Witch Haunted in Westerham

by Dionne Lister

  So far, I was getting some evidence to support our theory, which was great, but was it enough? I hadn’t even seen the witch’s face who was installing these cameras. I’d have to ask for that specifically.

  Once again, I photographed the room first, then grabbed my camera off the tripod. Show me the face of the witch installing the cameras.

  Oh, crap.

  I hadn’t recognised him from behind in the previous photos, but the guy in the blue jumper was the copywriter. Goosebumps peppered my arms. Was I safe in here?

  My phone rang, and I jumped. I rolled my eyes at myself as I put my camera on the coffee table; then I slid my phone out of my back pocket. Imani’s name was on the screen. “Hey. Good time for you to call.” At least I could tell her what was going on.

  Her tone was urgent. “Lily, I have some—”

  Huh? She had some what? Chocolate, coffee, news? “Hello? Are you there? Hello?” I checked the bars on my phone—I had three. I put it to my ear again. Nothing. I tried to call her back, but it went to voicemail.

  Grr, stupid phones. I looked around, making sure I was safe. Everything looked as it had before. Maybe she wanted to see how I was going? Or maybe Liv had unearthed some new information. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until I was done with this job. To that end, I made my way through fantabulous room after fantabulous room. If I ever managed to make oodles of money, this was how I’d live—surrounded by antique furniture, fireplaces, and elegance. Although, one day, I’d certainly be able to afford at least a nice one- or two-bedroom flat that I could furnish nicely. I’d just make sure it had a fireplace and high ceilings. It was really the feel of the place I was after—what would one person do in a mega mansion like this? It would probably feel lonely after a while, plus I’d have to be rich enough to afford a cleaner because it would be a full-time job dealing with this place.

  Eventually I made it to the first of five bathrooms upstairs, which was warmer than the rest of the house. The large rectangular room was as big as my bedroom. A double-bowl timber vanity stood against the wall to my right, and a claw-footed bath placed in the centre of the room drew the eye. Someone had filled it with water, and a handful of lilies floated on the top. I’d have to check if they were plastic because I had to know. It was one of those weird things, like touching an indoor plant to see if it was real or not.

  A frameless glass shower with two shower heads nestled in the far-right corner, and the old-style toilet, against the wall to my left, had one of those high, wall-mounted cisterns with the pull chain. The floor was wide timber boards. Wouldn’t it swell when wet? Who knew? Maybe rich people didn’t care about stuff like that because they could just get it repaired. If you were a witch, you could fix it with magic, so I supposed as far as I was concerned, it wouldn’t be a problem. I laughed. I could only afford an apartment slightly bigger than this bathroom, so chances were, I’d have to live in this area. I guessed a single mattress would fit.

  The only thing that spoiled the look of the whole thing was a small electric heater sitting near the bath, humming away, which was obviously the reason this room wasn’t so cold. I placed my tripod just to the left of the doorway and set my bag down outside in the hallway. Then I went to unplug the heater and move it out of the way so it wouldn’t ruin the shot. Just before I bent down, a voice said, “There you are.” I straightened and snapped around. The copywriter guy stood at the door. His jacket was gone, and his black shirt sleeves were folded and pushed up to his elbows, as if he were about to get down to work, or maybe he was showing off his forearms. One never could tell. His smile was definitely that of a predator. “Nice bathroom, isn’t it?”

  “Ah, yeah, really nice. Which is what you’d expect from a place like this, I suppose.” I swallowed and tried to assess what he wanted. Maybe this whole situation wasn’t bad—maybe I was reading too much into it because I was paranoid? “How’s the copywriting going?” I laughed half-heartedly. Okay, so I wasn’t quite on board with my attempt to lighten the mood and go with small talk. This would have been awkward whether or not I was helping investigate theft and murder.

  The copywriter guy—I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name; I really needed to pay better attention—shook his head. “Lily, Lily, Lily. You must think we’re stupid. Your little disguise might have fooled Samuel momentarily, but once he knew it was you, he let us know. Loyal fellow, he is. I don’t know why you bothered. Besides, I was always attending today’s little marketing get together, and I would’ve recognised you with or without your clumsy disguise.” Okay, so I hadn’t been overreacting by feeling creeped out. It had been wishful thinking, but, hey, I was an optimist by nature.

  If he was good at witching, he would know I had my return-to-sender spell up, which would make him cautious. There was every chance I’d get out of here unscathed if I could figure out how to get past him. I had a quick look with my witchy sight. He had a return-to-sender spell activated too. The only way I could best him in a magical fight was if I had more power than him and my return-to-sender spell was stronger than his, but after only recently recovering, I didn’t want to risk it. How much did he know about my recent problems? There was a good chance he was way stronger than me because of it. Crap.

  He came into the bathroom and took a couple of steps towards me. I wanted to stand my ground, show I wasn’t scared, but my subconscious had other ideas. My feet moved slowly to the side. Apparently, I was going to try and edge around to the other side of the bath. So much for being brave.

  He laughed. “There’s nowhere to go, silly.”

  I looked over his shoulder at the only way out, which was kind of a ploy because when I did that, he flicked his head around. I went for my phone and grabbed it out of my back pocket. Putting in the damn passcode wasted precious time. Copywriting Guy turned back to me and shook his head. Stuff worrying about looking nonchalant—we were way past that. I shuffled quickly to the other side of the bath, putting it between us. “Hey, Siri, call Imani.”

  “No, you don’t.” Copywriting guy leapt forward and grabbed my wrist—the one with the phone in it. I went to twist out, but his grip was too firm, and he yanked me towards him.

  “Shit!” My knee hit the side of the bath, and I fell. If I hadn’t twisted, I would’ve smashed my face on the side of the bath, but I managed to hit the side with my shoulder, then splash in the whole way. The frigid water shocked the breath from me. My chest seized, and my mouth opened, filling with water. It took me a couple of seconds to get the brain-limb communications open, but once I did, I scrambled to turn around and get out.

  My face broke the surface. I grabbed the sides of the bath and took a deep breath. Copywriting Guy stood there, the little fan heater buzzing away in his hand. He grinned and held it over the bath. “This is where we say goodb—”

  I pushed off with my feet and sprang out of the bath, to the same side I’d been on before being dragged in. I grabbed his arm—the one not holding the heater—and I jerked with all my strength.

  I jumped backwards as he landed in the bath with a splosh, spark, and sizzle. His limbs stiffened, and he twitched violently. His jaw clenched. I stood rooted to the spot, blinking. His staring eyes seemed to be fixated on me, but that was impossible.

  He was dead.

  My wits returned. I carefully hurried around the tub, trying not to slip on the water, and turned the heater off at the wall. Nobody else needed to get electrocuted by accident.

  My teeth chattered. Oh, that’s right; I was drenched and bloody freezing. Waterlogged clothes stuck to my skin and weighed me down. I peeled my coat off, with difficulty, and let it fall to the floor with a muffled splat. I could do with a heater about now. My gaze travelled to the bath and the heater floating within it. Hmm, maybe not that one. One of the lilies in the tub had floated into the grill at the front of the heater, its petals sticking out. I was pretty sure that wasn’t the effect the agent had been going for. If I photographed the scene now, people would think it was
a set-up. Unfortunately, they’d be wrong.

  My phone was in that bath somewhere. Damn. I was not going to stick my hand in. No freaking way. And I wasn’t going to use my magic to get it out because that would put my magic signature all over the scene and make it look like I’d killed him in cold… water? Well, there was no blood.

  “Lily, Adrian!” came from another room. Ah, so that’s what his name was. How much of the ploy to steal money was Samuel privy to? Did he even know the people he was dealing with were witches? Maybe he thought he was helping a crime syndicate but didn’t know the details?

  I was about to call back, then make a run for the outside and my car, when I noticed something I couldn’t believe I’d missed before. The underside of Copywriter Guy’s forearm was visible just under the water. I leaned closer. A shiver wracked my body, and this time, it wasn’t from the cold. Black and stark against his white skin, the letters stood out, even through their watery grave.

  Regula Pythonissam.

  Chapter 13

  I ran into Samuel on my way downstairs. His eyes widened when he saw me. I narrowed mine—had he called out to subtly see who had made it out of the bathroom alive? “Surprised? Disappointed?” I asked.

  “Um, I don’t know what you mean. Why are you wet, and where’s Adrian?”

  “He’s spending time in the tub. He tried to get me to go in first, but it didn’t work out how he envisaged. The turn of events gave him quite a shock.” I didn’t have it in me to smirk. The whole thing was horrible. Once again, I’d almost been killed—which was always enough to ruin my day—and once again, I’d had to kill someone. My body count was piling up, and I wasn’t even trying. Imagine if I had an agenda. Hmm, actually I did: destroy Regula Pythonissam while finding out what happened to my parents. I guessed I was working towards that, albeit slowly.

  Samuel’s mouth dropped open. He flinched away from me, then pushed me into the bannister so he could run past. The timber dug into my lower back, but I didn’t care. I needed to get outside and find Imani. I wanted to make a doorway straight to the PIB and gather reinforcements because we couldn’t let Samuel go, but I didn’t have any coordinates to get back here. Maybe I could take Samuel’s phone to ring Imani.

  Magic prickled my scalp.

  “What? No!” rang out from the bathroom. A gunshot, then silence.

  My breaths came quickly. Looked as if we just lost someone to interrogate. Crap.

  I had my return-to-sender spell up, but it wouldn’t protect me against a gun. Nevertheless, I couldn’t leave. We at least needed the evidence of Adrian’s body, and the bullet that killed Samuel. I forced my feet to turn around and sneak back up the stairs.

  I stopped at the top and listened. Nothing. I slowly, quietly placed my sopping coat and camera equipment on the ground. If I had to run, I could either grab them or magic them to my car. I hated to leave it all sitting alone without me, but there was nothing for it. I couldn’t afford any distractions or extra weight, and I couldn’t magic to my car now because whoever was upstairs would know I was still in the house, although they probably already knew because of those stupid cameras. Gah.

  My heart hammered, sending my pulse thudding against my eardrums. I tried to breathe quietly, but it was damn hard. I flexed my empty hands. A weapon would be handy right about now. There was one more door on my right before the bathroom. I hadn’t been in there yet and didn’t know what was inside, but if it was like every other room in this mansion, it would have a fireplace and all the hard, sharp, dangerous paraphernalia that went with it.

  I turned the handle and shoved the door open quickly to avoid any potential squeaks. I smiled. A bedroom. I jogged to the fireplace and snatched a poker.

  Hefting it in both hands, I ran back to the door and ducked my head out to make sure the hallway was clear. It was. Here went nothing. My numbing feet squelched and slid around in my boots as I approached the bathroom door. That was such a gross feeling. Focus, idiot.

  Taking a last deep breath, I paused outside the door, back against the wall, poker gripped in front of me. One. Two. Go! I jumped in front of the door and screamed—surprise was a legitimate ploy. Then I shut my mouth, weapon still ready to do some damage. But there was no one to damage. The room was empty. There wasn’t anything unusual, well, except for the pool of blood on the floor.

  Crap.

  I ran downstairs and outside, leaving my phone in the bath, as I didn’t want to mess up the crime scene. I’d grabbed my stuff from the floor, though. Now outside, the chill bit into my wet clothes. I put my equipment in my boot and whispered, “The clothes I’m wearing are sopping wet. I need them dry right now, please, and heated to Celcius thirty degrees.” Ahhhhh. Toasty warm and dry. Now, this was witching. I wriggled my toes, which stung as they thawed out.

  There was no sign of Imani anywhere in the front field, I guessed you’d call it. There was no “yard” about this place. My stomach somersaulted. Where was she? Her call had dropped out, and phone reception wasn’t always fantastic, but she should’ve been close by, and my phone had had good reception before it died. I swallowed the urge to cry. I was not going to lose it now.

  I threw my glasses into the front seat and locked the car because I might as well leave it here. It would be quicker to make a doorway to the PIB, then drive back. If I had to drive there as well, it would take twice as long. My maths ability was dodgy, but even I could work that one out.

  I made my doorway, pasting the PIB coordinates in gold on my conjured door, and stepped into the PIB reception room. I pressed the intercom. The door opened, but instead of Gus, there was a tall, slim woman in her twenties. She held out the iPad-looking thing. “Hand here, please.” I placed my hand on it. It beeped once, and my name and photo came up on the screen. “Who are you here to see, Miss Bianchi?” Wow, she was formal. What happened to introductions and a hello? I bet if you went to her place for dinner, she’d be straight into the main course with no cheese and dip beforehand.

  “Agent Bianchi or Agent DuPree—Ma’am. This is kind of urgent.”

  She tilted her head. “Are you saying I should hurry?”

  “Um, that’s usually what urgent means.” Was she stupid or just having an insecure moment where she had to show me who had the authority?

  “That smart mouth won’t get you anywhere. I have a mind to put you in a holding room for a while so you can think about it.”

  “My phone was destroyed on an assignment, and I’ve just killed someone in self-defence.”

  She snorted. “Sure you have.” She rolled her eyes. “Says here”—she held up the tablet—“you’re not even an agent. Have you been impersonating an agent? That’s a crime, you know.”

  Oh for God’s sake. “Are you going to call James or Ma’am for me? You know James will be pissed if you don’t. He’s my brother.”

  “Sure he is. Just because you have the same last name doesn’t mean squat.”

  I shook my head. Imani could be dead or dying. These seconds could be the most precious ever. To get her off guard, I flicked my head around to look back down the hallway. “Oh my God, look at that!” I turned quickly back towards her. Just as I’d hoped, she was looking past me to see what had gotten my attention. That was my chance.

  I bolted.

  As the smack of my boots echoed through the corridor, she shouted after me, “Come back, or I’ll shoot!”

  What the hell? Well, I wasn’t stopping now. If she killed me, she’d be in a world of trouble, and there was a corner coming up. There. I sprinted around the right-hand turn and opened the first door on the left. A middle-aged woman with large owlish glasses sat at a desk. She looked at me and pursed her lips. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, please. I’m Agent Bianchi’s sister, and some crazy guard is trying to shoot me. Please can you call my brother, James, and tell him I’m here?”

  She didn’t even baulk, as if this kind of interruption happened all the time. “Of course I can. Just a moment.”

 
; I turned to look back at the door. I’d shut it after me, but I expected that crazy, power-mad terrier to come through at any moment.

  “Hello. This is Amanda, Clementine’s secretary…. Yes, is James there? No? Oh, his sister is in our office. She’s having trouble getting Erin to take her to him…. Yes, of course…. Will do. Bye.” She hung the phone up and looked at me, a smile spreading across her face. “Your brother’s not there, but Olivia is sending Ma’am right down. Just take a seat.”

  “Thanks so much. I appreciate it.” I sat while she went back to work typing. My leg jiggled as I stared at the door. If that guard found me first, she was liable to kill me. This was more dangerous than being on the job. The door opened, and my whole body tensed, ready to jump up and bolt. I’d spell her gun to break or something if she pointed it at me. Thankfully, Ma’am walked in. I sighed my relief and stood. I wanted to give her a huge hug, but I refrained—it wasn’t professional.

  “What in heavens happened, Lily?” Ma’am stood just inside the open door.

  I was about to answer when Psycho Guard’s voice came from the hallway. “Ma’am. There’s a fugitive in the building. I’ve put out a red alert. She’s disobedient and dangerous. She may be armed.”

  You had got to be kidding me. What a lying piece of—

  “Are you talking about this fugitive, by any chance?” Ma’am gestured in my direction. Her poker face had transformed into something that reminded me of razor blades and eggshells. Don’t ask me exactly what that looks like, but you wouldn’t want to make a wrong step when she was displaying that face. I was pretty sure someone was about to, though, and it took everything I had to suppress the gloating smile that desperately wanted to burst forth.