“There’s no need to be smug. Admit it; you didn’t know it would work.”
“Didn’t I?”
That was such a non-answer and, I was betting, an admission of guilt. I was willing to let it go since it had saved our lives. Getting out when I said to also would have saved our lives. But no one ever listened to me…. “Are we going to get out of here now? Please?”
She pressed her lips together, considering.
“Leave now, or suffer the consequences.” His voice rumbled over us, vibrating uncomfortably through my bones. I looked up at Angelica—yes, I was still on the floor—my eyes imploring her. Please say we can go.
She stared at the ghost, then back at me. “All right. We can go.” Yes, for mind reading!
“Yay!” I jumped up.
“I’ll drop the shield on three. Then we run. I’ll come after you, okay?”
“Can’t we just run with it around us?”
“It won’t move. If you want a strong shield, it has to be stuck in place. One, two, three!”
The shimmering vanished, and I sprinted all the way to the street without looking back. I checked to make sure Angelica was right behind me before I made a cursory glance for cars—I didn’t need to add getting run over to my list of problems. Then I raced across the road and into our house. I never wanted to go through that again.
Funny how the universe never respected what I wanted. When was I going to stop wishing for the impossible?
Chapter 5
After we’d gotten home, Angelica refused to talk about what happened and insisted she had some thinking to do before we deliberated on a solution. Olivia was at her parents’ for dinner, so after Angelica, our guest, and I had eaten, I hotfooted it to bed. I wanted no more dramas, and I knew that the stupid cockatoo would be waking me up at the crack of dawn. Not getting enough sleep had made me cranky, and I wanted to be at my best for my first two proper real-estate jobs tomorrow.
After a thankfully decent night of sleep, I managed to make it to the first job on time. And now, at my last job, I stood in one corner of the library in a six-bedroom, two-storey c. 1880s home, my camera sitting atop my tripod. A timber fireplace was at one end of the room, and dark timber shelves lined the three other walls. A blue Persian rug sat in the centre of the space, which was filled with armchairs and smoking tables. A stuffed ostrich sat in one corner, and a taxidermied deer head surveyed the room from above the mantlepiece. Library: good. Taxidermied head: not good. And what was with the ostrich? Maybe they got their decorating style from Hunting magazine. I didn’t actually know if there was such a magazine, but I would bet there was.
As I set up my flash—the room was rather dark, even with the two windows—the owner came in. Oliver had said owners weren’t often at the property when we did the advertising stuff, and in Australia they rarely were, but today was going to be different, apparently. The woman must have been in her mid-thirties and was slim, taller than me by a couple of inches, and had long, brown hair that had been styled in soft curls. She was fully made-up, including false eyelashes. Why did women bother? I couldn’t imagine how much time it wasted each day. It would take me an hour to do all that, and then there was the undoing before bed. I seriously needed to get to work on the “I think I look fantastic” spell.
Mrs Jennings—the agent had introduced us earlier—came over to me. Her smile seemed unsure. Maybe she was worried about my skills. People often thought I was younger than twenty-four, and I guessed they didn’t trust I knew what I was doing. “How are the photos going?”
“Really well. After I’m done here, I’ll be getting some shots of the back garden.”
“Hopefully the rain will hold off.” She gazed outside.
“It should be fine, and if not, I can still get out there. I’ve got protective plastic for my gear.” There was no need to tell her I’d needed it for my PIB work. She was a non-witch, and I didn’t want to lose my job on the first day. Not that the witch laws left me any room to divulge either.
She gazed at me for a few seconds while I adjusted the flash to the right angle. It was as if she wanted to ask me something but didn’t know how. Well, if the question was super important, she’d get to it, or not. I just had to keep on with the job I was here to do, so I checked the settings on my camera and clicked off a test shot. Slightly dark. I slowed the shutter speed and put the next shot on delayed timer. I pressed the button and counted to five. The shot clicked. Much better.
“Ah, Lily, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mrs Jennings.” I straightened and looked at her with a gentle smile—I didn’t want to startle her. She was a lot like the deer watching from the wall. “Did you want to ask me something?”
“Um, yes, as a matter of fact. Have you seen anything… unusual in your photos, or are they all good?”
“Unusual?” Had they painted over massive settlement cracks in the brickwork or something?
“So there’s nothing in your photos that shouldn’t be there?”
“I’m not really sure what you mean, but here, you can have a look for yourself.” I stepped aside so she could flick through the shots I’d taken.
She bit her bottom lip as she scrolled through. When she was done, her shoulders relaxed and lowered. What had been bothering her? “I’ve been a photographer for a few years. I’ll make sure your home looks as gorgeous in the photos as it is in real life.” Because it was a perfectly presented property, full of character and high-end finishes, despite the dead-animal head, which some people actually liked. Couldn’t say I related, but to each their own. Maybe she was worried because she was a perfectionist?
She blinked. “Oh, no. Sorry, Lily. It’s not like that at all. I trust Oliver to produce a good campaign, although if it’s as my neighbour said, it won’t be on the market for long. Oliver has a great list of buyers ready and waiting. Which is a relief, really.”
“Oh, have you already bought somewhere else?”
“Ah, no. This was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but we need to get out quickly.”
“Hello, ladies.” Oliver strode into the room. “How are you going, Lily?”
“Hi. I just have to finish this room, then the back of the property, and that’s it.”
“Oh good. Just a reminder, I need to be gone in ten minutes, and Lisa has to get to work.”
Lisa—or Mrs Jennings, as I was supposed to call her—gave a nervous laugh. “Of course, yes.”
“Where do you work?” I couldn’t help being friendly, even if I was wasting time and I was supposed to be impressing my new client. The ten minutes was ticking down, apparently.
“At Tunbridge Wells Museum. I had the morning off for this, but I have to be back by twelve.”
“I won’t be much longer.”
Oliver accompanied Mrs Jennings out while I took the photos I needed and hurried to the backyard. Once I was done there, I said goodbye and left. The whole thing had left me… concerned. Hmm, maybe that wasn’t the right word, but Mrs Jennings had given off a weird vibe, and Oliver might have been in a hurry, but it was as if he was trying to stop us from chatting. But why?
On the five-minute drive home, my phone rang. My heart skipped a beat at the chance it might be Will. I pulled over and looked at the screen. Nope. My breaths pushed through the sadness as my heart reluctantly kept on beating. It was Oliver. “Hello, Lily speaking.”
“Hi, Lily, it’s Oliver.”
“Oh, hi. Did I forget something?” Yikes. I hope I hadn’t stuffed up on the first day.
“Nothing like that. I just wanted to ask you not to chat to the homeowners on the job. We’re usually on a tight schedule, and we don’t want the owners thinking they can tell us how to run the advertising campaign. It happens more often than you’d think. If one of them talks to you, just be polite, but don’t be chatty. Understood?”
Oh crap. I was in trouble. I sighed quietly. “Ah, yes, of course. I’ll make sure I keep it to a hello and goodbye.”
“Great to hear. I knew I
could count on you. Thanks again for today. I can’t wait to see them in my inbox tonight. There’s more work coming your way. Have a wonderful day.”
“Thanks, Oliver. You too. Bye.”
“Bye.”
There went any confusion over whether he was trying to stop the conversation or not. But why? His reasons sounded lame. It was easy to pander to someone. Smile at the client, nod, agree, but then do what you were paid to do—provide quality photos that would help sell the house. And Mrs Jennings hadn’t tried to tell me where to stand. She didn’t even criticise any of the pictures I’d already taken. So what was really going on?
I pondered that question while I edited the photos. I took extra care with Mrs Jennings’s, but I couldn’t see anything unusual. What had she meant by weird? I guess I’d never know. How irritating.
When I finished, I emailed them all to Oliver and went on their website to check out the other properties they had for sale. Huh, was that normal? There were pages of properties, but they were all sold. Every. Single. One. That wasn’t normal, was it? Especially here, where there could be a chain of buyers and sellers linked together where nothing could happen until the original lot settled. It was a crazy system, as far as I was concerned, because it meant you could be waiting to close on your new home for months.
I visited one of their London-office websites. Some properties were sold, but most were for sale. That confirmed this was unusual. So what the hell was going on? I also googled house prices in Kent. A couple of articles came up, saying that property prices had fallen for the past three months, but only in Kent. The rest of the UK was stable, maybe down a percentage or two. Kent prices, on average, had fallen up to 15 percent. Ouch.
This was getting stranger and stranger, and I was going to find out why.
The sweet aroma of garlic wafted around the kitchen. I’d cooked spaghetti bolognaise the normal way since Angelica couldn’t magic dinner into existence. It smelled so good, and my stomach grumbled. I placed the huge bowl in the middle of the table and called out, “It’s ready. Come and get it,” then sat in my seat. My mouth watered as I waited for everyone. If only it wasn’t rude to serve myself and start eating.
Angelica came in, followed by Mrs Soames. They both sat opposite me, Mrs Soames eyeing the bowl of spaghetti and wrinkling her nose. “Garlic upsets my stomach.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t know.” Was it wrong of me to be happy about that? She’d given us all much more than a stomach ache since she’d been here. It was only fair that I repaid the favour. I knew it was mean, but sometimes I was a substandard human. I was working on being perfect, but I had a long way to go.
“If you would rather, there’s bread and sandwich ingredients in the fridge.” Angelica picked up the serving tongs and looked at Mrs Soames. “Or would you like some of the spaghetti?” I bit back a smirk. I loved it when she was on my side.
Mrs Soames had done as little as she could while she’d been here, and I knew her answer before she said, “Well, I suppose I could try the dinner. I’ll just have to take an antacid later.”
Olivia walked in with mail in her hand. “I’m not late, am I?”
I smiled. “Just in time. I’ve set you a place.” I nodded at the bowl next to mine.
“Thanks, Lily. Ooh, my favourite!” She grinned, then looked at Mrs Soames. “Here’s your mail.” She handed it to her, put our mail on the kitchen countertop, and sat next to me.
“How was your day?” I asked her.
“Busy.” She heaped spaghetti into her plate and passed me the tongs. Because of Mrs Soames, there was no elaborating on why or how she’d been busy.
I filled my plate and sprinkled some parmesan on the top. Angelica swallowed. “This is really good, Lily. Thanks for cooking.”
I smiled. “My pleasure. Glad you like it.”
Mrs Soames ate a couple of mouthfuls and placed her fork down to peruse her mail. She checked the two letters and grabbed a folded piece of paper with no envelope. “Oh, this is from Smith & Henderson. What do they want? Nuisance real-estate agents.” She put her glasses on and read the letter. When she finished, she folded it up, put it back on the table, and resumed eating. Liv and I exchanged eye-rolls. Typical of Mrs Soames to goad us into asking. If there was any way to be difficult and annoying, she’d find it. What a talent.
“Have you thought about when you’re going home, Mary?” Ooh, Angelica had finally asked the question. Hallelujah! Although, after last night’s violence, even I wouldn’t expect her to go back there. It was surprising that Angelica was asking the question. What was she up to?
“Were you able to banish the ghost last night?” Mrs Soames asked. “Because when you lot came back in here, you looked right terrified.” She pinned me with her gaze and nodded as if to say, Exhibit A.
“I’m afraid not, but you know that because I would have said. What does that letter from the agent say?” Ah, so that’s where she was headed. Smart lady, our Angelica.
Each word was reluctantly uttered, if her irritated face was anything to go by. “It’s one of those ones they send every now and then, to ask if I’d be interested in selling, that they have buyers waiting.”
“Maybe you should consider it. Honestly, Mary, I don’t blame you for not wanting to go back, but you can’t stay here forever. I’m sorry.” Angelica’s tone was kind but firm. Mrs Soames was the kind of person who took that mile with every inch you gave her.
Mrs Soames folded her arms. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. You think I want to live here?” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve rung three different churches, and only one of the priests does house visits for hauntings, and he’s booked out. Said it’s been busy.”
“Excuse me a moment.” I stood and went to our pile of mail on the counter. Hmm, mobile-phone bill, electricity bill, pizza pamphlet, dog-walking flyer, magnet for a local plumber, but no real-estate agent letter. Hmm…. I returned to the table.
“What was that about?” Olivia asked.
“Um, I’m not sure. Just thinking. I’ll let you know later.”
She shrugged. “How’s the new job going?”
I grinned. “Really well… I think. The work is easy, and I like stickybeaking through other people’s homes, but I’m not allowed to talk to the clients if they’re there, which is weird, but I can deal.”
“So the real-estate industry is currently booming around here, is it?” asked Angelica.
That was an interesting question. “It depends what you mean by booming. It’s really busy, but prices aren’t great.” Which was very strange now that I really thought about it.
Angelica tilted her head to the side and looked at me. “Oh, so there’s not many buyers around but lots of sellers?” And that’s how supply and demand would work if the market was falling.
“Ah, not exactly. There are lots of sellers, more than usual, but there’s lots of buyers too. I don’t know. It does seem strange, but, hey, I’m just the photographer.” What did I really know about real estate?
“Yes, just the photographer.” Angelica raised an eyebrow. What did she mean by that?
“Are you working tomorrow?” asked Olivia. “Because I wanted to catch up for lunch. Imani said she can come too. There’s this cute French café at Tunbridge Wells I love. Are you in?”
“I’ve got another two jobs tomorrow morning. I’ll be finished by eleven thirty, so, yeah, I’m definitely in.” It would be super nice to have a girls’ lunch. Fun outings were few and far between around here, and that definitely needed to change.
Angelica’s phone rang. It was sitting next to her plate, and I hadn’t noticed. That was unusual for her—she was the queen of etiquette, and having your phone on the table was a massive no-no around here. Was she waiting for a call about Will? My mouth went dry, and I put my fork down.
She looked at the screen, then answered it. “Hello, yes.” Her gaze darted to me for a moment. My heart rate spiked at the speed of sound. Maybe it was Will? She stood. “Just a moment,�
�� she said to whoever it was before saying to us, “Excuse me. I have to take this call.” She left the room, her footsteps fading away up the stairs. She was probably headed for her bedroom, or at least somewhere she could travel from in private.
Who the hell was on that call? And more importantly, what did they have to say?
I was going to suffer for the rest of the night not knowing because Angelica never returned to dinner. She sent us a message to put hers in the fridge. Now her spaghetti would be as cold as my long-suffering heart. Okay, so I was being a tad melodramatic, but some slack should be given. The man I cared about was who knew where, doing who knew what, and maybe he wasn’t even alive. No, Lily. Stop! He’s going to be fine. He’s not a helpless baby, and he’s not stupid. He can take care of himself.
Unfortunately, sometimes that wasn’t enough.
Chapter 6
Our run of average, almost-raining weather had finished. All the lights were on in the c. 1960s semi-detached home in Sevenoaks Weald, but it wasn’t enough to banish the gloom that leaked in from the charcoal clouds and steady rain falling outside. At least the drumming sound on the roof was comforting, but the comfort came from the implied fact that you could stay indoors and revel in being warm and dry. I was about to dash out into the yard to get my external shots.
When I’d shown up at the first job this morning, Oliver didn’t meet me. I’d had to wait ten minutes for another guy, Samuel, to cover for him. Oliver hadn’t called in sick—he just hadn’t shown, and Samuel had been edgy the whole time, constantly checking his phone or looking out the window.
I made sure my raincoat was done up and my camera was as protected as it could be, but there was still a chance it would get wet. I guessed now was as good a time as any to use a trickle of magic. I’d been putting it off in case I made myself too tired, or it didn’t work, and to be honest, I was more fearful of the second outcome. Funny how avoiding things was so much easier than finding out the truth, which wasn’t normal behaviour for me, but I was sure I could learn how to be a master avoider. And in this case, avoiding using my magic meant I was missing out and ultimately shirking my responsibilities. It was time to stop feeling like a victim—it wasn’t the universe’s choice whether I had my magic back at full power or not; it was mine. I was going to work for it and make it happen no matter what.
Witch Haunted in Westerham Page 5
