Witchnapped in Westerham (Paranormal Investigation Bureau Book 1)

by Dionne Lister

  “So, if I wasn’t a witch, you wouldn’t have brought me here?”

  Millicent blushed, but she met my gaze. “Probably not. No.”

  “Would you have even told me he was missing?”

  Angelica stood and placed her hands on her hips. “Not until it was absolutely necessary, and you never would have met me. The PIB is a secret organisation. No non-witches, except for high-clearance government officials, know about our organisation. We help solve normal crimes too, but we deal with any transgressions perpetrated by witches or where witches are victims. If you really want to help, you need to discover your talents, and quickly.”

  Oh, no pressure then. I swallowed the lump in my throat. There was so much I didn’t know about the case or being a witch. Maybe I could help them with my awesome logic skills until I figured out what the deal was with my powers. I didn’t want to fess up about the camera thing. It was no use since there were no strangers here to take a picture of. The anomaly had only shown up on live subjects. Maybe I needed to do more homework on what I could do. “The town centre isn’t far. Do you mind if I take a walk, soak all this culture in? I wouldn’t mind grabbing a coffee and some lunch, take some photos. Maybe if I relax a bit, I can figure out what I can do?”

  The two women exchanged a look, then Angelica spoke. “I don’t like the idea of you wandering around by yourself, but very well. I have to go into headquarters this afternoon. Millicent can stay here in case you need one of us urgently. Be careful, and don’t get lost.”

  Would it be childish of me to point out I was an adult? “I’ll be careful, and I’ll try not to get lost. I’ll just follow the scent of coffee to the nearest café. And if I’m not back in two hours, Millicent can come find me.” I smiled. “Oh, in all the madness, I didn’t get a chance to change any money. Will my card work in the ATM or will my powers interfere?”

  Angelica placed her palms on my shoulders and mumbled something. Warmth spread over my skin. “I’ve shielded you again. It’s probably for the best as it hides you from other witches too.”

  “Huh?”

  “Witches give off a signal when they perform magic. I was alerted on your birthday, when your power started. Can you tell me what happened?”

  I kept a straight face—at least, I hoped I did. “I didn’t do any spells. Nothing happened until the next morning, when my coffee machine blew.” Liar, liar pants on fire. I hoped one of her skills wasn’t lie detecting. Although technically, I didn’t consciously do anything—it had just happened.

  She raised her brow. “Magic can be passive or active. The passive side is what happens without us trying; you could call it your natural talent—James’s lie detecting would be an example. The active magic is the spells we cast, where we actively change things.” Out of all the examples she could have used….

  I shrugged. “Nothing that I noticed. Anyway, I’d love to get out there and see how I can help. I guess I’ll see you both later?” I smiled.

  Angelica regarded me but left it alone. Maybe she’d heard my thoughts earlier and already knew. Even so, surely she’d understand I needed to figure this out before I went telling people stuff. What if it was a camera fault and I got everyone’s hopes up for nothing?

  “Bye, sweetie.” Millicent gave me another hug. That’s it: I was out of hugs for the week. “I’ll see you back here this afternoon, and we can go over any new information Angelica finds out at the Bureau. And be careful.”

  Was this place more dangerous than they were letting on? That was two serious “be carefuls”. “Sounds good. I promise I’ll have something to share with you this afternoon, even if it isn’t great.”

  Angelica gave a curt nod, and Millicent smiled. Looked like I was going to cave at giving her some information earlier than I thought. Not a comforting thought. “Bye!”

  I shrugged off the tiredness of travel and bolted upstairs to grab my camera, beanie, and wallet, before racing back down again. A mixture of excitement and fear coagulated in my stomach. In order to save my brother, I had to find out who I really was, but before any great expedition, there must be coffee. At least that was one problem I could solve without getting into too much trouble.

  Chapter 6

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and English-accented chatter filled the Costa café. Dim lighting and warm browns and oranges created a cosy atmosphere. I sipped my cappuccino and soaked it all in. It was only ten degrees outside, and most people who walked past wore jackets, but some wore only a T-shirt and jeans. What was this madness? I supposed some people could acclimatise to anything. It was toastie inside, though, so my beanie sat on the table next to my camera and incredible double chocolate muffin. I’d eaten the top off, and runny chocolate oozed from the middle. If this wasn’t heaven, I didn’t know what was.

  I alternated mouthfuls of decadent sweetness and coffee until it was all gone. So good. I licked my fingers and smiled. I loved England. Okay, so I’d hardly seen any of it yet, but I thought it was my spirit home—like having a spirit animal but it’s home instead. Made total sense.

  Now I’d finished, it was time to go outside and explore, which was both terrifying and exciting. I wanted so badly to look around and capture the village through my lens, but what if I saw more soon-to-be-dead people? If that’s what they really were. Not knowing meant I couldn’t warn them, and even if I could warn them, did I want to be seen as a lunatic? Because, really, what else would they think?

  I picked my camera up and caressed it with my thumb. Holding my camera was as natural as breathing. When I didn’t have it in my hands, it felt like something was missing, and if I went somewhere without it, I suffered the nagging desperation most people experienced when they forgot their phone. It really was an extension of me. I loved that I could show people a different version of the world—a distilled version that somehow conveyed so much more than when looking at something with the naked eye.

  As much as I wanted to put this off, I needed to figure it out, because not using my camera ever again was not an option. Come to think of it, I wondered if my phone would have the same results. Was it the camera itself—still a possibility—or was it me using it? Could a camera be haunted? I laughed. That made just as much sense as everything else I’d experienced in the last day, so why not.

  My parents had given me my first instant camera. I had them to thank for the gift of having a passion to follow. On my sixteenth birthday, James had given me my first “proper” camera. It was a second-hand Nikon D3000, although it wasn’t quite a year old, so it was almost new. It was the best present ever. I didn’t use it anymore, but I still had it at home—I would never give it away. It was time to pay him back. I needed to face my fear that I’d find him murdered. Push any thoughts that he’d been harmed out of my brain and help him. I’d figure the rest out as I went. Right, time to pull up my big-girl panties and go.

  I put my black beanie on and slipped the camera strap over my head—I was a butterfingers, and there was no way I wanted to drop my baby—and stepped out into the cold. The cloudy sky was more white fluff than heavy grey, and a gentle breeze had started, although “gentle” didn’t aptly convey the chill it created. Brrr. I should have worn my ski jacket too.

  The village green was to my left, but I turned right and headed towards the town centre and the pretty Tudor shops I’d noticed on our drive in. Maybe starting with architecture photos would be fun—at least the buildings couldn’t die. As I walked, I removed the lens cap and put it in my jeans pocket. I turned the camera on and chose the setting I wanted—I’d start with automatic settings then move to manual when I had an idea of the effect I wanted. Part of what I loved was the experimental aspect. I could try different things, and if it didn’t work, so what. Sometimes I lucked out on the most incredible shots, although James said it wasn’t luck. I quirked one side of my mouth up in a half smile. I was going to see him again, and he would be alive and well.

  There they were, across the road. The footpath was narrow, so I�
�d take some shots from this side of the street and move to the other for a different angle later. I’d start with a wider angle and change focus as I went. I framed one terrace containing two shops into the first shot, leaving a touch of grey sky above the chimneys and the whole of the paved footpath in front. A large, shiny black door sat in the centre, which gave access to flats above, and each shop had their own front door—one angled on either side of the bigger door. The shop on the right was an interior design shop. The window display comprised a gorgeous two-seater sofa with fawn-striped fabric. Above it and to the sides hung different chandeliers, all giving off a welcoming yellow glow. I wanted to live in that shop. If I were rich, I’d totally hire an interior designer. My brief would be elegant yet comfortable, a mixture of antique and hotel. Dream on, Lily.

  A chill prickled the back of my neck. I shuddered and turned around. Nope, no one was watching me, at least not that I could see. I’d had a sense of being followed just before I reached Costa’s as well but chalked it down to Millicent and Angelica’s repeated warnings to be careful. They’d made me paranoid. I shook my head and turned back around. It was time to get busy with my camera. I grinned. This was it: I was actually standing in a quaint English village and taking photos.

  I’d taken about five shots when I noticed a woman in the second-floor dormer window. It was a large dormer, housing a row of five tall, white-painted timber panes. She stared straight at me, and she was solid, but she was dressed in a scoop-necked dress with lace sleeves and a tapered waist going to a full skirt. Unless someone was having a dress-up party, that was pretty weird. It looked like a dress from about two hundred years ago. I clicked twice, and then she disappeared.

  My heart raced. Was I seeing the past or a ghost? I kept looking through the viewfinder, but she didn’t reappear. I lowered the camera and looked back at my shots, and sure enough, there she was and then she wasn’t. I zoomed in on the screen to get a better look, and yep, she was wearing an antique dress. Okay, I could test my theory by asking the shop owner if there was any type of re-enactment or dress-ups going on.

  There was a fair amount of traffic zipping both ways. Once there was a break, I dashed across the road and to the left-hand shop—a wine bar. My friends would love this. The timber floor creaked, announcing my entry. Dimly lit and with exposed timber ceiling beams, it had a relaxed and old-world vibe. A young woman in a white shirt stood behind the bar. “Afternoon. What will it be, luv?” Her accent wasn’t as refined as Angelica’s, but it was still super British and therefore awesome.

  “I’m not actually in here to drink. I hope that’s okay. I wanted to ask a question.”

  “Ask away! Are you Australian?”

  “I sure am. I’m over here visiting my brother.”

  “Wonderful. I ’ave a friend in Brisbane. ’er name’s Patricia. Do you know her?”

  I bit my lip. Was she having me on? The expectant expression on her face told me otherwise. “No, sorry. I’m from Sydney, which is a long way south of there. I don’t know any Patricias, actually.”

  Her face fell. “Oh, no matter. Wha’ can I ’elp you with, then?”

  “Are there any events around here today where people are dressing in olden-day clothes? I thought I saw a woman standing at the window upstairs wearing a gorgeous dress.”

  Her brows drew close together as she thought. “I can’t say there is, luv. Was this the first or second floor?”

  “The second floor.”

  “Those tenants are away this week. They’re not back for another few days. They didn’t tell me they had anyone mindin’ the place. Thanks for lettin’ me know. I’ll go up later and check nothin’ untoward is goin’ on.”

  “Thanks. And you have a beautiful bar. I’ll have to bring my brother one night.” Because we were going to find him.

  “You do that, luv. And enjoy your stay.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled and walked back out to the street. That didn’t solve anything. There may or may not be someone up there. Gah! Why couldn’t things be easy? I lifted my camera and watched the street through its filter. I took a few close-ups of the shop front, concentrating on the black window frame and part of the interior design display. Then I walked up the street, looking through my camera, waiting for anything else unusual to pop up.

  I heard a car slow behind me, which was odd, because there wasn’t enough room to park on the side of the street. I turned. A black van had mounted the footpath right behind me. Before it had even stopped, a man wearing a black balaclava jumped out of the passenger side and ran at me.

  Maybe he was going to run past me and I was going to be majorly embarrassed, but there was no one else near me, and why run when someone was already driving you? Plus the whole balaclava thing kind of said, “I’m a criminal. Fear me.” My pulse thundered in my ears, and I took off, sprinting.

  I willed my legs to move faster past the shop fronts and sucked air into my lungs, ignoring the burn in my quads. My shoes slapped on the brick paving. I clutched my camera to my chest so it wouldn’t bounce around. After about two hundred metres, there was a grunt and thud behind me. I risked a look over my shoulder.

  A blond monster of a man—his arms were huge—was on top of the bad guy, pounding into him with his fists, but no one was chasing me now. The driver of the black van got out. Oh no! He stalked towards the fight, fists clenched. He had a stocking over his head, which squished his nose against his face, but his grimace was clear.

  I drew in much-needed air and tried to catch my breath. How could I help the man who had come to my aid? I couldn’t just stand here and wait for something bad to happen to him.

  Stocking-face guy had almost reached the fight.

  Heart racing, I walked back towards the men, shooting photos as I went. At least I’d have evidence for the police if they needed it. I made sure to include the black van. I stopped shooting. Across the road, people had stopped to watch, but no one ran over to help. Cowards, although, to be fair, those were three big men.

  Stocking-face grabbed the blond guy by the back of his jacket, near his neck, and tried to yank him off the other guy. Someone grunted. I looked around for a weapon, anything I could bash stocking-face on the head with. There was nothing. The only hard thing I had was my camera, and there was no way I was using that.

  Stuff it. I was going in anyway. The martial arts Dad made me do from ten to fourteen had to count for something—if only I could remember it.

  Stocking-face had managed to get the blond guy off his accomplice, and I winced. Please don’t hurt him.

  Another car pulled up behind the van. Stocking-face yelled something to his friend, punched the blond guy in the face and ran for his van. Crap, that had to have hurt! Balaclava-guy stood awkwardly and limped-ran to the van and got in.

  I sprinted, reaching the blond guy just as they started to drive. The van sped towards us. I pulled my saviour to the side, jamming us against the wall. Jeepers! I was breathing hard as adrenaline coursed through my body.

  The arseholes steered back to the road, tyres screeching, and sped away.

  A deep voice said, “I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens.”

  I turned. Another man, the driver of the other car, I assumed, had his hand on the blond guy’s shoulder, checking out the massive purpling eye that was already swelling shut. Both men towered over my five-foot-seven-self. They must have been six three, even six four. The new guy turned his blue-grey eyes on me. His stern expression reminded me of Angelica’s. “Are you okay?”

  I stared. My cheeks heated, and butterflies swarmed from my stomach into my chest. If my heart hadn’t already been racing from the violence, it would have just started. Even through my shock and his cranky demeanour, I couldn’t ignore the way this man affected me. All rational thought fled. Those light-coloured eyes set against his dark hair, and what about that defined jaw? No man should be this good looking. It wasn’t fair to make the rest of us feel so inferior and tongue-tied. He was most likel
y used to women falling at his feet and was probably secretly wishing he didn’t have to deal with me.

  He stared at me, waiting for an answer. Oh, right. I nodded, because the brain-to-mouth connection hadn’t yet resumed.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Giving up on me, he turned to his friend. “She didn’t get hit, did she?”

  “No, man. She wasn’t near the fight. She’s fast. That guy couldn’t catch her, not even close.”

  “Cool.” That stormy gaze was back on me. Gulp. “So, you’re okay?”

  I cleared my throat and tried not to sound like I thought he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Casual, Lily. You can do it. “Yeah, I’m good, thanks.” I turned to the blond guy. “Thanks so much for helping me. I have no idea what just happened, but I think that guy really was going to grab me. I didn’t realise it was so dangerous around here.”

  He gazed at me out of his one good eye, which happened to be a nice shade of hazel. What are the odds of meeting two hot men at once? This would be one to text the girls about. “It’s not, usually. I saw them pull over. Lucky I was here, aye.” He tried to grin, but it turned into a wince as the movement must have hurt his eye.

  “I’m so sorry you got hurt. You took a big risk. If it hadn’t been for you, who knows what would have happened. God knows, no one else was about to help.” I looked across the road to the crowd still watching us. “Case in point.” I shook my head. “Shouldn’t we call the police? I took some photos, just in case we needed evidence.”

  The guys shared a knowing look, and Blondie said, “We’re actually detectives. Just going down the road for lunch. That’s why I helped. I’m trained to do this stuff. We can file a report.”