DARK, WITCH & CREAMY

by HANNA, H. Y.

  “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” asked Pomona, rising slowly.

  Caitlyn hesitated. A part of her desperately wanted her cousin to go with her. She was nervous about what she would find and she didn’t want to face it alone. But she also wanted to keep a low profile, and—with her glamorous looks and flamboyant dress sense—Pomona drew attention wherever she went. Her cousin had already been getting stares the whole time they were in this tearoom.

  “No, I’ll be fine,” said Caitlyn, pinning a bright smile on her face.

  “Call me tonight and let me know what’s happening,” said Pomona over her shoulder as she headed towards the door. “And make sure you don’t meet any black cats!”

  Caitlyn sat for a long moment after her cousin had gone, feeling suddenly very alone. She almost picked up her phone to call Pomona and say she’d changed her mind, to ask her cousin to go to Tillyhenge with her.

  Then she took a deep breath, drained her teacup, and stood up. No, this was something she had to do herself. In a strange way, she felt like her whole life had been leading up to this moment, to this journey into the Cotswolds.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Caitlyn got into her rented Volkswagen Beetle and secured her seatbelt, then she paused to look at the map again before starting the engine. Tillyhenge might not have been on GPS but it was clearly marked on the old-fashioned road map. If she just followed this road out of Meadowford-on-Smythe, took the left turn at the first intersection, got onto the A40, turned north at Burford, kept going past Shipton-Under-Wychwood and Upper Slaughter, then she should come to another intersection where—

  Rap! Rap! Rap!

  Caitlyn started and looked up. A pair of rheumy eyes above a long pointed nose peered at her through the glass of the driver’s window. They belonged to a stooped old man dressed in a dusty black suit. He was beckoning her to get out of the car. Caitlyn hesitated a moment—the man looked a bit odd and the suit he was wearing looked like something out of the early nineteenth century, with long black tails and a white shirt with ruffled collar underneath—but it wasn’t as if he was a tattooed gangster in a hoodie. Besides, he was an old man. Perhaps he was lost or needed help. She unclipped her seatbelt, opened the door, and got slowly out of the car.

  “Can I help you?” she asked hesitantly.

  The old man teetered to one side as he attempted to sweep her a gallant bow. He looked about a hundred years old and Caitlyn had to resist the urge to grab his elbow to prevent him from toppling over.

  “I am your vampire uncle,” he said, like someone turning up on your doorstep and announcing: “I’m your plumber.”

  “I’m sorry—what?” Caitlyn stared at him, sure that she had heard wrong.

  “I am your vampire uncle,” he said again, sounding slightly tetchy now.

  She couldn’t help it. A giggle burst from her lips.

  “What is so funny?” He glared.

  Caitlyn struggled to keep a straight face. “Nothing… Sorry… It’s just… Well, vampires don’t really exist.”

  “Of course, they exist!” He bristled. “There may not be so many of us left but we are still here.” He scowled. “Of course, the younger ones, these days—they are too busy wasting their time on things like sparkling in the sun and falling in love… Bah!” He waved a contemptuous hand, the force of the gesture sending him teetering in the other direction. “They do not understand the important role we vampires have as Ancient Guardian Protectors. It is left to the few of us who still believe in the old ways, in duty and honour…” He puffed his bony old chest out proudly, then his brows drew together again as he saw Caitlyn’s expression.

  “You still do not believe me, eh? Look, I will prove it to you.” He opened his jaws and pointed into his mouth. “Gooka…mai…keeghs…”

  Caitlyn hesitated, then leaned forwards and peered cautiously into his sunken mouth. Before she could see anything, something fell out. She glanced down. A pair of yellowed fangs lay on the ground.

  “Ah… confounded garlic!” cried the old man, scooping them up hastily. “These cursed fangs! That dentist swore that he had fixed them.” He glowered at her. “Impossible to find a good dentist these days.”

  “Oh… uh… right,” Caitlyn said. Poor old dear. He obviously had a screw loose. Several screws, it looked like. Maybe he had wandered away from a nursing home nearby? She looked around, wondering if he was with a group. Perhaps there was a seniors’ outing in the village?

  “So, when do we leave?”

  She turned back in surprise to see the old man trying to open the car door.

  “I’m sorry, I think there’s a misunderstanding. I’m not part of the tour. You need to find someone else to take you back to the nursing home.”

  “Nursing home? How dare you!” His pale face became suffused with colour. He drew himself to his full height. “I am Count Viktor Dracul and though I have many years on me—six hundred and thirty-four to be precise—I certainly do not require any nursing!”

  Caitlyn blinked. “Er… o-kay. But you can’t come with me—”

  “I will not take up much room,” he said. “Indeed, in my bat form, I shall occupy only a very small area of your vehicle. I can even ride in the boot if that is more convenient.”

  Caitlyn took a deep breath. “Look, Mr… er… Dracul—”

  “You may call me Viktor… Or Uncle Viktor, if you like,” he said graciously.

  “Um… Right. Look, Viktor, I really can’t help you. I’m not heading back to Oxford or anywhere like that. I’m going—”

  “Yes, I know. You are making your way to Tillyhenge.”

  Caitlyn stopped and stared at him. “How did you know?”

  “I have been watching, waiting for your return.” He gave her a toothless smile. “I have been waiting for you a long time, Caitlyn.”

  “How did you know my name?” demanded Caitlyn, starting to feel creeped out.

  She glanced nervously around, wondering if there was a policeman—a local village constable—in the vicinity. Still, she felt a bit embarrassed at the thought of having to admit that she couldn’t deal with one frail delusional octogenarian on her own. And besides, in spite of everything, she liked the old man. He was nuts, but he was a funny character. She didn’t want to get him in trouble.

  “Look… um… it’s been nice chatting to you but I really need to go now,” she said gently, easing between him and the car. “If you’re lost, go to the tearoom at the bottom of the High Street. They’re really nice in there and they’ll help you get back home. Bye!”

  Before he had time to respond, Caitlyn yanked the front door open, slid into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door quickly after her. Then she started the engine and pulled away from the curb, driving as fast as she dared through the narrow village street.

  She glanced in the rear-view mirror and breathed a sigh of relief. She’d half expected to see a scrawny old man chasing after her, his dark coat flapping behind him, but there was no one. The street behind her was empty. Caitlyn shook her head and laughed to herself. Today seemed like the day for weird things to happen.

  And it’s not over yet, she reminded herself as she turned onto the main road that would take her north-west, deeper into the Cotswolds, and towards Tillyhenge.

  ***

  The drive was beautiful and Caitlyn soon found herself forgetting all about her worries as she enjoyed the scenery. It was June and the English countryside was in full bloom, with wildflowers edging the roads in a stunning array of colours: bright daisies and butter-yellow cowslips, big blue flowers of meadow cranesbill and delicate white blossoms of cow parsley, also known as Queen Anne’s lace… and every so often, a burst of fuchsia from tall columns of swaying foxgloves.

  Swallows swooped through the high blue sky and creamy white butterflies fluttered along the hedgerows. In fields, bordered by ancient drystone walls, cows chewed cud and ponies flicked their tails, whilst sheep grazed contentedly on sloping pastures. The car motored along
winding open roads and through narrow country lanes, passing stretches where the trees spread their branches in a graceful arc overhead, turning the road into tunnels filled with dappled sunlight.

  Caitlyn felt as if she was driving into another world. Her previous short visits to England had always been limited to London—Barbara Le Fey had preferred shopping, fine dining, and nightlife to rural pleasures—so Caitlyn had never had the chance to explore the English countryside. She’d heard a lot about the beauty of the rolling Cotswolds hills but she had no idea that it would be so glorious. She was so engrossed that she almost forgot about the reason for her drive. It was only when she switched on the radio for a bit of music and heard the newsreader mention the “Tillyhenge murder” that she was suddenly jolted back to reality.

  “…police are still investigating the murder of Stan Matthews, local gamekeeper for the Huntingdon estate, whose body was found by the stone circle near the village of Tillyhenge. Due to the mysterious circumstances surrounding the death, the inquest has been adjourned, pending further investigation. Matthews was last seen at the local village pub just before midnight, on the night of his murder, and the police are appealing to anyone who might have information to come forward.

  In other news, the Oxford City Council believes that plans for a new car park…”

  Ugh. Hastily, Caitlyn switched the radio off but it was too late. The spell was broken. She remembered now that she wasn’t just on a pleasant drive through the Cotswolds. In fact… she glanced at the map on the seat next to her and frowned. Surely she should have reached Tillyhenge by now? Perhaps she had overshot the turn-off for the village? She slowed as she approached an intersection, did a quick U-turn, and headed back in the direction she had come from. She found herself almost back at the last village before she slowed the car again, biting her lip in vexation. She should have seen the turning for Tillyhenge on the way—could she have missed it again?

  Making a U-turn once more, Caitlyn drove back down the same stretch of road for the third time, taking it slower and scanning the verge on either side for any sign of a turn-off. She had almost reached the intersection again and was about to give up in frustration when she saw it.

  There.

  An old post with a crooked wooden sign at the top and the words “Tillyhenge” etched onto the worn surface.

  It stood out clearly at the side of the road, leaning over slightly. Why hadn’t she seen it the previous two times? Caitlyn frowned as she turned into the narrow side road, which sloped downwards into a heavily forested valley. Trees closed in on either side and the air felt suddenly dank and cool. Caitlyn shivered as goosebumps rose on her arms; she stared through the windscreen ahead: was that a swirl of mist lying across the road?

  Don’t be ridiculous! She gave herself an internal shake. It was all Pomona’s crazy talk stirring up her imagination. How could there be mist on the road in the middle of summer? And of course it would be cooler here in the shade, deep between the trees. Once the road passes out of this section of forest, I’m sure things will return to normal, Caitlyn thought as she pressed down firmly on the accelerator.

  But when the road emerged at last from the thick of the woods, Caitlyn was surprised to see that the previously blue sky had turned a cloudy grey. Pomona’s ominous words about the inexplicably “different” weather in Tillyhenge came back to her but she pushed the thought away. The car rolled gently down a street lined on either side with old stone cottages and came to a stop beside a large triangular patch of grass which served as the “village green”. Slowly, Caitlyn got out and looked around.

  Now that she was here, Tillyhenge didn’t look that creepy or unusual. In fact, it looked like a dozen other little English villages featured in tourist books and travel guides. There were the winding cobbled lanes between the limestone cottages, the ancient village pub squatting proudly on one side of the village green, the quaint craft shops and local food stores, and even a few tourists wandering around, snapping shots with their cameras. The only thing missing was a church. Caitlyn scanned the surrounding rooftops but she couldn’t see the familiar steeple or bell tower.

  She felt slightly at loss. She had been so focused on just getting to Tillyhenge. Somehow, she had thought that all she had to do was arrive and everything would be waiting for her. Now she chided herself for being so silly. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy! What had she expected? A sign welcoming her to the village, depicting a pointing hand and saying: “Caitlyn Le Fey—answers this way”?

  She would simply have to walk around and get chatting to the locals, see if she could pick up some information. And perhaps it would be a good idea to look for a place to stay, at least for the night. Caitlyn grabbed her handbag and locked the car, then paused to rub her temples, wincing slightly. The intense concentration during the last part of the drive had given her a headache and now her head was throbbing.

  She looked around again, hoping to see a pharmacy where she could pick up some painkillers. Slowly, she wandered down the widest street leading away from the village green. It looked like the “main street” in Tillyhenge, with a motley assortment of shops that included everything from an organic butcher to a traditional shoemaker. But no pharmacy.

  Caitlyn rubbed her temples again, wondering whether to walk to the end of the street before turning back. A young man was coming in the opposite direction. He had a camera slung over one shoulder and at first she thought that he was a tourist. Then she realised from the size and sleek, professional look of the camera that this was no average visitor. In fact, she’d seen his air of predatory alertness before, from her experience with the paparazzi. This was a reporter on the hunt for news. Considering that there had been a recent murder in the village, it probably wasn’t surprising to find the media here. Still, the last thing Caitlyn wanted was to catch their notice.

  Too late. Before she could cross to the other side of the street and avoid him, the young man came up to her.

  “Hey… I’ve been here the last few days and I haven’t seen you around. You new to the village?" He gave her a cocky smile.

  “Yes, I just arrived,” murmured Caitlyn, trying to brush past him.

  “Thought so! I would have remembered a gorgeous redhead like you,” he said, giving her a wink and barring her way. “Fancy a drink at the pub?”

  “No thanks,” said Caitlyn, attempting to edge past him again.

  “Hey, no need to be so snooty! Where’re you from? You American? I think I can hear a hint of an American accent—” He narrowed his eyes suddenly and leaned closer. “Hang on a minute… do I know you? You look kind of familiar…”

  Caitlyn stiffened.

  The reporter snapped his fingers. “You’re some kind of celebrity, aren’t you? What are you doing in Tillyhenge?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Caitlyn, stumbling backwards.

  With Barbara Le Fey’s nomadic lifestyle and avoidance of celebrity socialising, Caitlyn had led a pretty quiet life, out of the public eye. She didn’t think most people in the street would recognise her. But the media was a different kettle of fish. They had access to old photos and archives, and she knew they were experts at sniffing out a story. The paparazzi had been out in force at Barbara’s funeral and she knew that there had been a lot of speculation about the car crash. The last thing she needed was for this reporter to recognise her and wonder what she was doing in Tillyhenge. She wouldn’t put it past him to link the recent local murder with Barbara’s death in some lurid way, and splash it across the front page of local papers. Anything for a story.

  Quickly, she whirled and ran down the street, turning into a side lane and ducking into an open doorway. She found herself stepping into a soothing interior of warm wood and soft greens. It was some kind of natural therapy store, selling scented candles, aromatherapy oils, natural creams, and other herbal remedies.

  Pomona would love it in here, thought Caitlyn, as she walked between the s
helves displaying bottles of natural shampoos and organic lotions, and piles of goat milk soap, scented with English country herbs like sage, rosemary, and thyme. A soft, sweet fragrance permeated the whole store and Caitlyn felt her headache lift slightly.

  “Hi! Can I help you?"

  Caitlyn turned around and found herself facing a fresh-faced young girl of about eighteen, who was smiling at her eagerly.

  “Um… I don’t suppose you sell any paracetamol? Or aspirin?”

  The girl shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no! We don’t stock any of that nasty chemical stuff.”

  Caitlyn massaged her temples. “Oh. Well, have you got any… um… natural remedies for a headache?”

  The girl looked around, then lowered her voice. “We’ve got some herbal balms that you can rub on your temples and there’s also willow bark tea but—if you’ll let me try it on you—I’ve got something that’ll work much better.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A Migrainus Disposa spell! I’ve just learnt it and I’ve been practising all week.”

  “A what?” Caitlyn was sure she had heard wrong.

  “Don’t worry—you just need to close your eyes. It’ll be brilliant! You’ll see!”

  Caitlyn hesitated but the girl was looking at her like an eager puppy and she didn’t have the heart to say no. Besides, it was probably just some more New Age nonsense—like that time Pomona insisted on cleansing her aura and made Caitlyn sit in a saltwater bath for hours until she was wrinkled like a prune. It probably wouldn’t do any real harm.

  Obediently, Caitlyn closed her eyes. She felt the other girl’s fingers lightly on her temples and heard her muttering something under her breath. The next moment, a gust of wind whooshed around her and Caitlyn opened her eyes in surprise.