as he realizes the Labradoodle is soaking wet. “Oh! Ergh. That was a mistake.” He looks up at me and his smile fades as he sees me shivering. “Gwen? You look frozen. Come and stand by the fire.”
I can’t stop my teeth chattering. “I th-think it’s sh-shock.”
“Why, what’s happened?”
“I’ve j-just s-seen a m-murder.”
He looks confused. “What, on TV?”
“N-no. At the l-library.”
His jaw drops. “Bea,” he says as she comes into the room, “Gwen says she’s witnessed a murder.”
“Definitely time for a stiff drink.” Beatrix gestures at the cabinet behind him. He nods and takes out a bottle of brandy and pours a small amount into the bottom of a glass. “We can drive you home if you want,” she tells me as she wraps me in a big thick towel. “Sit by the fire, love. Now, Max, can you make us all a cup of tea? And Merlin, come here and we’ll try to get you dry.”
Beatrix dries Merlin while Max makes the tea, giving me time to finish the brandy and gather my wits. I’m comforted by the familiarity of the room, with Beatrix’s paintings on the walls—mainly of fantasy creatures like unicorns, angels, and mermaids.
When Max returns, I sit by the leaping fire and sip my tea while I tell them what happened, and within about ten minutes I’m warmer inside and out and my teeth have stopped chattering. Once Beatrix has rubbed his coat, Merlin comes and sits by my side, as if he’s aware I need comfort. He rests his chin on my knee, and I scratch his ear.
“I still can’t believe it.” Max shakes his head. “Poor Liza. I mean, whatever we thought of her as a person, she didn’t deserve to die.”
“Poor Luke.” Beatrix looks sad. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I’m so glad whoever did this didn’t come into the café. I don’t know what I’d do if lost you, too.”
Beatrix took Mum’s death hard. As witches, it’s not often we feel powerless, but Mum’s disease was well past any healing spell that either of us had the skill to cast. It was frustrating for Beatrix and me, but there’s a saying amongst witches that not every broken blade is supposed to be mended. We have to accept that everyone has their journey, and it’s not our place to change what’s written in the stars.
“So, what stopped them going into the café again?” Max asked. “They knocked into the suit of armour?”
I hesitate. Max has no problem with the fact that his wife and her family are witches, but this might be a stretch, even for him.
“I’m not sure,” I say carefully.
Beatrix narrows her eyes at me. “All right. Spit it out. What actually happened?”
I tell them how the knight’s sword arm fell, and then when I lifted it again, it locked into place.
“Nothing unusual about that,” Max says.
“That’s not all. Afterward, when I looked at his visor… I swear I saw a pair of blue eyes looking back at me.”
The two of them stare at me.
“Am I going mad?” I ask. “I mean, you know, barking?” Merlin snorts.
“Possibly not,” Beatrix says slowly. “There are a couple of explanations. The Japanese have a word for it—Tsukumogami. They believe that any object that reaches its hundredth birthday may become alive and aware. Your suit of armour is medieval, isn’t it?”
“It definitely dates back to the Reformation at least,” I say.
“So maybe it’s just, you know, taken on a life of its own.”
“Maybe.” I sip my tea thoughtfully.
“There’s one other option,” she says. “Most cultures have tales about inanimate objects that are inhabited by spirits, like Aladdin’s genie in the lamp. In England, it’s said that druids were once able to create something called a soulstone.”
“A soulstone? What’s that?”
“Apparently they could charm a precious gem to hold someone’s soul. It was usually done as a curse, but there are also stories of it being done to save someone, until they discovered a way to put the soul back into a body.”
“Like cryogenically freezing them?” Max says.
“Exactly.”
“Wow.” I don’t know what to think about that.
“Do you want me to get a couple of lads to help move the suit out of the café?” Max asks. “Nobody wants a squatting poltergeist.”
“I was frightened,” I admit. “Initially. But I’m pretty sure he saved my life. Do you think that’s possible?”
> “Everything’s possible.” Beatrix smiles. “I think you should keep him. Every girl needs a knight in shining armour.” Her eyes are gentle. She’s worried about me. Since Mum passed, she calls in at the café most days to check on me.
“He’s not very shiny,” I joke to cover my emotion. “I think I need to give him a polish.”
“I’m sure he’ll enjoy that.”
We all chuckle.
I finish off my tea. “I’d better go. I’ve interrupted your evening and kept you long enough.”
“You can stay here tonight if you want,” Beatrix says.
“Stay here?” I’m puzzled by her offer.
“If you’re concerned about being alone,” she clarifies.
She thinks I might be worried about the murderer coming to the house. That thought honestly hadn’t entered my head. My stomach flutters—am I really in danger?
I shake my head. “I feel better for talking to you, but I’d like to go home.”
“You should do a protection spell next time you do some baking,” Beatrix says.
I nod. “I’ll definitely do that.”
“Want me to drive you home?” Max asks.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve only had a couple of mouthfuls of brandy and it’s not far.”
I hug them both and they fuss up Merlin, and then I don my rain jacket and go back to my car.
The rain has eased up a bit, and I get home without too much hassle. I still live in the house I grew up in on the outskirts of town, as I haven’t seen much point in selling up and moving when I love this place. I open the door, Merlin runs in, and I lock it behind us.
It’s quiet, dark, and cold, and for a moment I regret leaving Beatrix and Max’s house with its roaring log fire. I stand in the hallway, my heart banging on my ribs as I remember being chased by the murderer. He could be here, waiting for me…
But that’s just fear talking, and I take off my jacket and boots, walk briskly along the hallway into the living room, and start preparing the fire. Within five minutes, the flames are eating up the kindling, filling the room with light and heat.
One Dark and Stormy Knight Page 2
