Witch Haunted in Westerham

by Dionne Lister

  I cleared my throat. “Ah, sorry to break up your love sesh, but we’ve got work to do.” I smirked.

  Olivia blushed and stared at me, her mouth open. “You did not just say that!”

  I laughed. “Yep, I’m pretty sure I did. I’d say get a room, but we don’t have time for that.”

  Beren’s eyes were huge. Did he think their attraction had gone unnoticed? He recovered with a lopsided grin. “All in good time.” He turned and winked at Liv, and she bit her lip.

  “Awesome. Maybe go out on a date or something… after work. Now, let’s go, B.”

  “Hey, that’s a great idea!” He kissed Liv on the cheek. “Dinner tonight? How does Shamrat at Maidstone sound?”

  She grinned. “Perfect.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the lips. Finally! Although I wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing. Now I probably had to put up with him all dopey happy for the afternoon. Oh well. It was a small price to pay for the happiness of my friends. Beren looked at me. “Okay, we can go now. We’ll go to Roxanne, the disguise specialist. Then we’ll take a PIB car to the real-estate agent’s.”

  We walked with Liv as far as the lift. She kept going, and we got in. When the doors closed, I nudged Beren. “Smooth.”

  “Hey, are you hassling my dating prowess?”

  “Took you long enough. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Every time I thought of asking her, I imagined her saying no, and I chickened out.”

  Oh my God. This guy was tall, handsome, nice, smart, and had the sexiest green eyes ever, and he was doubting whether she’d want to date him? Not to mention the way Liv always looked at him. “Honestly, B, dare I say it, but you’re a hot guy, and Liv’s been drooling over you for weeks. But don’t tell her I told you, or she’ll kill me.” I laughed.

  He stared at me. “If I’m so hot, why didn’t you like me back when we first met?”

  The lift stopped, and we got out. Oh, um…. How to be honest yet considerate? “I did, but I liked Will more. I’m sorry. But just think, if we’d dated, you would’ve missed out on Liv.”

  He smiled. “You’re right. Liv’s a gorgeous girl, and we clicked the first time we met. And it’s cool that you and I are friends, because we’ll never have a messy breakup.”

  Which brought me back to thinking about you know who. I sighed. Beren scrunched his face up. “I’m sorry, Lily.” He mumbled the bubble-of-silence spell. “You know he cares about you, right? He would never ever choose anyone over you, especially not that evil witch. Before he left, he asked me to look out for you, and I haven’t done a very good job of that. Sorry.” He looked so sad with his downturned mouth, and the sparkle had left his eyes.

  “Hey, don’t worry. None of this is your fault, and I was hibernating too. It’s not like I reached out to you. There’s nothing anyone can do to fix this, except wait. You’re a good friend, B. I just want you to be good to Liv and be happy.”

  He smiled. “I can do that, but I can also be a better friend to you.” He gave me a quick hug. “I’m worried about him too, but I just try not to think about it.”

  “Okay, enough talk about Will. Let’s go change this face.” I gestured to said face. Roxanne’s office wasn’t really an office—more a lab. It was a large room with grey vinyl-tile floors, white walls, and two stainless-steel tables. It kind of looked like an autopsy room, to be honest. The only difference was the double row of white busts lined up along a stainless-steel benchtop that ran along one wall. A wig sat atop each bust.

  A short, slim, white-coat clad woman with large round glasses and curly brown hair met us just inside the door. She smiled. “Hey, Agent DuPree. Long time no see.” I stifled a giggle at the rhyme. Yep, I was such a child. “And who do we have here?”

  Beren gestured towards me. “This is Lily, Agent Bianchi’s sister. Did Ma’am tell you we were coming?”

  “Ah, yes, early this morning.” She turned to me. “I understand we just have to make you not look like you.”

  “Yep. That’s about it.”

  “Do you have any preferences as to how you’d like to look?”

  I shrugged. I could just leave it up to her, or I could reinvent myself. It could be fun if I let it be. Hmm…. It also gave me ideas for something else, but I’d talk to Ma’am about that later. Pretending to be someone else could make getting information from people easy, although it wasn’t a long-term thing. “How long can you keep me looking like someone else?”

  “It depends how busy we are. I work with one other agent, and between us, we can keep three agents disguised at a time, but we need a break to sleep and rest. It takes a lot of concentration and power loss. We also can’t keep disguises fed every day, or we’d burn out.”

  “Gee, it sounds a lot tougher than I thought. I’ll only need thirty minutes of disguise, so I won’t tax you too much. Can you make me look like a man?”

  Beren’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why not? It’s something different.”

  “Um, very.” He shook his head.

  Roxanne smiled. “I can definitely do that. Let’s start by picking a wig, and I can work around that.”

  I grabbed a dark brown wig that was short at the back and sides with a longer, spiked-up fringe. It was a bit rock star. Roxanne put my hair in a flattish bun, pinned up the stray bits, and put a hairnet around the whole thing, then pretty much shoehorned my skull into the wig. I looked into the mirror above the wigs. Since I didn’t wear make-up, I was already looking boyish.

  “Sit here, please.” Roxanne indicated a dentist-style chair at the far side of the room.

  I settled into it. “This won’t hurt, will it?”

  She smiled. “Not at all. I won’t actually be changing your features. What I do is a combination of magical make-up overlaid with a reality spell so that anyone who sees you will immediately accept the magical features they’re seeing. It doesn’t always work on witches because the spell has a faint orange glow, which ends up looking like bad fake tan to a witch. It’s a complete giveaway.” That was good to know. If I ever saw anyone super orange, I would be on guard, unless it was Donald Trump, of course. He was just orange.

  Roxanne settled her fingers on my face and pushed my cheeks, gently pinched my nose, and mumbled. It was as if she were sculpting clay, but then I had to close my eyes because watching her fingers was making me cross-eyed and nauseous. Her magic warmed my skin, prickling uncomfortably at times. After a few minutes, the tingle of magic disappeared, although my skin was still warmer than normal, kind of like I had sunburn.

  “There. I’m done.”

  I opened my eyes. Roxanne and Beren stood next to the chair, staring at me and nodding. Beren’s lips were pressed together as if he were saying “Hmm” in a positive, this-could-work way.

  “Can I see?” I really wanted to see what they saw. My foot jiggled with impatience.

  Roxanne smiled. “Of course.” She nodded at the mirror.

  I swivelled around, slid off the chair, and stood in front of the mirror.

  Oh my.

  I did have a distinct orange glow, but I also had brown eyes, a stronger jawline, impressive pecs where my boobs had been, and three-day growth. Dare I say it, but I was kinda cute. I’d date me. I laughed. “Nice job, Roxanne. Thank you!”

  She grinned. “Thank you. I’ll link my power to it for an hour. If you need longer, get Beren to call me. Oh, and I forgot something.” She wrapped her hand around my throat and said, “The voice that was high should now be low. It’s a man who’s talking; these looks aren’t just for show.” She dropped her hand. “Say something.”

  Why is it that talking normally posed no problem, but as soon as someone asked you to speak, well, there was nothing to say. “I’m Lyle. Pleased to meet you.” My mouth dropped open. That bass rumble was me? Oh my God, how weird. I turned to the mirror again. It was beyond strange to see the me that wasn’t me and didn’t
even sound like me. Who was I? With the gender-neutral clothes I’d worn today—black jeans, hiking boots, and a green long-sleeve T-shirt—I looked every inch the man. Oh, wow. I didn’t have that, did I? I cupped the front of my jeans and breathed out. Phew!

  Beren snorted, and Roxanne laughed. “Don’t worry, Lily,” she said. “I would never go that far. It’s just illusion, remember?” She winked.

  My arms filled out my top nicely. I flexed my bicep in the mirror.

  Beren shook his head. “It’s disturbing, but you make a good-looking man. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see you the same way again.” He chuckled.

  I giggled, which sounded ridiculous with my deep voice. As much as I missed Will, I was glad he wasn’t here to see me like this. If he saw me as a man, he might never sleep with me again, um, not that we’d slept together in the first place. If he came back unsullied by Piranha, I would remedy that quick smart—life was too short to wait for things that were meant to be. It was sad that it was the first time I was glad he wasn’t here. But he’d be back eventually—I just had to believe it.

  “I guess I’d better go take some photos.” I magicked my Nikon to my hand, which looked a bit bigger than normal and, ew, hairier. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

  Beren turned to Roxanne. “Thanks, Roxy. You’ve done an outstanding job with our lad here. We’ll see you later.”

  “Bye.” I slammed my mouth shut, waved, and followed Beren out the door. It was going to take some time to get used to my different voice. As we walked to the lift and got in, Beren kept giving me side-eyed glances. I snorted. “Fancy me, do you?”

  He blushed. “Ah, no. It’s just disconcerting. I like you better as a woman.”

  “I’m taking that as a massive compliment since I’m such a hot guy.” I winked and ran my hand over his chest.

  He grabbed my wrist and pushed it away. “Now you’re just being creepy, Lyle.” He laughed. “You need a boy’s name if we’re going to do this properly.”

  “I’m offended by your rejection, B. We could be so good together.” I made kissy noises.

  He snorted. “Sorry, I don’t swing that way, buddy. Oh, look, the basement.” The doors opened, and he jumped out. I laughed. He was really taking my transformation seriously, but I was still the same person underneath it all.

  Beren stopped walking at a red Porsche. Nice car, but…. “Um, isn’t this a bit conspicuous?” Not that I was against gorgeous sports cars, but people were going to stare.

  “Sometimes it’s best to hide in plain sight. Besides, I enjoy cruising around in a Porsche.” He got in the driver’s side and left me to open my own door. Hmm, one point against being a man—normally he would’ve opened the door for me. I fell into the low car—not too elegant an entrance, but now I was a guy, it probably didn’t matter.

  The smell of leather and the way the seat hugged me as I settled back wasn’t too shabby. Okay, maybe there was something to this. Or was that the guy in me talking?

  As we drove to the agent’s, my parents came to mind. They’d been driving a Porsche in one of my photos when they’d visited Churchill’s house. “Do the PIB have a lot of Porsches?”

  “A fair few. I think we have some deal with them. The general manager’s a witch, and we solved a big case for them going on fifteen years or so. I wasn’t around then, of course, but Angelica knows all about it. They give us a nice discount on them. Not that they get driven that much because of travelling.” I would admit that cruising around in a Porsche was much nicer than making a doorway to a toilet cubicle, but travelling was way more convenient.

  “What happens to them when the PIB doesn’t need them anymore?” Maybe if I could find the one my parents had been driving, I’d find some clues.

  “I have no idea. Maybe they sell them, or maybe we still have them somewhere? You’d have to ask my aunt.”

  “Okay, thanks.” It could be a waste of time, but then again, a game-changing clue might turn up.

  About ten minutes later, we arrived at the real-estate office. Beren parked in a back street, and we walked to the main road. A teenager—she must have been about seventeen—with blonde hair and slim figure gave me the once-over, staring at me until we’d passed each other. Beren snorted. “Oh, you got game. You gonna ask her out?”

  I laughed. “Apparently I wasn’t joking when I said I was hot. I think I’m a hotter guy than girl. Men don’t stare at me like that on the street, not that I want them to.” It was nice to walk around fairly inconspicuously. When I was about that other girl’s age, I’d get wolf-whistled every time I went for a run. It was so annoying and creepy. Reaching the ripe old age of twenty-four must mean I was too old for that kind of attention. Too funny.

  Beren opened the door for me, and we went straight to the reception desk, which sat in front of a partition that hid the rest of the office. A young woman in a white shirt and grey suit jacket looked up from what she was doing on her desktop. She smiled. “Can I help you?”

  I let Beren take the lead since he was the actual agent. Because we were dealing with non-witches, we had to give our alternate job descriptions, and I’d likely stuff it up. “I’m Officer DuPree. I’m from the Kent Special Police. My boss has arranged for us to take some more photos of Mr Smith’s office.” He gave her a considered smile—one that wasn’t too happy, under the circumstances, but one which implored her to trust him and that we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t have to be. Almost an apology for bringing up Oliver’s death.

  Her face fell, and her eyes glistened. She nodded. “Of course, of course.” She stood. Her chair banged against the partition, and her mouth dropped open as if she’d been startled by the noise. She shook her head. “Sorry. We’re all still upset by what’s happened. Olly was such a great boss, and he was so nice. I just can’t believe he’s gone.” She carefully used one fingertip to wipe a tear from her eye, so as not to smudge her make-up, I was guessing.

  She led us behind the partition and down the narrow space between the rows of desks lined up against both walls. There were four partitioned desks on each side. At the end of that section, the corridor continued, passing two doors on either side. I figured the kitchen and toilet areas were at the end, but we stopped at one of the doors that had police tape across it. “We’re not allowed in there yet, so I guess you just go in.” She gave a half smile and went back the way we came.

  Beren opened the door. We stepped under the tape, and I shut the door behind us. Oliver’s office had dark blue carpet, a timber desk with a desktop computer on it, a plush chair behind it with three comfy-looking guest chairs in front of it. Against the wall to the right of the desk were built-in cupboards which went to hip height. On the timber top was a row of books, which were bookended by gold-coloured trophies. I had to assume it wasn’t real gold because you’d lock that up. Or you’d sell them and buy yourself a small island.

  Beren must have noticed me looking. “He won UK real-estate agent of the year for their company two years running.”

  “Nice. How do they work it out? Is it revenue or how professional and pleasant they are to clients?”

  Beren shrugged. “Knowing the world we live in, he probably turned over the most money or sold the most properties for the franchise.” Depressingly, that made sense. “But we’re not here to look at that.”

  “But what if someone killed him because they were jealous?”

  Beren raised a brow. “For someone who doesn’t want to be an agent, you sure are thinking like one. We’ve asked about anyone who had it in for him, and other than one old man who was unhappy with the price he got for his house two years ago, there wasn’t anyone. Which is pretty rare, actually.”

  “Not everyone who hates someone makes their feelings known. What’s that saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? It would be easier to hurt someone if you had access to their life, which you wouldn’t if they were being wary of you.”

  “True, but still, we’ve looked into all his contac
ts, and we’re just not seeing it. Let’s stop wasting time and take some photos. What you find could stop a lot of conjecture.” He raised both brows as if to say, “You know I’m right.”

  I took the lens cap off and flicked the camera on. I knew my magic had returned, but nervousness fluttered in my chest. What if it wasn’t always back? Or what if it had changed somehow, and I was yet to find out? I took a deep breath. Calm yourself, woman.

  I lifted the camera to my face. “Show me who killed Oliver.” Nothing. Hmm. “Show me the moment Oliver died.” Nope. He didn’t appear. So he was killed somewhere else. That was a start. “Show me the moment Oliver arrived dead in the office.” His body appeared on the floor behind his desk, his legs sticking out the side—they were the only things I could see from where I stood.

  I clicked a shot, walked close and clicked again, then went all the way around the desk and took a few more shots. But that was it. Nothing to see here, folks. I got the photos on the screen and handed the camera to Beren. “Whoever killed him sent him here with magic. There’s no other explanation.” Beren had heard my questions, so he could tee them up with the photos and draw his own conclusions.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Now what?” This seemed like a dead end, but I didn’t want to give up—that wasn’t my way. Beren pressed his lips together, but before he could figure out what we could do, I remembered something from the meeting. “Didn’t Ma’am say there were files missing? Maybe I could look for those with my camera?”

  “That’s a great idea!”

  “Show me all the files that have been in here the last four months.” I looked through the lens. Nothing. Huh? I walked around the table and stood facing his desktop computer. Blank, dark, turned off. I turned my camera off. “Sorry, B. Nothing.”

  “We haven’t searched his home office because the official line was that it was suicide, even though we’ve put the crime-scene tape on this office door—we told his staff that we just wanted to be sure and didn’t want his office contaminated until we’d finished.”