Witchnapped in Westerham (Paranormal Investigation Bureau Book 1)

by Dionne Lister

  “We can get you some coffee in the Qantas lounge.”

  Ooh, I get to use the lounge as well. This was awesome. I smiled, but it was short lived when I remembered why we were there.

  “Take happiness where you find it, Lily. You’ll never get this day back again, even if it’s not the best day. I’m sure James would want you relaxed and ready to do all you can to help find him when we get there. Enjoy this while you can.”

  “Okay. I’ll try. Also, can you stop reading my mind, please? It almost feels like I’m naked in front of you.” Was she even capable of it, or was it like trying not to hear conversations that were happening right next to you?

  “I can switch off, but I needed to know where you’re at—you know, in case you lose the plot and have a breakdown or something.”

  I stopped and stared at her. I ground my back teeth together. What the actual…? She stopped at the same time, probably reading my mind. Again. I was careful to keep my voice a decibel quieter than normal, so there was no mistaking whether I was losing my mind. “If anyone has the right to lose the plot, it’s me. Do you know what I’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours? I’d say I’m doing pretty freaking well considering. Now get out of my head.”

  She placed her palms on my head, mumbled a few words that sent shivers over my body, then she stepped back. “It’s done. You’re protected. Now no one can listen into your thoughts.” By no one, she meant no witches, but that would have sounded strange to any normal person walking past.

  I tested a thought and made sure it was surprising and loud. Oh my God! Look out! Huh, no reaction. She was probably telling the truth. We resumed walking. “Can all you-know-whats read minds?”

  “No. It’s a skill that has to be learned, and not everyone has the aptitude. There are many different skills we can have, but it’s like normal people. Some are good at carpentry or maths, while some are good at teaching or speaking multiple languages. There are some things practically all of us can learn to do—like travelling and materialising things.”

  “Like with my suitcase today?”

  “Yes. But you can’t just conjure something up that has never existed. We can only move tangible things from one place to another. And if you were to conjure a dress out of a store without paying, for instance, you’d be committing a crime. That’s some of what the PIB deal with.”

  The PIB? Oh, that’s right, the Paranormal Investigation Bureau. Interesting.

  We arrived at the Qantas lounge and signed in. Luxury, here I come. I’d heard all sorts of good things about airport lounges from one of my friends, Michelle. She worked for an airline and got cheap flights plus lounge admittance. Apparently, you could eat and drink as much as you wanted of what was on offer, including alcohol, and coffee. I grinned and headed straight for the barista.

  Once I’d grabbed my large skim-milk cappuccino and cheese-and-ham croissant, I settled into the private booth Angelica had chosen. It was at one end of the lounge, in the corner, for the most part away from unwanted ears.

  “Where will I be staying once we get there?” I bit through the crunchy, light pastry and hit melted cheese and ham, the salty tastiness bursting through my mouth. “Mmm.”

  “Millicent has offered for you to stay there, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’d prefer if you stayed with me, at the PIB safe house. It’s guarded against normal and not-so-normal threats. Plus, you have a lot to learn, and we’ll have plenty of space and privacy to work on your special skills there.”

  That’s right. When I’d first met Angelica, she’d said she was my teacher and my protector, although I couldn’t see her decking anyone with her slim-boned fists, and I didn't think she liked me enough to take a bullet for me. Maybe she could magic people dead? That could work. “Am I in danger?”

  She sipped her tea—typical Brit fare—then placed her cup on the saucer with not a hint of noise. Impressive. Her expression became guarded. “Maybe. There’ve been no direct threats.” She picked her tea up again and held it to her lips. Was she hiding behind her teacup? Not much of a protector.

  “But…”

  She shrugged. I sipped my coffee and swallowed my frustration. “What sort of things do you think I could do with my… talents?”

  She placed her cup down, and her face relaxed. We were obviously in safer territory. “Well, your mother could tell the future, and your brother is good at truth-seeing.” Wow, there were so many things I needed to ask.

  “What about my dad? And did you know my mother? What’s truth-seeing?”

  Angelica laughed. “Your father was normal in the sense that he had no supernatural talents, but he was a black belt in three different martial arts and knew his way around weapons. He was your mother’s protector.”

  Mind. Blown. My father was a history teacher, not a ninja. I’d never seen him be the least bit aggressive, except when he yelled at me to clean my room.

  “Your mother could see the future, sometimes, but her talent never gave her a clear picture of things. It was more clues that she’d have to piece together. As for truth-seeing, your brother can tell when someone’s lying. He can also wipe people’s memories down to a specific minute.”

  My face must have shown my horror, because Angelica smirked. “Don’t worry; his powers hadn’t come in when you were living together. Any little fibs you told him as a child would have gone undiscovered.”

  I blushed. I wasn’t a pathological liar or anything, but one day I’d borrowed his favourite skateboard. He’d told me I could use any of his five skateboards except one, and yep, that one was the one I coveted. There’s nothing more attractive than something you can’t have, especially if it had a shiny red skull on it. I’d ridden it down a hill—okay, probably more incline than hill—and I lost control at the bottom. I jumped off, just saving my arse, but his board sped into a roadside drain, and the grate was too heavy for my nine-year-old self to move, so I had to leave it there. I was too scared to tell anyone, so it was never recovered. I’m sure he suspected I’d taken it, but I denied everything, little shit that I was.

  And he repaid me by looking after me after our parents disappeared. I didn’t deserve him. If… no, when we found him, I was totally going to ’fess up.

  “If my mum could sort of see the future, why did they still go to England that time?” If Angelica knew my family’s history, which it seemed like she did, she would know that’s where they disappeared—supposedly at a history conference my father had attended.

  “She didn’t like to see her future. Your mother stopped using her talents when you were about five. I understand there were things she saw that came true—the deaths of your grandparents for instance—and she didn’t want to know anymore. She wanted to just enjoy her life with her children. She used to work with me, you know. Before I ran the training division, we were both in investigations. You look a lot like her—same gorgeous auburn hair and olive skin. Your eyes are the same sky-blue, too.”

  I hardly ever got compared to either of my parents, because no one I knew now had known them. Sometimes, if my friends checked out the family photos around my apartment, they’d mention something, but it was hard to tell from such small mementos. Her compliment was bittersweet. “Thanks. I never get to hear that. You said my mother was a detective?”

  “In the PIB, yes.”

  “She never even hinted she’d done anything like that. Why would she hide it?” A funny feeling I didn’t like squirmed through my body. It was more than sadness, more than disappointment and confusion. For the first time, I wondered if I’d really known my mother at all. I only knew about the life she’d had with me and my brother. “Do you think it was her special talents that got her kidnapped or murdered?” I held my breath. I’d never said the M word out loud before, but of course I’d thought it. Everyone I knew had; we were all just too chicken to say it. I swallowed a mass of fear pushing against my throat.

  “She had her reasons for not saying anything. Anyway, we’re not here to
solve your parents’ disappearance. We need to find James, and I think there’s a good chance he’s alive. Not all the blood on his dogs belonged to him. A fair amount came from two people we have yet to identify. Also, Millicent thinks she can still sense him, which might just be a wife’s wishful thinking, but stranger things have happened.”

  Oh, stranger things, like opening your door on a Monday morning to find out you're a witch and your brother’s disappeared? Yep, if today is anything to go by, anything is possible. Why couldn’t the anything be good stuff, like a bag full of money or a hot guy with morals and intelligence turning up on my doorstep? Because: real life.

  I finished my croissant and coffee and dug my ticket out of my bag to check our departure time. An hour and a half to go. I didn’t think finding out anything else right now would be beneficial to my mental health, so I took my Nikon out of my bag. Angelica had pulled a mystery book from her bag and was reading. “I’m going to snap some shots. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  “Don’t get lost.”

  “I’ll try not to. See you soon.”

  When I was behind a camera, I was in my happy place. I wandered the airport and found an alcove set back from the main thoroughfare. With my camera poised in front of my face, I glimpsed the travellers through the lens. A balding man in a blue shirt, top button undone, brown briefcase swinging from his arm marched towards his flight. Click, click. An older couple, slowly wheeling their carry-on behind them, made their careful way to another flight. Age spots peppered his wrinkled face. Click, click. Were they visiting family or friends, or were they headed home? A middle-aged man in an INXS T-shirt—that was a blast from the past—laughed with his two mates. Tattoos snaked down his arms. His mate slapped his back as they passed. Click, click. I was about to swap focus to someone else, when he faded out, as in went all see through, like Mr Papadakis had done last night. I clicked, just to make sure there was nothing wrong with my camera. Maybe my powers were affecting it?

  I lowered my camera as they moved away. Without my camera in the way, he was as solid as everyone else. Maybe I was losing it? I pressed the button to look at the photos on the camera screen. Nausea squeezed my stomach. I switched back and forth from the last photo to the second last. In one, he was solid, but in the other, he had faded, and I could see the garbage bin and another person that had been behind him, out of my line of sight. What did this mean? My camera wasn’t broken. No camera could see through things, except for an X-ray. Maybe there was something going on with the exposure?

  I gave up. So much for some downtime. Maybe I should just return to the lounge and read. I had a few books on my iPad Kindle app that I was looking forward to reading. That would distract me.

  As I reached the Qantas lounge sign-in counter, just outside the entrance doors, my phone rang. I stopped and pulled it out of my back pocket. Would it work? Stuffed if I knew, but I’d soon find out. I swiped across and put the phone to my ear. “Hello, Lily speaking.”

  The voice on the other end was clear. I was relieved for all of two seconds, until I heard who it was. “Hi, Lily.” She sniffed and hiccupped. “It’s Tracy, the… the bride from last night.” Was she crying? “Um, I wanted to ask if I could have all the photos of my dad from the wedding.”

  “Of course. Even if they’re no good?”

  “Yes.” A small sob came down the line. She was definitely crying.

  “Are you okay?” She hadn’t been the nicest of people last night, but I hated seeing anyone upset.

  “Um, no.” Her voice squeaked up a pitch, and she hiccupped again. “I’d like all the photos of my dad, because he… he died this morning.”

  My breath stuck in my throat, and my heart hammered as a prickle zapped down my spine. “I’m so sorry. Oh my God. He was such a lovely man.” I wanted to know how he’d died, but I didn’t think asking was the appropriate thing to do. Wanting to know was an awkward but legitimate response, if you asked me.

  She cried for a moment then drew in a loud breath. “Thanks. Yes, he was. I don’t know what we’re going to do without him, but if you could just send me his photos, even before any of the others, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Will do. I’m just about to board a flight, but I’ll get them to you in the next couple of days.”

  “Thanks. Bye.” She hung up. I turned my camera back on and scrolled through the photos from last night. My heart didn’t slow as I passed photo after photo. Until I got to Mr Papadakis. I hadn’t imagined it. He was see through. Oh, crap. I thought he’d looked like a ghost, and now he was dead. Was it a coincidence? If it wasn’t, that guy with the tats didn’t have long to live, according to my Nikon.

  Was this my special power?

  A wave of vomit surged up my throat. I barely registered the look of horror on the lounge attendant’s pretty face before I threw up all over the floor.

  Happy freaking birthday, Lily. Twenty-four was going to be a killer year, but not in the way I wanted.

  I puked again.

  Chapter 5

  We’d been in the air for two hours, and my brain had finally stopped running in circles screaming. Before we boarded, Angelica had created some kind of witchy shield around me, so my energy wouldn’t cause havoc with the plane controls or navigation. I was glad she was here to warn me. What if I’d gone on holidays not knowing? I could have been the cause of hundreds of deaths. Warning letters should be sent to all witches on their twenty-fourth birthday. Not that I would have believed it, although, considering all the other electrical problems I’d had, I may have.

  The quiet hum of the engine was reassuring. I relaxed into my wide leather seat and glanced around at the other elegant, chilled passengers in their luxurious I’m-also-a-bed-suck-on-that-economy-passengers seats. I could get used to this.

  Angelica looked up from her book. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Thanks. I think the last twenty-four hours finally caught up with me.” I hadn’t told her what had set me off. I wanted to process it before I told anyone. I could be wrong anyway. Also, not that I didn’t trust her, but I didn’t know her very well, and I wasn’t sure I wanted her knowing everything about me. I would share my secrets when I felt more comfortable. “I wonder what the suckers in economy are up to?” If I were being honest, business class was more enjoyable because I knew I had it better than the other poor sods. Yes, I used to be one of those sods, and probably would be again, but for now, I was queen of this plane. I grinned.

  “I imagine they’re reading or watching a movie. Nothing out of the ordinary. Why do they interest you?” There was that poker face again. Was she serious?

  “They don’t. Not really. It was a rhetorical question.” Way to ruin my fun.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?” She looked at me expectantly. She could look as long as she liked, but I wasn’t ready to share. Nope.

  “No, thank you. I’m good. I might get some of that photo editing done. My client’s eager to get her wedding photos back.”

  “I’m here if you need to talk. Lily…” The shallow lines on her forehead smoothed out, and her gaze softened. “I’m on your side. You can’t trust everyone you come across, and I do advise caution, but you can trust me and Millicent. If you need anything, let one of us know.” In that moment, I believed her, and I knew I’d open up to her, just not today.

  “Thank you. That means a lot.” I was used to only relying on myself, or my brother at a pinch. Leaning on others would take some getting used to, but if me opening up to more people helped find James, I was in. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to find him.

  I stuck my iPod earphones in and opened my laptop.

  The rest of the flight to Dubai, our stopover, was pretty damn awesome, except now I was ruined for economy. After we got back on the plane, I changed into my cute Qantas-issue grey business-class pyjamas. They had a dark blue flying kangaroo motif. I was so taking them with me when we landed—unexpected free stuff was awesome. I lay in my Sk
ybed and grinned—I was worried about James, but I may never be this comfortable or pampered again, so I was going to appreciate the moment. I shut my eyes, and within ten minutes, old-man sleep took my hand and led me down the rabbit hole.

  Before I knew it, we were landing at Heathrow, where the next part of my journey would begin.

  I just hoped today started off better than yesterday, because if it didn’t, I was in a whole world of trouble.

  I’d never been to England, and as our black Mercedes, replete with smartly suited and capped driver—the PIB did everything in style, apparently—drove from the airport through the countryside to the south, I stared out the window, taking it all in. We’d arrived in the early morning to fog and light drizzle, but I didn’t care: I was in England, in a luxury car, and I didn’t have to drive. Bonus! There were, of course, thoughts of my brother and parents swirling around in my head, creating a backdrop of melancholy that underpinned my mood, but a bit of excitement and wonder at being here did seep through.

  Angelica sat with me in the back. She’d made a couple of phone calls but now stared out the window, her hands neatly arranged in her lap. Her clothes weren’t wrinkled, and there wasn’t a wisp of light-brown hair out of place. The bun-of-death gripped it all in an unrelenting show of dominance. How that didn’t give her a headache was beyond me. I, on the other hand, had a messy, loose ponytail, tendrils of hair falling to the sides of my face, annoying me. My T-shirt had a stain on the front from where I’d spilled a splotch of coffee during turbulence, but the weather was cool, and I hid it with my black jumper.

  We were headed south of London, to the village of Westerham in Kent. I couldn’t wait to see the area where my brother lived. The few photos he’d sent showed character-filled towns, and I loved old buildings. Weddings were what I photographed to earn money, but my true love was photographing nature and architecture. Sydney had some nice late-nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century buildings, but that was the exception rather than the norm. I couldn’t wait to explore.